Hawk looked at a dirty ceiling. Smoker's room. Small, empty - and the mattress he laid on was lumpy and torn.
There was a window to his right.
Rope was cinched around his biceps. His wrists wouldn't move - because several strands of rope anchored them to the top corners of the bed-frame. Rope pinned his upper thighs, lower thighs, upper calves and ankles to the sides and bottom. His legs were spread and he couldn't even budge them.
There was a new white diaper pulled around his junk, but his own clothes were gone.
He was thinking, unfortunately, about a story Calley had told him at the bar -
Something moved, over by the door. The air shimmered. Hawk lifted his head and stared hard. A wave, or a wide ribbon, of something like... heat squiggles rose from the floor.
The door itself rattled gently. Just once.
He heard soft metallic scraping sounds - and the door opened. Slowly, it swung open a foot or two.
This was not the kind of detail Calley had gone into, but Wolf couldn't take even the thought of what he'd heard about. "Hey! Help! Haaaalllllp!" he yelled, trying to squirm as much as he could. The ropes were annoyingly effective. If someone else didn't get in here and bust him loose -
A long metal rectangle slid into the room.
But no one came in response to Hawk's shouts. Dammit, he had to get someone's attention. Now.
The box slid alongside his "bed," to his left. It was a gun safe.
Hawk bellowed at the door, snapping and kicking as hard as he could. When he looked at the safe again, the lid was opening -
But then he saw the door to the room start to close.
"No! No no no no helllllll-lp!"
He jumped when the bolt locked him in.
Fearfully, he looked over at the safe. The contents made no sense, except for Calley's wild story...
Feathers.
Brushes.
Leather gloves, shiny gloves, rubber gloves, cotton gloves covered with little rubber dots.
"Nnnnaaaaaaaawww," he shouted, totally freaking out. This couldn't happen to him, but it really was happening!
He was so ticklish that it really scared him. Some dreams had been terrifying... after certain friends of his big sister had cornered him a few times, what, ten years ago. This was far worse, so much worse. Secret room, so many tickling-tools, unbreakable fuckin' bondage. He could get nuked like never before, tied down like he was. Even with no... people involved in his capture today, the present situation looked a lot worse.
Hawk was the only target. There was no mutherfuckin' way he could stand one second of it - stripped, and helpless. If no one could hear him yell, there was no telling how long he could be tickled... or how hard he could be tickled.
Hawk roared and shouted for help at the top of his voice, sweating from his massive efforts to get free.
To his left, a pair of red satin gloves were taking shape. Firming up. This was not a complete shock, since he didn't see any people dragging him in there and pulling off his clothes. Two of the invisible hands had clothes now, though. Shiny, slippery fingers. He could only hope... that this would be better than sadistic people pulling the gloves on. There was some kind of magic that snuck all this fuckin' tickling shit into the room and locked the damn door again.
No one came to rescue him.
This just couldn't happen. Aw, shit. He wasn't gonna be able to take it.
The gloves looked alive, alright. He couldn't move his feet... and the soft, slippery fingertips could keep on racing up and down. Cool grips sliding and squeezing, belly sides pits knees neck cock -
Hawk started to laugh at the magical hands. Hysterical, super-anxious... and totally pissed off. He couldn't stop snickering. It was the last thing he wanted to do, because he really had to come up with something to say that would make this bullshit stop. Right now. Chuckling like a fool just proved how deathly ticklish he was. It might even be taken as permission. Like anyone would enjoy this shit.
He wriggled hopelessly. If he stopped snickering, it felt altogether possible that he might start to cry. Hawk didn't think that would help him catch a break.
Nothing - nothing - would stop the tickler now. Suddenly, he was stone-cold certain.
Caught good, where no one would find out... and the first couple gloves were stalking his tied-up feet.
This was impossible. The gloves were empty. Their fingers curled a little as they got ready to touch his soles. Giggling more crazily, Hawk dedicated himself to kicking and kicking.
His feet stayed right-fuckin'-where the phantom's hands wanted 'em.
"Nooooo-hooooo-hoooooo," he warbled. The door was still closed. He'd been stashed in a place where no one would hear him laugh like a maniac, howl laughter, scream laughter. So unfair. So wrong -
There was the possibility that this wasn't really about to happen...
Then the fingertips coasted up his soles.
His body locked up as if he was getting an electric shock. He was a big boy now, and the laughter would be absolutely epic. The bastard would be totally glad it had decided to tap him, dammit.
He wailed, through his teeth, as the fingers spread out and slid back down. They dug in a little more firmly.
Hawk's whine turned into a sudden explosion of laughter. It sounded way too happy. Well, there was the miserable tone in there too, all the time - but he didn't like sounding as if he was actually enjoying this shit. Not at all. It would give the fucker ideas.
He hadn't even been aware of starting to move again - trying to roll or bounce or pull himself down, anything, fuckin' any kind of a break would be something - but when his head whipped back over, well, there were more gloves in the air, solid and ready to go! Six firmed-up hands for tickling the shit out of him.
"Naaaaah haaaah haaaaah nnnnnnaaaaah," he bawled at 'em. Still too much glee in the sound of his laughter. Not that the bastard was gonna stop now anyway. He hooted raggedly at the newest tormentors... as they started dancing and petting his ribs.
Help me, help, aw fuck somebody get in here, help me, I can't stand it, this is killing me, way too intense, I've gotta get away from this invisible hardass, please get these fuckin' fingers off me, nonstop tickling, serious tickling, help, this is gonna kill me, I can't believe how much this is scrambling my mutherfuckin' brains, help, oh help, somebody, please make the hands stop...
But he sounded, dammit, like it was the best damn party ever.
Hawk just roared at the window.
The gloves tickled him like nothing was more important just then.
It seemed to go on for a couple of weeks.
Eventually... he woke up. Hawk sat in a nice recliner. This wasn't the room where he'd been tied down.
Wow, that was the wildest thing. Never would've guessed he was that damn ticklish.
His hands got another cigarette going, and he didn't even notice it for a couple of minutes. Then he told it, "Hey, I don't smoke."
20sep2019