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MATI series - installment 1
 

The discovery was made at MATI-LA. Of course.

It was relocated every year or two. Having thoroughly terrorized the ticklish bohemians of Montreal, the Mobile Aggressive Tactology Institute was back in southern California, on a quiet industrial street in the southeastern part of the county.

A half-dozen captives were in residence... testing hypotheses, filling disks with carefully extracted information, or just providing recreation for ticklers that ducked in for a night of gut-wrenching play.

One or two captives were replaced each day with fresh targets of all varieties. These were surveyed for their tactologous zones, put through a complete warmup, and subjected to a day or two of protracted experimentation.
 

File number 3741 hadn't seemed to be any different than the others. During a rest break four hours into his warmup - a grueling night of enjoyment for the ticklers, and confirmation for him of why he'd been kidnapped...

Hummer became aware of Sem, waiting, with a dozen small vials. C'mon on in, it urged. This was standard, a regular part of enjoying the benefits of MATI - the collection of emissions.

Two of the perspiration samples had the usual pH stabilizer added... but the third one was overlooked. Accidents happen.

By the time Sem began analyzing, 3741 was in the throes of bliss - a ten-hour test of an LSD variant, guided by eight rotary buffing tools.

The volatile organics were unusual in that unstabilized vial of his sweat. Sem repeated the process.

It found a molecular complex that looked like a pheromone... but not a sex pheromone. It went back to get more perspiration - but Hummer was tickling a wiry Marine of African-American descent. 3741 had been released.

That was completely unacceptable.

Sem took another look at the chemical it had isolated, gathered up its printouts and went to the Board. It walked the council of ticklers through its data. It had a reputation for pursuing odd things, in the lab. But it had never requested a Board meeting before...

Snatch teams left immediately. Sem began trying to synthesize the mystery pheromone...
 

After four tense days, 3741 was found sleeping in his girlfriend's bed. He was drugged and retrieved without incident.

Sem began collecting more samples from the sleeping captive. All were negative. It strapped him to a table in a small tickle lab, and added far more restraints than were really necessary. Carts of tickling equipment were positioned around him...

He woke up - back in a small padded room, more tightly bound than before, with only the spectrum of toys to be seen - and naturally, he began to panic. And sweat.

Sem collected perspiration from strategic locations...

As well as saliva and feces. A gel-filled appliance gently coaxed urine out of him. With the turn of a dial, its vibrations became rhythmic. He ejaculated within five minutes.

The samples were taken away, and he was left in the very capable tickling-hands of Broiler.
 

But the pheromone wasn't present.

It refused to show itself in the eighth-hour emissions, either.

The next day, after Broiler had laid into him for a few hours, Sem filled more vials - and three of them came through. Sweat collected from his feet, stomach, and temples. Analysis continued.

The attempts to synthesize the chemical had failed. Hoping there was something inherently unstable in the pheromone, which caused it to degrade rapidly, Sem starting blending the newest three compounds.

To the astonishment of all, it struck gold on the fourteenth attempt. Now it had the components, and the correct proportion to keep the chemical stable.

The council came to watch, as Sem programmed the synthicator.

3741 was allowed to rest for a full day, given the usual scrupulous care and feeding - and premium marijuana, at regular intervals.

A crowd had gathered when the first batch of the synthetic pheromone was produced. It matched the formula Sem had identified - and it stayed nonvolatile.

When the generator of this perspiration had woken up again, and had been given water... one-half cc of the compound was dripped onto the air filter of his cell's ventilation system.

Ninety seconds later, his pulse began to increase. Respiration too. His eyes got big. More sweat started to appear, on his forehead.

He grew restless. Tugging at the restraints, looking from one cart of tickling equipment to another -

And then, he started to chuckle. Stopping, with an expression that could only be read as bewilderment. He gulped, continued trying to twist his arms... and his eyes roamed across a set of feather dusters.

He snorted. Trying to hold it in -

Failing. Belly-laughs erupted out of him. He flailed at the restraints wildly. Shaking his head, looking at a dozen kinds of oil... and a low howl took him.
 

3741 laughed for thirty solid minutes, without anything provoking him - except the chemical he had produced during extended tickling.

The ticklers watched him until he quieted. None of them had moved. Broiler finally lurched into action, giving 3741 water, making him have a smoke.

The Board began talking excitedly. It appeared Sem had found a technique, rather than a substance. Feeding concentrated ticklishness back to a captive. But Sem maintained it could have bigger implications. A snatch team was sent out...
 

Sem and the council moved to another lab.

3788 was a vicious gang member - a young Vietnamese tough. He was on the padded wall, still trying to break his shackles. He had not been tickled yet. No sign of why he'd been kidnapped had been given...

One cc of pheromone was injected into his lab's air vent.

Sem had not been happy about drawing conclusions from two captives who were so dissimilar... but at least the Board was extremely interested.

Within three minutes, 3788 was gigging and hooting.

He stopped after only ten minutes.

It made sense that 3741 would be affected... but a different captive, with substantially different DNA?

All the synthicators were commandeered, and programmed to make the pheromone.

Another cart was rolled into 3741's cell. Its shelves were filled with vials.
 

Four new captives were exposed to the chemical. Three of these reacted much as 3788 had - and when a drop of the pheromone had been applied to the unaffected captive's left palm, he eventually laughed so hard he passed out.

Much more testing was needed.

The council ordered the snatch teams to bring in at least fifty additional captives. An abandoned motel was fortified and provisioned.
 

Sem was asked if it could "muddy up" the compound - to keep others from discovering the pheromone - without reducing its effectiveness, or its shelf life. That was a simple matter, really...
 

Vacuum bottles of the chemical began leaving MATI by courier, sent to leading ticklers around the continent and offshore for storage. Total secrecy.

Invisible hands couldn't resist opening the bottles. The Board had never made such a request before, so the curious ticklers knew it was something big. They siphoned off a little for their own experiments... and stashed the bottles where wandering humans would never trip over them.
 

The holding areas became filled with test subjects, moving through as fast as the lab rooms could be cleaned. Most of these ended up taking a short ride to the old motel.
 

In Oklahoma, a secret retreat center of a thoroughly despised religious cult was taken over by snatchers. Eleven men were there for a consciousness-raising sabbatical. Of the five staff members lived on the grounds, three were female.

Since the retreat offered complete withdrawal from the distractions of the outside world - to the point of barring the operation of phones and motor vehicles on the property, until the sabbatical was over - it provided MATI field staff with a controlled environment in which to perform twelve days of innovative tests.
 

A condom manufacturing plant in a suburb of Newark was compromised. The addition of the pheromone to six models of their product went unnoticed at the time, as it had no effect on the integrity of latex or plastic compounds.
 

In San Francisco, four large cargo containers full of imported leather apparel were treated with the chemical.
After the interior of the fingers were sprayed, forty-six hundred pair of gloves were repackaged...
 

Nineteen members of the Rapid City Community College men's basketball team were subjected to a cumulative test. Everything around them was coated with an extremely diluted solution of the compound.

The interior of cowboy boots. Athletic supporters. Bottle openers. Men's magazines. Doorknobs. Lighters. Sweatbands. Bongs. Combination locks. Video game joysticks and controllers. VCR remote controls. ATM cards and keypads.

Within two days, all had collapsed into debilitating fits of laughter. The coincidental occurrence of an ice storm allowed them to be isolated in various storerooms and closets, and bound securely. Scent dispensers were filled with the watered-down pheromone, positioned in front of their faces, and set for fifteen-minute dispersal.

The ten most reactive men were taken to the motel for comprehensive tests. Due to the inclement weather, the snatchers ended up having to shuttle them out to the vans on snowmobiles...

4003 was violent. He had no intention of staying down.

Even under a mass of restraints, he was going to hurt himself...

While he thrashed, Sem had a pair of gloves creep along the side of his table until they reached his feet. Their index fingers had been soaked in a .1% solution of the pheromone -

He never saw them hover in front of his arches, decide where dead-center of each sole was... and press quickly.

Nor did he react. Earlier tests had shown no ticklishness at all. He was that angry.

Normally, it would take a few days to calm down a hothead like this man enough to make him howl - with laughter, as he should - instead of semi-autistic rage.

Sem took the gloves away and bagged them. Other ticklers watched -

4003 got in one more petulant growl. He made a quieter sound - "Uh!" - as if he was puzzled...

And then he sighed. His body relaxed against the padded table. So loose. Completely at ease. Staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, he pulled at his left-wrist cuff - vaguely, half-heartedly, almost as if he was exercising his wrist a little.

After a quick yawn, he smacked his lips... and closed his eyes.

And started to smile.

Total time elapsed, since Sem dosed him with the pheromone... fifty-three seconds.
 

But his little trial was just beginning. From the shelf under the table, Sem picked up two long, thin feathers. Crimson, and ostentatious as hell.

It started playing peek-a-boo with the tips of the feathers, near his tethered feet. He just laid there. A minute before, he'd been increasingly anxious as he scanned the room for some sign of his kidnapper... getting more and more worked up, as he was made to wait.

In contrast, Sem actually had to knock on the table to get him to look.

He finally figured it out. A few inches of each feather were visible above the table edge, like soft red carnivores. They started to move in slow, tight circles, imitating shark fins...

He stared for a few seconds.

And then he laughed.

"Oh, nnoooo," 4003 giggled, in a sing-song tone of voice. Totally unexpected, given his resistance so far, not to mention his hard appearance. "Oh, now, oh fuck. I know what those are for..."

Sem lifted the feathers another inch or two, so he could watch them get... longer. Getting ready to attack.

He chuckled happily, and kept babbling in the same goofy voice. "No, c'mon... This isn't fair. You got me all strapped down here. You - oooohhh, I get it! I get it. I'm gonna get it. Aw no. You're gonna get me, hoo hoo whooooooo. I can't even move, here. Can't fuckin'... Uh. You wouldn't, heh, take advantage? A guy in my position? Would ya? Eeee hee heee... Don't, now. C'mon. I want my shoes. Put 'em back on. Okay? This is gonna drive me insane, you hear me? Oh ho hah ha ha hah... Please, you can't, you just... If you knew how t-... I'll shit my pants, I fuckin' mean it - hey, can I have my jeans? How 'bout... my socks? You kn - wait, wait, you don't know yet. But you will. My feet. Aw hell, this is ridiculous. I'm ticklish. My feet. It's bad... The sides, around the... sides... And my butt. Don't you come anywhere near my ass, you hear me? Feathers?... Aw shit, I'm talkin' to feathers. Tickle-fuckers. Bad, bad feathers. Lemme go. Don't you go gettin' any ideas. Hee hee. Aw, hell, lemme go..."

Every tickler observing him was stunned... And intrigued. This was unheard of.

An aerosol that made guys laugh spontaneously was entertaining. It certainly had its uses. And the chemical did induce ticklishness in guys who never had been ticklish before. That was of paramount importance to some ticklers, even though these virgin targets usually lacked the neurological "throughput" to properly experience progressively barbaric tickling.

But this...

The tone in 4003's voice was unmistakable. He was amused by what was about to happen to him - such a blinding contrast from when he was initially tested.

Sem finally collected itself enough to wiggle the feathers.

"Oh no you don't," he crowed.

It answered him by making the feathers rise more, and wiggle.

"Oh no you don't," 4003 said coyly. Teasingly! Daring the feathers...

What a change of heart.

Sem couldn't stand it any more. It showed him the entire feathers, and had them stalk his toes. Oh yes I do -

"Oh - no - you don't," he snickered, pulling with all his limbs. It was instinctive, or at least unconscious. But it was a ridiculous parody of the snapping, convulsing tornado he had been. Not only that, but now he had a huge shit-eating grin on his face. His head was up off the pad, so he could watch. And he grinned at the feathers...

Sem wiggled 'em one more time, as a salute.

And it started tickling him. Gently.

He wrestled harder - and laughed. But it looked like play-acting, the way he moved. Everyone watching knew what he was capable of. This was ridiculously below his ability to struggle. He burbled gleefully, and keened at the ceiling.

Not even Lafrinex could have done this to such a furiously unwilling captive. And a high dose of Kiterol wouldn't have erased all the signs of misery from his face - like this.

He arched, without even raising his shoulder blades off the table. Rapidly losing interest in trying to roll and twist... laughing more devotedly. Sem tickled faster.

4003 whooped... and slowly nodded his head.

The ticklers stammered, as they asked each other - ever seen that before?

Their victims always shook their heads. No no no. And here... they had the exception which proved the rule.
 

Ten more feathers did nothing to destroy 4003's great new mood.
 

Seven determined hours made him weak... but he remained blissful. The ticklers that relieved Sem kept breaking out the lip balm - because he was smiling so much a couple of cracks had appeared.
 

The Board meeting was interrupted by shocking news.

They raced to the scene...

All of the synthicators had been reinitialized - except one, which was missing.

3741 was gone too... and all of his unoccluded secretions.

Sem had done it. A note was found in its lab:
 

As Sem had intended, much discussion followed. Most of the ticklers remained angry, but understood why it had acted.

They began to consider guidelines for using the pheromone. Since Sem had not made any... final statements, they hoped it would return at some point - with the molecular structure.

Galling as it was to some, the Board solicited input from ticklers everywhere on the use of the compound...

Since the synthicators' memory had been wiped, the stock on hand - about 13 pounds - had become immeasurably valuable. Every request for the return of the vacuum bottles had been ignored, except one.
 

After discussion, they decided to go ahead with a rather exciting plan - dose a bondage-and-discipline expo in San Diego, and hold the auditorium doors closed - even though it would require two whole ounces of their pheromone-stash.
 

Most of the captives in the seized motel were released.

Some remained for the six-month study of cumulative doses. 3788 and 4003 were among them. Three of the basketball players were kept as controls... and also because they were just too much fun to let go.

Every subject who received a dose of the stronger concentrations was dramatically more ticklish than before.

For those exposed to the undiluted chemical, the effect appeared to be... permanent.

When the ropes began to loosen, 3741 groaned with relief.

He looked around the parking lot, but there was no one around.

His right hand dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He had no choice in the matter... the leather glove on his hand was in charge, just as it had been when he drove in.

After he'd taken a few drags, his ankles were untied. Unconsciously, he moved toward the door of the van - but the glove on his left hand had a grip on the steering wheel, and it wasn't about to let go.

Noise from behind made his head fly around...

The backpack. It landed on the passenger seat. The front pouch unzipped...

"Listen up," Sem ordered.

He nodded, eyes real big.

A smaller pouch of black leather floated up next to him, already open. Papers emerged...

"Plane ticket," the tickler said, showing it to him. "Passport. Money..." Four new twenty-dollar bills fanned out. One separated from the rest and folded up, on its way to the pocket of his jeans. "Not enough to tempt you to run. Your plane leaves in three hours."

"Uh-huh," he said, after a confused pause.

"What's your name agai-"

"Jacob Goff," he interrupted desperately. "2012 North Side Highway, Apartment 3F, Re-"

"Okay." Much tickle-conditioning had gone into making sure 3741 would respond only to his new identity. His rush to answer in such detail was a result of his need to please Sem...

"Why are you doing this?" he asked - cringing right after, as if his impertinence was going to bring the feathers back down on him.

"In a minute," Sem said impatiently. Using the glove, it brought his right hand over and turned it palm-side up. "Swallow these."

Capsules, filled with a clumpy white powder...

He hurried to obey.

"I think that's everything," Sem said. "Try to relax. If you look this nervous, you're going to get searched." By way of illustrating what it wanted, it had his hand go to the ashtray and punch out the cigarette... then idly get him another. Calm.

Sem tucked four packs of cigarettes into the pouch, snapped it closed, and stuck it into his backpack.
 

He sucked in smoke... eyes closing, as the relief of finally being free started to sink in.

"Better," Sem said. "Look. There is an enormous hunt underway. For you. And me, but it's mainly you they're after."

"The... pheronome?"

"Pheromone," it corrected testily. "For the thousandth time, it's 'pheromone'. How many hours have I tickled you for mispronouncing that w-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! You got me all nervous," he babbled.

"Alright," Sem sighed. "There is no place on this continent that's safe. You'll have to stay in Europe for awhile. Maybe a long while. Do you remember the phone number I g-"

"Two one two, seven f-"

"Good. Shut up now. When you get to London and make it through Customs - and you will make it through Customs, because there's nothing even slightly interesting in your backpack - you are to go directly to the Western Union on the 'C' Concourse. It should be the closest one. Are you getting this?"

"Uh-huh," he said, exhaling smoke.

"There is four thousand dollars waiting for you there. Ah -," it said louder, as he started to interrupt. "Listen. There will be nine more payments just like it, except they'll be available at any American Express office. I've set them up so that one will arrive each week. You'd better get yourself settled before they stop coming, because after that you're on your own. If something goes wrong, you can reach me at that phone number I had you memorize - for the next ten days or so."

"Okay."

"So, obviously, if they say the money isn't there at Western Union - which is the first place you're going to go - what are you going to do?"

"Uh. Call you?"

"That's right. And I wrote all that down. It's in the pocket of your jacket, and in the leather pouch. Now... The pills I just had you take are going to kick in soon. They'll make you a lot less ticklish for the rest of the day. After that, if you keep chain-smoking, you should be able to stand having clothes on." An unseen finger thumped him in the breast-bone. "You have to board that plane - if you don't want to be a prisoner for the rest of your life. Do you get me?"

"Yessir."

"The last five months I've been tickling you would be nothing compared to what they'll put you through."

"Damn," he muttered.

"I think that's everything," Sem said, making the backpack float up to his glove. "Don't lose your wallet. It's got your new ID."

"I won't," 3741 said earnestly.

The door lock popped out. His eyes were locked on the handle -

"Ready?"

"Oh yeah," he sighed.

The door opened. "Go," and it shoved him with the backpack. 3741 stumbled, repositioned it over his shoulder, and walked fast.

When he was a few yards away, he stopped... and looked back at the van.

Sem honked the horn, and he fairly flew away.
 

After dark, it started the van and drove back to its hideout.

The exam table had no ticklish subject on it. Some exceptional moments came to rememberance. He had been more fun than any captive Sem had known. But the snatchers were getting closer. If the wrong tickler had its way, he'd never see the sun again...

At least it had spectacular memories of working 3741 over. All those months of maximum enjoyment.

It checked the equipment again. Everything was going fine. The synthicators were humming away. Ten days should do it...

By then, Sem would be ready to buy its way back into favor with the Board. If twenty-four hundred pounds of the pheromone couldn't do it, nothing could.

Details about an earlier "school" for TMs are revealed in Taos.

09nov01