Something real weird was going on here...
O.D. didn't believe it at first. Just some bullshit they'd lay on the new guys. Then he saw it for himself - Red Karl, a real bastard, big and mean. He was on the end of a row, maybe fifty feet away. O.D. looked over and saw them. Just there, all of a sudden. Ready to pounce. Six gloves, empty, that dirty-white color... shining in the morning sun. Before O.D. could even say anything, they locked onto Karl's arms, sliding up inside his shirt. A palm wrapped over his mouth...
Karl tried to struggle, but they had him tight. So apeshit, he looked almost like he was a puppet, gettin' thrown all around. He ended up on his knees, then flat on the ground. Trying to kick, and scream...
He couldn't get away from the gloves. When that finally sank in - the biggest guy there, and he was stuck - O.D. started to go over, and help... but the gloves, they scared the shit out of him. Things like that didn't really exist. Impossible. But there they were. He couldn't take on six... hands -
And just then, the gloves picked Karl up and took him over the fence, into the trees. There were caves out there, O.D. found out later.
They took him there and tickled the shit out of him all day, dumping him back on the field before it was time to go back. And fuck - everybody knew about 'em. The gloves. Well, some guys didn't care... but it was easy enough to tell who was afraid of those strong, mean gloves. The ticklish ones, like O.D. Scared shitless.
The warden didn't buy it. Neither did the guards. They shook their heads, rolling their eyes at each other. Sure, sure. And that was even weirder, somehow.
A guy could disappear all day, like Red Karl, and they didn't notice? Trying to get 'em to help didn't work - it was like they were hypnotized or something. They swore up and down there was no trustee by that name...
A couple days later, after dinner, the word came down. Octavio got it. Fuckers hauled him down to the old storeroom under the laundry. How they got him in there, nobody knew - the doorway was walled off - but they were sure. He was fucked with all night...
O.D. didn't sleep too well after that. Seeing the storeroom in his nightmares. Or the cave. From the inside. The idea of being held down and tickled hard was so fuckin' horrendous he couldn't stand to think about it for too long, but it kept dogging him. Maybe because he'd never been tickled for more than a few seconds. All night - shit...
He thought about running - the opposite direction from the cave. But he just wanted to finish his time and be done with it, get the fuck outa here. Fuckin' gloves, appearing all of a sudden, like magic. Out in the fields - or in the same building he was stuck in. Damn.
It went on like that for a week, and another week. O.D. stuck close to the T.V. room, and he made sure he wasn't on the end of a row when they went out to work the crops. No way he wanted to end up like Karl - or Octavio. They both looked bad, ever since. Like hunted animals. Maybe ten guys crept around the place with that doomed look on their faces - the ones who'd been grabbed. A fat black guy disappeared for a day, and then he had that fucked-over look too.
Then a couple more weeks passed, and O.D. didn't worry about it as much. He smoked a joint with some new guys, and no magic hands came and kidnapped him, so he decided he'd just keep being careful. Word around the dorm was that a real bad tickling was coming to somebody, since it had been so long...
A few more days went by. TV sucked. Two guys came in the room, laughing. They'd been smokin', and O.D. looked over. Saw the pack in Vince's pocket. Camels.
From that point on, he wanted one. Couldn't get it out of his mind. He thought about it, and realized he hadn't smoked since the day Karl got grabbed. Finished that pack, and no way in hell he was gonna go out behind the dumpster at night. Huh-uh.
But it got so bad that he couldn't concentrate on the fuckin' T.V. When Vince yawned and got up, he asked suddenly if he could bum a smoke. Vince looked at him, and grinned slowly, nodding. Shook out a couple cigs and made O.D. promise to pay 'em back.
He patted his jeans for matches, and was out the door like a shot. Holding the cigs made it worse. He lit one up and tugged hard. It really hit the spot. He'd missed the feel of it. Ejecting his second drag nice and slow, he picked a shred of tobacco off his tongue, and looked out at the treeline.
He felt good. Five more months and they'd cut him loose, and then probation. Buy all the fuckin' smokes he wanted. Camel shortys. Yeah...
At some point he lit the other smoke off the old one, and kept on walking. Took a good, long drag.
Walking? O.D. looked around. He was out by the woodpile. Walked way out from the buildings. Huh. He started back...
And they appeared!
Between him and safety, there were hands in the air. Waiting for him to step on up. Then they'd grab him and start in. Start tickling.
O.D. froze. He felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. Ticklish, he thought. They know, they're fuckin' sure, and here I am way out here. Nobody's gonna know. Tickled. I'm fucked. Tickled real hard. I can't take it -
"No," he said to the gloves. "You can't." He looked past 'em, but nobody else was in sight. Oh, fuck. He was dyin' to cut right and make a break for the back door. No way he'd make it. They had him. So fucked...
Stalling for time, so he could think of some way out of this, he planted his work boots in the dirt and ate smoke. His hand was shaking. Here it was. They were gonna tickle him, and it was gonna be bad. All night? He couldn't even start to picture it.
He blew smoke at 'em...
And as soon as he emptied his lungs, the fuckers jumped him. Took him down. His work boots tripped over each other, and he landed on his ass. The magic hands clamped around his upper arms and pinned 'em to the ground.
Others pulled his t-shirt out of his jeans. This can't be happening, he had time to think, not this shit. Some other jerk-off, but not me -
Fingers squeezed his ribs. He squealed, and that embarrassed him. It was bad, it was like electric shocks or something. "No, no, help -"
But his yelling died down... 'cause he just had to laugh.
Fingers poked in his armpits, and he fuckin' howled. But he didn't even get to finish that howl. A glove came and covered his mouth. It felt cold, and slippery.
The gloves rubbing him were slick, too. They crawled and rubbed all over his sides, and he was goin' crazy. Surely he could throw off a few empty gloves - right? He tried to sit up, but the tickling in his armpits made it impossible to move like he wanted to. When he raised an arm a little, the gloves slammed it back in the dirt. Hollering laughs and throwing his head around didn't shake the glove that was over his mouth.
It had to stop. Nothing was as important as making them stop it, right now. They were gonna kill him if they didn't stop. He felt like he was watching a really intense horror movie. Fighting all-out, and he couldn't get away. It was so much worse than he'd imagined...
O.D. felt something different. No tickling. Something else, too. It took him a long time to place where it was -
His eyes flew open. He tried to roll, and found the gloves weren't holding his arms anymore. They were by his hands. Something tightened, and then his arms wouldn't move.
They - no. No! That was rope. The mutherfuckers had tied him down.
"Aw, no," he yelled, pleading. It came out loud - that glove was gone too. He tried to kick his legs, but they were tied too. They'd kill him. Tickled to death -
A loop pulled across his mouth. Thick. A couple strands of rope, maybe three, and they were using it as a gag. O.D. snapped like a madman, but the rope was holding. No, no way, they just didn't get it. Some other guy maybe, but not him. He'd go nuts!
Gloves finished pulling on the knots... and floated over him. His shirt was up part of the way, leaving his belly open. Fuck, no. Can't be happening. Tied down like a fuckin' piece of meat -
But they kept moving. Finally, they stopped - at his boots. Went down, and started untying the laces.
"Nuuuh! Fuuuuh nuuuuh whuh nnnnnnnnuh nnuuuh!," O.D. yelled. The rope was scratchy on his tongue. He tried everything he could, and it didn't change a fuckin' thing. The gloves took his boots off, and his socks.
All he could do was shake his head, back and forth, grinding the topsoil into his hair.
A finger slid up his left sole. He chuckled immediately, from deep in his throat, like a little explosion he couldn't stop, and there was no better proof he could've handed 'em than that. The fuckers. Check, one ticklish son of a bitch here, tied and gagged. They're really gonna do this, and he can't get away from 'em...
More fingers touched his helpless feet. Pressing, sliding. Wide strokes. Clamping, gently, above his heels.
O.D. bucked hard and shuddered. Without planning to, he snagged a huge breath and yelled his response. Giving the gloves his best fuckin' roars, to reward 'em. And he couldn't stop laughing, any more than he could keep from trying to pull his feet up, or kick 'em out to the sides. Anything, anything, to get away from the tickling.
They had his feet in their grip, and too many fingers kept rubbing. He was apeshit. Couldn't do anything about it. Fuckers knew they had him... and they were just getting started.
They slid back under his shirt and worked hard.
He laid there, gasping for air. So tired. Couldn't think, everything was fuzzy...
When he could breathe normally, the gloves started again.
O.D. lunged around frantically, as they fuckin' drilled his feet. Rubbed his sides. He was howling again, but the rope-gag really quieted it down. Another round, and the last one was unbelievable, and they were goin' at it again. No one was going to know he was down here, their latest fuckin' toy. Somebody might even hear, and be afraid to do anything. They wouldn't want to be next.
Well, fuck that. They got me, he thought wildly. Can't believe all this, how much it... I feel it, so much, too much. On and on they go. Tickle that fucker, he's all ours.
He tried to shake his head again, and hooted like he was stoned. Out of his mind.
They'd let him rest, and sometimes they made him drink water.
And then it was on again.
The gloves didn't get tired. They didn't stumble. The best fuckin' tickling hands, magic gloves with one ticklish animal in their grip.
O.D. was too tired to wrestle around anymore. He whooped and squealed for 'em, wishing that he could at least pass out.
But the breaks kept coming...
And then more tickling. Over and over.
It was... lighter. Daylight, O.D. thought. Finally. Free -
He tried moving his hands, and couldn't. Not free. Not over. Oh fuck, no. They're not done. I'm...
Maybe I'm dreaming. They let guys go. Eventually.
They wouldn't... keep tickling, longer than a day. Would they?
Well, why the hell not?
He opened his eyes.
There was a cement ceiling. Cinderblock walls. Little lights were pointed at him. His clothes were gone.
He'd never seen the room before in his life.
There was a door behind him. Dark wood, closed.
Leather cuffs hid his wrists. And his ankles. He was on some kind of pad - foam rubber, maybe - covered with a weird sheet. Rubber. Like rubber gloves.
He started pulling at the cuffs, knowing way down in his gut that they were gonna hold just fine.
The gloves had moved him. Put him someplace where they could -
No way.
No fuckin' way.
He looked around. This place... a room custom-made for... for...
Laugh it up. Scream. Beg for mercy. No one's gonna know.
No one's... gonna know.
The gloves appeared, suddenly. Just like that. A dozen.
Two dozen. Magic, and empty.
"Noooooooooo..." O.D. whimpered.
The closer ones just hung out, above him. Over his naked body. They could be on him in less than a second, diggin' in. He squirmed in the cuffs. Perfectly screwed.
From beyond the pad, the gloves cruised up. Holding stuff...
They fed him energy bars, and followed that with two big bottles of water.
One carried a pack of Camels. He stared, as another glove helped tear it open. He was too stunned to move - not until the cigarette was tapped against his lip. Couldn't be smart, to go along...
And the fact hit him like a baseball bat - didn't fuckin' matter. Not in the least. He was their toy. They'd make him do what they wanted. Nobody was gonna stop 'em - sure as hell not him.
He took the Camel. A glove dragged a match on the cement floor, and gave him a light. First of many, he thought, sucking in. More than he could count, maybe. If they wanted.
More gloves came closer - with bottles.
They oiled him up. Rubbing as lightly as possible... but he still laughed so hard he kept dropping his cigarette. It didn't matter. They kept lighting new ones.
Then there were the razors...
By the time they got him oiled up again, and brought more water, he was a wreck. All sweaty, and he'd pissed himself. They just mopped it up and kept on going.
When he'd smoked about his tenth cigarette, half of the gloves disappeared - the ones holding shit. All the close ones, posing there above him, they stayed close by.
One moved - and papers appeared in its grip. Letters, or something. It snapped 'em open, and floated down, bringing them in front of his face. O.D. lifted his head, reading...
Transfer. They looked real, the papers did. Legit. Warden's name at the bottom, and a signature.
Special work detail. "TIC Program." Real funny...
He shook his head, and looked around his new home. So it was official. They'd done the fuckin' paperwork, hypnotized the warden or whatever the fuck they did - and the office guy - and transferred his ass. Got him where they can tickle him as long as they want -
The papers disappeared.
And the gloves headed on down.
O.D. lunged hard, starting to squeal. He worked himself up to yelling, over and over, as the fingers landed. No t-shirt in the way now. No jeans. The gloves laid heavily on his belly. Sides, armpits, knees - oh fuck, not there too - and they took hold of his feet almost tenderly. One slid behind his neck, and the last one wrapped around his nuts.
He looked around, one more time. They just held him. Why... Was there some chance left? Any way - anything, oh fuck - he could call 'em off? Stop 'em?
"Nooooooo," he wailed desperately -
The tickling started.
Stronger. The oil. It was unbelievably stronger than before. The first few seconds had him roaring. Just crazy-sounding.
First few seconds of a long time. Double the gloves, maybe more than that. Safe room. Long, long, long fuckin' time. All the time in the world. Days and weeks and months of it, if they want. Tickling. Hard tickling. Like this.
2002