A simple line from Bound2Tkl's classic story
"The Intruder" - "We're gonna have a lot of laughs." - somehow reminded me of a TM who did a little remodeling on a vacant house. Here's one of its revels...
Well, lookit this. Coming right down the street...
And here I was gonna wait for dark to grab my next subject. This guy's trotting right up like he can't wait another minute to meet me. Good muscle definition, quiet breathing despite his pace. Oh yeah.
I think he's going to pay me a visit. Right on time. I gotta check out those ribs - up close. Those lungs...
Pow!
Triumphantly, I drag him in. Shut the door, lock it - he's goin' nowhere! Time for the acid test...
Excellent! I have great news, sir. The results are in. Endless laughs ahead. Saved me a trip, too.
Down ya go, runner.
You get to break in a new coil of rope... Soft to the touch, but the knots hold so well. I'm taking my time, so he can have knots he'll never pull apart.
There.
Ticklish, isolated... and immobilized. I win. How many thresholds can I push this jock through? I test him again, and take a couple of feathers to his neck at the same time...
Yeah. No doubt about it. Not as wild of a reaction as some, but more stamina to burn up. Yeah, he's gettin' it. Tattoos, huh? Slippery character. Bad jailhouse art - not too common on a health nut, or anybody crazy enough to be running on a day like today. It's a scorcher -
Hey. What's this? A little brown stain, here, between his fingers. Running dude - do you smoke? More than just a cigar, now and then? I can work with that...
Seeing him pinned here nice and tight, I can hardly wait. Oh boy.
Patience! It keeps paying off - and there's the new improvements to the room, here -
His head is moving. He's coming around... I tell ya. Didn't even have to hide his car. This bed is exactly where he was headed. Right place, right time... Like a cry for help. Might as well just run right up my driveway. And now I got his ass all settled down for a few laps of my own. Hide him away, and show him my fitness program.
He groans. I rustle the drapes noisily until he looks over.
"Heya." He looks around frantically. What a hoot! "Saw ya runnin' by, there."
Staring - yeah, he's seein' 'em. Whooo. One of my new improvements... Security bars, on the inside of the window. He's still taking 'em in.
"Man.. Way over a hundred out there." I close the drapes slowly.
And he sees the rope on his wrists. Dumbfounded! "Wh-"
"Not a good idea to be bustin' ass on a day like this. I had the AC on already, no big deal..." A lot of hassle to install, but it's quiet and I've never regretted it. Or the bootleg power lines. So much better to be able to keep him dry and comfy, to have enough light so he can make out what I'm bringin' him next. I want a nice big contrast between when I'm leaving him alone... and when I'm working him over.
His eyes are darting from his tied feet to his tied hands, and he's testing my knots. "Hey. Lemme go n-"
"You jocks. I tell ya. Takin' chances, pushin' right to the limit. I can appreciate that. Sort of my specialty, my field of study, actu-"
"Where are you? This is... let me go, I mean it, ri-"
"Yessir. I know about thresholds. Do I ever. Gotta be smart, though. It's too hot out there to go for broke. This here's a day to kick back inside, lay low. Ain't about to see anybody keel over right in front of my house. Nope. Maybe you'd rather be riding in the back of an ambulance, but I say it's better you hang out here for a while. And I know your type - you'd just shrug it off, get back out there and kill yourself a mile down the road. Right? You wanna take off, zip back the way you came."
"Yeah. Look, I... you, uh, you can't j-"
"Wrong. Nuthin' doin', friend. You need to stay out of that heat, and that's an order. Nobody'll be the wiser." Still some disbelief in his expression, and fear. He's at a loss for words, and I get my trademark props in position to make contact.
Angry, now - "Dammit, let me go."
"No." His mouth opens and closes. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing. It's too hot out there... Oh, fuck, where are my manners?"
I grab his hand, and start shaking it. He jumps. First contact - very satisfying.
"Glad to have ya here, runner. Real, real glad. Always glad for a chance to lend somebody a hand."
He's squirming. Staring! No realization, yet, but he's on edge. "I don't need a ha-"
I move the glove... away from his hand, over to his face. A magical, wondrous sight. Empty glove, all shiny, and it just gave him a good strong handshake.
That shuts him up.
"You need to stay inside. It's real bad for your heart to run when it's this hot. I'm gonna have to insist you play it smart... You, uh, like this?" And I make a slow fist, and shoot the fingers back open. He swallows hard, when he sees that.
"I know it's... unusual, but making these is a little hobby of mine. All kinds of uses. This here's satin. Bridal satin, they call it - good and strong, thick, real durable... Don't know why they waste it on dresses. I thought I'd make some gloves out of it 'cause it's soooo soft. Wouldn't ya say? Slick - almost slippery. Now this is pure white. Got this design down pat. No seams or stitches outside anywhere. All smooth, and they still fill up nice and firm... Grip around stuff just fine. They turned out so great, I made a big 'ol bunch - Shit! Here I am talkin' your ear off about these beauties, and you're layin' there. Don't go anywhere..." I send the glove out the door.
He watches it -
Yup, there he goes. Fussin' and fighting hard. He can sure yell, can't he? With pipes like that I won't having any trouble bringing his voice back. Good. He's gonna roar so fuckin' hard for me. Cool. I just enjoy the action...
He's flailing and throwing himself around. Cussing... Angry at the situation - at himself, for not escaping. Forgot about the bars on the window already, huh? At this point he's probably afraid of me. Worried, at least. But the realization dawns on him, as his best efforts don't change anything.
Helpless.
He's not getting out of here without some assistance. I've been careful. Just another vacant house. No missing runners in here...
He's gonna have to face facts. Get the rest of that panic out of his system. Then he'll be able to pay attention - and wonder about what the gloves are for. Their real purpose.
There. Settling down. Much better. Know that you're caught. By me...
And I don't fuck around. It'll be a full workout. Constant, energetic - with his personal trainer. Real personal. The next couple weeks are going to tune him up just fine, and then the real fun will begin.
When he's panting away, I bring in the box and set it next to the bed. One glove carrying each corner. His eyes flit around as he counts them - just hanging there, steady and intimidating - and tries to see what's in the box. Two of my hands float back to the door.
"Please, I jus-"
"One sec."
He watches a bar being picked up and slid into place, and now my hands picking up a big padlock. "Can't be too careful. Better just to do it, instead of wishing I had, right?" Click. He's stunned again, without a reply. Another new feature, the door-bar, and seeing his face I'd have to say it's a big hit. "I like knowin' the house is secure. Privacy freak, I guess - this here's my castle, nobody's gonna come around and yank my chain. I rule the roost here." A shiny hand starts digging in the box.
He closes his eyes and gulps. Some glimmer of comprehension, maybe?
"I really wanna g-"
"You want some water. Gotcha covered," as gloves bring him a pint and twist off the cap. "Sorry it's warm - Oh. Before I forget -" Another pair serves up a vitamin bottle. "B-Complex with C. No, you'll be amazed at what a difference they'll make." I shake a half-dozen capsules into a satin palm... these babies are dex and ephedrine, sure to keep him bright-eyed 'til the sun comes up. He'll be wishing he could nod off when I start my reps on him. Curls, presses, extensions...
His lips are shut tight. I follow his head with the capsules. "C'mon, now. You need 'em."
Two more phantom hands arrive - I punch his left arm real hard, and dig into his chest hair and start twisting -
"OW -" Shovel 'em in, and push down on his mouth. With another glove, I push his chin up... and just hold him, as he tries not to swallow.
"Sorry, but this some real good stuff. What's the problem? Down the hatch. Water is waitin'." He wriggles and pulls - and sighs out his nose real hard. Pissed, are we? Just you wait. His throat muscles start to work, and he forces 'em down. Bingo.
I wait another minute to make sure he can't hack 'em back up... and zero in with the water bottle. He doesn't mind draining that...
"Really. Uh, I get carried away sometimes. I've leave your hair alone..." Well, after I shave you. "But hey, you wanna be at your peak, right? I can appreciate that." Rummaging in the box again, I give him the next mixed message, in a just-between-us tone. "A day like today, though, calls for more'n just water, dammit..." I sling a six-pack of Miller Lite in a magically empty hand.
His eyes widen more! "I don't drink -"
"Yeeeeahhhh. Bullshit." More fingers lift up a pint of Ronrico. "It's on me. Pick yer poison."
"None!" he barks, trying to flop around.
"What? Fuck... Oh. Not yet, you mean. Uh-huh." I pull a couple beers loose. "That leaves ya with these. Piss-water, but you probably don't want the calories. All the alcohol, though." Popping one open -
"Look, I -"
"After that run, you earned it. Chug 'em. Go ahead -"
"No!"
"Yeah. Don't have to be polite here, chief. My casa is your casa. Get loose - fuck, get shitfaced. I insist. Works for me." I trail his chin with the can... for maybe another twenty seconds.
He finally gives in.
Emptying the second one, he watches the cloth fingers gripping the can, tipping it without so much as a tremor. My new buddy knows who's callin' the shots here.
One more task that'll make it so much worse for him... and it'll be time to saddle up and ride.
"Another brewski, my man?"
He shakes his head hard, hands and feet trying desperately to get free.
"You could use a towel, but they're all dirty. Hmmmm..." This time, I make four gloves rise and open up the closet. He cranes his neck and watches as they paw through a couple boxes. Without being real obvious, I let him catch quick glimpses of feather dusters, lubes, buffers, so many brushes...
"No! Aaaah, fuck!" he wails.
"Here we are." I bring him two scarves. Black silk. A glove swings the closet door shut, and the others fold up the approaching material...
"Don't, please, I can't t-"
"Hey, the sheets are gettin' soaked." Nothing like they will be, real soon! I drop the first teaser to his chest, with the glove's opening where he can stare into it - so solid-looking, so empty - and blot the puddle between his pecs. Quick and gentle. Making him think. And it ain't nothing like the bulldozing about to take place.
He shuts his eyes and doesn't move. "No, this is... you're not. Aw, fuck, you can't..."
The next one lands on his neck.
As I dry off his upper body, I move the scarves slower and slower.
You know, I think he's getting the picture.
I drag the silk over his face... and then up and down his forearms. No fight, anymore - just the monotonous pleading, and desperate stretches at his ropes. His shorts are clinging to him, but they're going as soon as he wets himself. I got plenty of sensitive skin already bare and waiting for me.
Down his legs, and thighs. Can't ignore the far end! "After runnin' that hard, your feet gotta need some air..." Still more gloves cruise down and untie his shoes. I've got a dozen magic hands in use now, which is not anywhere enough yet for this animal.
"I can't! Please, you just gotta s- lemme go, I can't take this..." Et cetera. I slip off his socks, as his whining gets louder. Useless... He twists just as uselessly. The speed's doing its job - and his cock's rising to the occasion. Sweat beads on his forehead...
For three or four minutes, he mumbles restlessly. I'm not even touching him! Fascinating.
I have my gloves roll the scarf into a sweatband. Without a word, I bring him more water. All the bases are covered, every need addressed. I'm more than ready for a good time.
He's looking worried. Like he knows what I'm going to do to him, and he just can't fuckin' believe it. But I know, better than he does, how it'll be.
He can't begin to imagine what a hundred of my skilled fingers will feel like. Locked in this room, hidden away. Staked out across my bed. Watching brushes come too, and a cock-sleeve, polishers and feathers...
"Dude." No response from him. "Runner. Hey - you're still sweatin'. If you'd run for home you probably would've ended up with heat stroke or something. Lucky thing I saw ya, and brought ya in." He moans once, softly... "Maybe you'd better stay where it's cool. I'd feel better if you waited it out. Sundown - well, shit. It's gonna be a hot night. No telling when the heat wave's gonna end... Well, anyway, as long as it takes. Not a prob."
"Fucker - don't do this," he yells. Writhing - the dex is being felt, alright. "You got no right... You can't do this, pl-"
"Glad to be of service. Well, you're here now - come to think of it, you might be feverish or somethin'. You sound like you got a fever. All restless... You got a high metabolism, am I right? No fat on ya, anywhere. That means your blood vessels, and your nerves, are real close to the surface. No wonder you're dripping. Yup - hide out for awhile, indoors. Stay put. That's the ticket." I wait for him finish a stricken-looking gulp. "You like the heat. Huh. Love to work up a sweat."
He blinks a couple times, and remembers to exhale. "No-"
"Out doin' that iron-man thing, and I went and interrupted it. You didn't get to wind down, or cool down... whatever you call it. You could cramp right up, here."
Oh yeah. I bring up six new, wonderful satin hands. His protests go up an octave.
"Can't just stop cold after exercising like that. Gotta work those muscles. Some aerobic exercise - heart pumpin', lungs workin'..." I am so ready to boogie. Gloves honing in, and he's all eyes. "Say, I got an idea."
"Don't do this to me-"
"You just lay there... and let everything else go."
I curl over each knee -
"Nooooooooo!" And now, his lower ribs. Just holding him...
He grins nice and big, legs twitching. The last two satins are tracked as they grip the soles of his feet.
"But... you're smiling. Uh-huh. This'll feel good, dude. Deep-down good. Believe it. I know what I'm talking about." That's it. I can't wait. Squeeze and move - heavy, thorough, over and over and over.
Laughing! Crude, angry... frustrated. Louder -
I bring him two more ticklers, pressing 'em slowly on his pecs. I want that heavy glossiness right in his face -
Hoots. Straining now to pull a limb free. Not a chance in the world, you delightfully sensitive fucker. Hard cackles...
"Doesn't that feel great?" I sweep across his chest - and he starts to howl.
Two more gloves join in. "What say we push the envelope?" He tries to arch, and I slip a glove on each butt cheek, fingertips in his crack, and squeeze away.
Sweat and tears are starting to roll. He's good and loud, roaring real nice - in between howls. The new rope keeps him down tight... and wide open. So far, he's not the wildest bull I've ridden. But with the shape he's in, with time and care, he could pull the longest haul. I like the sound of this one. He'll really like all my new hands simultaneously. All fifty gloves, buffing at once...
Can't resist one more taunt. I slow my hands down just long enough to bark: "You ready for the ultimate workout?"
Time to get down to business! Hysteria - what I do best. He yowls and shakes the bed. Atta boy... I keep a close eye on the ropes, 'cause this is the time he'd break 'em if he's ever gonna be able to. Fat chance.
Not for lack of trying, though. Lookit him go! Sweatin' freely, bawling with glee.
Two by two, I move fingertips a little farther up, as well as under... Checking between his toes. Hips, neck, armpits - whoa. Check it out. I cover the top of each thigh...
So much to explore. I'm glad to say I don't have a single clock in my house. Or a calendar. He stutters - huh? Heels? Right above 'em. Yeah. His hips throw him into the head-banging stage. Cute... Nicely reactive under the knees...
After I've checked him all over, I take some of my new satin and pinpoint the hot buttons I've found so far. Riding heavily on his biceps at the same time, just where the armpit hair st-
Oop! Had a little accident, did he? Time for the shorts to go. He's not even aware of it - shaking as he roars, limbs relaxing just a little...
Now I know these knots ain't gonna fail me. He's too distracted. Definitely gonna be too far gone to snap 'em later.
I send hands to rub the top-sides of his feet, petting hard - and he kicks, and kicks, granite thighs in motion. Those feet just aren't goin' anywhere! Buffed above and below...
I clean up the sheets. He's all exposed now. Guess I get to work my way through another minefield, without shorts or underwear sitting in my way.
Twilight. The curtains are open a few inches.
He doesn't squirm. Hardly even peeking at all, he pants for the better part of a half-hour.
A quart of water, two energy bars... and now my frictionless hands carry something else.
He groans softly, starting to wriggle, glancing quickly at the urinal I set in position. The protests become louder, more articulate...
"Just a little break, runnin' dude. Quick one. Get some water in ya, pull on some clean, dry, braaaaand new gloves. The night's young."
He whimpers, twisting in the ropes.
The time races past. My guest looks damn exhausted, and yet he's surely stayin' conscious. Holding up just fine... That was probably the longest starting run I've ever put anybody through, and he wasn't even close to passing out on me. Not that he wouldn't love to.
Yep, the night is very young. Even better, there's days - no, make it weeks! - of hardass reaction, spread out here for the taking...
I let him tug and look out the window, plead with me, holler for help. The window's still closed, and the AC is enough to drown out even the crickets in my big backyard. All there is to see is the darkening sky.
It's been about a year since anyone set foot on this property under their own steam... Thieves, young punks, leaving empty-handed. They did get a long, wild week though, and they've never come back to risk a repeat.
My jock squirms and fusses. I give him more water... And it's about time for the victory cigar. He's definitely surprised - again! - as I cut the end off. Grimacing nicely, pulling with all his strength.
"Right," I chuckle, "Like you're any stranger to these, huh?" He looks baffled, yet again, and the struggles fade away as another hand brings him a match.
His first break is running a little longer than he expected - so much the better. Keep him guessing, reduce any possible desensitization... So I can dig into those nerve endings with a vengeance.
Nothing better...
Open-handed polishing of pecs, ribs, belly, tops and bottoms of feet.
His reaction is mindless and extreme. Overdrive hilarity. Trying so desperately to shift or twist, get an arm loose, shield any spot somehow. Screaming laughyer, whooping uncontrollably...
I continue causing this frenzy, putting weight on the satin that drags and sweeps. Ten gloves in devastating places, riding until the distraction just begins to fade... and finding new positions, twitchy areas to bear down on and play with some more.
The sweat keeps dripping off him. Tears running down his contorted face, soaking his hair. Mouth open big and wide - bursting with laughter, on and on and on...
Just as incapable of shutting up as he is of trying to get free. This boy's got one thing on his mind. My satin hands keep his attention focused...
About a half-hour of labored breathing.
Water, and canned high-calorie shakes. Even more water.
He can't hold his head up, still dog-tired... Eyes closed, but not anywhere near ready for sleep.
This may be the most I've ever whaled on a guy the first day he hung out with me. All those delirious hours - and he's almost ready for more!
Soon he's hard at the ropes again. Giving 'em his best shot, which is nothing like it was nine hours ago. He's motivated, alright... but his expression looks real damn pessimistic.
I chuckle softly. "Lookit you." He doesn't, preferring to scan the room wildly. Not a glove in sight... "I mean, damn. Maybe it's time for me to do some cleanin' up..."
He sees it - and freaks nicely. Goin' nowhere, dude. I send hands to take the urinal away.
It is a fine duster. Wooden handle, long wispy feathers. I bring it down in a slow circle... over his arms and chest. Obviously, the camel's-hair brushes are going to be a big hit. Later.
"No? You sure? Well... okay." He looks so relieved. "Not yet." That gets a nice reaction. But I make the feathers retreat. "Wouldn't want to wreck these nice, soft, feathers with sludge 'n shit. Not when I've got a whole lot of-"
Brilliant white palms slide up each pec, toward his face - reverse course, and keep sliding.
"These!"
He shrieks, and jumps, flexing mightily to get out from under my gloves. Watching 'em press and slide, frantically hooting as a dozen others zeroing in - and trying to shake his head...
Well, whatcha gonna do with a guy that's this ticklish? Over the top, flailing deliriously, chock full of stamina?
Stake him out and go for it.
All ya want.
One agonizingly happy, top-notch stimulated mutherfucker. He's way too happy, and unable to beg me to stop. So...
Each instant is a balls-out rush. Satin wringing out these convulsive roars, sweetly provoking hours of raw satisfaction.
Sure, his voice has cut out - but not the reaction, and the reflex. Moment upon moment of hysteria, at my fingertips. My every whim forced out of his ecstatic throat...
As long as I like.
To learn what else this TM is up to, check out Friday Night or Mean.
08oct98