My cigarette was pulled out from between my fingers. I watched it float up.
Uh-oh.
"Not again," I said.
"Busted," Rukker shot back. My invisible neighbor. That seemed odd...
Hell, the memories were really hazy. I never remembered to ask anybody else about it. I had the vague sense that we'd partied, Rukker and I, but the whole deal went wrong. Not fun. Shit, I hadn't heard its voice in a few months.
The air around me seemed to tingle.
My smoke paused a few inches from my face. "What did I tell you about these things?"
"I don't, uh, remember," I said, confused. "But I'm over 18, so y-"
"My ass."
"It's none of your business anyway, and I'll smoke w-" But I shut up quick. As I'd turned to walk away, I'd seen big loops of rope - and they were already raining down on top of me.
"Wrong answer," it crowed.
My arms slammed tight against my sides.
Some loops got between my teeth.
It kept snaking around and tightening as I was picked up, right off the ground, and hustled down to the end of the building.
Rukker was stronger than I was. And invisible. Lots of hands. It was pretty weird that I didn't remember that as soon as it took my cigarette away. If I'd sprinted to my car, maybe I wouldn't be flying between the fence and the wall, then up the back stairs -
A door opened.
I fought like crazy.
It didn't matter. The knots were tight enough.
I was being hauled into the back apartment on the end.
These units overlooked a big field of weeds, and the two upper units closest to the fence had been empty for years. Something about the bathrooms being too small. The owners had reworked the lower units, knocking out walls, and apparently decided it was too expensive or too much of a bother to do the same thing on the top floor. Storage, maybe, except for the hassle of having to haul everything up the stairs.
Old lady González was in the end unit below. Her TV was always on real loud.
Above her place, Rukker had emptied out the room and set up its own private holding cell.
The floor and common wall were covered with... padding. I saw that and instantly started flopping again for all I was worth. Invisible hands - disturbingly strong ones - were carrying me into a soundproofed room! There were a few pieces of furniture there, covered up with sheets, and three pantry-sized cabinets.
But the bed, naturally, had me staring. Green rubber sheet. Thick cuffs and straps, laid out and waiting.
"Make yourself at home," my crazy neighbor giggled, closing the padded door.
No matter what I tried to do, I still floated over toward the bed.
A cabinet opened. My heart stopped - shelves full of plastic bottles, protein bars, baby wipes.
From the bottom shelf a sheet floated out, unfurling.
Black satin.
As I wrestled around in midair, the sheet was tucked around the mattress. Perfectly magical efficiency had the job done in no time.
There was something really familiar about all of this. The shit moving in midair, like birds, was reminding me of something -
I watched the impression of a hand slide across the shiny, taut surface.
"It's not too hot in here, is it?" the voice wondered. "I want you to be... comfortable."
The ropes started loosening.
Hands clamped on my legs, and then my arms. I was spread wide -
And my t-shirt was torn off. Then my jeans were yanked down, over my sneakers. I shouted for help as I watched 'em fall to the floor.
Rukker slammed me down on the bed.
While the cuffs were buckled down I kept yelling, as loud as I could. Over and over... but that was a waste of time. No one would hear me. I was sure of that. Had I been in here before? I mean, there was no doubt in my mind that the padding would do the trick, and no one would hear a freakin' thing.
The best fight I could give the enigmatic hands wasn't anywhere near enough. Straps whipped up and cinched around my upper arms, my thighs, my waist.
What bothered me more than anything, right then, was that I was fairly sure that the top shelf of the cabinet had two boxes of condoms. The tubes on the other side of that shelf looked a lot like fat pill bottles.
Naw, that was just too weird to believe.
"There we go," Rukker said. It sounded relaxed. Maybe even pleased. As if the work was all done now, and it was time to have some fun.
I tried to roll around again. Laid out just right, dammit.
"Let me go," I yelled - but it was obviously a waste of time. Panting from the adrenaline, I looked around wildly.
"Try having a cigarette now."
"You son of a bitch! Help!"
Dammit. No one seemed to be coming.
Another cabinet door opened -
And I watched a pint bottle of vodka cruise down to me.
"What the hell," I complained.
Hands lifted my head.
The cap spun off. "You need to chill."
"If you think I'm too young to smoke, then -"
"Shut up and drink." The bottle came to my mouth - and the hands tightened their grip.
It wasn't taking no for an answer.
I had only intended to sip at it, but the hands locked on... and the bottle tilted.
"You're gonna go absolutely nuts, so it's only fair."
They made me take a few swallows before the bottle retreated a little, hanging motionless.
"Whuh... what are you talking about?"
The hands let go of my head. My cigarettes floated up from where my jeans must have been dropped. "No more of these," Rukker ordered.
I watched the pack land between my shins. "Aw, c'mon!"
More things moved out from the cabinet. "But..."
And I gaped at a ziploc bag, holding a good half-ounce - and a vaporizer?
This maniac's gonna get me high? That didn't require all these damn straps, though.
"Seriously? Well, okay. That's cool. Why all the bondage shit?"
There was a pause. "The cravings get bad, I bet. For these damn cigarettes. So I guess it's on me to provide ya some kind of... distraction."
Rukker laughed quietly.
One of its unseen hands took hold of the heel of my left shoe.
I watched the lace rise straight up, undoing the knot. The sides were slowly pulled away from my foot.
For a few seconds I was baffled. Why would Rukker be taking off my shoes?
Before the answer really hit home, that miserable freakin' word, my body was thrashing and tugging with everything I had.
After I freaked out for a minute, screaming and trying to bounce, the hands grabbed my head again and held it up. Both shoes and socks were gone -
"Look," my neighbor said, "you're not gonna get loose. And anyway I'd just grab you and double up the straps. That hunger for nicotine must be a real buttkicker if you're this unhinged already."
A water bottle was jammed up to my mouth. I tried to complain, but there was no hesitation allowed. I drank up.
"You need something else to focus on."
"No, I - aw, hell, you w-wouldn't -"
Another cabinet opened up. Both doors swung wide. Showing off....
Feathers. Brushes of all kinds. Vibrators and buffers, piles of thin straps, boxes and sacks and jars.
I wailed miserably.
"What's wrong? You look scared."
"Don't d-do this, aw please, no, no, somebody help meeeee, get me outa here!"
"Is that possibly gonna happen?" it said - mocking me. It already knew the answer.
"Oh, c'mon," I begged, tugging at the arm-straps.
"Just can't stand being so helpless? Or maybe it's the nicotine talking. Yup, some powerful fun is in order."
I watched a canvas tote bag tilt forward. It was full of white cloth -
Several pieces levitated up and out. Taking shape.
Four, six, eight... gloves. Big ones. Gleaming white satin. Like a horrible cartoon come to life.
"It's gonna be a long day, and night," Rukker said, "without a cigarette. But I know I can help you out."
"Don't... tickle me!"
The gloves paused.
Oh, shit, that was unbearable.
"Tickle you?" Rukker said. And then it made a thoughtful noise. Chuckled. Slow, easy contentment. "You want me to tickle you?"
"No! But you're g-gonna," I grumbled.
"When you're completely helpless, like this? Staked out... with all these ticklish spots exposed?"
"Haaaaalllllp," I groaned miserably. No matter how hard I lunged around, the gloves drifted closer. "Oh, no. No. Don't do it. Not this. Anything but this."
Rukker laughed at me.
I wailed insanely, unable to get words out, as fingers hovered just over my belly.
Others got ready to grab my ribs - and rake my feet!
"Okay. Laugh for me."
Slippery, cool hands took charge.
And I laughed, alright. Like a lunatic. Flopping all around, and the hands kept riding me anyway.
Each minute felt like a year.
I finally caught my breath. Looked around -
Four gloves were closer than the rest.
"No no no pleeeeeze naaaaaw aaah-ooof!"
They eased into my armpits.
"You're just... so... ticklish," Rukker growled happily.
Shrieking, I tried to slam from side to side. They were surrounding me. Rubbing, petting, tracing.
Stop it, please, pull 'em off, please stop, I thought. This is unbearable.
The fingers didn't even slow it down.
There was no escape.
That round went on for at least twice as long.
I opened my eyes. Breathing almost normally. Dammit. It was the same shadowy room.
Merciless gloves came floating down. Oh, now, this just couldn't keep starting up again and again. I was totally losing it, here -
"Feeling it? Real hard?" the bastard taunted.
Fingers got back to work.
Oh, hell. I couldn't bounce hard enough to get 'em off. Laughing wildly didn't make the door open...
My ribs, my armpits, my belly-button. Covered. Solid fire.
"You better thrash harder," Rukker yelled, "or else I'm gonna get to keep right on doing this. And you know I will. Yeah."
I shook my head and howled. Convulsing didn't get the gloves to back off. Neither did shouting laughter at the nearest gloves. There was nowhere to go, and I desperately needed to get away from the squeezing, raking, dancing fingers. A few more seconds and I'd be a total psycho.
An eternity of minutes crawled by.
Gloves piled onto my thighs, my pecs, under my poor knees.
I was a berzerk animal again, hooting and moaning, unable to lay still...
Until the fatigue made it impossible to move.
Even the laughter became too much like work. Every thought I had was interrupted by the sizzling current, everywhere, demanding that I pay more attention.
The impact of each glove was getting so much... bigger.
I was so tired -
And there must've been water that I already drank, because my throat felt a little better.
It had to be over. There was no way I could take any more. I just longed to see some hopeful sign. Anything except the gloves. And I was afraid, because I knew, deep down...
I opened my eyes.
There they were. Hanging overhead.
"No," I begged. "Aw, hell no!"
But of course they cruised back down.
The first one to arrive cupped my jewels...
It didn't seem possible that I could need the bastard to stop even more than I did the last round, but I was apparently becoming more ticklish by the minute.
Everything was fireworks and massive lightning.
I tugged feebly and whooped my guts out.
They never stopped. Of course. I couldn't imagine living through the next ten seconds, but the tickling kept slamming through me anyway.
A while later, I had a horrible realization.
Laughing was beyond me - I couldn't really remember how to do it - and my body didn't seem to move at all when I wanted to squirm. Yet the fire, everywhere, was so much stronger.
Dammit, I was still cuffed down tight. Helpless.
And the fingers rocked on, and on...
I panted for air, looking at the window shade. It was definitely getting darker outside.
Please, I thought, somebody - just walk past. Come closer. And I thought about the apartments on this upper level, which were closer to the other stairway. No one would walk down this way. Mrs. Jimenez downstairs must not have heard me laugh, since she hadn't raised the alarm already.
Well, shit, of course not. The floor was padded, and I couldn't bounce the damn bed or anything. All of the cackling and thrashing around probably didn't even make a light fixture sway on the bottom floor.
So many more hours ahead. Hysteria. Fever.
The tickle-torture would go on all night. How I could live through it was totally baffling, but I had a sick feeling Rukker knew exactly how to keep me burning for as long as possible -
A water bottle came to my mouth.
"Are you more ticklish now, big guy?"
"Ssss-stop," I sighed. "Please. Just... no more."
"Answer me."
Gloves laid down on my belly.
Resist, and get tickled. Answer - and get tickled anyway. I was a goner. "Noooooo -"
"Tell me, right now."
"Y-yes! I'm more ticklish, aw hell, you gotta stop..." The gloves nestled down. "More ticklish, so damn ticklish, more, I got it so damn bad, Rukker, you're driving me really nuts, here! Stop it!"
Gentle laughter.
The fingers began dancing, slowly, one group after another.
Dark outside.
That was definitely the longest round yet.
If I couldn't keep laughing, I didn't wear out as fast. It was horribly obvious that I'd be getting longer sessions now. Unbearable! Right up to the last minute when I just couldn't be kept awake another minute -
And the torture could start right back up tomorrow...
"Hey. You."
That got my eyes open.
"No more dicking around. You're really in for it now."
I started to tremble.
Years passed. Decades.
I finally rose up through layer after layer of determined hands, each reluctant to quit tickling, as others were ready to take their place.
The world took a while to stop vibrating.
Darkness.
A quiet room.
I was alone. Panting for air. It was a dull place, compared to the riot that was going off inside me. I smelled piss...
My arms wouldn't move.
The insane stimulation made me wanna scream and run away. But I couldn't do either of those things now. I had to stay right here, on my back, because someone pulled me into this horrible room and locked the door. Pulled my clothes off, brought out thick restraints that kept me from curling up or rolling at all. And then it filled up twenty or thirty gloves and did the most agonizing, exciting thing it possibly could.
This just couldn't happen in real life. I knew that as sure as I was laying there -
"Heeeeere they come," a voice taunted.
That was Rukker. It caught me. Hell, it owned me, for as long as it wanted.
Crazed. Overwhelmed -
A glove laid down on my left thigh. The fingers were so close to my package -
Another came to my right leg, mirroring the first one.
Others took charge of my hips... and my pecs, and all around my neck, and each forearm.
No one should've been able to tickle with that many hands at once!
Then, of course, they started to move.
It was more contact than I could possibly stand, times a thousand. Wow. I was hooting, and roaring, and I pulled at the straps even though it wasn't going to do a damn bit of good.
"So much fun," it snickered, right next to my left ear.
Layers started closing over me. Too many hands. All tickling...
The room was a prison. Torture chamber. Endless tickling - everywhere. Soon the fingers would get to it again, and I'd stay right where Rukker wanted me.
I heard plastic crinkle.
"Water," it said.
I drank. So thirsty.
There was another bottle...
And a satisfied sigh.
One hand after another arrived -
And they all started dancing again.
Never hesitating at all.
Still caught.
Yup. I looked around the dark apartment. Isolated, pinned down...
Rukker's gloves cruised back down to my ticklish skin.
I took a long time to wake up. The nightmare had to be over. Finally. I had never, ever had a dream like that...
My arms were straight out from my sides. That was definitely different from the nightmare. For some reason, though, my heels were well off the bed. Why would I be laying so far down from the head of -
A dim terror hit me. It felt a lot like a punch in the gut.
Dizzying fever. Pleasure that would skyrocket and flare up like crazy, all over me...
Of course it wasn't over! That was no dream. Every red-hot minute actually happened. I was still in the condemned apartment out back.
Nowhere near over. Waking up like this, strapped down, was weirdly familiar. Any second now -
Or maybe Rukker was just waiting for me to open my eyes.
I couldn't do that. I didn't dare.
A full day of unlimited tickling? It couldn't happen. Again. The idea that I'd been through this before was creepy enough.
Rukker just spent hours and hours, all over me. It definitely knew how to... prolong the torture.
And I was still caught. Probably. Shit, I didn't even wanna move. It was probably watching, and those gloves could be...
Another day. What if it was possible? Could I bounce the bed this time, enough to get Mrs. Jimenez riled up? Maybe the young couple next door to her would notice, somehow, and call the manager?
No? Then I had to get loose. That was all there was to it.
Damn cuffs. There had to be a way. If not, I was royally screwed. Rukker would go right on tickling. The worst possible thing ever -
Okay, that was a bit much. If it had been... pure pain, I'd shut down at some point. Get numb. Right? But the fingers were just impossible to ignore. Rukker knew how to really stick it to me - taking something that could feel good, and piling it on. Far too much -
All day long.
It enjoyed watching me suffer, every second, with far too much goading, electrifying pleasure. Snickering as it had the gloves dig in again, and again...
Dammit, I thought, this just can't be real!
I looked -
Yeah. The same damn ceiling.
I was at an angle. My head was lower -
The cuffs trapping my ankles were strapped to a thick, dark pad.
Pull, push, kick...
Nothing.
A water bottle floated toward my head.
"A vigorous morning workout," Rukker said. "Then a big breakfast. And full-bore tickling until lunch. And so on."
I shook my head numbly.
Short-bristled brushes flew up from under my rack. Several gloves followed close behind.
My damn feet wouldn't budge. Or my arms.
I watched the gloves cover my sides - and felt bristles push against my soles.
They all started to move at once.
For a while I was absolutely wild. Just like yesterday.
Thrashing didn't change anything. Ragged screams of laughter pounded out of my mouth.
The tickling never even paused.
I ended up giggling, twitching...
Eaten alive by all the impulses.
"You're good and sensitive," Rukker said. Sadistic freak.
That finally made me squeal. For mercy.
And Rukker just rocked on and on.
Centuries later... I felt better. Stoned, and not feverish -
Water. I was gulping it down, apparently, and I couldn't seem to stop. That probably meant a rest period was ending -
"Your feet," Rukker said, "aren't reacting anywhere near enough yet. They're slacking. Whatever it takes..." and the fucker laughed.
Oh, hell. I had to get loose, right now! The restraints wouldn't move at all -
Slippery hands.
Not my heels -
"Haaaaaah!" I managed to yell, trying to jump off the bench. Oil - again. Oh no, oh no. Please stop tickling me, I thought, laughing way too hard to get the words out. Rukker, please, please, pull 'em off my soles. No more fingers, no more tickling. I just can't take any more of this...
Bristles.
I screamed laughter and threw my head this way and that.
Of course - brushes. Duh. Roving in slow-motion, everywhere, and the fingers oiling up the electrified skin as they rubbed their way from side to side, no rush at all, alternating with the bristles, each of them amplifying the current inside and laughing was useless and dammit, I couldn't get either foot to move.
10sep2012