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Diver opened the mailing pouch, and took the material out.
"Wow," he said to it. "The real deal." Black, heavy, so shiny, so damn soft... and he'd only ordered two yards, but that was gonna change. Tonight. Amazing cloth.
His imagination ran a little wild - stories he'd written with gloves that were made of shit like this. Better than the best bridal acetate he'd ever found. The idea of getting personal with what he'd just opened was...
Aw, he just couldn't wait. Even trimming the side-edges would take time he didn't want to waste, just then.
Grabbing a new water bottle, he hustled into his bedroom.

It was beyond wow.
He slowed himself down quite a few times... and that wasn't really all that common during his self-handling performance. The material deserved his best. Ultra-wow.
The sweat and precum didn't dampen the cloth. That wasn't what he expected, either. He found a groove, somehow, and delayed the inevitable.
Just the right thickness and slipperiness. Oh, exceptional.
Panting for breath, he fired up a smoke anyway... and knocked back a few slugs of water.
After the cigarette was done, he picked right back up where he left off.

With one old fantasy after another coming to mind, he was in no hurry to finish.
The workup felt better and better, and the ache that came with delaying was rather welcome. Ruttin' like a kid again, he decided. The worry about some malfunction down there was overruled with a couple determined thrusts. Uh-huh, closer to shooting - alright then...
But this cloth was so fine, it made him want to remember this as... a session for the record books. Fuck, yeah.
The bedsheet was getting soaked, and the pillowcase. To his amazement, he was hitting new levels of pleasure. It was remarkable, and consistent - that whole area down there was fuckin' stellar.
He was overrun with scenes from old stories he'd written, and the whole situation was so extraordinary... that he passed out.

In the dream, he was giggling. Chuckling distractedly. The sensation was derailing the idea of getting up or yelling the the roars of laughter that were triggered inside his head. So personal. Almost real.
There were a dozen scenes that he'd written, and they never failed to pull him over-the-top. That afternoon's fantasies seemed more like almost-asleep headtrips. Red gloves made of the material he'd bought tested his feet, and he howled and barked the wildest laughter - in his mind. Faint sounds oozed out of his mouth. The contrast made sense if he was really getting tickled, but the new material wasn't formed into gloves. Unusually strong "afterglow" for a jacking session...
The gloves feasted on his junk. Skilled, unhurried fingers. He dreamt of fighting to roll and cover, but more gloves smoothly pinned his arms down, and his legs.
Thick cuffs were floating to his wrists. Bigger ones cruised on down to his ankles. Two, four, six more gloves were obviously ready to join in, waiting only for him to be fuckin' helpless.
Chain was hooked onto each cuff. A thin, heavy leather strap circled his waist and pulled snug. Above his knees, above his elbows, thinner cuffs were put to use. He was immobilized "right" - the kind of gear that was better than he'd ever seen in real life, chosen to fit his limbs so well that unimaginable experience had to be focused on him.
The unbelievably smooth material checked out his ribs.

His pits were next. Four gloves, at least. Oh, fuck!
Shins and calves. Neck. Thighs. Belly. Perfectly debilitating gloves above and below each knee. Toes, insteps, biceps - and his pecs. Wow, fuck, he couldn't even thrash right. Baying at the ceiling, full-blown laughter which didn't come close to being "enough" reaction, immovable restraints.

Snickering loosely - quietly? And he had a cigarette between his lips.
It was real. Really there.
Sweaty bed, the incredible black cloth laid across his midsection. A break in the even wilder dreams, he realized...
"Light the cig," he murmured to himself.
There was movement near him. After a second or two, a white glove cruised over him - and flicked his lighter open. Fired it up.
Three more gloves hung around that one.
Oh. They got me smokin'. Apparently I'm having a dream within a dream, he thought... except this smoke is much more realistic - "Diver Kelowitz," a young guy said.
Looking from one glove to another, he nodded slowly. This wasn't an intense dream.

The logical thing would be to scan the room for whoever said that. Some bent dude, sneaking in here to watch him jack off? But the fuckin' gloves were... as perfect as he imagined 'em, when he wrote. Maybe an even better grade of his new jackoff cloth.
"I've been looking for you. And finally, I found you."
"Uh-oh," he sighed. I have to be hallucinating, Diver thought, and any sensible person would agree -
"Are you hungry?"
"Soon," he said to a glove. "Not right yet."
"I've got a few of the same frozen dinners you have in your fridge."
"That's... nice."
"No trouble getting cases of that shit. All stocked up, Kel."
He took another drag, stalling for time. His name, first and last... as well as a nickname he got in high school and hasn't really used since then. I have to be making this up, he thought, not believing that excuse when he studied the gloves.
I'm about to get kidnapped, he thought. For real. There was no fear, since the dreams he'd just had were right along the lines of what he'd fantasized about for decades. He laughed as he kicked out the last of the smoke from his lungs. "Stocked up. Food is one thing, but I tend to think you've got more than enough oil, brushes, feather-dusters, cigarettes and weed -"
"Wanna get high?"
That made him snort. "Does it matter?"
"Yes, and no," the voice said.
"Ah," he nodded.
"Let's go," his kidnapper said... conspiratorially, you-and-me.
From his dresser-shelves, clothes floated to the bed. Jeans, underwear, t-shirt - and fingerless gloves.

He scoffed. Ate smoke again. This TM can't really expect me to... cooperate? It doesn't have to. I've written about all kinds of dudes getting hauled off. There's no way I really have a choice, here.
But that thought didn't bother him at all. Depressing, infuriating - hell, no. He was getting hard again. Wow, he thought again, I didn't cum yet. More and more interesting -
"You're looking at little Diver," the kidnapper laughed. "And no, you fell asleep before doing the deed. That's -"
"Damn," he said to himself. It felt like he'd failed.
"Shut up for a second. I wanted this. I drugged you, Kitan. An up-and-coming TM chronicle-dude. I finally found your ass, and then I decided to boost your stim-potential today. So I did."
"What the fuck are y-"
"Tuna melt. Your lunch. Four hours ago."
He blinked. If he wasn't imagining all of this shit now, he'd been spied on. All day? "Correct," he finally groaned.
"With a special addition, sprinkled on the tuna." A glove came to his right hand, and latched on. Ready for a big ol' handshake. "But I still didn't think you'd hold off. Spurting. I want... you... to cum in your new home. TM-pad for Diver. Diver-ward. And you saved a big, fat load for it to, uh, confirm that's where you oughta be now."

"Hold on," he stammered. "Don't be a perv."
Easy laughter. "Aw. Most of you animals get more ticklish after you shoot."
"And you... C'mon now, it isn't some kind of big ol' sign. I didn't choose - you know I didn't, uh, have any idea I was moving out tonight."
"That drug I slipped ya worked just fine. You were more more sensitive. And you still didn't let loose. If I wanna take that as the right fuckin' sign, you just try and stop me."

He laughed at that. "You don't sound like a sadist. Inhuman torturer."
"That's the early Diver stuff," it said casually. "I don't think you've used that word in anything you've written lately. Torturer?"
"Well, no -"
"I'm in awe of you, fuckface. None of us are that clueless. A happy animal kicks out a lot better vibes. Frequencies."
"So I got that part right."
"One of us probably whispered it to you," the kidnapper said, "when you didn't know what the fuck we could get out of working you over ten or twelve hours a day, every day."
I have to get out of here, he thought, right now... and it's not going to let me run. Chilling - and interesting too, dammit.
"And now he's thinking again," it continued. "Get dressed."
"I'm all sweaty."
"You'll sweat even more, a couple hours from now."
"The smart thing to do," he said to himself more than to the captor, "is yell for help."

A sigh of amusement, and frustration... "Why aren't you tied up and gagged right now? Already in Diver-ward?" A pair of gloves picked up the underwear that had been set on the bed.
"I don't know," he said. That was baffling. He took the briefs being handed to him, and pushed the fuck-cloth aside.
"It'll come to you," the kidnapper said, as if it was no big deal. Its gloves brought him the plain black t-shirt picked out for this journey. "Hit me with a question. Or five."
"You're just such a cool... buddy," he mumbled.
"Until I get busy. Then we all get really focused. Mean ticklers."
That got him to roll his head a little, blown away. "That's not what I'm hearing, because you're too cool now."
"Thaa-ank you. Ask me something."
He pulled the shirt on. "Kel. Did you, uh, make that one up?"
"The nickname?"
"Yeah."
"Think about two old notebooks you held onto. Real old. They got early TM stories in 'em. What name did y-"
"Alright. Yeah. So you've checked out... everything. Here."
"The good stuff's going with us - to your new cage. But yeah. Of course. I've been looking for your hide since the first couple TM sagas you posted, lowlife."
"And now you got me."
"You don't sound worried. Bummed-out."
"This isn't a permanent lockdown, if I'm reading you correctly."
"It isn't? You're no fun." Then the kidnapper cracked up! "No, no, you're way fun. And you are not getting hidden away for the rest of your life, Diver. We don't need our animals to be miserable."
"Well, good," he said quietly.
"Real good," it mocked, chuckling at him.

"Another question, then," he said, full of sass.
"Uh-huh?" Gloves brought the jeans in front of him.
"You said maybe a TM whispered something to me. But you couldn't track me down? Until now?"
He heard an uneasy sigh. "We've got so much to talk about. Let's blame that one on pride. You got too many things right about us, for a fuckin' animal. Druggy herbs from the Amazon. Genetic traits, passed down, that give us more of what we want. Cores helping cores -"
"Oh... shit," Diver sighed, sliding the rest of the way into denim.
"And we aren't ready to reveal ourselves to everybody just yet."
"Drugs?"
A gentle scoff. "You came up with an excuse for low-rent types to smoke their heads off, drink like fish. Maybe you did, and maybe one of us helped. But we've found the herbs to fix all of the usual damage from your dumbass ideas of 'fun.'"
"Healthy animals are more... uh, more entertaining," he said right away. "Longer lives means more tickling."
"He shoots, he scor-rrres!"
"So you could've asked other TMs for the real identity of 'Kitan,' but you chose not to."
"You - aw, fuck. Of course you wouldn't get it. We're real, dude. Some of you howlers inspire us. Great ideas - and I don't know how we all left you alone, really. If we did."

It seemed like a good idea to get worried, but that was beyond him. "Mind-wipe, maybe," he said.
"Ooooh, shit. It's not that far along yet. Or that's the official version we get told. If you'd been nabbed once, I don't know why that would ever stop happening. Kitan? Whooooh. But turn that around. If a fan like me found you, and told all its buddies, word gets around fast. It becomes a cool thing."
"Nabbing Kitan," he groaned.
"Should've started happening years ago."
"Instead of now."
"You don't know me yet," the tickler said airily, "but I've learned a few things. Which author isn't fuckin' afraid of the word 'owner'?"
"Help," he said, squeaking dramatically.
"We have another label, but yeah. Call me owner, for now. You need a hands-off tat more than any other mortal I know. You're owned."
"Mortal?"
"Uh, that's Hollywood-speak."
He cocked his head. "You nab any of the A-listers?"
Laughter. "Oh, you and Chezz gotta meet."
That required a few seconds of thought. Then he gasped. "Not 'Reverse Honor' Chezz."
Smutty laughter. "The same. He likes a couple of your stories a lot." "The hell he does -"
"Dammit. Would I gain anything by tellin' you tall tales? It'd be quicker to get you in a sleep-sack and roll right on out to the Diver-ward."
"Good grief," he finally said, at a loss for any more words.
"All kinds of stars," the kidnapper teased. "Big-time musicians. Sons of TV legends. Grandsons." Gloves came and grabbed both of his hands. "You ready to stand up?"
"I guess so."
He was pulled around to the side of the bed, and then to his feet.

"You're kidnapping me now," he said, looking around the room.
"Finally. We could keep paying the rent here. If you really wanted to come back - when I let you."
"For real?"
"Yeah." The gloves let go of his hands. "You look stable enough. Get dressed."
"I could come back here. Really? Why would you even make an offer like that?"
"Kel wants the completely alien TMs to get him. Fuckin' machines."
"No, I don't!"
"Alright then."
A glove punched his left shoulder.
"Ow."
"Unless you make it real clear that you wanna come back to this dump, we'll have all this shit brought out to where you are. Tomorrow, or the day after that."
"Seriously?"
"At the latest. Yeah."

The whole situation was mind-blowing. "I'm going to believe you," he said evenly, "because it looks like you're hauling me off whether I want to go or not."
"Perfect ten. Now, remind yourself one more time - do I have to make any promises right now? To shove you into your car and haul you off?"
"No, you do not."
The shorts he'd been wearing earlier were brought to his hand. "Load up your own pockets. I got the sack you labeled 'Important Stuff' in with a box of bills and other finance-shit, plus a cooler in the kitchen. All loaded up."
"I don't have a cooler."
"You do now."
"Oh. Thanks."
"Asshole. Laptop, old backups on CD's... in the car, too. The rest of this shit will show up there soon."
"Uh-huh."
Another scoff. "Of course, you'll be pretty damn busy for a while."
"Truth," he snickered.

The kidnapper made him put sandals on, and opened the front door. It was getting dark outside.
What a day, he thought. "Nabbed," he said.
"And you're letting me nab you. Damn."
The driver's-side door swung out.
"The neighbors can see the door magically open -"
"And why the fuck does that matter now? You're moving out. There ain't a... a Phantom Investigation Service they can call."
He looked in the back seat. Three boxes from inside his place, a cooler, his laptop case. "Much appreciated," he said, getting behind the wheel.
A carton of smokes slid on the dash.
"Ooooh," he said to it.
Easy laughter. "Another one of your little fuck-you taunts. The nabbed young turk sees 'em, and tries to face the obvious."
"Nothing quick about this nab," he sighed.
"Comes to, the next morning, and the carton on the shelf has been replaced - with ten cartons. Yourrr-rr'e welcome, laughing boy."

He lit a smoke.
"Hmmmm," the captor almost whispered.
"Now what?"
"Aw. I'm takin' no chances. More gas."
"And beer."
"Don't tempt me," it laughed. "Gotta get you there. No hassles from the cops -"
"You probably wanna turn here. Right. Two lights down, about a mile."
"I'm more than able to steal a few gallons."
"Understood."
"This is like another confirmation." It snickered. "Did you ever write about a nabbed dude cooperating like you do?"
"Guys who love it, maybe. But I'm not one of your first-timers. If anybody knows how useless it is to put up a fight, with all those hands you got, it's me."
There was a long pause. "Didn't expect you to surprise me, Diver. That doesn't happen anymore."
He shrugged.

"We were meant to be," the tickler laughed - nervously?
"I... bet you say that to all the animals," he said.
"Nope. You. Never gonna be the same... your boring life. Oh, I could say that to any new catch who's got what it takes - but I like you even more than I thought I would."
"My feet. Sure. Armpits -"
"And the guy who owns all that turf. Facing the unbelievable shit. Cracking jokes."
He sighed, rolling his head in frustration -
But then strong hands pulled his right arm to the side.
It wasn't that big of a surprise when a needle pricked him.
"Right now, you sleep," it said. "I'll drive."
"So I duh... don't know where... we go," he managed.
"And once again, he confirms it. Kitan."
"Mmmmpff," he sighed, unable to keep his eyes open.

His arm felt weird.
Right arm. Sore spot. Slowly, his fingers checked it out. Greasy.
"You'll thank me later," his kidnapper said.
"Unnnh... Tattoo."
"Owner-tat. That's your phrase. So you don't get nabbed by every ambitious TM."
He managed to nod. Inked flames, chain wrapped around, and a thick little red K on top. It pretty much filled up his tricep. Dammit, there was pretty much the same thing drawn up on his other arm. Only a matter of time. "Th-hhh... Shit. Not yet. Pretend I said it. Uh... gracias."
Friendly laughter. "Okay. We're here."
"I'm not goin' in there."
Hands grabbed his triceps. "Whaaaat?"
He smirked. "You wanna drag me in, I can't stop you. This is where you get me a smoke goin'... and pretty much march me in there as if I wanted to walk into the trap."
The door opened. No other response came.
Heaving a quick breath first, he kept his voice down. "You're giving me a choice?"
"Pretending to."
Gloves covered his arms, except for the tattoo. Others grabbed his hips. "I'm in a feisty mood," the tickler said. "You got that right. No animal knows this shit. Readin' me, the first time we met." It hauled him out of the car. "If you don't wanna be tickled right, you better get away now."
Its mood was unmistakable. Total victory... because its new prize was going into the playroom. "Nooooo-oooo," he wailed, fighting the hands.
The shed was dark. Not worth a second look outside, but totally rehabbed inside, he suspected. Soundproofed, secure -
"Your only chance to escape," it crooned, near his right ear.
"Haaallllpp!" He gave it all he had. Not one of the fuckin' hands lost its grip.

The door in front of him opened. Slowly. Creaking. Nice touch, he thought distractedly. Stomping, twisting, and lunging were all hopeless. The phantom clearly had lots of experience at this.
Easy laughter, from alongside him, as more hands locked onto his calves and ass. Making him... march, as best they could to the door. Inside -
The kidnapper turned him around.
"No!" he yelled, at the door as it closed. Two deadbolts slid.
"So ffff-fucked," he mumbled.

A match was struck. It floated to an oil-lamp.
He looked around. I should be more scared than I am, he thought... except I've described rooms like this so many times in what I wrote. Thick padding everywhere, mattress and stocks and slings, racks and benches... a couple dozen shelves loaded with everything he would've expected. But I'm Kitan, he thought wildly, and I'm probably gonna be told this particular dungeon was inspired by me.
Straps and cuffs cruised down to the mattress. A short, wedge-shaped pillow joined them.
The hands started letting go of him. Easy laughter came from somewhere near the restraint gear. It sounded rowdy now.
"I wanna see you cooperate," it snickered. "Light a cigarette... and strip."
With a quiet groan, he got another smoke going. Exhaling slowly, Diver unbuttoned his jeans.

The tickler sounded way too sincere. Indebted? But that had to be bullshit. It would be driving him absolutely bugshit soon. Cuffs encircled his wrists, and he saw smaller straps head for his thighs, his biceps, and his waist. Any possible distraction was definitely in order. "So I figured you'll tell me," he said quickly, "how you confirmed it. The writer you've wanted to nab is me. That satin I jacked off with today got you -"
"Satinex," the captor interrupted calmly. "And I'm so fuckin' proud of finding you that you're gonna get end up fairly bored by hearing every little detail of the hunt."
"Bored," he snickered. The wrist-cuffs were double-checked, Snug, and all of the straps pinning his limbs were wrapped and pulled taut more quickly. He just couldn't move.
"I'm probably gonna have to make a vid." It seemed to be... thinking out loud? "How I did it. Teach the other TMs who are curious enough." Easy chuckling. "Smoke while you can."
He did as he was told.
"If you're thirsty, you'd better let me know."
"Not really. My heart's pounding."
"Slow and easy start," it said. "I've thought about this first night for a long fuckin' time, Diver. At last, you're strapped down. Secret room. All the supplies I could need." It took his cigarette away, waiting for one last quick tug.
"Doomed," he sighed, "but I liked hearing 'slow' and easy'."
"Kitan caught on." The tickler was definitely amused. "Digging in full-bore? Naaaah. What would happen then?"
Squirming didn't even really work. He'd never been pinned down so fuckin'... effectively. "I think you're pissing and moaning about fewer hours. The captive passes out sooner if you don't pace yourself."
"Uh-huh," it agreed.
There was a click.

A flashlight beam showed him a pair of gloves above his feet. White and shiny, made of heavier material than Diver had imagined. Fake hands, made for tickling all damn day, built to last.
More cruised up, right alongside them. Eight, ten, twelve.
He pulled at the restraints.
"Smartass, this one," the kidnapper said. "Pissing and moaning? If I pace myself? What's it gonna take to get a little respect, huh?"
It waited him out. "I bet you got a... big ol' plan."
A satisfied laugh. The sound of a winner.
The gloves came and took hold.
Diver chuckled like a fool.
His ribs got an easy squeeze. Those tickling hands were the first to move.

Roaming slowly, nowhere as firm as they could be bearing down...
It wants the marathon of marathons, he thought, cackling louder.

The rib-gloves paused in place.
"It's happening," the tickler drawled.
Flawless, huge thumbs explored his soles.
"Naw aaaaaawww hah hah haaaaa-aaaah haah!" he barked at the ceiling.

Squirming turned into... fighting with all he had. It was automatic.
The laughter was unstoppable too. Climbing. As gloves started to creep around his package, he shook his head - and wailed laughter. He howled. He roared. It was shocking. He'd never laughed so hard, had he?
Oh, no. More movement. Both sides of his neck, around to the back -
His nips, too.
Knees.
Pits.
Barely moving. Light contact.
Diver was amazed to be laughing as hard as he possibly could.

It had been going on all night. Well, that seemed to be true. He knew better -
His eyes were blurry. Tears of mirth. The restraints hadn't fuckin' budged. No way out. Fingers and palms everywhere... barely tickling?
Something tapped his lip. A cigarette.
That made him freeze, and laugh for a while. Oh, it had to be kidding.
But it wasn't too much longer that the filter returned, and a hand pushed his lower jaw up. The cigarette was lit. He was incredibly glad to suck in.
"You got so many things right," Kitteranic said, slowly and right in front of his face. "The can't-laugh threshold. You're... already... there."

Relaxed. Smoking -
No gloves on him.
"Whuh," he sighed.
"Time for some water," Kitteranic said.
"And then..."
Laughter. A confirmation. "This is exactly how I hoped it would be. Kitan's first round. I found eighteen hot buttons, so far. All kinds of textures to use."
Thinking that through got Diver snickering for a few seconds. He took a long drag, and the cigarette was taken away. A plastic rim settled on his lower lip.
"Drink."
After a groan, he did.

"It's clear you're no rookie. All kinds of months, in expert hands. Dungeons like this."
"I swear," he insisted, gasping for air, "this is the first."
Easy laughter from somewhere over his belly got him to close his eyes. Not possible, definitely can't be happening, not even close to real. The most intense dream ever.
"But you know way too much. Writer."
"One of you whispered it to me. As I was falling asleep. Mindgrip, when I was typing that shit out. I don't know."
"Aaaaaw. You're a rare cat. Never been the guest of a TM before, and look at what you've written. Suu-urrrre."
"You're so full of shit," he grumbled. "Yanking my chain. I've never gone through anything like this."
"And you were nice enough to insist on that. I didn't think it was true. Not really. Direct experience had to be the explanation for your stories."
"Dammit. I get that. What you're saying."
"Here I am," and Kitteranic chuckled, "fighting with what seemed true. You react as if this is the very first time... and now you insist. I really got to you first." It made a quiet "whooooh" sound.

"Lucky, lucky," he muttered.
"Both of us."
Diver snorted.
"Check out your rod."
He blinked a few times, and looked. Full-staff. He was hard. "Direct... contact. Autonomic reaction -"
Easy laughter. "Sure. Whatever works." A cigarette and lighter sauntered on up.
"You really gonna tell me," and he grabbed the smoke, "this isn't what always happens? Every guy you tease?" The lighter came, and he made use of it.
"After twenty minutes? Full survey - getting this hard? Nope."
"Tuh... twenty minutes? What the fuck."
"Do I need to exaggerate, here? Does it get me anything I don't already have?" A glove raced over and patted his breastbone. "Your vitals have been great."
"Oh, that's just swell."

2021