The fourth e-mail, like the others, had no text. Just an attachment.
Sol clicked on the little icon.
A large picture started appearing, row by row.
He saw a wall. Padded...
Blond hair.
It was Luke, alright.
Laying on a mattress. Rubber sheet.
He looked... tired. Sweaty. A cigarette was hanging from his mouth. He'd never smoked, as far as Sol knew. Hated it. But his bare chest was grey with ash.
His arms were out from his sides. Strapped down -
There was a tattoo on the inside of his right forearm. New. Still red and swollen. It appeared to be a black... hand, curled tight around a bunch of feathers and brushes. Jet-black. Smooth. No fingernails.
A glove.
The photo ended below his belly-button - just far enough to show the lack of pubic hair. He'd been shaved, alright. Armpits and chest too.
At the bottom of the photo, words had been superimposed. Times Roman, big and black...
LUKE WON'T BE COMING IN THIS WEEK EITHER
Sol closed his eyes.
The employee who gave him the most grief with the lone-wolf shit was Luke. He was going to check out one more little thing, alone, when he saw the van creeping away. Tailing it without backup was stupid, and Luke was too impatient.
Maybe, Sol thought, he should've threatened Luke more. The guy just didn't listen sometimes. "I'll be okay" - that was the last thing he'd said. Well, not this time.
He'd been kidnapped less than fifteen minutes after his last call... to Sol.
That was twenty-nine days ago.
Every lead was stone-cold.
Luke cackled slowly, not making a sound.
Feathers coasted all over him. His arms and legs were chained up behind him and spread out, bending his back a little. It hurt like hell the first time, but Razer hadn't left him in that position for very long. Each day since, a little longer.
He wasn't even thinking about the pain anymore. That's how long it had been...
Just the tickling. That was more than he could deal with, always.
They had been dancing on his back and ass for hours today. Luke had been strung up right after Razer fed him. His pecs were lifted off the vinyl pad, so they were easy for the feathers to attack. So was his neck, which had turned out to be excruciatingly sensitive. Knees, thighs.
All disbelief had been tickled out of him many nights ago. Now, it was all about endurance. There was nothing else he could do except suffer. His team obviously didn't know where he was, or else they would've busted him out of Razer's torture chamber a long time ago.
They'd changed all the codes. Luke was glad, even if -
No. Sol did the right thing. Fuck, what Luke wouldn't give to see Laifa and Sol blast through that locked metal door...
Razer had started tickling right away. That said it all, really. It had cabinets full of feathers and stuff.
After a few hysterical hours, it demanded Luke's pass phrases. He knew it wasn't serious. That scared him. It told him what was really in store.
Every move Razer had made was confident. Backups and contingencies had all been prepared. It had been watching Luke - even inside the office, from what it told him. There was no doubt that it knew the pass codes would be obsolete, but it demanded them anyway. From the contented sounds it made as it tickled him, and the way its gloves lingered, Luke knew that no secret info could save him.
Then it seemed to make sure he wasn't able to stop laughing - or remained just too addled to think at all - for hours.
And tickling, of all things. He'd been trained to tolerate pain. They all had. Tickling was low-probability, discussed with rolled eyes and grins. Shit...
It took too long. Like drip-water torture, the agency docs had dismissed the possibility of it being used.
Of course, they didn't anticipate whatever drug Razer had finally injected. It blew away all the mental tricks Luke had been taught to deal with intense pain - by making him euphoric and too relaxed to move. Then it milked him as a few dozen fingers petted and traced everywhere.
One night was all it took. Pleasure broke him. He lasted just one night. One. Fuckin' embarrassing. Luke told it the codes, and begged it never to use that drug again. Ever.
When he finally woke up, six gloves were waiting.
More tickling that day, and the next...
It kept having fun with him.
He had no utility, so far as information went. From the view of a normal kidnapper he was now disposable. Rules of the game. But Razer had kept him. Luke was its pet now. Not a prisoner anymore - just property.
The magical fucker really, seriously enjoyed tickling.
Long nights of delirium. Or days. Luke didn't know anymore. It had all the time in the world.
The feathers didn't get soaked, even though he was dripping with sweat all the time. Waterproofed, maybe.
Luke watched them provoke his chest for awhile, too worn out to do anything except pant for air.
Eventually the feathers went away. A squeeze bottle cruised up and gave him water, and after that a cigarette tapped his lip. He cooperated and sucked in when the lighter came, remembering the rotary buffing tools that Razer had used to make him start smoking...
Sol hadn't been able to sleep much - and it showed, but everybody understood and laid off the remarks. He knew he looked like shit.
The kidnapper wanted something. That only made sense. They all did...
But there had been no demands. Just the taunts. Luke's in for another week of torture. And another week. Fucking week number five, and counting.
Its bargaining chip was being tickled and revived, tickled and revived -
Sol shuddered. This was a nightmare.
A personal grudge against Luke was out of the question. He was very good at keeping a low profile. He didn't have information that was still of any value. But the bittersweet, stinging, arousing hours dragged on. Patient fingers -
"Fuck," he said quietly.
It didn't have to keep sending taunts - to Sol, in particular, because the last three photos had been addressed to him by name. That was a message, a deliberate signal. Everyone who could possibly be seeking retribution against Luke or Sol had been ruled out.
He kept coming back around to the same chilling explanation. Allie, his own boss, hadn't been able to poke any holes in it, either. The kidnapper was going to make a move, and it wanted to deal with Sol. This was the same bastard who had been carefully binding and tickling his employee for weeks and weeks.
It was smart enough to keep Luke. Period. That was awful enough, and it apparently wanted something from Sol in particular - so it sent the photos.
He stood up suddenly, fighting panic. Walking out of his office, he saw Castle sitting down -
"Up," Sol barked. He sounded angry, even to himself. Laifa was on the phone, and he looked up immediately, studying his boss.
Castle stood up, looking puzzled.
Sol shook his head as he walked over and tried to smile. "Sorry. Come with me."
"O-kay. Why?"
"Have a cigarette."
"I just did."
"Have another one."
Castle grinned. "Sol?"
"Just... move it."
They leaned against the wall of the balcony and smoked. It was a beautiful, windy day, particularly if you weren't being tormented in a dark, hazy room somewhere with physical pleasure you couldn't possibly tune out -
"How long has it been?" Castle asked.
Sol looked at him. He meant the cigarette. "Four years," he finally said. Castle was always trying to quit, half-heartedly. "This is every bit as disgusting as I thought it would be."
"Hold that thought," his employee said, nodding.
"You getting anything new on the van?"
"No. About eighteen hundred to go."
That was a negative, alright. Too many plain white vans, the most common make and model...
Was Luke squealing already as it tied him up and hauled him into it, closing the doors?
"I'm too close to this," Sol sighed. "You remember what I told you? About my, uh, my past -"
"Oh, yeah."
Yeah. The night they'd broken the Vermilion root cell, celebrating at the hotel bar in Baltimore, Sol had ordered one beer too many. Definitely out of character. It was time to give up a little something, along the lines of personal information, to bond with the guys. But not that. He wasn't sure how the conversation came around to anything near that subject. Oh, he'd been subtle... but they understood. Sol remembered Laifa becoming thoughtful, Castle looking sympathetic - and Luke, dammit, had at least tried to hide his contempt.
Sol kept thinking of that moment. Luke, blissfully clueless about what it was like, barely concealing his scorn. Castle's disgust with the... perpetrators had been clear enough.
But Sol had come down a rung or two in Luke's eyes, because of his weakness. It didn't matter that he'd been a little runt, cornered by larger, curious hands.
Well, Luke had gained a whole different perspective now. As an adult, too. He'd discovered how alarming the eager fingers could be. Enough other hands there, ready, and while he was distracted enough... the handcuffs approach, or the rope. Strength being short-circuited as he's manuevered, hidden.
And the absolute icing on the cake was that it wasn't the three or four highly motivated men it would've required to get Luke moved and chained down. The photos showed empty gloves, feathers and brushes that hung in the air. No digital editing, the geeks swore. No men could even be threatened into tickling as diligently, for all this time...
Too much specialized gear had been prepared. The tickler was patient. And it wasn't human.
"We'll find him," Castle said quietly.
Not until it wants us to, Sol thought. But he knew he was already a drag on morale, lately, so he nodded with false confidence. "Yeah."
Sol's imagination wouldn't stop augmenting the photos they'd received, devising extravagant marathon techniques to fill the hours in between. Not for a night, or seven nights - or thirty. It would have been so much easier to take if the kidnapper had really been out to extract information...
But Luke's nightmare went on and on. The only reason was the kidnapper's enjoyment.
And it kept sending the photos to Sol.
Tickling with brutal, enraptured skill - and as it did, the kidnapper kept Sol informed. That repeatedly led him to the same unnerving, asinine conclusion. Something powerful was getting off on Luke's misery, and it might have found out how much more fun Sol would provide instead.
That idea was so much more intimidating... when the feathers weren't picked up by human hands.
He was too worked up about it, so he took a walk. Lost in thought - actually, in imagining how it would be. Wishing you could pass out, but the kidnapper was surely too smart to allow that...
The convenience store was coming up on the right. A quick thought came over him. Wanting a cigarette. Sol sure didn't want all the down-sides, though, and that was all it took to make him decide against it.
Usually.
In three of the pictures, Luke had a cigarette in his mouth. By now he was hooked. Being made to smoke, whenever he wasn't tickled, and pumped off, then tickled some more -
Sol knew it wasn't logical at all, but if it was in any way Sol's fault that Luke had to put up with it now...
He scowled, feeling thoroughly defeated, as he walked into the store. Buying two packs and a lighter.
Nothing they could learn was narrowing down the hunt. Not at all.
Another picture arrived eight days after the last one...
It was shot from just below Luke's swollen cock. Oiled leather fingers all over his crotch, a studded harness trapping the base of his dick and his balls. A feather teasing the sticky glans -
And in the background, Luke's delirious face.
There appeared to be a tattoo on the underside of his shaft - a loop of chain, held closed by the stem of a gray feather.
LUKE'S JUST NOT ABLE TO GET OUT OF BED
"Steganography," the lead computer geek said.
"Tell me more, in small words," Sol prompted him, fiddling with a cigarette.
"A big compressed file can have information hidden in it, a little piece at a time."
"And you think that's the case here?"
"We know that's the case here. So far we've got a number, a period, and another number - all flagged with the same prefix. That can't be random chance. It might turn out to be the... numeric version of a website address, pointing to a particular server."
"So we'll get a fix?"
"No, sorry," the geek said immediately. "Could be rerouted. Probably a hacked machine - the owner might not even know yet that it was compromised. Give us another hour."
He was thinking about having another smoke - as Luke was probably doing, too - when the geek came into his office.
"Got it," the other guy said smugly, holding out a file folder.
Sol looked at his watch, because the computer forensics people were happy for a week if you paid them a compliment. "Fifty-two minutes. You guys keep topping yourselves."
"Glad to help," the geek beamed. "He's a good guy. Anything we can do, Sol, anytime."
"This is invaluable," Sol said, looking at the report of what the've decoded. "Literally. We couldn't buy a lead."
"It was an IP address. And those words followed, further down."
"Yeah..."
WHERETHEACTIONWASFORS
"We started trying countries, because of "where" starting it off, but it locked us out after five attempts. Looked like standard operating system behavior, so we hope the default out of the box hasn't been changed," the geek said. "Wait an hour, and you get five more chances to enter the correct password. We're trying to backdoor it, but the... superpassword may take us a couple days to crack."
"Where the action was," Sol murmurs.
"Does S mean anything to you?"
"No," he said - and a bad idea came to him. Action, and "S"... Unlikely, and real fuckin' scary. He started to change his answer, and say 'yes', but fear made him hold back. "Tell me exactly what to type, when that login window appears."
Early the next morning, he pulled another pack out of the carton he'd bought the night before. Staring at his computer screen...
He had to be wrong. Trying to stay calm, he lit his smoke and sat for a second. Surely he was being egocentric. Too involved.
Luke was really involved. All day, as involved as he could get, feeling that onslaught...
Sol typed in the web address, and a password box popped up. Parking the cigarette between his lips, he typed
indianapolis
But the sign-in box just popped up again. What a relief.
The kidnapper's messages had appeared in capital letters only, though.
He tried that.
Another picture started to appear...
Smaller than the other photos, this one just showed Luke's head. He was laughing so hard that it was didn't look like pain. He was sweaty enough, and his eyes were shut tight, but the set of his mouth almost looked like he was... carefree.
Sol's e-mail program icon started to flash. Incoming.
The fake 'from' address was
RAZER@HIDETICKLISHLUKE.ORG . Sol remembered the geek boss telling him the previous e-mails had been rerouted through twenty servers, and something about how the standard e-mail format was never meant for true authentication.
He scrolled further down.
SOL. HEY.
I KNEW YOU'D CHECK IN.
I ALSO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN INDY TO THE VERY, VERY TICKLISH SIREN FOR YEARS - UNTIL HE RAN AWAY.
IF YOU TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS E-MAIL, LUKE IS MINE FOR KEEPS.
FEELING GUILTY, MAYBE?
WELL... ONLY TICKLISH SIREN-BOY CAN SAVE HIM.
THAT'S ALL - FOR NOW - YOU SLEEP TIGHT.
R.
Siren. He hadn't thought of that in years and years. That was the nickname they gave him.
Very few people could've remembered that. Even his foster parents had never heard it.
But this son of a bitch knew. Razer...
He was shaking when he lit his next cigarette.
"We got the place," the geek said, next afternoon. "Cracked the login script."
"Yeah? Good work. Where?"
"Indianapolis."
"Huh..."
"The web address has been deactivated, though."
He kept his face neutral. "Then they'll use some other method of communicating..."
That night... Another e-mail arrived.
SIREN OL' BUDDY -
YOU'RE A RAGS-TO-RICHES STORY. I WANT TO STRIP EVEN THE RAGS AWAY. YOU KNOW WHY.
LUKE PROBABLY WANTS A BREAK.
WHAT DO YOU SAY?
WATCHING THE WAY YOU SMOKE, I THINK YOU'RE GETTING READY TO VISIT. A LONG VISIT FOR YOU. LONG, LONG, LONG. IT'LL BE HYSTERICAL.
IF YOU TAKE A PASS, I GUESS LUKE WILL DO.
YOUR NEW MASTER,
R.
There was an attachment. Supposedly a photo. His virus checker said it was uninfected, just like the last one...
Luke's face, pressed against a wet mattress. Squinting hard. Tears, and snot, and drool. There was another tattoo on his neck. Outlined feathers, crossed like swords.
Fingers lined the side of his body. Empty gloves - gripping.
In the depth of field, something like a bottle brush was stuck in his ass.
It was a nightmare come true. Sol re-read the e-mails over and over.
He knew what he had to do.
When he went into work, there were no new leads. Still over a thousand possible kidnap vans...
He went into Allie's office with a diskette and the printouts - the messages he'd gotten at home - and a profound sense of doom. Told her everything.
She'd already been thinking that he was too involved - as in rattled, fucked up over Luke's torture - to continue. He was a central figure in the investigation now, since he was also threatened.
Oh, she was sympathetic and all, saying again that Sol had no business blaming himself for Luke's ordeal.
Paid administrative leave, effective now.
He'd expected that, but the last thing he needed was free time to chew on his thoughts.
Sol called his team together and told them.
Then he bought a bottle on the way home.
About ten minutes after he got home, his cell phone beeped. A text message...
FUCKER
L IS IN EXTRA SWEET AGONY NOW
CONGRATS
He had no new e-mail.
The geeks would be monitoring his accounts now, of course.
At eleven o'clock, two loud knocks made him jump almost off the couch.
A piece of paper had been stuffed under the front door.
Frightened almost into a stupor, Sol kept his gun out - as if that would help. Razer knew where he lived. He wasn't surprised, exactly, but the confirmation of that was still alarming.
It was a page from Luke's last evaluation, taken from Sol's file cabinet. He didn't expect there would be any surprising fingerprints on it. New directions for Sol were laser-printed on the back...
-L-A-S-T- CHANCE FOR L
SIGN ON AS RAZEROWNSMYASS@EVILMONOPOLYMAIL.COM
PSWD IS YOUR TRUE NAME
DO IT NOW
The password, as he knew it would be, was SIREN .
BAD TICKLISH BOY.
VERY BAD.
HAD TO FOLLOW PROCEDURE, HUH?
I CAN TAKE YOU ANYTIME.
AND I WILL.
YOU'RE THE REAL PRIZE, SIREN. I'VE ALREADY DECIDED.
THE TICKLING WILL GO ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON.
THINK ABOUT THAT FOR A FEW HOURS.
Dully, almost on auto-pilot, Sol checked "his" new e-mail account as the sun was coming up.
More numbers...
GPS coordinates, as he suspected. And "19:50".
That was it.
In thirteen hours, Sol feared, his new life would begin.
The location was at the end of one of the piers - the one furthest west, far from all of the businesses down on the bay.
Some sense of duty kicked in. Sol wrote an e-mail to be sent to his team, later, which told them of the rendezvous point - and thanked them for all of their conscientious work in the past. After thinking about it for way too long, he finally scheduled the message delivery for 19:50. Sol hoped Luke would be free. It was nice to imagine that, but he wasn't too hopeful.
Doing anything else, other than going to the pier, seemed too risky. That wasn't logical, and it was completely against protocol, but Sol couldn't seem to work up any loyalty for anything except putting an end to Luke's tickling...
As he expected, the pier was desolate and dark.
He was looking for the van. That would've been stupid, but Sol didn't seem to have any vigilance left. It seemed clear that Razer could bag him time it wanted, anyway.
The first leather glove, curling over his mouth, hardly even made him jump.
He heard water, and wondered if he was just imagining it.
Rope was wrapped all around his arms and legs.
Gentle waves rocked him. Cloudy sky, overhead -
He was in a small, open boat. Electric motor, maybe. He'd ruled out an ambush by sea because it seemed to require a gas-powered motor. Or twenty nimble hands, he realized with perfect hindsight.
Razer won, as Sol had expected. There had been no sign of Luke, and now he was going to have company. Somebody else in the hot seat. Oh... shit.
A needle poked his hand.
Struggling too late, the hypnotic put him under.
"Wake up, Siren."
"Nuh," he grunts, starting to cough.
The room is dark. Big windows, broken out. He smells salt air. It's important to notice anything he can - the training runs deep - to help catch this bastard later. But Sol will have to be free in order to tell anyone what he notices...
"Time to howl."
That gets him looking...
His feet are almost level with his head. Steel manacles. His arms are held behind him, with more steel.
Luke is to his left, in an identical chair. There are more tattoos. He shines - oiled up, just like Sol.
Worse yet - there are three men in front of them. Shackled to a long bench, their arms are also held behind them. Their feet aren't spread like Sol's are.
His crotch, and Luke's, are wide open for inspection by the others...
Each member of the threesome is wearing a black leather hood with eye-holes, and a gag that looks something like the bit that a horse would have in its mouth.
Sol recognizes Marcus' tattoo, so the shaggy blonde hair sticking out from under another hood probably belongs to Castle. The big moose in the middle must be Laifa - and Sol can't even imagine how humiliated he must be, not only overpowered but also forced to look at his boss' package like this...
Laifa is wearing leather chaps, just like Marcus and Castle. Chaps, hoods, gags and cuffs -
"Gentlemen," Razer says smoothly, "prepare for the competition."
Is it that perceptive? Sol wonders if it's already learned about Laifa's ambitions, even though he's subtle and respectful. Maybe while it was watching them all...
"Luke is the defending champion, of course, but we've got a strong contender here in Siren." Razer sighs quietly. "You know him as Sol. In his youth, he picked up that nickname because of his extraordinary ticklishness. You all know how much I love that in a guy."
Luke starts to squirm around.
"I was only hoping to catch the boss-man, here. But then I thought, what the hell, it was just too tempting and they were almost the only ones left in the office. As they were reading your e-mail, I started injecting 'em. And now, here you are - reunited with Luke again in this new arena... while I see what you've got. Claim the title, and you'll stay with me. And laugh."
Sol and Luke exchange a look. There's no hope left in Luke's eyes. Has the tickling been even worse than Sol imagined? And his worst fear - that Razer would keep both he and Luke - was nowhere close to the dread of seeing his whole team in restraints... as a pack of gloves moved in. They stalk the other three men from behind, two pair for each -
No, Sol thinks, not this.
"It's time to welcome - the cheering section!"
The hands attack them.
Marcus is whooping right away. Just a few fingers get him thrashing and wailing laughter. He's wasting his energy. Knowing how analytical he usually is, Sol thinks he must've been more personally affected by all of the tickling Luke's endured than he let on.
Next to him, Laifa is straining at the manacles with pure determination. Growling - until the fingers start to rub his nipples. He snaps and bounces frantically, still not laughing, but clearly in distress.
Castle is moaning. "Nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh," monotonous and earnest - until the gloves stroke his neck. When a hand starts squeezing around back, he goes wild. "Uh fuh hnnh hnnh hnnh hnnh!" He throws himself around almost as much as Marcus.
Sol hears Razer snicker, so softly it's almost inaudible.
"A fine audience," it says...
After a minute, the gloves start pulling off.
"Yeah. The tattooed guy is in the running," it declares. "He'll get a round. Later. It's a shame about this big gorilla, though. Just not too sensitive."
Laifa's chaps pop open. A glove creeps over his belly, and down inside. Movement in the crotch, under the leather -
With a big jump, Laifa yells and starts straining to break the shackles again.
Worse yet, artist's brushes cruise over Sol's shoulder - and Luke's.
"The first event is called 'Cum laugh with me'," Razer says. "It's a pun. The man with the most amusing cum-shot is the frontrunner."
"No more," Luke pleads. "Oh, fuck, no more."
"Ready..."
The brushes dive.
Sol has a flash of recollection from one of the more devastating nights his neighbors caught him, after the older kids had taught his own friends why they called him Siren -
Oh, fuck, it can't be happening again.
Armpits, and nipples.
Soft fur... and he can't pull his fuckin' arms around to protect himself.
"Siren," Razer barks, "you're not laughing."
Toothbrushes rise up.
Oh, no. This just can't be real. Not even remotely possible. Toothbrushes.
They're settling by his feet.
Sol gets a last good breath.
The only thing that breaks through the wall of unbearable sensation is Luke's ragged crowing.
After a long, hysterical time, Sol realizes he's panting.
When he opens his eyes and blinks the tears away... there are all the brushes, teasing his crotch.
"Castle," Razer barks. "Eyes forward. Or else."
They're all watching. His men.
Sol's thrusting, and they have a perfect view of his tormented genitals.
Laifa is looking at Sol's face. He's going to win, Sol thinks distractedly. I'm going to a secret dungeon, and somehow he'll play this to his advantage. Razer commands it.
I will be tickled from now on, Sol tells himself. It's been too clever to screw this up.
"Time for more wild laughter," Razer announces.
Two leather gloves float over Sol, carrying black cords. Same with Luke -
Invisible hands take hold of Sol's toes, and tie the cords around each one.
Luke is bucking around as his toes are tied back. "Aw no, no, no, no, no, no..."
Two plastic bottles arrive... and start coating their feet with oil.
The fingers start to scrabble over their stretched, warmed-up soles.
He can't think of anything else. Many times more electricity is flooding his body now. All attempts to think about something else - even comparing this with the past - are constantly shredded.
His own hysterical shouting becomes a constant. Whenever Sol starts to get dreamy, the fingers slow down... He snaps back to the most debilitating sensation he's ever known, and the gloves pick up the pace again.
After several heartbreaking false alarms, Sol arches hard and shoots his wad, shouting laughter. Laifa, he thinks. Watching this -
The gloves clamp around his sides. Eager hands, sliding, digging in.
A whole new state of mind is discovered. Smooth, like the fingers, with quiet power hidden just behind, containing all things.
Words are far too much work. There is only the fire, everywhere, spreading from his armpits, his ribs, flashing everywhere else. Moving his body has become a thing of the past.
The brushes work his dick up again. The arousal is a piercing current on top of the massive flow burning all through him...
Panting for air is all Sol can manage to do.
"And they live to laugh again," Razer taunts.
Luke isn't even trying to look around.
"It's time for the audience to weigh in," it says. "First, let's hear it for Luke."
Gloves dive on them - and all three men start flailing again. Marcus is a basket case. Laifa is thrusting like a machine, dripping with sweat. And Castle is giggling like he's lost his mind.
The torture continues for another thirty seconds. When it stops, Laifa opens his eyes - clearly angry. He didn't get to finish off.
"And now... heh... all those who vote for Siren."
The gloves are moving like blurs.
Castle screams laughter, Marcus is clearly shaking too hard to laugh at all...
Another pair of gloves starts really whaling on Laifa's soles, and he finally starts to hoot.
"Alright then," Razer finally says, slowing down the gloves. "Sorry, Luke. It's a tough decision..."
Four gloves make Luke squeal and bray.
"But the winner is - Siren!"
Eight gloves attack Sol again.
He's surrounded, wrapped up - deep inside the skillful fingers.
Barely aware of hands stretching him out...
When the tickling ends and he can finally manage to open his eyes - Laifa is to his left. Castle is floating, limbs pulled together behind him as if he's hogtied...
Luke is being picked up. Stretched in the air, chest still heaving.
"Castle," Razer snaps. "You deserve a tryout."
"Noooooo!" Castle screams. That's when Sol notices that only Laifa is still gagged.
"You'll go up against Marcus."
They kick and fight, but Marcus ends up in the steel chair Sol had been in, and Castle is restrained in Luke's seat.
Laifa, grunting mechanically, is too distracted to look over at Sol. The glove still hasn't jacked him off...
A pack saunters up to Sol's head - the same brand of cigarettes he bought. Luke is being fed a different brand.
"All locked down," Razer says. "This is gonna get interesting."
Brushes, animated as if they're magic, drift down to the torsos of Marcus and Castle.
Sol is distracted by a lighter snapping to life. Wearily, he leans forward enough to suck in.
"Ready..."
It's more embarrasing - well, at least more than he expected - to watch the other men howl and suffer.
He smokes seven or eight cigarettes before they ejaculate, and maybe four more after that...
"That was fun," it says sternly. "But I don't think you've got what it takes. Guess we'll see what happens."
A needle?
Sol sees it moving in, and wrestles around. His thigh is injected anyway. All of them are being drugged aga-
"Time to rest up," Razer says. "Another big day tomorrow. More intense. I need to clean the competitors, shave 'em, soften up this fine ticklish skin."
Tomorrow. Sol can't quite believe it. Luke knows, of course. Day upon day.
Then he drifts off.
The dreams are bad, and yet he has the constant awareness that waking up will be far worse...
Sol realizes he's staring at a ceiling.
Strapped down to a mattress -
All of them. Five mattresses.
The hoods and chaps are gone.
So is their body hair.
Everybody smokes when they wake up. Nobody's apparently in the mood to talk.
Then the platters start floating over them. Apparently it raided a fast-food restaurant, one of the big franchises.
"It's a big breakfast for the contestants," Razer says mockingly, "so they'll have a wild, timeless, ticklish day."
Castle and Luke groan.
The crazy fucker feeds them, patiently, even providing lukewarm coffee - and straws with all those loops and turns...
"Siren," it says, all friendly. "Have a smoke."
A big trunk slides across the floor, a few yards away from their feet.
He, Luke and Castle smoke yet another cigarette as tickle tools rise up out of the chest, landing in piles near each prisoner.
A pair of gloves is hanging over them. "Okay. In the lead, we have - Luke!"
The hands zip down and tickle his feet.
"Nuh huh huh huh," he burbles, trying to twist around.
"Of course, he had an advantage. More experience." The gloves finally pull off and rise again. "In second place... it's Siren!"
His feet get mauled. Sol just knows that the squirming, and the pathetically hard cackles, are why Razer is chuckling softly. It loves seeing me like this, he thinks frantically -
"Third place - you know it. Marcus..."
Laifa, predictably, is in last place. He's not staying. Sol knows that. Instead of attacking his feet, one glove grabs him by the throat - and the other pumps his dick.
"You'd be a challenge," Razer says quietly. "Maybe I will keep you too. But now," and its voice gets louder, "let's all have a great time. This event is called 'The Endurathon.'"
"Help!," Marcus yells. "You're gonna fuckin' kill me!"
He sounds unglued. This must be tapping into some old experiences for him, too. He's never this expressive - and his career is probably over, Sol realizes. Laifa will be the real winner.
"Luke knows all about it," Razer continues. "This is a preview of the ten or eleven-hour days that just crawl by... hour after feverish hour... as the tickling crawls all over you. I can tell if you're getting more ticklish, morning through the afternoon and on into the night. That's how you win."
Feathers are being shaken loose from the other shit piled up past their feet.
"It may seem less exciting, than the initial event here... but it goes on all-llll day. Ready?"
Sol is going crazy. He knows it.
The lazy pace means he can think, but turns out that isn't a good thing. Every thought is centered on how fuckin' intolerable and careful the tickling is - affectionate, almost, even as the fingers and other tools press every loco button he has, holding them down, leaning on 'em better than anything the neighbor kids ever managed to do.
This is a whole new... adult game, here.
Other than that, he can't stop thinking about the long, hysterical future ahead of him. Not even an hour has gone by yet - unless the tickler's able to stop time, halting the sun's course across the sky - and he can't begin to imagine feeling this much stimulation, this torture, all day long.
He'll snap soon. A permament, profound departure from sanity...
That distraction never comes.
Hour after hour...
The fingers swap with the feathers, and brushes return too, switching from ticklish place to ticklish place.
Sol had found it difficult before, even with the memories he had, to really picture Luke remaining ticklish for a full day. But Razer keeps shifting the attack from one spot to another. By the time it returns to his feet - a dozen times? More? He doesn't know.
It's astounding, every time. More ticklish.
Razer must never, ever get tired of doing this. The feel of the empty leather hands is all but shouting that to Sol.
The bottle squirts more lube across his gut, and it's spread around with firm, teasing strokes. Wet fingers rub under his balls, along the sides, the front, until Sol tries to arch again. Then they're gone. Needing to cum this bad can drive a man crazy, he thinks -
But Luke knows better. No, maybe not. You want to go crazy, but you just can't manage to let go enough...
There's a change. Sol opens his eyes -
Looking down at his men.
The mattress is still hugging him, and it's soaked. But his limbs stay far apart.
Greased hands continue doing perversely intimate things to his ass-cheeks, and shins, and biceps.
He snickers for another minute before he figures it out. Razer is holding him up. Not quite vertical. This way he's helpless, and still supported by the mattress...
But he can see his men laugh and writhe. Never more helpless in their lives. Anchored by leather, and held so much more securely by the delirium that Razer rubs into them. A cocoon of fever -
A glove slaps him. Again.
He opens his eyes - not even realizing they were closed - and sees Marcus, utterly gone in his delirium.
The glove backs off.
Laifa is trying so hard to cum.
Hooting vacantly, Sol looks from man to man, all trapped and fingered, petted...
The afternoon sun is behind him, but all he needs to know is that the day is nowhere near over.
Castle is rolling his head from side to side, almost dreamily.
They're suffering. And they're blissed out. Hours yet to go, Sol thinks, and maybe it's enjoying this so much that tomorrow will be spent here too, each man staked out on his mattress -
The glove slaps him again. Sol quickly opens his eyes, forcing himself to watch the feathers dusting Laifa's nipples.
About an hour later, Sol realizes that his men are getting an eyeful too. Whenever they open their eyes, his tickled body hangs before them, dripping. Leather hands slowly rub more oil around his throbbing cock...
Castle seems to be looking at Sol's crotch, but his gaze is so fuzzy.
Fingers ease back into his pits, from behind. Stroking the upper ridges lightly, almost sensuously, they make their usual journey down, pressing harder...
Nylon bristles crawl across his hamstrings. They turn, every few strokes, and ease under his knees, staying in motion there...
Firm hands squeeze and pinch his ass, rubbing and tracing...
Razer is satisfied - for the moment. Later, the heat will be turned up again. More pleasure. Why not? For the time being it wants him paralyzed, racked every second.
Three of the other men are covered with tickling. Laifa's toes are tied back, and a dozen tools and gloves finally have him roaring uncontrollably, silently, as he tries to thrust.
Five trapped victims, out of their minds, and the tickler uses each finger and tool as if it has all the time in the world. Patient, nonstop torment.
Two more hours until the sun sets. At least.
Sol doesn't expect Razer will even stop then. It's got a room full of utterly deranged prisoners -
Feathers, barely moving, resume their slow dance - two for for each restrained toe...
Wide fur inches across his belly, and back, ceaselessly repeating...
Absorbed, consumed men. All of them.
And me too, Sol thinks, trying and failing to count all the places where Razer is painstakingly tickling him.
Mattresses and leather straps, sweat and piss. Heads not moving now. Breathing, shallow but steady. Forced leisure, unending excitement...
Fingers easing over skin, brushes choosing new destinations and dragging across, oil pouring careful trails.
Razer is content. It's not going to stop.
He looks toward the window - as much as he can, anyway. The sun is just barely beginning to set.
"Hours to go," Razer promises. "Just like this. No one gets out for a few more hours. That's a promise."
The same perversely relaxed scene continues after darkness falls.
Sol can't see them very clearly now. Only the mattresses...
Another long hour.
And then another, longer hour...
He smells smoke.
A low voice is groaning over and over. Laifa...
His teeth are clenched. Two gloves are getting him off - again, it seems, because there's cum all over him.
Marcus is smoking a cigar. So is Luke.
Pizza boxes are hanging in the air overhead.
After they eat, Sol is laid back down. Five flat tickle-prisoners again. He and Castle get a smoke...
A flashlight clicks on. Big, but not especially bright. Low to the ground. Sol considers whether the light can possibly be seen from outside the windows, and rejects it immediately. His respect for Razer is growing, despite everything. So is his fear.
Three pairs of leather chaps are laid out on the floor.
Two of us stay, Sol guesses. First and second place. When he thinks of Luke enduring any more of this, it makes him feel like the biggest failure who ever worked for the agency.
One by one, their ankles are uncuffed.
"Some lucky feet will get to run away," Razer announces darkly. "No more tickling. And others will go to my best dungeon."
Sol thinks he probably should say something reassuring, but his throat is so dry he's having trouble swallowing.
"We'll find it," Laifa says. Taking the leader role now. Definitely. He's been good about hiding his anger, but Sol is four years younger, and one of the few unit heads under thirty. Or was, anyway.
"I've been tickling prisoners there for six years," it chuckles. "You won't find it. I have three other dungeons, even if you get impossibly lucky."
A cigar floats down to Laifa's mouth. After a moment of hesitation, he grabs it with his teeth. Sol watches a kitchen match scrape across the floor - as if they do that by themselves every day, natural as can be - and come within Laifa's reach. Another cigarette heads for Luke's mouth, and a new cigar is being forced upon Marcus.
"There," Razer says. "All snug and comfy. I have an idea for round number three -"
"You have got to be kidding," Marcus blurts.
"And remarks like that," it continues, "really make me wanna go on and plan round four. And five. Who runs the show, men? I do. If I want to tickle the piss out of you for twenty rounds, or a hundred, it's gonna happen. My favorite dungeon is big enough for all of you. Am I getting through to you yet?"
"Dammit," Castle yells.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes," Laifa and Sol reply, almost in unison. The musclebound guy says it again, quietly, in a cloud of smoke.
"Finally," it grumbles.
"We're going to be tickled," Laifa says evenly, "for as long as you want. The odds of being rescued are... piss-poor. If you decide to tack another round on, or another ten rounds, we'll get it all."
Sol realizes he's trying to fuckin' negotiate with Razer. As if it was a person. That won't work.
It's not teasing them by laying out the chaps, though. Razer hasn't said anything definitive about another round. They've heard enough absolute statements before, which were always carried out.
"Finally," Razer sneers, "somebody gets it."
"Luke already knew," I say, and my voice is all raspy.
"Other than him."
"Are you going to tickle us all night, Razer?" Laifa asks.
Low, sinister laughter. "Sounds like fun to me."
Game over. It's chosen already. Yes, it sure has.
Still not an affirmative answer, though...
It could surprise Sol and commit to several more hours of searing, addled torture. There's no mistaking how much it likes that.
The other men are all hanging on its next word -
"But I do my best work on a smaller number of feet. And cocks."
"Armp-pits," Luke stammers.
"Yeah."
Another horrible pause...
"In last place," Razer says -
Laifa starts whimpering and jerking around. His toes clench and stretch, yearning to get away.
"Laifa."
As soon as his ankles are released the biggest pair of chaps is pulled on him, and leg-irons are added. His wrist cuffs are unchained, and he's pulled to his knees. Those thick arms fold immediately as his hands are yanked his back. Handcuffs fly over and catch him, and a thick strap winds around and around his forearms.
Sol envies him.
"Fourth place -"
"Aw no, no, please, you gotta let me go," Luke begs.
Castle starts giggling.
When he's trussed up like Laifa, a new cigarette floats toward his head.
"Third place."
"Please," Marcus gasps - and starts to howl.
"And," Razer says tauntingly, "what do you know? We have a tie."
Luke sobs.
Sol knows what he has to do. And it's too hard.
"Uh," he whispers.
"First place goes to both Luke and Siren."
"No," Luke shrieks hoarsely. "I can't! I can't, no-oooo..."
"What have I told you," it says helpfully, "about words like 'can't'? Huh?"
Do it now, Sol thinks, before you lose your nerve. "R-Razer," he forces himself to say.
"Yeah, Siren. What is it?"
"No."
"That's another one of those words. Keep it up and you'll wish you were never born."
"I already d-do," Sol replies, "but that's not what I mean."
"Really?"
"Really. Let him go."
"Who - Luke? He's way too much fun."
Oh, hell. There's one final nail left to pound, into his own coffin... and he can't do it. Too hard. Luke is caught, still, and it's not Sol's fuckin' fault -
"No. Uh..." Sol closes his eyes. I really do wish I was dead, he thinks wistfully, even if it is melodramatic and I don't actually mean it.
"Siren-boy."
"I win," he says, with a heavy sigh.
Nobody says anything.
"Oh, you do," Razer replies thoughtfully.
"Yeah. Luke's had enough."
"Not by a long shot!"
"I'm the one you were after. Or did you lie in the e-mails yesterday?"
"E-mails - yesterday?" Laifa says immediately.
Yeah, Sol realizes, no more career for me anyway. Not now.
"Oh, I didn't lie," Razer teases.
"Then... You know. I win."
"Yeah," it sighs. And then it laughs for a few seconds. "What the fuck."
Another pair of chaps is floating to Luke. Rumpled, filthy. He'd already broken 'em in.
Still crying, Luke is all smiles now.
They all stand there in the dark, hobbled, and watch a couple dozen gloves carry Sol to a small blue pickup truck, planting him behind the wheel.
"Say goodbye, Siren."
He opens his mouth, but the tears start welling up.
"We'll find you," Laifa promises. His eyes are so angry. Sol can tell when he's serious about something. He'll try to find Sol, but he's too smart to take this personally...
"Count on it," Marcus adds, sounding more like his usual controlled self.
They make Sol feel a little bit better.
"Not for a long time," Razer says firmly.
The driver's door slams shut. There's enough rope pinning Sol's arms to keep him from reaching anything. The engine turns over.
In the side mirror, the brake lights provide enough light for Sol to see a big ring of keys float in front of Castle's nose, and drop to the ground.
And then the van peels out.
"Thirsty?" Razer asks.
"Yeah."
A water bottle comes up to his mouth...
"How do you feel?"
He heaves a sigh. "Terrified."
"Good." It laughs a couple times. "The truth will be a pleasant surprise, then."
"What?"
"This isn't going to be as awful as you think."
A new cigarette pack is being opened, distracting him for a few seconds. Sol knows he shouldn't dare to hope - those pictures of Luke were fuckin' gruesome - but he can't help it. To steady himself, he takes another drag.
"Not as awful?"
"Hell, no. Fear is counterproductive. Now, enlightened dread, that's a whole 'nuther story." It sounds more friendly now.
"Luke would disagree."
Razer snorts. "Fooled you, huh?"
"What the hell -"
"Most of his time wasn't that painful. I pulled out all the stops when I wanted to make a real dark impression."
"It worked."
"Yeah. Guess so."
"Why? Grabbing Luke first, the photos, all scary -"
"I can't believe you don't know."
Sol thinks it over. "So... you could lure me in."
"Didn't need to," it snaps. "I've been tailing you for awhile."
Indianapolis, he thinks, swallowing hard. It must've learned his old nickname there. That's some serious fuckin' obsession. Lucky me -
I win.
"Oh."
"There it is," Razer taunts. "You got it."
"Oh, shit. You're..."
"Say it, Siren. Pretty please. Saa-aaay it."
"You wanted me to volunteer."
"Damn, I'm the best."
Crazy torturer - and it sounds so fuckin' pleased now. Too ludicrious. Sol fights to keep from smiling. "If that hadn't worked, were you just gonna kidnap me anyway?"
"And take you to my best dungeon."
"Shit -"
"There's another thing you have to figure out," it says casually, "but it'll come when you're ready. Luke was fun, but ticking you is... serious business. So satisfying it's a bigger deal. All this potential in ol' Siren, and now I've finally got him in my hands."
"We're back to that counterproductive thing," he says distantly, looking at the freeway on-ramp as the van turns onto it. Traffic is light. It's taking him south, but nobody else will find out.
"Okay. Shit. Look - study the contrast."
"Huh?"
"There's Luke, and then there's you. Plus all that fun today. Five men, laid out on five mattresses, no hurry at all..."
It laughs softly.
A new cigarette is waiting for him.
"I don't get it," Sol says, after he kicks out smoke.
"Too hypercharged. All that emotion," it says. "Who else did they tickle - Siren?"
"They? What the fuck are you talking about?"
Silence.
He takes another drag, feeling all fidgety.
"The neighbors," it says. "The ones who tortured you back in Indy."
"Nobody got it as bad as I did. Not even close."
"And you still think that was because you were the most ticklish one there?"
"You're so wrong," he laughs nervously. "You're full of shit."
"Oh ho. Gonna get personal, huh?"
Hands take hold of his ankles, and lift up a little.
"It takes a person to get... personal. Let go."
"The best tickling takes more than the victim's, uh, cooperation," Razer says. "There's a special something he needs. No matter how he gets that characteristic -"
"Luke didn't have it, but I do?" Sol barked, looking down toward his feet nervously. "I got it already. Shit. Thanks for all the free psychoanalysis."
Fingers touch his soles, not tickling yet...
"Comes with the job," Razer sighs. Way too happy. Fuckin' delighted.
"I don't need this kind of action to get over the past -"
"Wait. Oh no, Sol, this isn't about you. I'm picking your brain only to maximize the effect of the tickling. Purely selfish reasons."
Razer's hands lift his feet another few inches. It starts petting his soles, grazing lightly.
"Siren-boy," Razer yells - with approval. "We're both gonna love the next fuckin' year or two."
The fingers run up and down his soles. Playful tickling up and down, side to side, up and down again. They tell him, even more than its last few heart-stopping words, how delighted Razer is.
25jan05