The student is... zealous. Focused. Hot damn.
Tester is pleased. The pupil has that wild-ass hunger. Unlimited possibilities, sky-high options. Mean, dangerous delight as it strips the clothes off its prey... who is bewildered, and so nervous, as he watches his clothes being pulled off.
Invisible hands work efficiently, taking none of his shit. Pinning him as the rope comes overhead and separates, then wrapping up both arms at the same time, and finally his ankles. Magic.
As he flails, Tester checks the knots. Good circulation, taut and secure. Signalling the novice to recite the terms of the exam, benchmarks, the cautions and warnings. It double-checks the supplies - water, carbs, creams, towels and sheets. All set.
This dude's in good hands.
His kidnapper can hardly hold back. It hunted well. He's baffled more than anything. Not angry. So he's in for a novel experience, to say the least. Strong as an ox. More reactive than most... and that would be increasing, hell yeah, more than he'd believe.
The cell is as remote as they get. Location, inventory, target, plan - nothing has been overlooked. This is gonna get barbaric. Seventy-two hours 'til he's set free... but Tester had no doubts this buckaroo would get the minimum eighteen hours of sleep, and not a minute more. The pupil's next exam would be a full week, unassisted, with a complete check of the prey's condition afterward. And then - on its own, free to haul a captive into the mountains for a few weeks, a month or two, all summer.
Only three days for this animal - this time, anyway - pinned to the bed. No stimulants or booze. No shaving. Still, he's surely gonna be dog-tired. Voice gone. Real sore meat.
Nostalgically, Tester runs through the checklist one more time. Then it gives the signal - ten seconds, counting down.
As it leaves, four gloves lift off the floor and start to firm up. Black satin. Classic, traditional - excellent culprits to snag him in his nightmares for the rest of the year. This pupil is conscientious. Extra time will be given, before the first spot-check.
It's finally alone with him. Seventy-two electrifying hours.
He yells, lunging around. Strong and vital.
The moment it's waited for is about to arrive. All that imagining what this would be like... and this is far better. There was exciting contact work during its training, but there had always been a Tester in charge, overseeing. Now, it's the boss. The spot-checks were just to make sure the guy hadn't been damaged... but they were usually quick. The next three days are not according to a Tester's plan - or his.
Slowly, it bring the gloves up.
He finally sees 'em, the hands of his captor, just past his feet.
No one's gonna find him here. The most wildly taxing time of his life...
He stares at the satin hands as they turn and fly.
And the other pair keeps going straight to his armpits.
His expression changes then, as he figures out what's he's in for, here. Still in the middle of a yell for help, he doesn't even manage to react in time. Four index fingers land, press, and move -
And the student becomes a novice.
"Naaaaaaaugh!" he shouts, flopping around. Crazed with the need to pull away, trying desperately to buck and snap free. He leans on one side, which just snuggles his other ribs up against satin... all the fingers spreading out now, crawling down. He can't shake either glove for more than an instant. Much more often, both of his sides are being stroked. He whoops and roars, trying to scoot himself up or down.
That doesn't work either. His feet are anchored. They hardly budge. He bounces and jerks, mindlessly devoted to one thing - getting out from under the tickling fingers. Just far enough away to break contact...
But the student's knots aren't going to allow that. He stays on the bed, howling and keening, sweat starting to shine, tears leaking from his tightly closed eyes.
It's more excited than it's ever been. He can't break the ropes, so he's getting as much pleasure as it wants to give him. Unsupervised.
It clamps down and races up and down his sides, all over his feet.
He screams laughter. Exactly as planned.
It owns him now. Every square inch. The captor is going to play with him, front and back, top to bottom. Bury him in feathers, drench him in oil, brush him with ermine and soft bristles and horsehair. Milk him for a while, then tease his desperate cock without allowing him any release.
To accomplish this, it had been carefully taught to keep its priorities in order. Never stop monitoring his health. Breathing, heart rate, and no unconsciousness without its consent.
The biggest practical consideration is the restraints. Keep him in place, unable to hurt himself in his delirium. If he's anchored snugly, the attack is completely in the kidnapper's control.
The cell is remote enough to prevent any risk of discovery. Locking the door is at the student's discretion. He wouldn't get far before it caught him and dragged him back to the bed. With the gloves, maybe. That could be fun...
He shouts for joy. Still working hard, but in terrific health. Spending all this energy, at its command. It has no doubt it'll pass, with this guy as its subject.
And this is just a little sample. Soon it'll be approved to go out, on its own. The boss. Set up a cell or two, and get to it. For its first cage... Quilted black satin, padded and gleaming. Floor, ceiling, walls. Hiding the door too, and the barred window at night. A solid box of acetate. Seriously thick leather cuffs, heavy black stocks and racks waiting nearby, tat gun ready. It'll be a cell that tells a guy he's caught, sealed in a maniac's hideaway. Trapped for a good, long time. A leisurely month to maximize his sensitivity, and weeks of enjoying the result. Adding on another week as often as it likes.
He alternates between hoots and squeals. Four slippery hands, rubbing away.
Three days doesn't seem like enough ti-
Of course. He'll have to come and inaugurate that cell! Weeks and weeks on him - now that's an exciting thought...
Students often bagged their exam subjects again, to thank them for their contribution. Usually not extended stays, but the duration would always be up to the new tickler.
Yeah. Lay in way too much ketamine, boxes of cigars. Get him drunk, tie him up and bring him on in. The satin room with no door. Tat him up with magic gloves and dancing feathers, in between full days of unhindered, sweaty pleasure.
Right now, though, he's got a job to do. He's helping his captor pass the three-day exam. It'll take his best effort. So long as he's still breathing when Tester drops in... anything goes. And he's earning his spot in the satin room - the first captive - with this performance. He's instrumental in helping his kidnapper earn the right to lock him away for an indefinite party.
A long, rowdy celebration.
It gets so caught up in these lusty plans that he ends up gasping for air. Whoops. It pulls the gloves off, and he takes several minutes to slow his breathing down. When he does look around, with his big frightened eyes, there's an open bottle of water waiting over him. The efficient knots, still anchoring him.
A pair of tickling satin hands waits by his sides, and another pair posed over his feet. Well, he just has to flail around a little bit. But he gives up quickly. The ropes aren't going anywhere...
So it brings the water to his mouth, and pours slowly. He gulps it down, blinking. As it leaves, he's shaking his head...
But the novice knows better.
Another pair of gloves is rising... getting in position. Belly, pecs, nipples. He wails -
And shifts into gravelly hoots, as the fingers start in on him again.
It's difficult to hold back. The urge to just nuke him, run him full-bore, is strong. But that's one of the challenges it faced when it started to learn this art. Discipline is essential to keep from wearing him out too early, breaking down his health before it's finished with him. Longer and deeper is so much more satisfying! It had to monitor the ferocity of the workout as much as his ability to recover from it... or else he'd weaken, hindering its desires. That cannot be allowed.
Reluctantly it slows the gloves and lifts them off, one by one. He continues to laugh for a few seconds, and pants for a good thirty seconds. It waits...
For him to open his eyes, shaking the tears out. See the hands, still here. Watch them take hold more gently, and stroke. His eyes slam shut, and he shakes his head wildly. Whoops a couple times.
But it wants him to know it can exercise restraint, so it can play with him longer.
The fingers sweep across his stomach, spread out, easy pace. And they curl over his ribs and travel up and down, almost leisurely. And they clamp over his midfeet, squeezing gently as they ride.
He cackles with gusto, lost in it. Snickering at a long, continuous dirty joke.
It holds pace, thinking about the sequence of toys for the evening. Musing over a third or fourth week of this, in its satin cell, with a thick beard on him and a lot of ink, a cigar always caught between his molars...
When he needs a rest, it leaves the gloves right there on him. Waters him, and gets back down to business.
And since his reaction is still so earnest, it stays with this attack for a while. It learns something it couldn't have known in an hour or two... There's a unique satisfaction in the long haul. The fiery howls are fun, but so is this - the delirious flood, deep and prolonged. This is what it can do with him all day, all night, without feeling like it was missing out on the real action. Possibly it had even more of his attention this way.
Breaks come and go, and water - and the gloves don't leave him, waiting for his breathing to level off.
They creep around his hips now and then, pinch and roll his nipples, dig slowly into crotch hair...
His cock is red and sticky. It's gonna have some fun with this guy. Months of it. Absolute control over this hyena's meat.
Six hours into the test, he's definitely fading. Let him recharge for three, and then discover the brutal delight of oil...? It would be fun to push him. Grease him up now. Probably more fun after he's rested, though. Both options have their advantages. The beautiful thing is that the novice gets to decide. He'll go along with the plan laid out for him, because he doesn't have a fuckin' choice.
To get him to crash, it digs in for a monstrous fifteen-minute run. Gloves flying, as he screeches and screams, whah hah hah hah. Animalistic and energetic and severe.
When it pulls the gloves away, he cackles for a while longer, and nods right off. Very, very good.
As it scrubs him down, the novice almost resents this need for sleep. Making it wait - postponing all the toys... but it remembers that this is an exam. The mandatory sleep rule is not his fault. When it gets him cuffed down next time, it's going to make him hoot for twenty-four hours straight. Pump him full of speed and go for two full days, three...
Very soon. Right now, it has to pass the test. The reasoning has been made clear. The captive needs sleep if the assault is intended to last more than a weekend. Without recuperation, there can be no marathon - luxurious weeks and months of tickling.
It changes the sheets and starts working moisturizer into his skin. Going full-bore on him is such a rush. Right now it would just love to shove a bunch of dex or methedrine down his throat, and get busy again...
08jul00