The men in the van were... looking for someone on the street.
Plaah got closer, and saw they had telephoto pictures of a young man... What -
It scanned the contents of the van. Kidnappers!
They were dosed with their own chloroform, tied up and driven off.
It parked the van behind the old house it had used before. Viewed from the outside, it was clearly vacant. Starting to fall apart, ignored, a good seventy meters from the next house that wasn't empty. No one on the street took notice of their arrival.
The bad guys were carried inside.
Plaah was excited. It was confident that their presence was known only to itself.
They woke up strapped to low-backed benches.
Struggling and yelling brought no rescuers. Plaah let them wind back down, and wonder what was in store. It had such big plans for them. Young, strong -
It took all four of their shoes off at once.
Oh, they started shouting and tugging again. It was all they could do. Thick leather held their arms behind them, completely neutralized... and their feet hung over the edge of the padding.
Plaah had shoved their pants-legs up toward their knees, and pulled the top of Gio's socks down - Varre hadn't been wearing socks - so that the heavy cuffs were snug. It pulled Gio's socks off slowly.
There they are. Such fine feet. So helpless.
It brought over a table covered with tools.
As always, the expression on the mens' faces thrilled the tickler.
That mixture of shock and dread was exhiliarating. Varre had gone from trying to figure out how the table magically floated in front of them... to being frozen with fear. Gio seemed to be struggling to believe what it was showing them - or maybe convince himself that this particular selection of things wasn't unnerving at all, because the invisible keeper of soon-to-be felons surely wouldn't show something as maddening as tools and toys moving without any human help, learning each of their worst spots, covering them head-to-toe with breathtaking sensation that would be slathered on all day, all night, all day tomorrow...
They fought so hard, but the men stayed where it wanted them. Some phantom wanted to tickle mens' feet. Full-scale, full-bore. Here were its tickling tools, and here were some perfectly trapped feet, and no sound at all had come from outside when they started yelling. It had this goal for the foreseeable future - extended torture, with _pleasure_ turned up more and more each round, and then it came across them, in the van...
The catching and hiding were all done. No interruption now, no escape. It would confirm their worried suspicions by bringing them lots of food and water, toys, lube...
Both men now knew they couldn't pull the straps loose. They were staying right there.
One tickling tool after another would be tried.
Hours of tickling to find the most devastating effect.
There wasn't a chance in the world anyone would stop Plaah now. Or later.
It relished the thought of learning every single spot - most men had at least a few sure-fire turbo switches, and usually no idea that their nervous systems could be so profoundly hyperreactive. In the first few minutes, they'd learn that Plaah's tickling would be nothing like what they'd ever felt or even imagined before, because the sensation would be maximized as much as possible.
They'd roar with laughter, howl like unnerved studpuppies, curse and threaten and beg, sweat through and soil their clothes, and finally be driven so far into the delirium that giggling or squirming was a distant memory. And they'd still be right here - struggling to even believe how intense the day's stimulation had grown, more certain each hour that the tickling was unimaginably far from over!
Yelling didn't cause anything new to happen. No one heard their panic. And no one would hear them, except their new warden - and each other. They were hidden in a place where Plaah could work them over just as long and as sadistically as it liked.
If their reaction to the toys was any indication, they had fine ticklishness... well worth increasing to unforeseeable new heights.
The first items it picked up off the table were the black steel toe-rings.
Their worry and pride kept the prisoners kicking and shouting. Of course, nothing they could manage to do delayed Plaah.
Soon their toes were spread and standing tall.
This time it had twice as many feet to tickle. Good-sized, and it had a hunch that here were twice as many soles that were drastically, endlessly sensitive. They belonged to Plaah now, immobilized just the way it liked 'em. This was going to be an electrifying night.
They watched two long brushes float off the table. Long, soft bristles.
Four black wads of cloth became filled gloves. Waterproof and oil-proof, the silk blend had made tough men cackle helplessly and plead for Plaah to take 'em away. It was mesmerized now - because the risk of disappointment was behind it, for good. All prep work was done. These helpless feet were definitely going to get all of the stimulation it wanted to give them.
Gio looked over at the door, desperate and anxious.
Varre shook his head at Plaah's toys. His mouth hung open. Taking a cue from that, their tickler sent the limber gloves to Varre's feet, and the exciting brushes to Gio's. It enjoyed their frantic attempts to kick, to move... because they weren't going to succeed. Gio was worried - almost exasperated - and Varre was horrorstricken, and the way he was reacting betrayed some intense tickling experience in his past. Maybe, Plaah thought, this was Varre's perfect nightmare, like that delirious memory but in a much more private, stocked-up torture chamber. Strapped down tight, and helplessly watching eager hands come closer and closer!
It didn't particularly want them to be scared. That wasn't productive. Better, though, that they accept what was coming. Fantastic and unlikely as the truth might be, Plaah was going to enjoy every invigorating hour of ticklish distress - and when captives grasped that, they quit watching the door and whining to go home.
Bristles nestled against Gio's arches.
Fingers curled around Varre's straining feet.
Oh yes I am, Plaah thought happily. You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to this.
The tools started to move.
Varre burst out in racuous laughter immediately. Very rewarding. He twisted this way and that, bounced and slammed around, utterly undone by the grips that slid up and down.
Gio was gritting his teeth as the brushes dragged slowly, gently. C'mon now, Plaah thought, you know you can't hold out forever. Perhaps a vertical stroke -
Desperate, unwilling chuckles... as Gio shook his head erratically.
The men writhed and laughed for Plaah. Oooh, they were both exceptional targets. They tried every kind of movement, but their feet stayed exactly where Plaah wanted 'em.
Unlike most lightweights, they weren't begging or threatening or making foolish demands. Gio seemed to be unflinchingly occupied with the arousing firestorm humming through him - and that was typical of the impressively ticklish men. Varre was completely focused too, and the occasional side glances seemed to verify the past-tickle marathon theory. Watching, as he was able, for additional ticklers to approach... or more animated gloves. Soon, Plaah thought happily. Very soon.
Varre laughed hysterically, and Gio snickered harder and harder, as his detached composure was crumbling by the minute.
Their tickler was revitalized as it sent the stimulating toys over and around their feet.
Plaah explored between their toes, under their heels, across their insteps... never pausing, and certainly not hesitating. This is why it had caught them. The fun would continue for as long as possible.
By the half-hour mark, the head-shaking and earnest straining at the restraints had tailed off.
They laughed like fools. There was nothing else they could do. Plaah sped up on the feet it owned now, mixed up the attention given each foot, studied the most reactive spots.
Tears ran down their cheeks, sweat darkened increasingly large patches on their shirts...
Determined gloves raked and rubbed.
Tireless brushes skated and scoured.
Before an hour had passed, Gio had stopped laughing. He panted continuously, whining now and then. It tickled so much. He couldn't pull his feet away from the intolerable bristles.
Varre still giggled - a truly desperate, inhuman sound. He'd pissed his pants. The tickling was clearly too much for him to take, but there was no way Plaah would let him escape.
Its prisoners twitched and chuckled when they could.
Another mindblowing half-hour crawled by.
When their breathing settled down, the men eventually surfaced from the delirium. They were dazed at the sight of their cigarettes, floating in front of them...
They were both determined to get as much distraction as they could from their smokes. Varre started giggling spontaneously. Hearing that, Gio joined him.
They were addled, and still trapped.
Plaah was only getting started... and, oh joy, both of the howling men knew that. Though the reality was too much to dwell on, its prisoners knew that so many tickle-toys were laid out for a reason.
After their cigarettes, each man was given a bottle of water -
And then they whined and wailed and thrashed around as Plaah picked up a dozen feathers and sent them to the captives' feet.
Oh, the reaction was spectacular!
Their soles were fully awake now. Even the skin just below the snug cuffs and their insteps caused a loud, bouncing reaction.
Plaah sawed slowly between their toes, traced the sides of each delightfully sensitive foot...
They screamed laughter, tugging desperately at the straps, kicking for all they were worth. The bedroom of the lonely house was filled with their mindless, hysterical laughter.
Time to double the number of feathers in use. Gio saw the new squadron approach and start in. He crowed wildly at them, threw his head back and howled.
As before, there was no relief of any kind. Moving away from the continuous tickling was impossible, thanks to Plaah's straps. The men sat there and laughed and suffered.
Ten minutes led to twenty...
Then fifty...
They howled, sometimes in unison, until they just couldn't howl anymore. The restraints still held them tight, and the feathers were positively relentless.
As before, laughing and squirming became too much of a distraction for either man. They had a much more important task - impossible to complete, endlessly provocative, consuming in every way.
The tickler kept them feverish.
This deep delirium took time, and it wasn't universal. The energy from their physical systems, trying to cope with a constant onslaught of more tactile pleasure than they'd ever known before, was renewing and intoxicating to Plaah. It increased as their maddening day went on... and on. With those who had the right structure and neural path acceleration, the coveted payoff from working these low-rent dudes over was exceptionally augmented.
An hour passed.
Cigarettes, water...
And they watched smaller brushes rise and attack. Thick rubber bristles that flexed - and made them howl like animals. The straps were tested again.
Plaah's prisoners had no more chance of avoiding the tickling than they had before. Clearly they would've given anything to pull away from the ceaseless, breathtaking, maddening tips that slid and roamed!
They were truly overwhelmed. It didn't matter. The solid tickle-torment continued.
Twenty minutes, thirty, forty...
This was exactly what Plaah wanted. Every second was galvanizing. So much more impact, yet the results each hour were sure to continue to be all the more crazymaking. Literally intolerable. And neither man would be allowed to shrink away from the excitement.
Having strong, capable men howling, and no reason at all to think about the conclusion of their captivity - well, tickling them was the primary reason it was there right then.
It indulged in almost eighty minutes of ticklish carnage, that round.
Delightfully, the men were still held tight by their straps. More electrifying contact was in store.
And they knew it. As long as the tickler's restraints kept them here, the fun wasn't going to stop.
The men caught their breath.
Had a smoke, an energy bar, some water, and another cigarette. They clearly wanted that second smoke, and partly because it meant a few more minutes before the insanity resumed.
More tickling, solid and scorching, was on the way.
Varre looked defeated. Wisely, one thing that his facial expression showed now was that he knew he wasn't going to be left un-tickled anytime soon. Gio had more of a worried expression, and he kept looking around - as if some hopeful sign would've appear. Both men had stopped fighting their restraints in earnest. They weren't going to avoid the next delirious round.
Four sensitive feet were just as secured, and as vulnerable as ever. Their arms were still caught, and completely unable to interfere with all of the maddening tools.
Oh, their tickler really liked that their sensitivity was well above average! It had all kinds of toys they hadn't even seen yet. They'd stay... and howl.
The captives didn't doubt that anymore. Nothing they'd tried had worked. The tickler was not going to be stopped.
The men finished their smokes in the gray, dusty room. Gloves and feathers rose up - so many! - as they squirmed and whined. Begging for mercy...
Then laughing their guts out again.
The noise faded, except for erratic groans and chuckles. Sometimes they tried to move. The tickler's restraints held fast.
Daylight began to weaken. Brushes and fingers kept right on tickling.
The one-hour mark came and went, and the stimulation didn't even pause. Both prisoners were lost in fever, completely unable to get their feet away from the toys that were so diligent, so thorough.
When they were able to moan again, kicking out smoke with the weary pleas for their keeper to stop, Plaah was thrilled to get the scrub brushes dancing at a good clip.
Such panic to pull free! Raspy screams of laughter filling the attic again!
Their feet were so much more sensitive now. As their legs pumped in an absolute frenzy to get away from the brushes, Plaah watched their heads turn this way and that.
Varre bayed like a severely ticklish wolf.
Gio howled for a bit, then couldn't keep it up, his neck relaxing. Still conscious, absolutely trapped in stimulation of a greater magnitude than he could ever hope to tolerate, he slid more quickly into the grip of delirium. Fever, demanded by each brush-stroke, made it impossible for him to do anything else. Living through the excitement that rocketed through his body was all he could manage.
Within ten minutes Varre joined him, locked inside. Overwhelmed by far more than either man could fully comprehend, their bodies relaxed, and their breathing slow but full.
The brushes varied the tempo and pressure, but never paused.
Plaah was transfixed by the effect this workout was having.
One hour led into the next before it even realized how the time was flying by...
Laid out on matching mattresses. Naked. Strapped down securely.
They woke, and panicked... but remained right where Plaah had anchored them. Definitely begging for their freedom - to be spared the energetic torment.
Plaah just couldn't wait to make 'em churn out the repowering-energy. All damn day. Of course the tickling wasn't over! There was so much more to try.
Each man got a cigarette. They continued to tug, without hope, at their captor's restraints.
Water, then another smoke - but it was too excited to wait any longer. After a few drags, it proudly showed them what was in store for the first session of the day.
Six oiled gloves came to each man, ready to drill their sides.
The screams of desperation were galvanizing. They fought and thrashed to get away. Gio, despite his best efforts to resist, started to chuckle.
And they watched, with huge eyes, as Plaah's latex hands started on armpits, ribs, and lats.
Such explosive reaction! Unbridled, hysterical laughter. Bouncing and convulsing, the men whooped and barked and hooted with all they had...
Settling down, more quickly now, into silence. The impact overpowered their reflexes to writhe and hoot. Plaah was satisfied that they were unable to stop experiencing the effects as much as they were able... but it was nowhere near enough to tolerate each squeezing, provoking, scrabbling glove.
Since they were being so helpful, conserving their energy, it added more fingers - feet, neck, thighs - and deeply enjoyed the result for ninety-five minutes.
It had so many plans for their ticklish spots that Plaah gathered boxes of food, and ten cartons of cigarettes. The thick plastic it had taped around the windows kept anyone else from hearing the kidnapper-wannabes.
Loosening the straps and letting them go would have to happen, but Plaah couldn't imagine when it would do that. They were far too much fun.
Summer came and went.
The boys were completely used to their new life. They had a purpose, and Plaah appreciated their dependable nervous systems. Stocks, slings, manacles and unbeatable restraints were well-known now by Gio and Varre.
It checked in with a couple of its peers...
Most of them tried the long-term play with the right howlers.
Snickbag had been into selecting and catching men for progressive tickling for several years. It had ideas for where to hide the captives even more securely, since Plaah wanted months and months on 'em with no risk of any accidential interruption. It started picking out the tattoos that Snickbag wanted to sleeve 'em with, since the veteran tickler had really gotten into a lowlife style of artwork. Property tags, it had joked with Plaah. This one's mine.
It also got Plaah to start learning how to talk to the howlers.
One night Snickbag brought another tickler, Whooscritch, over to watch the sleeping men - and led Plaah to a house in the city. A twentysomething man was there, getting high.
Lido wasn't in restraints. He owned the place. Casual bullshitting with Snickbag indicated a different kind of relationship. He'd inherited a few houses, and bought others in the suburbs, the foothills, way out in the sticks. Being the responsible human / equipment order guy for Snickbag and others had bought him a lot less time in the tickle-cells - but he owned fourteen more buildings with dungeons, including a big ranch, and his "tickler buds" give him ridiculous amounts of cash.
Snickbag and Whooscritch were swapping stories, so Plaah asked Lido a question. "You are the most relaxed howler. What keeps your mouth shut, dude? All kinds of other men getting worked over."
He smirked at the floor. "But we deserve it, right?"
"Uh..."
"Look. First off, I don't love getting bushwhacked. Snick is not done with me, and it's determined to make me enjoy the fuck out of it." He looked around conspiratorially. "What I never expected was... the satisfaction. The last guys to expect that kind of take-down, aggressive jerks and overconfident blowhards. Down for the long count. Tickling, of all things. That started with my worst ex-boyfriends. Snickbag got 'em. I mean, damn."
"So you didn't mind them joining the ranks - like the howlers in your buildings do."
"Mixed feelings," Lido admitted. "But the salesmen that just don't let up... and drug dealers, cops on the take - it's hard to feel bad for 'em. Even the quiet guys. Can't think of the word. Private... introverts. Ah. You know that one?"
"Uh-huh."
"You want hyenas who seem just fine between kidnappings. That weakens their story of fantastic weirdness, right? Cool, confident enough, not freaked out and unable to get anything done. You get me?"
"Yeah."
"So - lots of those quiet cats, the introverts could use a push. Tickle-push? O-kay. Get 'em out of the middle of the road, so to speak. Right? Take a few chances, dude, and work on something risky. Get rich, get gangsta, be a Romeo, but just do something."
"I gotta think this over," Plaah finally said. "You've been coached, man."
"Fair enough. 'Everybody wins' is a Snick thing. I got money, and nabs where the tickler like yourself wants me to see it as a win too. Couple-three days, instead of months-long, by the way."
"Well, now, that's just ridiculous."
He laughed. "You cats always say that. Don't you have a couple of bad guys... who are probably waiting for you to start back in on 'em?"
"Ah. Yeah, uh, I'll talk to you later."
31jan2001