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It bugs me that I don't remember which day this is. I suppose that's natural. They've been blowing my mind, here.
I kick out smoke and watch 'em. They hang over my chest like they get a big kick out of watching me stare.
Fourth day... Maybe, but I got a bad feeling it's number five. Feels like months - and that's a depressing prediction, in a way, but I gotta prepare for the worst. A real long fuckin' time. Get the right victim, haul him to the cell - and boom. All the fun he can stand.
Every day I can't believe I'm making it through until they let me sleep again. The volume of insane contact keeps increasing all the time. I'm strapped down and they're gonna make sure I don't go anywhere.
Shit. I've cussed more these past four days - five days - than the whole twenty-five years I've been alive. And I've smoked. Damn gloves. I never liked 'em before, but now I really need their cigarettes...
I don't even wanna think about the tats.
This is a long-term fuckin' situation. I got what they're after, sure enough.
So damn ticklish...

Cigarette after cigarette, so they get me all thinkin' about it. They snuck up, while I was gulping down the water a few smokes back, and pried my mouth open. Vitamin time. And that black pill had to be in there, again, 'cause I'm feelin' it. The cuffs seem like they're a yard across. Awake, but sorta drunk, and each finger feels like ten. Maybe more. Let's cover your sides with fingers, asshole. Couple hours of that, and now you're gonna really feel this blitz on your feet. Long, long time until that ends, and now we're gonna oil you up again...
Damn black pills. They just make me so sensitive I could explode. But I can't even pass out or anything. A whole long day of insane new ticklishness, sleep it off, wake up and eat, chain-smoke, do it again.
And here they come -
Huh?
What is that? Some of the gloves are opening a box. Narrow, black. If it's more of those spinning brushes, I'm gonna shit myself again, no doubt ab-
Wires.
Well, huh.
I pull at the straps, slam around... but we all know I'm not gonna miss this.

Now, this is twisted. More than usual. Little pads are stuck to my head - measuring just how intense the tickling is, I guess...
And they're getting tools ready. I've never seen anything like 'em.
Another smoke for me - no choice in the matter, it's take it or howl even harder until I go along - and after I've got it lit I study the things they're bringing over. At least they're not those buffers. Shit...
But they do have wires. Power. Electrodes - this can't be good. Oh, fuck, I look around as I fight the stupid cuffs, because they've gotta realize I can't take this forever. Too much. If I keep getting more ticklish, every day, there's no way I'm gonna get out of here with my mind intact.
Crackling noise. Oh, shit. They're definitely gonna shock me.
Here goes -

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh f-
What?

Ow!

Whew. Okay. I'm okay...
That was weird.
I heard something hit the roof. From the outside. That jolt was not fun at all. Electrocuted -
Uh-oh. Maybe...
No, I'm breathing. I hear it. Good.
Wait - why can't I feel it? Am I... No, my fingers move. They don't feel right.
This is very strange. My hands are light, and I can move 'em. So I look down at the cuffs - and see 'em snug around my wrists. Still held down. But I can move.
Wait. Down at the cuffs?
I'm floating.
Oh, fuck.
That's me. Still caught there. But I'm -
Oh, now, this is interesting. I must be dreaming this. I've been saying that to myself the whole time - this can't be happening, it's impossible, blah blah blah. But it kept happening. Five days, now. I'm still caught, here, and now I can move around.
Hey, I just sighed. I'm waking up. That's definitely good.
Except that I'm wide awake already.

I hear myself groan a couple times, and look all around. Totally stunned expression...
"No," I watch my lips say. Whispering, because they've tickled my voice away. But somehow I can read my own lips. Moving again, I rise a little higher -
Finally, I believe it. What I am now. Dozens... of me, if I want.
My body starts writhing and pulling at the straps.
Amazing. Just incredible. Look how afraid I am. That's because my body knows. Hell, yeah.
I drift closer, but I'm not going anywhere. All spread out.

"Wait," my mouth says. "Hold on. This isn't... good."
I keep approaching. Stalking me - no, coming for him.
I'm so light. The gloves wait, lying around. They're fascinating. I pick some up - and at my wish, they're alive. Full of power. The material is slightly damp, and it almost feels like they're eager to go. Get him. The energy comes from me, effortlessly, without a thought. Every thread of the gloves almost vibrates with the lust to get busy - a full day of hysteria, followed by so many others.
My body knows this. Damn right -
Or, maybe I should say, the desperately begging mind currently in my body. It knows full well how I feel. The appetite, like an unspeakable ache, has got me now. I want his awareness and self-image rebuilt around me... even if it takes months to take his will, and all the vitality he can produce. So damn satisfying, and yet urgent too.
These fingers, curling slightly at my wish, are the next instruments. Soft torture. Long-term bliss. The fabric was prepared for days, reducing friction, preventing water from affecting the touch of the surface.
There are bags, in the other room, with approximately ten dozen more gloves.
I know that I can move anything I want. Magic feathers, with me making 'em move. Brushes...
But right now I am mutherfuckin' black satin hands, made for ceaseless tickling.
And the body, just goin' nuts under me, holds the sadist who made 'em. Could anyone be more deserving?

He knows. That's such a charge. The perfectly screwed nature of... his predicament is clear now. I wonder why he's not negotiating. Or pleading.
The fingers curl just as smoothly as I want. They feel great, fundamentally right, and it will be absolutely, perfectly fulfilling when they squeeze and move... making nice, solid contact. Not for a second or two. Laying down, digging in - and staying there.
I can't stop myself.
He knew that already. That's why he wrestles with the restraints - without hope. Damn, I'm going to do it. Waiting hurts, somehow, even as it adds a new thrill. He has no doubt.
These gloves will dance again.
Is it wrong? Turning the tables... Using my body, or rather misusing it - the same way he was doing, and would've kept doing. He's tough. I do a quick count of all the cases of food in the other room. A cell phone is hidden under the house - I can see where it's hidden, somehow - and with a call I can have more food delivered. More toys. This is a cooperative, of some kind. His earlier efforts, delivering stuff, means that there's no practical limit to how long I can tickle him.
He's the one who's stuck now. Was he really gonna torture me for three fuckin' months? Six? Having no idea how unbearable it is...
Well, that's going to change.

Another urge moves my hands - to the cigarettes, waiting near his hand.
It relaxes me, somehow. Watching him smoke. That's strange. I get to really rub his face in it, now that he's been made to take up this new habit. He doesn't control whether he smokes or not, and he wants the delay but not the crud in his throat. I think he'd be fighting harder, with the restraints, if it wasn't for the cigarette. Of course he knows how secure the cuffs are, but it's a instinctive thing - the need to smoke can overrule all logic.
Still, he fights like hell when he notices the pack moving again.
So I pick up the buffers... and after a moment, I know where the toe-restraints are. Floating them alongside him. Here, you ticklish asshole. Smoke, or else...
After a few seconds, he jerks the straps one more time. "Dammit!"
But he sucks in when I bring him a light.

I make him smoke most of a pack and drain two liters of water, while I think things through.

It's too tempting. Seriously. All I have to do is think about a tool, or a certain part of his body, and the experience all comes back. Knowledge. And I remember all too well how, for example, those firm brushes crawling on my balls made the other tickling fuckin' ignite.
My captor is now caught. How can I pass up an opportunity like this?
The "currentizer" - that's what the last toy is called. It's experimental. Flaky... but nothing like this has happened before.
At a whim, I can fly right outside the chamber. Through the roof. There's a big tree branch down -
Ah. Parts and their functions immediately become clear. It's cool.
Both windmills were crankin' away in the storm, and this branch fell on the big capacitor. This fuse is fried, but the surge still hit me. And somehow it zapped the tickler, too... who is now kicking out smoke unhappily.
Oh, yeah.

In less than three minutes I have the capacitor and the fuse replaced. The bastard had extra parts on hand already, plenty of 'em, and only something that can fly would put all the batteries on the roof like this. But they're hidden from view, I guess. It knew these windmills were supposed to be locked down when the gusts topped thirty...
There. Now the power's working again. For my tools.
Damn... I'm starting to think like he does.

Well, he can think all he wants but that's not gonna get him loose. I double-check these depressingly heavy restraints. Uh-huh.
I know why he's laid out like this. Don't I?
"Listen," he says. "Are you listening? You can talk, you know. Dammit."
And I do know it, but my instincts say let's have him sweat for awhile. He didn't talk to me at all when I was the one howling my guts out. Pleading.
I don't think he's used to sweating, though. Lots of new experiences in store - for both of us.
Specifically... I realize he's never been tickled before. Always dishing it out.
And I'm wearing the gloves now.
This is just totally amazing.

After a minute, I do pick up the wands - carefully - and put them back in the box.
"We need those," he protests. "Don't... You wanna have your body back, right?"
Not right this minute, I think happily. What's the rush? He picked me because I was bumming around, on my own, not calling my brothers often enough. Set it all up so I could spend a few fuckin' months howling... And I already know the place is private enough.
So I pull the band of electrodes off his head.
He just goes nuts, then. And I love that. He's going to be stuck in my body - this frighteningly ticklish body! - until I decide otherwise.
And I have so many ideas. Things he's gonna just love. I think about the tat gun and that skill is mine too, all that practice, how to outline and shade anything I want. It's stupid to tattoo my own body, maybe, but my forearms are almost covered already. Thanks to him. There's a big feather on the side of my neck, too - and little gloves on my chest. Damn. No laser's gonna get all that off. He's messed me up already. We'll just see how he likes it, then. A nice big design on his belly. Let him see how much it hurts.
There. His only chance for freedom is hidden away in the closed box. I pick it up - while he screams with fright - and take it to the door. As soon as I ask myself where the padlock key is, I know the answer. It's intoxicating, really. He knows that.
Hiding the currentizer from him is a thrill, as well as making sure it's safely out of his reach.

I grab a couple cartons of cigarettes, a half-dozen bottles of oil, another pound of feathers...
When he sees them, cruising inside the room, he sighs hard.
After I lock the door again, I'm the one who gets to hide the keys.
Oh, yeah, if he thought the next ten or twelve weeks were going to be intense - for me... wait until he laughs for twice as long. How the other half lives, mutherfucker.
 
 

It's addictive. I can admit that.
My kidnapper can't get away from me. I love making each day... psychotically manic. I've got me one aroused, helplessly happy guy.
He's out of his head whenever I continue working him over. Feeling it all day. That's a satisfying thing. Okay, this was a good, full day, and tomorrow will be slightly more fun, and so on. Always "and so on, and on, and on", because now I'm the one who's really enjoying the fuck out of this - and he can't do shit to stop me.
How about I tickle your ass until winter comes, dude? I'm inclined to do it. Take that.
The more I get to know his body, the more explosively delightful it is to push him. Get him drunk, get him high, four packs a day if I want. As many cumshots, for this strong body, as I wish to see. Speed, anytime I think he needs it... and the impressive black pills which I now know to be Lafrinex MX. A custom compound made by ticklers.
He's learned so much.
Actually, I've only started to enjoy the situation.
 
 

You're going to laugh even more tomorrow, I think happily as I'm washing his legs. That aching need to laugh harder, so damn much harder. How you'll long to feel the tickling stop. And it won't. Yeah, I remember. All that frustration is gonna tear you apart. Again. And I'll let you pull yourself together, just so you can get more of the same. But first I think I'll keep you awake for an extra hour, and really work that post-climax sensitivity...
 
 

A couple weeks have gone by - or so I thought, until I counted supplies. Almost half of the smokes are gone. More like five weeks of fun, then. His, and then mine.
Unlimited "more" where that came from. Hell, yeah. It's all too easy to think about him here as winter sets in. Right here. Smoking, until my fingers dig in and he can't manage to keep the cigarette between his lips, needing to wriggle around, crow at the ceiling - silently - or laugh like a man. Roar. Careful, deliberate prompting, all damn day. Roaring nice and hard.
Keep it up, you fuckin' ticklish basket case. I'm not letting you out of it yet.

He hasn't begged for a long time. So I think maybe he's forgotten the entertainment value of pleading for mercy...
Just after the midday meal, I light him a cigarette and bring over a bottle of oil. Surgical gloves, too - new ones, taut and smooth, filling up. Maybe a few brushes, what the hell.
But right now I curl the fingers over his sweaty chest, ready to pounce. He takes a drag, knowing it might be the last one he'll get for an hour or two -
"Tickle," I growl.
And he jumps - that's so enjoyable, too - before he empties his lungs. "Yeah," he says bitterly.
"Tickle squared. Cubed. To infinity."
"Dammit," and he pulls at the restraints. "This is so wrong."
"I don't think so," I announce. "This is fuckin' great."
"You have no idea what a world of hurt is waiting," he says, calming down. "I'm serious."
"Tickle tickle tickle -"
"Have you thought about that at all? Afterward? You're going to be hunted like no one's ever been hunted. Are you fuckin' listening to me?"
"Your pecs are looking a little dry," I tell him. "They could use some... oil."
And he shivers. Excellent.

"Howl for me," I tell him, five hours later. And he has been howling, alright, so it's easy for him to keep it up. Obedient dude. A squadron of tools keeps inspiring him.
 

I get him thrashing, side to side, wham, wham, wham, wham.
"It's so... insane," I taunt him. Four gloves on each side, knowing just how to make him rock out like this. "On, and on, and on, and you just... can't... take it... another... second."
He grunts, and starts to hoot.
"But it just... won't stop... Hardcore... tickling... All day long... So... damn... insane..."
Wham, wham, wham.
 

"Get it," he pants. "C-currentizer. Now."
"No way."
"Listen. You c-can't keep going. Adrenal... glands. Damage. Heart enzymes. Too m-much..."
I think about that - and review all the knowledge the tickler has that was somehow transmitted to me.
He's lying!
"For trying such a lowdown, sleazy stunt, you're going to suffer even more than usual - for the next few days."
He just closes his eyes.
"And to keep you from lying again..."
I pick up a stained yellow cloth. Soft cotton, shaped by him for maximum efficiency as a gag.

Damage. Huh. I'll give that the response it deserves.
I make a call...

Instinctively, I know I can't be contained by other ticklers. From what I know, it doesn't seem like they'll detect me. And I know where the currentizer is hidden, so I don't think he'll do anything stupid.
But I'm betting he won't get the chance.
 

The next day, a 4x4 van rumbles out. Diesel fumes. It parks, without the engine shutting off, and the back doors pop open.
"Hey," I greet the floating supplies.
"Hey yourself," a young guy's voice says. "Where to?"
"Storeroom," I say, "next to the cell."
"Alright." Picking up two cases of booze and a case of meal-replacement bars, I follow behind...
Whew. Apparently I can pass for just another tickler. Shit, I've spent enough time reviewing what my former kidnapper knows. And the one driving the van is not overly experienced, just as I hoped. Not suspicious at all.
We start setting down the boxes - and since I left the door of the cell open, he can hear the supplies coming in. Shit, he's just flailing around in the swing, screaming into the gag...
"Nice," the delivery-voice says, right in the doorway where he can hear it.
"Can't wear him out," I chuckle.
Oh, the dude's furious. Help is so close, and he can't get away from me. Not a chance.
"In fact," I say arrogantly, "I got him so rattled that he thinks he's me."
"Huh?"
Too far, maybe. Uh-oh. "He, uh, he's got this idea that we switched places."
Wild-eyed, he hollers something into the gag, but I can't make it out.
"They're so weird," the other tickler finally says.
"Yeah."

He sags against the webbing. Tears fill his eyes...
"Guess that's what makes 'em so fuckin' fun," the younger delivery-tickler sighs. "Five months from now, I'm gonna have my setup all done. And I'm gettin' a tough one in there, like this fucker. Nail the door shut."
"Go get 'em," I laugh.
We make three more trips out. When the van doors close, I've got twenty-two more boxes in the storeroom...
"Stick it to him, now," the voice says breezily. "Give him a real hard riff for me tonight - postcum," just before the van shifts and drives off.
Oh, fuck, is he angry! I take my time shutting the door, and loosening the gag...
"You're gonna pay. So dead," he says.
Few things are more enjoyable than snapping the padlock closed, right then.
"More supplies," I tell him quietly. "Just for you."
"When they find out... Nobody's ever had a permanent rub-toy, but I'm gonna be the first. And you're it. Permanent. Continuous -"
"Relax," I taunt him. "You need to cool down. Let off some steam - oh, I know."
He yanks at the straps, squealing with frustration. Tears fly off his nose. "You can't do this!"
"You need to laugh. Yeah. Long, therapeutic laughter. Get your mind off your troubles."
"Let me go!"
Twenty feathers. I have 'em head for his feet in formation, like two flocks of birds.
"Laugh all night, maybe," I say.
No amount of pulling gets him away from his fate.

"More supplies," I tell him. He's too far gone to reply, mouth open and drooling. I think he forgot how to laugh, again. "Months."
His eyes dart around.
"Month after month," I say proudly. "And they'll bring more, if I ask. Won't they?"
Feebly, his fists open and close.
"So much more tickling for you..."
 
 

He's really flailing hard. Bullseye, I'd say.
"Stop it stop it please no more no more please!" he squeals.
"But you love this," I snort. "Hey, that's why you caught me. Right?"
Then I set the buffers back down on his feet...

After he's snoring, I realize that I made this insatiable son of a bitch break down... and say "please."
Interesting.
 

A turning point, maybe. I've humbled that calm force which drove me absolutely nuts for five days...
I still enjoy kicking his ass, but there's an undercurrent there now. He's not human, but I know what it's like to suffer exactly the way I've come to love making him suffer.
Ridiculous - to feel pity for this bastard. But there it is.
 

"Let's make a deal," I say brightly.
He looks up, tugging on his smoke - suspicious eyes. Dull anger, still there.
"Unless," I continue, "you wanna keep things the way they are."
"Deal," he says.
"Good... I mean, nothing's going to change this week." And suddenly, on impulse, "Or next."
"Dammit - no!"
He's frustrated, and now I love to see him show it in just this way. Good. Two more weeks of tickling, so I'll make 'em a mindblowing sendoff. That feels right. Now, all "we" need is an ironclad plan.
 

"I'm just not sure you've learned your lesson yet," I say, grabbing him again in eight of my favorite places.
Variations of that line are repeated a couple hundred times. I'll make sure he's really, sincerely motivated...
 

His upper body is sleeved - solid tats. My body, looking like this... but the word "mine" feels academic now, more distant than ever. Totally hooked on cigarettes, daily joints and whiskey, overly frequent cumshots. He's probably too sensitive to comfortably wear clothes for a good while.
And still... He suffers so damn much, caught in it, hour after crawling hour, that I still kinda hate to see things put back the way they should be.
"I don't know," I say thoughtfully. "Maybe you haven't really come to regret the error of your fuckin' ways - dude."

Attacking him again, and again...
 

He's gotta convince me that I'll be safe. From him, and all the rest.
It takes six full days. More feverish than ever before...
 
 

By then, he's all polite. No more swearing at me. Ready to talk sensible, practical shit.
So I give him seven or eight smokes while he thinks, and bring out a six-pack. "Okay. How do we get you out of this nightmare?" I ask.
"Uh. You -"
"I'm having way too much fun, here. You're really going to have to persuade me to end this. If you don't..." I let the sentence hang there.
He takes a thoughtful drag. "Law of diminishing returns."
"Bullshit," I laugh. "Haven't seen it kick in yet. Maybe by the end of the winter, huh? I could get into that -"
"No, no, no," he says quickly. "Shit. Look - I understand why you wanna keep goin'. You know I do. And I'm ready to do whatever you want to make this end."
"End? No more tickling for you?"
"Yeah."
"Well, naturally, I'm reluctant to change this sweet thing we got goin' on. Can you guess why?"
Damn, he's fighting to stay calm. It's exciting. "You don't want to be g- back where you started."
"Exactly."
"And you've got no reason to trust me."
"Right again. Or those friends of yours."

He nods. "Look, I don't know how to convince you... and I can't guarantee that all of the other ticklers will back off."
"But you have to."
He bounced his head on the mattress. "I know. But I can't make 'em leave you alone."
"Deal's off, then?"
Big eyes. "No - wait!"
"Aaaaaw. I'll just tickle some sense into you. Today."
"No no no c'mon aaaah hah hah hah!"
I get my hands busy, in the most effective persuading mode, making him whoop...
"Maybe we'll talk about it again tomorrow."
He snorts laughter, miserably overwhelmed, and tries to shake his head.
 

I have a terrific morning with his feet, and lay off only to feed him his lunch...
"Still waiting for that guarantee," I remind him.
"Actually, I think I've got it."
"Is that so..."

After he finished eating, we continued the debate. I start playing with his cock, to make the afternoon's fun really shattering, and as I do he forces himself to keep talking.
Lighting a new cigarette off the last one, I watch him puff -
"Why is that so right?" I ask him. "Watching you smoke?"
"Control," he says reluctantly. "A little slice of normal life, in your hands just as firmly... as the rest of me." When I don't say anything, he sighs. "I get to smoke only when you permit it. My hands are fuckin' caught. No matter how bad I need a cigarette, it's all up to you. Feeling generous."
"Ah," I finally say.
If I didn't know better, I'd say he was leveling with me.
 

In between fits of laughter, he tells me why I'll be safe from all of his peers. Too valuable now...
Him, and me. The other ticklers are going to be interested in us. What happened, here, should've been impossible. They'll cut me any deal I want - in order to study the exchange that took place.
That sounds more like wishful thinking than a guarantee, and I spend a day or two explaining that to him, patiently, as he's often too feverish to keep up his end of the conversation.
 

"I'm thinkin'," and I have to fight not to laugh, "We're having such a good time, here, I'll just go ahead and get you more supplies."
The way he gulps is adorable. I can do it, easy as anything, and he knows it. Two, three more months. Six.
His future is in my magical hands.
If I can extend his delirium with just a phone call, I really doubt he was going to let me go after twelve lousy weeks.
 

He's panting. Too far gone, as my feathers continue covering him. More sensitive than ever...
"I get you back in these," and I raise a pair of satin gloves, "and then I'm fucked. You grab me - and five years of food, I bet."
Finally, he shakes his head.
"Sure you would. How can I risk it? Being in your position again?"
I dive in, with ten slippery new fingers, and clutch his knees.
"I can't trust you. Except to feel the burn..."
Tears run down his face.
 

I get him drunk again...
"Smoke 'em if you got 'em."
"Yessir," he sighs.
"How do I keep you from cuffing me down, dude?"
"I won't ever catch you again. Unless you want me to -"
"Real funny."
"Call 'em."
"Who?"
He's wobbly. It takes him several seconds. "Your people. Cops, a whole shitload of friends, I don't care. Get 'em out here."
"So you can lock up a whole cage-full at once?"
"No! Look, dammit, I don't know what to tell you."
"Too bad."
"Please..."
Something in his voice makes me pause.
"Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. I just can't think of a way that... will make you feel safe. And I've tried. Dammit, I've really tried."
He's gonna bawl again.
Instinctively, I start tickling his armpits. He whoops, raging at first, and settles into rough laughter. This slurred, hoarse voice rewards me each second. Naturally I keep cheering him up...
 

He's sincere now. I'm sure of it.
That's good enough for me. And I miss my body, though I'm sure as hell not gonna tell him that. When he cums, I'm almost jealous. And I want a cigarette something fierce. Weird.
 

Oddly enough, it does come down to trust.
No. That's bullshit. I know exactly what he'll do to me, and there's still no way I can see to prevent it. It really comes down to something like boredom. I want my body back, even if it's getting tortured. At least it's mine.
Some of us weren't cut out to be incorporeal - a word I didn't know, before I traded places. Of course, he's covered with tattoos now, and that'll seem strange... looking at my own arms and seeing 'em.
But eventually things have to be put right. I doubt it'll turn out well, for me, but maybe that's the breaks.
 

"Ow!" he yells.
"Dammit," I mumble. Still didn't work. It's the third time we've tried to... shock him out.

The electrical surge is too hard to recreate. After about a dozen attempts, I have to give it up.
"I thought you were serious about this," he says to six oiled gloves, making the cigarette bounce a little as he talks.
"Yeah. I am, smartass. But I've gotta think for awhile..."
 
 

Eight more red-hot days for him. Lots of thinking for me.
He stops talking to me after about the fifth day, too busy feeling all the excitement I can serve up...
 

There's only one thing I can do.
The morning starts, just like any other. Raving, scorching hours of fun.

After the sun sets I get him stoned, get him one cigarette after another... and get him off one more time.
Then I bring out the phone.
 

The other ticklers aren't buying it.
I can't convince them it's not a joke.

"Please," he whines, straining at the stocks. "Pleeeeeeze."
Looking at him, my confusion turns into sunny malice. "Aw, okay. One more night."
He doesn't seem to believe what I just said - until I start filling gloves. Then he goes nuts...
 

The next day, I manage to get one of them to agree to come out and visit.
"It might be a few hours until it arrives," I tell him - loving the way he sags back. "What should I do, to pass the time? Hmmmm. I just can't think of anything..."
Oil, a dozen brushes - and the studded cock-sleeve that makes him moan so much.
"Oh, wait. I know."
He just shakes his head. WIth his eyes closed, he doesn't even see the delirium approaching...
 

The other tickler plays with his feet. "I don't get it. It's not possible."
"So I'm told..."
Frustrated, I look within myself for some new way to reveal -
Ah.
I send it the silent equivalent of a wolf whistle, and let it detect something more elemental. It's roughly the equivalent of pulling down my pants and flashing it.
"Oh... shit!" it gasps.

Three others arrive within a half-hour.
They're desperate to investigate us. Learn whatever they can. That's the reaction I was hoping for...
I make 'em promise to leave me alone. It's naive, sure - but sometimes I just don't care anymore. They've got me outnumbered, and I can't outrun them all. The outcome is inevitable.
With a dull lack of hope, I allow myself to be persuaded...

"One more round. Fucker."
He flails wildly, laughing for me, and then quivers when he's unable to do anything else. We have a few hours to kill before nightfall.

I wear him out before the car pulls up.
Time to get him dressed - just a loose harness, leather thong and combat boots - which get to him so much that I almost pass on the riot chains...
Parked behind the wheel, with the everpresent smoke hanging from his lips, he can't stop chuckling.
After about an hour he winds down some, moaning softly, and he smokes like a freight train. But we're more than halfway to the address his peers gave me.
 

They have bigger toys here. Some of the ticklers are geeks. That surprised me, at first.
Studying the fried box, they start designing a replacement. It'll take a few days...

So here I am, wandering around a complex full of ticklers and their captives. Being one of those chortling, ejaculating maniacs myself is a very dim memory. At times, watching them - and my own body - I think there just might be something to the idea of staying a winner. One of the hunters.
Tickling - and particularly "devolving" a guy temporarily, reducing a human intellect to that of a purely instinct-driven feral bundle of delightful nerves - is something I'll find hard to give up. Especially my dude. He's treated like royalty, of course. No tickling to speak of. Some tests, but they last only a few seconds. They've been talking his ear off. I like sneaking into the room, where he chain-smokes, and listening to him tell his peers how crazy I made him.
Once I kept him hysterical for twenty-nine hours straight. It took speed and Lafrinex, almost six packs of cigarettes... but that's how much tickling he could handle. No wonder he wanted to spend months on me.

As it turns out the other ticklers can contain me, if they want, but they can't force me to switch places with him. I think this is a very good thing...
Not that I can avoid the payback. One way or another, I expect I'll be staying in this place for a long time - and not just as a valuable oddity, though I'll still be that too. The others want to find out everything they can about the accidental transfer... and how my view of tickling has changed. They really want me to spend hours telling 'em how it's been from my perspective, so I'm treated politely enough.
It's also become clear that they wouldn't force me to step back down and become prey again. Not after five months of being... like they are.

Some of them are almost afraid of me. That usually goes away when we start to communicate. I see things the way they do, and that makes me okay. Humans, after all, are only good for one thing. They can even screw up the process of making more humans. There has been some "guidance" from my team in that area - getting the most ticklish people together. Refining the strain, so to speak.
They all want me to remain a tickler. I "get" them because I've been there, on top, and there's no way they'd ever put themselves into the ticklish body of an animal. In theory they can understand how much I miss orgasms, and even smoking... but they believe I'll come to my senses. So many thousands of ticklish guys to be caught. All that screaming fun.
When we talk shop, I have an angle they don't - I've also been prey. Before I know it I spout off an idea that never occurred to them, and then I get proud and reel off two more.
The rookies are in awe of me. I didn't mean to give 'em ammo to make other humans suffer, but it's too late to take it back now. We have several hundred proven techniques already - so it's not like they really were hard up for the ideas I gave 'em. It could be that I'm rationalizing, though. The tickler mindset.

I watch my body a lot.
He tries to play it cool, like a tickler, but he knows. I watch him jack off - constantly - and smoke all the time. I wonder if he's teasing me, with that animal enjoyment in his pleasures...
He isn't sleeping well. Exciting dreams. And I guess they've made it clear that I don't really have to switch with him.

"Concentrate," one of them says. "Full coverage of the soles."
I do, allowing them to observe from deeper inside. They have a quantifying system that's completely unexplainable...
He's laughing so hard that he can't breathe. The only downside is that this little test has to end after a few seconds. Now that's frustrating.
What they've been saying today is that he's getting more ticklish - even since I brought him here.

The bastard - he's been fucking around in my head. His head. Whatever.
Additional neural pathways will carry more... voltage, so his capacity is increased. More tickling will be experienced discretely, rather than overwhelming him and blurring into delirium. Somehow he's got abilities which other humans don't, and the cocky little fucker is obviously preparing the ground for when I switch back. If I don't, he's supremely screwed now. Addicted to tickling...
Seems to me like it would be a good idea to keep him asleep, at least until we know what he's doing in there. A couple of the other ticklers agree, not being too sure what he's up to - but the possibilities are so interesting that they wouldn't stop him even if they could.

I'm not too happy with the fucker. When the geek-ticklers are done for the day, I make it known I want to talk with him.
"No contact," the leader says. "Zip. I mean it."
"Got it." It's not leaving, but right now I don't care. I've been working up a little test of my own...
He's sitting up in bed and lighting another smoke when I growl in his face. It's terrific watching him freeze like this. I guess he knows who I am.
"So," I say audibly, "I hear you've been busy. In my head."
He nods. "I'm not doing any damage."
"But you're adding some improvements... from a tickler's point of view."
"Just in case," and he laughs - at me! - "you decide to let us chain you down again. For mutual fun."
"Uh-huh," I sigh. My chances of getting out of this facility are looking worse than ever. Thanks to him. It's time to see if he's fucked things up as much as I think he has. And I'm feeling mean. Happy-mean. "Your soles... Are they tingling now?"
"All the time."
"Is it a feather-tingle, or more like fingers?"
He grunts. Both legs move a little.
I don't give him a chance to answer. "Maybe satin? Medium pressure, not going anywhere. Not ever stopping. Up, and down."
He's staring at his feet. "No. Stop it."
"You feel all ten fingers, right?"
With a snort, he fights the urge to laugh. Oh, yeah, he's good and scared.
"Or is it twenty?"
"Haw haw haw haw..." He rolls over, clutching his sides. Laughing helplessly.

Amazing. Of course, I'll be susceptible to this myself. But for now, dammit, I've got his ass. All I have to do is whisper in his ear. "It's crippling, isn't it? More gloves are landing -"
"Staaaap ah hah hah hah haaaaah."
"Wrists - snug leather. Holding you down."
He wails and screeches for me, flopping harder. His arms aren't moving as much, though.
"Now they've got your legs," I say, nice and loud. "Leather. Cuffed down."
Squealing, he bounces as much as he can. None of his limbs are helping. Sweat is breaking out all over his body, and the laughter is getting slower, and more gutsy.
"Now," I tell him, "on both feet, the tickling can really... explode."
He screams, pounding his head on the pillow.
"Hard tickling! Fast. Full soles, each toe, instep, internal lateral, external lateral, heels. You can't begin to track it all. Brisk - faster. Smart fingers. Firm. So solid. Total."
His laughter picks up so much that it fades away. He pants nicely. I've really got him now.
"Feel it. Try to register it all - and you can't. Try to pass out - and they won't let you. Not ever. Pleasure, more and more and more, endless, and it'll go on all night. Fifty fingers."
His body goes slack... rather suddenly.
"No. You will not pass out."
Wonderfully, he perks right up. Cool.

"Before you turn inward and really concentrate on the fingers, tickling, tickling, pinning your arms down, your thighs - finding your knees and tickling 'em hard, jumping onto your ribs, and now your neck -"
He jerks his head around.
"No escape. Hands got you, and they're hungry. All-night tickling. Sneak one more look -"
Ah, his eyes pop open.
"See the brushes. A dozen, for each side. Dripping with oil."
His mouth opens wider.
"Yes. They're real, and you know they've already won. Here they come. Nipples -"
His eyes slam shut, and he jerks spasmodically.
"Across your nipples. Steadily. Feel them start in your armpits. Breastbone. Navel. Belly. Throat."
I get to watch him react to each new location.

"Stay just like this. You will not miss out on a single instant. The brushes shift around, so your torso is covered. So will the gloves. All over you... Now the satin trades, one by one, for oiled latex -"
Drool starts to run down his chin.
"And one hand starts teasing your crotch. But you can't even cringe now. You got that? And the tickling continues on all these places, even as it rotates around your legs, shins, calves, biceps, ass-cheeks, ears, fingers. Solid, universal tickling. Feel it more. More. Increasing. Nothing will stop the hands, and the brushes. This could easily go on all night. Full-bore sensation covers you now. In a while, one of the hands will make you cum - and the ticklishness will ignite. Really take off. Making this current moment seem like a soothing massage. And it will keep increasing. You can no longer laugh. You can no longer move..."
As I watch, his torso relaxes.

"But you feel the sensation more strongly each minute. The tickling is ramping up again now. Mind-blowing. It will be a long, long time until you pass out, and until then you'll focus as hard as you can on the stimulation, trying to survive all this tickling, increasing tickling, perfect tickling... Nothing else exists. And when you hear a whistle, you can't think with words anymore. Tickling is all. Tickling is everything. Always increasing. You're getting horny, but all of your concentration will stay on the tickling, which is getting stronger and stronger and stronger. Full tickling, complete tickling. No words. All pictures, then all impulses... all instinct."
I whistle softly.
The only sign I need is the eye movement under his closed lids. I'm satisfied.
He's really locked in tight.
Becoming aware of my surroundings again, I detect a dozen ticklers here. Thunderstruck.
One of them finally rouses itself. "You have to... tell us how you did that."

It shouldn't be possible, they say. Some are so eager to see what else I can contribute...

"Aw, you can't go back," a rookie says. They all agree. "Why would you wanna be prey?"
They remind me of puppy dogs - or young teenagers without a trace of cruelty in 'em. They're just out to have fun. The more I communicate with them, the clearer it becomes that they just can't understand why any human would turn down boundless pleasure. What they love to do couldn't possibly be torture, they insist. Amazing. They're so open, too. Purely hedonistic and continually happy...
They've given me a whole new perspective. I think my kidnapper really did believe - as they do - that it was doing me a favor. Pleasure. The rookies are so damn playful that I interpret the motivation for their limitless cruelty in a whole new way.
With the power we have, the humans could be in overwhelming agony for all those months. But the ticklers dismiss that idea immediately, as "dumb." Self-defeating. Their favorite pastime makes the victims laugh and smile.
 

The geeks tell me they've got the new chip made. The transfer box is repaired.
"Are you still up for this?"
"Yeah. I think."
They have a good laugh. "Be sure. Let's say... Tomorrow?"

"Hey," one of them signals. A rookie. "We got an idea."
"You do, huh?"
"How long has it been since you had a hard fuckin' run on one of them? That'll get you straightened out."
Damn, it sounds like a great idea.

One more night to remember. Turbo.
He's definitely more ticklish now. I'll be on the receiving end, soon enough... but for now I've got him. Oh, yeah.
I just about tickle his teeth out...
 

Looking into the video monitor, he's guiding me as I place the electrodes. We need to duplicate what happened, except with their reversed circuit in the box.

"Fuck!" he yells. "Ow!"
No. We're 0-for-2. Maybe I am supposed to stay like this...
Almost all the voltage is diverted away from him, but I guess it still hurts.
"Sorry, sorry," one of the techies says.
"We don't get this soon," he complains, "I'm gonna kill something."
I chuckle at him. "If we don't get this to work... dude... you're still my prey."
He gulps real nice.
"Enough teasing, already," another tickler says. "Let's try it again."
I pick up the electrodes -
His ribs look so damn ticklish.
"Wait," I hear myself say. "Uh... Wait. I don't know."

He closes his eyes. I think he's fighting to keep from saying something -
"Of course you don't," one of the geeks says. It feels like another rookie. "Think of what you're giving up."
"C'mon," he whines. "Don't prolong this shit."
"Well, I'm sorry," I say. "It's just -"
"Let's take a break," the leader of the geek-ticklers says. "If I could make a suggestion -"
"Sure."
"There's one or two animals here who look a lot like this one."
After a few seconds, I understand. "Yeah. Thanks."
"At least give me a cigarette," he grumbles. And one of the ticklers does, but I notice it's not taking the cuffs off him. And I'm glad.
"Dude," the rookie says to him, "if you were it, and not... y'know, him - wouldn't you have trouble committing? Can you blame it?"
"Try 78," the leader tells me. "Take your time."

I find the room and enter it. Watching him sleep, I acquire his history. No firsthand tickling info, but some kind of dossier is there. Fourth nab, seventh cumulative month. He's been around enough to know.
There is a resemblance...
Clinking the lighter open and closed, I wake him up. He knows immediately where he is. A quick tug on the restraints is all he needs.
It's so incredibly enjoyable to pick up gloves, and pull 'em on. He squirms under me. Robust, ticklish prey. His feet are mine for the taking. Torso, neck, knees -
Crotch.
If I wish, I can even nab him after his current tickler is through. I can hunt him over and over again, or take him to my own dungeon for the next few years. He's 26. At least two more decades in him, probably, if he's handled right.
I can virtually own his ass.
Every time I absently move the gloves a little, he's expecting the torture to start. Pleasure, definitely. And hysterical overload. Too much ecstasy. Three hot ideas occur to me, one right after another. The toe restraints and oil are right here...
But.

I know how it is. For him. I've been there. His day will be long, and feverish, no matter what. And he wants more than anything to get away from here.
It would be so easy to bring the gloves down and make him roar.
Hell, I can't save him. Any of them. They're prey. Good for only one thing. But I don't feel like being the one who makes him suffer. I know better than any tickler - other than the one that kidnapped me - that it's too much. I suffered. Far more pleasure than I could stand.
I don't want to be the one making him delirious today.
His cock is getting hard, and the sight of it almost makes me sad. A very untickler attitude. That dick belongs to him. I know how he feels about it - and I don't even want to borrow it, no matter how much more ticklish he'll get.
No. This isn't what I want.
I move the fingers, threatening him. Immediately he starts to giggle. A hopeless sound. I made it, and I'll probably make it again - and damn, his belly is just calling to me - but I know exactly how he feels. Conditioned, caught, no way to shut down, waiting for the inevitable.
Even being prey, a limited little human, is better than causing this kind of despair to one of my own.
I light him a smoke, and drop the gloves.
His face looks so stunned.

Okay, I say, returning to the electrodes. Let's do it.

On the fourth try...
I feel so cramped. Can't move. The sheet under me has a million little fingers...

"We had to drug you," the leader says. "Too much sensory input. You'll re-adapt in time."
"Maybe I made a mistake," I sigh.
There's a great pause. "You're kidding."
"Yeah. I'm just so much... smaller."

My kidnapper watches me. Not sure how I can tell, but I'm just waiting for its hands to get busy. There are no words to describe how much it probably wants to nuke my ass...
A cigarette floats to me, and then a lighter.
There are voices overhead. Taunting. They're welcoming back the tickler that caught me. Messing with it -
Shit - the smoke is making me dizzy. I'm craving it, though...
"Well?" I snap. As in, get on with it.
"Wrong." It's the voice I least want to hear right now. "Not unless you want me to fuck with you, and the others are convinced you mean it," it says calmly. "None of us are gonna tickle you. We had a deal. Though I am gonna find me some prey, right this minute, and rock his fuckin' world."
"78," the rookie-geek says. "Oh, yeah. Scram can wake up my dude, and it'll be cool with that - since you've been... uh, out of the game for so long."
I can't imagine what a world of tickling I just brought down on that guy in 78. Maybe it's not my fault, but I feel for him.
 

But I know, one way or another, that all deals can be gotten around...

"Dude!"
I spin around. The hall is empty -
"Aaaaaaaw..."
Three, four voices, all excited. Whizzing around me. It's the rookies.
"You didn't! Fuckin' prey?"
"I did."
"Is an orgasm that good? You gave up a lot..."
"Well, uh, yeah."
"Can't believe you did this."
"Sucker."
"Moron."
Hands grab my arms. "Let's do him right here."
"I'm off-limits," I say quickly.
"Bullshit." Hands pick up my ankles, and bend my legs. My feet are out in front of me now, as if I'm sitting in an invisible deck chair.

"Yeah," one growls happily. They're just rarin' to go.
"Wait, now. I could tell you... Uh, if you wanna understand why I'd do such a stupid thing -"
"Totally stupid," one of them shoots back.
"We got some nice, ticklish feet here," a different voice laughs. "Check 'em out."
"But he's off the hook - for now."
Various sounds of disappointment surround me, and they set me back down.
"Get going, then. You're gonna answer our questions."
"And we got a whole lotta questions," one teases me.
"I'll get the beer."
"And some cigarettes," I say, like it's a command.
"Ooooo, listen to this animal. Thinks he's special."
"Let's fuck him up. They won't find out."
"You better not," I laugh, feeling more humble.
"You've got an angle we could use," a voice says easily. "Even if you are so fuckin' stupid."
That makes me nod. "I know, I know."
"Turn right, here. We're going out to the patio."
"Pump him... for information."
"Damn right."
From one of the rooms I'm passing, a coil of rope floats out. Following me.

Later, after hours of questioning, they finally carry me to bed and cuff me down. It feels more like a bachelor party prank than a threat...
I'm just about asleep when a door closes.
"There he is."
Instantly, I'm afraid to breathe. That voice. It's my captor.
"Don't worry," it says quietly. "I'm not gonna jump you."
"Then why did you close the door?"
"Just to see that expression come over your face. Ooooh shit."
It laughs, and I finally see the humor too. I have to think like a tickler, and not as a victim. But, yeah, then it is funny. My kidnapper is definitely more relaxed now, compared to the last time I heard it - and I know how it got that way.

"But you are gonna jump me," I suggest.
"As soon as you give me the green light. You're history."
"Oooooh. I'm so scared."
It snorts once. "Believe it or not, the only reason I came looking for you right now - at least the only thing I can get away with, here - is to see if there's anything you need."
"I'm ready to get out of here."
"Yeah, well, I don't doubt that. But it hasn't even been a whole day since... something else happened that shouldn't even be possible. We want you to rest up for awhile."
"Convenient."
"If you try to step back and look at this objectively, dude, as if it were happening to somebody else, I think the wisdom of monitoring you - and me - for a few more days is pretty clear."
I think for a few seconds, and sigh. "Yeah. I suppose."
"And there's still a thousand questions they wanna ask, tests they wanna run... That's the price you pay for being the first."
"Just great. I didn't ask for any of this."
It laughs. "Well, neither did I. Should've been a routine five or six months. Thrashing your ass."
"Nine months, maybe... So. Any chance of getting a cheeseburger around here?"
The door opens. "Allow me to show you to the kitchen." One of my wrist-cuffs is unclipped from the strap...

"I think this is all another head-game, but I'll ask anyway - why are you being nice to me?" I ask quietly, padding down the hall.
"It's pragmatic."
"But... You know I really hated you. Before the switch."
"That's a prey-thing. Hatred. If revenge can't be properly administered, there's nothing to be gained by the negative feelings. Bide my time, and do what I can."
I'm not exactly encouraged by that answer. "Okay. Uh -"
"The other thing," it says cheerfully, "is that you gave me a unique insight into how you guys tick. Embarrassment is one of those negative things. Do it, and move on. I mean, the wealth of information you ended up giving me is going to make things... so much more amusing, for so many men. I can't wait."
"Well, now I feel like a total snake."
It laughs harder still. "It'll pass. Get some food in ya - no, now wait, I should be saying I have just the antidote to make you feel better, and all you have to do is give me permission to cheer you up my favorite way."
"You almost missed an opportunity to reel me in, there," I say sarcastically.
"Turn left," it chuckles. "Maybe I'm not fully myself yet..."
 

The first night of dreams didn't throw me. Maybe it was the cheeseburger.

But the next night, and whenever I try to take a nap - dreams like I've never had before. More real than... waking life. The tickler fucked me up but good.

"It'll wear off," one of the geeks says. "You're still adapting."
"This is the fifth day, and I'm so tired... That son of a bitch did something to me -"
"Yeah, but not this. Think for a minute. Prey needs sleep. It's no fun unless it gets enough sleep."
"Dammit. I'm not reassured."
"We'll scrounge up some sleeping pills. You gotta quit worrying about this."
"Yeah, sure..."
 

I sit outside and smoke. Tired - the pills seem to make the dreams go away, but I wake up with the feeling that I missed something important. Jacking off more isn't doing the trick.
A bottle of beer is floating in my direction.
"Thanks," I say mechanically, taking it.
"You're welcome."
"Oh - it's you."
It chuckles. "Glad to... hear me?"
"What did you do? In my head?"
"I made things better."
"You were just prey, dammit. Figuring out how to change the physical structure, or whatever -"
"I don't know," it admits, "but who could pass up an opportunity like that? Could you?"
For a minute, I don't say anything. "Tell me what you did."
"Y'know, you're looking really tense. How 'bout... I give you a neck rub. And then I'll tell you."
"I don't want a fuckin' neck rub from you."
"Suit yourself. See you later."

"Wait." I want to know if it'll tell me anything. Of course, this is the last tickler I want touching me -
"Okay," it says.
Suddenly I need a few chugs of beer. Even a few hints would help me figure out what to expect... "No tickling."
"Aw," it teases. "Does the animal want a little neck rub, though?"
"No, but - go ahead."
Immediately there are fingers sliding up, high on my spine.
The weirdest wave runs down my body...
Every cell of my body wants something. Dying for it. Only one thing will set me right.
"Your mouth is wide open," the tickler tells me. I can't move.
It's like the fucker found a button I didn't know I had. My body feels like it's going into shock from a... lack of tickling. I'm still not used to wearing clothes yet - and now this. The warmth from my ears right down to my heels is desperately craving one thing, even more than sex. This need blows everything else away.

The fingers caress the top of my neck. "I guess you know," it says happily. "Look at you."
Right there, on the patio, I want it to tickle the living fuck out of me...
There's a joy buzzer in my head. Low, in the back, and the tickler put it there. I think it was sheer concentration that did it. I returned to my body and now this fuckin' switch is there, and I don't even know if it can be turned off.
Do you want it?" the tickler says, almost whispering. "More than anything you've ever wanted before?"
I manage to groan.
"Guess you're gonna have to tell the other ticklers. And be real convincing, right? Or else I can't... tickle you."
The very thought of it not tickling me makes me wanna cry.

I've been talking to the leaders for a good fifteen minutes. They know something's up...
One the one hand, I'm clear about what I want. But even though it's in their nature to make prey howl, the spirit of the deal seems to have been violated. That seems to make them reluctant. Since I never imagined begging for tickling before, the irony of the situation only pisses me off.
They decide to pack up a car, hand me a huge bag of drugs and throw me out. In a month, if I'm still "needing" it, then they'll believe me... and they aren't done with their tests and questions. But for now, they advise me to stay as fucked up as possible and try to get over the compulsion.

It does not cheer me up to leave.
About five miles down the road, I drop my cigarette - or rather, it's pulled from my fingers. Cloth falls over my eyes, and - whew! - a whole bunch of hands pin me to the car seat...

The cabin is so far down in a ravine that I wonder if I'll ever get back up to the highway.
Gloves hustle me inside without a word. My resistance is more of a token thing. Fuckin' leather gloves are getting me where I belong, and no prey has ever needed it worse...
They strip me and cuff me down to the bed.
And then the gloves fall on me. Lifeless.

Minutes go by, and I rage at... everything. Get back here and tickle me, dammit.
Somewhere around the hour mark I get so frustrated that I start to cry.

The snot has hardened on my face. I don't like this at all.
Hours crawl by, with the need spiking until it's just ridiculous, blinding... and then it stays like that for a long time, finally winding down only to ramp up again.

I have to piss.
No towel floats over to clean that up, either.
Nobody's listening - and I know that - but I still beg for a cigarette until I'm hoarse.

This is the worst thing it's done yet.
I am gonna fuckin' die if the gloves don't spring to life now. A feather, even one lousy feather, starting on my feet - that's what I need.
I beg these gloves, and threaten 'em... but they're not moving at all.
 

The hunger is still here. It won't be satisfied, and I'm lost somewhere in it now.
It seems like I must've been asleep until recently. Yawning, I open my eyes and study the tattoos on my right arm. All of the signposts...
If I was ever more miserable in my life, I don't remember when that was.
Then it becomes clear that I'm actually looking at my arm - and I can move it. The restraints are gone. Rolling over, it relieves me to see cigarettes and a bottle of water laying there.

By about the fourth smoke, I decide I've had enough of smelling like piss.
A sink full of cold water is not my idea of a good time, but at least there's some soap. My hair's gonna look like shit. Still on autopilot, I get dressed before I even realize what I'm doing - and wearing clothes doesn't seem to bother me as much.
There's coffee in the kitchen cupboard, but building a fire is too much work. I fish a couple of uppers out of the drug-bag instead. Leave it there. Look at the bed, sigh, and go open the front door...
The car is gone.
"Going somewhere?"
The voice is behind me, but it's not my kidnapper. I think it's a rookie - the one that always seemed a little more sinister than the others...
It grabs my arms, and I feel handcuffs close around my wrists.
"Take a good look," it says, with a chuckle or two. "The door closes now."
"Where's, uh -"
"Your owner? It'll be along soon enough. Just can't wait, huh?" Hands steer me back to the bed.

"Fuck," I bark. "You're not gonna tickle me either?"
"Sure," it says. "All of us rookies - that's the word you used, right? - we're gonna shred your ass. Just not right now."
"But..." It's dawning on me that the last fifteen minutes of hinting and whining are probably not a good idea. I don't want it to lay a finger on me... and yet I need it to get busy. I'm confused.
"If I take the cuffs off, will you behave?"
I want a cigarette, so I nod hopefully.

Later, the window opens - and a tray floats in.
"Alright," a familiar voice says. Another rookie.
"Hey," I mumble, watching the tray.
"You're so stupid," yet another one says.
"Prey. Yeah," the first one says, like it's obvious I'm an idiot. "What do you expect."

After they feed me, hands take their time stripping my clothes off... and laying me back down. Strap after strap is wrapped around or laid over, and tightened...
"I'm gonna catch me some toes," one of the ticklers says, happy as it could be.

Now there's at least four of the bastards I recognize, hanging just over my seriously immobilized body... and they're taunting the shit out of me. Telling me all the ways they're going to stick it to this area or that one.
I was getting loopy after the first five minutes but they've kept going for, oh, the better part of an hour now. Gleefully describing what they're going to do to me. Someday. And I believe them. Laid out like this while they gloat - and don't touch - is more frustrating than anything else I can remember. And that's saying a lot...

There was a click, and I wake right up. Dark...
"Uh - gang?"
"No," my kidnapper says. "Just you and me."
"You know... what I need," I groan. "You did this to me. C'mon."
"Are you sure?"
That pisses me off. "Since when does it matter?"
"Well..." A feather appears from alongside the bed, and then another. Whew. "Something weird happened to me."
"I know. I was there."
"Not that. Just since we switched back." It twirls the feathers, knowing I could hardly be a better audience if I tried. "I wanted to get my hands on you again. Obviously."
After a few seconds I finally say, "Yeah?"
"And it's been great getting back to it. Digging into prey... like you. Making 'em come unglued." It sighs, sounding happy. "But there's something else I want even more."
Some odd things are starting to gel for me. I nod quickly -
"The ultimate pleasure, and I can't stop thinking about it, is reuniting the team. We got a unique thing, here. You and me. With you strapped down, of course. Not me."
"No," I say, almost panting. "Not you."
"There's just one more little thing, prey. I can't get over how much I need to, uh, hear it. From you."
Suddenly I understand what it means. "I don't want to be tickled," I tell the feathers.
Ten full seconds go by.

"You don't?"
The disappointment in its voice makes it impossible for me to keep from laughing any longer. "Yeah. Just kidding."
"Why... I oughta -"
Invisible hands start covering my legs, wham wham wham wham, one right next to another. I can't see them, but the feel is such a huge relief. I can't stop giggling.
"You really had me going," the tickler admits.
"That was p-priceless," I crow. Of course I knew what it wanted to hear. The way it thinks is so much clearer to me than it was before -
"If you don't back out, right this fuckin' instant, I'm gonna make you regret it."
I try to get one last good breath. The fingers are already doing me in, and it's not even moving them yet. There's one attitude that's guaranteed to get me what I gotta have...
"Chickenshit."
"Oh, yeah," the tickler barks, with a laugh or two.
Every hand rubs and tickles. A pair of gloves leaps up and mauls my armpits. It's just excruciating.
I can't complain.

12jun2005