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Gary is snoring.
He doesn't even hear me lock the door.

He's supposed to be guarding the jobsite, but most nights he takes a nap. I couldn't pass up an opportunity like this...

The foremen are usually here by seven. But they're not coming today. No workers, either.
It's the Fourth of July.
I've got everything all ready.

I slipped something into his coffee to make him less alert. Ironic.
After it kicked in, I hid his car and moved him into the old tool trailer. It's not used any more - I think the roof leaks - but they haven't bothered to haul it away. It sure looks different with all the extra "insulation" I hung. A little insurance never hurts.
I've got thick foam rubber on the floor, and chains bolted down. They're locked on to the cuffs.
He can't budge now. Blindfolded, and gagged.
Oh, good. The drug is wearing off.

When he starts to pull and squirm, I untie his shoes. Slowly. First this one -
He stops moving, and yells something. That's right, Gary. You can't stop me. I've made very sure you can't even move. I'm easing your other shoe off, too. Have you guessed why?
Now I'm going to relieve you of your socks. That's right. I'm rolling this one right over your toes. It's gone. Oh, yeah. I've got the toe of your right sock. Should I pull it off?
He flails around.
Okay. I'll roll that one up. Here we go.
I've got him anchored, and locked away. Big, pale feet...
I pick up a feather.
The full-blown hysteria starts whenever I want it to start. And right now, I give him thirty seconds to worry.
Then I fan his right foot with the feather.
He stops bucking -
Time to tickle the arch of his left foot.
He hisses, and slams back and forth. That won't help him now. His feet don't go anywhere. I drag the feather around, and move it to his right foot.
More yells, and a groan... and then he starts to chuckle. Gary just can't help it. He's ticklish.

His laughter dies down, and he fights with the cuffs. Gary starts yelling into the kerchief-gag, over and over. But he knows he's the only one here... and he must realize he's indoors.
We've got the place all to ourselves.
I wonder if he remembers what day it is. A holiday.

Right now, he's discovering that I use top-of-the-line restraints.
As he gives it up, he lifts his head, listening intently. Is the tickler still here? Is there any chance that I lost my nerve and left? Maybe the nightmare is over...
I want him to think that. Desperately wish for it. That's worth pausing for another minute or two. Let him go over all the reasons why the feather can't possibly start tickling him again...
And I pick up a pair of gloves.

They're white satin. Gary gets to break them in.
I get them filled up, and start flexing the shiny fingers. Acetate makes guys like Gary just want to jump out of their skin.
I float the gloves down...
His toes are curling, because he's trying to stretch and push his legs out further. The fingers are right above his toes. His legs relax.
I slide the middle fingers around the middle of his soles.
Gary jerks back, and squawks! He barks something into the gag, over and over. I think it's the word "No".
I put four fingertips on each sole, one by one -
Gary drops his head and whimpers.
Pressing in, I rock the gloves back and forth. He inhales, and holds his breath. Five more seconds, and I pull off. I count to ten...
And strafe him. The fingers scrabble and slide just as fast as I can move them.
A high-pitched scream... and gruff, ragged braying. He looks like he's about to arch his back. His toes move slowly.
This moment is perfect. It's just a preview, though. I switch to long, heavy strokes.
He wails. How can he sound so desperate and so amused at the same time?

Gary tries to move in every direction. His feet don't shift more than a quarter of an inch. I love it. He's finding out that I was very careful to extend his limbs completely. Especially his legs. I don't mind if his butt slithers around, because he's going to lose motor control soon. I'm hijacking Gary's nervous system. Tickling is the top priority.
He's getting hysterical.

Five, maybe six minutes... and I pause the tickling.
His chest heaves, and he gets frantic again.
And after that useless struggling fades away, I let him wait. Delude himself into believing that it's over - that the fingers won't ever torment him again.
Fifteen minutes should do it. His feet are spared - for now. Gary must be relieved, but I know better. He's anticipating the return of the gloves. Hypersensitive. Roused to a new level of reactivity that makes insanity look pretty damn appealing. And every time I pause the stimulation, they announce the restart of the tickling with stronger explosions of pleasure in his overwhelmed brain.
I'll be back to his feet soon. I fill up two more gloves, and position them just over his sides. Five fingers for each armpit, and five more to provoke his ribs. I'm thrilled by this menacing scene. Trapped, clothes about to go, with all those fingers ready to move, whipping him into a frenzy...
And the best part of threatening him like that is the payoff.
Surprise!
Gary shrieks and flops around. Wilder than ever...
That's it. Four gloves. Oh, I'm just getting started.

Even through his jacket, he's a basket case. But he's shielded from the full effect, just as if I'd left his socks on. I can't allow that.
While he laid here - getting paid to sleep - I ruined his uniform.
With a few hard tugs, all of the slits I cut merge together, and his jacket becomes a cape. He's sweating quite a bit.
My fingers bear down - and only his shirt is left. As I pull the jacket out from under his back, he shakes his head at me. Gary's whooping and howling, alternatively, as if he can't decide which sound he wants to make.
I grab a shirt sleeve and yank that side off, and then the other. And now the t-shirt.
Look at those ribs.
I press the gloves back down, and make 'em roam.
Gary's laughing so hard he can't move. That fades into a wrenching snicker that just won't stop. He's getting more oxygen now, because he isn't laughing as loud. I see his head roll around a lot more, and his hands start making fists again.

After fifteen minutes, he's not trying to move nearly as much.
The next break is even longer. Forty minutes. The attacks are going to get longer and longer.
He looks as if he could doze off, if I let him.
Instead, I unbuckle his belt.
After a second, he starts to thrash around. But his pants are opening anyway. He knows why...
I use satin fingers to pull his underwear down. Since it's been slashed, it pulls apart easily enough.
So do his slacks. There he is.
He rocks on the padding. Out of uniform. Or maybe it's more accurate to say he's finally in the uniform I picked out for him. Bondage, and nothing else.
Six gloves, I think. So many places to tickle him... Let's see. Around his meat, high on his ass and under each knee.
My gloves creep into place, and make him screech even before they're in position.
When I start moving them properly, he roars without making a sound. That's it...

Ten minutes later, his body has relaxed considerably. Since he can't manage to laugh now, he won't have to gasp for air. Fewer rest breaks, and plenty of oxygen so his body will register the tickling as vividly as it can.
I know how to handle guys like Gary.

He starts to moan. His cock is hard. If I rub his chest slowly, he laughs harder. He's even more feverish now.
The hornier he gets, the harder the tickling hits him. I slide a pair of gloves around his thighs, way under there, back up by his ass -
Ah. Definitely. He yelps once. And he moans again.
After he ejaculates, I get to really kick his ass.

It's been a lusty hour, and I haven't left his breasts alone for more than thirty seconds.
He wants relief. I pull all the gloves away.
Finally, he lifts his head. He has an angry, frustrated expression on his face. What's the matter, Gary? Do you miss the tickling? Fondling you? Want me to dive back in?
I've got him right where I want him. When I touch him, I tickle him... but he's just desperate to ejaculate. That's not going to happen until some fingers work on his cock. His hands aren't going to budge, so I guess it's up to me.
I'm going to touch him again. And he knows that when I do... I'm going to tickle the shit out of him.
It's a nice trap. More tickling, no matter what.
And he'll have amplified sensitivity, thanks to that involuntary sexual arousal.

I'm going to let him wrestle with his conflicting desires for awhile. I untie the gag and make him drink some water.
After he's yelled for a few minutes - and his voice is already hoarse, which can only be adding to his frustration - I pick up his cigarettes.
Two gloves wait just above his feet. If he resists, he'll be sorry...
But he surprises me. As soon as he recognizes the cigarette, he starts sucking in. Anxious to please.
I'm very happy with him. He can stick around. Here's a light.
He smokes hard, and checks the restraints again. Enjoy your cigarette, Gary. Any time now, the fingers will return...
When he's done with it, I take it away - and pause...
He tenses right up. But I'm going to jump him when he's not ready for it, so he gets another smoke.
And another...

When that one's almost gone, he's much looser. I have to wonder if he's still fantasizing - no more tickling, all done with that - but he can't be that dense.
Maybe he's resigned to his doom.
I think he's ready for eight gloves. One for each foot, careful and busy. Ribs, ass and knees -
He starts another smoke. I hope he's expecting to finish it...
I make the gloves get in position, fingers moving just a little. Eager hands.

He flops around as if it'll move him out of my grip.
Gary's contortions slow down. I make him focus on the hopeless flood of stimulation his ticklish spots are getting. His hormones keep raising the intensity by dialating his capillaries. And I'm not going to let him ejaculate yet.

Four breaks, eleven cigarettes, almost two liters of water - and the sweat is just pouring off him. I have to clean up both kinds of waste, but he doesn't seem to notice he's had a few little accidents.
And somehow, I manage to hold off. It's a challenge, and such an enormous rush. Prolonging the big moment...

Almost forty minutes after a break, I think ol' Gary's ready.
My fingers have been teasing his nipples the whole time... and tickling under his knees, crawling up to about the middle of his thighs.
I'm stroking his balls with the feather. Just sweeping around his shaft, making him squeal.
And I pick that moment to grab his feet. He flinches. Gary's so damn ticklish now. I hold on tight.
A few flicks across the tip -
Yeah. There he goes.
He yells, briefly. His face looks like he's in agony, at the pivotal moment.
And now he's laughing.
I mean, this is just so perfect. He's illustrating my favorite phrase. This is my very favorite time. All of the gloves stop moving, and he keeps doing it! Mindlessly happy. Hours of tickling got him to this point, and he's laughing as he arches, still ejaculating. I'm going to follow this with a brisk attack. Gary reaches this key point - and he's literally roaring with laughter!
I hang gloves above his armpits, and his belly. Hmmmm. That area just under his pecs is rewarding. I'll let those fingers slide vertically.
His thrusts are winding down...
No, it just isn't enough fingers. I get ten more. His knees? But I've been tickling them for awhile now. I just curl one of the new gloves just off his right bicep, and spread the fingers of the other one near his throat. Between them, I can terrorize his neck and upper arms as thoroughly as I want.
He's lying flat, gasping for air. That's okay. When I get going, he'll be way too deranged to laugh...
Thirty seconds after he's done with his emission, I hit him with the most ruthless tickling of the night.

No laughter, no movement. Sweat, tears and drool drip on the padding.
Gary's mouth is wide open, a huge grin that almost looks like he's in pain.
I watch his breathing - slowing myself down when it too gets shallow - and have an excellent time.
He stays conscious for another thirty-four grueling minutes.
 

For once, he deserves to take a nap on the job. I take off the blindfold, and let him have three hours without any tickling.

To keep myself occupied, I shave his armpits and get him cleaned up.
 

When Gary is awake enough to strain his bonds, I turn on a florescent lantern, take six feathers and greet him - my way. Nipples, neck and stomach.
He whoops, trying to watch them. Big eyes. I start moving them around, flitting and dragging all over, until he's so wild he can't hold his head up and track where they are.

Thirty minutes... and his rod is oozing again.

I have him drink up, and show him a dozen peanut butter cookies. He's reluctant at first - but all I have to do is send the feathers back toward his feet.
He changes his mind right away. Gary's going to need lots of energy...
Then he smokes. His cigarettes are all gone. I changed brands on him, but he's not balking.
The jobsite is so quiet, with all the workers away. I really like that. Virtually no risk. Oh, the day shift guard is here, but she only walked by once - while Gary was asleep. I had the gag sitting on his mouth, ready to tie. Just in case...
It's a big jobsite. She usually walks around it once, when she gets here - and again maybe a half-hour before her relief shows up. All the rest of the time she's sitting in the guard booth, way across the site, watching TV. And it's a holiday. What could happen?
Well, he could tell her a thing or two. Couldn't he? But his voice is really weak now. A little more laughing and he won't have the volume left to get anybody's attention, even if they came right up to the trailer door.
It's almost as safe as it was nine hours ago. Only one person within a mile, and she's watching TV with her mouth slightly open, really engrossed...
Gary looks worried. Taking a long drag, as he checks the chains again. They're still holding. My feathers are parked above the last spots they were tickling.
I enjoy his dread so much, he gets to wallow in it for awhile. Between each smoke, I pause for a few seconds - and his eyes get big. He's watching the feathers over his armpits. And sometimes I give him more water, before I float another cigarette up to him. The anticipation just keeps building. And the tension - he's sweating already, and it's turning out to be an unusually cool Fourth of July... outside.
He's never going to forget this holiday.

What was that, the eighth cigarette?
Just for fun, I start to take another smoke out of the pack. Seeing that, he sighs -
I have the feathers fall back, and bring six gloves down. Nice, solid fingers returning to his torso, and his feet.
Gary's head snaps around, and he give me a long, protesting wail. Barely audible...
But I hop on and start to ride.
He shrieks a few times, rocking all around. Then he settles down and chortles for me.

Time to tie his toes back. I want to take a pair of feathers and really get to know his feet.
When he figures out what the nylon cord is doing, he shakes his head furiously. Screaming fits of laughter, Gary hiccups and tries to kick.
But I get creative with those feathers.
Sometimes I just make 'em fly.

Within a few minutes, he's past the point where laughter will help him.
I slow the fingers down, and stroke firmly.
 

Leisurely hours. That's the plan.
Here in the trailer I've slowed down time. And I can only imagine how long it seems to Gary!
 

I get the gag all set.
She's coming. True to form, this is only her second pass.
At least she cares enough to pull on the door. The padlock rattles a little. She steps back down... and keeps walking.
Gary opens his eyes. I drop the gag, right before he sees it. Let him think I might've been caught unprepared. Dammit, if only he'd reacted sooner, right?
The other guard is ten meters away before he really starts yelling. But he's got no voice left. None at all. Slamming up and down on the foam rubber - and it sounds more like he's tapping the bare floor with his fingers.
He just throws himself from side to side. I have to give him credit. That's the right idea. Trying to make the trailer sway - good one, Gary. That could actually work, and save you from so many hours of tickling. If only the day guard didn't walk so fast...
She cut through the main yard, fifteen seconds ago, and she never looked back.
It looks like he's staying with me.
I set the gloves on him, and celebrate for a half-hour.

He could use a nap. I'm going to keep him up late tonight.

Gary snores. I'm glad it isn't very loud - can't be heard outside the trailer. That's important to me, because the second-shift guard is coming.
He's a drunk. And he's lazy. If he bothers to check the trailer door, I'll be amazed...
No. Of course not. There he goes. He stumbled on by without even pausing. Naturally, he thinks he's the only one around here.
He'll sit on his ass - another TV addict. After the site foreman goes home, he always gets a six-pack out of his car. I figure he'll start early today.

A-ha. Some people are so predictable. That's it. Get settled. Don't even think about going over to the far side of the site. Okay?
I'll watch the jobsite. The last thing I want tonight is any unexpected visitors.

Water, and cigarettes. Cold hamburgers I swiped last night from the fast-food place almost a mile away.

Gary sweats and twitches, looking feverish.
Oh, I work him over now. Diligent tickling. Solid. Ten gloves, six feathers... Continuous.
He's more determined to think his way to a climax. But that's not possible when there's so much excitement moving around him, everywhere else.

He has another monumental cum-shot.
He's completely hoarse, but at least I get the same thrill from seeing him. Roaring again at the peak, and it looks so carefree...
When I rip into him, thirty seconds later - he gets an enormous smile on his face. Mouth open, drooling - and an ecstatic expression. That doesn't necessarily mean he's enjoying it yet. I'll have to wait and see.
The important thing, of course, is that I'm getting a real charge out of it.
 

After another nap, I give him more cookies, more water, five smokes...
And I decide it's time to pull out the brushes. All different kinds.
He shakes his head slowly, watching as I fill a shallow pan with massage oil. I make it hover above his crotch.
And he lunges all around, watching the brushes dip and stir the oil...

His reactions are just... shocking.
I could do this all night.
 

Best I can tell, there are only three risks left. Small, medium and large.
I need the second shift guard to oversleep... but he always seems to rouse himself at eleven. Maybe it's the TV news coming on that does it. I don't care, really.
When he's halfway through his fourth beer, he gives me the opportunity I need when he goes out back to urinate. Very considerate of him.
I'm ready with the same drug I gave Gary - who's in decent enough shape, unlike this other guard. So, the drunk gets a stronger dose. He's not even ticklish. Jerk.
Alright... I want him to wake up somewhere between, say, 12:30 and 4. That'll work.

After he slumps, I take the other two beers out by the road, pop them open and give the ditch a drink. He'll wake up and see six empties there. Not four. That should explain his sleepiness, right?
I get Gary's car, and park it where he usually does.

One down.
The third shift guard has to check in at the start of his shift.
He's already here, twitching under my gloves, but I don't think he's in any condition to go to work. And his uniform is history.
There's a telephone in the guard booth. The security company - which seems to be big on saving money in stupid ways - has an automated system for their guards to check in. It's too cool. They only speak to the dispatcher when they have something unusual to report.
While I have no doubt Gary would love to tell them what he's been doing today, he's not able to get to the phone right now. So I'm going to take care of it for him.

At 11:58, I call the number and punch in the same seven-digit code Gary did yesterday. It's amazing, when I think about it - twenty-four hours ago I was waiting right here, at the booth, all excited when he drove up...
Oh. Okay. A recorded voice - and it's thanking me. That's the same message he heard yesterday.
I did it.
Alright.
I hang up the phone. In another brilliant cost-cutting decision, they don't require the guards to check out. That simplifies things for me.
Hey, Gary - let's party.

I get four gloves up and dig into his armpits.
Three on each leg, teasing...
And before long he's shivering again, probably dreaming of another ejaculation. He'll have to keep wishing, for another hour.
Yeah. We have plenty of time.

Gary's asleep by two.
The boozer wakes up a half-hour later. He sits there, thinking...
Since nobody woke him up - especially his boss - maybe Gary covered for him. Right? Left him alone in the guard booth so he could sleep it off.
He gets up, walks outside... and sees Gary's car.
Okay, here's the variable - is he going to look for Gary, to make sure he's not in trouble? To thank him?
He doesn't seem conscientious. I'm pretty sure of that. But he might walk around a little... and hopefully he'll decide that Gary must be walking too - on the opposite side of the job site...
He's just not big on walking.

I watch him, as I use the brushes on Gary's feet and stomach...

The drunk collects up the beer cans, takes them out to his car - and stands there. Looking around. Will he do the considerate thing, and try to check in with Gary personally? Or has he already given me enough trouble already?
Ten seconds take a long time to pass -
He gets in the car. Yeah. He's a coward. I knew it.
Driving away!
Once again, it's just Gary... and me.

I get a dozen latex gloves oiled up, and I drill him carefully. Very methodical. Harsh.
I'm talking about severe tickling.

I won't be needing the gag again.
 

Gary could use more sleep.
Just before he passes out, I force a little water down his throat. It's got the drug dissolved in it...
At three-forty in the morning, I unlock the chains. Gary's delirious time here has come to an end. With a hundred-foot coil of rope, I make sure he can't do anything more than fidget, even if he does wake up.
It takes me a few minutes to get the tool trailer back to the way it used to look. The foam rubber, scraps of his uniform, cookie wrappers, water bottles, cigarette butts, dirty paper towels and used gloves are all bagged up. I pull in a fan and air it out, while I scrub the floor where the padding was laying. He really soaked it...
The shed probably smells cleaner than it used to, but I scatter dirt over the floor anyway. There. Stale smoke won't be noticable - not the way the guys here go through cigarettes.
I lock the door again, and carry him away. The garbage bag, and my canvas bags full of tickling stuff float out behind him...
This has been a great day.

His keys jingle as I unlock the door of his car. I ease him behind the wheel and pull a windbreaker with the construction company logo around his shoulders. It hides the rope. I toss the bags in the back seat...
Holding him up, as if he's awake, I get an idea. Since he's finally in his car, ready to leave, I have no doubt he'd be in the mood for a cigarette. I stick one between his lips, and hold the car's cigar lighter to the end of it until it's burning on its own. He barely drags on it, as he sleeps.
I come to a decision. This is last cigarette I'm going to give him.

The car starts up, eventually, and I shift into first gear. His head bobs a little. The street is deserted. I've picked a route which will keep him off the major roads...
He's got enough gas in the tank. It's almost as if he had a suspicion that he'd be going for a ride. Honestly, all guys should keep their gas tanks at least half-full, in case somebody wants to hijack them.
We encounter eight other vehicles, all going the other way. None of them slow down, or act as if they notice anything wrong with Gary.
When I make it to the gravel road and start creeping up into the hills, the last risk has been neutralized.

The foremen will arrive - and the day-shift guard. She'll rat him out. I can tell. Her boss will find out that Gary was nowhere to be found. And though I did check in for him, at midnight, he's probably going to get fired...
And it's my fault.
He's going to need a job.
Food, medical care - maybe a holistic approach, lots of exercise and attention to keep him healthy and strong...
And a roof over his head. Naturally.

After seventy minutes of uneventful driving, the gas tank is almost empty. I drive the car behind the cabin, creeping over old pine branches, and turn off the motor. Open the door...
Crickets, and owls. Wind hisses through the tall, thick trees. It's so quiet here. Lonely.
I unlock the back door of the cabin. Everything is here - all the stuff Gary needs, and all the stuff I want. The kitchen has cases of food and two hand-pumps for the well. I tested the propane heater, and the tank is full. The closets are full of toys. Just wait until Gary sees the collection I've got!
I pull my gear-bags out of the backseat and carry them inside. He sits there, head laid back. Snoring. Relaxed.
What a sight. Eventully I pull the windbreaker off him, pick up the cigarettes... and crumple the pack into a tight ball. I set it on the dash, right in front of him. No smoking out here, dude.

The daylight is taking a long time to penetrate the forest.
He grunts twice, coughs, and sucks down snot. Groaning...
Gary tries to move - and notices the rope. Then he looks around, frantically, at the inside of the car, the open cabin... and all those trees.
Now he's staring at the ruined cigarettes.
I send a dozen white satin gloves out of the cabin. New ones. They're coming to get him.
He watches them, and starts to shiver.
Firmly, my gloves pull him out of the car. They keep his feet from touching the ground. One slams the door -
And he starts fighting. With rope from his shoulders to his ankles, I don't know what he thinks he's going to do...
I take my time, carrying him inside, because he's my trophy and I like the triumphant feeling it gives me.

The rack is where you're headed, Gary.
But when he sees it - and the other devices I have, ready to immobilize him in secure and frustrating ways - he slings his body back and forth.
I've never ever seen his eyes this big. Scanning all the fixtures I like so much, every damn one of them sturdy enough to hold a crazed, laughing man.
And he's going to laugh. Oh, yeah. It took a lot of work to get to this point, but Gary's demonstrated he's worth it. Yesterday was like... the audition.
But now I get to relax and enjoy the show.
He looks back at the door. The expression on his face is all I could have hoped for. He just longs to be outside. His lips move, but I think he's babbling nonsense.
My gloves stop moving him.
I don't have to worry about anything now. Actually, this is my favorite moment.
The door is closing. I'm not using a glove to do it, so he just has to look at the door itself. Swinging out. The clearest message in the world.
He will not get out of here until I let him out.
A nice, memorable thump. Oh yeah, I got him. Such a hopelessly ticklish prize.
There's no point in making any estimates. We'll just have to see how it goes.
I let him stare at the padlocks as they hook and snap. He's staying around for every second of intimate tickling... and I'm staying too.
Gary keeps staring at the door.
Now it's time to really enjoy myself.

14feb03