He darted for the door. I love it when they do that - it's such a charge - and this guy's so determined that it's almost like his body's already onto me.
I easily beat him to the exit with a pair of gloves and turned the lock.
"No you don't," I teased him. "Don't even think you're leaving -"
"Help!" he bellowed.
"Did you see any other cars, boy? When you parked down at this end of the motel?"
He thought for a second. "Oh, shit!"
"Nobody's gonna hear you," I said quietly, in a sing-song voice.
"What are you going to... No," he suddenly barked. "Let me go."
"Nothing bad," I reassured him. "Just fun. Big fun, lots of fun. No damage, okay? Just relax. Lie down -"
"Let me out. Please. Somebody - there must be somebody else -"
Well, it sounds like he guessed correctly. Bet he's got it bad. I knew there was something special about him. "I wanted you. I caught you."
Three other gloves floated up, staying between him and the door.
"Help meeee!" he screamed again, long and loud, as he bolted. Swinging at the gloves, it looked like he was determined to get out. But I caught him easily, and pulled his arms behind his back.
"I told you... to stay. But you didn't want to do that. And now... you've really pissed me off."
"Let - go!"
"No way. You're all mine."
He squirmed like an eel, jumping and slinging himself around. "Please, no -"
"And you disobeyed me. Hell, you're still trying to disobey a direct order," and I tightened the grip of the leather fingers controlling his arms. Really, I felt like laughing...
"What do you want?" he almost shrieked.
"Well, let's see. You disobeyed me. Bad move... and bad boys get punished."
Shaking his head wildly, I saw him gulp.
"Down on the bed."
He wasn't going to cooperate, but I dragged him over and pushed him down onto his stomach. "Still bent on not doing what you're told, huh?"
The fight was every bit as passionate as he could manage when I wrapped the nylon tie-down straps around his wrists. Then, his ankles. Pulled tight with that sweet whirring sound -
"Aaahh," I sighed. He was stuck now. No running tonight. Just red-hot hysteria.
"P-please," he squealed. It was just perfect. He absolutely dreaded what I was about to do, and there seemed to be no doubt in his mind that it was a done deal already.
"Here goes," I told him happily - and eight of my hands grabbed him. Thick satin, really making the right impression.
The way he jumped around, screaming laughter into the pillow, it was no mystery why he wanted to get out of the room. All these powerful, fun-loving fingers had his number. Ribs, neck, the backside of his knees - nice and sensitive. I dug into his armpits and loved the reaction... like a Tasmanian devil was tied down, all mine, and I knew how to drive him to the edge and keep him there.
"Not enough," I said. "Gotta make it more intense."
When my gloves started the demolition work on his feet, there were fierce tugs and kicks... and then the volume of his bellowing dropped. But not the earnestness. His feet really had it bad. And now I had them.
His big weakness was my favorite sport. I took it very seriously, too, in his armpits and around his ass, all over his neck.
He was right where I wanted him. A guy this ticklish, covered with my hands. Shit. So much promise. Bound and utterly focused, less than a minute into the party. In my grip, and deranged like this, was exactly where he was gonna stay.
"You've been a very bad boy," I told him.
He shook with laughter.
"Trying to get away from me. From this. I mean, really. You're gonna be sorry. In fact, I'd been planning on making you howl all night. Just one night." An out-and-out lie. "Fuck that!"
Raspy crows jetted out of his mouth, and his body squirmed erratically.
I kept on tickling and tickling.
He slept right through the move. I'd worn him out. And when he did wake up and look around at my fully equipped tickling dungeon, it didn't seem like he was all that surprised.
Four days in, I was convinced that we were going to have... unlimited fun.
This is a man of few words. Several hours into yet another day, he puffs on a cigar. Tired, distracted, and knowing that being allowed to sleep is hours away.
I pick up a brush. And another. These are just the thing for his armpits. We both know it.
Sometimes he rewards me with a word, here. "Do-o-o-n't..." I love that. It sounds so addled and unsophisticated. But this time I just hear a little whimper or two, and see him start to fidget. His arms aren't going to move. There's no uncertainty about that.
Now I open the massage oil...
Damn - he's just so unnerved by the tickling tools. It's time to continue the fun. I yank the cigar.
Hope is absent from his face.
Oh, yeah.
Prisoner... here goes.
A quick convulsion, with a sudden wheeze. He chuckles miserably, unstoppably, silently, eyes already tearing up, tension fighting with the impossible pulses pouring through his tickled muscles and skin.
His head stops moving. Except for the slow hoots, he withdraws inward and stayed trapped in the sensation, immersed.
The days barely crawl by.
2006