(Not that much "action" in this one, FYI)
Sometimes I just get the feeling that there's no wrong move to make. As I cruised over the terminal, the train which had just arrived had people hurrying off - a lot of 'em hungry for a smoke - and my timing was right on the money. I got there, and he stepped down from the car. It was like he was right on time for an appointment.
Hey... Scooter. Yeah. You.
Young, and lean. Shaggy blonde hair, smiling at nothing in particular. An open book. No stranger to a good toke - that was my guess. Traveling all by himself. I just knew, the second I saw him, that it was time for a break in his travels. All of the attractions would still be there, when he was done with his surprise retreat with me. Each day here would be chock-full of moans and laughs. The weather will have turned, in all likelihood, but until then I'd keep him excited. Vacations with deadlines never made sense to me anyway.
My last catch had no place to be. Batter learned a lot about bondage, because keeping him down was a challenge in itself. I worked almost twenty pounds of flab off Batter, and got him under a pack a day. Seven aggressive months...
Scooter didn't pull out any cigarettes. He had a healthy glow - or maybe I was just used to ol' Batter - and I was positive that my plan to enhance that quiet strength was the right one for my new pal. He was the outdoor type, about to get some serious lockdown time.
When I watched him sling his little backpack - raising his arms and jiggling the shoulder straps into place - his t-shirt rode up. I could see those entrancing lower ribs. Smooth skin, slightly tanned. Showing up when he did was a confirmation, and now Scooter was just offering himself up to me. I'm here, just for one thing, so you go right ahead and get to it.
I curled a hand around his right side.
The best indicator is usually given when the prospect isn't expecting it. I hoped he'd flinch, and hiss. But this party animal looked down first. He couldn't see my fingers, and I wasn't pressing hard enough to indent his skin... but he looked, with both arms still tangled in the shoulder straps - and a barely audible whine snuck out of his throat. It turned into a low growl at the same time he jumped away from me.
That wasn't the reaction I expected. It might've revealed fear - a level of panic that would spoil the fun. Stumbling, he nearly fell down. While I had hands ready to catch him before he landed, I really didn't want Scooter that vigilant. But he managed to regain his footing, looking all around. Everyone else had cleared out. There was no doubt about that.
Taking a breath, he relaxed. And then - finally! - he kicked out three private chuckles. Alright, then. This was clearly meant to be. I had a new theory to explain the unusual reaction...
He looked around and started walking toward the terminal, on his way to whatever new adventure lay ahead. I don't think he expected it to begin as soon as he walked up to the building, when Scooter was momentarily unable to be seen.
Logically, of course, his path during the next two seconds took him through the door and out toward the street, another traveler purposefully on his way to somewhere.
I stopped him with a firm hand clamped over his mouth, and four others taking control of his arms.
Before his eyes widened he was being pulled to the right - and alongside the terminal. I had him past the second window before his resistance started to explode. There was no one there to see Scooter lunge around. There were no witnesses to his course that I altered. In front of him, I opened a door...
Into the access hallway he went. No one knew. It was usually empty, and I was prepared to rush him right on through. But that wasn't necessary. I slammed his back against the wall and closed the door - my first private moment with ol' Scooter. Happy as I could be, I eased his t-shirt up and exposed that perfectly tempting belly. With my fingers almost landing there, I remembered his reaction - and curled two hands around his lower ribs.
Scooter hissed in a nice big gasp, tensing right up... and then he started to beg. Right away. "No, no, no, no" into the taut palm over his lips.
I was meant to find this slacker, alright. He belonged right in my hands.
When I started to knead - just a little - my earlier theory was confirmed. Experience led me to snuggle around, a few inches over his hips...
Scooter wailed, and started to laugh. Then he couldn't have made me any happier, right then, because he stopped laughing. He happened to have a spot that just fuckin' disabled him, and that flash of skin when he put on his backpack lead me right to it. This was too convenient to be an accident. Possibly he was going to reveal one or two other tendencies that made an exceptionally long association worthwhile - and galvanizing - for us both.
Pulling my hands off, I went for the spot again. He was trying to slither away, seriously motivated. But as soon as I clamped on and adjusted the position of my fingers, down a little lower, back a little farther... he froze. Tightening my grip made Scooter sag. That crazy whine leaked out again, so I tightened more. But when I eased up just a bit, he made no noise. And the dude just couldn't twitch.
It was incredibly useful. Scooter had a built-in pause button. Hell, I could take him anywhere...
I just had to try it again. This time, I released his sides and gave him some motivation. How about that navel, pal? Is it nice and ticklish?
Setting down four fingertips, I cruised back and forth -
Scooter just went nuts. My answer to his pleading was a big, fat yes. This is what I do. With a tight lock on his arms, he could only flop around and kick the wall. But that might bring somebody to investigate, which would mean he'd have a chance of being taken away from me. So I took hold of his ribs again - knowing right where to grab, and exactly how tight to squeeze.
He went limp. I took the hand off his mouth. While the fingers scratched his belly, Scooter was lost in a firestorm of impulses that made him grunt and shake. As soon as I stopped combing his abs, he fell silent again. Other than panting for breath, he couldn't move. Obedient goofball. Every bit as ticklish as I could want. He couldn't have looked more different than the hulking, barking mess I'd made Batter into... but they had one thing in common. As far as I was concerned, it was the most important attribute of all.
I made Scooter walk down the hall. Delightfully, I didn't even have to gag him. Why didn't all guys have a spot like that, a switch for me to hit when I want to reel them in?
Before I opened the lobby door, I lifted his head. Nobody walked quite as limp as Scooter seemed to be - muscles taut under my hands, but utterly incapable of moving - so I adjusted the position of his arms. It was a sloppy, shuffling gait he had, preoccupied as his nervous system was with ten of my fingers, but I didn't see anyone give him a weird look.
Out the main doors, then. I can't believe how enjoyable it is, still. After all these pals I've caught. The first pounce is a rush, and it builds as I get them past the most risky seconds... their best chance to slip away from me, usually when so many other people are around. But I've learned to minimize that exposure. Sometimes I still get a big charge out of tapping somebody in broad daylight, and Scooter was making it so easy. He couldn't do a thing. The chance of a stranger being observant enough - and brave enough - to get in my way was almost nonexistent, yet I love giving some of these hyenas that memory. Oh, fuck, if only those people at the train station had noticed. If I'd just forced myself to yell for help, I wouldn't be tickled week in and week out...
So I got him out of that terminal with a definite sense of triumph. There was still some risk, but none of the nine people he passed even gave him a glance. He just walked like a good boy to the car.
Anyone looking out on the street saw a silent little hunk hold the keys up and press a button, open the door and ease behind the wheel - but they had no way to see me invisibly controlling his hands.
I took an extra second or two before I closed the car door. Scooter got one last look at the free world of the city, an ordinary street where he might've been walking down as he went to look for fun. But there was an intense, customized party about to start, just him and me...
His ride was gassed up and ready. Tinted film kept all others from seeing Scooter. I slammed the door and started the engine.
All clear. Out into traffic, four turns - only three stop lights - and he was on his way to the country.
I brought out the first gift, so things would be clearer. It was a coil of quarter-inch nylon rope. There's a special pleasure in restraining a new pal for the first time, and all of the fight he wanted to put up was clear enough in his watery eyes.
Ankles tied together, wrists bound to them, and I pressed him back against the seat. With a few hands assigned to each limb, Scooter was so fuckin' relieved when I let go of his ribs. As if I was done, or something...
After one pained, drawn-out whoop of pleasure - overdue, after all that time with my hands clamping on just right - he did his best to move around. Rope and my watchful hands made that impossible, but he had to try. And shout at the cars flying past. No big surprise there. I still worked the pedals and turned the steering wheel without interference, taking him closer mile by mile to the most astounding glee Scooter would ever know. And the way things had been going for me, it wasn't going to be abbreviated in the least. Manic, rowdy, and giving new meaning to the word "long".
Fifteen minutes on the freeway. The other cars were just starting to thin out. My new pal was a visitor, but this was my town. It was time to get on surface streets for awhile - since the cops had become predictable, I just worked around their routines. That gave me forty minutes to slip my new laugh machine through three towns, and then we could get back on the expressway.
He started to yell again, so it was time for another gift. I brought a leather satchel out from the back seat, set it next to him and opened it.
"Aw, no," he whined. "Fuck."
But I brought the ball-gag up to his head. It had three thick straps. A no-nonsense gag, not just for show. It made things clear to Scooter. First, he really wasn't going to be heard - and rescued. But it also let him know that I was very good at this, and there was no chance whatsoever that I'd fail to get exactly what I wanted.
The straps buckled around his head, neck and chin. He shouted over and over, doing his best to shove the ball out from his jaws. His first taste of leather, I suspected. Scooter was furious, but he was scared too. To make matters worse, his situation was so obviously out of his control now that his reaction was that of a dude who didn't know how to deal with it. Any hope of screaming until he attracted someone's attention had been solidly crushed.
He fought with the gag as best be could.
It would take some time, but he'd adapt. This wasn't just a new micromanaged existence for ol' Scooter - it featured every variety of physical restraints I could find or make. Muscle groups would be thoroughly immobilized even as my pal's unconscious tugging and straining toned them up. He'd be in the best physical condition of his life a week from now, when I was hardly done organizing the toys. This was everyday stuff to me, but Scooter's day was just full of brand new things.
Rope, and that gag - fuck it. He was just too tempting. I lifted his shirt again.
Looking down, he hooted with fear -
But the sound died immediately when I took four red satin gloves out of my satchel.
This, I thought, is your confirmation. In the proximity of all these people - the last time you'll be within shouting distance of another soul - I'm going to verify why you're trussed up. Here's the reason I wanted you.
Frantic now, he watches two of the gloves float under the hogtie and start caressing his belly.
For the next year, I suspected. Maybe longer.
Scooter could recoil and howl all he wanted. I just took a left and got him back on the freeway.
Further away from any help, laughing with abandon, the tension made him squeal and whoop. It was all that nervous energy - hell, I was barely touching him. If he thought this counted, as tickling...
All of those potential sympathizers were behind us. The cars had definitely thinned out. Another thirty miles, without a breakdown, and his fate was sealed. I had things all set, at the dungeon, and soon the risk would be zero. He'd outpace Batter, alright.
I took the gag off and let him cackle for awhile. Even after I finally stopped tickling, he continued to giggle for a good thirty seconds, with his head sagging. When he finally got done panting and was ready to look up, I had a bottle of water in front of his face.
And then I sent a pair of the gloves back into the satchel.
"No, no, noooooo," he groaned, all fidgety.
When he saw the humidor, Scooter blinked a couple times.
I had a glove clip the ends off the cigar, and get him a match. With a pair of gloves poised to grab his ribs, and the others getting him a fine cohiba, Scooter made the right choice.
Yeah, he looked less innocent with all that smoke drifting out.
I rolled the windows down a an inch or two, since there were no other cars nearby. By keeping the car at five miles an hour under the speed limit, all of the other traffic blew by before he could hope to possibly get their attention.
He still tried to outfox the rope, but Scooter's expression didn't fool me for a minute. There was good reason to believe he was taking comfort in that cigar. I was inspired to start thinking about tattoos for him. His life was never going to be the same anyway...
This had come together perfectly. I had no doubt at all that I'd get him in the dungeon. He wasn't going to surprise me with any freak medical condition, either. Scooter seemed to have the capacity for real stimulation - the way I dole it out. Hard tickling would fill his nights. Then, harder tickling. Hard living, for that matter. There were some things about Batter that I'd gotten to appreciate. There was a whole new dimension of reactivity when I got the alcohol and the pot in the right proportions...
It takes months of serious fuckin' exploration to get to know a good pal like Scooter.
My prisoner. Yeah. Perfectly caught - and hopelessly ticklish. He was about to start living in a zone that was beyond "intense" or "extreme." No adjectives did it justice. With constant supervision, the waking hours never peaked.
I gave him more water.
Halfway through the next cigar we arrived at the gate, which swung open when I entered the code.
He looked out at acres of rolling forest as I drove along the perimeter road with the headlights off. No one was there to see him arrive. There was no risk in letting him see how private and secure the estate was. Instead, the tall iron fence was having just the effect on his mood that I preferred. And then we'd arrived at the dungeon.
He jumped when I opened the car door. It seemed likely he had to piss, so I got his dick out and held it until he calmed down enough to urinate. There was also the pleasure of watching him take it all in - the last glimpse he'd get of the great outdoors for a good long while. Then I shook his cock a few times and carefully put it away.
When the car shifted into gear, he turned. A section of steel wall pivoted up, and I rolled his ride - with his backpack still in it - out of sight. The metal moved back down and settled with a low boom.
Crickets were all that he heard. It was such a lonely place...
Slowly, I eased Scooter into motion. Around the back.
The only door was already open.
21mar06