Others' episodes
 
Cor's episodes
 
News / site info
 

He took his time before deciding he was officially awake. The dreams were vague, but they'd been fun dreams. Fading gradually...
It felt like he was sitting. So, not home. Not hung over. Should I remember where I am now, he asked himself. How I got here? He thought for awhile, and drew a big blank. As usual. Oh well, he'd find out soon enough.
Opening his eyes didn't work. Not at first. He couldn't get his body to move. That was alarming, the first couple times. But he'd learned. Just needed some more time to wake up.
He'd been drugged. It didn't feel like any drug he liked.
Somebody must have slipped him something. Knocked him out. Oh, man - who would go and do a thing like that? And why?
Only one "somebody" did shit like that. To him. That intensified the excitement that was already perking him up. Uh-oh, he thought... But a grin made it to his face. He felt it. His head moved a little, so the rest of him wouldn't be too far behind.
Looks like... maybe somebody kidnapped him. Now why would they want to go and do that?
Ketch sighed happily.

His arms wouldn't move yet, so he concentrated on opening his eyes. Eventually, he could focus. Following his arms down, to -
The cuffs. Check 'em out. Dense foam, with red nylon straps pulled around and around. Holding his arms down to... the arms of the chair.
Even though his hands had woken up, and his fingers, the restraints were going to keep him down. Trying to kick, and stretch his legs, he found his ankles were restrained too. Of course.
That made him grin some more. Heart speeding up. Well, what the fuck.
And to add to the confusion, his boots seemed to be gone. Taken off. To get the ankle cuffs on him. Right?
He could wiggle his toes - so his socks were gone, too. Uh - Oh.
Why his feet? Something in store for 'em? Such as... but he failed to think of anything in particular. Anything specific.
What was going to happen, here? He was really, truly stumped. Didn't have a clue.

But the excitement kept building. It was still no match for the sense of... confidence? Being in very good hands? Maybe it was safety. So unshakable - no matter what worries tried to creep into his head - that it had to be the result of previous experience. Say, a lot of prior experience. Everything was gonna be o-kay.
Still. He was in for some truly major shit, here.
What - and why - were still hazy. Maybe he should've remembered more, but right then, he couldn't. The suspense made it so hard to think. Almost like he was... looking forward to something. Just couldn't wait. Something exciting. Wild.
Ketch was damn hungry for it, now that it looked like the banquet was about to begin. Big ol' appetite. Extra helpings.
Fill up his plate. Somebody was gonna have to help, though. Feed it to him...
He looked at his wrists, and gave 'em both a slow tug. Hard as he could.
Yeah, this was gonna definitely be extreme. Ketch couldn't fuckin' figure out what he was in for. Couldn't remember. But he was in for it, hell yeah. And - even better - he was safe. So safe. And... secured.
Arching, twisting. The chair didn't even creak. Limbs snug in the thick padding.
Somebody... had plans for him.

He moaned. A short, quiet sound -
Something white was moving. In front of him. He reared back, blinking fast... but it was just a smoke. No filter. Heading for his mouth.
Hey, good idea. He took it. Watched a lighter come. Dull black tube. An electric snap, and a flame appeared at the end...
Sucking in, he nodded once. Caught himself doing it, and stopped. He took another drag, as the old familiar effect woke him up more. Even more.
Oh yeah. Oh shit, I'm fucked... oh yeah, yeah.
The cuffs bugged the shit out of him. On another level, though... more like an instinct, he knew they were important. He had to be kept down, for something to happen like it should. Good, strong cuffs. Necessary, and... humbling? Making it clear who's in charge?
No - well, that too. He groped for the right word. Helpful, in a weird way. No need to think so hard. He's not gonna outfox the kidnapper. Is he? No fuckin' chance.
So he smoked, and looked all around. Pulling at the cuffs less and less. They were solid. Yeeeeeah, Ketch was in the house. A small, ordinary room. No window, of course. One bulb overhead.
And way too private. He had no doubt about that -
"Fuck," he blurted. Just barked it right out. "What's the deal here? What? You just gonna make me smoke?" Get it on, already. Whatever it is. He didn't understand why his memory was so bad, but he was too jazzed just then to figure it out.
Ah. It's... a pen. Floating up, from behind him. And a pad of paper. Ordinary legal pad.
They turned, and froze. He had a bad feeling. A good bad feeling. Staring at the cardboard backing as the pen wrote something, he took a drag. Trying to act cool. But his heart was thumping like a jackhammer. His armpits were moist -
The pad turned.

And the pen tapped the page, below the big block letters.
Ketch wanted to whoop for joy.
Yeah. Right. What a setup! But he held it in.
Access code. Good one, boss. Big fun. This was gonna get harsh all over his ass.
Interrogate the captive. Lean on the fucker. Make him give up the code.
Of course, he had no idea what the right answer was. The kidnapper knew that. Set him up. He didn't have it.
No fucking idea! Not a clue. But somebody was determined to get it out of him... no matter what it took.
"Oh ho," he said, unable to keep the happiness out of his voice. He thought hard, and couldn't come up with anything even close to an access code. If it meant the PIN number for his bank account, it would've said so. Or his computer passwords. Wouldn't it?
So he thought... bigger. Launch code for a stolen nuke, maybe. The ID for a Swiss bank account. Crypto key for top secret government files. Yeah.
Espionage. Spy shit. And Ketch was the spy. Gonna make him talk -
The pen tapped the paper, hard. A couple more times.
"You got the wrong guy," he said, aware of the irony. It caught who it wanted to catch.

But he was gonna be okay. Bugshit, but he wouldn't be hurt or anything. He was sure. Shifting in his chair, to make room for his growing erection, he said, "I don't know what you're talking about. What access code? You must want somebody else..."
Pad and pen drifted a little closer to his face.
"Aw hell," he said, smiling. He took another luxurious drag, knowing it could be his last. For a long time. Last smoke.
And he made it wait. So dangerous... "Okay," he said, taking about as long as he could to empty his lungs.
The pen lifted up, ready to write -
"F..." He looked around the room one last time. If there was a possibility he could get out of this, he intended to take it. Definitely. Otherwise he was in for a long fuckin' nightmare, here, about to come true. As he expected, there was nothing. All bases were covered. The kidnapper was real smart. And the door was probably locked too. If he could only snap a cuff, or two...
But he couldn't. So he looked back at the pen. "U... C... K. You. That's 'y-o-u', not just the letter 'U'."
For a few wonderful, horrible seconds, nothing happened.
Then the pad sagged a little. Floated down, and landed on the floor. The pen followed it.
After they landed, Ketch said, "No, now - wait a sec. Wait. I was kidding. I'll tell ya now." And he busted out laughing.
Laughing at it! Real smartass. What am I doing?, he thought to himself. Really getting it pissed off. Sure, it's all a setup, a no-win... but why am I fucking with it like this? Whatever method of persuasion it's gonna u-
Ketch saw something... new. Coming from behind.
More than one. He saw four -
Naw! Couldn't be...
Staring. Uh-huh. A few inches off the floor, Ketch tracked four white... feathers. Just floating along.
Well, damn, he should know what that meant. Shouldn't he?

They disappeared under the chair, out of his sight.
Bracing himself for anything, all worked up, he felt a kind of... disappointment too. Feathers. Big deal. Was that the best it could do? Tickle him? So wha-
Whoa. Hold on. His feet.
A light... sweeping, across the bottoms of his feet. Then, gone.
So it was gonna be tickling, after all. Oooh. The bastard. Well, he could take a little tickling. So what.
And he almost bought it. Tough it out. His body, though, it had other plans. Up, outa here, right now. "Oh, now. Uh. Wait. Just wait a second," he said, louder than he'd intended to. Squirming... no, he was lunging. The chair wouldn't fuckin' budge. "I'll tell ya. For reals."
Except that he couldn't move -
Again! Sweeping up and down.
"Oh no hoh hoh hoh nnnnoh hoh hoh," Ketch said. No. It wouldn't. No way it would do this. To him. Take advantage of him like this -
The feathers dragged down, and up.
Not... tickling! He refused to believe -
"Awwwww hah hah ah haaah," he bawled. "Stop stop I'll talk I'll tell you anythee hee heeeng naw aw haw haw pleee hee hee hee heeeeeeze..."
And it increased! All four, maybe. More tickling - therefore, more feathers.

He squealed. And cut it off fast. So damn embarrassed. This was driving him crazy. He had to get out of these fuckin' cuffs...
Brought this on myself. Yes. Yes, I did, he told himself sadly, from a long distance away. Had to mess with it. And now it's gonna mess with me. I don't know the damn code. Don't know it. You're wasting your time, you bastard...
No. It wasn't. This was what it liked to do. To him.

He wailed with frustration and glee. Couldn't get his feet to move. The feathers kept sweeping and sweeping. No, no. Not this, aw fuck...
Slamming around, from side to side. The chair must've been anchored real well. I don't know the code, he screamed to himself! I don't... Knock it off!
"P-pleeeee hee heeeee whuhhheeeee wheeeee wheeeee!"
Tickling tickling tickling -
Aw fuck, I don't know the access code. And you know that. I know you know that. I don't know the code... But he couldn't get any words out. Just laughing too damn hard.
Ketch tried to jump forward, as if that would get him off the chair. Fuckin' feathers. Tickling! Lemme go. Now.
And yet - he was so fuckin' excited. This setup. The impossible, intolerable sensation of the feathers. All of it.
Feeling so... alive...
If only he could get away!
But, then... he'd miss out. On all of this.

The feathers picked up speed. Started branching out - sides, toes, top side. The top of his feet... Way too sensitive.
Ketch whooped and shrieked. Struggling with the cuffs until he just couldn't move anymore. And the feathers kept on going. More of them, probably. He wasn't sure.
Hell, he wasn't sure of anything, except the rush, like some gooey, lingering electricity... brushed all over his feet. Nonstop. Real careful feather-work.
Aw, fuck, quit it! Quit tickling me.
And if... by some miracle... the tickling stopped? Stopped right now? Wouldn't he... well, sorta miss it?
He knew the answer to that one. Even better, it was a situation he wouldn't come up against. Not here.
He crowed hoarsely, shaking his head back and forth. Just doing his job.
It was just impossible to take.
More tips, or edges - above his heels. Those tendons... the ones trapped in the cuffs.
Ketch howled, one more time. And then he shut up. He panted for breath, but he couldn't laugh anymore. He remembered, right after it happened - there had been other times. Fuck. The laugh factory just closed down, and now he'd sit there and sweat. Even less distracted... so the tickling would hammer him that much more.
After he caught his breath, a bottle floated up. Water.
The feathers held off while he drank... and then they picked it right back up again.

When he heard the lighter click, Ketch noticed the cigarette between his lips. He couldn't possibly smoke it properly. Not like he wanted. A little distraction, that's all he wanted... But it was there, now, and sure as shit there were more where that came from. So he took a drag, when he could manage it.
And the feathers... kept racing on.

Ketch was more than ready to make up access codes, all night long, if it would give him a minute's rest from the fuckin' feathers. He meant it. It was safe to wish for things like that, because there wasn't a chance in hell they'd come true.
Too bad for him. He was doomed, now -
Absolutely nothing he could do to affect what was going on. That thought made him twist his arms, hopelessly, and the cuffs did their job. And he whimpered. One low, long whine.
The feathers didn't care. Whoever was making 'em fly -
"I'll... tell," he moaned. Seriously distracted. "Tell ya. Any... t-thing... anything, you want to know, you g-g-got it..."
Nothing changed.

A few minutes later, he got a good hard drag in, and realized he was forgetting something. What had he been about to do?
Oh. Oh yeah.
"Uh... Alright. I'll talk. I'll tell you, I mean it... Please. This is... too... much..."
But the kidnapper didn't buy that shit. Not for a second.
"Please. I'm... I'm formally fuckin' begging you. Begging. Please. Stop."
It didn't work. They didn't stop.

And after a while, he heard... tearing.
Cutting. A knife, buzzing through his t-shirt.
It was baring his chest. Gonna tickle him some more.
"Aw, no!," he bawled, chuckling a few times. Dropping his cigarette, as the ruined shirt was pulled off.
Along came... some more feathers...

It was such a long, long time before he passed out.
His jeans were cut off him. Taken away. And his underwear.
He was frantic to cum... but the feathers were careful. And knowledgable. It was as intense a tickling as feathers could deliver.
Now, hold on. Why'd he have to go and think that? What could fuckin' compare with this?
Some... other experience? Had this happened to him... before?
But Ketch couldn't think too clearly. So he just felt it. Full-strength. Quivering, now and then. Drinking water when it came, and a long series of cigarettes.
And the mindblowing hours went by.
 

He woke up, full of hope. And fear.
And he wasn't disappointed. Still in the chair. Cuffed down. Skin tingly, all over.
"No..."
Oh yeah. He knew, down to his toes, he was in for a marathon here. No way to imagine how long. So fucked.
All that tickling...
He looked at his meat - and then he was even more sure. His crotch-hair was gone. He looked at his arms, and bent over to see his legs. Yup.
For reasons he usually didn't understand, the boss wanted him to keep his chest shaved. And his pits. Use lots of skin lotion. It was like the stubble on his melon - fairly weird, but if the boss said so...
Come to think of it, his whole head felt... cooler.
His tongue wasn't finding his mustache. Moving his chin across his chest - aw, fuck. His goatee was gone. And he liked his goatee...
The fucker had shaved him good.

Bald? Damn. He bet it was gonna give his scalp a good tryout. And - not for the first time. It was coming back to him. There'd been a couple other times. Shit -
Then the gloves came up, acting like they were still being pulled on some mean-ass hands. And his hunch was confirmed. He strained to bust the straps, full of adrenaline. And alarm. Genuine alarm. If those hands came down -
If?
He swallowed hard. Watching 'em do just that. They cruised down to his feet, and his thighs. And his belly. This was gonna be bad. In a very good way, though -
They started to pet him.
"Haallllllp!," he got out, like a dumb-shit. Shifting into wild hoots and cackles.
Ketch thought about the pad, and the pen. Not even being shown to him again. Not yet. They were gonna pay him back bigtime for not going along. Fuck, yeah. Work him over until he was beyond willing to cooperate. No chance to tell them their mutherfuckin' code now... even if he knew what it was -
The fingers. Oh, shit, they were all over him.
He stopped thinking. Laughed a while longer, and gave that up too.
Just sat there, sweating hard, chain-smoking... unable to do anything more active than... shudder.

And they worked him over for hours. Fed him, washed him off...
Got back to work. Delightful, delirious, forceful work. He sat there and took it. Blown away. Twice as blown away, when he tried to imagine a week full of this. A month.
All that water, just for him?

The tickling throbbed and burned, ramping up ever so slowly. The impact was increasing. Always on the rise, from unbelievable to... beyond unbelievable. And he was strapped to the chair. So they could keep on tickling.
Ketch heard himself whine again, and felt hands settle on his pecs. Squeezing 'em hard... fingertips finding his nipples. His head rolled around. He coughed out smoke.
And the hands -
All... kept on... tickling.
 

The hours
passed
 
at a
 
very
 
 
slow
 
 
 
 
crawl.
 

And then he discovered he was chewing something. Meat.
Ketch opened his eyes. A bowl hovered near his head. Beef stew. From a can.
He watched a spoon load up and feed him. Wondering... Stew? He liked stew - when it was warmed up. Cold, not so much. There hadn't been any stew in the delivery order.
But he was only too glad to wolf it down.
Another bowlful appeared. He didn't know if he could finish it all. Two big cans. But he considered what would happen to if him if he balked. So he kept eating.
A water bottle came up, pausing while he let loose with a huge burp. After a few slugs, it backed off -
So a glove could bring him a bunch of pills. The white ones had to be speed. No doubt about it. Vitamins there too. And the pink ones might just be a little something to rev him up. Jack his sensitivity up into the ozone. Work that skin.
He got restless at the thought. Took a smoke obediently, and the next one...

Ketch looked around. No pen and paper. It was really gonna put the screws to him, huh? All over.
All...
He squinted at his cock. His poor, aching cock. The only place untouched. But he had another hunch. A real bad, real good suspicion. Because he was, like, into a whole new dimension of ticklishness... after a good cumshot. And this next one was gonna be fierce. Not long now.
No gloves to be seen. No feathers. Maybe after this smoke... The cuffs were tight as ever. He was in for the full ride. Oh, man.
And dammit, he was glad. It was pure torture, every second of it. And the thought of it going on and on, all month, another month - he shivered, real hard. With pleasure. His rod began to stand up again, just thinking about it.
The whole game plan was up to his kidnapper. Nobody else. Sure as hell not Ketch...

As he finished the next smoke, the gloves showed up. Ah, here we go -
"Don't, aw please, you're drivin' me crazy -" Which was true. But he knew they wouldn't listen... which was good. And awful. Both.
There was a new coat of oil on the gloves. They concentrated on his legs, and his arms. A dozen of 'em. Four on his thighs, inside and out... Close to his boner. Too close for comfort. And, well, so far away it was like an ache -
"Aw shiiiiit," he yelled, laughing right away. Never enough laughing. Nothing he could do would help. The slow fire oozed down his limbs and kept throbbing. Meeting deep in his gut. In his balls, his nipples. His ears burned. His fingers...

The gloves kneaded and squeezed and stroked him. Like they meant business -
He opened his eyes. Watching... two gloves ride up his shins, slowly. Back down. All of 'em, so careful. Thorough.
Why? He squinted, looking 'em all over. No, not "why is it tickling me?". Duh. It was... Just so serious about it. The way it leaned on him. He knew he was stuck, no matter what... but the kidnapper tickled him with, like, this total focus.
He'd had this thought before. It was coming back to him...
Of course! The boss... it needed him.
Yeah. He was its little safety valve. He remembered again. It did a lot of tickling. Different guys. There were other kidnappers out there too. That's why he had to make the deliveries...
But the boss just got way too wound up sometimes. Needed to let off some real fuckin' steam. So it would grab him, and let Greenbud pick up the slack. Hard weeks, for Ketch. Months. Whenever it wanted to try out something new. Warped and twisted. Tons of head games. Or when it just needed to settle down, he was in for a big-league asskicking.
He sat there, taking it in - all that detailed tickling - and helped out his boss.
And if it could go after him this hard when it was only a little geeked, there was no telling what it would do if it, uh... snapped. Or something. Went nuts. Instead, it hauled him in. Senior employee. The delivery guy.

This was probably the most important part of his job. He'd known it before. Lots of times. It fell into place again, when he watched how diligently the gloves were tickling him. The way they moved.
The kidnapper knew just how much he could take. Hell - it trained him. So when it needed to, it reeled him in. Divided up the frustration, or whatever it felt... and packed his kidnapped days nice and full. One after another, until it didn't need to drill him anymore. He knew he had the basic idea, here, even if he was wrong about some of the details. Too much excess steam for the boss to dump all at once. So it got real intense on his ass. For months, if it needed to. And when it was more relaxed, it let him go home.
Ketch nodded weakly. It had taken him a couple years to figure this out. He'd forget each time - but the more he looked at it, the better it fit. The obsessed kidnapper, more than ready to put him through its paces. The whipping boy. Taking the heat so the boss wouldn't... explode.
He was in prime condition. Ticklish as fuck.

Little things, like the stew. His brand of smokes. It had been made clear to him before. Several times. He was a good employee. He was valued. It wanted to keep him...
Happy?
He had all that money in the bank. Didn't he? And just to make sure, he'd even moved it to other banks a couple times. Bought some stock. Lost a few grand on internet startups - and braced himself, for the punishment. But it never came. The cash definitely belonged to him...
The cover it used, the sex toy wholesale business - it was almost too successful. Even with Greenbud smokin' away, and Ketch's earnings, there were thousands and thousands of dollars left over. Disappearing to coded bank accounts. He didn't know where. Very successful.
And he earned every penny of his cut. Dammit. Nights like this...
So many nights. From the time he dropped out of community college, 'til now. He was taken care of - in more ways than one. How long it would go on, he had no idea. He had no idea how he'd... resign, anyway. Give his notice.
Yeah. Fat chance.
The gloves tickled him with unbearable intensity.
Sweat dripped off his earlobes. The speed was kicking in. And the tickling throbbed, and throbbed...

It all made sense now. He'd forget later... but he wouldn't even remember he'd forgotten. Even thoughts like that made sense. Probably due to the boss. The kidnapper. The one who was stroking the shit out of him.
 

He was sore. Deep. Muscle. Sides, calves.
His skin was coated with something. And... his posture had changed.
Ketch woke right up -
Dark wood. A big board, between him and his hands. Another one walling off his feet.
"Aw, fuck," he rasped. "C'mon."
Thick iron holding 'em in place. Supporting a vinyl pad under his ass. Black vinyl.
Fuckin' stocks.
Oh no. He whaled on 'em. A little shimmy, front-to-back. But that was about it.

After a few minutes, he gave it up. A water bottle moved in. He drained it, and a cigarette followed.
"Cocksucker," he growled, after he got a light.
No locks on 'em. Bolts instead. The kidnapper had taken these big ol' marine bolts and tightened 'em down. They wouldn't even rattle, they were so tight. It was worse than seeing padlocks, there. Keeping the stocks closed.
No, he got big-ass bolts. Keep him in his place.
His feet were up higher. Presented. Here they are. Stayin' right here. Tickle 'em good.
This was worse, alright. Knees easier to get to, and his pits... His butt. Dammit!
He kicked again. His legs were bent, just a little. The seat made him keep his back straight. Lower back. It was... comfortable. More than he expected.
Well, it better be. He figured he'd be in this position for a while.
A long fuckin' day. Or more. Stocks - and not just any stocks. Made for tickling.
"I'm hungry," he yelled.

It worked, for once.
Canned chicken. He made a face, but ate it all. Canned pineapple, a canned protein shake, a couple handfuls of cashews. Leather hands. The nuts were stale...
None of it was from the order he'd packed. So there was a stash here already. So much for thinking he'd be cut loose after the van was empty. Any kidnapper that knew its business was going to have a stockpile. And here he'd gone and brought twenty cartons of cigs. On top of whatever it had here. And all that water.
Six months' worth. Ketch couldn't get any kind of a handle on that.

Aw, it wouldn't. Besides, Greenbud would run the business right into the ground...
More memories came back to him. One time, the whole kidnapping had only lasted, like, three days. He'd woke up at home. Another tax form to sign. Just couldn't wait.
And Miguel, he'd been helping himself to the inventory. Winstons, if Ketch remembered correctly. Jack Daniels...
Stupid fucker. Nice enough guy, but not a real quick study. The boss had busted him three times. It only took Ketch one time. He remembered that punishment now. Damn! He hadn't been comfortable wearing a shirt for a week...
He got thumped for buying nonfilters, even. It was made real clear to him - he could buy anything else, except that one brand. Even if they were his favorite smokes. They were his only when the boss gave 'em. A signal. Gotcha. That was one of the things that had been wrong, when he got jumped that one time. Some other kidnapper. No smokes...

Right then, something clicked. What? He'd been looking at the wood in front of him. Studying it for a weakness, maybe. Fuckin' stocks. The nearest piece, on top of his wrists -
He knew that piece of wood. The wave in the grain. Unusual. Neat.
"Hey..."
Yup. He was sure. Liked the piece so much, he'd spent extra time on it. It was about a year ago. Two more coats of stain. And sealer. Buffing it until it gleamed -
He looked up. "Hey!"
No response.
"I made these stocks."
Another cigarette was coming. That was it.
Why, that son of a bitch. Those measurements... they were his!
Creeped him out bigtime. And, well, there was something else there too. He was... honored. Sorta. This particular set, the cool piece of wood he'd liked. Aawwww.
"Sneaky bastard," Ketch said, after he started the new smoke. "Boss. Talkin' about you. Make me build my own stocks..."
A pair of white gloves showed up. Above the foot-boards. Peek-a-boo.
"Yeah," he chuckled. "You know what these would go for? On the net? Sure you do -"
Others came, with a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
"Oh. Okay. I get it... So how'd you get 'em up here? Did I... Have I been here before? Special delivery?"
There was, of course, no answer. He had a real fuzzy memory. Pulling stocks out of the van, setting 'em on a pair of furniture dollies. But he'd delivered a couple sets in his time. A few racks too.

The gloves were getting drenched. So it starts, he thought, fidgeting around. Cold hands -
"Did I ever tell you, uh, how great it is to be workin' for... such a generous, kind boss?" Yeah, like that was gonna work.
The gloves just clamped around his feet. Damn, they were cold! He jumped, squawking at 'em. Yanking harder, at the stocks.
"S-so... Boss. Hah," and Ketch hissed, as the wet fingers rubbed his toes. Hissed in smoke. Coughed for awhile... and discovered his cigarette had been taken away. No more smokes for awhile. "Whooo whah hah hah... Y-yoooooooo hoo haawwww... Y-y-you break these b-bad boys in on somebody else? Awwwwr huh horr or or am I the first? Heh eh hee hee heeee. Eeee heee. Theeeee these my pry hi hi ha whuuuah hah huh puh pri-private stah ah aaaahhh aah hoh hooooeee heee heee muh my my stocks, buh uh huh huh bah boss? Huh? Guh g-gonna lemme carve my lie hi ha ah hah hah hah hah muh uh huh huh m-my license number in the bbbaaah haaah aaaaaaaaaaaaaah b-bottom?"
More gloves latched on. Shut up, Ketch. Okay. They started on his calves.
"Ssshhhiiiihhhhuuuueeeeeeeee..." he howled.

So by the time he woke up on the wall, a couple days later, he wasn't even surprised. Racks were more comfortable... but he guessed hanging him up vertically, iron shackles and the whole bit - yeah, whatever made the boss happy.
The good part was that he'd get to pass out a lot earlier than usual. This was too hard on his wrists.
And the bad news, of course, was that the workout was gonna be really savage, in order to wear him out sooner...

After he ate, one of the gloves brought him pills. Cupped in its palm. The glove smelled... mostly like strawberry lubricant. Ugh. He waited for the water bottle to get ready -
Six pink tabs. And some new kind. Dark blue ovals. Three of 'em. Ketch threw 'em back obediently. Maybe if he behaved, it would strap him down to the chair tomorrow.
 

Shit - shit! What the fuck was in those fuckin' pills? The blue ones?
He felt like his whole body had current running through it. Mild, constant electricity. And then, add the brushes - it was unbelieveable!
The shackles kept him up there.
One glove - just one! - was pumping him off. Right then, he was afraid to come. Very afraid. This drug, or the combination, was royally kicking his ass. If he was this ticklish now -
Ketch started laughing at the thought. Pretty much silent laughs, but he meant every one.
A dozen brushes, moving around a lot. A couple on his head. He couldn't shake 'em off. His whole fuckin' head, his ears. Eyelids.
And the damn fingers, creeping back up to his tip... and down, oh fuck, down.
With an effort, he stopped laughing. "B-boss... Please... I. Kuh. Kuh. Can't. I can't..."
The glove sped up. Not gonna take "no" for an answer.
 

He moved his head. Rolled it a little. Under his head - soft, yielding. Mattress.
Bristles. Real short fuzz on his head. Yup. Coming back in now... But it really had shaved it all off. Back there in that room.
Ketch sighed. Oh, man. The relief. It had let him go. Done with him, for now.
He must be home. His pillows were probably on the floor again...
Part of his brain wasn't gonna buy it. He'd only been kidnapped, what, a week ago? Something like that.
Screw it. He ran with the fantasy. Back home. Call Stephanie, see if she's free tomorrow. Get good and drunk tonight and watch a baseball game. Yeah. After he bought smokes, 'cause the boss would be on him in a hot second if he "borrowed" a carton. Fuck it. He might do it anyway. Replace 'em tomorrow. Nonfilters. Take that, you tickle-torturing fuckwad.
He was free and it'd be a few months before he saw those damn stocks again. Alright.
Well. Actually, the last week hadn't been all bad. Why only a week? Just one week? But he pushed that thought away. It had been fun. Fairly extreme. He'd come to like that kind of workout. His balls ached...
But those dark blue pills sucked. Got his number -
No. Ketch was unable to ignore it any more. Something was wrong.

He moved his arms. No, check that - he tried to move his arms.
But they were staying put. Way up and out.
He sighed again. Totally different sigh.
This... wasn't his bed.
Cautiously, he peeked. At the ceiling...
He was spread-eagled, on a mattress. Dammit. Uh-huh. Tight bands around his forearms and his shins. Scooted up to give his ankles and wrists a little break.
Rolling his eyes, he started pulling on the straps.
Smooth, dense leather. Good workmanship. The cuffs were so thick, it was scary.
He ordered these from a guy in Georgia somewhere. The unit price came to him, as he tugged and flopped around.

"I hate this worse than anything," he told the lighter. As if the kidnapper didn't know it. "Boss. I'm wide open, here..."
The most thorough tickling occurred when he was laid out like this, on a bed or a rack, but he'd rather be on a rack any day.
Held down, tight, against the sheet - it wasn't natural. He got embarrassed, even after all this time... And no chance in hell of pulling his limbs in. No covering up for ol' Ketch, here. Real easy to roll him over, cover his back side. Do it right. No spot untouched. And his feet, like, had their own zip code...
"You had your fun." He decided maybe he'd had enough of this. There was such a thing as too much. The kidnapper's idea of "enough" was real different than his. And yeah, he always started thinking like this, after about a week. Meaning it more each day. Not that it mattered. To just have to lay here, ready to get nuked, and wait for it - and then take it... He was definitely ready to go home. Any time now.
But wishing wouldn't make it so. Didn't he know it. Somehow, whenever the tickling started up again, he didn't piss and moan like this. Not then.

Stew, again. Candy bars, beef jerky. A lot of chewing, there. Then he got some more water, and his pills. A couple cigarettes...
A different bottle, cracking open. JD. A pint.
"Ohhhhh," he said. Mixed feelings. Again. It had been a couple of days. Kinda early, he thought - he just woke up. On the fuckin' bed...
After the second mouthful, he paused. Tongue covering the hole of the bottle. But it didn't start to leave, so he had himself a couple more swallows.
Two more smokes. They felt like a reward of sorts. Good dog.
And then -
No. It's gotta be kidding.
"Shit," he laughed. Real sassy. He was staring at the pad again. Hanging way above his nose.
Same message. Oh, that again! The infamous access code -
The pen came. Jabbed the paper. And waited.
"Lemme see. Let's see if I get this right," he joked. Even as he did, he was wondering - what the hell am I doing? It's gonna shred me. Dark blue pills. Don't shoot off your mouth. Don't.
But, really, it was too late to turn back. "You want me... to give you... the access code."
The pen and paper held absolutely still. He took a drag, and blew smoke right at 'em.
"A code I don't have. And you know I don't have it. So..." He snickered once, and grinned even harder. Excited. Playing with fire, here -
He shrugged. "I guess you're gonna have to tickle it out of me."
The world... stopped. Dead halt.
Maybe it was just his heart. What did he say?
What the fuck did he just say?

After a long, horrible pause, the pad and pen were thrown off to the side.
Oh now, he thought, wait, wait! Uh. I really, really didn't mean that, I am so... so sorry...
But he couldn't talk. His throat was too scared to form the words. Instead, he blinked a couple times. Real clever. Smartass. Now he was... just infinitely fucked.
His cigarette was jerked and tossed away. A shudder ran down him, all the way to his heels. Ketch couldn't seem to swallow. Didn't mean it didn't mean it just kidding it was a fuckin' joke -
Six gloves shot up in the air, and pounced.
"Aaaaaaaaggh!" he managed to get out, before the howling started. Damn.
Gonna have to tickle it out of me? While he was strapped down - to the mattress. What was he thinking?...
They kicked his ass.

And just kept on rolling.
Full-blown screaming tickle-fire, all over, and his brain couldn't quite keep up with it all. But it tried. Passing out would have been the ultimate thrill, right about then. Even though he was still gonna be spread wide, just like this, when he woke up - it would be so great to fade...
But the kidnapper - his fuckin' boss - it wasn't about to let that happen. Hell, no!
It knew him... so well.
Too well.

Back to part 1

24sep2001