Serious, diehard... ambition. He feels a heady, feverish drive in the room. More focused than - well, like no one he's ever met. Focus! Determination, not a desperate thing like hunger. Calm and sure, but the wildest... satisfaction, contentment. Excitement - yet completely in control.
"Shut that ol' door good and hard!"
Wham! Heavy door, just behind him. A tug - they're pulling off the blindfold.
Nobody there. Then who said that? He's still looking around frantically -
"Alright."
Big bed, the gloves that kidnapped him, nobody... else. He's alone.
A bulge at each corner of the mattress. Straps ?
He steps back, twisting in the handcuffs. Hears a sinister chuckle or two...
Turning around fast - and seeing satin. A glove between his face and the door, another about chest-level. Others, too. The same impossible hands that jumped him, clamped on to his ribs and held his wrists behind his back, handcuffing him while he flailed and giggled. The kerchief was pulled over his eyes, and they opened his car door, shoved him behind the wheel - Driving maybe a half-hour. Crickets chirping here, smell of cow shit...
"C'mon in. Set a spell."
Gloves take hold of his arms, and he tries to throw 'em off. "Who - where are ya?," he yells.
"Kick back," the voice says. Real happy.
They're dragging him toward the bed. Fraying sheet, under canvas cuffs. Sheepskin or something lining 'em -
"Take yer boots off." More chuckling, a very unnerving tone.
A few more gloves come and latch on to his boots.
"Fuck, lemme go," he barks.
"No, no... dammit, no," he chants. Pulls hard - there's a lot of slack in the tie-downs -
"Can't have ya hurtin' yourself, now."
And the strap-ends rise up, taut now - ratcheting sounds -
His arms are forced down to the sheet. Wrists up, and out... legs spreading.
Hopeless. Can't fuckin move.
"Comfy?"
"No!"
Scared. And not of the... unknown, either. He knows what they're gonna do. He can feel it. Intense, oh shit, and he can't budge...
Gloves are in the air. Overhead, must be twenty of 'em. Waiting. New, uncreased - he had a jacket that was shiny like that. Satin.
No seams... How the hell do ya make something that looks like that? - Oh, wait, between the fingers. Sewn inside, maybe... as if the fingers were one solid piece of fabric. Except there's no wrinkles. This doesn't make any sense -
So shiny. Frightening. They'll slide -
He gulps. No. Stifles a groan.
Every curve smooth, no flat spots, or lopsided fingers. Hadda take a hell of a long time to make one of these. And there's twenty. Over him. Brand new -
He looks at his bare chest... his underwear... the wool poking out from the cuff that holds his left ankle. The strap pinning his other foot. The whole length of his sides. So vulnerable.
A layer of black satin gloves... big, soft... pushy. Made for this, just fo-
He shakes his head a little and tries to pull his legs up. Tries as hard as he can. Twenty -
The canvas creaks faintly. Giving it all he's got, and his feet barely turn. So much for busting loose... Shit, they're gonna do this, definitely gonna do him -
"No. Aw... fuck -"
"As in, fuck, those hands are gonna keep me howlin' night and day, or I'm stayin' right the fuck here while they keep raising the bar... or is it nothing's gonna stop 'em while they fuck with me? Or, I'm royally fuc-"
"Shut up, dammit!"
"Or... let's get this fuckin' show... on the road." Low, badass chuckles.
The gloves - no!
Coming. So slowly. They're g-
Oh no. "Oh - shit!"
"Not yet, but real soon," it says, chortling. "Hoooo. Don't worry 'bout a thing. Yer job, dude, is... well, you don't have one. Work's all done. Now it's time to play. Hard. You just... do what comes naturally." Snickering -
"No, aw please, I mean it," he wails, trying to shift around, "you'll fuckin' kill me, I-"
Another snort. "Right. You wish. No, you're gonna be in better shape than you ever saw coming, count on it."
They're - oh, fuck -
"Oh, you'll be hurtin' afterward," the voice continues. Gloves are closer than ever now, checking the knots. Tugging 'em this way and that. I'm tryin' to watch 'em all... "No voice. Seriously sore muscles. Arms, legs, sides. Nothing permanent, though. Gotta have skittish animals like you up and around, good n' strong, there for the taking -"
"You're fuckin crazy!"
A lazy snort. "Oh yeah? Who's tied down, here?"
He opens his mouth, but can't come up with a reply... at least, not one that's gonna do any good.
"Sick asshole," he mumbles. Oh, great comeback.
But it's not true. Sick, yeah, but not a - well, despite the voice there's no sign of a... human, here. Shit. It's just real obvious - no breathing, no smells... I'd be panicking if -
Hey.
"How the hell do I know you're gonna let me go?"
Another snort. Fainter, like an audible grin. "You don't."
Oh. Shit.
"But if you use yer head, dude, you know why it's a hell of a lot better if you're back on the prowl, when we're through?" Quiet, meaty chuckles.
What? Later?
"No," he says, kinda... pleading.
"Something to look forward to, ace. You bet. Tonight, though, we got shit to do. Flat on yer back, for now. Getcha warmed up. Heh."
The gloves - zeroing in. Little crowds... feet, legs, sides. Belly. They're itchin' to get at me, he thinks, intimidated by the hollowness of the feeling. They strapped me down, so they can... tickle the everlovin' shit out of me, and I'm gonna stay right here 'cause I can't bust loose. In bumfuck county.
While they kick my ass.
"Now let's just see who's the psycho, here."
This is gonna be bad, he thinks, dry-mouthed. Dogmeat.
"Where to start," the voice muses. "Hmmmm..."
He watches the hands move gracefully toward his toes, armpits, belly. I'll pass out or something. It can't be that bad -
"Say again?"
He starts, eyes even wider.
"What?"
"You were mumbling. Couldn't make it out."
Fingers all but grasping his sides, and soles, and knees -
"None of your fuckin' business," he snaps. Nuthin' to lose, might as well give 'em what for... "You may get me laughin' for a little while, but then I'll be numb before you even know it and hey you get the fuck away get away from my nipples, you hear me -"
Hearty yuks, from the voice. "Well, looks like we got ourselves a winner." A pair of hands shifted position, fingers spread out and ready to wrap around his pecs, and his nips are right in the center of all that satin. Any second now -
"No! Look, c'mon, I... You can't do this - please, I'll do a-"
The gloves freeze. "Easy, easy."
"Ple-" Stall 'em, just -
A brief pause. Then, almost kindly, "You wanna cigarette?"
He remembered to exhale. "More'n you know."
"Well," the voice says, "That's just too bad."
Clamp - All of 'em. Same instant, taking hold.
He squirms like an eel. Trying to keep fr-
"WwaaaAAAAaaah hah hah haaaaAAAAaah!..."
Fuckin' straps. Solid-
The satin rides gently, making contact with entire palms and... fingers... Sweeping irregular paths all up and down his sides, and his arches, digging under his knees.
He's a laughing machine now, continuous and hearty, helpless, maddened, trying to wrestle and failing in the attempt...
25apr97