Derek had a rebellious idea. The basketball game was over, even if there were eight minutes left on the clock. Southview, the visiting team, was horrible.
He was just about the only guy on the team, twelve years ago, who never snuck a cigarette in the weight room. It seemed like time to correct that. Easing out to the restrooms near the lobby, he checked for anyone who'd notice him - and slipped down to the back door. But the damn workout room was locked.
"Shit," he muttered. The main entry was in the gym. Oh, well...
Then he looked further down. A few seconds away from him was the hall to the old wing. The party gym. Time to see if he could still pick a cheap-ass lock. The coast was clear, so he booked over there. When he got around the corner, and out of view of the lobby, he decided it was time to have a smoke.
To his amazement, the deadbolt lock was open. His motorcycle key was skinny enough to get in there and push the old doorknob's latch back enough...
Taking a proud victory drag, Derek opened the door and walked on in.
The old gym was built in the 1930's. It was a big-ass cellar with a roof that wasn't higher than the newer part of the school. The janitors had stuff a lot of stuff in it - that's what Bondi said. He had wild stories about what was in there. The guys had come to call it "the party gym" because of Bondi's wild imagination.
Derek hadn't expected any lights to come on - hell, he hadn't even been sure the damn place existed. The locker room door was apparently open, and there was a wire running from it to a switch on the wall he found with his cell-phone flashlight. That was odd. There was old furniture piled everywhere, so he checked the path to the locker room. Doable. He turned off the light coming from his phone.
An old sink or toilet would be the best place around there to snuff the cigarette butt. He took a long drag as he walked over. Mission accomplished, he
thought, imagining the forgotten gym being a familiar hangout, and all kinds of jocks from the past guzzling beer in there.
The locker room had stuff in it, too - thick foam on the walls and ceiling, mattresses and benches and stocks. Thick chains were everywhere. Big cabinets had been hung way up on the shorter walls. Very weird.
Party gym, he thought, puzzling at the bondage stuff... or more like a dungeon. Oh, fuck -
The light went out - except for a single beam that showed him a faded wooden sign.
DETENTION
When the door behind him started to close, he jumped toward it - knowing there wasn't anywhere near enough time. Derek looked all around, seeing no one. He sagged. The door had just been closed... by no one or nothing visible.
"Students are not allowed to enter the old gym."
"I'm not a student!" he yelled. Something like a ghost was out to get him -
"Former students certainly aren't free to commit misdemeanors."
Uh-oh. So screwed, he thought, and I brought it on myself. He looked around at the serious bondage shit. S&M party? Bondi knew, somehow. First-hand? "Look, I'll take whatever, uh, punishment the cops give me. Call 'em, if you want."
Low chuckles. "Right - and wrong. No need to give you a rap sheet, or make it worse than it already is. The police have enough to do. What you understand correctly is that there will be punishment. And it'll be tailored for you, since you're only the third man to ever report to this cell on your own. Call it... stimulatory detention."
"Sss-stimulatory?"
A loud click made Derek turn - and see a big ol' padlock swaying a little. It hung from the door, through a hasp on the doorframe. There was no other exit.
Cabinet doors started to open.
Stuck in the locker room...
Much activity - leather straps zipped toward him, coils of new rope were next... plastic bottles and jugs, tool boxes, baby wipes, and a few things that looked like battery-operated shoe polishers. Nothing was being carried over. Well, not by people.
The ghost theory had him pulling on the door without much hope. Locked in, by something that maybe had all kinds of "hands..."
"Come over to the mattress," the phantom ordered.
"You've gotta be kidding."
"No harm will come to you."
Clamp. His right bicep -
A black leather glove. About a dozen more were landing. Left arm, thighs, neck.
"Go," the voice laughed.
"Keep me here after the game ended," he said bitterly, as the gloves began marching him...
They had his ass on the mattress and his clothes stripped off in about a minute.
"What is this?" Derek was no match for the gloves, which spread his arms and legs. Cuffs landed, the straps were right there too - depressingly smooth.
Spread-eagled in no time. Straps prevented any movement, really. There were at least two anchoring each cuff, and more tethering his waist, thighs and upper arms. Sorta amazing, except for the full vulnerability...
A big bottle of oil floated over him and soaked the gloves. That made the impact far worse. Derek couldn't laugh enough to get any relief, and he didn't seem to be dealing with anywhere near as much stimulation as he felt.
A casual remark from the unseen tickler that ejaculation usually had "a tremendous effect" turned out to be true. More and more intense...
"Athletic tickling," the voice said happily. "You'll be in the best shape of your life soon, count on that..."
"You got no shame," he whined, watching the gloves closest to his belly. "Doing this to a guy."
"A guilty man, who deserves worse."
"This ain't detention! Not the usual, normal kind -"
Gloves pounced. "Stimulatory," the captor teased. Its hands dug in. Pits, knees, balls.
Derek bounced as much as he could and hollered laughter with all he had.
Many gloves were on him, and nearly all were tenting their fingers and pressing down, barely moving... but there was usually one petting a sensitive area. The idea of more and more of them really getting down to business seemed to amplify the impact they were already causing.
Derek couldn't laugh steadily, or try to move. Fingers were everywhere, turning into full hands of slow tickling - one at a time. He was tense for a while, and became unable to think ahead at all. Each glove riding him seemed magical, working deep - tickling on and under the skin bigtime.
"Listen up," the tickler said.
"This is insane." His voice was shot. "I snuck in, had a smoke. C'mon."
"Derek -"
"How long have I been tortured?"
"Tortured," his captor said, adding a sarcastic snort. "You need to shut your mouth for a few minutes, boy."
A cap hit the floor - and he watched a bottle of beer cruise down to him. "Dammit. Okay."
"You want to... play along. More disobedience isn't going to help you." There was a pause, and the bottle came to his lips. Derek slugged lukewarm beer. "Alright. This gym - hell, the whole wing - is from another time. Guys smoked. Drank. Old news. They partook down here, and eventually they showed a fondness for the marijuana. Maybe it was inevitable -"
"So that means," he growled, "I'm not in trouble for the cigarette. Against the rules but -"
"Derek. Quiet. You want a gag? I can do that. Hush."
He finally nodded, not trying to hide his frustration.
"Men do what they do," the voice declared. "No surprise there. Tobacco is fine. Alcohol and other common consumables are too. Your detention is a result of breaking in to this gym. It serves no purpose to make this experience thoroughly unpleasant. What gives you relief will be provided. Lots of relief, son."
"Aw, great. Just great."
"You will smoke the reefer too. That boosts your, uh, your reactivity. Relaxing between the exercise rounds is best." There was a longer pause. "I'll take a few questions."
He shook his head. "I can't - so you're gonna call it exercise, huh? Tickling. Intense fuckin' tickling, for hours."
"It takes restraints to keep you lawbreakers from hurting yourselves when you try to escape. No reason why you can't be in better physical condition when you leave."
"Chain-smokin'. Booze, weed - sure."
"Wait and see. I'm not new at this."
"Sure. How long am I gonna be force-fed this shit?"
"I'm not seeing a hesitant man, here."
He lifted his head. "How long?"
Quiet chuckling... "This is day number four. We'll just have to see."
"You'll stay until you're reformed. That is the purpose of detention."
Derek couldn't believe it. "Old ideas. Ancient. A great excuse. Tickle the dude... aw hell, forever."
"No," it laughed. "Corrective penalties include punishment and rehabilitation. Will you be set free tomorrow? No. You haven't learned your lesson yet. And I'm in charge, criminal."
"But... look, you're playing with me! My body. All over. Damn."
"Pleasure helps -"
"Too much pleasure!"
"Oh, just you wait. Conditioning - good muscles. Sensitivity. You're paying a price, Derek, and you have a new incentive to straighten up and fly right."
"Or else," he wailed.
"Correct. We can hustle you right back down here. Or to other places - set up for confining bad guys. No one needs to know."
"Shit. I just can't disappear. They'll wonder... if I hit the road."
"What?"
"Road trip. You've got my bike hidden here too. Dammit to hell."
"Hmmmm," the captor said quietly.
"No way I -"
"He met the right woman, they snuck off to... Vegas, and they -"
"Not a chance. Not me."
"Well, you've done it before."
He opened his mouth, and eventally shook his head good and hard.
"Derek. Out with it."
"Fuck you!"
"Tell the truth."
He fought, and sighed real hard. "I'm not cut out for that outlaw shit. Had to see for myself."
"It was obvious, from the look on your face. Wonderful. You were gone... for a little while?"
"Never gonna do that again."
"So you've got a history. The boy must've - what was it you said? - hit the road again. A much longer absence, this time." Sneaky laughter.
"Oh no, you don't."
"Better behavior means a shorter term here, and you can avoid a number of follow-up detention sentences."
"No. Wow. Aw, no. But you would. More of the same. Maybe a lot more."
Enthusiastic laughter...
17jan2023