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I tugged on my smoke and started pulling my gloves on -

But they jumped right out of my hands and hovered there... looking just like there were hands in 'em.

Time seemed to come to a complete stop. Again. I sat there on my bike and just stared. No ride down the highway for me. Caught in my own damn garage -

"Shit," I said to 'em. Not again -

They reared back and slammed into my arms. More fingers clamped down on my collarbones, below my knees, and more of the fuckers were already hauling my hands behind my back.

One darted up and took my cigarette away - so a kerchief could fly up and get shoved between my teeth. Cuffs clicked and tightened around my wrists and ankles.

About twenty seconds. Amazing. The gag was tight too. I looked out at the street... and not a fuckin' soul was in sight.

They picked me up right off the bike like I weighed nothing. My keys flew ahead of me, the car door was opening -

Fingers crawled under my jacket.

This was the third fuckin' time. I got it so bad, and some phantom who used the gloves kept jumping me again. Two months, then seven months. I didn't even dare think about how long -

Hissing air, I just tried not to laugh.

They were shoving me behind the wheel. Nothing I fuckin' tried, the other times, ever worked. So I concentrated on not laughin' for the damn tickler... but it wasn't thirty seconds later that I couldn't help myself. Hooting like a maniac. Fuckin' gag.

Rolling down the street, I figured we were headed for the freeway again.
 

They pulled my boots off, and set the ankle-cuffs back in place. Good and snug. Fingers slid up inside my pantlegs - and that always makes me nuts. I mean, off-the-wall wild...

It kept checking me out, all over, to see if I was just as much of a fuckin' basket case as before.
 

A long half-hour, maybe, and then they sat me up. Undid the gag.

I got a beer, and a smoke. Gloves hung close by, and they looked a little antsy. The son of a bitch just couldn't wait to get busy again.
 

It's hard to be sure, but probably another hour went by before the gloves paused. My captor shut off the car and opened the door.

I could still dream, anyway. Instead I was inside a dark room that stunk like oil, with the door locked behind me.

Shit. Major tickle dungeon, alright. Prepped for my ass.
 
 

The sheet was cool and smooth. Satin, but it wasn't brand-new. Noticing little shit like that always got me to wondering how many other guys have laughed their guts out there. Staring at the rusty beams in the ceiling, sweating on this same sheet, and so on.

The gloves were buckling those long forearm-cuffs around me. Looked like they were gonna make me wiggle around on my belly for awhile. All these thin leashes were clipped here and there, so I couldn't roll over.

I wished this wasn't happening. Dammit.

My elbows ended up a couple inches higher than the rest of my arms. I knew it was sick but I was pretty much used to that. It didn't hurt at all. This gave the bastard full fuckin' access to my sides, shaved and moisturized just the way it liked. It could roam and drill anywhere it wanted. All those buckles made sure my arms wouldn't slip out, and usually they left my legs free for awhile so I could kick and try to stand up while I freaked out, there, chuckling and barking like a crazy person. Maybe an hour of that and I'd be too fuckin' distracted to move around, so that's when they'd catch my ankles. Probably my toes too. And a rubber, to make sure I could't get myself off.

Serious, obsessed gloves having a hell of a good time.

All of the fight and frustration didn't matter -

Fingers settled high up on my ribs. Then soft fur brushes touched my armpits, high and low. Four brushes, four gloves.

I kicked out one miserable wail before they started to boogie.
 

It would've been so great to be able to pass out. "Bedtime" was too many hours away, though, and up 'til then I wasn't getting out of a single fuckin' minute of it.

I just couldn't take this forever. That's the thought I came back to. Always. It had to realize there was a limit.

Those thoughts didn't really make me feel all that much better, because it was such a huge crock of shit. But whenever there was a break in the action that was long enough to have a third or fourth smoke I ended up back there - at some point they'd be done with me, and move on to some young punk. Maybe a personal trainer, rock-hard and ticklish. Torture him instead. There was only so much one man can take.

In other words, it wasn't funny anymore.

Everything told me the fucker was still getting a bigass charge out of it. Getting exactly what it wanted...
 
 
 

The nightmare was happening again. Fourth time, or fifth - I couldn't remember right then. All I knew was that there were hands kneading my ribs, finding the right spots in my armpits, and flailing around wasn't doing a damn thing to shake 'em off. There was always another set of fingers clamping around my wrist, or pinning my leg.

Shouting laughter, with my nose against the back seat, stirred up so much dust that I kept sneezing. That was a detail that hadn't been in any of the dreams, and I was still having 'em every other night or so. The evidence suggested it was really happening again.

I could only see a sliver of the steering wheel, turning with no fuckin' hands curled around it. Invisible driver...

Taking me west. Into the hills.
 

One victorious, satisfied laugh. Over me...

That got my eyes open.

The car wasn't moving. Fingers still were, though. I was wasted, and they tickled just enough to keep me that way. Fuckin' soaked with sweat -

The door opened.

Ten or fifteen hands picked me up. Couldn't see anything, as usual... but the barn door slid open a little. Old, tumbedown barn.

"Right this way," a guy's voice sneered.

I managed to flop a couple times...
 

But I ended up on the other side of the door. It had thick iron bars across it. There was no way I was gonna get out the door quickly. Looking around, it was obvious I'd have a tough time making it that far. Cuffs and straps everywhere.

This fucker was as thorough as the second tickler who caught me. There had to be six or seven gut-wrenching devices to immobilize me. Custom-made.

I was being carried to a bench that was shaped like a wide "V".

"Let's get those feet... up," the tickler taunted.

"No no no no," I wheezed.

A coil of rope slapped against my chest.
 

My wrists ended up tied together at one end of the padded arch, and two chains floated straight up. I guessed they were attached to hooks in the ceiling, but the only light was a oil lamp way behind me.

A spreader bar was coming. Nothing I did put any more distance between me and it...

Where had my jeans gone? I vaguely remembered my t-shirt being ripped off. But not my boots. Oh, fuck, this was it. I really wished this was all a bad dream, a delusion, but the barn was real enough and so was the rope. Hands steadied my legs while loop after loop caught my ankles - laid down neatly, knotted every so often. And then my right foot was raised up to the spreader bar.

It couldn't be worse than the other times. I kept telling myself that, but it hadn't helped before. Shit!

My left ankle was tethered just as well. Now my legs were a good yard apart. Knees slightly bent.

"Insane," the tickler hissed.

My heart raced -

Fingers landed... on my heels.

Oh, no, I thought. It's real. Again. They were scrabbling around -

Knees. No, fuck, it was impossible! I flailed as much as I could, squealing these ridiculously demented, high-pitched giggles.

Fingertips returned to my armpits. I knew they would, but it was still a massive physical... shock.

The rope wasn't loosening. I really needed someone else to hear me wail, get curious and see what the fuck was going on. That wasn't going to happen. All of the other times they'd been careful to keep it a secret, and this place even smelled like a lot of sweating and cumming had taken place.
 

My brain was so fuckin' overloaded that moving around became too much for me. Then my howls faded out.

Already the bastard had me unwound so much that all I could do was keep panting, far too alive in the malicious workout from all those hands. They tried this spot and that spot, teased here, dug in there.

And so it went.
 

It's got me, my brain kept giggling in this hysterical tone of voice. Oh, fuck, it's tickling me again got me got me got me got me.

No shit, I thought. Foot - armpit - knee - neck - ribs... and so on, my attention zooming from one rubbed place to another. At some skin-and-bones level I couldn't fuckin' believe how much it tickled.

The spreader bar swayed just a little bit, from side to side.
 
 

"Lots more," a voice was saying. "Sooo-ooooo much more."

I opened my eyes. It looked like - wasn't this in the nightmare? Then I figured it out, and tried to pull free. Gave it up, with a sigh.

The tickler laughed to itself. That's how quiet the snickers were. It was opening a package of paintbrushes. Cheap watercolor brushes in different sizes - the kind of thing you passed at a discount store without even noticing 'em - slid out of the blisterpack.

I'm gonna tickle you as thoroughly as I can, the tickler seemed to be telling me. The moment couldn't have felt more dedicated. Obsessed. Wondering what was gonna happen was over and done with, snuffed out, and the torture was going to get cranked up. Even more unbearable.

Other than straining at my bonds, I didn't do anything except watch the brushes come and hover over me. Thighs, nipples, belly... toes. There was no point in begging. Everything in sight gave me a definite answer. Yes - I'd get tickled more. It was gonna be a long night. The first of many. The tickler had it all arranged.
 

Not just getting played with. Advanced, serious, blistering stimulation. Expert as it gets. It wasn't enough that my fuckin' hands were out of the way - they had to be so helpless that I wouldn't ever forget it. Anywhere it wanted to tickle, as long and carefully as it liked. And the tickling was obviously gonna keep going. Start all over tomorrow. A hundred tomorrows. As thorough as possible.

So I was surrounded with restraints a stallion couldn't bust apart, in a barn - a place for not a fuckin' day or two of torture, but all the tickling it could dish out. I knew that from experience. Everything in me, when I could think at all, knew for certain that I'd be seeing these dimly lit walls for a long fuckin' time. Otherwise - how could it keep tickling without a care in the world? Now that the imprisonment was complete, I knew how things went...

My brain said that this was the time I'd really get raked over the coals. Of course, it always told me shit like that.

The brushes were driving me absolutely out of my mind. Only the torturer heard me groan.

A very long night.
 
 

The whole dungeon riff would've been terrifying... if it wasn't making me laugh. Of all the fucked-up things. Cackle and cum and hoot some more.

I was perfectly fuckin' trapped, there. Something totally amoral had locked me up, and it could do anything to me - anything at all - but what it liked best was this. Absolutely frustrating, brain-scrambling, consuming... pleasure. Lightning-bolts of way too much good-feeling. No way at all to brace myself so I could fuckin' take it, either.

Locked in for keeps. A cell built for guys like me, with no chance of breaking out, and no a fuckin' sound leaking in from the real world. So I guessed none of my howls were getting out either. And the full fuckin' assortment of equipment was right there. Each twisted piece of furniture was sturdy as could be, and there was shelf after shelf loaded with things which had no other purpose - except for tickling the shit out of me.

Within the first half-hour, in a place like that, there just wasn't any point in staying scared. The most... astounding thing was taking place, and I'd never fuckin' dreamed of anything like that happening to a guy like me. Snapping at the chains wasn't enough to make the tickling stop.

The fuckin' magician knew all about effective restraints. Not just to hold me, but how to do it all day without injury. Preventing bedsores, sprains, the whole deal. That meant it could lean in and tickle without end.
 

Shit, I was physically ready for more each morning. WIide-awake and fuckin' up for more. And I got it. All day.

The bastard was so attentive that I never reached that point where my nerves were just burned out on it. No overload - if there even was such a thing. Unspeakable levels of agony. Horniness. All up and down me, and it felt the same in my cock but more like a deep burn everywhere else. The tickling was a whole new kind of arousal that just wouldn't quit. Dangerously nice-feeling, and not much point in screaming or crying about it. Maybe it was just shy of feeling like pain, and anyway the tickler kept it coming, and coming, without a hitch.

Those places I get tickled in were always more solid than in the movies. Beefy. I used to tell myself that the bastard just couldn't keep doing this to me, and it couldn't go on like last night, and there was no fuckin' way it was really gonna torture me for... as long as it took to make me go through all those boxes and boxes of food.

But I never had thoughts like that anymore.
 
 
 

"Not again," I just panted over and over.

Rope was pulling tight around my arms - and here came the bandanna, right on schedule -

A door was opening. To my left...

But I was in the middle of the fuckin' city! This wasn't fifty miles from nowhere. Maybe that was a good sign. A short marathon this time. The building looked like it had been empty for years and years. Hell of a cage.

The words just kept coming out, like a chant. Not again not again not again. Up the steps and inside - with my fuckin' bike being wheeled in right behind - and to a stairway. The hands pushed and carried me down, both at the same time.

The light clicked on, showing me the most serious, tight fuckin' dungeon ever.

21mar2006