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"Can you walk okay?," Ruby said, looking over her sunglasses at her baby brother.
"Jus' fine."
"Missed getting high, there, Smack?"
"Fuck yeah," he shot back, getting out of the car.

Their mama was a madam. Great businesswoman, too - she managed to buy the business and move it to an old apartment building, also hers. Even before prostitution was fully legalized, she made all the right connections. She was even on the Jean City Council for awhile.
While both her kids inherited what she built, Ruby was always the leader. She really took after mama. Smack was more like his dad - and both of their fathers were long gone - but the siblings were close. Ruby learned her knots at his expense, and her love of spanking and caning was how he got his nickname.
Drugs had taken him down for awhile. Not heroin, thankfully. Shift is the chemical that he liked way too much. Before he was even 18 Mama was smart enough to set up a trust fund. His sister, on the other hand, was mature enough at 22 to be groomed to take over. About a year after Mama passed on, Smack got bad enough to steal from his sister. But she forgave him, and got him a great lawyer when he got busted for holding Shift with intent to distribute...
His probation ended on Friday, October 9, 2026. And - fuck, yeah! - that was today.

No more drug testing, but he'd absolutely had enough Shift. Ruby could see that. Pot had been legal for a while, so he did the time-honored thing right after his last visit to the P.O. - and blazed up right on the front steps of Corrections Department building.
He wasn't a bad kid, really. The last ten years had their low points, but he'd turned 28 inside the detox-joint. Neither he or Ruby thought he was gonna fuck up again.
As part of his probation they made him get a job, so she put him on the payroll. Smack didn't even complain all that much when he had to clean up after customers who got too excited. He knew damn well that his sister had given him a second chance, and she didn't have to... which was weird, considering what a merciless dom she was.
Ruby had bought him new saddlebags. A get-out-of-town present, she joked. Now that Smack was a free man, he was gonna quit talking about it and get his ass out to the coast. Bum around, get high whenever he wanted, fuck whoever he wanted. Waste some money. Do the whole beach slacker thing. All Ruby's idea, really - like a reward for cleaning up.
Two and a half years away from drugs, and Smack wasn't worried at all now. He'd had plenty of chances, but the price was too damn high.

Ruby tapped on her handtop, scrolling through different screens. "I gotta pick up the kids at three today."
"Okay," Smack replied. "What do you need?"
"You probably wanna get going..."
"Well, I'm not in a hurry or anything."
She looked at him, squinting. "Vacation. You get to leave the county and everything. Hello?"
"I like to start out at night."
After a pause she said, "And?"
Smack looked at the counter, peeling some old tape off the edge with his thumbnail. "Relaxing will be great. Don't get me wrong. I just feel like some excitement. Y'know. To celebrate."
"Pick up some stud."
"No, thank you," he said right away. "Last time I hooked up with somebody I ended up in jail."
Ruby frowned. "That's not exactly how it went."
"I could use a good fuck," he admitted. "Been too long."
"Mister Cool. Okay, then, take your time. Follow your heart."
"Such a romantic."
She shot him a dangerous look. "Hey... boy scout."
"Oh, yeah. Right."
"My vanilla brother. The most inhibited gay man I've ever met."
"That's your fault," he chuckled, getting his cigarettes out. "Spent my best years in plastraps, getting my ass paddled -"
"You're so italic," she said, which was her idea of an insult for Smack. "Look, Kayle's handling the booking today, the place is clean... That just leaves P-5."
Smack froze with his lighter almost in position. "Five? Really?"
"Yeah, really," Ruby said, puzzled at his reaction.
"I, uh, I never got to see it."
"Not even once? Never snuck anybody in there for a quick fuck?"
"Ru-by."
"Shit. I always think of you. If I'd had a dungeon like that when we were little, you never would've had a chance to get high."
"Real funny."
"You'll cream your jeans. I know you... and you can smoke in there. All you want. No, seriously, all it needs is a final look-see. The refrigerator stocked. I'd do it, except I gotta go -"
"No problem," he said, a little too quickly.
Ruby saw his excitement, no matter how good he was at hiding it. "Paddleboy. You're so weird. Here, let me make you a list of what's left to do..."

It was a little creepy, from what he'd heard. Smack had always kinda wondered about it. Ruby joked once that they had a secret brother locked in there - the kinky one. She was just trying to get a rise out of him... but it was fun to imagine what it might be like.
Somebody paid twenty-nine thousand bucks a month to have the exclusive use of P-5. Smack could respect that. He didn't generally stick his nose where it didn't belong. But today he sorta had to check it out. She said that the renter was coming in sometime after six, using their own alley-door key to let themselves in -
Male or female, he wondered, chuckling at his darker thoughts. Ruby made a point of never telling him, partly because secrecy was part of the arrangement and also because she knew the mystery got to Smack. Not knowing. The reality - just like the room itself - was sure to be disappointing, anyway, but hey. Mama and Ruby had always been in good with the fire inspector, so that playroom was left alone. Smack wouldn't have been shocked to learn there was even an ultra-secret P-6 room...
He got the impression that the customer brought their own subs. Maybe tied up in a blanket, for that matter. It takes all kinds. Not too spooky or anything.

Lugging boxes down the stairs, Smack got a whiff of that same ol' scent from his childhood. Leather and lube. A fuckin' cellar, in the desert - it hadn't been easy, but there was a total dungeon vibe. Stone walls and the feeling of a hundred miles between the playrooms and reality. Grinning, he opened the closet door. None of the other dungeons had their own private storeroom. He turned on the light -
There was hardly any dust. That seemed strange... but the customer had a key. Maybe they liked to just come down and watch sensie, sometimes, like renting another apartment just to get away once in a while.
The little kitchen was cool. He opened up the freezer and put away the meals he'd just carried down. Then he leaned back and eyeballed the shelves. Overall, it looked like enough food for a month - if he counted all the jerky, nuts, caramels and energy bars. He hated to admit it, but Ruby was right to keep on him about the dentist, before he got popped, until every last problem with his teeth was filled and sealed. She could be such a mom sometimes.
The big bottles of water, there as a backup, looked okay. He took a disposable mug and filled it from the tap. As the microwave hummed, Smack lit another cigarette...
He'd just stirred in the contents from a packet of instant coffee when there was a soft tapping sound. Looking up, he saw the speaker.
"Paddleboy," Ruby said.
He picked up his coffee. "Mean girl," he said quietly. "On my way up."

"I better go," she said as soon as he clomped out of the stairwell. "And I just remembered that I promised to take 'em to this movie, uh..."
She frowned, cocking her head.
Smack caught on - Ruby would be out for a few hours. But she was torn, now, because she'd already told him to stop by her place and say goodbye before wheeling out -
"Go," he said firmly. "I'm fine. Call ya when I get there. Wherever - just get your ass outa here."
"You sure?"
"It was nice of you to, y'know, have that toke ready for me right after I was cut loose. That was a celebration, right there."
She reached over and pulled the hair out of his eyes. "You earned it. Got your shit together... I'm not worried about you at all now. Do you know how great that feels?"
Shyly, he batted her hand away. "Give me a kiss and I'll call you from the road."
"Yeah, sure you will. Heard that one before." They both laughed, and he pecked her on the cheek. "You're going to have the time of your life. I can just feel it. Real fun. So - finish up downstairs, and take off. Don't forget the refrigerator stuff."
"Almost done," he said quietly.
"Good. And clean up after yourself," she ordered, pointing at his coffee cup. "Take the wrappers and what-not out when -"
"Get out of here," he sassed. "Love you."
"Proud of you, Paddleboy..."
"Yeah, sure you are." She smiled and headed for the door, and Smack went to the back room...

It was so fuckin' cool.
The room was, oh, maybe twenty feet by thirty feet. Bigger than he expected, and he couldn't really see all of it. But damn.
Where was the tech? Every dungeon he'd been in had tons of electronic shit. Twenty coiled wires dangling from the ceiling, so the toys could be easily grabbed and unclipped. Put right to use. Serious video and sensie gear, sim-helmets and bodysuits...
But here Smack was looking at just a simple leather bench. It reminded him of a dentist's chair, but only because of the angle. Headrest, back-rest and the longer leg-pads were thickly padded. No built-in electrodes or vibrator packs, nothing form-fitting. The usual restraint-attachment rings were there, but nothing dressy. No ornaments.
The walls were covered with leather too. Mirrors were all over the ceiling, and the floor was a huge quilted field of cowhide, inches deep. He was almost curious enough to pull off his boots.
It was all... so plain. And old. Well, outdated. Sorta like a museum exhibit that wasn't done yet - but it had the right smells. Bare-bones, straightforward, and yet this fuckin' playroom had seen some use. The strongest reek was old smoke, like thousands of cigarettes had stunk up the walls.
Biker room.
I'm a biker, he thought. Uh-oh. Smack shivered, and then he started to laugh. Quiet, and nervous. Fuck.
Feeling like it was the start of a kickass dream, he walked inside.

The only nod to modern times was the in-wall TV. No sensie gear? He knew that the same customer had rented the place for years, so it wasn't like there was remodeling still going on -
Ah. There we go. He spotted a low table alongside the bench, with the restraints and bigger toys hung on wall-pegs behind it. Right within reach. Fuckin' great toys.
Feeling like he was in a trance, Smack walked over there.
The equipment looked like real leather.
That just blew him away.
Oh, he had a couple wrist-cuffs and a collar, long before he got his first bike. But they were for show. People wore leather as a fashion thing, and smart plastic was all they sold now for real restraints. It was better, and it almost felt like the real thing. Instead of using plastraps, here somebody had gone for a whole shitload of stuff that was straight out of the old days. Looked like they'd taken real good care of it, though. Oiled right, new rivets...
It would definitely do the trick. Since everybody just took it for granted that the plastics were better, he'd always had the vague idea that leather could be torn apart if a guy was really serious about yanking on it. Not these babies.
It was so totally retro, choosing this shit - real leather. So heavy and thick. That would send a message to the sub, alright. Passing on the sensie equipment, and the intelligent restraints everybody had been using for the last twenty or thirty years, for all this serious fuckin' leather? Smack was used to thinking about black leather as a... friend. With the polycarb mesh layered inside, his riding gear was protecting him all the time. He hardly ever thought about it anymore. But at least when he was ready to strip down, he had the choice. The fucker in these old cuffs wouldn't have a chance. He'd never think about leather the same way again. It was what the fuckin' customer used to make sure the fun - tortured fun - went on and on. No matter how much the bottom wanted to leave...
This customer didn't sim. Direct experience - hell, direct stimulation. Hands-on. This had to be the playroom of a real confident, expert dom.
Certain old dreams were coming to mind...
Rousing himself, he looked back at the table and realized something. Lined up next to the ashtray - a carb cover from an old Harley, stained and cracked, fuckin' cool as it gets - there were cock toys laid out. A dozen of 'em, and Smack didn't even recognize half -
Alright. A guy was the sub, then.
He was still trying to take that in. How fuckin' cool... Then he made out what the different piles on the far end of the table were - past a pint of booze, and a carton of unfiltered cigarettes. Lots of gloves.
Smack reached down and picked up a pair.
Big hands.
That tore it. The fuckin' top was a guy too.
Damn, he got all shaky. Lucky bastards.
Looking behind him quickly, he was relieved and a little disappointed to see no one else there.
Okay, then. He had to sit down for a minute...

This was a little like his old dream. Hell, as long as he could remember Ruby had liked tying him up. Long before he lost his cherry, Smack had some real kinky fantasies.
For years he thought about one customer, a young cowboy, dark and quiet. The dude probably wasn't anywhere near as hot as Smack remembered, but the fantasy version had worked real well. He'd trick Smack into one of the dungeons, after everybody else had gone home - and that wasn't possible since the place was always open, but what the hell - and lasso him. Tie him up real good. Then the stud would just sit there in the shadows, not saying a word, and grin as Smack fought the knots. Smoking, having a couple beers, and letting his captive wear himself out. After puberty, the dream cowboy started doing other things...
Being taken down by a strong, quiet guy who played with him - especially his cock - and wouldn't let up. That had gotten Smack through a couple hundred nights. He'd made a fair number of decisions by considering what that cool top would do. He started smoking 'cause the roper did...
There weren't too many real cowboys around Jean anymore, but he developed a thing for bikers instead. Got an old Sportster and learned to wrench.
One horny night, the fantasy cowboy pulled out a big bag of Shift.

Leather dungeon. Top-notch.
Part of Smack was so jealous of these guys that it hurt. Like a toothache. That was ridiculous, and even dangerous if he lost his head, but there ya go.
Time for another smoke. He couldn't take his eyes off one of the ball-stretchers...
Most of the customers were hetero. He'd just assumed - and now this was so mutherfuckin' cool.
Smack set the gloves on his thigh and reached for the toy. It had a titanium tube, narrower than his own meat anyway, and low studs. He'd never dared to buckle something like this on himself, much less let some leatherman trap his hands and wrap it around his meat. But that was the kind of thing that happened all the time, in here.
He was hard as a rock now. It was just business, he reminded himself. Somebody's paying rent. All the privacy they could want.
It didn't feel like he was sitting in his mama's house. This dungeon belonged in the Castro. Some very wealthy suit who liked to catch bikers, and tease 'em within an inch of their fuckin' lives. Weeks, maybe months...
Smack stood up quickly. A chill caught up with him, shooting right through. He headed for the door. It turned out to be a damn good thing he knew where it was, because it was hidden from sight. Smoky leather box...
A flap of leather was obvious when he got closer. He folded it over -
Locks. Well, shit. Five, six - seven keyholes.
"Whoa," he sighed. Even the locks were old-style, with keys. No touchpads. It would take a while to open the fuckin' door -
And no captive was gonna slip out. Hell, no. That was the reason.
How cool was this customer, anyway?
Stop it, Smack told himself. The mix of feelings he had goin' on was making it hard to think. He fumbled around for the edge of the door, wedged his fingers in there and pulled.
It opened right up.
He kicked out a huge sigh of relief, and peeked out into the hall. All was quiet. The closet door was still open, so that was good too. He could run out that way if he had to -
"Dammit," he snapped quietly. Don't buy into the bullshit. Ruby said that all the time.
He felt disappointed, somehow, but that was just his imagination jerkin' him around.

Smack opened the door about halfway and stepped back into P-5. After a few seconds he sat himself back down on the bench. Glancing around, he ended up staring at the table again until his eyes readjusted to the low light. Taking inventory. He was longing to meet this top, and way too scared of him at the same time.
Riding crops, paddle, feathers, candles, a few different kinds of brushes, nipple clips, disposable razors... Smaller bottles. Blindfold, ear plugs, and a thick slab of a gag. More leather. There was something weird - comforting - about how solid it looked. Fight all you want, and the result is the same.
He sucked hard on his cigarette. That pain shit had never really appealed to him. But he looked around the room again. This was a genuine cell. For a guy to work on other guys. Fighting, as hard as they could, but still caught here. Kept. Real life was never like that - unless you counted jail, and Smack didn't.
A month's worth of food. More on the way, just by letting Ruby know. These toys were not just for show. Damn right. They don't make 'em like they used to, Mama used to say. And in his head Smack could hear her laugh.
A total pro would be walking in here, looming over this bench - maybe with a hot gym rat strapped down, maybe oiled... probably not wanting to be here.
The ride of his fuckin' life. One week after another. New shocks in store all the time.
It was a good thing Smack hadn't known about this room before. Hitting way too close to his fantasies. He'd never told a soul, either...

Well, it was one thing to think about being the sub, and a whole 'nuther deal to be living it.
Nobody else was around, and the customer wouldn't be showing up for at least a couple hours - so he decided what the hell, why not sit a little longer. Soak it all in. An excellent leather cage.
Taking a deep breath, he eased back against the padding. But I can get out anytime I want, Smack reminded himself. Not like the sub who gets brought in here. Real soon now. He's gonna get the screws put to him. A real long ride.
That idea made him moan very quietly.
It would take a big guy to haul another dude down here. Real chains - so damn thick. Wow. Wide leather, three layers. These cuffs would hold anybody. Maybe an unconscious weightlifter, carried down. Locked in. Even that would be a lot of work. He pictured a totally cut college kid - wavy blonde hair, really tan, scared eyes. Cloth gag. Handcuffs. A shadowy figure holding a gun to his back, marching him inside the torture chamber...
Something like that was gonna go down. Not just a fantasy. It was definitely getting him hot.
Smack didn't usually go out of his way to hunt up porn with people tied down and shit. But the room, dammit, was so bare-bones - and the toys said it all. Best of the best, a true professional dom, getting exactly what he wanted. That was the only part about all those hours of Ruby "babysitting" him that sorta made it worthwhile - she was enjoying herself so much that it made him feel better. Generous, or something.
I am one fucked-up faggot, he thought to himself, chuckling low.
Porn - oh, yeah. That reminded him. One more thing left on the list...

He went into the closet, started a new cigarette and picked up the box. Walking back into the cell, Smack pulled the flaps apart and saw maybe ten DVD's. Most were commercial, but a couple were homemade disks with hand lettering. Ruby had told him to open each disc, so they'd be easier to grab and load, and make sure they worked. That was supposed to be real important to the customer...
Poking around the wall, he discovered a flap under the TV - and a shelf behind it. The player was there, and its remote, hidden away. He unwrapped the first disk and saw the title. Made a face.
"Major Contusions"? Right.
Scowling, he shoved it into the slot.
Whoa. Boxing gloves, and a whip. Bloodcurdling screams. Why anyone would go along, and get themselves in that position, he'd never understand. Flipping ahead, there was the nightmare spanking machine... One of the tops was really fuckin' cute though. He was worth looking at, if nothing else -
"Next," he sighed, reaching for another disc -
"Terminal Enema". Just swell.
Ruby owed him another big-ass favor, he thought darkly.

There was a hot wax video, and a mummification scene - he watched a little more of that one, because of the tough leather bodysuit pulled over latex clothes, and also 'cause there was a gun barrel just under the camera... as if the viewer was holding the gun, forcing the guy to get into the suit and cuff his own ankles together, then his wrists. Warped, but still a nice touch.

"Secret Howls" was next. The cover art made him groan...
A twink with a great tan was tied and gagged, lookin' real shocked - bumfuzzled, alright - at a pair of black leather gloves about to grab his fuckin' armpits.
That was kinda grim. He fidgeted.
Nobody was wearing the gloves, either. Just moving on their own. Special effects, he figured. Smack looked at the case again. Ghosts, maybe, catching guys... and tickling 'em? In secret. Nobody'd hear 'em, if the dungeon was private enough, so the fingers could rock on and on and on -
Without meaning to, he looked over at the door.
"Crazy," he sighed, getting the disc out.
In the first scene, a beefy skinhead was being stripped and tied down. Looked like a bank vault, almost. The dude was snoring, but soon he'd get a big surprise -
Damn. Gloves. Four hands got into position, over his torso. Just like they were alive.
Smack couldn't see any wires, and they moved so smoothly that they had to be worn by guys who were edited out - except a couple of the gloves rotated all the way around, like they were deciding where to start. Nobody could turn that fast. Fuck, they really seemed to be magic. In charge. And they had their victim all ready.
It wouldn't matter how big a guy was. Or how quick...
Thinking of himself in that punk's place was really disturbing. Too real. Way down deep, it got to Smack. Dude couldn't move, there - just thrash around a little, no matter where they dug in, and forget about covering up at all. His meat was wide open too.
He'd never thought how absolutely fuckin' insane that would be. This guy was gonna lose his mind. Definitely.

Ruby had never tickled Smack all that much. She thought it was too lightweight. But those fingers, on the screen... in control... jumping back on him. Over and over. Real craziness, there. Certified. Dark as fuck.
Sure, it was "just" tickling. But if it wouldn't let up...
Smack had never thought about that before. Rattled, he saw one of those transitions, in the video, like some time had gone by. The camera showed the guy coming around. His hair was drenched. That had to be sweat.
The fuckin' gloves were all set to nuke his thighs. And his knees.
"Son of a bitch," Smack growled.
Determined hands. Serious abut it. Tickling. He just knew he'd piss all over himself during the first five minutes, if he was in their grip. No lie.
The guy onscreen looked so innocent, somehow. That was weird, 'cause he definitely was a thug. Broken nose, scars. The whole bad boy thing really worked for him. A total hard case... being reduced to a giggling little kid. Damn fierce giggles, sure. But he obviously didn't sign up for this shit. Nobody deserved it, least of all a guy with a skull tat on his forearm. Of all the fucked up things to do. Check it out, you low-life punk rawk trash, I'm gonna tickle you into another dimension or something.
The poor guy saw the gloves - and froze. "No," he said once - totally afraid - and then he grabbed a huge breath and yelled at the top of his lungs.
They even let him scream a couple more times, and flail all around. Oh, shit. Then the fuckers cruised down - coldhearted bastards - and Smack automatically flinched as they got back to it.
But they slid real easy. Horribly, they were checking him out. Getting to know the skinhead's sides. Where it got to him the most...
The guy tried not to laugh. Strained moans were getting out, though. He was totally focused on getting loose. But that wasn't gonna happen.
It was so diabolical. And smart. The gloves wanted to learn how to really twist the fuckin' knife. Unbelievable pro tickling. Smack had an even worse thought, then...
They weren't in any hurry. Most customers were anxious, and it wasn't just being horny. They were on the clock. These gloves moved like they had all the time in the world.
Imagine that.
Smack got all antsy.
When the first explosion of angry laughter burst out of the punk, he fumbled for the remote. Enough of that. The disc was okay, it played just fine, time to move on...

The next disc was "Secret Howls 2". Same series.
Smack nudged the pile of discs with his boot -
Yup, "Secret Howls" again. Three, four, five.
Shit. The customer was really into this. Obsessed tickling fiend. More buffed-out guys were on the DVD covers, wild as fuck, getting fingered...
He swallowed hard, and started another cigarette. Unwrapping the next disc.

That one started in an empty bedroom. The camera was almost level with the foot of the mattress -
A door opened, somewhere, and there was yelling. Cussing. The occasional thump.
Squirming like crazy, a muscular paramedic was dragged in and slammed down on the bed. There was no sign of what had pulled him in... and spread his limbs apart, pressing them down tight into the mattress. He swore again and again until it seemed like he was just too angry to form words anymore. Then he wailed for help...
His uniform shirt was torn off. Nipple rings, and thick chest hair.
Right near the camera, rubber gloves filled up and came to life. A black tube floated over to him, and laid a snaky line of some ointment from his throat to his dick.
His begging was loud and strained. The gloves started in anyway -
Smack stopped the disc, and wiped his forehead. What the hell. The crew guys, who had to be wearing those gloves - how could they be edited out so fuckin' thoroughly? It was perfect. The effect.
The damn hands, energetic and magic and empty, were gonna be in Smack's dreams. He could already tell. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Real life, though, was never that airtight.

Number three in the series showed a black guy getting interrogated. Feathers never stopped tracing around his neck. That drove him nuts. Over and over he swore he didn't know the secret formula, but little scrub-brushes magically tickled the royal fuck out of his feet anyway. There were chrome rings straightening each toe...
Smack leaned back and shifted his dick. He realized he was smoking nonstop, but the images on the screen were having a strong effect - difficult to deal with, and yet intriguing.
The guy looked so doomed. They all did. But this fucker was the most hysterical one yet. What a workout, throwing himself around like that...
Close-up on his face, then his feet, and on the feathers. Then the view was from behind his head, as he threw it around and barked the most painfully happy laughter.
Enough. Smack felt weird about enjoying this so much. His dick was killing him, but that was bound to happen in a playroom as slick as this one.
Sitting up, he looked at the floor. Grinned...
And then Smack pulled off his boots.
The floor felt good. Fuckin' incredible. Like a cloud. A little cooler than he expected.
Padding across to the TV, he looked for even one scuff-mark on the floor. There weren't any. Maybe the customer spent hours conditioning his leather cage, in between sessions.
No, that wasn't likely. The victims - they didn't get the chance to drag their feet. Always carried over, and cuffed down. The top had to be a big fucker, then.
Smack shivered at the thought.

As the next disc played, he deliberately made himself walk around. With the worried begging of another guy coming out of the hidden speakers, Smack lit yet another cigarette off the last one. And then he followed up on a hunch.
The room was way too big for just the bench. He pressed on the walls every foot or so -
A-ha. There was a click.
Hesitating at first, he went ahead and pulled. Another door...

The light from the TV was just enough for him to make out more furniture, or pieces of it anyway. Some was folded up. Chairs and pipes, padded parts of a rack - and two different sets of stocks. Dozens of chains were strung up, just waiting to be used.
Behind him, the victim on the TV let loose with the most ragged howl. Smack looked over his shoulder. Asian guy, with his feet buried in moving feathers - trapped in stocks.
That made Smack look back at the stocks sitting on the floor, in there, and close the door real quick.
The next storage area had all kinds of leather gear on one side, from straps to hanging harnesses... and a ton of tickling shit on the other. Shelf after shelf of feathers and brushes, bottles and little metal tools, back-scratchers and scarves. So many different kinds of gloves.
"Fuck," he sighed, totally blown away. Smack stood there for a minute, taking it all in.
This customer was unbelievably into tickling. Definitely his favorite kink.

Smack was dazed. It seemed a lot safer to just stay clear of this customer. Definitely.
He shuffled over and opened "Secret Howls 5". After getting a new smoke going he sat down on the bench... and leaned back again. Hell, it was comfortable.
After starting the movie, he put his hands behind his head and let the cigarette hang -
"Oh... shit," he said, with a laugh.
The victim looked a lot like Sinker - the guy who stole Al away. Smack's first love, turned against him. Al didn't wise up for a good couple years, either...
And now Smack was staring at the image of a musclebound, black-haired Polynesian guy in a well-worn letterman's jacket, a bandanna-gag and many layers of rope - being shoved into a spooky-ass jail cell. The bunk was surrounded with straps and anchors.
Get him, Smack thought. Scumbag.
Invisible hands untied him, pulled his clothes off and wrapped metal shackles around his wrists. Easy as pie, like they did it every day or something. Then the bunk did a neat thing - and folded. He was pushed down, his ankles were caught next... and he ended up as helpless as he could be, sitting up with his arms bent over the top of the thin mattress. Smack would've bet real money that the panicky guy wasn't acting, either. It was not lookin' like he wanted to be in there.
Somebody caught him. And he was gonna get it now. Sinker's double. Excellent.
"Throw away the key," Smack chuckled. Now, this disc looked a lot more promising. Fuckin' Al...
The victim's eyes were a lighter shade of blue than Sinker's, but they had the most exciting panic in 'em when the fur started cruising closer and closer - like magic wands, about the same shape, except they were made of dark fur. The guy was absolutely freaked, too. Maybe he'd been tickled before.
"You got it bad, fuckhead?" Smack asked the TV. "Uh-huh. Wanna be anywhere else except here? Too bad. Asshole. Welcome back."
Oh, yeah. When the fur starting dragging around, it was so great to think it was the real Sinker, there, getting totally tortured.
"Aw. You like this?" he teased. "No? Well, you're not gonna catch a break for a couple months. Maybe more. Yeah. Lots more. Laughing all the time..."
He had another smoke, and laid out on the bench - not really daring to bring his hands down, because the urge to jack off right then and there was unbelievable. Smack was beginning to see why some people would wanna lay into a lying fuck like Sinker.
"I'm gonna make you pay," he told the barking jock on the screen, convulsing from the fur dragging between his toes and petting his neck. "Got you now, you bastard. Laugh harder for me, boy. All summer. Hell, all year. My tickle-bitch. Suffer, and sweat, and howl your guts out. Nobody's ever gonna find you."

Two cigarettes later he had to close his eyes, just to... stop enjoying the guy's deranged glee so much. Smack got up and swapped in the last DVD, a homemade one, with two words written on it -
NEXT UP.

Glass...
The camera moved back and showed him a motorcycle headlight. That got Smack interested.
Damn - it looked just like his bike. There were the same saddlebags too. Clothes, towel, tent, sleeping bag, mesh sack with bathroom shit... and tools.
His stuff.
Finally the gray walls made sense - they were inside a shed.
"What the... fuck?" he mumbled.
Doors were swinging together. Yeah, his bike was being locked in a fuckin' shed. When did this happen? The camera moved back faster, and lifted up - like it was flying away.
The shed looked like any other boring pumphouse from the outside, and it seemed to be miles away from any road. Safe enough, even without the lock on the doors, because that fuckin' shed was not too likely to be seen at all.
And then Smack had a thought. All of his shit was hidden away, there, for a reason. If nobody saw it, when he was supposed to be off to California on his road trip...
They'd never know he was really still in town.
Inside the most secret place, maybe, in the whole damn city of Jean.

Ruby would get suspicious... unless the customer was really smart.
Smack looked around the cell again. Never go downstairs unless a customer calls for something, she always said. Pounded it into the heads of new hires. Not even if the place is on fire.
Check. No one will find out -
The TV screen flickered.
It showed a shot of him walking out of the closet. Mouth hanging open, as he looked around the playroom.
Run, he thought. Run while you can. Maybe you can kick the door open before it locks. Okay, then maybe you can make it to the stairs...
Oh, shit, get up and run away if that's the only option left. No shame in that.
But he'd never make it to the stairs. Not really. And there was a lull, until six or so, with only a handful of people in the place and not a fuckin' soul anywhere near the stairs to hear him yell. Smack would never, ever make it to freedom if the magic fuckin' tickler didn't want him to. Bigtime magician. The gloves in the videos were too good - no dudes were wearing 'em.
Watching himself on the screen pretty much answered that one. The view was from somewhere close to the TV. He stared at the first tickling video - and then the picture changed to show him laid out on the bench, with his boots off and his hands up behind his head. One of the places the cuffs might be bolted down. Keeping his hands trapped.
Huge grin around the cigarette. Obvious bulge.
This particular video had to have been taped while he was watching the last tickling disc.
About the only other things Smack could've done to make sure his fuckin' goose was cooked - that he'd get tickled in here, behind all those damn locks - were maybe to strip and oil himself up.
Ruby would even send down more food, if asked, and more smokes. For him. Making it easy for the customer - so her own brother could remain fuckin'... crazed. Played with. She'd keep restocking the supplies as many times as the top wanted, too.
It was the perfect, uncomplicated setup.

Hell, maybe the customer would even drop her a postcard now and then, supposedly from Smack. Extend his stay a little more. Aw, what the fuck was he thinking? A lot more. Sure it would. Before he got busted, Smack had never been good about keeping in touch. Now, month after month after month - sure thing - right under Ruby's feet. That was appropriate, kinda.
She'd never dream how fuckin' safe her captured baby brother would be.
Oh, shit, it would keep him real healthy. And strong. Endurance was important to this top. Making it last as long as possible. And Smack would have to take whatever torture it wanted to force on him. Safe and secret, because the fun would go on longer that way. The setup was just perfect.
On the TV, the contempt and lust were all over his face. Murmuring. Definitely enjoying the disc.
Maybe he was just getting taught a lesson. No phantom top - just Ruby, having a little fun with him. Something like that. Smack hurried to turn the remote around and aim it.
Nothing. Even shutting off the DVD player didn't change the picture on the TV. It was still him.
Wait - this time he was sitting half-on, half-off the bench.
He moved his arm, and saw the same movement onscreen. There was a camera pointed at him. Live.
Smack tilted his head back and groaned. "I am too stupid to live."

He was just about to yell for Ruby when he remembered that she wasn't upstairs. Nobody was.
The customer was here. Invisible, alright. It showed up early, on purpose - and pointed a camera at Smack. He was on deck. It already got to his bike. Hid it real well. Every fuckin' detail was probably covered. Part of Smack had to respect that.
Get him down here, inside, when Ruby was gone - right before he was supposed to blow town. Long-ass road trip. He really should've called his sister more often, because then she would've started to worry after the first couple months...
Damn, this time the top didn't even have to carry its captive in. Come and get me. Ruby will never guess where her kid brother is. Will she? Paddleboy. If she only knew. Certainly it's some other loser laughing it up in P-5. Not Smack. He's out havin' fun in California...
A good month's supply of food in the closet. Every kind of toy and rack the customer could possibly use. Five tickling DVD's - no, shit, it was six. He had to count the one with him on it. First of many, maybe.
Smack whimpered. It just kinda leaked out -
A quiet click, from the closet, was like the answer he was waiting for.
The door was already closed. Probably he just missed seeing it swing in. The sound he'd just caught was a deadbolt turning. Making sure...
Turning to look over at the main exit, he was just in time to see that door swing out.
The locks started turning, one by one, and that made him gulp real hard.

He had most of another cigarette - teased, already, made to wait for something bad to happen - before a faint jingling noise made his head whip around.
A wrist cuff had floated off the table.
It was hanging in the air. Nobody holding it...
Somehow, that didn't surprise Smack at all.

The next few minutes were exhausting. He never fought so hard, and it didn't do any good at all. It was like a dozen Rubys were fuckin' set on getting him down.
Unseen hands took every stitch of clothing away. Cuff after cuff came to his limbs. Hands he couldn't see, with the texture of butter-soft leather, immobilized him - shifting just enough to allow the restraints to be buckled in their places. The straps cruised up and unrolled so smoothly...
The customer gave him one more cigarette. His captor. The big winner. Within three minutes, Smack knew he wasn't going to bust loose. Shit, there was a wall full of bondage shit in the hidden closet.
And there it was. The moment. He kicked out smoke and saw them heading over.
Dark feathers.
Suddenly it became the most important fuckin' thing in the world to be gone before they touched down.
Never gonna happen, his brain told him. Cuffs, chains - a total pro locked the door. That's all she wrote.
Smack's body didn't wanna buy it, apparently. He watched the feathers keep right on floating until they were just barely hovering above his ribs.
I'm so ticklish, he thought, almost dizzy with fear. Don't do this to me...
 
 
 

Every night there was a movie. Another box of DVDs had drifted in from the kitchen one time, followed by his dinner. Enchiladas, that time, already cut up...
Smack had lived through about eight or nine days. The invisible dom completely exceeded his expectations. Kept doing it. The most extreme tickling he could even imagine kept getting... topped.
There were several discs with the same fucker getting tickled - and they were edited together. All the action. It seemed like that poor slob spent a lot of serious, insane time getting nuked. He was aging right before Smack's eyes - older, tougher-looking - or the movies were shot over a good fifteen-year span. That was terrifying, at first...
The badass suffered in at least three different cells. Tonight's episode, though, was the fuckin' clincher.
Smack looked around his cell, took a drag, and nodded. The guy in the movie was definitely in a familiar place. That time he was getting worked over inside P-5.
 
 
 

Smack didn't know how many days had gone by, but when he woke up now he didn't even wonder where he was.
More and more ticklish. Hell, yeah. That was all that really mattered.
A cigarette was stuck between his lips as soon as his eyes opened - backing off if he yawned again, then creeping up once more.
When he finished it, hands lifted his head. It was the water bottle's turn...
These fingers felt weird. Strong enough to choke him, alright, but thick. Like they were made of feathers. They eased his head back down and brought the next smoke.
He took a light and had himself another long drag. Whenever he wasn't getting worked over, Smack had learned to enjoy every second. He was totally relaxed -
Fingertips ran along his right jaw. Invisible...
Fur. No, it really was more like feathers. Stroking his cheek.
They slipped over the crest of his chin and played with his Adam's apple for a few seconds.
He heard a click.
Five guitar notes -
Oh, shit.
Leather time.

The tickler had looped the long, hardass intro of an old rock tune. Always playing it loud, too. Smack was usually stoned, sometimes too drunk to lift his head, when he heard this buzzsaw guitar.
A black leather bag was thrown between his legs.
He pulled at the cuffs. This was usually the kind of thing that made him pass out. It definitely wasn't the tickling he expected right after he fuckin' woke up -
The bag unzipped, jerking roughly as if the fingers opening it were just full of attitude.
A leather bit floated out.
Smack was relieved - a little. The full hood was too much to deal with when he wasn't high. Sorta freaked him out.
Nothing gentle about the hands which strapped the bit between his teeth, though...
And then the gloves were being pulled out of the bag. Pair by pair they appeared to be sliding over big ol' hands - and they were mean hands, ready to burn off some fuckin' steam, flexing slowly just above him so he'd know how intense his morning was gonna be.
The sight of ten gloves - with that signature music - made Smack whimper and pant for air. They were just so fuckin' serious about it. Pulling this shit on him when he was full of energy, completely alert, just made him moan again. This could be a really rough day.
A cock ring was the last item to float out of the pouch before it was tossed aside. He watched the chrome lift up and catch his stiffening meat...
The fingers were moving in.
Smack twisted uselessly.

The music had faded out after a few minutes - but not the torture. Every glove seemed to be set on tickling more deeply than the others.
Smack had screamed and bounced all he could, and now there was nothing else to do but feel 'em. Fifty hardcore fingers.

Break after break, water and cigarettes and speed came to his mouth. Once in a while there was food. The gloves hung back - but not far away - and Smack just couldn't imagine living through it if they cruised back down again... but they did. Always.
And it was worse. Hotter.
Thinking about something else, was way beyond him now. So was passing out, dammit.

He laid there, and the sweat rolled off him.
So many gloves - and they never fucked around. It wasn't like the tickler was any less devoted the rest of the time. These leather fingers really latched on, bent on making him feel it as much as he could.
The inside of each elbow. Under each knee, the long way - approaching the worst spot and hitting it, sliding away, reversing course. Tracing the lower rim of his belly, and the high outer crest of each hip. The sides of his throat. And one glove stimulated the fuckin' minefield on the back side of his neck. All of them, so determined... and any one of those spots made him cackle now.
His brain was dizzy trying to take it all in.
Moving at all was completely impossible. Something about the relentless way they worked on some of his most ticklish spots made him feel like a little kid again. Oh, Smack still knew he was a big, strong guy... but the gloves were worn by somebody bigger. A lot stronger, and smarter. Having caught him and immobilized him, the top was going to keep making him feel this insane crippling, short-circuiting excitement - just like it had been doing for weeks. Ruby had cinched him up enough times, but the paddling she could dish out was peanuts compared to this.
There was no end to what it knew about tickling, and other ways to play with his body...
The customer definitely knew how unbearable and intense this was. He was so fuckin' helpless, and nothing could make its toys go away. They laid into the very places that would make him jump, or at least curl up and start fighting back. But the leather, nylon straps, the stocks, even rope - pulled tightly enough - kept him from doing a damn thing except cringe. The hands belonged to somebody who knew how much he needed to... recoil.
The top never failed to prevent that. All day.
Smack would've given anything to be able to scootch away from the fingers - since stopping this nightmare was obviously out of the question. But it made damn sure he couldn't even move enough to throw 'em off for an instant...

Oh, fuck - all those hours. And it had been leaving his feet alone. Now he knew why - the feathers were starting down there.
It was such a relief to see... a change. That feeling wouldn't last long, but Smack hung onto it.
Lighter, carefully targeted strokes were getting his soles to really wake up. Ticklishness increasing more and more.
Toe rings, ankle cuffs. Solid and tight.
It was time for a little exercise.
His legs kicked and pulled. A silent wail turned into deep hoots... and he laughed harder and harder until he just couldn't even howl anymore.
Endless, crawling feathers...
 
 
 

He tried to catch his breath. Damn hood -
"Hey," Ruby said.
Smack opened his eyes. Lifted his head. There she was.
I've gotta be dreaming this, he thought. Way too late, but still...
She'd walked in through the closet, and a glove cruised over to her.
Run, he thought. Now. His voice was gone, and he knew it -
The glove wasn't flying like it was gonna grab her or anything. No rush.
Invisible fingers got around his knees and started to squeeze. Done just right. Fuckin' impossible for him to unclench his teeth, much less say anything. She'd never hear him, through the hood. Shit, she had to get him out of P-5. There was no sign at all that the customer was getting tired of him.
Why wasn't she looking at him?
And the glove -
Like something out of a dream - and that was really saying something, these days - the glove gave her a big, cool-cat handshake.
Something broke, deep down inside him. It was like the whole world shifted, for keeps. There was no way his tickling would end today. Or anytime soon. Maybe never. Ruby was smiling - like the top was an old friend. No going back to the life he had, a thousand years ago, before it started tickling him.
Feathers - dammit! - floated to his feet and started making him cackle. It was one of the most frustrating moments he'd had in there. I'm Smack, he thought desperately. It trapped me. Help. I'm your brother.
"He's hot," she said.
"Yeah," a gravely voice chuckled. The fucker could hear? And talk. All these months.
"Happy guy."
Smack wrestled around, laughing harder. Of course he looked happy. Invisible hands - but she was smarter than that. Wasn't she?
"I really appreciate this," she said to his feet. Apparently the feathers were fascinating to watch. "You know how the cops are."
"For you, Ruby - anything."
Brother, he thought. I'm your brother. Get me out of here. In his head he could see his lips forming the words. Smack -
She was backing away already. "This is a new record. You know that."
"Uh-huh," the scary voice chuckled.
A cock pump was cruising around. Getting between his legs -
"He's still alive. That's the main thing, but I sorta need a sign from him. Just in case. I mean, shit. Surely you'd never keep somebody this long against their will." Finally, she seemed to notice the hood.
He knew that expression. No mercy whatsoever.
Fingers curled over his pecs - and pinched his nips just right. That just locked him up. Couldn't move -
And he knew, right before it happened, that more undetectable hands would nod his head for him.
"Alright. Thanks. Sorry for interrupting."
"And there's the door," his captor said.
Unseen hands made Smack's head nod again.
"Smartass," she sighed. "Okay."
Ruby was starting to leave. He had to give her a sign. No matter how hard it was, there would be no more chances to get her to look at his fuckin' eyes... and pause, recognizing her brother - who didn't ask for this nightmare, all this endless torture, and would be tickled and spanked for even more months if she just walked out now -
The sleeve of the cock pump was creeping over his dick. Grinding his hips, Smack watched his sister pause.
More feathers were coming. It looked like they were going to tease his belly.
"Since you're here," the customer said casually, "any chance you've got caffeine tabs upstairs? Or dex?"
"If we don't, I'll send the new guy out to get 'em."
New guy. Smack howled silently. Ruby, dammit, look harder. It's me.
"You're the best. Look, I'll get a list up to ya when this fucker passes out. Could be a while."
"You're covered. Great choice." Ruby gestured toward Smack. "My brother's got that same skull tattoo."
She said it as an afterthought. Exactly right. Natural as could be. Oh, by the way, your sub reminds me of my brother -
She knows it's me, Smack thought wildly. But she wasn't grinning. Aw, fuck, she didn't know it was him. But this was just the kind of - no, fuck, that was crazy. Whether she did, or didn't - your brother, he babbled in his head, I'm trapped here, your brother, dammit, don't leave me with this crazy top...
But she did.
Smack watched her walk through the closet door.
"Anything you need," he heard her say, as she did. "Lean on him hard."
No...
The customer's voice said something else, and they both laughed. That was the last thing he heard out of her. Then the hallway door closed.

So close to getting out of this - and instead he was still gonna keep getting it. The idea just blew him away.
All at once, the toys fell to the ground. Hands let go -
She recognized the tattoo. So... she knew it was Smack. But that was nonsense. It had forced him to leave two messages - the last one had to have been a full month ago - and she'd left voice mail too, sounding all happy for him. Glad he was taking it easy, not doing anything too stupid. And she sounded sincere enough.
His eyes got all teary. Ruby -
She hadn't actually said that she recognized the tattoo - only that her brother had the same one. Did she know? Could Ruby possibly do this to him?
The hood was unbuckled and pulled off. After he got a few good breaths, a cigarette floated up to his mouth.
At the same time a match was dragged across one of his ankle-cuffs, the door to the closet began to close. The tickling wasn't anywhere near done. The only chance he'd had was fuckin' gone.
Three months, he thought as he sucked in. And counting. Like a bad dream. Maybe it had been four months, or five. He had no way to be sure -
The door locked.
A bottle of tequila hovered up, already uncapped.
He recognized a flicker on the TV screen - another movie was cueing up.
Two fringed gloves rose up, covered with lube. They hung right over his gut. Finally, he blew smoke at 'em... and nodded.
They turned a little, and one of 'em gave him a thumbs-up sign. The other moved and gave him a few pats on the head. Then it pressed down, sorta pinning his head to the sweaty leather pad. He knew that signal. Keep your eyes on the TV screen, or else -
A greasy fist curled around his dick.
Moaning, Smack nodded a couple more times.

15nov05