This episode is an irrelevant spinoff from 'Storytella3000's' imaginative story, Full Service, which I acknowledge with the author's permission
(and my thanks)...
The van rolled down the lonely road. Dark desert road, two cracked lanes, going nowhere.
Take him at least two days away before you cut him loose, they said. Take care of him, and dump him. No one will believe his story.
Taker was the best driver among them. It knew the back roads, and where the supplies were poorly guarded. More gas, or a new fan belt. Food, for him. So it was the logical choice to get him... out of the way.
It had the van all ready, and a pair of bags were sitting on the passenger seat, prominently displayed. Food and water. A few dishtowels, to clean him up now and then.
The others had watched him climb in. Making sure he didn't get away - and more important, assuring he'd be locked in Taker's van. For anything and everything. It took more rope and hogtied him.
As it slammed the back doors, it had to fight hard to keep its excitement hidden. That included being careful not to smoke the tires as it took him away.
He flopped around and yelled. Dense padding lined the inside of the cargo compartment, big pieces of an old black wrestling mat. A distinct locker-room odor hung in the air.
The side door was sealed and padded over. Extra weatherstripping hid the outline of the back doors.
The back windows were uncovered, but only a few bright stars were visible. Very dark film on all the windows kept curious eyes from peeking inside.
Taker's passenger grunted and swore, twisting at the ropes.
A long road trip was ahead of him. Time to kill.
Well, it had just the thing for all those hours.
The others didn't know... and that was part of the fun.
About ten miles after it left them Taker's van doubled back on a dirt road, bumping along at thirty in the opposite direction. Last they knew, the van was heading east.
It liked that. The others couldn't know exactly where it was taking him. Nor did they care, so long as it stayed in touch. The sneakiness added to the fun.
Nobody knew where he was.
Another twenty miles, and it pulled over. He raised his head and started yelling again.
The plastic bags slid off the seat and landed on the floor. The door opened...
Taker retrieved something big and dark from a dry culvert. It landed heavily on the seat. The door closed...
And it shifted the van back into drive.
The big canvas bag sat there, on the seat, just waiting to be opened.
Soon, it thought happily. The delay was more and more enjoyable. All the time in the world.
It reached under the driver's seat and pulled out a pair of old driving gloves.
Filling them up slowly, flexing the fingers... The symbol it liked best. Taker loved the feeling they gave it... A wild cockiness that always came when it gloved up. All limits were cast aside now.
It clicked on the radio, and slid a cigarette out of the pack that was laying on the dash. Then it pushed in the dashboard lighter, held it until the cig was burning like it should, and cracked the window a little.
He sniffed a few times, noticing the smoke. Lifting his head, he stared at the cigarette, there by the steering wheel, tucked under a knuckle of the floating black hand.
Before it could clue him in on its plans, there was the intersection to deal with. In a couple miles, the road would cross a two-lane highway. There was a truck stop there, a little one. Another gas station, across the street, and an overhead streetlight between 'em...
When it brought the van to a full stop, he started to yell again. It didn't matter, since no one was close enough to hear him. In fact, it wouldn't be driving anywhere near other people from this point on - except for a few that would be sound asleep. Certainly not within earshot. If he was going to get anyone's attention, this was his big chance.
Taker even had to sit there as a car and two trucks went by. As the last one passed, it flicked ash out the window. The dark window film revealed nothing - just a gloved hand, with a cigarette. Smoke and country rock were leaking from the window. Nothing unusual there.
It drove through the intersection, taking its noisy cargo away.
The lights faded behind the van, and the cigarette smoldered in the ashtray.
Taker felt the excitement build - really start to ramp up, the way it always did. Fifty miles of empty desert lay ahead. With the dual tanks, there was a good twenty gallons of gas left.
The new tires squeaked as they took a big crack in the pavement at forty-five.
His head bounced on the wrestling mat, and he swore quietly.
They had a long haul ahead of them. And this was going to be one hell of a trip.
Taker had it all figured out. Just the way it wanted...
Hmmmm, it thought deliberately, he was still hogtied. Probably numb. There was no real need to keep him in that particular position - and the doors were locked tight...
So he got something he wanted - the rope began to loosen. But not the ankle-ropes. Oh no.
Eventually he managed to sit up, stretching his shoulder muscles and groaning. Plastic rustled, and he looked up toward the cab -
Objects were floating to him. A bottle, longneck beer... and something solid, which was shoved between his hands. He turned it over, squeezing it. It was a sandwich. He fought with plastic wrap, and brought it up, sniffing cautiously. Roast beef.
The bottlecap came off with a quick hiss. Lone Star.
Taker watched him eat his dinner. He hesitated when the beer was handed to him, but after a while he changed his mind. After a couple of pulls from the bottle, an old association fired up and his right hand went to his shirt pocket.
When he brought the pack out, Taker yanked it from his fingers. Oh no you don't.
As his smokes drifted away, he started to get up -
And it tied his hands together, in front.
He watched the pack land on the dash, far out of his reach. That got him snapping at the knots. Cursing at... nothing. The invisible kidnapper that took his smokes away.
It reached up with the gloves, nice and leisurely, and got one cigarette out. When that one was burning well, it was held by the top of the steering wheel. No one there to smoke it...
And no cigarettes for him. He could smell 'em all he wanted, but he wasn't going to smoke. Not in here.
The bottle and the sandwich wrapper floated back up front.
Silently, rings started to emerge from the padding. Two-inch rings of thick steel, hinged at the base, pulled through more slits in the vinyl mat. Ceiling, side-walls, and a wide oval on the floor.
He had to be tired of being tied up like that. Time to lie down. It was going to be a long, long night.
The van rolled down the dusty road.
Slowly, its driver unzipped the canvas bag.
Taker was more than ready... to have a extremely good time.
The canvas bag was filled with things. Unforgettable distractions to break up the monotony.
Digging deep inside, it pulled out long black straps. Nylon tie-downs.
It loosened the knot that held his wrists together...
And looped a strap around his left wrist.
He jerked his arm back when the pressure started tightening again. Fighting it.
But Taker hooked the far end and pulled, slowly and firmly, turning him around. He shouted at the back windows, cussing again, wriggling like an eel.
Despite his lack of cooperation, the strap slid through a tie-down ring and kept pulling. His arm went out further. All the way out, fully extended. Knotting, at the tie-down, for added insurance.
While he struggled with it, another loop caught his right wrist. It started stretching that arm out...
His head hit the pad. He threw it around, but that was about all he could do. Sitting up was no longer possible.
Taker paused to enjoy the show.
He'd worked up a fine sweat, pulling like a rabid dog. Grunting, swearing like a sailor - even more pissed off than he had been when he'd first been tied up.
Next, his ankles. Right one first. Up it went...
Through ceiling-rings. His thigh broke contact with the pad.
Cast-metal clips slid down as the strap-ends pulled taut, taking up the slack and not letting go.
Left ankle... and then two more straps for each. Pulling toward the side-walls of the van, counteracting each other.
He slammed around, preoccupied with his panic.
It tightened the original straps, slowly, until it was satisfied. His knees were slightly bent, in a position he could tolerate for a long time without discomfort. All night, say.
The soles of his sneakers were parallel with the back doors, about an inch apart when he finally stopped struggling.
His best efforts to move his feet hadn't even caused them to touch each other. The straps didn't allow him to rotate his ankles. Kicking forward, or pulling back, or swaying to either side had been prevented.
He tried to arch and slam his back on the pad, shouting not quite as loud...
One last strap was brought out. It slid under his back, and circled his belt. Tightening, through two floor-hooks, to hold him down against the floor.
He fought for another fifteen minutes.
By then, Taker was so eager it could hardly stand it.
More rustling - and a water bottle was brought to him, the cap cracking open as it arrived. Looking none too happy, his thirst won out. It had to pour slowly, since he was flat on his back. And he still managed to choke on it once.
His eyes strayed back up to where his feet were trapped. Poised for action.
Intense, mind-shredding action.
Behind the van, the moon was on the descent. Another half-hour, it estimated, and it would be visible through the windows. Backlighting the action, so he could see...
The thought of waiting that long was intoxicating. But it would be so incredible, when he saw why he was trussed up like that. Staring, horrorstruck, at what Taker was going to use first -
And just what would that be? Taking its time, it got another cigarette burning, and went over the options that were sitting there, just waiting their turn, in the big canvas bag.
Taker had brought him gloves of all kinds. And brushes. Oils, probes, pattern wheels. Cords to hold and stretch some mindlessly flexing toes.
Razors to get rid of protective body hair.
Rings and special toys with ribs and nubs - special attention for a very special area. More straps, more rope, and several cotton bandannas, silk scarves...
There were two bags of pills. One, if not both, would keep him awake - and increase the sensitivity of the nerve endings in his muscles and skin.
It wanted to put everything to use. Full, extended use. And no one else would ever know.
Long boxes were pulled out first. With all the options at its disposal, Taker decided to send an initial message that couldn't possibly be misunderstood. Hovering over the bag, the box-lids lifted up.
And so did the feathers.
A pair was selected. Others were arranged on the dash, in the order of use.
He saw none of this. Very soon now. Taker could hardly wait for the moon to drop low enough...
At last, it was in position. From his vantage point, it was just over his shoes -
And Taker pulled his sneakers off. Right, then left. Not wanting to waste the time untying them, teasing them off.
He worked himself up into a frenzy again. It didn't know if he'd figured out what was in store for him. Not that it mattered, really.
Then his socks. Pulling up, and off. Hanging there, for a second... and dropped.
Bare feet. Anchored cleverly. Held up to the light of the moon.
He didn't see the feathers, cruising into range, until they were a few inches away.
He stopped moving. Staring, with his mouth open.
A faint shriek came from deep in his throat.
Taker liked that. Oh, really. Were the feathers... scaring him?
Or maybe it was the certainty. He must've realized the truth - there was no possibility of skipping out on the fun. This was a stone-cold fact.
To prove it, Taker happily brought the feathers down and got going.
He squealed in a most satisfying way. Hooting, raving, and snapping at the ropes with all he had. Exactly the right kind of confirmation. Affirmative to that. Kicking hard, curling his toes -
It swept and poked with the feathers, more energized by his reaction than it had expected to be. Actually laying into his feet was so much more of a rush than anticipating it. The delirious struggling, the laughter - so desperate, and so rowdy. Uncontrollable, unwilling laughter.
He pounded his head on the thick pad.
It kept the van rolling along, just like the feathers were moving. Nonstop.
He tried everything. Pushing and pulling of all kinds. His feet stayed put.
The tickling kept him completely berzerk. Taker used the feathers meticulously, filled with delight and triumph. The reaction was more than it had hoped for. It loved the look of his feet - caught in the tight straps for one exciting purpose. He could hardly manage to look any more at the feathers, constantly tickling, lit by the distant moon.
The three-strap arrangement was working out just fine. His mightiest efforts were blocked. It was going to leave his feet like that tomorrow. While he slept, he'd have to be cleaned up and massaged carefully. Keeping his joints in top condition was, arguably, Taker's biggest concern. But it would enjoying trapping his ankles again like this, even if he was unconscious.
The thought of him waking up, after a long night of tickling - looking up, at his feet, still caught there! Clearly in for more. A lot more. Taker couldn't wait to see the expression on his face.
The first half-hour went by quickly, from its point of view. He probably had a different opinion. But it didn't have to concern itself with what he thought. The van was locked up, and he was in for the full ride. The whole world was unaware of what Taker was doing - or where its rider was - and the van would keep him moving. It knew the back roads too well for anyone to interfere with its fun.
His feet were sweating nicely. Unusually ticklish feet. The movement of his toes had become irregular, but Taker knew there was far more fun to be had...
Another pair of feathers floated over him. He was beyond looking at anything. Tears and sweat covered his face - tears of joy, forcibly extracted.
It explored his toes more carefully with the original feathers, and dusted the highly reactive soles and ball-joints with the new pair. He bucked again, weakly, and laughed harder.
That's it, Taker thought. Feet like these deserved a full workout. Days of tickling. He was utterly susceptible to this kind of stimulation - which was exactly what it loved best.
It predicted his voice would be gone by the next morning, and the slim chance of escaping his doom would be slimmer yet. Taker could park the van just about anywhere and really dig in. Roaring silently, unable to concentrate enough even to shake the van, he had no chance of raising any help. So the straps would stay on, and the tickling would continue.
It tried new patterns and pressures. He gulped air, and hiccuped now and then. Howled at his feet for awhile, and then he resumed his usual position - roaring at the ceiling. He whooped uncontrollably at the roof of the padded tickle-chamber, just like he would tomorrow...
Taker brought yet another pair of feathers up. All six danced around each other, stimulating the bound feet even more. The moon was out of view now, but that didn't matter. He knew what was up - his feet. Up there, and they were staying up.
Its feathers were up there, too. And they were only the first act.
With a sudden lunge, he tried to twist to the side, straining as he cackled. Then he jerked longingly toward the other wall.
His feet didn't turn with him. The feathers didn't have to shift to follow along - his feet stayed under them.
He settled back down... and howled some more.
The van rolled on.
An hour later, it gave him a little rest.
He panted for ten minutes. He'd pissed his pants, but there was no sign he was aware of it - or of anything around him.
Taker lit a cigarette and held it well over his head. A little atmosphere. Tucked between the fingers of the driving glove, it added another smell to the mix of sweat and urine.
He drank more water without opening his eyes. Maybe he was afraid to look. His legs moved a little, and then stopped. So his position hadn't changed. No way it was over. Far from it...
It had no doubt his feet could take more tender abuse. But it was taking no chances with him - and it was wildly curious.
Slowly, it unbuttoned his work shirt, which had become soaked through with sweat. The wet cloth was eased from under him, and tugged as far away as the wrist-straps would allow. He finally noticed the movement, tried to watch -
And saw his bare chest.
He wriggled miserably, shaking his head. Begging.
Taker let him beg for a few seconds. The power was intoxicating. Nothing could have felt as good, when it was definitely going to ignore his pleas.
Impulsively, it chose a firmer response. Make it even clearer for him. While feathers would have been logical, perhaps... it was dying to really nuke his sides.
From the canvas bag came a wad of cloth. It separated. Four things drifted back to his anchored body.
They thickened. Cool, shiny fingers expanded, filling with the equivalent force of a gymnast's fingers. The confident grace of a master surgeon.
Taker's passion had resulted in a knowledge of all the nuances of tickling. As its subject began to test his bonds again, four skilled hands snuggled up to his ribs and armpits.
He gasped in horror. Most gratifying.
It started to rub and squeeze -
A scream burst out of him. Raspy, and girlish. And then he took in a long, deep breath...
And brayed it back out.
Taker laid in, more heavily, allowing the soft fingertips to stray onto his belly, toward his pecs.
He shook his head fiercely for a few seconds, pulling his arms convulsively. Hooting with gusto. Still trapped in its obsessed hands.
This was a whole different level of mandatory enjoyment.
Taker expected there would be lots of new levels to reach. He was just what it wanted tonight, trapped in its van. Laughing this hard, under its gloves - responding extravagantly. His ribs were every bit as fun as his feet.
His armpits were promising, too. It had to get rid of the thick hair, oil 'em up. See what it could find...
The night was long, and filled with racking laughter.
As the eastern sun grew brighter and brighter, it became clear he was ready to pass out.
Taker pushed him until he was sound asleep. Weary enough to lie there, without stirring, while it cleaned him up, oiled him from his toes to his ears...
A bag of disposable razors floated over him.
After a slow, thorough massage, it rolled him over and put the restraints back on. Just the way they were last night.
He slept for seven hours. Taker would have let him recharge a little longer, but he started coming around. Slowly, moving erratically at first - and not budging. The straps saw to that.
His face looked troubled. Long before he really woke up, he was bothered. Maybe it was some deep awareness that his body was in exactly the same position it had been. Perhaps it was enough that his feet still hung up there, far from help...
Eventually he kicked out a big yawn. Taker was ready and waiting. It watched him carefully.
He tried to shift around. When that didn't work, his eyes opened a little. A full minute passed before he tried to focus.
Black padding, above him.
He blinked a couple times, tried to pull his arms down. They weren't going down, though. Absolutely not. It liked them right where they were.
And they weren't even the main attraction. His message was hanging there, waiting for him to understand.
When his gaze arrived at his feet, there was no mistaking it. He looked at them - caught just as they were last night - and his eyes opened wide. Realization dawned. The start of the trip, the straps being placed, shoes discarded... all that tickling...
And now, a new day, with his feet still strapped just as tight. The van still rolling down the highway, keeping him on the move - a target that just wouldn't stay put, risking discovery. Doors still locked tight.
His feet... just as secure as before. The only possible conclusion? They remained there for the same reason as before. More of that. An entire ferocious day -
"Noooooo," he wailed. But his voice was just about gone.
He started to kick and squirm. Completely useless.
It opened a water bottle, and waited until his struggles started to fade. When it zeroed in he sucked at it, very worried...
As well he should be.
Last night was only the beginning. A great start, Taker thought. He was no slacker. But today was going to be far more intense.
When the bottle cruised back up front, he watched it longingly. Saw it pass by...
And spotted them. A pair of rubber gloves.
He got busy again, wrestling around, begging silently. It was enormously gratifying - especially with what came next.
Taker had oiled the gloves. They were ready to go. So they went, slowly, through the air. Holding his attention...
Not to his sides, where they'd tickled him for hours last night. Oh no. They kept moving.
He looked at his feet again, and grimaced. Snapping, kicking...
It brought the dripping fingers closer. When he threw his head around, it made them pause. It wanted him to watch them arrive, and start. He should be clear on what the new day held for him.
Nothing could stop Taker... Well, except maybe a meteor, a big earthquake... Busted axle. Naaaah, it knew every centimeter of the van. Every system. Besides, even that wouldn't require it to stop what it was about to do.
Through the rear windows, the bright afternoon sun showed him all that he needed to see. Fingers. Curling slightly, for his benefit, as he watched 'em. His body would tell him the rest.
As it began to stroke, it tried to imagine what it was like for him. Light pressure, crawling. The memory of last night flooding back. How the tickling went from light to industrious to... insane. And that was feathers.
Gloves were tickling his feet today.
All day.
The sweet, oily pressure right in the center of his soles, roaming. Every kick and lunge neutralized. Feet still there, gloves still tickling. Taker could imagine the sensation getting stronger and stronger, going deeper, building into a throb that always grew and grew. Like a fever of another kind, starting down there.
Spreading. His toes. His heels. Under, along the sides of his feet, between the overreactive toes. All over.
Its fingers rubbed harder. Picking up speed.
He thrashed mindlessly, mouth wide open.
The stimulation was solid, and constant. Unendurable.
After a long time, it gave him another cause for alarm. The light feather-edges starting on his ribs. Sweeping up, all the way to his triceps. That smooth, hairless skin felt their touch more strongly.
Back down they went. Poking, sawing.
He recoiled as if it was touching him with a live wire, screeching as if he was drunk with the ticklish stimulation, bucking and pulling passionately at the straps.
But the feathers didn't let up. As they flicked and danced, the feverish excitement began to increase, and spread. Deeper tortuous pleasure engulfed his feet...
Taker drove toward Colorado. The van was running great...
It had filled up the gas tanks two hours ago.
In the back, it cleaned his skin thoroughly, and his hair - what was left of it. Just the hair on on his head, and his eyebrows.
His feet and torso looked as if he'd gotten sunburned. Well, they wouldn't be the main targets today.
It sat him up in the center of the padded space.
Lifting his left arm, it pulled a strap loosely around his wrist. Hmmmm...
Two more rings were pulled out from under the ceiling pad.
Taker picked up five more straps.
After getting them tight, it didn't like the way they looked. So it started over.
Twice.
There. Without additional straps above his elbows, it was the best Taker could do.
His arms were spread wide. Three straps around each wrist kept them up toward the ceiling.
It pulled forward, and back, then tried to shift his hands toward either side of the van. Excellent.
His ankles were spread apart. Double-strapped. And another strap served as a belt, so he couldn't lift his ass.
He squirmed frantically when he woke up.
Taker waited him out, and brought him some food.
And then, slowly, it made eight feathers float up to his belly - and a little farther south.
Taker got busy.
The effect, on all that shaved skin, was electrifying.
His torso was thoroughly explored with the feathers. Front, and back.
It teased his legs until he just couldn't try to lift 'em any more.
After a meal of sorts - a lot of protein and complex carbs, all sealed in plastic - Taker had him drink three quarts of water, slowly.
By then, he had recuperated. Enough to flail around, posing no threat to the superb resistance of the straps.
A box drifted down, settling well between his shins. One after another, eight rubber gloves were pulled out... and filled.
He tried to yell, but his voice was nothing more than a thready rasp. Taker found the increase in his struggles to be most engaging.
It brought a bottle of oil over to the cluster of unfailing hands. As the fingers rubbed each other, increasing the amount of sensation they would cause, it dug into the big bag for another new addition to the night's supplies.
When it was brought over, he glanced at it quickly. The gloves were his bigger fear - that is, until the new black cord started to unwind. It was nylon, and at the end was a smaller version of a cuff - just those around his wrists, insuring his arms were going to remain well away from his overly reactive torso.
Taker held his thighs down, ready with additional straps if they should be needed. And it placed this new cuff while he thrashed. He put forth his best effort in hours... but its straps were unfazed.
It closed the cuff, gently and carefully, and buckled the strap. His excitement was already obvious, whether he wished it to be or not. That reaction insured the cuff was not going to slip off...
It strung the cord up to a ceiling-ring which was very nearly centered between his hips. Maybe several inches lower.
And when it was satisified with the tension being applied, it tied several knots.
He shook his head at it. Captured, held upright, and clearly the destination of oiled latex fingers.
Thrashing was discouraged now - the first time, he squawked with pain. He had an inducement to keep from rotating his lower half. Taker hadn't pulled the string nearly as taut as it could have. It was not going to risk injuring him...
But it was going to get to work, down there. Where his eyes would naturally come to rest on the gloves, even if he wasn't deliberately staring.
Other hands slid around his thighs, both the inner and the outer surfaces. They slid down the length and back again, synchronized.
Laughter came suddenly. Then, a deep-chested groan.
It had two gloves massage the lowest part of his back, straying at times to the crest of one hip or the other. One hand stroked the area around his navel - relentless and calm, with random attacks of brisk fingertip-rubbing, all around his belly.
Taker assigned two others to the extreme southern regions of his hip joints. Inner surfaces. Sliding lightly, barely moving at times, they oiled up the shaved skin and fingered it without pausing.
After a minute the last glove started teasing. One or two digits at a time, Taker used them to trace most lightly of all, and rub. So gingerly. Down to the cuff, and below, and back up again, pausing often as he tried to deal with the enormity of the impact.
Five rubber hands kept moving. Tickling. Even when it became necessary to wait for a thrust to pass, the tickler made sure their presence was felt - a slight increase in pressure, the fingertips rocking in place...
The next day was just as barbaric.
When it was fully dark, Taker fed him yet again - twice each day, insisting he replenish his strength - and let him lay down.
But only until the network of foot straps was rebuilt.
It watched him stumble away.
Utah had been brought them to Nevada, then Arizona...
Finally approaching this truck stop, in Nogales, Taker cleaned up its passenger and pulled a set of paper coveralls on him. Cheap sandals. Shoving the contents of his own jeans and a wad of cash into the coveralls, it opened one of the back doors. Eventually he caught on.
It sat there, at the far end of the line of parked cars, and watched him try to run. It looked as though each step hurt him. Surely his feet were complaining...
A dark blur came up to the driver-side door. Tried the handle, opened it up -
And bounded inside!
Before Taker realized it, he was landing on the seat. Closing the door.
He looked at the keys - and chuckled.
It watched with pure amazement as he turned the engine over, and shifted into reverse...
Before he got on the interstate, he'd already helped himself to the open pack of smokes that were laying on the dash. Bold fucker. Just got in the van, drove off and got himself a cigarette, like he had every right to 'em.
Taker was beyond pleased with him. This just beat all. He'd picked the worst possible van to steal...
He looked over at the canvas bag. Zipped it open. When he started rummaging around, it looped one of the straps that were in it, and lifted something else a few inches, so his fingers would find it -
And they did. A feather. He rubbed his thumb across it, looking puzzled...
Taker pulled the strap tight, and got a good grip on the steering wheel.
Slowly, it worked underneath his greasy jean jacket. Pressing invisible fingers into his armpits, and wiggling 'em -
He flew to the left, bouncing off the door. The steering wheel slid through his hand.
Oh, yeah. That was a fine reaction.
His cigarette fell in his lap. Short grunts and hisses confirmed exactly what Taker wanted to hear. And the car thief had brought it on himself...
It picked up the cigarette, and held it in front of his shocked face. After starting to carry it to the ashtray, it paused, and brought it back. Had him take a last drag. He was too surprised to fight when it returned to his mouth. After a few seconds, he remembered how to smoke.
Then the butt was watched as it cruised away. Ground out, carefully, as the last of the smoke trailed out of his nose -
Its fingers dug in!
The strap flew out of the bag... bringing his hand with it.
A half-dozen other straps came along.
As his right arm went back, the hands under his arms lifted him out of the seat. He made a desperate lunge for the door handle. Locked. All the doors were locked. Staying locked.
Rapidly, Taker started hanging the straps. Setting them for wrists. Spread out his arms, sit him up, with his butt and ankles pinned down against the pad. Keep him out of trouble for a change...
Sleazy little car thief. Bad enough that he stole cars that didn't belong to him - but he'd hopped behind the wheel of a magic van. Equipped to deal with scumbags like him. Big payback was in store, right now. And it didn't trust the system.
Taker had just the place to take him.
By the time he was dragged into the back, the wrist-straps were hung in position. Ready and waiting.
He was done driving Taker's van. He had no business sitting in the driver's seat anyway. Greasy little ripoff punk.
Ticklish as they come.
Off came his jacket, and his shirt...
He yelled and kicked.
Round and round went the straps.
It pulled off the freeway and turned left. Heading north. Miles of desert wasteland, free of anyone who could hear the shouts of mindless laughter.
Taker pulled on several pair of gloves, and polished his torso... All over him. The stinky boots came off, and those straps were carefully tightened again.
He wouldn't be stealing cars for a very long time. As much as it wanted to pay him back properly, it really had to start heading east at some point. So - if its time with the thief was limited, obviously it had to make every minute count.
Taker was in a mood for revenge.
The man snapped and twisted at the restraints. Forty fingers kept him motivated, spastic... Howling, and braying, until the tears ran down his face. He was in for a long night.
he'd figured he was going to steal himself a van.
But the owner of the van was stealing him.
Taker drove slowly up the hill.
From the top, another hill was visible. Before it went any closer, it had some business with the thief. So it set the brake, and turned off the engine...
Shook him awake.
Two continuous days of tickling crept by before he was allowed to sleep for more than an hour or two. He woke up fast.
Spread and cuffed down on the floor of the cargo area.
He shook his head frantically.
Taker gave him a bottle of water. Then a bottle of oil - applied externally. Active rubber hands, making him yowl from the moment he saw them return.
It spent two thorough hours on him in order to say farewell.
Then it started the van again, and drove on.
As it circled around the bottom of the mound, a small building came into view. Sand-colored, tucked in the shadow of the hill. Black iron bars on the windows.
The thick wooden door was open. Taker was expected.
It stopped, and left the motor running...
Loosening the straps, one by one. Removing the cuffs.
For the first time, the thief watched the back doors swing open. He was panting, sweaty - too fatigued to run. Which was exactly what Taker had intended.
In the darkness, it picked him up.
Another form appeared in the doorway. Well off the ground. Pale, bearded...
The two men approached one another. Both noticed the other -
As they passed, the thief tried to grab the other man's arm - but there was no matching gesture. He seemed exhausted, but relieved.
Taker took the stranger and yielded the thief - to Keeper.
And as he was brought closer to the door of the rustic hoosegow, the thief grew wild. It didn't stop his progress. In he went - to a vault stocked with feathers and lubes, gloves, brushes and restraints.
The ticklers saluted each other.
Slowly, the wooden door closed.
And the man relaxed, then. The one who had been inside the jail - until he was carried into the dark van. That was when he saw the restraints.
One of the rear doors slammed shut. Then the other.
He stared at a pile of discarded gloves.
Taker shifted into gear, and the van started rolling away. At the same time, it started picking up the straps, and threading them through the rings in the ceiling. Rigging the cuffs to hold feet - his feet - in the air, snugly, for a day or... three.
He watched the cuffs rise, opening wide.
Backing up instinctively, he looked for help - in the direction of the steering wheel... which was turning then, to navigate around a boulder. No hands on the wheel. One frustrated gasp leaked out of him, and his eyes got bigger yet.
The ticklish passenger scuttled backward until his shoulder blades came in contact with a padded wall. Watching the cuffs, he shook his head slowly and waited for Taker to finish the preparations for his inevitably feverish night.
21apr02