He leaves the motel room, making sure the door is shut. Walks to an old car...
Late 20's, fine muscle tone. No cigarettes. On his way to a bar, so I'm definitely tagging along to get a couple test swipes in. His posture is not confident.
After he starts the car, my candidate fishes a joint out of his pocket and lights up. So the suspicious shreds in his car's ashtray were indicating his habit of getting high in here. Hey, anything that makes him less vigilant is okay with me.
He slows down, studying a hipster tavern. Passes it by. The next one, too. But a sports bar with a trio of hot women hanging around outside meets with his approval. He parks around the corner, has a couple more tokes, snuffs the joint and closes the ashtray. Walking to the watering hole, he looks calm. Happy. Popping a breath mint...
When his first beer is just about gone, I sneak hands around his ribs.
The response is deep. I'm barely holding on, and I'm delighted to see the correct sign. Not panic, but that ripple of neural response that makes him lean back. A hot prospect.
He looks behind him, and sees no one.
I hurry back to the motel.
Get his stuff.
Swing by a rooftop nearby and get some of mine.
When it's all stashed in his car, I race back.
There he is. Getting ready for the wildest night of his life - and there's even better news. He's got a thoughtful new employer - me.
I made a quick pass through his belongings. And I take it from the defeated look I saw earlier that the interview didn't go particularly well. Very soon now, all of that won't matter. He won't be able to worry about the stupid job he came here to get... or where he'll live.
Got it covered.
My new hire has an intermittent conversation with the grizzled bartender. They talk about rentals in the neighborhood, other job prospects. The chicks, he learns, are really at the bar in abundance during the weekends...
Finishing his third beer, he looks around, packs it in, and leaves a big tip. Then we leave.
When he walks up to his car, fishing for his keys, I open the door. He stops dead...
Squinting. Thinking furiously. He finally looks around, and leans in. Yessir, that's about a half-pound of primo weed. I think of it as a retention bonus.
He reaches for the bag, and doesn't look up. I have the aerosol can aimed correctly. When I press the button, the mist hits him in the face. The hypnotic is absorbed through the skin, but it works even more quickly when it's inhaled. His response to the surprise, hunched over as he is, does the trick. He breathes in.
Although he starts backing up instinctively, I'm ready to shove him inside - and make a glove lift off the passenger seat. He sees the motion, only the first of so many animated hands that will get busy on his hide.
"Hey," he barks nervously.
I clamp the palm of the glove tightly over his mouth...
And sit him up behind the wheel. Close the door. Even as he's trying to catch up from being moved, reaching for the door handle - I bring up the handcuffs.
Start the engine.
Oh, he's trying to wrestle around, but I grab his forearms. Two hands for each. Bring 'em in front, so his hands are almost touching the wheel. Cuff one wrist, then the other. Hold on tight. He fights hard - for a few seconds. Then he stops suddenly.
Shakes his head. It bounces loosely.
I shift the car into 'drive' and take him away. Gotcha!
Dumpy little house in the foothills, way off the highway. A fine specimen like this deserves better... but I like to think the locals deliberately ignore any signs of life here. He won't be wandering around the outside anyway now. It's a single big room with a kitchen and bathroom, a small room that's a decent-sized closet.
I've got the place just the way I like it. Soundproofed with black foam, solar power, doors and windows blocked and hidden...
Carry him inside, get that baffling little thrill from closing the door - with him on the other side of it - and cart in the stuff we brought. To welcome him, I get some weed smoldering. Easy there, big guy. Stick an ashtray and some joints on a crate next to the huge bed, waiting for him.
I'll be waiting on him, in more ways than one, and the thick restraints will make it necessary for him to take my help. Off come his clothes.
He's coming around, so I waste no time anchoring him to the steel loops that surround the bed.
"Hey, Jase," I say, sounding like a partner-in-crime.
With an effort, the dude's watching the strap-ends slide through the loops again. All at once. He's shaking his head, trying to talk. I don't think he's all that familiar with the flight reflex.
Time to show him the first pair of oiled gloves.
Got me a toker, in great shape... and kinds of ideas.
He fights the straps as if they can't be a match for his muscles.
"Easy, now," I warn him, "or I won't be able to smoke you out."
"F-fffuck that," he says - so conflicted - "I gotta get out of here."
"Why?"
He snorts, like it's such a dumbass question. "So you don't -" And he shuts up real quick. Afraid to say it. Priceless.
"Tickle you?" I suggest.
He nods tightly. "It was you. In the bar."
Impressive. "Yup," I say briskly. "And you're stuck now. Party house, population... one." I chuckle at that, doing my best to sound stoned.
His head darts from one caught limb to another. "Noooooooo..." Wham. He tries to bounce. Thrashes.
Stops. Tries to pull his legs up, toward his belly. Lifts his head.
"Hey!" he finally says. "My... f-feet."
"Yes?"
He grits his teeth, straining to shove his body down and off the bench. "Really caught my feet. And my toes too?" Hell, I'm glad I made time to untangle the toe-rings...
I can't help but snicker at him.
"Bastard."
"Bare feet. Now, are you sure you can't move 'em any more than that?"
His eyes get huge. From bad to worse, huh? "Oh, now - c'mon!"
"And what's gonna happen, jock? Very soon? Sounds like the answer's bouncing around in there."
He shakes his head quickly, trying to arch. Oh, hell, or kick. Rotate his arms. But aaaaw, nothing's working. He's doomed. The realization couldn't be clearer, to watch the expressions slide across his face. "No. NO! Hey, need help here!"
"Think anybody's gonna hear you? I promise that's not gonna happen. And I've got lots of rope. More straps. If you can even manage to snap one of these -"
"Why? Oh, fuck, not - don't do this," he pants. "I'll give you anything. Take my car. I'll tell you my PIN number, I'll tell you anything, just don't... don't..."
"You know what I want."
A whine-squeal. "Don't."
I bring the gloves down - within a couple inches of his belly. "Tell me why you can't... even... budge."
"Fuck you," he snaps, "I've gotta get outa heee-eeeeere."
"What's gonna happen? Say it. Nice and loud."
"Haaaaalllllp -"
"Say it."
He shakes his head. Wrestles with the notion. Looks at the door, sighs - and gives in. I see the actual moment he decides to say the word, still miserably haunted by the idea. Defeated, and trying to prepare for something absolutely unbearable.
"Don't tickle me."
"Oh, Jase, that's for posers. What you can take deserves a whole different name. Heh heh."
"Listen. Please," he sighs. "I'm gonna lose my mind if you even touch my feet, I sw-"
"I already did that lightweight tickling - on you. Making sure you'd be receptive. And then you were nice enough to lie here as I anchored your arms... almost as if you knew what was coming."
Blink. Another blink. Five wonderfully perfect seconds pass.
He was catching on nicely.
"No no noooooo," and he's thrashing, screeching, utterly wild to get loose. "Oh, you are a mindfucker," he pants. "This isn't happening. This has got to be a nightmare or something."
"Now what kind of tickling," I say brightly, "would call for such heavy restraints?"
Another pause. Shorter. "Nooooo hooo hoo hoo-ooooo," he begs, head rolling with bewilderment. I seriously doubt he even knows he's laughing already.
"And your dick's right out there, so easy t-"
"HAAAAALLLLLP!" and then he dissolves into miserable laughter again.
"Yeah, I'd say you earned a couple tokes," I tell him. "Before I start the victory laps."
He resists the joint for a few seconds, growls and loads up.
"Can't hurt," I tell him. If it doesn't make him more ticklish, one of the pills I have here will probably do the trick. "Easy, there."
"Huh. Like you're gonna keep it nice and easy? My clothes are gone, dammit."
I move a glove right over his face, pointing at his forehead. "You can take it. I'm gonna go fierce, and make you roar like a tornado. But that's not the main attraction here, jock. I'll go deep. Easy workout, on the spots where it's most effective. I take my time. Expand the impact all the way through... but you still won't be able to deal with it. Track it all, really feel it all. Not thoroughly. Long nights, all over Jase, and the days will seem downright sleepy. I got it all covered. Dozens of toys. Tune these muscles even more. Whoooo!"
Two gloves right over his feet, and two gloves over his pits. To start - he sucked on that reefer pretty hard. I may get some help from the THC here.
"Pair after pair, coming for me. Yeah?"
"Uh-huh."
Since he's watching the fingers near his right armpit, I move 'em down and in. Press, rock 'em a little - and start to drag 'em light and slow.
Jase tenses right up, gritting his teeth. He shakes his head sadly. It seems to be a surprise that I'm actually following through. Oh yeah, howler, it's on.
Left armpit - and he grabs a quick breath, cackling it right back out. He's determined to break the straps. His laughter continues, despite attempts to rein it back in or be silent.
Wrestling with the restraints is interspersed with the defeated rocking of his head. He can't yet believe it's actually happening, or that he's so vulnerable to the amplified pleasure.
Contact - the other gloves introduce themselves to his soles at a good clip.
Barking crazy laughs, he can't move enough to slow me down at all.
I start another pair on his gut and chest. Slow and easy, to find the hot spots. The reaction from tickling his pecs is hysterical. I'll spend hours on his belly-button, neck and the patch between gut and groin.
His knees have just as much potential. I'm confirming the best targets and considering which tools will provoke each of them with unbearable fun. Scritching under his knees with full-contact, meandering strokes has him trying to handle the impact by roaring loud, freezing up, flailing to escape my straps or any combination of these responses and others.
Between his toes might be more sensitive than his soles. I've got plenty of time to confirm that. More gloves for this one - his package, and his butt. He's too distracted to fight as hard or howl, and that's a good very sign for long, full nights of stimulation he can't fully comprehend.
When I have ten gloves rocking on him for a galvanizing half-hour, it seems like break-time now will maximize this starting session. Water, decent beer - which is resisted until my firm foot-squeezing reminds him who's calling the shots here - and then another slow-and-easy start with four confident hands, tickling and exploring, confirming and testing just about everywhere I can reach...
There is no obvious reason why he should be so fuckin' fascinating. But I quit doubting myself a long time ago.
He gave me that subconscious reaction that foretells major capacity-jumps - the tendency to become aware of the tickling far more than he will be tonight. An enormous increase, just a few days from now, and that will recalibrate every few days.
Learning what he feels "most" and wasting no time exploiting it are why he's... perfectly restrained. I love every strap, each cuff. Pressing into the skin just enough, no rotating or shifting allowed. No matter what.
Decent muscle, held in check...
Chance of him breaking loose and getting away from me? Getting past the locked door? Of anyone finding out he's here? Zero.
He's not going to evade a single finger, or hurt himself, or be allowed to black out. Not a chance. I have a nuclear reactor of ticklishness strapped down, here. I have more techniques I want to use than I can possibly try before he needs to sleep...
Luckily, he'll be here for more fun tomorrow. And so on!
He's in better shape than my last conquest. Lean him down just a little more - with hard, hysterical work - and these abs are really gonna pop. Really, he oughta take a good look at himself the day after I cut him loose and thank me. The chicks will get wet just laying eyes on him.
And in the meantime, I get to tickle just as much and as intricately as I want.
I'm already thinking about picking up some more cases of food for this one. After he's shaved - oh, fuck, it's gonna be fireworks time.
28jan23