Kelly reached his apartment and saw the invoice taped to the door.
After a second he parked the cigarette between his lips and took down the yellow piece of paper.
It was from a moving company. Packing, cold storage, one year. Thirty-eight boxes, couch, recliner, mattress -
"What the hell?" he said to himself, trying the knob. Unlocked.
His stuff was gone.
"Kelly," a guy called. "Get in here."
"What the frick is going on?"
"C'mon."
Now he was getting angry. He walked into the bedroom and turned on the overhead light.
The room had only a wheelchair in it, surrounded by straps -
Hands grabbed him. On his ribs. At least four hands were... working him over, and he couldn't see 'em at all!
"Nooooooh," he warbled. The sensation was overwhelming, but he twisted around. Something red was coming over to him.
A cloth.
Whipping around his face, it was pulled tight enough to make him yell. Between his jaws. It's a gag, he thought, feeling like the whole deal was some weird dream.
"Alright," the voice said decisively.
Hands latched onto his forearms and pulled 'em out.
To his horror, the bottom of his t-shirt was pulled out of his jeans - and he felt hands lift off.
In no time they were under his shirt, creeping up to his armpits.
He screamed laughter.
His awareness was cutting in and out. Fighting with all he had wasn't doing shit to get the fingers away. He realized he was sitting, but his attention was on the fact that his damn arms wouldn't come down when he pulled with all he had.
Pressure. Jingling noises...
The hands slid back down his sides, tickling as they went. Finally, the contact was gone.
Well, the hands weren't touching him. The straps were in place, though.
I am tied to a frickin' wheelchair, he thought, bouncing it around as much as he could.
"Say goodbye, Kelly," the voice told him. "Off we go." The wheel brakes released, and he was turned around.
Out of the apartment and down to the stairs...
Carried. Floating through the air smoothly as anything, even though he lunged around as much as he could. His yells were frighteningly muffled.
The back door swung open for him.
He rolled right to his truck.
It was odd to be fighting like hell and still rolling down the road - only in the bed of his ride, not the cab.
Another bandanna landed over his eyes. He shook his head as hard as he could, but it was knotted anyway. The rustle of plastic turned out to be a tarp being pulled over his head. Hiding him, Kelly guessed.
How the hell could an empty truck be taking him down University without anybody seeing?
It had to be three in the morning. Monday, he realized. Finals week started today. There wasn't much traffic.
He thought the truck turned on Jackson. Heading east. Out of the city. Whether it couldn't be happening or not - shit, it was. Period.
The tarp went away, and since his head stuck up over the cab he couldn't do anything to block the wind from hitting his face.
There were a few turns, and the third dirt road was a lot bumpier. The hands must've been anchoring his chair because he didn't move nearly as much as he would've expected.
Then there was a last steep decline. His truck wasn't a four-by-four, and he worried about the suspension. That's how rough the path was.
But the truck skidded. And the engine shut off.
Crickets.
He feared the obvious, even before the blindfold was removed. Yeah. Trees as far as he could see. Wildnerness.
His chair was lifted out of the truck bed.
A large cloth covered his ride. Camoflage parachute, maybe. He tried to look back as he was carried off.
Across the gully, and uphill. Over another rise.
And another...
There was a cabin. Dark.
Kelly was dizzy with fear. This magical bastard had put all of his stuff into storage - for a year. Looked like this was where he'd spend it.
And the hands had tickled him. That hadn't been necessary. All of this preparation, and... solid tickling. Shit, he was done for.
His chair rose higher. Just over the top of the roof. He made out flat shapes that had to be solar panels. All tricked out, the dungeon. Tickle cage -
"Look around," the voice told him. "Listen carefully. You've really been hauled off. This isn't even the same planet, Kelly. It's my world." A hand snuck under his shirt and teased his navel. "Just you and me."
He cackled hollowly. Stress release.
The chair came back down, and the door opened wide. To his surprise the gag loosened and fell on his lap.
"C'mon in." the voice said. "The right way. Laughing good and hard."
Suddenly the fingers got serious. He slammed back and started to cackle. Whooping like a fool...
Going inside.
He smelled weed.
A door closed behind him.
Then another door.
A match struck, and started lighting candles.
The little room was full of bondage... furniture.
Shelves covered one wall from floor to ceiling, supporting dozens of boxes. He saw bottles of liquor in some of them. Tubes, bottles, vitamins, pill-bottles... and one box had cartons of smokes. Four columns, eight rows. He had to be dreaming this shit.
One by one, hands started fucking with Kelly's sides and neck and knees.
"No! Dammit, get off -"
"Oh, yeah," the voice sighed.
"Guh huh huh hah hah hah n-no you fuc-huh hih hah hah hah haaa-aah naaaah!"
"I love this. And you got what I want. Yeah. All mine."
The straps were loosened, and his clothes were pulled off without delay.
Strong hands set him down against a modified bench. There were thick pads under his thighs, a thin seat supporting his ass - and slightly angled extensions for his legs.
Leather cuffs were catching his ankles - all by themselves. Efficient bastard. There was a set for his wrists too. A thin strap circled around him, pulling taut halfway between his junk and his belly-button.
Four pale hands took ownership of his feet. Surgical latex. Covered with a slippery cream. Their investigation was unhurried.
Kelly knew it was his last chance to put up the best fight he could. The electricity flashing through him made it so difficult. Each set of fingers made him want to just curl up and back away. That wasn't going to happen, and he couldn't stop himself from recoiling...
When the tickling stopped, he was almost shocked to realize that it had finished binding him to the bench already. Real skill.
There was no possible way it was done tickling. A brief pause in the action, and he had no way to guess when the mindblowing pleasure would actually be over.
Too amazed - that was the deal. If he knew this was really happening, believed it was real, he'd be totally scared. When he finally did catch on, the invisible hands and shit flying around would be... old news. Part of real life.
Imagining one day after another, full of hardcore tickling, was beyond him. That would change, probably.
Kelly had never heard of anything like this happening to anyone. Even that made sense - his captor would get incredibly good at keeping this a secret. It hadn't been uncertain - about anything. Of course it would set up... a new home for him where nobody else could find out he was getting tickled night and day. Didn't seem possible, but it was on. Massive experience had made it possible to get him in here, bound...
Stripped, heart pounding, chest heaving - and no matter what he tried, the thick leather held him just so. Perfectly snug. The bench was comfortable, and that was both sorta frustrating but not really a surprise at all.
His feet could barely move.
Both hands were cinched behind the backrest. Hell, he couldn't even tug properly. Ribs, belly, armpits just as wide open as they could be.
"N-n-n-no," he puffed. "Don't... No. Just - aw, no."
A feather drifted over him. Big, pointy brown feather, turning toward his favorite body part.
"You... twisted son of a bitch!"
Before the feather made contact, phantom fingers started landing all over his torso.
"Feel it all," the tickler chuckled. "Good man."
He bellowed at the feather before it finished the first teasing swipe...
23apr07