My leg doesn't even really hurt anymore, but I've been avoiding the massage therapy machine in the trainer's room forever. I don't know why I'm so reluctant...
But I'm in no hurry to do my Econ paper, so I sit down on the end of the bench and adjust the padded rollers until they just barely touch my thigh. I saw a cord with a power switch on it hanging off the side, and I fumble around for it -
Something slams into me, and my back hits the bench.
Snakes... No, they're straps. Leaping up. Leather slaps around my arms, two or three on each side, and they weren't there when I sat down. They can't be hooked up to the machine.
Dammit - my arms are down flat. Amazing. I can't sit up.
My ankles were next.
"Time for some endorphins," a voice says in my ear, real smartass about it.
Gloves float up. A pair is hanging over me. Shiny, like silk. Moving freely - in charge of the situation, teasing me. I can't believe they're actually moving.
"Hey - no!" I shout at 'em. "Hey - Help me, help, I need some help in here..."
But then I realize Scotty took off already. I'm the last one in the place.
For a few seconds I still watch the door hopefully, not hearing a thing out there - and the door swings shut. Nobody else is around, and I'm can't get these freakin' straps off me. Laid out on the damn bench. This is like some kind of nightmare.
I have to get somebody's attention out there, but I bet there's nobody else in this half of the building. Saturday afternoon, midterms are over, and I wouldn't be surprised if nobody sets foot in the place until tomorrow morning. So it's back on me to end this...
The straps aren't pulling loose. I can't get any slack to tug hard enough. This is so messed up.
Somebody - or something - waited until everybody else took off. It's got gloves, big ones, and they look like they're alive.
Reaching for me.
"What the -" But I shut up real quick. Oh, crap, they're close to my ribs. They don't know how crazy... Or do they?
I can't stand that, even for a second. I'm spread wide open here. I feel a little dizzy. Why didn't I leave my shirt on when I strolled in here?
They can't do this, oh no, oh no.
"Please, no, no no no," I beg quietly, feeling overwhelmed already. "Not me. Grab somebody else."
But that's ridiculous. This is a done deal already. I'm so screwed. Oh, wow, it's not even five o'clock yet and there won't be anyone interrupting.
I'm in for a night I'll ever forget.
They're right over my sides, getting ready. There's no way this can be happening to me. Not like this -
"More endorphins than you've ever felt before," the voice says.
It dawns on me that the words I'm hearing aren't scary, really. It's the tone of voice. The dude may be invisible, but he knows I'm a goner. He's confident as they come. Really into it, too. Got those straps on me in no time, showing off his gloves - big gloves, shiny, about to grab on.
The fingers make contact.
I freeze up, starting to lunge back and forth. No matter how much I throw myself around, they stay put.
"Get me out of h-here!" I scream at the door. But deep down I know I'm wasting my breath. Only the tickler hears me, and it probably gets a charge out of my yelling. It must know how badly I want some gym rat to stop in and get something out of his locker. Darron does that sometimes...
He's off with his girlfriend. Out of town.
The fingers are driving me nuts. We're just getting started, too. Stuck between strong hands, and the bastard's got my number. I'm fighting not to whimper like a pussy.
"D-d-darron!" I shout. "Help! Anybody, help, haaaaaalllp!"
Son of a bitch. Not this. Tickling me. No -
The palms are pressing down. I'm done for. The pressure is building up in my chest. Well, everywhere. My arms and legs can't get up off the bench. I have to leave now. Right now.
Creeping.
"No oh no oh nnnnuh haah haw haw nn-aaaaw hah," I babble.
I can't freakin' take this.
Over and over, I try to get off the damn massage table. The straps make real sure that's not going to happen. There's something very confusing about not being able to run...
Magic gloves, polishing real slow. Sneaking up my shorts, oh hell.
No matter how hard I try to keep it locked up, I start to giggle. Here we go.
Trying to roll around doesn't do shit. They're not letting up.
It feels like there's little tiny flares going off. Both sides. Hot.
Sweating, and the gloves are slippery and cool. Burning me up, and cooling the skin too. I'm losing it already.
This is only the beginning -
Snagging a big breath, I kick out this real ragged howl.
Once in a while I hear the voice chuckle. Winner.
Shit, oh shit, it can't keep doing this. Pull the gloves off, I think desperately. They're getting way too close -
"Nuh hah haaaaaah!"
Oh, sure, they're gonna check out my armpits. I can't move, I have to do something, and I'm stuck with no one hearing me wail in here and the fingers are getting closer...
I bounce again, pound my head on the pad, and laugh harder. Yeah, that'll discourage 'em.
It's dawning on me that this room has cinderblock on all sides, and an old door. A couple steps out of the way when you're walking in or out of the locker room... so even if somebody wanders in, which they won't, I can just picture 'em heading straight out and never hearing a thing.
There's no getting out of this one. This bastard's going to make me howl. All night. And tomorrow's Sunday, why the hell would it quit if I'm still going out of my mind? I just have to get loose. Or else. So I try as hard as I can -
My knees. No, no, no! They're clamping...
I can't stand this! Oh, wow, it tickles so freakin' much! I'm just yelling laughter and I can't stop.
After a minute the gloves dive back into my armpits again...
Thinking is beyond me. I'm burning up. Sometimes I get lightheaded and hope that whew, it's closer now - the limit of what I can take - time to pass out now. But the bastards back off just enough. Let me catch my breath. And when they dig back in it feels ten times stronger, just way too exciting to take, and I still can't get my arms to move.
The hands roam around. I have to let 'em do whatever they want, because I can't do shit to stop 'em. The mocking voice took me down and picked a time when nobody else would hear me howl. And the gloves own my ass. I'm all theirs. Ticklish son of a bitch, caught good. Hot Saturday night for this jock, and nobody's gonna know. Long night. Big day tomorrow too.
This is gonna go on and on for as long as the tickler wants.
That's the kind of shit I keep repeating to myself, when I can think at all. So damn unlikely... but here I am. Still here.
Dammit, I just can't laugh hard enough.
Getting to know every spot...
Oh, they pause now and then, and I pant for air. But then -
Shit. Not again.
Of course. Why not? I can't stop the fingers. The sadistic prick made sure there won't be any help coming.
I've just gotta break these damn straps.
Air. Oh, good.
What a workout. Sweaty -
Wait. It can't be. No. Not this. Shit, no. It's still on...
My meat's out now. The tickler pulled my shorts down, and my underwear, around my ankles.
The gloves aren't done with me.
My lip - oh, whew. A water bottle. I grab the straw and suck on it.
There are four gloves around me now. Two are hanging over my shins. At some point my belly and my feet were getting nuked at the same time, but I had to concentrate on trying to deal with it. Twenty fingers, one merciless son of a bitch making 'em move - and I'm staying here.
Right here. How many gloves can it put to work at the same time?
"No, no, now please," I warble.
Look at them. Impatient to get going.
Shit, here they come again...
Over and over.
The same shock, and I wail like a little kid. And laugh.
Oh, hell, do I laugh.
If only somebody would go to their locker. Hear me. Get curious - but it's gotta be Sunday by now. The gym's locked up.
And I think I'm getting more ticklish. I'm going to lose my freakin' mind, right here. The straps keep me laid out, no matter how hard I lunge back and forth.
I'm making sounds that have never come out of me before. Laughing, hooting.
The tickling is too much to take.
It pauses, I catch my breath, and it starts up again.
Sometimes I stare at the door. Has the bastard locked it? Since I can't get loose, it doesn't really matter. But I worry anyway. Not a soul in the locker room to hear me. This is outrageous.
My voice is raspy, when I can manage to laugh at all, and it seems like I've been feeling this ache for days. My chest is sore. And my arms - but even deeper there's this incredible frustration that almost feels like I've got some reflex all bottled up. If I could just feel the damn tickling hard enough I could deal with it.
The sensation isn't completely bad, either. Exciting. Arousing, even. That really pisses me off.
The gloves make me laugh about it.
Ow.
Really sore. When I breathe - and my sides are throbbing. My feet.
But it's over. Right?
No?
I can't... Oh, shit, my arms are caught. Still. Damn leather... And my legs. It can't be serious. I've gotta get it to let me go!
The ceiling is lower. It looks older, somehow -
And I have a terrible thought. All too true. The freak moved me. Why?
So the fun can go on and on.
I just can't believe this is still happening. The tickler has gotta be so proud of itself.
A more complicated bench, lots of straps - and me. Check.
Where am I now? Is this the basement? Maybe I'm not even in the gym complex anymore. Hidden real well, if it's half as dedicated as I think it is. I bet nobody could possibly hear me now. They won't even know where to look.
I wrestle around, whining hoarsely.
There's a sliding sound. A box, down on the floor, is coming over.
Opening -
Aw, not more gloves.
"No, no... Don't."
Leather gloves, silk - and boxes of rubber gloves. For me. All kinds of tickling...
Another box? No, please, not more -
This is just not happening. It can't be.
A box full of feathers and brushes. Plastic bottles. Razors.
And there's five or six more boxes.
Some kind of oil...
Oh, I'm gonna lose it. This pervert is so into tickling that it gathered all this shit together. Picked this place, got me in here...
After I stare for a minute or two, there's another noise - and my head whips around.
A cabinet's opening.
Like magic, a tray drifts out.
Water, a big roast beef sandwich... and a pack of smokes?
Between the times when I'm drinking and chewing, I beg for my life. All I get in response is more soft chuckling, absolutely calm, leaving no doubt that the guy wearing all the gloves isn't done with my ass.
Then the cigarettes rise, and the pack starts peeling open.
"No way," I snap.
"Think again."
Shit, oh shit, four gloves are coming out of the box. All filled up, ready to rock.
I thrash and yell, but two of them get a grip on my insteps...
And the other two make me hysterical.
Every minute is impossibly long.
Finally, whew! They back off. I lay here and breathe hard for a minute...
When I open my eyes, there's a cigarette over my head. Shiny red lighter, too.
"No -"
"Yeah. Or else."
The gloves are landing again, oh no, no!
"Okay! Okay, okay -"
"That's more like it."
I light up. This just gets crazier all the time. "I'll get kicked off the team."
The invisible guy laughs at me. "Like there's not a pack in the glove box of your car right now. Half a pack, anyway."
That makes me worry. This freak went through my stuff?
I start pulling at the straps. They're as snug as ever - well, same as the training room.
"Relax," the voice says casually. "Enjoy your smoke."
"Where am I?"
"Far away from anybody else," and there's no mistaking how pleased it is. Smug.
"Please, now, you can't do this, Please." No response. "I'll be missed. The other guys -"
"I got news for ya," it shoots back. "You're off the team."
"Shit. No. Don't - I've got classes on Monday!"
"No, you've got a refund. This semester's tuition. All set. It'll sit there in your account." It laughs again, quietly. "Independent study. I'm your adviser, by the way."
As that sinks in, I can't get my mouth to work. It takes me quite a few seconds... "My roommates," I finally whisper.
"You moved out. See, that room in the frat house opened up."
It's been spying on me. I can't think of anything else that would explain...
Well, that's that. I tug at the straps again, but the fear was bigger than me. I feel empty inside. Hollow. The setup doesn't seem to have a flaw. Looks like I'm in for a whole lot more. Hardcore tickling, right here.
"The geeks found a check on the refrigerator, and a pretty rude note with your name at the bottom. I don't think they'll be in any hurry to go all the way over to frat row and look you up. And they go to classes on the other end of campus, don't they?"
I'm just stunned. It's perfect. My roommates - uh, my old roommates - never run into me anyway. I don't have any geek classes this semester. They hang out in different bars. So - I've disappeared, and nobody's ever going to know.
After I take a long drag, I clear my throat. "How long do you think you're gonna be able to, uh, pull this off?"
It chuckles, but it doesn't say anything.
Oh, shit.
The way it tickles me, there's no doubt how much it's enjoying this.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering if it's possible to literally laugh your head off.
I don't think I've ever wanted anything to stop this much. At the same time, I'm positive it won't. That just amazes me somehow.
"How long," I keep whispering. It just comes out automatically.
"One more hour."
"Really?"
The tickler whoops real hard. "Trust me," the voice finally says. "You really don't wanna know."
"Unnhh..."
"Check it out," and the lighter flicks a time or two before it reaches my smoke. "You're hidden away. And I'm going to get ya good. You with me? Endless... and careful. You can count on that."
"Crazy. You're c-crazy, no, no nooooo-"
"With a guy as ticklish as you, in a place like this, time just doesn't matter anymore." And the voice sounds proud, oh hell yeah, as sure as he can be.
A voice is saying something.
"Hey. Sparky."
It's so far away. There's... all these layers of excitement between me and the real world.
What's the goal, here?"
"Huh?"
"Am I out to get something from you? Or am I already getting what I want, here?"
My wail comes out like slow, shitfaced laughter.
"Yeah. I think you know the answer."
I yawn and look at the ceiling. It's been maybe a full week since I woke up and felt any surprise about my situation - or any panic - and I don't even know how many weeks have crawled by since it caught me.
A cigarette slides between my lips.
"Sparky," the voice says, almost friendly.
I take another drag and hold it for a few extra seconds. "Yeah."
"How you feeling? Ready for more?"
I just scowl.
"Wanna guess what we're gonna do today?"
"I think I got it."
"Yeah." Laughter fairly explodes over me, absolutely delighted - with the usual hard edge there that I'm used to hearing. "I suppose you do."
The feathers are leaving. A towel runs over me quickly...
Gloves. Returning. Time to shoot my wad again.
Greased fingers stay in place, ready to double-time it and make me too excited to do much more than breathe. I think that may be when the tickler is happiest.
I'm not into fate, or any of that shit. I was blown away at first, and then royally pissed off. Panicky, frightened, hopeful. I despaired. I tried to look and sound pitiful. I begged. Then anger again. Miserable, totally hysterical -
The tickler never stopped.
Come to think of it, astonishment stayed around longer than any other feeling.
That changed a bit this morning.
I get food, water, cigarettes. Quiet taunts, the usual... and as I smoke the gloves hang over my belly, same as always. The fingers curl and uncurl real slow - and not like they do when the bastard's taunting me. The thought of starting back in seems to be moving the fingers, almost dreamily, because it can have 'em dive back in anytime it wants. As many times as it likes. Oh yeah, some time ago I apparently decided to think about the invisible tickling bully as "it," rather than "he," because nothing human could possibly keep doing this with no freakin' mercy at all, never getting sleepy or too tired to lay into me for another hour, ready whenever I wake up to stick it to me again...
Anyway, the way gloves just flex a little looks to me like the tickler is lost in thought. Looking forward to more of the same. It's so damn pleased. Really enjoying this.
It certainly planned for the long term. There's no end in sight. I finally get that. This is the deal. Wishing and fighting and whining won't change anything. It made sure that nothing will overrule what it wants to do.
I don't even care now if I start to dig this shit. Being tickled. It doesn't matter. The way the gloves look just proves to me that there will be more fever. And not a little more either. I guess I'm way too fun.
Twisted. Yeah...
It's been getting me high for a few days now. Like a reward or something. The tickler made me say that I love what it's doing to me. More toys, more straps. Tack another week on. Make it two. School's gonna have to wait. So I finally figured what the hell, and I started joking around more. It likes that.
We're busy down here.
My thinking is all messed up. I know that, but it doesn't feel like I've snapped or anything. Not permanently. Just trying to deal with the insanity it dishes out. Delirium - hell, I wasn't even sure what that word meant before. The gloves just latch on again, and again...
If it wants me to be totally freakin' crazed, it'll make sure I am. Nothing else matters as much. It won, obviously, so somebody's gotta be on the short end of the stick. I can accept that. Can't last forever.
There's something weird about being relieved - I mean, the bastard's just so pleased to mess with me I think the satisfaction is contagious - but I've got work to do.
"Morning, dude."
"Morning." I roll over - no restraints. Not yet.
For the past month or so it's been letting me work out after breakfast. Push-ups, crunches - hell, it even got me a chin-up bar and some free weights. There's no way to describe how much it loves to get the cuffs back on me. All bets are off then.
"You wanna hear something funny?"
"Naah. I am something funny," I sigh, pausing to start the first cigarette of the day. "Now, if only you'd cheer up -"
That gets it hooting. Shit, I got me one charged-up tickler today. I'm gonna get it...
But that's just how it goes. Things are exactly the way it wants 'em to be. What could be clearer than that?
28may07