Here he comes.
Shit, he's more relaxed than I've ever seen him. And ripped. He looks good. The laugh-lines work for him too.
Squeezer had told me how much fun he was. No lie. He was a ride and a half. A couple others kept him entertained, after me... and then the weirdest thing happened. He wouldn't shut up about us. It was a stupid way to get other people to help him - as if that was gonna scare us off. He ended up in this mental hospital.
Delusional, they said. Invisible ticklers, kidnapping him and tickling for months? No such things. Everybody fuckin' knows that.
He unlocks the car door, not even looking around. Cool as a cat. I've gotta say - no matter what else they did to him, in there, his guard seems to be completely down. What a change.
Shit, he doesn't even react until I've already pulled the needle out of his neck. Self-injecting.
After a peaceful moan, he slumps over the steering wheel.
So I guess he won't get a last look at the place where he felt all safe and shit... protected from ticklers like me.
The hospital gets smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror.
I'm takin' him to Canada.
They spent all that time convincing him...
Assholes.
I throw his meds out the window, except the ones which have to be tapered off. No more lies. Not between us, anyway. He's not schizophrenic, and sure as fuck he's not delusional. Those doctors have it all wrong.
There's nothing imaginary about us. He's back in the real world now, alright. My world. I got him.
Pure hysteria - again.
Deep down, I bet he never doubted us.
He's awake.
It almost seems like he's taking this too well. Fuckin' expected me to show up. He's smart enough to know what was coming. Hell, we'd never give up on a total sport like this wolf, here.
Was it all an act, then? Tell the docs what they wanted to hear? Or did he walk through the parking lot and know that I was there, real close, set to nab him again?
I bring gloves up - and he's startled. Just for a second. Sure thing, buckaroo. They're real. Solid, just like Squeezer's. Ready for action. Don't write 'em off as just another hallucination.
They're coated with mink oil inside, since this pair is going on his hands.
He hardly fights me at all after the first ten seconds. They are going on ya, tough guy.
Flexing his fingers. Controlling him.
I make him reach under the seat - and pull out a carton of smokes.
Here ya go, ace.
It was weird to see him walk all the way to his car without a fuckin' cigarette in his hand. Now it's time to fix that. Another thing he tried to leave in the past is here, right now - and his fingers tear open a pack as if they're impatient to burn one. During the five weeks he was in the hospital, the hunger for nicotine made him pump iron like a madman.
But I have him take a Lucky - and strike a match. Leaning in, when I push on his neck.
And there he is. Great to see you again, prisoner. Gloves, and smoke... on your way to another cell. Hot times tonight.
He coughs, getting dizzy. That's to be expected. I'll have him needing one cigarette after another before the sun sets again. Unfiltered, like everything else will be. Full-strength.
The resistance is deep in his arms - and in his hands. He's longing to be anywhere else right now. But it's time to face facts. He's not nuts.
And I have a one-track mind. Since he's back where I want him, let's have no more of this fuckin' nonsense about me being imaginary.
I'll make him wish he was still living the lie, though. Damn right.
This is his last night outside for awhile. A long, long time.
Got me one toned fucker, here - up for even more this time, thanks to the free weights.
They tried to mess with his head, but now I'm gonna straighten him out. It's just him and me.
We motor on. It's like a compliment or something - how steady this fucker is. Resigned to it. I have to wonder if he had dreams when he was in there. About me. And Squeezer... looking him up when he left the funny farm. Poor wolf - bored in there, maybe. Definitely brainwashed. Missing out on what he does best. But everything was all set for a celebration, as soon as he got out. I was glad to be there, waiting in his car - with plenty of hands.
He wants to squirm, I think, but the way he gives it up - and the mechanical way he keeps smoking - sure looks like he knows, down to his socks, that I've got him. It's covered. No fuckups. He won't be getting a chance to run away.
First stop is one of those portable toilets at a job site just off the expressway, and there's never a soul around there.
Before I open the car door, he gets four straps buckled around his arms, pinning 'em good. Then another pair for each leg. Knee, and ankle. I let those drag over the gravel as he walks... but they're easy to grab if I have to. He's not running off. That idea goes into that "fantasy" category, along with living in a world where I'm not hunting his ass...
His hands will stay in restraints from now on. And his reaction to seeing me tug his jeans down is pretty damn amusing. That's making him nervous enough to need a couple extra minutes, sitting there, to do his business.
Relax, psycho. Have another smoke.
There ya go.
We're staying on the back roads now. At this hour there's even less of a chance of coming across anybody else. The most worked-up, panicky screams ain't gonna change his situation if nobody hears 'em. I know my business... so the total number of people who saw him, heading for his new "facility," is zero. Of course.
I add a few turns, doubling back to the driveway. No street signs out here. It's too dark to make out any landmarks. Yeah, this dirt-track leads to the dungeon I prepped just for this fucker.
The truth is not his friend, now. It's on my side. I got his ass. He's covered.
Here we are.
No cabin or anything, but this is the place, alright. Thick trees cover the car... and hold the solar panels I've got chained up to some of the higher branches.
Clamping six or eight hands all over each limb, I make him slide out and stand up... pausing, like he's perfectly content, while I to fire up his next cigarette - and then he's forced to walk again.
The fun is getting closer now. Just a few more minutes.
I'll show him what insanity really feels like...
Down in the hole.
I lift up the big metal hatch. Leaves and branches slide off.
Clicking on a flashlight, I show him the ladder.
You want reality, ace? This hatch is swinging back down. Now that you're inside, where you belong, I'm enjoying this moment a lot. Steel - not imagination - is blocking you...
I cover it up with branches and leaves. There's always a real kick I get out of snapping the padlock closed. And he's looks right up there immediately. Good man.
There's no chance - no fuckin' chance - I mean, absolutely no chance at all that anybody will find out I've got him in here...
Now we can get busy. I turn off the flashlight and flick a switch.
A dim red glow shows him the bunk, off to one side of the jail cell.
I went out of my way to make it look... abandoned. A fuckin' facility that's been closed for years. Aaaah, it's been so long now that everybody forgot all about it. Just the kind of place I'd sneak a wild wolf into, along with fifty cases of gear, and slam the door. More secure than most places, right off the bat - and it's stayin' locked. Nobody will even see the hatch now that I've hidden it again.
He won't be getting out of this cell on his own. The barred door isn't gonna slide open just 'cause he thinks it should. It's his cell, with one full wall hidden by shelves - supplies, gear, some incredibly stimulating toys - plus all the restraints and bondage I could ever need, already sized to fit.
He studies the bare mattress. Thick cuffs are already laying on it, there near the corner chains...
To his credit, he's not fighting my hands. Smart guy. No getting out of here - until he understands what's real. And there's no telling how long that'll take.
Eight of my leather gloves head up from a shelf, in the shadows, and punch each other as they stalk him. That's how pissed off I am. And satisfied, now. Sure.
I got him locked in again.... for all-day marathons of deep, lusty tickling. No way to make me back off.
All-week sessions. Hell, all-month. As long as he needs to get back on board.
It's a total rush to set this up and get him here. Now, I'm in the mood to make him pay.
Dammit, it's insulting to say we don't exist. Did he say all kinds of disrespectful shit, in there? Mock us?
Maybe he thinks he's too good for all this. Or too bad.
There it is. I figured it out. He's one rough son of a bitch now -
Leather fingers slam him down against the mattress.
Thought he was gonna get away from me, huh? Forget about the way things are supposed to be? Maybe some guys live by their own rules, but they're not watching my fingers come down right now.
Off with the clothes, convict. Get used to your new uniform - just the fuckin' restraints...
And whenever I feel like it, lots of extra straps.
I let him fire up another Lucky, and look at all the fixtures, the crops and whips...
His ticklers were all imaginary, huh?
Watching his face, I make some of those magic feathers rise up from the custom reclining bench and start floating over.
After he worked so hard to quit believing, it only makes sense that the truth will need to be pounded into him this time. Harder than ever. Definitely. Far longer than a few miserable weeks!
He won't ever doubt us again.
I wanna make a big impression. Get him back in the club - remembering what he needs to know.
Tonight he's gonna prepare himself. Starting with this scotch.
Get a little loose, and wait for the blitz to kick off. Stare at my gloves and feathers as they hang just over him, and remember the highlights from other fun we had with his... well-developed body.
That's it. Sure. Give the cuffs a little more fight - and try to deal with what's going on inside.
He's smoking like he's gotta make up for lost time.
It's great to have any squeamish bastard locked in here... and better yet to help a young wolf understand the way things really are.
As soon as he wakes up enough, I get him water and a smoke. Then a jar to piss in...
That's when I chain up the spreader bars.
He starts to cuss, quietly and without much hope, but I get his arms up. Even the kicks don't seem serious. Bringing his ankles together, I put extra straps to work. There.
The tough-guy act is all he's got left. It's time to let him in on a few things.
Picking up a leather jacket - which I found in the back of a closet in his old apartment - I float it alongside him. He squints at it for awhile before he recognizes his own coat.
I pull three wallets out of the pockets and drop 'em, one by one, on the tool table. None of them are his.
He closes his eyes, sags back and takes a long drag... not even bothering to say anything. Oooo, I'm innocent. You framed me.
Lowlife son of a bitch.
Well, I got him all rigged up now. Bad boys need to get punished.
Taking his cigarette away, I make a pair of feathers rise slowly off the table and start heading his way.
Tickle tickle, mutherfucker.
Seeing 'em today gets him all hyper. Cussing again. Louder. There's a new, desperate tone in his voice. Trying to throw the spreader bars around won't free his hands... or his feet.
Helplessly, he watches a feather disappear under him.
When the point starts to trace just above his ass cheeks, he gives me a jump and a deep grunt. Then pure reflex takes over and he starts to flail around. Oh, fuck, it tickles.
Damn right it does.
Back and forth. One little feather.
Hold on, prisoner. I got you now.
Ten passes across and back. Twenty.
Anger wasn't getting him out of my cuffs.
I take the other feather to his balls.
"Nooo-ooooo," he moans, like maybe I'll stop if he just gets through to me how fuckin' unhinged this is making him.
Ten minutes of slow teasing get him too horny to put up a good fight. Panting away, oozing pre-cum - and I see the sweat roll down his sides. Damn, I hope that tickles too.
Another half-hour, I decide. No way he's getting relief yet. I just want the old memories to really wake up his skin.
Ticklish isn't gonna do it - not after carrying on as if I'm not real. I want to see that totally overwhelming sensitivity again. Stepping up each day.
It'll all come back to him.
Those feet are waiting for their due.
Armpits, ribs, neck, navel. Knees. Thighs. So much fun to he bad.
Long after I let go of the feathers, he keeps right on giggling. Catching up.
By the time he finally opens his eyes, I've got six gloves all filled up and a few inches from his chest, ready to grab. And I mean, pulverize him. Make it extreme. This won't hurt a bit - quite the opposite.
He gives 'em a raspy shriek.
3, 2, 1 -
Hello, ribs. Gotcha.
His head flies back. Tensing up, and it's time to snag one big breath - yeah. Bawling laughter. Just roaring. Still every bit as ticklish as I remember.
Way to be.
He's louder than I expected, this early into it - must be all that tension he built up during the weeks he was trying to forget. But he always knew. Yeah. This was bound to happen to him again.
His body tries so hard to get out from under my gripping, fingering hands...
He kicks out a new noise. It's fuckin' great. A giggle-scream. Just really out of his mind already. Solid stimulation.
My third pair of gloves rake across his stomach. No going easy on this piece of shit. He howls sound pretty much like all the other rough customers. Real bad dog.
Fuckin' unraveling in my hands.
He's laughing so hard that the force of his tugs and kicks aren't all they could be. Not that it matters, of course. I've got more bondage shit than he's ever seen. But I fuckin' dig the contrast with a few minutes ago.
My cuffs, the locked hatch, a wall of thick bars, and all the nearby equipment are gonna keep him right in the thick of the most excruciating pleasure I know how to deliver.
Tears just run down his face.
Only he and I hear him screech, and nobody else is gonna find out.
I relocate one pair of my hands. Time for his pecs to get some attention. They're in for a full workout - one of his finer points. He gets so damn overwhelmed...
The pitch of his laughter climbs up again. Hysterical. Can't beat it. There's a lusty sound to his hoots. His chest is unusually ticklish, and I've never failed to get him hard when I keep a thumb or a finger playing with each of his nipples like this.
He manages to watch that pair of gloves for a good fifteen seconds. Nothing could ever be plainer than the expression on his face. This wolf would give anything to make the fingers stop... and go away.
Well, I'm dug in now. Alternating between pecs is fun. For me, anyway.
I wiggle the slick leather between his ribs as if they were a little too tight for my liking. This is another one of those things I could do all damn day. The impact is incredible. He can't squirm or laugh enough, and that seems to bother him too. Probably I'm supposed to decide whoa, okay, time to lay off - if he makes enough noise.
Pecs and sides. I always get into polishing these babies.
His arms stay up there, just like I want.
Wild animal. Now that's what I'm talkin' about.
Ten minutes of fun, and I stop all the gloves.
His chest heaves for a couple minutes after the laughs fade out. When his head starts to move, I get ready...
It's like he doesn't wanna open his eyes. But I'm in no rush. He never could stand to wait. I mean, we both know I'm not done with him yet.
There. He looks down at his chest -
So I have twenty fingers start crawling, sloooowly, toward his armpits. The fingers barely move, dragging themselves over... to their feeding ground.
He kicks out a groan of pure anguish. I like hearing him beg. It's not serious - I mean, he's not a fuckin' idiot - but he has to blow off some of the feelings. Like dread. He didn't wanna be awake, really stuck here, when my gloves got to where they were going. Tears of frustration fill his eyes...
And my fingertips pass over the lower rim.
Even as he pants for breath, the scowl is there again. Warrior bullshit. This shouldn't be happening to me. Not a big ol' thug. All these muscles...
Now, weaklings and punks - maybe. Weird shit. He has this way of squinting at the wrist-cuffs, now and then, or the stocks, like there's some seriously stupid mistake. It's just not logical. Not him. Over and over, too.
He sneaks another look at my gloves. Right now I'm keeping them just off his skin. Attack position.
Shit, when he sees that his eyes get all wild. Can't decide if he wants to be scared or cocky. It's a good look for him.
My fingers dig firmly into one armpit, and lightly stroke the other.
He leans toward the side getting the easier assault. So I just switch sides every few seconds, making him rock like a machine, cackling as he rolls from side to side...
The intensity's gonna get so much worse. I know he's aware of that.
After ten minutes I send the gloves down his sides. I got a piano I really like to play, here. Back up now, and digging in for a few seconds all around these dependable armpits. Down and up and down.
With the other gloves, I start tickling his neck. Sliding on down to his pecs again, then his belly. I keep those hands moving down when his sides are getting crawled up, and vice-versa.
He pisses all over himself.
Whistling howls don't cut it, so his body scales it down. All-out thrashing fades away. He can cackle and twitch, sweating buckets, and that's about all.
Feeling it. Getting ready for more.
Some guys can take whatever I throw at 'em. They reach down inside and make a way to feel more, and more, with no limit. At least I've never found one. Dudes like this are always being hunted. Fuck, yeah. No end to the fun. Squeezer and I aren't the only ones who got his number...
I lay into him - slow and steady - for a few hours.
Combing his legs, tormenting his knees, his ass cheeks, massaging his thighs in just the right way to make eyes unfocus, and every so often I let him catch his breath. Suck down some water, eat a little bit. Have a smoke or two. And then...
He begs, so quietly, when I bring the gloves back up.
So far, I've got three new areas to work on. Good and ticklish...
His elbows, for example. Sawing across with feathers, barely making contact at all, makes him bellow monotonously. It's like some switch just flipped in his head. Now all I've gotta do is drag a couple fingers back and forth, there, and he's in hysterics. The upper side of his toes - yeah, I always knew they were holding back on me. Not anymore...
His feet just never get used to this. Big, and toned, anchored right, always good for a full day of creative action. I've got endless tickling in store for these puppies.
He's tame. Again.
No more kicking and shouting. When he tugs at the restraints, it looks more like an afterthought than a serious attempt to get away. The laughter must've been a reflex or something, from deep down, to tell me how crazy I was making him. He barely even chuckles when I'm keeping it real. More moans, and those caveman grunts I like...
Ain't no doubt - the dude's feeling the impact more and more. It keeps on building up, sure as shit, and already he's taking a whole lot more than the last time I caught him. Not much thinking going on in there, either. We're down to brass tacks.
I tickle, and he lives it. My lean, twitching, drooling animal is on fire.
Ten fingers for his thighs, and ten more for his hips. I start a tender massage which is only gonna get meaner from here on out.
His reaction isn't violent at all. He's just addled. I do get one long "Oooooooh," and then he giggles for a little while.
His eyes are open a little. Same old ceiling, with all of the hooks and eye-bolts... but I think he's really somewhere else.
We're celebrating the beginning of the fifth week, this time around. Nothing imaginary about it.
Each hour is just as crazy as I want it to be.
He tries to roll over. Looking up at the wrist-cuffs - and now lifting his head. Yeah, asshole, I still got your ankles staked out too. Sometimes he nods his head, like he just knew what he'd see. Then he settles back down, giggling like a fool.
I keep teasing his nipples.
Here's the scoop, I think. Wolf's gonna keep getting it. All over. No end in sight.
Face it. We're staying right here.
I make him drink a big bottle of water.
All of this sweaty muscle... waiting for me to touch it again. Ride it. Pet him real good.
Six, eight, ten. There. All these soft leather hands are hovering over their targets. I feel like cranking it up now -
Yeah. Whip that hair around, convict. Laugh harder. Try to stay with me, willya?
He can't scootch up anywhere near enough, but he keeps trying for the better part of an hour.
There's nothing I want to do more than this, so his armpits and feet are getting nuked. Covered. I pull off when he needs some air, and then get back to it again. A long, rowdy night.
His ears are incredibly sensitive now. And his shoulder blades. Still workin' on those palms of his, though.
Right now I've got him slamming around again, trying to hump the mattress. But it's so easy now to distract him. Just enough to keep that spunk trapped inside. The whine that slips out, when I tickle harder, is fuckin' priceless.
I've got gloves prodding his knees, rubbing his ass-crack. Fondling his neck. Add a hand rubbing his spine - and there. He sags, trembling weakly. Too much goin' on to laugh. He's not grinding against the bed anymore, either.
Ten of my fingers land all over his soles.
All I have to do is start dragging 'em around, and he moves again. After a hard bounce - two, three bounces - his feet just fuckin' yearn to move in any direction, because that might let him put some distance between these suckers, all softened now, nice and warm... and me.
His limbs stay where I cuffed 'em, just like any other day. Really gonna get it. That's a promise. Every damn inch.
He's a ragged son of a bitch, suddenly laughing again. Swept away. It only lasts for a minute, but that doesn't fool me. My fingers keep making all the right moves on a half-dozen spots that never fail me. It's as if the tickling gets turned into heat, inside this convict, and laughing the biker way just ain't putting out the flames. Wrestling around won't do it. Sweating until the mattress fuckin' drips...
Maybe he just shoves the tickling further in, letting it smolder.
Not a fucking thing he can do to make me stop. His body figures that out eventually, and he relaxes. Helping me out, really, as I turn up the temperature for him. Everything else is just a distraction from the real deal... so he tunes it all out - cell, cuffs, hoping and wishing, the future.
My tickling is the only thing there is.
Break time is almost over. He knows it, too. I watch him hurry and get another drag in.
My feathers get into position.
Somehow he finds the strength to tug at the straps.
First, his navel. That makes him loco...
Wake up, convict.
I'm gonna fuck you up today.
Damn, I get such a fuckin' thrill out of bringing gloves over to him. It's a kick to get 'em all full, and close the gap. Get ready, feet. Here I come.
There's another thing, when I'm just a fraction of an inch away. Sometimes I pause, just so I can study it for a couple seconds. It's not the satisfaction. I love that...
Here, I'm about to totally nuke some feet that aren't just ticklish - hell, I quit trying to come up with words to describe how terminally super-ticklish they are. Dependable. I can count on hours of absolute fuckin' pleasure, starting right now. Even though there's no chance of missing out on a single second of that, I get this weird anxious feeling. Best I can tell, it's because there's skin that should be tickled - reliable, and totally worthwhile in every way - and at that moment it's not getting any. I'm about to change that, of course. Nobody's gonna break in right now and get this son of a bitch away from me. But having these fuckin' feet ready, some of the most ticklish I've ever found, and... dammit, knowing they're not even being touched at all, well, that just gets me all wound up. They shouldn't get any time off.
I hate the thought of one fuckin' second going by with no stimulation being laid down on 'em. That's what they're for. Worked in deep. Ten, twelve hours. There's no such thing as enough.
As long as they're ticklish, that's the way it is. I'm all set to give 'em exactly what they deserve.
Now, I always mix it up more than that. Wouldn't want him learning how to tune it out. And my mood seems really crazy to me - getting mad at his feet, right before I'm gonna start drilling 'em again, because there's even a minute when I don't have 'em not under attack yet. But there it is. Dammit. He's not feeling the heat - and I want him to pay.
Right now, I got the solution for this feeling. Wham!
There he goes.
Suffer real good, convict. Go deeper. Maybe you won't keep feeling it more and more if you live it... harder, this time. Or maybe not. I'm gonna stick it to ya tomorrow either way, but there could be some kind of miracle in your head that'll make it bearable. Right?
Damn feet. Getting left alone for even a second. He just can't stand it, and I couldn't be happier when they're getting tickled like this, too...
I'm gonna pick it up. Yeah, let's do some overdrive tickling this afternoon.
Finish your smoke, wolf.
More fever for you. Right... now.
With a vague kick or two, he sighs - oh, shit - and gives me two soft grunts before starting to cough.
I have to wait whenever he starts coughing. That doesn't sit well with me either. Those seconds are gone forever, with no tickling in 'em. When he's able to wheeze I start rubbing again. Finally.
Hard thumbs, for his heels, and lighter strokes around his toes.
His legs do their little routine, trying to move any way they can. The stocks are there for a reason, though.
Nothing's gonna get in my way.
I think I'll get some brushes going in his armpits. That gets his arms moving.
Not a chance, asshole. Live it harder. You always do...
There's this idea I have. Fuckin' crazy. But what the hell, the six-month mark is coming up. Might as well make it special...
A bed opens up, not very long before the big night I've planned.
Fuck, I just know when all the planets are lining up or something. Perfect. This bastard's supposed to be nowhere else. When everything clicks, I just know it - and usually that's enough of a reason to swipe more gloves, a couple extra cases of oil...
He looks like a fuckin' caveman, so I cut the snarls out of his hair and shave his beard.
These eyes. Heh. Barely even human now.
It's safe to say he'll never question our existence again. This is the life he was meant to lead.
Can't see this convict running with the pack again, after this. My friends and I have bigger plans.
Here goes...
The drug wears off slowly. I don't mind. Everybody else in the room will stay under for hours...
He finally looks around with the weirdest expression. I understand the blank part. Vacant. Definitely like an animal. But he's moving slowly -
A-ha. Like it's all a dream.
He expected something different. Hell, yeah. More tickling...
Instead, he's back in the hospital.
Sitting on the side of the bed, he taps one boot against the other. Lost in thought.
He hasn't been wearing clothes in a while. It totally rocks to see his hands get a cigarette out, and the lighter. I put 'em in his jacket pocket, just in case, and now it looks like some real old reflex kicked in.
Nobody's allowed to smoke in here, and he used to know that...
But he cocks his head and lights up. Needin' it so bad. Worse than ever - and the urge makes him tug hard again and again, totally fuckin' detached from the rules.
This is just about the most confused I've ever seen him. It's like his brain is about ten miles further in. Far away, and replaying my torture - nonstop. That's what I hope. He takes my obsession with him wherever he goes.
Right now he flicks ash on the floor, and tugs on the Lucky. Looking at the open doorway.
There was a time when he walked in and out of rooms. I wonder if it's coming back to him yet. If he wanted to go somewhere, he just did it. When there was a reason to leave - he could go.
He stares at the door with his mouth open.
After he lights a new smoke off the butt of the last one, the sucker eases on up. Stands there, kicking out smoke...
And he walks to the only exit.
The hallway goes in either direction. I thought he'd take the shortest route out, but now I watch him look this way and that for a good twenty seconds.
Then - yeah, he turns to the right. Perfect.
His bootheels make a quiet slapping sound. No one else is awake. This is a different vibe than in during the day, I bet. Perhaps the nut ward gets even more surrealistic after dark.
There's nobody at the desk. I made sure of that...
He shuffles toward the stairs.
A young guy they call Shooter is usually watching the ward during third shift. I just laid into him for a couple hours, in the storeroom, and then I handed him a note. Unless he wants Squeezer to pick him up tomorrow and keep him hysterical all summer, there's something he has to do for me now.
My convict finally makes it to the front door. Pushes it open -
And there sits Shooter, nervous as a cat. I have a couple hands clamped around his shoulders. Dressing him in the hospital scrubs was necessary because he pissed and sweated through his street clothes. Another ticklish bastard passes the test. No matter how the next ten seconds go, Squeezer will pay him a visit. Check him out.
"Uh, hey," he says.
My animal just stands there, staring.
"You know it's not real," Shooter babbles. "Right? None of it." Those weren't the words I made him practice, but he got the idea across...
All he gets in response is a hoarse grunt.
"The whole thing. Hospital, doctors - the real world. The past. Just... bullshit."
The most wonderful expression is coming over the convict's face.
"Only..." And I wonder if he'll choke it out. Shooter's pretty freaked. "Tickling. That's it."
Whoa - the dog's eyes are glazing right over. A layer snaps down, silent as can be. There it is...
He's gone. Maybe for good. Looks like all wolf now - inside a fine, ticklish shell.
Perfectly ticklish. Fuck, yeah.
I start the car. It's parked right in front of him, but he doesn't even glance at it until I rev the engine a couple times... and open the passenger-side door.
Two dozen leather gloves cruise out to get him.
It's time to go back to your underground home, badass. Animal. And you know why...
Just so he's sure, I dig into Shooter's armpits -
He starts howling right away. Nice, strong voice.
That's the perfect fuckin' sound for the bad guy to hear as I haul him into the car.
15nov2005