Chuck laid on the bed and lit a cigarette.
He had almost a week left until he had to go back to work. He looked around the motel room and sighed, glad to finally relax after the drive -
Something flitted down his side.
He looked, but didn't see anything. A moth?
Shrugging, he got the remote and turned on the TV. Flicking through channels, smoking -
The sensation returned. It seemed like... a finger. Pressing high on his ribs. Staying there.
He stared at his shirt -
And it started to move.
His cigarette was pulled from his fingers.
"Hey," he said.
The finger... multipled. Five fingers. Ten -
And they started landing on his other side.
"Hey -"
He heard a snap, like an appliance being turned on. And immediately, the room changed. Or rather, something in the room... It looked the same, but it felt different.
Chuck squirmed, but the fingers stayed there.
"Evening, Chuck."
"Uh. What?" His head swiveled, looking for the source of the voice -
Then he noticed something else. His own voice sounded different. Flatter. "Hello?" Definitely odd - "Stop. No... Help!"
"Nobody else can hear you now."
He thought about that one. Typical motel room. Thin walls... right?
"See for yourself."
After a pause, he took a deep breath. "Hey!" he shouted.
No reaction.
"Haaaaaaallllllppp!"
He listened. Nobody pounded on the wall. Not thirty seconds ago, he could hear the voices in the room next door, and the TV. Now, as he waited... no one came.
"Crazy," he said.
"No," the voice laughed. "Not yet. You're not imagining a thing..."
The fingers... started to move.
Tickling him!
"No oh no n-nah hah haw haw haaah hah helll haah halllllllllpp helllllaaaaaaahh aaah haaah haaaaaawwl..."
He threw himself around - and as he got close to the side of the bed, hands wrapped around his wrists and dragged him back to the center of the mattress. Others curled around his ankles, and spread him out. The fingers stopped moving.
When his laughter died down enough - so that he could hear it - the voice said, "Oh no, you don't."
"D-... Don't... w-what?"
"Get away from this."
"Somebody - haaaaallllpp..."
"Nobody's gonna find out."
"Lemme go!"
The fingers started in again.
He howled and tried to flop around. More hands pulled his t-shirt off, unbuttoned his jeans...
And took off his boots.
Slowly, his socks were pulled off...
And then his underwear.
The fingers paused. It took him a few seconds for his snickering to die down.
"Get this man a diaper."
By the time he realized what was said - it was being pulled under him. Big cotton diaper. Duct tape held it together, at the sides.
"You've got it bad," the voice said. Very happy.
"No -"
"You're ticklish. You got any idea how long it's been? Since we got hold of a guy - who'd rather die than be tickled? Fuck. You're in for a wild time..."
The fingers started back in... and they began to roam. His belly. Up in his armpits.
Chuck squealed and whooped. He arched, and bucked, and tried to slither in all directions. But his limbs were pinned, and they didn't move. He kept looking at the door, which should have opened by now. Or so he thought. The people in the room next door had to have called the front desk...
The minutes went by. As the fingers explored new areas, the sensation increased. He'd never been tickled like this. It was impossible. His thighs - and his neck! Unbearable. The fingers stroked and petted - then palms slid over his ribs, and kept doubling back...
Tears of pleasure dripped into his ears. The tickling made it impossible for him to think clearly...
"That was a fun warm-up," the voice said.
He panted for breath. Finally, he realized the fingers weren't moving.
"Lemme... go. Please."
"Restraints."
Suddenly - he felt them. Snug, even pressure around his wrists, his ankles.
Black leather.
Matching straps trailed off the corners of the mattress, pulled tight.
"There," the voice said, full of approval.
The fingers started tickling again.
He roared and hooted. Then he begged for it to stop. It was impossible for Chuck to get the words out, but he tried anyway. Obviously, it wasn't going to do any good... but he had to try. Even knowing the tickling would continue, he couldn't help himself.
The fingers slid down his legs, and up to his hands. Some reached further under his back. They tested his hips and really laid into his knees...
"Yeeee-eah," the voice gloated.
"N-no..."
"Don't you hate it? Is this just way too much tickling, or what?"
"Yes! Oh yeah, th-"
"Bzzzzt. Rhetorical question."
Chuck blinked tears out of his eyes, and looked around - at nothing.
"The answer doesn't matter," the voice explained.
"What? Please -"
"We love it. So much fun."
"Nooooo!"
The hands started tickling again.
Either there were more fingers... or the impact had multiplied.
Chuck laughed until he was hoarse.
It took a while.
"Chuck. Dude."
He gasped for air.
"You okay?"
Fingers slipped into his hair, and pulled his head back.
"You're gonna do just fine," the voice reassured him. "Gag."
A kerchief was there, in an instant. Cloth, on his tongue - another new experience.
The fingers let go of his hair.
"We have to convince you," the voice said slowly, "to allow us to leave with you."
His heart really started pounding.
"By the time we're done with you... you'll be eager to please. Beyond eager..."
He shook his head slowly.
"Rebellious, huh? We'll work that out of you. Soundproofing - off."
Another snap.
"And... let's start on one of the last two areas to explore."
The diaper didn't go anywhere. That could only mean -
Chuck squealed, long and loud, into the gag.
"Let's see. We'll start with... feathers."
Four of them. Big, white - and frightening. They started to move... right to his feet.
He yelled and squirmed.
"Oh yes, we will..."
The feathers started in - moving more quickly than the fingers.
Chuck screamed laugher. The gag was all too effective...
The session was impossibly long. Riveting. He couldn't think of anything else.
He was breathing too hard to hear. The voice said something -
His gag disappeared.
"Your voice is shot, Chuck. No chance of raising the alarm now."
Even his groan was faint.
"Finally. Now the real tickling starts."
He froze, when that sank in. Couldn't even fidget.
"Let's go. Feathers, brushes... and lots more fingers."
It got worse and worse.
He woke up because of the breeze. Nighttime.
Outside! Very good...
Staggering - being carried, almost. That was bad.
"What -?"
"It worked, Chuck. It worked!"
His car door was opening. "What -" No voice left. "What... worked?"
"Haven't you noticed?" the voice laughed. He was dumped on the car seat, and the door closed. The passenger-side door opened -
His suitcase landed on the seat, and that door closed. His keys were jingling.
"We're out. Of the room." The engine turned over.
Chuck didn't get it.
The car shifted and backed out. "You did it. We're free!"
"Didn't do... anything," he said, and then he had a coughing fit.
"Not on purpose," the voice chuckled. "But yeah. You did it. Walked yourself through the doorway, while we hung on. And here we are..."
"What now?" he rasped. His wrists were being held so he couldn't reach the steering wheel. Couldn't get his feet anywhere near the brake pedal, either.
"More of the same."
The car pulled out onto the dark highway.
"Noooooo," he wailed, ready to cry.
"Gonna find a place to really, properly thank you. For your help. That'll take a while. We're very grateful."
He shook his head.
Fingers came back - touching him, as he thrashed around - and they danced all up and down his sides.
05may02