The shuttle van pulled up, and I hurried to finish my smoke.
There was no one else around. At a larger airport that would've been weird, but I'd taken the late flight and dawn was a few hours away yet. It was the first time I'd ever flown into that town.
When the door opened, it was obvious I could've kept my cigarette. Smoke rolled out. Damn, I love the south... The driver didn't even turn to look, much less offer to help with my luggage. I heaved it inside and followed along -
The door almost hit me in the ass, and we were rolling.
Several things happened at once. I opened my mouth to yell something, but the driver disappeared. He fell apart like a bad TV picture, getting grainy. A projection. That shut me up and here, of all places, on a beat-up shuttle bus...
I was falling, too. There was nothing to grab onto. Just as I realized I was going to land on my left side, something stopped my fall but not from underneath me.
Hands had grabbed my arms. At least four of them. Somebody didn't want me hurting myself. Hell, no.
Instead, a dark hand came up to my face and squirted something. A gas, with a weird metallic smell...
Within a few seconds, I couldn't move my arms or legs.
The hands set me down, gently, and pulled off my boots.
No matter what I did, I couldn't stop them from taking hold of my ankles. An awful idea occurred to me -
As if that thought caused it to happen, fingers dragged down my soles. Back up, and down, et cetera.
It was really happening. I yelled, angry and more than a little afraid. Arching was difficult, but I managed to do it. Then I started to bark laughter.
The hands didn't go away.
Tickling me. What?
Oh, shit, not this, anything but this...
I couldn't move effectively. Even when the rope started winding around and around my ankles, and the disembodied hands held my arms together and started tying them too. Magic hands at work, while I watched them tie the rope.
Gloves.
Quick fuckers, apparently empty, and stronger than me.
Shouting laughter at them, I tried my best to get to the door.
They had no problem getting me wrapped up before I could reach the handle. The van kept rolling along, and fingers dug in, tickling right through the socks.
A fucking kidnapper I couldn't see was tickling me... and taking me away. The thought made me fight harder. The ropes stayed snug, and the electricity kept driving my feet crazy.
Each minute felt like an hour.
I struggled until I couldn't manage to squirm anymore. The sound of my laughter was full of rage, and then for awhile I tried not to laugh at all... but I ended up howling like I was having the time of my life. Then a mournful note crept into my howls. Finally, I was losing my breath. My hoots grew more ragged, and softer.
Way too ticklish. The gloves had known that, of course. I didn't know how, but they must've stolen the van. They caught me, and they were taking me to some place where there weren't even any street lights. Ticklers. I was fuckin' doomed.
The fingers tortured me for a good twenty minutes.
Outside the windows all I could see were dark clouds, and I was dripping with sweat. The gloves let me catch my breath...
One of them dug into my jacket. Getting my cigarettes out.
I twisted away from the pack, but fingers curled around each of my feet. That did it. I was too far gone to resist any more, whether it was smart or not. I took a smoke and watched a black hand bring my lighter down.
Laying there, still breathing hard, I smoked and looked at the gloves. They were hard to see, in the dark, but the fingers were curled as if they were ready to grab on again. They wanted me to smoke, so I smoked. It was crazy.
Before I even finished that cigarette, the van stopped and shifted into park. More gloves, I figured -
The door opened.
I heard crickets, and nothing else. My fuckin' kidnappers had won.
They were going to tickle the shit out of me. I just knew it.
Gripping my arms, they lifted me up...
A dark house. Open door. Inside -
I flailed around as the door closed, but that didn't stop 'em.
Down a short hallway, into a room, with another door blocking my exit and I heard a light switch.
A floor lamp in the corner didn't throw much light, but what I could make out scared me badly. There were chains hanging from the ceiling... and a big padded chair, like an oversized bench with hinges. It was black.
What really worried me were the huge leather cuffs mounted all over it. As the gloves picked me up, I wondered which restraints they'd use first. That probably didn't make me feel any better, but there were so many damn cuffs. Would they start with my feet together, or my hands? Spread-eagled, or with my feet chained up, well out of my reach?
"Please," I croaked. "Don't do this to me."
The hands slammed me against the pad.
My wrists were buckled down alongside my head, maybe ten inches from each ear. They used two straps to pin each ankle. My feet hung off the edge of the padding. I was caught good. Full tickling.
"I'm... really gonna get it," I mumbled. "This is really happening."
When they started on my armpits, I'd go absolutely psychotic. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do to even slow 'em down.
I heard crinkling... and a familiar metallic sound.
One of 'em stuck a cigar between my teeth Another fired it up with my own lighter, and others seemed to be tearing my shirt off.
"Professional tickling," I said to myself quietly. It probably wasn't smart but the sound of my own voice steadied me. "As tough as it gets."
They pulled my right sock off - slowly. I smoked, like they wanted, and a whine slipped out. "No, no, now please don't..."
My left sock was peeled off. I laid there with just my jacket on. Strapped down, tight enough, plenty comfortable. Ready to howl.
Tickling, all night.
A cart rolled over.
Feathers, brushes of all kinds, plastic bottles.. and things I didn't even recognize. The tray on top of the cart was heaped with tickling shit. They wanted me to see it.
I looked around, but there was nothing new above me. Just the gloves, hanging there, not moving at all. Chains dangling further behind 'em. Fat cuffs pinning me down - just as impossible as the fingers. And I couldn't protect myself at all.
"Fuck," I groaned, "not this. I'm begging..."
My voice trailed off. Begging wasn't gonna work. The setup was too perfect. They didn't care what I said.
All night. Just me and them. All arranged -
I had another thought as I looked at the gloves. Maybe it was the sense of being watched, and not seeing how the gloves could do it... but I imagined one kidnapper wearing 'em all, studying me. Completely satisfied now, charged up, letting me smoke my cigar and think about what was coming. It liked building up the suspense.
Oh, yeah, it was gonna drive me out of my mind. Hours, and more hours. Nothing can stop it. I was staying just like that, and the tickling will hit harder than I can possibly imagine...
"Insane tickling," I whispered, pulling at the chains. It was not real smart to say anything, and even imagining what the fucker would say to me was not exactly helping, but it appeared nothing I'd do would matter anyway. I was gonna freak out -
Two of the gloves started to move, coming closer, and closer, and I just knew the bastard was enjoying itself already.
When the fingers landed, I couldn't bring myself to look.
I gasped - smoke - and the cigar was taken away. There were fingers on each of my soles, rubbing in little circles, and no matter how hard I kicked they didn't let up.
"Nooooooo," I wailed, and then I started to laugh. The sound just bubbled out of me - pissed off, and giddy, almost a drunken chuckling noise. I couldn't stop laughing, or flailing around.
Just the way I want you, the imagined voice cackled. Yikes. Oh, I'm going to fuck you up.
The fingers scratched lightly - around the bottom of my heels, and back up - but the thing that bothered me the most, as I whipsawed myself around and giggled like a fool, was that I couldn't quite place the voice. For some reason I'd dredged up somebody from the past... for the kidnapper to sound like.
The gloves were already making me want to pull the damn chains apart. My feet barely turned at all...
More of the fingers started caressing my feet - heels, and along the sides. It was horrible, and disturbing. Intimate. I whooped as I bounced on the bed. Nothing was working, and they were slowly getting to know my feet.
More taunting, in my mind. I'm gonna spend hours on your feet. Count on it.
"Nooooooo hah hah hah hah hah hah," I squealed.
Something changed. More shocking than ever.
Oh, fuck, it was starting in on my soles.
I roared once - no words, just a desperately fierce sound. That changed into growly, rasping hoots.
Don't do this to me, I wanted to moan. There was no way I could get the words out, but I did manage to slam my head against the padded bulge which was probably there just for that purpose. You're gonna work your way up my whole fuckin' body, and already I'm ready to climb the walls.
Yeah. it was gonna have a lot of fun with me.
Fingers squeezed, as others traced up and down. My feet were unbelievably... alive.
Laugh harder. It won't help.
The kidnapper was right. Didn't make this shit any easier. Nothing did.
I'm always right, the voice in my imagination said warmly. I'm in charge. You're gonna do exactly what I want, in here. And this is it.
Shit, on shit, no! Fingertips eased between my toes. I shrieked over and over, trying with all my might to climb off the bench.
Sneaky chuckling...
That was outside my head. Close to my right ear. Wasn't it?
Like an electric shock, I felt the fingers slide over the tops of my feet. Others combed my soles, and a hand slid around the sides of each foot, down and under and back up, reversing course...
Tickling between my toes from above.
There had to be more gloves down there. Howling, I made myself blink until I could see -
Black shapes. Hell, it was terrible to see. Confirmation. One, two, three...
Four.
I squinted as I laughed. Each foot had four damn gloves on it. Two were tickling each sole. Cuffs were still in place, and all those chains.
"Talk... to m-me," I begged. "Can't tttt-take this shit," and I had to roar again.
"Just getting started on you," a victorious guy's voice said, louder, from above me.
That made me laugh even harder. Dizzy, I let my head fall back.
Panting hard. Sweating, too...
The gloves weren't touching me. A weird sound came out of me when I realized that they were gone. Then I was chuckling again, just from remembering.
That was a good fifteen minutes, my imaginary kidnapper's voice said. An icebreaker.
That got me squirming again -
A glove came up to my face. "Cigarette?"
I turned my head, still gasping for air.
"No?" the voice laughed. "Let's try that again. Gonna smoke - or do I start back in now?"
I hurried to take the butt. "There. See? I'm gonna smoke. I'll smoke, just don't fuckin' tickle me again."
"Good boy." Shady laughter. "Now, I bet your shins are more ticklish than you even know. Calves, thighs... and then there's your knees."
"No," I whimpered. A glove fired up a lighter, and I hurried to suck in.
"Your ass, too. I'm going to tickle your balls and your rod until you really wish you could go insane. But you're in good hands. All mine now, howler. I love this."
"Don't - not there," I whispered. "Not my meat."
"Wrong. All over you."
"All over, I'm fucked, all over me -"
"You want another cigarette?"
Then I noticed it... my next smoke, held between black fingers.
"Here's a clue," the tickler said happily. "The answer to that one is always yes."
Care for another? Chain-smoking, as you put some careful thought into busting out of the cuffs? Sure. Can I bring you some water?
Why don't you start another smoke, as you realize how impossible it is to bring your legs together? Another cigarette or two to imagine each of the tools on the tray dusting your cock, lightly scrubbing under your nuts... and nothing you can do to make me hold off or speed it up. That'll keep your dick tall and hard, won't it?
Another cigarette? Okay. I'll keep 'em coming as you replay each glove's path on your feet. Ready for more water... and then why don't I just bring you a new smoke as soon as possible, so you can project the kind of solid intensity they'll deliver to each and every part of your trapped body?
I realized then that I was saying that shit. Muttering, out loud.
It didn't matter. Not really.
Fingers started back in. Eight hands, all over me.
Oh, fuck, I was hysterical. Whenever I managed to hold onto a thought, it was this insane running commentary from the tickler. But I was only imagining it.
When I wasn't laughing, I had no idea what I was mumbling.
I smoked my cigarette and tried to relax. No matter what, I had to stop making matters even worse by thinking up all these fuckin' taunts. Somehow that cruel, calm monologue was making me helpless - no, I mean, I couldn't budge anyway. The thoughts reminded me of how totally vulnerable I was, and they also got me focusing even more on what was happening to me.
"No more," I told myself. It came out stern, because I was trying to keep myself from writing all those speeches for the damn tickler, teasing myself.
"Wrong," the phantom said, like it was a promise.
In a few seconds I realized it answered as if I was talking about what it was doing to me. "I know," I finally said.
Satisfied chuckling was the last response for a while.
"There he is," the voice snickered.
"What now?"
"I won. My prisoner's settling in."
"The fuck I am," I rasped.
"Not really trying to escape anymore."
"I'm too... done in. Uh, distracted."
"Overwhelmed."
I tried to shrug. "No way out of this."
"That's right," it leered.
I wailed louder - a reedy, high-pitched sound - as the fingers rode over my thighs, gripped my knees, traced my ribs over and over. And I wanted to struggle, or scream, but there was no chance of that. Not anymore. The gloves were just too much to comprehend, all of the touch they were delivering. Too much to take in, dammit.
My body was more alive, less numb, than ever. Impossible as it seemed, I was definitely getting more ticklish. And the fucker had me caught good. The sky was the limit.
"Oh, you got it bad," the fucker sighed. "Animal."
And the fingers stepped it up. Faster, or more firmly - I was no longer sure. My laughter slid up, in pitch, until even I couldn't hear it anymore.
The tickler wasn't going to stop. Not until I passed out.
That concept no longer made sense. All hour, all night, all year. I was too confused to deal with it. Now, and now, and still another now was obliterated with incredible warmth, or electricity, crippling me, overflowing pleasure making any tugging at the restraints a pure impossibility.
2006