Hanging in midair. Motionless.
Six broad mittens of bright, spotless, creaseless satin. Bulgy yet full-looking. Big, wide surfaces of red slippery fabric stationed over him.
He gapes at 'em, eyes wide. Getting a good hard look while he can. While they're holding still...
He already knows they're mysteriously dexterous pieces of cloth. Watched unbelievingly and with increasing panic as they cornered him, shoved him into the van. Pulled him down, caught his limbs, threaded and bore down on the straps till he was stretched out taut enough to be pessimistic.
Fired up the van and started driving, passing fewer landmarks he knew, and apparently on a highway in the foothills. A dark swatch curled around the top of the steering wheel...
Saw a couple slide into dark leather gloves and fill them, somehow, well enough to open up a pack of cigs and force one on him... light a kitchen match and hold it with confident ease 'til he sucked in...
Take a switchblade and cut his clothes off, with only a couple minor nicks resulting... and light four more smokes off the butt of the last one.
But they'd finally shut off the motor, four big silhouettes floating into the back and pulled a curtain across. Darkness. All he could hear outside was crickets. Tried again to pop the straps, but he knew from earlier attempts he just couldn't get loose...
The slithery satin slid against a rougher surface -
He recognized the sound. The gloves being evacuated, dropped near his head. A light went on; a mitt drifted away from a large airplane console-type lamp.
He squinted, grunting once, unprepared for the light.
Then he took in some of the supplies lining the walls of the van and groaned again, looking stricken...
Horrified.
He understands.
And here they hang.
A yard under them, only his eyes move, flicking from one to another. His body is rigid with fear. Naked, spread wide.
Stunned, staring at the mitts with fear and dread all over his face. Frozen like a rabbit in a car's headlights.
He knows.
Eyes locked on the mammoth shape nearest his left foot. Mouth opening slowly...
That satin starts to move. They all do. No rush.
All the time in the world.
He looks from one to another, and yanks on the tethers mindlessly.
They're getting closer. Gigantic smooth paddles of glossy, soft cloth. Coming to him.
Still gaping, he challenges the straps with steady pressure. They don't yield. He quits trying.
Unable to dodge 'em, so thunderstruck he quits squirming... He just stares at the satin good and hard. Mitts about to land on him, impossibly, in six of his most sensitive places.
He doesn't blink, doesn't make a sound as they mold around some curves...
And start to move.
He hiccups once, with great force. Convulses slowly, snaps his bonds -
And laughs. Loud and crude, instantly yelling. Haw haw haw, prolonged and forceful.
For a while they press and polish him at a moderate clip. Very gradually, he progresses from gut-wrenching laughs to desperate "heeeEEEeeee EEEEeee"s... from flailing to pulling and stretching desperately.
A long while.
At last, four mitts pull off. The remaining pair cover the bottoms of his feet thoroughly, making him switch to aggressive "aah hah hah aaaah haaaaah"s. He keeps trying to watch the others, now still as statues...
Eventually he quiets down a bit... just cackles now, but they have a wrenching quality. He squints more often at his ambushed feet...
The satin moves over the tops and sides of them for a few minutes, careful. Provocative.
Then his ankles... massaging each area lightly, making their way up his legs on the top and undersides.
They take a little longer to probe his thighs, spend a wrenching prolonged period on his junk. Around, under and back.
Proceeding to his belly, as hopeless watery eyes follow their progress. His face is contorted. Hard snickers, continuously bursting out...
It takes well over an hour to complete.
As they finally lift off his face, another pair dips down to nuzzle several areas that made him thrash. He shakes his head vaguely while he hoots...
At last, they all peel off. Apparently done probing. Knowing his body real well now. Where to ride. Too many places he didn't even know would get a reaction out of him -
They're - are they? Yes, they're only changing places!?
One pair curls around his soles... another enfolds his navel and points immediately south - and the last two are hiding his armpits. A predictable configuration, for starters. One that makes him whimper.
Cool, wide satin hugging him, bearing down and sliding... heavily. Such full contact. They're slowly picking up the pace as he spasms, tugging and roaring. Going berzerk in their grip trying to twist and lean his way out from under them. Unable to keep his eyes open now, he shouts heartfelt laughter, bellows it wholeheartedly. Crude, continuous and lusty yowls. Gleeful agony.
The satins continue.
Moaning.
Guttural noises as he wakes up...
The light is very faint, but he sees a big bottle of water out, a few candy bars -
Light?
A... skylight, maybe? Way above?
The curtain's open, too. The surface past the windshield is dull, uniform... familiar -
Door. Garage door. Big one.
They've moved the van... into a garage -
He's yelling, no no oh no haallllllpp, hallllp me. Hoarse, discouragingly weak. He yells anyway.
Not a house garage. That's a commercial door...
It's less than a minute later, and his voice is cutting out altogether. Dry-mouthed, heart pounding, he worries the straps some more -
As the mitts make their entrance. A perfect beeline, from between the front seats... to his ribs.
Sides, thighs and collarbones.
"No," he pleads almost silently - unable to watch 'em much, but knowing that feel as it wraps around him, buffing again...
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