Carried. Gloves... with no arms coming out of them.
Uh-oh. So many strong hands - and nobody else is around.
"Whuh," he groans. This has to be a really bad dream -
"Been waiting for you to wake up, ferret."
"Oh no, no, noooo-oooo-ooooooo."
"See the door? Straight ahead."
"Let me go aaaah pleeeee-ase, hah hah huh huh huh huh."
"This is what the untrustworthy snoop wanted to see," and it chuckles a time or two. "The inside of the house."
"I didn't wanna g-"
"But first... watch carefully."
A glove clamps around his forehead. Others dig in again - up and down his sides, over his gut and below it, neck and knees and hips.
He struggles and keens, but the door swings closed. A deadbolt clicks.
The hands turn him and go down a hallway.
"Alright. To the tickle-suite we go. That little brown pickup truck of yours is gonna be hidden away. Nobody's gonna know. Aw, he must've headed back to the city already." The phantom laughs. "No limits now, inmate. It's time for some discipline. Noooo-body's gonna stop me."
His fight is erratic, because he has to laugh so damn hard. The gloves carry him further...
"Both of these feet need a full tickling," the voice says happily. "All the tools. And how many other super-sensitive spots are there on ya? Huh?"
Down the stairs. All he can do is shake his head. The fingers are holding still, which is wonderful, but he laughs like a crazy man. It's going to continue, real damn soon. Not just on one foot. Oh, no. It already knows, so he can't even give himself away - about five minutes of it, and his laughing became full-steam roaring. That was from energetic tickling on one foot! It got itself a hot one, here. Serious bondage shit is in his immediate future, dammit.
He has exactly the wrong body for a hardcore tickler to capture. Why would it ever get bored with him?
This victorious phantom is so into this that it's got a secret room all ready. Naturally, he came right up to the shabby old ranch house it's in, all by himself. Of course.
He'd parked behind his friend's house, one street off and just outside the subdivision, because it was so much faster to walk in and out. All the stop signs were annoying.
Turns out it was closer to the wrong driveway on the old road. The wrong fuckin' place to have a smoke and make sure he was good to drive, wander over here and peek in the front window. Nobody cared. Delivering himself - here, of all places, at the same time an invisible sadist just happened to be fuckin' ready to pin him down and close the thick little stocks around his right ankle...
The tickler moves him as if it's eager to kick things into high gear. Around a corner, and then through another door -
Light. Small LED's encircle the floor, along the padded walls.
It's a fuckin' heavy-duty nightmare of bondage stuff... and tickling toys.
The hands turn him halfway around. "Say goodbye to your tickle-free life," the phantom teases. "That world is gone now."
"Noooooo," he wails.
The door closes. It sounds like big bolts or tubes slide into the frame... up and down, to the side - and then the gloves move him again.
"Let's start on the bed. Classic spread-eagle. Thick restraints, like you've never seen before - because you're not... gonna... miss a single tickle tickle tickle."
He tries to flop around, but the hands set him on cool, slippery cloth. Satin. Thick mattress.
"Time to get this snoop anchored right!"
Gloves pin his limbs. Big leather cuffs curl around his wrists, his ankles... and gloves are pulling his clothes off.
"I've got everything you need, prowler. Ain't no telling how much fun I'm gonna have with you. Everything's all set now." The phantom laughs triumphantly. "You were made to be tickled right, weren't you?"
After thick straps cinch down each limb and thigh and forearm...
Two shiny gloves pose right over his each of his anchored feet. Many more are floating closer. Armpits, oh no, legs and chest and belly -
"Tickled for a good cause. The fuckin' snoop's gotta pay."
Rowdy, delighted laughter booms from over him as one satin hand after another gets back to it.
feb2020