They clench and flex. Beyond eager... One flies up from an old hole near the lock, signalling wildly.
A rag is lowered into position. Restless fingers hold lengths of rope above the door.
He looks healthy enough, strong enough... definitely heading for the restroom.
Wildest time of his life, about to start. The plans are lengthy... extreme.
The door swings in - and here he comes -
Cloth is shoved against his mouth. Thumbs hook in the waistband of his jeans, pulling him forward as his arms start to flap -
The door closes, and he sags forward. The chloroform did the trick; a hand backs off with the rag. Rope is draped over his shoulders, around his boots. They make short work of hobbling him. As soon as those two cars leave the lot...
Hustling him out to his truck. Nobody to take notice. They sit him up behind the wheel, start 'er up and pull onto the freeway. Driving is no problem...
They keep the truck's speed down to sixty with an effort. Can't wait to get him in, safe and sound.
Thirty miles, the last three on gravel roads. No problem. In, get him in...
Through, doors shutting, locks thrown. Waves of furious delight filling the room!
They dump him on the mattress and untie the ropes. A limp doll, being stripped. Spread-eagled.
Stakes are picked up, and a hammer...
Longer ropes are run from each wrist and ankle, looped back and knotted several times. Four lengths. He could break one or two, and he won't get anywhere before they tie him down with more strands. Down he stays.
What they got in mind should inspire him to break a couple ropes. If he can.
The row of boxes behind him - four cardboard boxes filled with maintenance supplies and fun shit - is picked through. A big tube rises up... then a package, a can, and a towel.
The can is angled, a finger pressing the button on top. A trail spits out - white mounds foaming on his chest, and further down. Plastic is torn open, and a disposable razor is fished out. It descends, dragging between his pecs. The towel is brought closer...
Others are even more hyper, more excited, as he's being shaved. Extreme plans. Everything they need, right here... And they're deliberately not setting a target date for setting him free. Stuff to do to him, in order of fun - they'll see how far they can go. Oh yeah.
All while he itches, from the hair coming back in. The razor lifts, floating a couple feet. Big blobs are squirted into each armpit.
Other unseeable hand-imitators burrow into latex gloves and start loading them up with the skin cream. High-quality stuff, greaseless - tenderizing him just fine.
Hands lift his head, pull his hair back... shaving his neck.
He stirs.
They set his head down, run the towel over him quickly, and hide.
Twitching with excitement.
He sees the room. And himself. Pulls and pulls... nope. Nada.
Staring at his chest, he notices how smooth and hairless it is -
Movement, from behind. Shapes rising.
One floats over his face... and halts above his breastbone.
Shiny red... cloth. The bottom widens. Smaller sacs above, flopping over the near side. Taking shape -
It's a glove. Looks like it's being pulled over a hand.
No hand in there. Not in any of 'em.
A lot of gloves, though - and his huge eyes take 'em in.
And he freaks! The slightest sway, side to side. That's all the movement he can pull off. Yelling nonsense words -
The closest one makes a fist, drops - clipping him under the chin. He freezes, not daring to speak.
A pair dip and use his gut for a punching bag. Gasping for breath...
Got his attention now! No way they'd do any damage. That'd just distract him. Can't have that...
They wait for him to breathe normally. Eighteen gloves - poised, and more than ready.
No more threats.
They dig in. Two on each foot, mean and quick.
He cackles once, whoops hard, strains at the ropes. Involuntary. Strong reflex to get away. Rewarding... only the start of the dues he'll pay -
His shoulders raise a couple inches off the matress - and flop right back down, cutting off a raspy hoot.
Cool fingers poke inside his elbows, in his butt-crack, under his knees. They grip his thighs and race down, up, down... A pair on each side, clinging tortuously from bicep to hip.
He howls insensibly, making the ropes creak.
Navel, tits, shoulders.
Ecstatic convulsions.
The gloves find another spot or two... new satin crazed by his tension, the banshee roaring and dripping sweat.
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