He was sitting at the light at Pico, just after putting gas in the tank, when pressure circled his right wrist.
It stripped his memory of specifics, leaving him with no worrisome details. Lowering his anxiety.
Immediately, he relaxed and just watched his hand get pried off the wheel by a... a glove. Jet-black, locked on tight, and squeezing hard, so he couldn't make a tight fist.
More leather, being pulled on him efficiently, cloaking his fingers. That strong best-buddy, practical joker atmosphere. Same as bef-
He sighed hard and tried to pull his hand free - but next there was a snug grip around his other wrist, and enveloping both ankles...
Pissed off now, he stared at his left hand as it was encased.A gym bag sailed over from the back and landed gently on the passenger seat. His right foot was punched down on the pedal, and the car tore off in the same direction he was headed before.
The glove controlling his hand dug in the gym bag, found a box. Carton of smokes. He swore loudly. It had been a good couple weeks, got some catching up to do - and a gearheading hour-and-a half drive to the cabin, miles from anybody...
It hung a hard right into the tire store parking lot, pulled around behind. Totally dark...
His hand found the fifth of sour mash.
A serious dent in the bottle, a couple smokes...
When he couldn't hold his head up, it propped him against the door and rooster-tailed out of the lot, making for the onramp and onto the Ventura.
It pulled open the car door. Crickets, frogs, no sounds of people. It carried/dragged him inside and dumped him on the chair. He snored impressively, slumped over sideways. Repositioning him, it got out the rope.
A carton, smoked up while looking out the window. Beer, space food sticks, vitamins and bananas. He hates bananas...
Half-drunk, looking out at the creek and the summertime, jeans caked with shit and piss.
Third day, not too far past noon. Heading back late tonight, and it looked like it was gonna be one hot day. Its plan for him, that day: hogtied, a Trimcomb laid twelve inches from his nose... lying right in the full sun. Two six-packs to sweat off -
He snuffled, and coughed hard, shifting around without opening his eyes. Hung over, but not too bad. He eventually blinked, saw he was on the floor, and with no clothes on. He groaned dismally. The thought registered that he'd been washed up, but he didn't question it any further.
It was a full ten minutes before he looked around, saw the lone Camel laying near his head, picked it up and struck a match...
A hard tug, more coughing, a couple more drags -
A glove came from behind him and pulled the cig from his fingers.
"Uh," he blurted, watching another hand dive for the matchbook, toss it up, catch it adroitly. Others closed around his wrists, leather gloves like the ones he'd worn the night he arrived, bringing his arms behind him. Lengths of rope were brought out from under the chair, looping around his wrists...
He lunged hard - but not enough. His ankles were brought under him and tied together.
The last length of rope snaked around the knots that held his wrists and ankles together, and was being wrapped around all four limbs. Mostly for effect - he tended to lie there and gaze at a couple dozen circuits of patently unnecessary rope, thinking his confused and stupefied thoughts... But the loops kept slipping as he bucked, and he twisted creatvely and gained another inch of slack.
Gloves pinned his legs, getting the big wrap-up rope started again... About thirty seconds more, and he'd be set for a long day of sweating beer, several fidgety hours -
Another trick contortion from him. A glove dove in to steady his left forearm, and grazed his lower side. Solid, heavy -
He squawked. Laughed crudely. Immediately tense, too - and... was that fear?
Some reflex? That glove had caused it. Right... there. It returned, gingerly clamping over his ribs this time, sliding up -
He shrieked!
Terror?... No. Panic? It looked more closely at his subrational reactions. After a while, it finally recognized the sensation. Pleasure.
But it was simultaneous with a purely reflexive fear, also very intense. It let go of him and thought hard, all of its gloves retreating a few inches. He stared as they went, eyes wide.
Pleasure...
Five seconds passed. A couple more -
He launched into a wildcat frenzy to get loose.
This can't be... it would have discovered something this big, before now. Right? Reviewing the prior times it had snagged him, all the times it had held him down, tied or strapped, or stretched out so he'd kick back for a couple days, whatever. It had certainly cleaned him up enough times, stripped his ass... But mostly when he was snoozing. Hell, it had wondered why he'd been gritting his teeth, sometimes, when it was pinning a wayward leg, or untucking his t-shirt. Sure, it had messed around with him - the crew-cut last winter, piercing his ear - but it had been quite a thrill just to keep him caged and loaded...
While he was awake, it had never really... experimented.
He was getting loose, gaining some slack. Gloves resumed tying him up... attentive, and tight. He squirmed and flopped with a desperation it had never seen out of him.
Impossible. All this time? Right here. He's been holding out, huh?
Hoo boy.
Wild electricity coursed through it.
When his fight had faded out, it kept steadying his hands and ankles... except for one smooth black glove, which coasted up from his ankle, to his side...
Gently spreading below his ribs. Tensing him right up, making his teeth clench again, oh yeah. Moving -
Up - and down. He hooted! So loud - squirming -
Faster. And it had him chuckling hard. Insensible. He was roaring. Couldn't help it.
Another glove ambled down, running fingers along as much of that side as it could - and he reacted even more strongly.
Its hands took his shoulders and slowly pinned his back against the floor. Both sides got full coverage.
He wailed and twisted magnificently. Another pair started on his gut and chest.
Just driving him nuts. Look at this - full-blown, automatic, evasive...
Eight hands, ten. Exploring.
He couldn't stand it.
Eventually, gloves arrived at the bottoms of his feet, working 'em over good and hard - and the piss shot out. He quit flopping, but his limbs made spastic little jerks. And he howled like a rabid wolf. Losing muscle control. Just unbelievable.
It kept rubbing while his limbs were retied in front, since he kept trying to protect his butt and armpits. He seemed completely unaware of the single hand-shell bringing each wrist forward, of the small number needed to retie him - he sure couldn't watch.
It squeezed a buttock, fingers in the crack - and he screamed laughter. Gloves anchored his feet better. Baffling - he hates this, but he sounds like it's the best thing he's ever - more hands, maybe! See what his upper limit is. In the trash pile there were some funky, used surgical gloves, but they snagged on hair. Maybe if they were wet? Oil. Anything oily here?
His car. It flew the latex gloves outside and rubbed the dipstick all over 'em. Shutting the room's door again, and temporarily having the leather gloves just hold him down good and tight.
Gasping, sucking in huge lungfuls of air - he looked up just as they descended. Six rubber gloves blotched with grimy Pennzoil.
He convulsed.
Ribs, belly, armpits.
Ragged hooting, quieter - more sincere? The slipperier, the better.
Fewer roars, but more wrenching... and finally he was quiet. Passed out. It pulled the gloves off immediately, and studied him. His breathing was deep and regular.
If it was careful, how long would he last?
At a store, seven miles away as the crow flies and maybe twice that by road, it snagged Crisco, Vaseline, 3-in-1, cooking oil spray. No-Doz, eye bolts, more clothesline. Some fruit juice and pancake syrup, for energy. And a half-dozen pair of Playtex Living Gloves.
Just lying there, sweating in the summer sun - that was nothing. It was ready to spread him out, let him wriggle... suck down a few Camels and the speed, and figure it all out...
Watch shiny pink hands, yellow hands, leather hands floatin' down. Yeah.
Big hands. They slide -
Frictionless. Slowing down, they massage harder. Not only has it got him... it's got him delirious.
He made it until three. Unconscious again.
Last day - for this visit.
It had tacked on a couple days to explore this new find, and already it was Wednesday. He was going to need some R&R pretty soon, some real food... while it stocked up the cabin for next time. Weeks of fun.
He woke up and started to thrash. Eventually he started a smoke. Still, all panicky.
The driving thought-track in his head: gotta get out of here. That was completely out of touch with reality, since it was calling all the shots. "Gotta stay here," actually. This... sensitivity of his, that was the thing he needed to obsess about. It had barely cracked the surface of this involuntary free-for-all he'd been concealing. Another fine morning to investigate further, and he was still tied down. Spread-eagled since the day before, rope good and taut, and he was all rested up...
A pack of Camels floated over, opening above his chest.
Of course he wasn't leaving.
In the hallway, latex hands filled and dove into the last of the Crisco.
Not getting away yet.
After a minute or two, the sounds reached him. Faint, rubbery squeaking - he froze, not even done inhaling. Telltale noises he'd come to recognize... the low creak of leather being rubbed down with shortening. Fingers scraping the bottom of the Vaseline jar.
He pulled longingly, at the ropes. He had another cigarette, with the back of his head flat on the makeshift pillow that once was his shirt, eyes locked on the door to the hallway...
But the next Camel was pulled from his lips before it was halfway done, dropped a few inches from his ear.
Color slowly entered the room, floating toward him. He was frantic, watching them close the gap. Tapered synthetic fingers, ragged cuffs. The cowhide he wore when he came in. The two remaining exam gloves, now a mottled black. Twelve unnaturally colorful hands, and almost that many leathers bringing up the rear. Changing course...
Well-oiled. Descending.
He stared - again, huge eyes. Forgetting to struggle, too intimidated even to swallow.
The feeling was beyond anything it thought possible... watching him watch the approaching fingers, stunned by that knowledgable dread.
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