Ian looked around the small, dark room. He had no idea where he was. Or why -
Trying to sit up, he discovered the stocks. His feet. His boots were gone, and he couldn't move his legs. His arms were strapped down. Down by his sides, and wrapped at the edge of the bench. Someone had... caught him.
But that wasn't right either. He racked his brain for a clue. Why? He tried to imagine his kidnappers, and couldn't come up with any images. Someone had to carry him in here and... And...
Not someone. That felt wrong. Ian couldn't figure anything out. The idea that he should know what was going on dogged him.
There was a sound in front of him. Echoing...
A door, squeaking as it opened. Wood dragging over rock. Ian fought the urge to speak, and pulled harder with his trapped hands.
After a pause, the door closed. Metal rasped as it was locked. He couldn't detect anyone in the room with him.
There was a scratching sound. Familiar -
A match lit. It hung in midair, all by itself. Ian stared, forgetting to struggle - something familiar about that, even as he told himself it wasn't possible. It didn't scare him, somehow. Fascinating. Meaningful.
It dipped... to light a candle. Huge block of wax, with golden letters sunk in it, odd letters. The candlelight played across the moist black walls of the cell. It sat on a table, beyond his feet. Next to it was a large black chest -
Something else moved. He strained to see... his cigarettes. Moving. The pack opened, and one slid out, went to the match. The end turning slowly in the hottest part of the flame.
Ian started pulling again.
At last the match was dropped. The cigarette came up to him. The movement - the magic - was so familiar. He watched it, trying hard to remember, and forgot to resist. Then it was at his mouth.
Ian hesitated. The feeling of deja vu was unbelievable. He didn't see anything to be gained by refusing, and he wanted more time to bust out of the straps. He leaned forward and bit down on it, took a drag.
His arms were caught good. And the stocks, they were impossible. What reason would there be to get his feet out there? The scent of the candle hit him, even through the smoke. Odd, and yet he knew that smell. It made him nervous. Fully awake, and ready for... something.
A click made him look up. The chest - it was opening. More clicks, and then the lid, swinging up, toward him. Slow and dramatic, making him wait. At least now he'd find out what was going on. He sucked in smoke, and watched the chest lid.
A curve appeared. Flat, circular, the size of a bracelet. A black ring -
No one will find out.
Ian blinked at the thought, mystified. He looked at the thick circle, levitating straight up. And another thought hit home... Hidden away. Perfectly hidden.
It was too big for a ring, too small for a bracelet. When it reached the top of the open lid, it came to rest. He watched it land, absolutely certain there was zero chance anyone would become aware he was... down here, wherever it was. Locked in. In stocks -
Another ring appeared.
Time is no longer relevant.
Well, what the fuck. Ian smoked, and made himself look at the first ring - no one will know, no one will interrupt - then at the second metal loop. He knew, beyond any doubt, that there was no time limit here. Days, weeks. The pace and duration were out of his hands.
When the ring landed, the next one cruised up. Intensity. Grueling, full-strength exertion.
Ian's stomach tightened up, and his cock started to get hard. His mouth was watering...
The fourth ring reminded him of skill. Unwavering care. Complete awareness of his needs, thorough oversight. A complete absence of neglect.
Then there was pleasure - but not for him. Lusty enjoyment... involving him, in some way he couldn't grasp. Delight with a real hard edge, stronger than he could believe. He was in for it - and he was going to deliver.
But... what? It eluded him.
The last ring made him freeze in mid-exhale. Ownership. He wasn't his own man anymore. Not in here. Not for an indefinite time. He was... property. A plaything.
A toy that was going to see a helluva lot of use.
Ian's cigarette was pulled from his lips. He was barely aware of it going, as he looked at the rings. They were stacked in a little pyramid, where he could look at them. The messages hit home as his eyes traveled from one to the other...
A soft rustling sound. Something else - it was a big chest. He wondered what else was in it. Then it hit him hard - he'd find out. Sure as shit.
There - strings? He looked harder. Thin straps. A bunch of 'em. Ian squirmed harder, utterly baffled.
As they sank out of view, the strips of leather began to separate. A few seconds later, Ian felt one looping around his right big toe.
He kicked for all he was worth, but the stocks only vibrated. That was it. Very discouraging. They were built to last. Soft leather had a grip on his ankles, and the wood held him snug. What would be happening that called for stocks like these? This cell? What the fuck was inside that chest?
The strap pulled his toe back. Not far enough to hurt... There were slight pulls, as the ends were knotted or fastened. He tested it as his other big toe was caught.
It was driving him crazy. Toes pulled back - restrained - that had to be a big hint. Hands and feet caught, and it wasn't a new feeling, not exactly. But he couldn't fathom what was going on.
There were more straps for his little toes. When they were in place, he could hardly wiggle his feet. That wasn't just for show. Perfectly snug, but not uncomfortable. That suggested a lot of experience.
Ian looked around the cell, and at the symbols on the candle. He studied the pyramid of rings, one by one.
Privacy, no rush, hard work, full service, barbaric fun, full control.
Another object was shown to him. The lack of recognition was maddening. He just didn't get it...
Pheasant? Maybe. A big pheasant.
The feather was joined by several others. Ian looked at them, not believing he was so fuckin' clueless. What the hell were they for?
Ten of them lined up over the stocks. Another cigarette was brought to his mouth. He took it distractedly and sucked it to life, looking from the feathers to the rings.
After another minute, the feathers sank down. The stocks hid them from his view.
Ian took one more long drag and kept on pulling. No fuckin' idea. He looked at the rings -
Something brushed the sole of his left foot.
Even though there was nothing to see, he stared at the stocks. It had to be one of the feathers. Then, on his right foot too, a light brushing sensation. It sorta tickled.
Both feet.
Tickled?
"Oh... no," he said, kicking out smoke.
The feathers kept moving. And there were ten of 'em.
This just can't be, he told himself. The cell, the stocks. Feathers. A whole chest, there. Looking around frantically, he stared at the rings - and their messages came right back into his head...
More feathers started in. His toes.
He laughed. Oh no. Started pulling like a madman, and dropped the cigarette. And he chuckled. Hard and desperate.
"No," he growled, laughing away.
Feather-points landed on his heels.
"Nuh huh huh haaah haaah aaaah haaah hwhuh no no oh please pleeeeeeze pleeeeee heee heee hee aaaaaawwwwwaaah hah haah ho haaaaaaw..."
Just can't be.
He held onto that thought for a long time.
The feathers tickled faster, and then they crawled. Testing all the spots on the bottoms of his feet. The sides, under the heels. And he laid there, laughing his ass off, kicking until he couldn't kick anymore. Still caught in the stocks. Hands still strapped down. Yeah, he was really in for it...
Tears streamed down his cheeks. He looked at the stocks, but couldn't see the action. Glancing toward the chest, he could only make out a dark blob on top of the open lid. But the rings' messages kept taunting him whenever he looked in their direction. Clear as ever. The thoughts were strong and clear - slamming thought the chaos in his head ever since the feathers had started in on him. He had no idea how long ago that was.
Ian had no idea how long it would be, either.
When he wasn't ticklish anymore, the feathers would stop... Right? But this setup wasn't too encouraging. They knew their business.
Aw fuck, he thought, as he howled at the stone ceiling. He couldn't take much more of this.
When he realized the tickling had stopped, he caught his breath gratefully. It was over. Maybe. He talked himself into opening his eyes.
A crock was in front of him. It moved closer, and he saw liquid inside it. He was thirsty...
It was wine, maybe. Or water with something exotic added to it. He guzzled it anyway. It quenched his thirst, and woke him up.
When it had floated away, Ian squinted hopefully. He glanced at the rings, and heard their taunts again in his head -
The feathers started back in.
He arched, yelling his laughter. Outraged roars of joy.
The feathers didn't hold back at all.
Sweating, flailing, he felt more awake than he had since waking up. Something... in the water. Spiked? Keep him alert. Reactive.
All he could do was shake his head. Laughing too hard to beg, which didn't change anything anyway. The tickling continued. Ian tried to pull himself together to make a last massive assault on the straps.
The feathers didn't pause. He whooped with frustration. The level of sensation slamming through him was definitely more than he could keep up with. It was unbelievable.
It went on like it was never gonna end.
But there was more water. At some point he found himself chewing. Cold meat. Turkey, maybe. Suddenly he was starving - he tore meat off the bone savagely. He looked at the rings, as he chewed. Had to keep up his energy. The tickling had barely begun.
He drank more water, and grimaced at the dark stain on his jeans. He'd pissed himself. And there was shit between his legs. That made him mad -
But the feathers landed again, and he had other things to think about. The stocks looked just the same, despite the flopping and kicking. The rings sat there, shouting their simple facts.
Ian laughed hopelessly, getting hoarse.
That didn't matter either. The feathers kept going after his voice was gone. He laughed anyway. The tickling was just as horrible.
Time crawled by. Water, now and then. And the feathers.
Hours piled up, and the tickling started over and over again.
He hooted and howled, but the stocks held him tight.
The rings chanted at him, scoffing, making sure he wouldn't forget.
20apr02