Due stumbled in the dark. The 'shrooms were making it hard to walk, and he finally had to get up and piss away some of the six-pack he'd sucked down...
Laughing, somebody grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet.
"Okay there, sparky?" Guy's voice. Sounded friendly enough.
"Y-yeah," he said. But he was wobbly. Grinning, he turned around to thank the guy -
Nobody there.
Closing his eyes real hard, Due looked again...
The hands were still holding him up - even though there wasn't another soul in sight.
"Where are you?" he said.
"What do you mean?" The voice came from right over his head. "I'm right here. How fucked up are you?"
"Oh, I'm cruisin'," Due said, and he laughed. The 'shrooms. Of course. "I can't see you at all."
"It's dark out here."
"Yeah, but... Shit. It's like you're a ghost."
The voice laughed. "Boo. Don't go wreckin' your buzz."
"Not a chance."
"Can you stand up?"
He thought about it. "Uh..."
"Fucker. Headin' for the latrine?"
And that reminded Due that he needed to piss. "Yeah."
"C'mon, then." The hands carried him.
"Wish I could see you," he said, starting to wonder. "You must be big."
"Enormous," the voice shot back easily. "But don't worry about me. I'm here to trip on the festival."
Due tried to look behind him again, but he felt really drunk. "Yeah! Me too. Isn't this great?"
"Gettin' better all the time... Oh. The name's Manos."
"Cool name," Due said. "They call me Due."
"Due, huh? Alright." The voice got quieter. "Say, we got the whole fuckin' desert here. Why do we have to go in those stinky outhouses?"
He nodded. "You're right." And he didn't want to say it, but he had to wizz pretty seriously.
"Other guys are doin' it."
"Let's go -"
Manos immediately turned to the left. Anything that meant Due could piss sooner was okay with him. This Manos guy was cool. Must've been a big fucker, though. He carried Due along like he was nothin'...
Walking up the sand would've been too much for him, because he had to pee so bad it hurt. But Manos carted him right up.
"You catch the Outerlet show?"
"Yeah," Due said. "Not bad."
"The chicks dug it," Manos snickered. And Due laughed then, 'cause about thirty women took their tops off and danced all around. That was great. But it also sounded like Manos wasn't gonna try anything weird - and Due was real dizzy. But he hoped emptying his bladder would help that. Getting laid was part of the whole festival thing, but he decided Manos was just an okay dude - and he'd been heading for the bathroom himself, right? So Due relaxed.
He fuckin' had to get more of those 'shrooms. Totally making people invisible... that's some excellent shit.
"You gotta try these 'shrooms," Due told Manos.
"Yeah? You got any left?"
"No," he finally said.
"Too bad."
They stopped - well, Manos made him stop - on the top of the little dune. "How 'bout here?"
And that was really cool of him, because he wasn't trying to pull anything. They were up where anybody could hear 'em, if they yelled. Due could hear some people cheering, and they didn't sound that far away. Besides, he had to go right now.
"Perfect," Due said, fumbling with the buttons on his fly. He faced the lonely desert and watered it. "Unnnnhhh."
Manos shifted him a little, to get a better grip - and let go. "Whoops -"
The hands clamped right back on. But they got his ribs.
"Whooooo-whoo," he squeaked.
"Sorry, sorry," Manos said...
But the hands didn't move.
Due squirmed and clenched his teeth. He was determined not to say anything, because the dude's hands were big and it would be all too easy for him to - well, all Due could think about was what his cousins would do, if they were holding him like that. Fuck. And not only that, but pulling out of Manos' grip probably meant rolling down the sand dune, and that wouldn't be cool.
At least the dude didn't do anything... embarrassing. Didn't even say a word.
But his hands were still there. Right there. The thumbs were way too close to Due's armpits.
Neither of 'em said anything. Due came to the conclusion that it wasn't a good idea to drink that much, if the 'shrooms were so intense this year.
Uh, all done," he said. "I owe ya one."
"Aaaaah," Manos said easily. One hand, and then the other, let go of him...
Due lurched, but he still managed to button his fly. Turning around, he still didn't see anybody on the sand dune with him.
"Fuckin'... trippy," he chuckled. "Hey. You smoke? I wanna see that. You're invisible, Manos. Will I see the cigarette float around?"
The other guy made a dismissive sound. "Know what? we oughta hang out tomorrow. Drop some of those 'shrooms. You camping here?"
"Uh - yeah. On the mesa. My friends are showing up before the big concert."
"Great."
And Due's legs buckled.
"Hey, there," Manos said -
Immediately a hand got Due by the scruff of the neck. And it had almost felt like something bumped into his knees and sorta.. knocked his feet out from under him. He started to snicker nervously.
The fingers did something. Poked him. Right side of his neck, toward the back side, real deep.
"Ow," he said.
Wind. Hot wind. The taste of sand.
Bouncing.
Due opened his eyes.
He was in a car - no. A jeep.
And he was alone. Sitting in the driver's seat. But it was doing at least thirty. The headlights weren't even on.
Well, how fuckin' weird. He reached up to rub his forehead... and discovered he was wearing goggles.
"Due!" Manos yelled. "There he is. You okay?"
"Yeah. But wh-"
Pain.
The fingers dug into his neck again.
His own hand went up automatically - and found the fingers. They were big. Surprisingly muscular.
Next thing he knew, it was daylight.
"Hey, it's alive," Manos laughed.
Due groaned. The air was hot, and there wasn't much of a breeze. Indoors. Huh?
He looked around, and saw he was in an old motel room. No glass left in the window frames.
"You thirsty?"
"Uh, yeah."
A six-pack of beer floated up from the floor.
"How... are you doin' that?" Due asked.
There was a pause. "The usual way."
"I can't see you."
"Still?"
"C'mon," he said nervously.
Manos laughed. "Okay. I'll 'fess up. I can be invisible."
No shit, Due thought. "How do you do th-"
A metal cigarette-tin bobbed over. The lid opened up. "'Shroom?"
After a few seconds, Due laughed...
Powerful shit.
"No, really," he slurred, "What's the deal?"
"Deal?"
"What the hell are you up to?"
"Okay," Manos said. "Um. I need your help."
"You need my help." Due wasn't buying it.
"Hey, I helped you. Last night."
"Kidnapped me, more like it."
"Oh, relax."
"Well -"
A bundle of papers came over to him. Stapled together, like a manual or something. He reached out and took it.
Kamikaiji
The Pleasure of Strength
Due read further down...
"What's MATI? Never heard of it."
There's a long pause. "Uh... They're all over. Invitation-only. Real private. They've been around for years."
He leans back again. "What do they do?"
"They're like massage therapists. Heh. Advanced stuff. Real exclusive."
"Okay," Due said, not interested anymore.
The manual was pulled out of his hands, and it opened up in the air. A couple pages flipped over. "Uh... Kamikaiji is a traditional art of whole-being elevation that has only recently touched many people in the technoanarchistic world -"
"Enough, I get it." It was basically the same shit he'd read a hundred times, in different places.
"Well," Manos said.
"Well, what?"
"I wanna learn this shit."
Due didn't get it. "Nobody's stopping you."
"Good."
Invisible hands clamped down on Due's shins.
"Let go," he warned.
"You said I could," Manos grumbled.
"I didn't mean you could do it on me!"
"Well -"
"Let go, dammit."
"Nobody's gonna stop me." Its tone was different.
"C'mon," Due said worriedly, trying to kick.
"I wanna do this."
"Forget it!"
More hands got Due by the biceps, and pushed him down.
"I'll be really careful."
"Let me go -"
His belt started unbuckling.
"This is gonna be so great!" Manos said gleefully.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh - the clothes? They gotta go. Direct contact, dude."
Due thrashed around, but he was stripped anyway. Then something closed around his right wrist -
Black leather. A cuff.
"This is not happening," he said to it, watching it buckle.
"Sure it is," Manos shot back.
He fought for all he was worth. More cuffs, and straps, caught him anyway.
"There," his captor said. "Well, maybe a strap across your waist."
"You can't do this to me!"
"Oh, yeah? Looks like I am."
"Haaaalpppp!"
"Nobody's gonna hear you." Singsong voice.
"What... now? What the hell are you gonna do?"
"I already told you."
The manual floated into the air, and opened up.
"Chakra time," Manos mumbled.
"Huh?"
The book bobbed a little, and Manos read from it. "Kamikaiji opens the chakras with joyful endorphic energy."
"Bullshit," Due snapped. "That's so much crap."
"Somebody needs another 'shroom," Manos replied.
It had to force his jaws open...
"Where did you get these fuckers?" Due sighed.
"You like?"
"Hell, yeah. I like."
"Good. You need to be relaxed."
He pulled at the straps...
"I am definitely not going to hurt you, Due."
"This sucks."
"Aaaawww. Okay. History of kamikaiji, blah blah blah," and a page flipped over. "Purify the environment. Well, this room's about as pure as it's ever gonna be." Another page moved. "Hmmmm. Fill your hands with loving energy."
Manos laughed fairly hard at that, making Due nervous enough to pull at the restraints again.
"Ooooo. Okay then. A typical session lasts between three and four hours, up to four sessions in a twenty-four hour period.'"
"Hours?" he yelled.
"Yep."
"Oh, shit," he wailed. "Whatever the hell this is, I do not wanna do it."
"I know, guy," Manos said. "The seeker - that's you, dude - will lack the patience and self-control to remain immobile. That's why you're strapped down. Uh... Do not resent their reflexive attempts to evade your hands. Well, huh."
"Don't do this. Manos. Really."
"Pffffftt," and it made a dismissive noise. "This is gonna be so cool. Suggested totems and supplies are covered in detail in chapter 5. Okay. Location... as private as possible. Seekers usually display enthusiastic reaction that, heh heh, defies belief."
"Look," Due said, "this is not reassuring - at all."
"Easy there, buckaroo."
"I'm begging. Okay? I'm gonna beg you not to do this."
Another page was turned. Manos started humming quietly. "Here we go. Yeah. Getting started. Uh... There are eighteen major zones on the seeker's body. Six types of unagasu... techniques. Fuck. How am I gonna remember all this?"
"Manos -"
"Trusting your instincts is an important key. Cool... You cannot be too careful... Oh. Dig this. Another key mantra is 'time has stopped.' Heh. I like that a lot. Conduct the session as if you have all the time in the world."
Due sighed.
Another page was turned...
"I can't do this, Manos. Whatever the excuse is, you gotta listen to me."
"You don't have to do anything. Just lay there. Try to have a little faith, willya? Uh... Start with 'em flat on their backs, yeah yeah... Confirm that the seeker is not experiencing discomfort solely from the restraints, since they will not be removed for many hours."
Due wailed.
"What? Are the cuffs pinching you?"
"No, but I -"
"Alright. Care and feeding. I'll check that out when we get there. Here we go."
"Please don't. Manos. Please, please pl-"
Gloves.
A pair of oily leather gloves were floating, taking shape... and zeroing in.
"What the hell?" he said.
"You like 'em?"
"No! I don't, uh, believe this." He slammed around, but the gloves spread out across his belly.
"You ready?"
"You're not going to do this... uh..."
"I'm ready," Manos said. "Oh, yeah."
There was a horrible pause.
"This is called 'hateshiganai-doutai'... or 'fathomless torso.' Hmmmm..."
The gloves pressed down - not too much - and Due went rigid, moaning.
"Aw, now, that doesn't hurt," Manos said.
"No, Manos, nooooooo..."
The gloves started kneading.
"Oooo hooo hooo hooo-oooooo huh hah hah hah -"
"How's that feel?"
"Aaaah-haaaaaaah haaeeeeee -
"Yeah?"
He bounced as hard as he could, but the gloves had a lock on him. They worked as if his whole body was a cock, and they were out to jack it off as thoroughly as they could. "Eeee heeeeee-eee heeee heeeeeeeee..."
"Good. Real good."
After a few minutes, Due pissed himself.
The gloves kept roaming all over his midsection, careful and deliberate. It seemed that Manos was gaining confidence, and it was certainly enthusiastic.
He had no idea how long the gloves tickled him. That seemed like a sure sign that it wasn't all that much time at all.
Manos made him drink some water...
Fearfully, Due looked around for the gloves.
What he saw, instead, was four long, pointy feathers.
"Nooooooo -"
"Aw, Due."
"Please. Let me go. Please."
This next one's called... kikai-buyou. The outrageous dance."
Due was delirious in no time at all. His feet - unbelievable. Even the laughter dwindled.
"Fifty more minutes."
Due opened his eyes. There was no way he heard Manos correctly. "Whuh. Heh huh huh huh. Wha?"
"Says so, right here." The manual bobbed up. "Try for a full hour. No matter what the seeker says or does, do not stop the feathers - not even for a second. Gradually increase the speed -"
"Naaaah hah hah hah haaaah!"
He laughed until his throat was raw.
"Oh, fuck," Manos said quietly.
"What?"
"I screwed up."
"No k-kidding. Let me go. Let me go now!"
"That wasn't a full hour."
He lifts his head. "I don't care. Just get these cuffs off -"
"I can't believe I did that," Manos said. "I started at thirteen after, not eleven after."
Blinking... "Two minutes? So?"
"Yeah. Sorry, dude."
"Two minutes. Close enough."
"Well, the manual said an hour."
"Fuck the manual! Let me outa here!"
"Let's see... 'A full hour'. Yeah."
The feathers started rising up!
"So we gotta do it again."
"Bastard! No," he shouted, lunging all around.
'I'll get it right this time," Manos said.
But already, Due was giggling too hard to say a thing.
Time just fuckin' stopped, when it was workin' him over. Due had no guess at all, how many hours it had been... or how many more hours it was gonna fuck with him.
"Kuraku-kurojusu."
He wailed softly...
"That means 'the pleasure and pain of black satin.'"
"Manos, you stupid fucker, I'm begging y-"
"This is so cool."
Due couldn't bear to look.
Sweet fingers, almost. Tantalizing and soft.
Inside his thighs, his elbows, tracing across his belly...
His arms wouldn't move.
That was, by far, the longest day of his life - but it was over. Why couldn't he move?
Eyes wide open, all of a sudden.
Dirty ceiling. He was in the abandoned motel. Still there. More.
"No," he said softly.
"Due, my man," Manos greeted him.
Something - light - touched his - feet - and kept - on - moving - real - gently -
"No no no no," he protested, trying to get his body to wake up. Not that it mattered... because there they were, the cuffs. Holding him down again.
"Ssss-ssmoke! Cigarette!" he yelled. "I need one, aw please."
"Nope," Manos said. "They're bad for you."
Due shook his head wildly and started to laugh. He was getting tickled again and it was insane how much he felt it and he didn't want to believe Manos was that fuckin' cruel, but obviously it was.
"Hoo hoo hooo hoo hoooooo." He belted it out, but his voice was shot and it didn't make any more noise than if he'd just whispered it. Trying to roll around didn't get him anywhere.
"They call this one 'shuutou fiibaa'," Manos told him. "The meticulous fever."
Due lifted his head and looked down. Artist's brushes. Long strokes, light, and each brush paused before it landed again. Very careful work.
Except this kind of work was gonna make him go insane - laughing while he did. Yesterday was bad. And now, another day of it?
He snapped at the restraints and laughed harder.
"There you go," it sighed.
Yeah, he'd go bonkers today. Wilder and wilder, just howling his guts out for Manos, and then something would snap. Laughing himself into the nut house - and with his luck, Manos would sneak in there too. Keep him company, whenever there wasn't any other people around. Tickling him all the time. Sure. He was damn near ready to be committed already.
After he couldn't fight anymore, it seemed important to... watch. And he had trouble holding his head up, so it only lasted for maybe twenty seconds or so because the need to laugh came first. Maybe ten furry brushes - his eyes were blurry already, so he wasn't sure of the number - making a ceremony of it, most of 'em on his feet though. Waking him up.
And no fingers holding them.
Due let his head drop, and squirmed for awhile. Giggling and snickering. Nobody there. Manos was invisible, and it had him in the cuffs again. So he'd probably stay caught today. All day. Feeling the brushes, feathers, fingers, whatever else...
He didn't know what Manos looked like, but he kept thinking of a genie. That pissed him off, because he knew the cartoon picture in his head was not historical at all, so revisionist.
But the image he had was... big. That felt right. Manos, it probably had to hunch over him in the hotel room. It only had, what, a ten-foot ceiling. Mammoth genie.
In Due's mind, the idea of Manos made him think of... a big grey dude, real dark grey, with a hemp ballcap on backwards. Enormous cartoon arms, for when it had just one pair of gloves on him. But right now, it would be sorta directing the brushes with little gestures. Reaching for his feet, and maybe all the energy from the tickled spots was zapped over to it, right down the handle of each brush, through the air and into its hands. Ten brushes, ten fingers - that sounded right. Putting a little energy in, and getting a hell of a lot more back out of him.
And its face. That was the most important part. Fucker was happy... That huge, total grin you only see in cartoons. Manos looked innocent, not like it was getting revenge or anything. Due was sure of that, because it usually sounded as if it was his best buddy. It would have a grin that had nuthin' human about it, and eyes that seriously enjoyed watching Due snicker and twitch.
Or maybe the ticklish energy Manos felt from him made it that happy. Due didn't know.
That was impressive, and scary, how fuckin' wholesome and innocent Manos seemed to be...
Then there were lots of other times when there had to be a dozen hands at work. Tickling the fuck out of him.
"This isn't right," he whispered one night, during a break.
"Aw, quit being such a baby."
"Manos, listen to me -"
"I know, I know." There was a pause. "Here."
A cigarette touched his lip. Due didn't hesitate...
"You're welcome," Manos grumbled.
"Oh. Thanks. Really. Uh, look, will you just listen to me for a sec?"
He heard a sigh. "Shoot."
"This is wrong, dude. I mean it."
"We've been over this already."
He took another drag. "You're putting me through something I don't want to - fuck, I can't stand this."
"You're doing just fine, Due."
"It's wrong to do this to me!"
"Bullshit." Its tone was pretty stern. "That's regressive thinking. Right, wrong... Oversimplifying. Why be so absolute about it?"
He fussed with the ropes. "I'm the one getting tickled half to death. You got no right to do this to me."
"Alright, you listen for a change. I got every right to study something that... ummm, brings joy and relaxation. It takes practice. And a little sacrifice, which ain't really hurting you at all. Anyway, I want it and I'm bigger than you. That makes it okay - period. Hell, I'm even letting you smoke."
"Manos -"
"I win. This is gonna keep on happening because I want it to happen. It's right - for me. Deal with it."
Due groaned.
"Tell you what. Let's go to Vegas."
He lifted his head slowly, afraid to hope for too much. "Do you mean it?"
"I got a place there -"
"No, Manos, no more. C'mon."
"And I got tons of money. You'll like Vegas, Due."
Giving the knots a few angry tugs, he finally mumbled, "I seriously doubt it..."
It had been painting him all morning. Thick fur brushes.
"I'm getting the hang of this," Manos said proudly.
Due giggled harder.
Rubber gloves were filling up, and a can floated to his side. It was an old beer can, torn in half, with something thick inside.
"What... is that?," he panted.
"Dye. I made it."
One of the animated index fingers dipped into the inky sludge.
"Energy icons," Manos said - and two gloves pinned down each of his biceps. "'Ikiyouyou'... for high-spirited triumph."
He watched the finger trace a slow curve from his left nipple into his armpit. Due bucked and crowed uncontrollably, but the pressure reversed course. Due kept laughing even after the finger went back for more ink, and when he settled down his right armpit was targeted next.
"'Hitoshirezu'," it said dreamily, "for the inner self. That word also means 'hidden', by the way."
He thrashed weakly as the finger drew intersecting lines.
Next, the glove was headed for his left foot. "No, Manos, I'm begging ya."
"Next is 'nankai mo,' which is for... frequent occurrences." The extra hands holding him down moved to his ankles, and stretched his toes up. "Recharging, or repeating, you could say. A lot."
The pattern made him shake with rowdy laughter.
"Damn," it said quietly. "Guess it's working. And this foot gets 'ganjou' - for firm strength. It says 'burly strength.' Cool, huh? Burly."
Due shook his head as he bellowed silently, wildly...
"One more."
He knew where the finger would go, even as he strained to move away.
"On your package," Manos said cheerfully, "I get to draw 'tsuukai'. Intense, thrilling pleasure."
Shaking his head was worse than pointless, but it was all Due had left to him. The finger still crept down his glans, around, under his ball-sac and over again.
The gloves all let go... Due laid there, without opening his eyes. As he expected, the next sounds were from rubber gloves - being smeared with lube. Fifty taut fingers levitated near him.
"Now, the symbols get rubbed in," Manos said, way too fuckin' happy about it.
He was hysterical as soon as the gloves started tickling, and the last thing he managed to notice was that the dye on his right pec wasn't smearing at all, every bit as permanent as india ink.
Feathers were dusting his meat, and brushes slid between his toes.
Due's fever was on-and-off. He absolutely couldn't stand it, and when he'd start to thrust the brushes moved faster, so he'd end up laughing real hard instead.
"Help me," he groaned.
"Hang in there, sparky."
At least Manos was so pleased with itself that another carton of cigarettes showed up... in one of the boxes that floated in. More beer, and more food.
"You must really think I'm stupid," he remarked.
"Me? No way, Due. Why would you say that?"
"Whoever wrote that damn book, then. A manual for torturing guys -"
"One man's poison is another man's meat."
He snorted. "That's sick. I can't take any more of this."
"Who'd go to all the trouble of writing the manual, then? Dressing it up as a good thing -"
"Good for you. Sure. You're enjoying this."
Manos made a contented snort-noise. Just one. "What, you think they make this stuff up?" The handbook was floating again, and pages flipped idly. "Give it a mysterious name, and the new-agers will buy it 'cause they're too stupid to know any b-" And it paused suddenly. "Ooooo."
Due looked at the manual. "Exactly. That's right." Manos didn't answer him. "Hello?"
"This technique -"
"No. Aw, what now?"
"'Kijutsu-shiruku-netsuke'. Also known as 'the feverish magic of silk'."
Gloves started approaching - eight, ten, twelve - and the closest one took Due's smoke away.
"Don't, Manos. Not again -"
"I gotta try this one."
Hands shook him.
He opened his eyes - and took the cigarette. After he was exhaling smoke, the manual rocked a little. Manos wanted his attention on it...
"The advanced discipline," Manos read, "is known as 'tai kul'. Literally meaning 'big region', it has come to represent profound immersion -"
"Tickle?"
"No. 'Tai kul'. At least say it right."
"Please, Manos... Please."
"Listen. Many seekers have incorporated tai kul as a challenging part of their personal development regimen, frequently enjoying the benefits of its immersive transition into advanced modes of consciousness."
"Whatever excuse you wanna use," Due snapped, "it's still wrong."
"We've been over that. No right, no wrong. Uh... The practitioner - that's me, sparky - assists the impulses of clarifying pleasure in their ancient task - and the seeker benefits from the tautothermic pressure, providing the energy to make possible the amplification of awareness."
"Let me out of here."
"Few other techniques are as direct and uncomplicated. Those who experience it are impressed beyond all preconceived notions and prejudices -"
"That's such a load of crap," he yelled - voicelessly, of course.
"It goes on," and a page was turned, "to explain why you're so hostile to it. Depersonalized society, corruption of neural messages -"
"You can't believe this shit, Manos. It's just your excuse."
It made a sighing noise, as if it was exercising a whole lot of patience. "There's a whole big paragraph on how the restraints allow you to focus. Keep you in the moment."
"Sure there is," he said bitterly.
"If you're gonna be that way," it said, "I'll just have to win you over."
His cigarette was pulled from his lips. "No, no, no, dammit!"
Pages turned again. "Here. 'Igokochinoyoi-yubis'. Also known as... 'the snug fingers'."
Gloves, slipping around his legs and arms, made him convulse.
He was raving.
That didn't stop Manos, of course. The fingers were still making him burn...
"Due," it said gently. "Say it correctly. 'Tai kul'."
"Tickle," he finally whispered.
"'Tai... kul.'"
"T-tickle. Tickle tickle tickle tickle..."
Manos sighed. It didn't sound disappointed at all, not to Due's thinking. "Who's my big ol' 'tai kul' buddy? Huh?"
"Tickle tickle... tickle tickle tickle," he panted. "Hee hee hee."
"That's close enough for now, Due. You just keep on feeling it. I'll keep it coming."
Another long period of sleep was over, and he smoked a couple cigarettes. Waiting.
"Drink some water," it said, "and we'll continue."
No, he thought over and over. Saying it didn't change things, so maybe if he thought it hard enough -
"Next up, this is 'nademawasu-tamaranai'. Or 'unendurable petting and stroking' - but that sounds a little mean. Let's change that to, uh, 'really deep petting and stroking'."
"Let me go, you sadistic bastard -"
"Really, really, really deep."
Oh, hell, brushes and feathers kept showing up and landing on him. It seemed like a couple dozen of each. Due flailed and slung himself around, but they still kept tickling.
"Look at you go," Manos said cheerfully. "Maybe 'unbearable' is a better word."
He was bouncing hard...
In the Jeep. Hands tied behind his back, rope wound snugly between his ankles and his knees.
"Let me go," he whispered.
"We'll hit pavement in a half-hour or so," it shouted, from somewhere over his forehead. "Three more hours, and we're home."
Due yelled, real loud, but the only response was that same sharp pressure poking his neck again...
"Hey, there he is," Manos said warmly. "My helper."
"I gotta get out of here," Due snapped. He was trying to keep calm, but it was a real effort. "Fucked with for days and days. Please, Manos. Please just let me walk around. Go to the Strip -"
"Due. Take it easy."
He felt like yelling, or stamping his feet.
"You need to relax."
And he knew what that meant.
Sure enough, a pair of leather gloves came through the doorway, hanging there between him and the exit.
Exactly the opposite of what he needed, and he didn't even care anymore if Manos was honestly clueless or just fuckin' with his head. He had to get out. The really pathetic thing was that he was desperate enough to come back here, all on his own, if it would just let him hang out in the Luxor for a fuckin' hour or two.
Instead, it had already decided he needed some serious tickling, and its gloves were moving in. Open hands, moving quick when Manos wanted 'em to, cornering their victim.
"Don't, just don't," he whined.
More gloves floated through the door.
They're gonna tickle me again, Due told himself, yes they are. Jingling sounds, quietly starting up behind him, had to be some kind of bondage gear. "Hold him still, nice and comfy, while he gets tickled," he babbled to the gloves.
"Cleasing breath," it instructed, bringing the first pair of gloves much closer. "In through the nose -"
"Noooooooo!" and he ran for the door. But they caught him, easily, and dragged him backward.
"You get so worked up, dude." More gloves took hold of his arms. "But I know how to help ya."
His ass stopped moving. Due looked behind him - the curved rack. It already had the wrist-cuffs open, and the gloves pulled his arms closer to them.
He was already doomed, maybe even from the time it greeted him. Hours of fever. Unable to budge, and if Manos decided he "needed" another hour of masturbation... well, then, he'd get it.
The cuffs buckled down magically, the way they always did. It had his hands trapped. Yeah, he was gonna feel it all.
"There," Manos said. The gloves started taking hold of his shins, and the ankle-cuffs started creaking open. "Due, now listen to me. This town is open all night. I fuckin' promise you can go out, cattin' around. Tonight. Okay?"
"Please, Manos, pleeeeeee-"
His left ankle was cuffed down, and the other buckle was starting to move. "Easy, easy there. You need a few hours of work, but then you can go raise hell. I mean it."
"Y-you said that before," Due sniffled, tugging mechanically.
Manos sighed. "Hmmmm..."
A pill bottle floated into the room.
"I don't really approve of this," it said quietly - almost talking to itself - "but you're pretty far out there." The bottle floated up to his nose and rotated so he could read it.
"Speed?" he said.
"Uh-huh. I'll get you all relaxed, and then you can pop a couple of these and go party."
That confused him. "Do you mean it?"
"Absolutely," Manos said.
"Is that really speed? Or some other fuckin' drug."
"Due," it groaned, "c'mon. Try to relax. Looks like I got here just in time."
The manual floated in - oil-stained, well-used, the same damn book it had shown him the first day - and Manos closed the door, slow magic doing the trick as always, supposedly so he wouldn't be distracted. The idea of getting out was a wonderful dream, alright, and he didn't have a chance of reaching the door anyway. Not if Manos didn't want him to -
"Okay," and a few pages flipped slowly. "Let's see."
"I'll be good, Manos," he said stupidly. "Don't tickle me."
"Time for 'fueki-gurabu'," it decided.
Due screamed and tried everything to get up.
"You remember this one, huh? 'Forced labor for the gloves'."
His panic was converted into hooting by a number of slow-paced fingers.
Manos chuckled along with him for awhile...
He sat in the sports room at Treasure Island, staring at a video screen. Football highlights were being shown, but Due's mind was definitely somewhere else. He kept remembering the past few hours of "therapy" Manos had dished out. He had highlights of his own to replay, the moments that were even more breathtaking than usual, and his brain kept thinking about 'em as if the repetition would make it easier to believe. But it had really happened. Just like any other day, since fuckin' Manos had brought him here.
Just like tomorrow, too.
He looked around. A few other people were in the room. The nearest one was his age, two rows in front of him and maybe six seats over. Hey, dude, he thought calmly, I'm gonna get strapped down and tickled all day, over and over, unless you help me. You won't believe me, and it doesn't fuckin' matter in any case...
Due didn't say anything out loud, though, because it sounded crazy even to him.
A waitress came over with another scotch and soda. Good booze. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a ten for her. Manos had stuffed a roll of bills into the inner pocket of a new leather jacket - as if he couldn't be trusted to put the money away by himself - and shoved him toward the front door, where a taxi was already waiting. It was letting him go. Due had to be dreaming it, but after a while he decided what the fuck. Roll with it, then.
About half a pack of cigarettes left. But Manos had given him twenty-three hundred bucks, so Due guessed he could afford more smokes...
A couple hundred down on sports bets, and almost a grand at the blackjack tables...
Restless from the speed, Due took off and found a cab.
In the bar of an older place on Fremont, he studied the women who were sitting alone.
My name is Due, he thought. I'm off the leash tonight. My master worked me over real good, washed me, and pulled these clothes on me. I look good in leather. That's what it told me. My fuckin' cock is gonna bust right through these leather pants if I don't get some relief -
Walking over, casually, was the answer. She'd help him.
Down another seven hundred bucks, he closed the door of her room and lit a smoke. Feeling much better...
He could still afford a ticket. Get away. The prospect of Manos letting that happen seemed pretty damn slim.
One or two drinks over the line. He knew better, but the speed had backed off finally and he didn't like flying all that much. Or airports.
Heaving himself into the taxi, Due sighed. He opened his mouth -
"820 Tyogah," Manos said.
An invisible hand cupped over Due's mouth. He grunted, and another hand grabbed the scruff of his neck.
"Past Boulder Highway," it continued easily. "About six miles -"
"Yeah, I know it," the driver said.
Due tried to move, but hands snuck around his shoulders, and arms. Then his thighs. The grip of his neck relaxed, turning into a slow massage. He looked at the driver, wishing there was some way to get the other guy to take a good, hard look... But if he did something to get the driver's attention, it would just look like a seizure or something. Speed-freak shit.
Firmly, Manos turned his head so he faced the passenger-side window. It sighed, and pretended to yawn. The bastard. "I'm gonna nap. If you don't mind," it said.
"Suit yourself," the driver muttered, opening a pack of cigarettes.
Airport, Due thought wildly. I wanna get as far away from 820 Tyogah as I possibly can. But the cab rolled on, and the driver's lighter clicked.
Manos held him in a position that must've passed, in the dark, for a relaxed guy. At least eight hands kept him from moving, while a pair kneaded his shoulders. It was being careful not the make the leather jacket creak...
He wished he had ESP. Driver, you dumb fuck, I'm being hauled back to the torture chamber. Killer tickling. And you can save me. Shit, you got no idea how bad I wanna go to McCarran, instead. Get to any damn airport in California. Go home.
But the driver had his instructions. He thought Due's home was where they were headed. Manos had a home, and Due could stay there. No choice in the matter. As long as it wanted.
I'm gonna get thrashed today, he thought idly. Probably after I get some sleep. I'll need a big fuckin' workout then, according to Manos. Six, seven, eight hours.
The driver smoked and took Due back to his cage.
Manos made him tip the driver well.
The hands walked Due like a puppet, even though he fought.
As soon as his mouth was released, he yelled at the cab. "Get back here, fucker, I'm about to get nuked." It was too far away, though, already back on the street and picking up speed. Manos had waited until the other guy wouldn't hear, alright, before it let go of his mouth.
"You have a good time?" it asked.
"Come back!" he roared at the cab. "I'm getting fuckin' tickled more if you... Oh, dammit."
"I don't think he can hear ya." Then it chuckled - Manos laughed at him, definitely - and picked up his legs.
"Let me - go - dammit," Due grunted, kicking as he bucked around. The front door opened for him.
"You need help," it said. There was an edge in its voice. Excitement.
"I need to go home!" he wailed.
The door closed behind him. As he was carted down the hall, the locks turned one by one.
"'Jukurenshas-odrikuruu', I think," Manos said thoughtfully. "Yeah. You remember what that means?"
"No, no, no, no," Due chanted.
"Ecstatic dance of the most skilled hands," it snickered, taking him into his room. His cell. All padded and equipped for a wild time.
He shouted nonsense syllables which no one except Manos could hear.
"You're sweating, dude. Let me help you out of those clothes," and the hands started taking his jacket off. A pair of silk gloves, pale green, floated down and unbuckled his belt.
"More tickling," he grumbled. "Here it comes."
"More therapy," Manos corrected him. It stifled a snicker or two, but Due wasn't drunk anymore. He heard the joy in its voice, the teasing -
Ah. The seat-swing was moving a little. It appeared that extra arm-straps were being threaded into position... Fluffy shit lined those cuffs, because he'd be wearing 'em for a long time. Hours. Going absolutely nuts, while Manos enjoyed itself, and he'd stay parked right there because it had the jump on him. Infinite tickling for ol' Due.
He learned many more terms in Manos' house. It made him choose, sometimes...
'Mujihi-hanes,' the ruthless feather - or would he prefer to start with 'Nushi-ashinouras', the master and owner of the soles?
Sometimes, when Manos was in a frisky mood, it would work him over for an hour and make him guess what the technique had been. If he said nothing, it just continued with some other torment. Saying the wrong thing usually brought on an hour of what he had "asked" for. He ended up learning that 'youi-kanraku' meant 'mysterious event of merriment' - according to Manos, anyway - and it focused on his crotch.
"Hello there," Manos said, shutting the cell door.
"You can't keep doing this to me," Due said quickly, hating how pathetic it sounded. He'd been practicing the speech all day. "This is violating my rights, and I don't want to be tickled any more. Was all of that enlightened talk just a load of crap?"
A drawer opened, and leather cuffs floated out. "Tonight, I think... 'tei-kyouryoku-tsukuriwarai.'"
"Dammit -"
"I'm waiting, sparky. Translate it."
Hands grabbed hold of his arms. He squirmed, uselessly, heart already pounding away. Another endless, sweaty, psychotic night, that's what it meant. "Formal... dammit."
"Formal," Manos said patiently. "Yes. Go on."
"I don't know," he snapped, watching the cuffs cruise over to him. "Fuckin' kidnapper, tickling the shit out of me."
"No. To tickle is 'kusuguru'. As you well know, huh? And the closest word to kidnapper we've used is... 'kamikakushi,' for a mysterious disappearance. Being whisked away from it all."
"Dammit, please, Manos, just... just don't."
"Formal," it continued happily, " and 'kyouryoku' means 'strong', or 'powerful'. That leaves 'tsukuriwarai'."
"It's all torture," Due grumbled. The cuffs were buckling down, and his limbs were spread again. Almost set. "All the time."
"You were pretty close with that last word. 'Tsukuriwarai'." It paused, and a half-dozen silk scarves lifted up, magically, from another drawer.
"Don't, oh don't," he wheezed.
"Forced merriment," it told Due, with a sigh of satisfaction. "All together now, it's 'merriment which is formal, powerful - and forced'."
Due shook his head wildly as the tai kul started again.
29jan05