Mystified, he discovers he can't really move. Before he's fully awake his limbs are working, straining...
But his feet are trapped in stocks, and chained cuffs hold his arms up high.
"Hey," he yells. "Haaaallllp!"
That's all. His shouts are interrupted by the arrival of gloves. Eight white, gleaming satin hands. Half of them are clearly heading for his feet.
"Aw, shit," he whines. Thrashing hard now. Still trapped. He can't believe what he's seeing, but they've obviously got him spooked. He looks around wildly, then back at the fingers. Watching them land.
A loud sound, like an inarticulate objection, is interrupted by a noisy snort. He shakes his head wildly, tense as he can be.
Then he starts to laugh. Uncontrollable reaction, picking up ferocity. The gloves aren't reluctant to take advantage of his predicament. Two are really worrying each sole.
"Noooo hooo awww HAH HAH HAH!"
His body is flailing wildly. Each limb has been carefully extended so he won't injure himself... or get loose. The stocks rattle, his toes curl desperately, and the fingers keep on driving him absolutely nuts.
Two minutes, five, ten...
Sometimes he remembers to shake his head. Begging is apparently beyond him. Tears roll down his cheeks. Sweat glistens on his chest and forehead.
When another pair of gloves starts in on his armpits, his racket climbs up into hysterical shrieks. There is no alternative, thanks to the restraints, except to stay right there and get tortured. The laughter is booming and unchecked. Uninhibited.
The last pair of hands is taking hold of his knees.
Twenty minutes later he's given a rest. Five minutes. A half-liter of water...
Two black feathers join the gloves, and the nightmare resumes. The new arrivals are feathering his thighs and his scrotum.
He's even more frantic now. Overloaded. Giddy with misery.
As the first hour ends a glove begins searching for the most ticklish spots around his neck. Another cruises across his belly, no matter how much he twists and flattens his gut. Utterly relentless tickling refuses to stop on both of his soles, his ribs -
He lifts his head and shouts laughter, desperate and wholehearted.
None of the moving objects seem to take notice. They're obviously going to continue to make him suffer.
Just as clearly, it's been arranged that he won't be able to do a mutherfuckin' thing to stop them.
"No, no, no, no, no," he babbles. Stocky dude. Hair in his eyes, good muscle division. He must've said "no" a few hundred times, but his hands and feet still moved forward (no matter how much he fought) and paused until the top half of the stocks floated into position. Heavy wood slotted into place, the snap-bracket on one side slammed down, and then the other.
He sagged, as if the tension which pulled him forward had disappeared. Obviously it wasn't necessary anymore.
His hands were caught tight. Inches away from his soles, absolutely unable to budge. How those fingers tried and tried to escape! The wrists couldn't even rotate. This kept him securely in place.
But his feet...
They were dangerously trapped.
Even before the little straps floated up and caught his big toes, stretching the soles - preventing him from curling his feet up at all - he was in trouble, but nothing could've confirmed it better. By no visible means his feet were denied the last feeble self-protection or movement.
All of his yanking and slamming didn't faze the stocks at all.
That was when he started to chant. Worried, defeated - doomed.
A red silk hankerchief cruised above the stocks. It hid something. A few seconds after it stopped moving, the draped cloth zipped away.
Feathers, toothbrushes, knitting needles, pattern tracing wheels.
His demands became squeaky and strident. The invisible captor damn sure wanted him to see the tools, selected for unthinkable effectiveness. He tried everything to break the stocks...
Toys began to separate and turn. They disappeared from his view, moving closer and closer to the targets.
There would be no escape. There would be no rescue party becoming aware of his ordeal.
Soft downy texture lands first. It crawls down the outer sides of each foot. He hisses, tenses up, and continues to beg.
The toothbrushes begin skimming across the base of his toes.
Wailing, he hiccups -
Pattern wheels roll across his heels now, zig-zagging up and down. The knitting needle tips trace creases on each arch, moving diagonally.
He yells "Nooooooo!" one more time. Rattling the stocks uselessly, powerfully... remaining trapped.
Then he starts to bellow the most raucous, uncontrollable laughter.
After an hour, his clothing has been carefully cut away. Feathers and brushes have made their acquaintance all over...
The engine starts.
His padded room, complete with mattress and rack and suspension hardware and sling, is inside a panel van. The vehicle begins to move because he's been accepted. Worth extensive play.
He sways as the van crosses the curb cut and enters the roadway. Locked in a round of hollow, racking chortling he's too preoccupied to notice that he's being taken away.
The passenger seat of the van carries food, water and his backpack.
In front of his face, four silk gloves take shape. When he finally notices he laughs a little harder. They begin, so very gently, on his sides.
Of the many advantages of the van and its customization, the best of all is the mobility. His tickling continues, with breaks for water and breath recovery, for another ninety minutes as the vehicle rolls on.
A private road swings around the back of an abandoned farm.
The owner is paid not to grow crops. There are four small outbuildings scattered on the parcel of various ages, and three of them still have live power.
The van rolls into one of these forgotten structures.
After the doors are closed and padlocked, an extension cord floats out from the cab. One end finds a socket on the side of the vehicle, and the other snakes to a wall outlet.
There.
All set. That's all the outward attention that's required. Van and captive can stay put now. AC and heat will make sure the delirious tickling continues...
And five other hiding places are known. With two solar panels laid on top of his cell and a new supply of provisions, even the most remote wilderness will work just fine.
For as long as desired, the tickling will continue.
2016 ?