JT didn't want to wake up. The thickness felt so good...
Morphine. Or codeine, maybe?
Naw, not exactly what he remembered. But damn, he didn't want to come out of it.
A while later he decided he was laying on his back. Softness under him - nice mattress. Not his? Maybe one of those expensive foam ones. Where did he go, after he left the bar? If the buzz hadn't been so fine JT would've started to worry.
Shifting around was puzzling too. He didn't seem to get anywhere. This was some good shit... His arms weren't exactly obeying him. Something like that.
But the high was so peaceful.
Low light. Dim, from the other side of the room.
His feet were bare.
That finally cut through the fog. Did he go home with somebody? That cute waitress? She wasn't caving in, last he knew -
And he'd given up on her. He remembered deciding to cut his losses, come back and try again another night. Off to Buck's, then, to either get his drunk on or see what poontang was available there. He wasn't this trashed when he walked out of there - a little light-headed, maybe, and in the mood for a joint. But his cigarettes would have to do.
So he must've hooked up with some chick after leaving Buck's. Didn't remember a damn thing. Blackout. First time for everything. He hoped he hadn't disappointed her.
The easy, fuzzy thickness didn't fit for either whiskey or pot, though...
A while later he yawned.
JT wanted a smoke -
He was distracted by his junk. Naked as a jaybird.
Damn, he liked the way his abs looked. It took so much work to get cut like this. Nobody gave him any back-talk, that was for damn sure.
He hadn't drank anywhere near enough to be end up that trashed. Would anyone have the stones to drug him?
Finally he decided a smoke was worth getting up for. He remembered the parking lot - leaning against the car, with a cigarette in his mouth, digging in his pocket... but there was his lighter, already out. Firing up. He leaned in to reach the flame, and realized he wasn't holding the lighter in either hand.
Spooky. Must've been a hallucination. A ghost helped him out, got his smoke lit...
Helped him get behind the wheel.
He yawned again.
What a weird dream. Something fascinating and worrisome too. Almost pushy. His lighter had come up more than once, while he rode home, just hanging there by itself so he could light one up.
Except he didn't make it home. Did he get laid last night? Sounded good. Round two would be alright by him.
He looked at his toes. Well, he slept in the raw. Pulling off his clothes before getting into bed was standard procedure. Or maybe somebody tucked him in. He snickered once at the thought. Sure. Invisible hands helped him out, maybe. Got him comfortable, just like they lit his smoke and pulled him behind the wheel.
What a weird thought. Stuff like that didn't happen.
He shook his head, with a quiet snort, and still felt woozy. He wondered if his jeans were next to the bed, where he usually dropped 'em. So he rolled in that direction -
No, JT didn't budge at all.
He looked at his left hand - then his right. Whoa. There were cuffs on him!
More straps held his thighs, waist and upper arms down tight.
For a few seconds he just laid there. This wasn't scarves or nylons. Someone really did a number on him.
"Not funny," he mumbled, starting to pull -
A door opened.
"Hey," he barked. "What the hell..."
Something large floated in. Definitely not being carried by a person. Nobody was there.
It looked like a big black pillowcase. One corner sagged lower than the other. It floated to JT and dropped on the bed between his stretched ankles.
"Who's doing that?" he said to the bag. "Get me out of these... things. Hey. Hello?"
The door closed.
He watched the bag move...
At first that made him jump. All he needed, stuck like that, was for a big ol' snake or something to slither out.
What he saw was worse.
Small things floated from the bag.
He stared as they got bigger. Filled out.
Dark hands.
"What is this?" he demanded.
They flexed once or twice... and slowly cruised toward his feet.
Okay. Enough weirdness. Time to go.
JT started pulling and kicking.
A minute later he had the weirdest thought. Wouldn't it be bizarre if he couldn't get loose?
Not long after that he started to get worried.
There wasn't enough slack to do anything. Pushing, turning, bringing his legs up - nothing worked.
"HEY! Get in here!"
No response. Feeling like a wimp, he took a big breath and yelled. "HAAAAAAALLLLP!" past the gloves.
Several more yells, and a few minutes of struggling with the restraints, didn't do anything except get him sweaty. Well, he was breathing harder too...
And the damn gloves just hung there. How could they do that? It was bizarre - like the lighter, last night.
There was no way he could've crashed that hard on whiskey and beer. Somebody must've dosed him. Got him here, strapped him down.
JT stared at the gloves. What the hell was their deal?
"I'm not okay with this," he said to them.
They disappeared -
No.
He felt the fingers laying down... on the center of his soles.
"What the hell?" he grunted. It was a good time to fight like crazy. There was no way he was going to put up with that shit. His feet could barely rock, much less push the gloves away, and his arms - well, that was real bad news, there. Down tight.
When he paused, getting ready to yell again, the fingers started to slide.
Time to pull, really hard, and get away...
"Stop," he said as loudly as he could. "No, you don't. S-stop."
They didn't listen.
Frustration was building up. He didn't catch on at first, because the sensation he felt way down there was driving him to kick harder, to pull his arms in...
"Nah hah hah haaa-aaah," he laughed. Just like that. JT started making noise all of a sudden. It popped right out. Kinda embarrassing. He wanted to keep raving.
The fingers wouldn't stop moving on his feet and he was finding that harder and harder to take. They had no right to tickle him like that.
It hit him like a sledgehammer. That word.
JT looked around the unfamiliar room. Oh, shit...
Wait. It had to be a really bad dream. Nobody ran around catching people and... doing that to 'em. Magical or not. There was no way in the world they'd decide he was the right type.
"Stop it, juh whoooooooooh hoo hoo nuh nuh nuh," he chuckled. Just like that. No control at all.
He made the best effort he could to stretch the damn straps.
By the time he slammed back down, the snickering was churning out of his mouth whether he wanted it to or not. This was the most realistic dream he'd ever had. By far.
Or... maybe it was real. Some invisible bastard caught him, and now it was going to tickle him senseless.
That was just too damn ridiculous. He didn't like being afraid, and preferred to get mad as soon as possible.
The restraints, however, didn't give a shit.
Those fingers kept trailing down and back up, zig-zagging across his feet. It was maddening. Unbelievably distracting.
It had to stop.
Instead, there was movement. He lifted his head -
The bag moved. There. Again...
Oh no, no! He laughed harder, unable to get the threats and demands out...
Instead, JT watched more two gloves fill up and take their places. Twice as much of this insanity? Well, he did have big feet.
He tried to brace himself - but when the number of tickling fingers doubled, laughing harder and throwing himself around became automatic. Whooping, trying to beg the damn ghost to stop, just make the fingers go away...
It's just tickling, he told himself. Man up.
JT was finding it hard to think about anything else. The crawling fingers were his top priority, and when he forced himself to try twisting the straps or watching the door it was just beyond him. When he closed his eyes he couldn't help but picture the gloves, tickling and tickling and tickling.
His arms were still stuck. No better position for the fingers to get busy on his sides.
That called for some more tugging and kicking. Nothing worked.
He was on fire, hooting like a fool.
Let go of me, he wanted to holler. It was ridiculously hard to take...
Of course. That's why he was strapped down so well. The hands that did it - probably the same ones that were so damn helpful, when they wanted to reel him in! - knew that he was coming unglued. His laughter gave it away.
They wanted him to be defenseless. And suffering. More and more and more.
He really whooped at that idea, shaking his head -
Something terrible happened.
The fingers bore down! Pressing in, riding more firmly.
His body decided to flail around and roar.
JT was preoccupied with the solid wall of crackling, throbbing excitement. It came from the gloves, surged through his feet... and the impact had become enormous, blotting out everything else. Jaw-dropping. There was more stimulation flooding through his body than he could even begin to recognize, and it kept right on coming.
Howling didn't even really help, but he couldn't stop doing it.
He had to move.
Every attempt failed. Oh, yeah, he thought tiredly. The straps.
The excitement rubbed and massaged into him was not going to be dismissed so easily. Instead of being able to concentrate on the cuffs, and that thick stiffness pressing against his wrists, he kept picturing what was happening on his feet. Fingers, no longer taking it easy. Pathetic lack of motion when he pulled and stomped. They just kept right on laying down the fire.
JT needed it to be a nightmare. He'd wake up in his own bed...
Each second of tickling mocked that idea, though.
The son of a bitch had so many hands. Pull a glove on, and get to it. Somehow that damn black bag had been packed with horrible things that tickled, and it was still lying right there right between his legs. It knows how insane this feels, he decided. A psycho is driving these gloves, and it knows this is making me totally lose it.
Solid fingers kept digging into his freakin' feet and there was no way to pretend it didn't tickle like a mo-fo...
It's not going to stop anytime soon, he thought dizzily, straining at the restraints.
Ain't right. He thought that for the longest time. Not fair, not cool.
JT was panting. He noticed that from a long way off. It was like he was across the room, just crazed from the aftereffects - streaks of tickling that took the longest time to fade out - and he noticed the familiar dude strapped to the bed. Dripping with sweat, nose running, fighting for breath at first. But after a bit he was able to groan now and then.
The tickler was letting him rest so it could pile on again.
Something wet moved across his face -
Gulping, he realized it was a towel. He started to blow his nose into it, and the cloth held still.
Why was his crotch wet? It was as if he'd been washed. JT didn't need to piss. Apparently he'd already done it, and hadn't even been aware.
He took a couple deep breaths. If escaping from this nightmare wasn't in the cards, he had to get the asshole to back down.
"No, dammit, don't... This ain't right. You gotta s-see how hard this is. Imposs... ible. Too much. You got no business doing this to me. I can't take anym-"
Gloves. Oh hell no, they were coming back.
Eight dark hands.
Not that many, he thought miserably. I can't cover up at all. So unfair...
"Oh no - shit - this is gonna arrrrrrll-lllaaah hah hah huh haaah haaaaaah haah nnn-naaaah hah haa-aaaah..."
He thrashed all over again. Not my ribs again, he thought. Armpits. Oh, wow, it was getting to know him too well.
Sometimes JT wished it had been pure pain. Would it be easier to tune out? Wouldn't he have to find a way? But this, dammit, was arousing.
Excruciatingly good. He couldn't deny that a couple of slow hands roaming around would've been enjoyable. Very slow. If they weren't out to tickle. But this was freakin' fierce.
All those fingers were driving him nuts. This asshole was really into tickling, way too enthused...
There was no way, no way, he could take any more. But here he was, getting it again - with a lot more fingers? And not just a little teasing, either. The bastard played hard. Serious custom gloves, maybe. Going full-bore on him. Him! Feet stuck good, arms pinned, not a stitch on -
JT wasn't gonna get out of this one. Not one horrible second. The straps saw to that.
The bastard who caught him, for this, had all the time in the world.
Help me, he wanted to scream. Okay, you win, I can't handle this shit. Not at all. It tickles so damn much and there's no way on earth I can put up with this...
He fought with the restraints again, whooping with his head thrown back, trying and completely failing to give each obsessed hand the attention it demanded.
It can't keep doing this to me -
What a crock. How stupid was that? The bastard's gotta stop, because I'm utterly losing it?
The wearer of the gloves didn't care what he thought. The important thing was that he felt the avalanche of tingling, ass-kicking pleasure... burying him nonstop, nudged by mean little fingers and palms.
JT had no idea how much time had gone by when he realized he was just breathing again. Not suffering.
A disk came over him. Metal moved -
Oh, it was a canteen.
Hands lifted his head...
After choking once, he had to force himself to slow down, but he finally emptied that bad boy. Then the fingers let his head fall back onto the mattress.
The magical tickler had caught itself a live one, though. No denying that.
He had to find a way to tune it out, step the level down somehow. Every attempt to force his mind onto some other topic - nice things, or places he'd been where he'd never seen a single strap or glove floating around - just blew apart as soon as the fingers started moving again.
"I really... hate this," he mumbled. That wasn't what he'd planned to say - but really, what was the point? It wanted to tickle, he had it bad, and there was no reason he could trot out to make it seem like the bastard really oughta let him go now.
Looking around the dark room, JT wondered just where he was being kept -
Something moved. Aw, hell...
The bag.
He was trying to leap, or roll, or fold the bed on top of himself. His body just went into panic mode. Something else was coming out of the bag. Oh, wow, that meant more tickling. Of course.
It took his a few seconds to recognize the shapes.
His kidnapper was showing him... feathers.
"Well, of course," he snapped. JT had been ready to beg his ass off, and now it was obvious how much good that would do him. Light, pointy feathers. A dozen, if he counted right.
They cruised over to the spots he expected - the ones he least wanted to see getting stalked by such mobile signs of pure frickin' doom. Armpits, chest, belly, feet... two more for his damn feet.
And the last two hung over his equipment. It ached already - just too much excitement going on everywhere else. And now, feathers threatening his sanity in a whole new way.
"Stop it," he told 'em. "I can only take so much."
Immediately, the bag rose up -
and emptied.
He lifted his head immediately.
White bottles, tubes -
Recognizing other things, he froze in terror.
Brushes. Plural. Very plural. Thin plastic bristles here, soft nylon strands there... Other sizes and bristle lengths were lying between his calves too. They were mixed up with a couple dozen more gloves.
He forgot to breathe for a bit, looking them over. This was what the kidnapper brought to tickle JT... on the first night.
It would be really great if a strap broke right now, he thought. And I could pull real hard and break the rest. Get my other arm free, tear the damn things off my legs, and make for the door. Run like I've never, ever run in my life. Free.
He let his head drop back down.
Feathers were ready to finish the job. Make him crazy. Go the rest of the way and tickle until he was officially nuts, drooling over himself again, giggling...
"Don't do this," he said to the nearest feather.
The worst thing JT could imagine happened next.
Oh, shit, I can't take another second, he thought.
They were all moving - and it was just as hard on him as the busy fingers.
He threw his head back and forth. Barking like a lunatic.
The light edges traveled, never stopping, and the damn points really made him want to jump up. There was nowhere to go.
Not fair. Wow. First the gloves, and now this. The feathers were unbearable too - and that didn't seem possible. Every bit as hard to take but in a different way...
JT tried to get lost in the hazy giggles that bubbled out of his mouth.
It was quiet. JT tried to place the smell.
Piss, rancid sweat, some kind of cheap soap.
Apparently he'd ended up in jail again.
"Dammit," he mumbled, opening his eyes.
Not much light. The ceiling didn't look familiar... except for that one long nightmare he'd -
Wait. He bolted, straight up - and slammed back down. Cuffs still had him spread out.
This was far worse than one of those sticky jail cells downtown.
Immediately his heart started to speed up, and his guts churned. Oh, shit, yesterday wasn't real. It couldn't be. Nothing could be that unbearable, for that many hours. It was even more important that he wasn't actually awake and still here now.
"You can't be s-serious," JT choked out. He felt very small.
As if answering him, gloves started floating over his chest.
He stopped counting at sixteen. The crowd of black hands were stock-still now. Obviously they were going to tickle him again. More fingers than ever... to start a whole new day.
Magic, dammit, all set on driving him crazy. Really unhinged. Total chaos.
Tugging on the cuffs, he didn't like what he was feeling. Didn't recognize it, at first...
Helplessness.
Tears came to his eyes. That really pissed him off. He snapped and flopped harder.
"Son of a bitch," he told the nearest glove. "Go to hell, and take your... stuff, your props -"
Other gloves shifted.
"No no no no!"
Here it comes, he thought. Again and again and again -
Yeah, they started to drop...
I can't take any more, he thought, fighting the panic. Last night - shit, was that only one night? - was over. He did his time, dammit. The asshole didn't let him go, and all these silent gloves were coming back. There was no way JT could stand an even longer day of tickling.
It knew a lot more about where to stick it to him now.
They were coming closer and closer. Dammit, working his ass off wasn't making the straps give way. Squeals and whines came out of him, and that pissed him off too. Might as well be saying shit yeah, I'm still crazy-ticklish, and I know you're not gonna let me curl up or lean away. Still trapped, and due for more hysteria.
This was a catastrophe.
Feet hardly budging. Pits, sides wide open...
"Dammit!"
The glove about to start tickling his neck moved like some special effect in a movie. No hesitation at all, no shaking. Shiny, bright, soft fingers - as full as they could be. Here to tickle him.
No, make that here to torture him until he went insane.
"Stop..."
But it snuggled the gloves down, all over him, and all of the wriggling JT could do didn't change that.
Hardcore, magic tickling.
He gave the cuffs another hard tug.
The gloves squeezed just a little, here and there.
"Don't do this," he begged. "Look. You won. Okay? I'm so screwed, here... Whatever I did to deserve this, I'm so sorry - dammit! - you know I'm ticklish, I sure as hell know it, please - no more tickling, aw hell, let go of m-"
No.
Fingers started burrowing along his neck. Gloves clamped over his ribs, spread out to buff and ride his belly... curled to fit around the inside of each thigh, tracing the edges of his armpits, raked solidly down one sole and scrubbed light circles across the other one.
JT arched hard. Of course it was going to keep tickling. Hell, that was why he was here.
He sucked in a quick breath, shuddering uncontrollably, and let the invisible jackass have the loudest laughter he could manage. Even that didn't come anywhere close to expressing how unbearable his captor's hands were...
It covered some overly reactive spots with consistent stroking, and slowly dug into so many others.
He couldn't think straight. There was too much tickling to track. It was everywhere, and his body raged and howled without him...
None of the gloves and tools never got sloppy.
When he got too lightheaded, it just slowed 'em down for awhile.
The bastard leaned solidly on spots that just made JT want to scream. His fury didn't take as long now to wind down into deranged laughter. Making noise - or flailing around - didn't help him at all to live through the intense, solid petting.
Every idea he tried was no relief at all. None.
Oh, wow, the oil blew his doors off. The stroking fingers seemed to tickle all the way down. He had to - shit, he just absolutely had to get away from this wall-to-wall tickling.
Every strap stayed taut.
The sadistic bully was even more focused today.
With every endless hour, the impact was climbing. JT was sure, so many times, that now the force of all that sensation had been amplified to a level he just couldn't bear... and the stimulation became more powerful anyway, like a dial that had no upper limit. Inhumanly devoted hands kept it up, tickling continuously - except for breaks for water and food - and every time they started back in, the arousing excitement soaked him more than ever.
26jul2010