It's been one of those weeks. People just drive me crazy sometimes. My friends can't make up their minds where they wanna go tonight, so I give up. I need a break from everybody. Watch some TV, see what's new on the internet -
Even better, I see my roommate's truck is gone. That's right - I forgot he and my other roommate were going away for the weekend. The good news is I got the place all to myself.
The bad news is they cleaned out the kitchen. Including the beer...
But naturally they couldn't bother to take out the trash. I've never heard of any other place where the garbage pickup was on Saturday, but there you go. While I'm thinking about it I haul the can out to the curb.
I like this street. It's quiet. No houses on the other side, just trees. My next-door neighbors are walking their yappy little dog, the kids further down are skateboarding... and there's a van parked across the street. It was there when I got home. Nothing unusual about that.
I stare at it now.
Small van, old, faded blue paint. Nobody in it, of course. But now I notice the sign on the door.
It looks new - a white rectangle, maybe magnetic. HAPPY HELPER, in big black letters. But it's the picture below the words that grabs me. Outlined cartoon gloves pulling a triangle of something flexible. A diaper?
Maybe. Or a mask. Really, the shape isn't that far away from being a gag.
This trips me out. What a terrible logo. Suggestive - but maybe that's what they were going for. And it's odd that the kind of business isn't on the sign, such as maybe the words "Diaper Service"... or, for that matter, a phone number.
Now I'm all restless.
I keep thinking about that cartoon, on the van. All kinds of wild ideas. I wish my roommates weren't gone, and yet I'm kinda excited about being all alone. Vulnerable. I have to stop myself from peeking out of the blinds to see if the van is still there.
There's no "Happy Helper" in the phone book.
Almost midnight. No way I can sleep yet. My imagination is running wild. That damn picture - gloves, not being worn by anybody. Damn.
So I empty the trash can in the bathroom, and pull some old stuff out of the refrigerator. It doesn't take up much room in the garbage bag, but really it's just an excuse. I know that. After some thought I pull on sweat pants, and sandals... but no shirt.
And I open the front door -
The van is in front of my house.
It moved across the street. Now the front bumper is touching our trash can.
I have a really bad feeling about this...
So damn exciting, too. I can't be right, what I'm thinking. That's just nuts.
The mystery van is parked where I usually do, if my roommates weren't gone. That sign is on the passenger's side door. Big, ghostly hands.
Either I go back inside, or I take the trash bag in my hand and walk it down to the can.
Play it safe. That would the smart thing to do.
But I take a step forward. There's nobody in the driver's seat - the whole street is deserted, and quiet. My heart is pounding.
Nothing happens. But I'm still reluctant to keep walking, instead of turning around and going back inside - while I still can. All the way...
I make it to the trash can, put the bag inside - and pause, watching the van. As if the driver's side door is going to fly open or something. Ridiculous.
Further off, there's a sound. It takes me a few seconds to figure out. The front door of my house just closed. It doesn't do that, all by itself. Huh?
An instant before it hits me, I see something white. A hand slaps me in the side of the head - really hard! - and my glasses fly off. Thick cloth lays over my face...
Moving. I'm falling? No, the hit dazed me. But I'm walking -
No. I'm being pulled.
The cloth, in the cartoon - now here's another interpretation. Blindfold.
Doors creak. Maybe the back doors of the van. Here I'd been worried about the other doors...
There are definitely hands on me, pulling my arms. I lunge around, and shake my head to clear it.
The engine's starting.
"Hey," I bark. Then I'm off the ground. More hands, locked around my shins. I'm positive there was no one else out on the street -
Whoa. They swing me back, and let go. I land on something thick. The van is shifted into gear. And I yell, really scared now.
A door slams, and the other one. Shit. I'm inside the van - and it's shifting into reverse, even though there's nobody behind the wheel. Absolutely not possible, this isn't happening. I must be dreaming all this.
Hands start grabbing my arms. Grinding gears, the van lurches forward.
I yell again, but it's muffled in here.
Rolling forward. Fast.
Oh, shit.
I'm going for a ride.
Damn. I knew something weird was going on, and I had to go down and see. Maybe... no, there's not much of a chance any of my neighbors were awake, this late, and looking out the window. Nobody knows I'm gone.
That's what they wanted. All these hands. There was nobody else on the street.
A whole bunch of hands pulling me down. They can't be... human hands.
I know what they are. Sort of. Why they got me. If anybody should know -
Aw, but that's insane.
One more yell, and I'm really panicking now. Very uncool. Something touches my front teeth. Jammed in. It can't be what I think it is.
A ball gag...
I don't like this at all. It would be one thing if I could take the gag off, anytime I wanted. My jaws are stretched, I'm drooling.
Slitering sounds. Tinkling metal.
Straps, being put on me. Really scary...
And yet, dammit, exciting too.
It reeks in here. The thing under me is a sleeping bag, I think. When I flop around and stick my face into it, I get a strong whiff of sweat. And cigarettes. Definitely. Maybe weed, too. And, unless I miss my guess, baby oil.
I'm not the first guy -
But I'm the one they got now. Pinned down, and bouncing as the van rolls along.
I'm being kidnapped. Nobody has any reason to want to grab me.
This is way too close to some fantasies of mine... starting out pretty much like this. But it's real, and I'm freaking out because I don't know what's actually gonna happen. This sucks.
What? Oh, no. My sandals. They wouldn't -
I lift my head and yell. Off they come. My damn feet are bare.
Another sound... scissors? No!
Sweat pants. Uh-huh. Tugged down. They're gone.
I suppose my underwear is next. That's one of the scariest things I can think of. Flailing around hard, and I can't stop myself -
A hand pushes down on my chest. Another one slips under my neck, and I flop again, thinking oh crap, here it comes.
But the hand squeezes gently. A quick chuckle gets away from me, before I can force myself to keep it in, ordering myself to not make another sound.
But the fingers slide over my collarbone, and start massaging.
This is not what I expected. I think I'm so relieved that the hand let go of my neck, before it found out -
Another one. No... But they're just massaging my shoulders.
This is the weirdest thing.
They want me to relax. The way they're squeezing, it's almost... well, friendly. Affectionate.
Now they're going to be nice to me?
Crazy. I was freaking out pretty good, there.
This massage - when they could being doing other stuff to me - is a huge relief. Just like it's supposed to be, probably.
After a minute or two, I feel more fingers on the move. My underwear!
No. That's not it. Something else, under my back.
I figure it out.
A diaper!?
Rolling along, with no idea where I'm being taken. There are creepy smells in here - from the last captive. Or captives.
Diaper, blindfold, gag... and the hands, rubbing my neck so slowly.
The sound of the van changes. Are we... going into a building?
Creeping - and stop. The engine dies. Far off, I hear metal moving. A garage door, I think.
The van doors open. I shiver, even though I'm not really cold. Hands start fiddling with the straps - taking them off - and they're pulling socks on my feet!
This is such a relief. I sag back and sigh. Maybe I'm wrong about what's going on. I hope so.
The hands grab on and pull me out. They turn me and make me march forward -
Squeaking. Behind me. I rear back, but it's too late. Metal slams. A big door, from the sound.
There's a tug at the back of my head, and the ball-gag moves a little. Now my arms are getting pulled forward, my glasses are shoved between my fingers...
And handcuffs are locking on.
My kidnappers go away.
I wait, for a minute. Afraid to move, maybe. But they leave me alone.
Slowly, I reach up... and pull the blindfold off.
Shit. Oh, shit, I'm in a cage.
It's maybe three meters on a side. There are iron bars all around me. Overhead, too. Stained concrete under my socks... A single beam of light from the rafters.
And there's a a plain cardboard box on the floor, near the middle of the cage, right next to some faded blankets - small ones. Pastel colors, with teddy bears, ducks. Baby blankets.
I'm really scared again.
Before I can stop myself, I'm clawing at the damn gag, and heading for the door. It's locked, of course. Naturally. I still don't see anyone around. The hands -
But they aren't actual hands. I knew that soon enough. The feel of them...
This can't possibly be happening.
There are high windows, and a big space beyond the cage. A warehouse. I've been locked in a cage, inside a warehouse.
This is too much. I can't do this.
Shaking the door, and then I check the walls. Yelling, over and over, I slam against the bars.
But I'm stuck.
Eventually I end up near the blankets, panting for breath. I kick the box -
It's pretty much full. Sighing, I roll it over and empty it. Water bottles roll away.
I see a box of rubbers, and back up fast. There's a pint of vodka, some pillbottles. A baggie with four fat joints. Peanuts, candy bars. Three packs of cigarettes, all different brands. An ashtray, and a lighter. A big rawhide bone.
Before I can stop myself, I groan.
I sit on the blankets and look at all this shit. It seems... very important, what I do next. If there's any chance to get out of this, or at least make it easier on myself - if that's even possible - I gotta be careful. And I'm tempted. This is all too exciting, even if it is scary.
Eventually, I slide over and get one of the water bottles.
By this time I'm really thirsty. The bottle is almost empty when I notice the aftertaste.
Well, of course.
Ten minutes later, I confirm that the water was drugged. Barely enough time to set my glasses on the box...
My dreams are violent - and satisfying. Things moving fast, colors, blurs... but it's a charge to try and keep up.
I'm awake.
Definitely needing to go to the bathroom... but I'm afraid to move.
That was some of the best sleep I've had in a long time. My heart is speeding up now, though. And my skin feels funny. Wide awake.
I don't even want to open my eyes, because I can't convince myself that last night was just a really intense dream.
Tension pulls at my arms - and my legs. What I'm thinking just can't be real. Just a nightmare. That's it. Okay.
So I open my eyes...
Sunlight through high, dirty windows. Galvanized steel bars.
"Oh no," I mumble. "Nooooooooo..."
Can't be real, this can't be real, it can't be.
I'm laying on some kind of thick wooden bench. Thick padding. It's not long enough -
Thick rope is pulling each limb toward tall, thick stakes. I know this setup.
Of course I do. I'm the one who described scenes like this, so Juan could make the pictures. This can't be a coincidence.
The warehouse is quiet.
That makes sense, too. I yell once, mainly to hear it echo...
And that might've been the wrong thing to do.
I see them.
"Oh. Fuck!"
Immediately, I start telling myself that I didn't really see them. Because, again, they're not real. They can't possibly be real.
Coming.
Eight of them, drifting between the bars of my cage.
"No!," I shout at the ceiling, snapping at the ropes. Here they come.
Oh, shit.
The Floating Gloves of Doom.
That's what Juan called them. But they're not real!
Squealing, I watch them close in. This is eerie, and all too true. Stark, and clear, different from any nightmare -
Thick, empty hands are curling around my ribs. I'm exactly what they want. Is that how it works?
"No no no no no no no -"
Index fingers are in position, ready to poke my armpits. No hair...
Dammit. I've been shaved. And my chest too. Maybe everywhere, but I'm afraid to look right now.
Another one's cozying up inside my right thigh. It doesn't matter how hard I try to move away. I'm tied. This is gonna get ugly.
And now I get to watch them - four gloves! - cruise down to my tied feet.
The others are waiting. Holding off. Yeah, they definitely want me to watch.
"Don't - no, no, please," I whine.
My glasses float straight up into the air.
"I can't... I just can't take it, you gotta listen to me. I -"
Boom!
I'm on fire... But I like it. And it's way too much.
Cackling so freely it shocks me, I pull at these ropes with a whole new kind of force. Some new cosmic level of stress - and at the same time I'm relaxing, inside, unwinding. Letting go. It's on, and there's no stopping it...
Magic gloves. Empty warehouse.
And I'm screaming laughter.
Gasping for breath...
They're gone. I open my eyes -
No, they're hanging there. Just waiting. Not gone yet. Hell, they're not going anywhere.
I scan them, wishing I had enough air to beg. Can they even hear me? How long -
That's when I realize something very important. Time sorta stopped, there, but the best I can tell they only tickled me for a couple minutes.
Two, maybe three lousy minutes. I'm done for. There's no way I can take this. Never mind how impossible it is.
They start moving a little. Fidgety.
"Nuh," I gasp. "No... no m-muh -"
Oh, yeah. Shit! Here we go again.
"Maaaaah haw huh huh haw haaaah!..."
Seize up, twist, snap all around. Whoop like a drunken sailor. Or a frat boy, getting the shit tickled out of him.
They've slowed down. But they don't go away.
Oh, crap, this is unbelievable. This has to be Juan's fault, somehow, but I can't manage to stay mad at him. I can't move. There are tears all over the lenses of my glasses, making everything blurry -
Now I think they're speeding up again...
The attacks are getting longer. They're seeing what I've got. Or maybe they're training me to take more and more. I don't know which.
One of them is bringing a water bottle.
After I've rested up enough, they're going to start in again. I can't stand it. And I want this. So confused.
No, no, no.
"Go away!" I croak. "Don't do this -"
And they land, starting to rub.
I'm roaring with laughter. Again.
The diaper is all... squishy.
I have had enough of this. Fuck.
Drinking more water, I look at the gloves curled just above my feet. There's no doubt now that they're going to close that gap and start tickling again. Tormenting me.
The sun is still bright, outside the windows. It hasn't been all that long since I woke up, not really, and there's every reason to think I'm down for awhile, here.
They're finding spots on me that I never knew were there. These are not ordinary hands. It's like they're telepathic.
Nowhere to hide from their fingers. I want to get my feet away from them so badly, or pull my arms in - and I can't.
They trace around anywhere they want. Even on the top ridge of my pecs, they make me just wail like they're telling me the funniest joke I ever heard.
Oh, not my knees, no. No!
It's just mindblowing. Oh wow.
"Please, please, please, please," I whimper, unable to stop now. The sweat is dripping off me. It's in my eyes, but I can't keep them open anyway. It doesn't matter.
Nothing else matters. I feel just about ready to cry -
No! Gloves, on my neck...
"You assholes."
Massaging, again.
I'm so confused. The hands want me to relax?
Another water bottle. How thoughtful. Despite my fears, the massage is loosening me up. I feel better. Actually, I feel incredible. The ropes are not loosening at all. There's more insane tickling in store for me. Right here, a few inches away.
Something touches my lip... and I start to cough. So I open my eyes -
There's a cigarette - hanging out of my mouth. And it's lit.
Squinting, I turn my head and drop it on the floor.
The gloves massaging me slide under my arms. No, dammit!
All the others return too.
Hard tickling.
I go through that three more times.
A smoke floats up, I drop it on the floor... the gloves just attack.
And they're devoted. As if they really enjoy it.
The fifth time, the gloves don't quit tickling. They slow way, way down. Still threatening, though, as they rub and crawl.
Yet another cigarette is hovering up.
I grit my teeth and yell, bouncing as hard as I can -
Then I hear liquid gurgling. To my left, there's a baby bottle hovering there - complete with a nipple nearby - and it's being filled with vodka.
That tears it. I drop my head and wail. Long, high, and totally different than any other sound the damn gloves have tickled out of me. I wanna go home, now. But I doubt that's going to happen.
Fingers - oh no -
The neck-massage resumes. What is this supposed to mean, exactly?
I shake my head.
Another water bottle comes.
The same metallic aftertaste as last night.
Thankfully, it's time to pass out.
Sitting.
I'm in a chair. Wrists strapped to the armrests, feet well off the floor -
No gloves in sight. It's dark outside. A beam of light is aimed on the ball gag, lying about a yard from me.
My glasses have been cleaned. Somehow that's even scarier than the gag, laying nearby. The attention to detail.
Time to sling myself around some more. I do not want to be tickled any more, At least, not now...
Giggling.
It's a woman's voice.
I have to check and make sure it isn't me, laughing...
Well, this is not what I expected.
I look all around, wishing I'd see her. It's come to the point where I want to see another person, no matter how magical she is. At least it would explain all this.
"Uh, hello?" I say, with my voice all hoarse already.
"Hi, LM."
Nobody there.
"Who are you?" I finally ask.
"Hmmmm," she says, teasing me. "Let's see. I'm the one who pulled you into the van and drove it away. I built this sweet-lookin' cage... and you already know I'm in tight with the Floating Gloves of Doom. I shaved you, and cleaned you up."
There's a pause.
"Uh, look -"
"Are you sure you don't want a cigarette?"
I look around again. "Will you go easy on me, if I do?"
She snorts happily. "You're smarter than that."
"I'll pass, then," I sigh.
"Attitude," she says thoughtfully, maybe more to herself than to me. "That could be fun."
This is worrying me. I pull at the ropes some more.
"You're not getting out of this, LM. Deal with it."
"Out of what?" and my voice cracks at the end of the sentence, embarassing me even more -
"Stop tugging. You hear me? Just stop it, now, or I'll slap you."
That works. I slam back down.
"There. Breathe in, through your nose. Do it, babe. Now. In..." I scowl, shut my eyes - and go along. "And exhale through your mouth. That's it. In - and hold it a few seconds... and out."
I do it a few more times.
"Better?" she says.
"Yeah," I finally answer, because I do feel calmer.
"You just do that whenever it gets too exciting."
"Or you could just call this off now and let me g-"
Loud laughter!
"Or maybe not," I mutter, trying to stomp my feet loose.
"You crack me up!" she crows. "Really. Whoooo. Not a chance. You goofball... It's all about the quality of the experience. Why am I wasting time, calming you down? Huh?"
I open my mouth, and don't know what to say -
She barrels on. "That's your first assignment, then. You guys are so silly. Listen - I don't want you totally swamped with panic. And you know I have a foolproof method to force you to smoke, get drunk... which is something I enjoy doing, when the dudes can't hope to stop me. But I'm not. So - I order you to think about why I'm going about this the way I am, and we'll talk about it later."
Uh-oh, I think. "Now's good, I'll talk about it now, oka-"
Shit! Feathers. Wiggling as they arrive, just to tease me more, I have no doubt about that...
"No more talking for awhile," she shoots back, way too happy.
"Wait!" I yell. Two of the feathers have arrived at my feet. Oh, crap, I'm so dead.
"Get ready," she taunts. "Remember - nice, deep breaths."
"No no, I, uh..." And I'm desperate to see the other feathers stop coming closer, I don't know what I'm saying, and I can't get my feet away from the damn things. "Wait, now. I - I don't even know your name."
"Pick one," she laughs. "You pick a name for me. That's your second assignment."
"Aw... hell," I groan, and the last words I'm going to get out for awhile, because the feathers are getting right down to it.
For a long time - I have idea how long - it's all wispy textures drifting back and forth, soft points moving, adrenaline and the blood pounding mightily all the way down to my toes, sweat making the armrests all slippery, pain in my frustrated limbs building and aching and then gradually fading away completely, and throughout it all the unstoppable chuckles and hoots and yelps that get quieter and hollower as my fighting dwindles, and resistance empties out of me like I've sprung a leak or something and it drained away, just a few drops left and it'll all be gone. I have no idea how I can take any more of this.
But I'm definitely going to find out.
Fuck. I'm laughing like a hyena...
There's a tray hanging in the air, in front of me.
Chicken breasts, mashed potatoes, broccoli, corn bread -
"C-crazy," I whisper, staring at the food.
"You're welcome," the voice says sarcastically. A fork rises up and stabs the chicken, followed by a shiny knife.
"I hate... broccoli."
Everything stops moving. "Guess what I'm going to say next."
"Yeah," I sigh, "okay."
The fork shakes loose, from the chicken, and picks up a big stalk of the broccoli. "One more word about it, and broccoli is all you're gonna get. Two, three pounds at a time."
That makes me whimper, quietly... but I eat it without hesitating.
After I'm done eating, the tray floats off...
And something noisy is brought into the cage.
I see long pieces of metal. It's cruising past me, but I'm staring at the open door - no, make that the slowly closing door. Just the sight of that makes me squirm. Locking. Still locked in.
With a rack, apparently.
Hands I can't even see are having no trouble at all. Carrying me from the chair...
And all too quickly I'm strapped to the long, puffy pads. It's humiliating, how easily they haul me around.
"Stretch out, nice and comfy," she orders me.
"Please. C'mon -"
"If you won't smoke, or get loaded, I guess we'll just cut to the chase."
I arch my back. The straps are infuriating. Is there any point in continuing to beg?
"LM. Look at what I've got for you..."
Oh no. No, no, no.
Artist's brushes.
"Wow," she says, during the next break. "You got it bad."
"Pleeeeeeze," I blubber, "too much, too much..."
"Drink some water," and a bottle taps me on the chin. "You'll feel better. And then... back to the races."
I think there was another break, or maybe two.
Then the target changes. Inside my thighs...
Each brush-stroke seems to linger. Keeps on tickling, even before the brushes backtrack. It's a whole damn order of magnitude worse. I can't laugh at all.
They're painting my kneecaps, taking their time -
Paint?
No. Aw, no, the horrible truth stabs through me. It's oil.
She's working her way down to my feet...
"Aren't you an excitable boy," she whispers.
I'm wild. My body won't move anymore, and I can't get even think straight without roaring with laughter - in my thoughts. Maybe I am insane now. If I am, it's more... interesting than I expected.
New brushes, with plastic bristles, have blown my sensitivity scale all to hell. Again.
They're creeping... everywhere. Something makes me pay attention to my gut -
Oh, that's excruciating. The diaper. They're sneaking under the top edge.
"Nnnn-nnnff," I sigh.
"Yes," she says teasingly.
Invading the diaper... and then it comes off. Game over.
I'm afraid of that. It's like the edge of a cliff. No return -
"Nuh," I manage to bark, but I can't tell if I'm actually shaking my head or not.
And I hear a sigh. Annoyance. "But I want to," she says. "Clean you up there, and jait until you see how much fun -"
"No. I c-can't. Please, please..."
The brushes, oh yeah, they actually stop moving.
"Hmmmm."
"Not... yet," and that's not what I want to say, but right now I've got to try anything.
"That's better," she snaps. "Not yet."
Against all hope, the brushes back out - and start teasing my nipples.
Any relief I felt is gone, about fifteen seconds later, as it's not too clear that I'm any better off than before. My nipples are so... responsive that it takes my breath away. Literally, it's hard to remember to keep breathing. I had no idea they could have as much of an effect on - uh, other parts of me, all sweaty and more excited than I can believe.
"Poor little LM..."
Fingers are stroking my head. All I can do is gasp for air -
"I'm going to make all the fear go away."
"Nooooo-ooooooo."
"Oh, yes. And do you know what's left, babe? When the fear is all gone?"
I manage to shake my head, just a little.
"Desire."
A weird groan oozes out of me.
"We can't let this need go... unfulfilled," she says firmly. "Can we?"
Fingers!
"Nooooooo!" I howl. Dammit, I had to go and look. Rubber gloves. Four, that I could see, frosted with some pale ointment or cream.
At least it's not the Floating Gloves of Doom, I tell myself.
The slipperiness... and my condition, whipped into a frenzy all these hours, quickly shows me that this could be even worse.
Oh, yeah.
"Wake up," a pleasant voice says. "Are you hungry?"
This must be Diane's voice. My roommate. Whew. I am so relieved. "Yeah," I mumble, yawning. "You wouldn't believe the dream I had -"
My feet are hidden... by leather-covered stocks.
"Try me," she giggles.
"Fuck," I hiss to myself.
"Good morning to you, too."
"You can't keep doing this to me," I say quickly.
"Think about what you just said," she shoots back, way too smug about it. "Do I really need to answer that?"
"No, dammit. I see."
"Good boy. I hope you like eggs..."
She even brings me coffee. I get to hold the mug all by myself.
"You need a smoke."
"Forget it," I say irritably.
"Definitely. You smoke, and I'll let you go."
"No, you won't."
"Smart-mouth."
That gets me looking around for feathers, about to attack. Or brushes. Anything. "What's your deal with that, anyway?"
"Let's just say... I'm an old-fashioned girl," she laughs. "If this was, oh, 1949, almost everybody smoked. Drank like a fish. That's what I like to see."
"Is that a hint, or something? 1949?"
"Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't. C'mon... A cigar, then."
"No!"
"Smoke a cigar for me."
"Leave me alone!"
"Yeah. Right. Playing hard-to-get, huh? I can get into that too."
"Damned if I do, and damned if -"
"Now you're catching on."
"Yeah," I groan.
"Finish your coffee. Then your arms are going up, way over your head... and I'm gonna really dig in. Party! This is so much fun."
"For you."
"Not just me," she says defensively. "I know. Just you wait."
"Great. Terrific."
Oh, hell, each second feels like an hour...
"LM is such a happy guy."
I hoot silently.
"I'm making sure of that. But what about me? Huh? You don't even care if I'm happy or not."
Her words are taking a long time to... make any sense. I guess the fuckin' blitz occurring all over my feet has grabbed my attention and just won't let go.
"And I am - this is perfectly enjoyable. I could do this to you all day. But does that matter to you? That I'm happy. No. Not really. I'm having a fantastic time, here, and all I hear during the rest breaks is 'let me go, let me go, I can't take any more, blah blah blah.' I mean, honestly."
What am I... she doesn't expect me to respond, does she?
All I can do is whoop harder.
"But I'm determined to have a good time," she says, chuckling. "Have no fear."
Oh, no - no, aw no, faster tickling. My feet. Insane, unbelievable...
I nod off again. Not for a long time or anything.
A big bowl floats in front of me. Stew... and I gobble it down, unable to stop myself.
Apparently I've earned a couple of donuts, and another bottle of water.
"Okay," she says happily. "It's quiz time."
"Huh?"
"Assignment number one."
"Oh, shit," I whisper.
"You don't remember the question, do you? Poor LM. I guess that's understandable."
I heave an enormous sigh.
"Here it is. Why am I taking it easy? Refraining from all the things I wanna force you to do? Hmmmm?"
A few seconds pass. "You, uh... you want -"
"Yeesssss?" she teases.
To late to turn back now. "You want me to, uh, enjoy it."
"Good for you!"
No, I think, very bad for me. Cooperating with a torturer, who's got me locked in a cage -
"And the second question? What name are you going to give me?"
All I can think of is cuss-words. I'm not stupid enough to say them out loud. "Uh... still working on it."
"Oh." And then I hear an evil chuckle. My heart speeds up -
Feathers, brushes, approaching slowly.
"Noooooo!"
"Yes," she sighs. "Always yes. You need more time to think about what you're going to call me. So I'll keep myself entertained..."
Something new is coming. I stare at it, unable to move or blink. Anything. I'm going to die in here.
"Of course, you may find it difficult to hold onto a thought at all."
"Oh no. Please. D-don't."
"Trust me," she says, mocking me.
Hanging in the air, a few inches from my chest, there's no doubt in my mind anymore.
She's got a buffer.
The disk is maybe eight inches across, covered with some kind of white fur. It won't stay white for very long.
"Look at you. All skeered."
"Please," is all I can whisper.
"I think you've got the wrong idea, babe."
My glasses slide off, and away. Cloth wraps over my eyes. Soft, and dark. Tugging. I guess it's got velcro. Not going anywhere, just like me.
"Give me a little credit," she says.
Fingers start to rub...
They're slow. Very gentle. It's more like a massage, all over me, instead of just my neck. They're not even really tickling me - but that could change any second now. Will change. And she brought out the damn buffer...
No matter how carefully they touch my feet, I can't help but chuckle.
A half-hour of that, maybe less. I can't tell anymore. My body is so relaxed - and that annoys me, but all I can do is sigh.
"And now," she says quietly, "just get used to the sound of it."
Click - and I hear a whirring sound.
"No, no noooooo -"
"Settle down, now. It's a good five feet away from you."
"Shit..."
I hear satisfied giggles. "Easy, big guy. Deep breaths."
There's a buffer, it's going to come closer and closer - I can't get out of here.
The hands glide down my chest, pet my neck, trace under my knees. Of course, I start to laugh again. Quiet, and desperate...
"LM," she says. "Listen up. This buffer is used for exceptional tickling, but I think you're afraid that it's going to be... too much. Dangerous. Am I correct?"
Growling, hooting, I finally remember how to nod my head - frantically.
"Ah. That would be a possibility - if I was a complete idiot, which I am not. Okay?"
I start whining -
Something soft touches my fingertips. Left hand. It's moving. So damn soft...
Out of reflex, I start tugging wildly. Not that it's going to do any good -
Fur, spinning slowly, against my hand.
"I'm in it for the long haul, babe."
"Aaah hah hah huh nnnnaaah," I bark.
"You know that, don't you? Not just fifteen minutes of excitement. Hours and hours."
I giggle like a crazy man.
"Stop fighting it. Let it in."
No way, I think. Fucking buffer, nothing I can do -
The fur backs off.
"Lean into it."
What? That's an odd thing to say...
But I understand.
She's not a beginner, whatever she is. A pro.
Lean...
I felt my head nod, more slowly.
"Excellent." She sounds so pleased. "Very good. I knew you'd get it."
The buffer touches my hand again -
And moves. Fur races against my knuckles...
And I'm paying attention to it. The buffer. Moving - all over me.
Within a few minutes I have no energy left to pull against the restraints. None at all. My skin is more sensitive than it's ever been, way more awake now.
Lazy fingers play with my feet.
The buffer is barely touching my pecs. Back and forth. Ranging higher...
Lower.
Laughing is an absolute impossibility now.
It's like I have a microscope now, inside. Focused right on the area being buffed. Magnifying the effect.
"That's it," she says, almost kindly.
Buffing my thighs, now. Heading lower. I can't even imagine what will happen when this fur starts working on my feet.
As if that wasn't bad enough, there are gloves in my armpits again. All I can do is keep breathing. And I thought I felt helpless yesterday. That was nothing.
My knees. Oh, shit...
Smoke.
My roommate. He's supposed to smoke outside -
No, that's not it.
Of course. I'm in a cage, with a magic buffer. This is so ridiculous.
I open my eyes.
Laid out on the bench again. Tables off each end, with my wrists cuffed to one...
And my feet wrapped together, hanging off the other one. And of course the tables won't budge. Anchored to the floor.
The ball-gag is between my jaws. My glasses are clean again.
"You faded out," the voice says. "Before we even got to the best part."
I moan and let my head drop back.
Click.
The buffer's on. It sounds different. Faster?
A lit cigarette moves above me.
"You can smoke for me..."
Or else. I shut my eyes. Lean into it, I think wildly. She's a pro -
Laughter. "Okay."
Fur! No. My heels. Oh fuck, I can't move, I'm stuck.
The edge of the buffer eases up. My soles.
One huge, racking gasp... and I expect to start laughing, but I can't. This is far too important. Intense.
Spinning against the balls of my feet, up to the base of my toes -
It all changes.
I see, all of a sudden, that I can feel it much more strongly than I ever would've dreamed. The future is wide open, limitless, compared to what I've been through already. There is so much more to feel...
I'm leaning hard. It could take years to comprehend it all.
The huge spinning disk of fur is making that clear.
It could've been ten minutes, or ten hours. Time became so irrelevant.
I become aware of movement - my legs. The gag is removed, and I'm obscurely grateful. Gulping water.
A new diaper is being wrapped around me.
My whole attitude is changing.
I look up at my feet.
Chains. Tight ones. Kicking, I can make my legs move about an inch. Spread out. Ready for more.
"Guess what," the voice says.
"Mentor," I shoot back.
"Huh?"
"Your... your name."
There's a long pause. "You wouldn't be trying to flatter me, would you?"
"No!" and I start wriggling around. "I don't want... uh, it's not up to me. I know. But that's the name I keep thinking of." I tried to kick one more time, and sighed. "Whether I like it or not."
"Hmmmmmm."
"It doesn't matter," I say dully.
"Oh, maybe. Maybe not."
"More fuckin' head games, right?"
She snickers at me. "LM. You are such an ass-kisser."
"No -"
"But it's not going to help you. Noo-oooo. I'm going to take off for awhile."
I lift my head. "You are?"
"Oh, yeah. Now that your... capacity has been expanded, and will keep expanding, it's time for some reinforcement. Pure, straightforward ti-"
"Wait a minute -"
"Hands that live for one thing, and one thing only."
She's got to be kidding. "You don't mean -"
"They put up with my little games. But when it comes right down to it - getting you to smoke, slipping under the top of that diaper - they're not interested. Just the one thing. And I'll let you in on a secret, babe. When you see them you should yell, 'Oh, no - it's the Floating Gloves of Doom!' That seems to make them happy."
And I'm tugging at the cuffs like I haven't done in a long time...
Then, all I can do is wait.
She wouldn't do this to me... no, that's a idiotic thought. All I have to do is remember what I've been through.
Shit, I can't imagine them working me over now. It's not because they're too fierce. They're too smart. They know what they're doing. How did I end up here?
Is that... oh, wow, this can't be happening. I can't take it.
No!
Here they come.
I'm wrestling, and squealing. Can't help it. My voice is shot, but that doesn't matter. Nothing else matters.
Firm white hands, cruising through the bars.
"N-no," I groan. And then I remember... It may be a setup, but maybe it isn't. I clear my throat. "Oh no - the Floating Gloves of Doom!"
They wiggle their fingers, so slowly. I guess that's a good sign. Not that it helps me any -
I'm watching two of them park right in front of my soles.
Insane, crazy, wild.
Bucking and howling, just the way they want. Cool acid all over me, in the shape of hands. Under, around, squeeze and wiggle and stroke.
A break, for water...
And they dig in again.
More times than I can possibly count.
Nothing else matters.
I catch my breath, and feel them settle against my skin. Moving.
Cool wind. That's something new.
I feel cloth against my legs. It seems like such a novelty...
Stars, and clouds -
I'm outside.
Looking up at a garage door. A car bumper. My car.
I'm laying in my own driveway... wearing an orange jumpsuit. And chains. There's a cigarette hanging out of my mouth, but it's not lit. Stuck to my lips - but I manage to drop it, and sit up.
Everything's sore. I manage to lean against the garage door and stare at my car. So tired. Or drugged, maybe. I'm not sure.
My chest really hurts. When I move -
And I have a horrible thought. Carefully, I pat my chest. Sharp pain.
My nipples.
I don't even wanna know.
The cigarette is lying there. I stare at it, wondering if it's only a matter of time. Thinking it over.
After a while, I realize I can't stay out here until dawn. My neighbors...
There's stuff in the front pockets of the jumpsuit. I pull out a pack of cigarettes and scowl. Throw them under my car. And a plastic lighter, which I toss after them.
In the other pocket there's a piece of paper, and a business card. Not enough light to read them -
And a ring with two shiny keys.
So I get the chains off. Shoving them under my car doesn't seem like a good idea, so I drag them behind me. Walking is out of the question. I crawl to the front door, and I'm not looking forward to banging on it until one of my roommates lets me in.
The door is open. Just a couple inches.
As quietly as I can, I get inside and finally lock it. Talk about a useless gesture...
After a minute, I shove the chains inside the jumpsuit and crawl to my room.
The paper tells me how to care for new piercings.
Carefully, I pull the jumpsuit down. Little gold rings hang from my swollen nipples. I don't see how to remove them, and I'm too tired to mess with them right now.
That leaves the business card...
Blank, except for handwriting. Pink capital letters. A date, a time, and a place. Next Friday night, late, a particular spot in the mall parking lot.
And then, underlined twice:
QUIT YOUR JOB
I sag back on my bed, remembering the brushes. The buffer.
And I start to laugh.
Mentor thinks she won... but I know better than that.
22mar04