You shall be relieved to learn of the ordeals of the exceptionally ticklish. Why? Because they are not your trials. Remembering that some other man is caught and worked over makes your liberty that much sweeter. Accounts of their captivity add a certain distant danger to the world, but also the inexpressible relief that you shall not be occupying any of those dungeons tonight, handled by captors that are already as focused as they are content.
- Declaration of Anima Manus
The car came out of nowhere. Boom, there were the flashing lights in his rear-view mirror...
Shit got weird, alright, starting when the cop came back up to his car. There was a warrant. Not a bench warrant, though. The cop looked confused, though he was nice enough about it. He had been directed to offer a choice - an immediate trip to the county lockup, or a mandatory appointment tomorrow at the federal building.
Some choice.
Jan finished his smoke and threw it down. Being late had a certain rebellious appeal, but the whole thing was too odd. Inside, then, and through the metal detector. Up to the fourth floor.
The receptionist smiled at him. That was a big relief, somehow.
Being interviewed by two women wasn't at all what he had expected. He didn't know whether he was more relieved or puzzled by it.
Halversen was the one in charge, it seemed. She didn't say as much as Crawford, the younger black woman. Typical suits. At least they didn't act like they were mad at him. Staring at a clean crystal ashtray on the table, right there, he barely heard Crawford say he could feel free to smoke. That didn't seem like something that would still be legal, in a fed building, so he just nodded.
Papers rustled. He saw Halversen open a file folder, look through a few photos, and hand one to Crawford. She nodded and passed the picture to him.
It was a shot of Jays and him, laughing, at the ball game...
She'd said something dumb. Insulting the size of his balls, or something like that. He vaguely remembered cocking his head, staring her down... finishing his cigarette and springing it away before he grabbed her sides. She jumped, real nice, and went for his armpits. The photo showed them locked in battle, grinning like idiots.
Crawford said there was somebody - or something - that wanted to meet him.
Just like that.
"Who are you with?" he finally said.
"Domestic Pacification Authority," Halversen said quietly.
"Uh-huh." That was a new one on him.
Crawford looked like she was about to say something she didn't like much. "Jan, you've been selected to perform... an important public service."
"I have?"
"It begins on Friday," Halversen added. "Friday night."
"You're kidding. Aren't you? This Friday?"
"This Friday."
Crawford reached over and nudged the ashtray closer to him. He took the hint...
She wouldn't give him a straight answer. That got on his nerves.
A full physical, including the damn treadmill. Jan had been smoking for, what, seven years now, but he never stopped working out. It was a point of pride that he could still make it through a whole game of ultimate frisbee alongside the guys who didn't smoke anything...
The tech running the exam said he was in perfect shape, considering his habits.
"Thanks," Jan replied automatically. He didn't understand the expression on the tech's face, though - almost sorry Jan was so buff.
Don't get drunk, she told him. It would be strenuous, so some dudes worked out the same morning. It was just a suggestion.
Crawford kept saying it wasn't "work," exactly. And she was absolutely sure he wouldn't be injured. No danger. He'd be protected far too closely. Every instant. By experts.
Jan left the building with some vague idea of more treadmill tests, or something like that. Crawford had a whole freakin' file on him already. It wasn't hard to believe her when she warned him - don't skip town, now, 'cause we have to make sure that won't happen. That's the way it is, she said, shrugging.
Getting back in his car, Jan tried to come up with a way to screw with 'em. Disappear. They had his bank account numbers, knew where all of his friends lived. Nobody liked getting hassled like that...
It made sense, like she said, to tell as few people as possible that he was gonna be out of touch. She flatly refused to estimate how long he'd be needed. That pissed him off more than a little - but really, what could he say anyway? Secret government project? Jan, of all people?
Friday came. Out of nervousness he went to lift weights, and ate a couple hot dogs afterward.
Somewhere during the second bottle of water he realized something was wrong. It wasn't even dark yet. So sleepy...
The situation didn't really click for him until he was drifting off. Laying on the couch, too damn tired to move. It had to be some kind of drug. His limbs wouldn't move right. Any other time he'd try to fight enough to get to the phone - but they'd said it would happen tonight. Whatever was coming. Soon enough he'd see what was up.
Jan pulled again, as hard as he could.
The situation was a lot more... customized than anything he'd thought up. This was very serious. Waking up in a room he didn't recognize, spread-eagled and unable to budge -
And then the gloves came to life.
They just couldn't hover over him without some kind of help. They looked full. Almost alive. Somebody was screwing with him, definitely trying to freak him out.
Well, it was working...
The way the damn gloves just stayed there over him - posing? - made Jan try again and again to lift his arms off the mattress. There wasn't enough slack. Chained down. Unbelievable.
Shiny fingers, over him, way too steady. Like they owned the place. That was probably true - he snuck another look at the door. Maybe the suits didn't even know where he'd been taken. He was totally helpless - and why gloves? That cloth, too... the way it reflected light was unusual. Disturbing.
Soft. Now, why would -
He froze.
No. Aw, no. Not that. Way too ridiculous.
But his feet were hanging just off the end of the pad, weren't they? Extra chains. Not just to keep him down, but so that he couldn't freakin' budge.
Jan looked at the gloves... and got really scared.
Why was the damn door closed? Him, gloves, cabinets -
Marathon. He knew it, suddenly and firmly. Not just for tonight. Shit.
His eyes wandered across all those cabinets, still wondering what was inside 'em, and fairly sure he was going to find out. There was far more shit in there than anyone could need for just a weekend.
The immediate problem was the gloves. What were they actually gonna do to him?
Not that - he kept pushing the answer away. It was too shocking, crazy-making. Not that. Couldn't be...
Dammit, his arms just weren't going anywhere. He couldn't kick hard enough to free his feet.
They're going to tickle me, Jan thought again. Ultimate, through-and-through, nightmare tickling.
"No," he snapped, sounding like he didn't believe it could be true.
Oh yes they are. Not a damn thing he could do -
Jan started to panic. Grunting with the effort, it was the most important thing in the world to get away from the gloves. But the steel bands around his wrists weren't budging, and it hurt when he twisted too much. He understood why the ankle-bands were even thicker...
I have to calm down, he thought firmly. Keep it together. "Easy," he mumbled, panting for breath.
The ankle-cuffs are even more sturdy, he told himself, because my feet are in for the most intense tickling possible. Freaking out is not going to make this any better. There must be some way out of this. Think, dammit.
No, it was apparently going to happen. My armpits, too. Look at 'em. Wide open. Oh shit. Not like this.
The gloves were real. Jan lifted his head a little, squinting -
As if that was the signal, the started to descend.
"No!" he shouted. They weren't going to stop. Of course they weren't. Jan thought frantically. What can I do? Bargain? Beg?
They're not going to miss out on an opportunity like this. Dammit!
He shook his head at them.
The first pair was an inch or two away from his armpits -
"Crazy," he groaned. Impossible. He'd go insane. He couldn't move his head down far enough to get in their way. There was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do to stop this.
Maybe they were just out to scare him. Back off, he thought desperately. Okay. You win. Cruise back up.
Jan closed his eyes. Just could not happen, no, chained down tight and here they c-
Cool fingertips touched down. They even felt slippery.
"No nn-noooooo," he wailed.
The material moved up again, through his armpit hair.
He tugged crazily on the chains... and took a long, staggered breath. He hadn't planned on doing that. His body, though, it knew better. The time had come to do the only thing it could. React.
A weird growl built up inside, his mouth popped open - and Jan bellowed. Fierce, crazed laughter. Rocking back and forth didn't bother the gloves at all.
Gentle fingers retraced their path, started moving across, then were zig-zagging their way up again. Gloves made just for this. Tickling him. Magic hands.
No, aw c'mon - not his feet too.
He fairly screamed the next few laughs...
The hands work together, he thought crazily. No - it's one tickler. All the hands. Will there be more? Eight, fifteen, twenty?
Sensation that demanded his attention and the thoughts in his mind seemed to ignite each other. Jan bounced as hard as he could - and howled. Just kept howling and howling. It was impossible to take, and impossible to get away from the fingers. Moving.
The invisible son of a bitch was barely getting started, and he couldn't do a damn thing except laugh - not nearly hard enough, either. It really scored with Jan. Had a real live one to tickle...
Stop thinking, he begged his brain. Just don't -
Oh, hell, you're gonna be taken to places you never even dreamed were possible. No way out, now.
Within a few minutes it just took too much effort to make that kind of noise. The hoots and chuckles that bubbled out were mournful, almost sleepy...
Inside him, though, it was like a gigantic fire was out of control. It felt way too good - amplified, somehow, beyond what he could stand, until it almost took his breath away. The fingers didn't show any sign of stopping, either.
Jan squinted at one glove, and then the other. Snickered feverishly at them. Please, he thought earnestly, you're killing me, here. I can't even move. Don't tickle me any more.
But the suckers didn't let up.
Oh, they had him caught good.
It was far and away the longest night of his life.
Despite knowing better, he pinned all his hopes on being cut loose. When he was worn out, surely he wouldn't be fun anymore. The tickler could go get somebody who was all rested up...
He was quiet. Sore, all over...
Staring at the same dingy ceiling.
More of that torture, he thought dully. This has to be some kind of really vivid dream.
"Please let me go," he croaked.
There was a soft crackling sound. He looked over to his right...
A plastic bottle was being opened.
Jan watched it pour oil into a stainless-steel bowl.
Not the oil again, he thought with horror. Oh no.
Silently, the pan floated up and came to rest just a few inches from his right armpit.
"Nuh," he sighed. Looking at the oil made a feeling sorta build up in his head. Too late he realized he was remembering oil being rubbed into his pecs - and this weird, quiet keening noise came out of his throat. All by itself.
Oil on his thighs, that was so incredibly overwhelming too.
Jan started to giggle. It pissed him off, but he couldn't stop. One pan of oil, and not even any fingers in sight.
The way those fingers just loved to work on his feet, endlessly, solidly -
He chuckled harder. All attempts to shut up were failing him. Slamming his head down a few times didn't stop it.
Giving up, Jan just laid back and whooped. He couldn't seem to stop.
It was almost a relief when the first pair of gloves came and got oiled up. He bawled his protest, but it sounded like rowdy enjoyment. Snickering good and hard, he closed his eyes.
Oh, shit, they were all over him again. Ridiculous overload.
I have to do something, he thought. But I can't move. There has to be a mental defense of some kind. Certainly trying to hyperventilate didn't work at all - the tickler just waited until he was okay, and then the fireworks started right back up.
Jan tried to pretend it was next week - being tickled for seven straight days was too horrible to think about - after they'd let him go. That would be so cool. The day after, maybe hiding out in a motel, not getting teased and provoked like this. Okay. Laying on a bed, not spread-eagled by straps. Just relaxing. No feathers around either, or brushes - no other toys. Not a single sadistic hand touching him anywhere.
The crippling attack on his sides was... what he remembered, more like an echo, of the tickling that had finally ended the day before. No gloves squeezing his knees or scrabbling on his feet, just the memory of it. Not real anymore. He wasn't still trapped in it, feeling what they did so strongly that he couldn't even more anymore...
Well, crap, that didn't work.
Jan wheezed laughter, croaking and moaning sometimes. There was no motel. He was still a prisoner, hidden and laid out.
The sensations were all too real.
This wasn't anywhere near the last day -
Stop it, he told himself. Don't make things worse. No more thinking.
But that wasn't possible either, apparently. Get real - there's no telling how long this insanity will continue. Maybe the sadist can never get enough of this. Not even close. All the food and water he could need were probably right here. Of course this wasn't short-term!
Tickle boogie, for one lousy weekend? Not even close. Get real.
This was for keeps.
"Buh... boogie fff-fingers," he rasped. Cracking himself up - or maybe it was the thumbs sliding around in his armpits. The result was the same.
Good grief, he'd never had a nightmare like that. Unreal. Nobody would ever believe...
He was staring at the same damn ceiling.
"Oh, come on!" Jan squealed. His voice was all but shot. "You gotta be kidding me!"
But the gloves descended on six or eight choice spots. The tickler wasn't joking around - but it was certainly big on making him hysterical.
He just wrestled around and whooped, already coming unglued. Some tireless bastard was having real fun with him. Armpits, nipples, groin, calves.
"You..." he panted. A water bottle was being brought over. "Driving me nuts. Really, truly - is that what you want? Huh? I'm gonna be a total basket case."
But they can still keep tickling me, he thought glumly. Whether I'm spaced out or not...
He took a long drag.
There was a click...
Music.
His brain remembered the name of the tune, but there was no way the bastard could've picked that song by accident -
A black case floated up. It held his CDs - or at least it used to. Then he was being forced to listen to one of the discs he owned...
Somebody had gone through his car. Something, rather. Invisible and curious.
Jan knew immediately that there was something else in there. He'd have time to figure out the messages later, though, because the zipper was opening.
Shiny cloth.
Right away he was jerking and tugging. All useless - a pretend performance - because there was no way on this earth the tickler would let him miss out on whatever it had planned. The next few taxing, psychotic hours were a given. His limbs just hadn't seemed to figure that out yet.
Not missing a moment of the torture, he told himself calmly.
The black material was unfolding, sort of. Fingers...
As the satin hands inflated he made a connection. A realization. The tickler liked to mess with his head - maybe goosing the reaction when it started back in on his ass.
The case, and now the awakening hands, were doing a strip-tease in reverse.
He glanced at his package - definitely at full attention. That area was in for a wild time too, and Jan couldn't do a damn thing about it. There was definitely some excitement in store. He was gonna lay just like he was. Fingers teasing and playing all over him.
Polishing his feet.
The bastard was slowly bringing the gloves to life, and he couldn't help but be intimidated. Here, it was saying, study these puppies. Strong, and soft, displaying just how sure I am that you'll be out of your mind for a good long time.
Jan's cigarette was snatched away.
He watched and waited. The tickler was... picking the right moment. Oh, no - the chorus of the song - he whimpered. Of course.
Let's go crazy.
Let's get NUTS!
The hands just dove on him. Ribs, belly, armpits. High crotch.
Screeching, he bucked and arched as hard as he could. Swung from side to side. But the gloves had him. Sticking close, working -
And the music was turned up.
Hands tickled like they'd been practicing for years. Absolute experts.
Oh, he was going crazy, sure enough. Jan bellowed laughter, helpless to effectively do anything else. They're in control. Let's get nuts. Gone.
The blazing sensation slid all over his legs, his feet, around his neck, around his ass, under his knees, palms, elbows, ears, occasionally pouncing back into his armpits.
When the song finished - finally! - the gloves let go of him. It took a minute or two for Jan to catch his breath.
A glove brought him a water bottle.
Then the CD player clicked again.
He was drilled through a third playing of the song.
Five times...
He lost count after eight.
"No no no aw no you d-don't," he grunted, trying to arch. Roll over. Anything.
And his legs were spread too. That was so his mutherlovin' feet, as well as his legs, would be as exposed as they could be. Worked over real good.
Oh, wow, Jan had no idea why he hadn't already snapped for good. This was unbelievable. Unbearable. The bastard had him all laid out again.
Wait a minute. This wasn't the same room. What the hell?
A-ha, it's got another... private tickle dungeon, he thought to himself. Jan looked around and realized he was breathing harder. His heart was pounding away. Scary shit, here. I've been moved, he thought, so the tickling could go on and on. Nobody knew, and nobody was gonna find out. He would've gladly traded the embarrassment of somebody seeing him like this... for the extension of the nightmare that was obviously planned and ready to go. Maybe a real long extension.
Serious tickling, for a lot more hours. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
Well, except suffer.
The first giggle busted out -
There were hands tickling him. Empty gloves. Determined, though. The bastard really had his number now.
His limbs were still held down good and tight. All of the arching and slamming around he could do didn't change a thing.
A snort just kept leaking out, turning into a groan.
"Nnnn-nnuh hoo hoo-ooooo..."
It was absolutely unbearable - and he couldn't get his body away from any of the fingers. Tickling away. Gloves - empty gloves - kept right on making him crazy, and Jan threw his freakin' head back and roared.
Ribs to armpits, and back again, over and over. Knees, neck...
Tears dripped off his face. The impact was more powerful than ever. There would be no getting away when his wrists and ankles were caught like this. Not yet. Hours and hours more, day after day -
Jan hollered laughs, squealed like a psycho, and slammed back as hard as he could.
The tickler keep right on going.
There was nothing he could do. The restraints won. His brain understood this, but it seemed like his arms and legs hadn't quite bought in yet -
The gloves locked around his shins, near his ankles. Others took hold of each foot, on top, trapping each instep.
The tips of the feathers started dragging down his soles. Like a shallow cut, if cuts somehow felt good...
He whooped, quickly and softly, and clenched his teeth. All those hands were making absolutely sure he couldn't do a damn thing about making this difficult. Oh, shit, the wrist-cuffs weren't lifting at all either.
Up crawled the tips, and down... Like a burn. No, points of ice. It hovered right around the idea of pain, and a good warmth was surging up from there. Waking up. Teased by broken glass, licked by flames -
He kicked and pulled up as hard as he could.
None of the hands even moved.
The feathers traced up and down.
Wailing laughter at the ceiling, he felt even the squirming fade away - because there was nothing he could do. The cold reality of the situation got big and appallingly clear. The gloves were being used - worn - by a very experienced torturer, and it was definitely going to tickle him beyond anything he'd even thought of before. It was a done deal. The gloves didn't even have to freakin' pin him down because the restraints were more than he could break.
The tickler wanted to make the impact of the feathers as overwhelming as it could be. Jan had to be shown beyond a doubt that more than enough gloves were ready to grab him, right away, and keep him laid out so the breathtaking pain that also felt so ridiculously wonderful would keep right on coming.
That was the reward, he realized feverishly, for preparing all this shit and getting him here. Secure cell, prepped where no one will ever find it - and now the fireworks will just keep on coming. Stroke by stroke.
Jan stuck his cigar between his teeth. "Log in," he said out loud.
After a second the security panel turned green. "Confirmed."
The door slid open.
"Your assigned vehicle is in space 122. One-two-two."
"Accept," Jan muttered, lighting his cigar. Smoking wasn't allowed anywhere in the facility, but right then he just didn't give a rip. He really wished he was back at the snowboard resort instead...
Next month it would be two years since he was first "drafted." It felt like two thousand years, sometimes. His life had been intense. Unthinkable tickling, and wild parties to make up for lost time. The feds were supposed to be trying new meat - get more young turks on board, and maybe then the ticklers who liked Jan so much would move on. He had to wonder if they were just saying that, though.
Some bigtime spies were able to get their jobs done because Jan was put through the wringer, in their place. Nobody seemed to know how to change that... but at least he was making phenomenal money. Of course, a lot of the time he wasn't able to spend it all that soon. His place, apparently, was in one dungeon or another. Totally unfair, and apparently not about to change.
His finger jabbed the elevator button harder than he intended. This was not what he wanted to be doing tonight. For the next couple weeks. If there had been any way to skip out...
Puffing on the cigar rebelliously, he walked into the lift. His tap on the sublevel button wasn't quite as vicious.
The agency goons couldn't possibly understand how much it just shredded Jan. A couple of the dudes had been really grateful - and for espionage types they had been friendly enough, buying him a couple beers to thank him. They came off like ordinary guys, maybe a phys ed major and an ironworker just hanging out at the bar...
The bell dinged, and he watched the elevator door slide open.
Stepping out, he saw the even-numbered parking spaces to his right. 110, 112, 114...
There was a weird smell. Sugary.
He stumbled.
Jan looked at his feet. They were getting fuzzy. "Aw, no," he groaned. It had drugged him. Again.
The whole building was starting to sway, and he grabbed at the nearest car.
Shapes were coming. White. He knew 'em all too well. Comic, cartoon, circus. Uh-huh.
They took hold of his arms. Deceptively strong... yet they could turn the screws so damn gently. Nine, ten, eleven hours.
"Nnnnuh," he said to one of them.
But he was pulled forward. It was so hard to keep his eyes open. It's taking me to the car, he thought. I'm ticklish. This is my job, like it or not -
Secret cell. Time to tickle, all the time it wanted. Torture the ticklish dude.
Jan's body relaxed. Everything was dissolving into gray flecks.
The gloves seemed to tighten their grip a little as they hustled him along.
21-Jun-07