"Oh, fuck, How stoned are we?" Tres chuckled.
Uno laughed - along with Dos, whose feet were being explored too - and Tres just had to join in.
They'd snuck behind the health club to smoke. None of them was supposed to do it. Uno was a physical trainer who said he'd given up the cigarettes. Tres had been trying to get with a woman who didn't understand addiction at all. Dos had gotten into muscle definition...
But on his way to his car he saw the other guys slip around the side of the building. Smoke wafted out from where they were, and Dos thought fuck it, he deserved to remind himself now and then what a party animal he used to be.
The other guys recognized him, and held out their packs right away. They had conspiratorial grins.
About halfway through that cigarette, Uno pointed at the blue oval on Dos' neck - and found one on his own jugular, too. They were getting loopy. All of 'em. When Tres discovered the derm stuck on him, he suspected they were about to pay for their bad habit.They'd shared tobacco, and after that - and it felt like a dream - they all "almost remembered" chain-smoking as their car and trucks rolled through the hills - south and east, probably - before they woke up here. Dos said he'd had less than a quarter of a tank of gas when he got to the club, so they couldn't have ended up much more than an hour away.
Next thing they knew, they were stuck in the Smiler's Room.
White brick walls, padded ceiling and floor - and a sunken ventilation fan up there...
The door was sealed by a thick metal bar and a padlock.
Leather cuffs and straps held 'em tight to thickly padded benches. Uno and Dos were reclined at an angle. Tres came around to find he was laid on his back...
All of their ankles were caught in snugly padded stocks. The reason for that was pretty fuckin' hard to deny, since their toes were kept from curling because leather laces straightened them. They'd been stripped and restrained too damn well.
"This place is out in the middle of nowhere," Tres said quietly, "and that excited happy-face on the ceiling has been there for a long time."
"Hidden," Uno sighed. "How many guys have... been here?" The benches were obviously heavy enough to keep muscular guys down... and he had a mindblowing idea - their wild time wasn't gonna end anytime soon.
Despite the unbeatable dilemma, each man was calm. They had no doubt what was coming.
In front of them, not twenty feet away, a curtain slid to the far right side.
Mouths hanging open, they studied twenty-four shelves of... fun. Party fun, buck-rabbit fun, exciting stimulation of many kinds.
They looked at each other. There was no escaping it. Dozens of things to try. Ultra-private room. Serious restraints.
"In for it," Uno murmured, "more than anything I've ever imagined... but I can't get scared."
To their amazement, everyone agreed on that. No anger, either. Nothing to be afraid of. No say in how long they'd be provoked. Nobody else would know they'd been kidnapped.
Along the side of the room nearest to Uno, another curtain slid -
They watched a carton of Hammers float up, off a shelf there.
"There's all kinds of of cigarettes there," Uno reported quietly. "And cigars."
"And weed across from us," Dos chuckled.
Near the smokes, a little refrigerator opened...
Three cold bottles of water came to the prisoners.
After they drained the bottles, Dos said he could go for a smoke. The other men nodded. Then they watched things start to float off the shelves in front of them.
"Gotta earn our cigarettes in here," Tres said. Uno hissed, and Dos chuckled at that. Completely unbelievable... but they had no doubt they were still drugged. Fully prepped -
The confirmation was floating over to them. Stocks, straightened toes, their arms hopelessly pinned so there would be no fuckin' chance of covering their sides or blocking their armpits - and the unimaginable "fun" was going to start on their feet. Surgical gloves, oil and lube, three or four kinds of brushes, wands with little rubber tips, and what looked like miniature shoe-buffers took their starting positions.
Each man pushed and pulled and kicked. They didn't panic. The night, and an unimaginable number of nights to come, were absolutely clear to each of them. Breaking free was apparently not going to happen.
There were four magic gloves ready to pounce on each of them. More cuffs and chains waited on the shelves. Many more gloves - and Dos had no doubt that a whole lot more of those firm hands would "come to life".
Firm tips - on those leather fingers, extra-slippery from the oil - said hello to their new captives.
Their laughter was subdued, at first. Tough-guy.
Between their altered state and the nearby presence of two other gym-rats also getting custom fireworks teased into their feet, it was... fuckin' unnecessary to keep up any composed, dignified front. Dos chuckled, Uno snickered, Tres churned out quiet huh-huh-huh's.
Slowly but surely, they got louder.
Tres cackled hard, Dos barked meaty laughs, and Uno hooted and yelped.
Five minutes turned into fifteen...
The gloves lifted off, a centimeter or two.
All three captives panted for air. The restraints held them just as well as before.
"Three totally ticklish jocks," Uno groaned. It was not lost on Dos that Uno was smiling a little as he said it.
"Drugged and kidnapped," Tres pointed out again.
"Only gettin' s-started," Dos whined - and then he sorta howled. Brushes and the little oiled-rubber tips were basically covering his soles. One glove, and then another, curled over his insteps - and kept him from moving his feet at all. The others looked from the tickle-assault to Dos' face. He whooped, he shrieked. He lifted his head and just fuckin' roared at the tools tickling him.
Tres gasped - and brayed like a fool. The same configuration of unbearable, delirious mayhem started on his feet.
Uno had time to shake his head - almost distractedly, because it obviously wouldn't stop a thing from touching down, returning over and over and over, no telling how many times! Contact became sweet fire as it moved slowly, gently... only the beginning, completely riveting and distracting before he could even gasp for air and yell that unhinged laughter at the cartoon on the ceiling. Big, ticklish guys. In for it now.
More tickling. Longer. Probably twice as long that time, they figured.
All of the gloves crouched right above Dos. Pits, ribs, belly, thighs, knees... and his feet.
All of the various brushes were ready to cover Uno's soles.
The rubber "points" gathered at Tres' feet - and so did the shoe polishers, with their little circular bristled heads.
Looking from their own stalkers to each other, no one seemed particuarly surprised when Dos squealed and howled. The gloves moved slowly, but they dug in. His head went back, he wailed hysterically... and shook his head slowly, knowing full well it wouldn't do any good.
Uno started to laugh. Louder, faster. He hooted, tried hard to move off the bench. Just fuckin' roared at his trapped feet, and the unstoppable brushes.
Tres shook his head - froze, and gritted his teeth. The points were touching him, but not moving. A whirring noise came from way down there, but he didn't dare to look. Another very similar hum. The polishers had been turned on. There was no point at all in struggling, or yelling for help, or begging. The points began to crawl. Just over each heel, the motorized tickling bristles introduced their special insanity to his soles.
They were goners.
Every few minutes, the level of warm charge and crazy-making inner explosions seemed to double. Tres pounded his head on the padding for awhile. Dos wailed laughs at the ceiling...
Uno yelped less hard, and less often. He watched the brushes, looked at the other guys, squinted at the shelves fuckin' full of so many more tools - and was the first of them to get so overwhelmed by the increasing impact that he couldn't laugh or move. He saw a pack slide out of the carton, and hooted at it as it was opened. Before the others could keep their eyes open much at all, Uno was shakily taking long drags, and snickering the smoke back out.
Tres was the next one to be unable to laugh anymore. He concentrated on smoking hard.
It was another half-hour before Dos was able to hold in the smoke at all.
They got four cigarettes, back-to-back.
All of the tools lifted off. Teams assembled - the gloves hung over Tres, the buffers were ready to madden Uno, and the brushes made light contact with Dos' soles.
"We c-can't do a thing to sss-stop this," Uno cackled. The others knew that, but it was more certain somehow when they heard it from somebody else.
Oh, the captives went nuts. They became overwhelmed...
Cigarettes floated to their lips. New ones came to Tres just about as soon as he finished the last one, and Uno wasn't too far behind. Their bodies were so relaxed that it might have seemed, in a photograph, they they were loose. Calm. But firm muscle was tickled attentively, ceaselessly, until they were far too distracted by the impact to plead or writhe - roaring with laughter was just beyond them, and it would have been completely inadequate.
The tools switched victims again.
Finally, after at least six cigarettes each, they were each given a bottle of beer - and about ten pills and capsules to swallow.
They watched a dozen gloves stalk each of them. Four of the spinning buffers were next.
That session lasted almost an hour.
"Aw, fff-fuck," Uno panted.
"What?" Tres said, just as blown away.
A lighter came to Uno's new smoke. He sucked in, and nodded his thanks out of some old habit. "My arms. Upper pecs, scaps..." He had to giggle at the fuckin' thought. "Forearms. So damn touchy."
"Flexors," Dos said, as if he was miles away.
"No. Over 'em. Wow." Uno hated the idea that all the work he'd done to protect himself from baddies caught the attention of a superhuman tickler. Shit.
"He's right," Dos said. "Bigger muscles mean stretched skin. I've heard a couple guys talk about being crazy-ticklish after they bulked way up."
"This ain't gonna be... a short workout," Tres sighed.
"Shut up," Uno grumbled. The dude was right, but there was nothing any of 'em could do about it. They'd fallen off the face of the earth. No telling how many toys the magician had, right in the room with 'em.
"The fucker loves doing this to us," Dos whispered. "More is better."
"Shut up," Uno and Tres said at the same time.
"Okay." Dos seemed to relax. They already knew. The situation was just too fuckin' wild to think about. Weeks of this turbo play?
There had to be eighteen brushes, of various kinds. Most were oiled.
Each of the other guys had the same kind of squadron over them -
Splitting up. Ready to dig in. Soles to ears.
"Aw no," Uno said. "Nnnooooowaaaahhh hah hah hah!"
Tres squealed, Dos snorted and cackled. Both of them tried to pull and twist too. Pinned horribly well.
Tickled and tickled.
Uno rocked his head back and yelled laughter at the ceiling.
After a couple hours - well, okay, more like twenty minutes - he was chuckling nonstop.
Next thing he realized was that he couldn't laugh much at all, and a cigarette was between his lips again. It was already lit. Teasing crackles poured into his body from all over. He took a drag, which seemed to help. Except the distraction wasn't enough. The contact was hitting harder again. Smoking was a lot more like normal life to him, so he was glad the reflex was there. He just tugged on that fuckin' cig even when the fireworks totally grabbed his attention.
Now, as usual, Uno's focus skipped between the effect of the brushes. One to another, and so on. There wasn't anywhere enough time to grasp it all...
Weeks of intense, customized tickle-fire.
Long hair, tats all over 'em, serious party-animal habits.
Fuckin' incredible muscles.
Car keys...
Dos looked at his keys, hanging just above his gut. He had new shorts on. Padded sandals -
No restraints.
"Wow," Tres said. He was looking at Dos - but he was dressed the same way, and his own keys were within reach.
They looked at Uno. Still naked, still caught. He didn't look scared. A little angry, maybe.
"Oh, dude," Dos growled. No car keys hung over the naked guy. There was nothing they could do to get him freed. No encouragement came to mind.
Uno tugged on his smoke and shrugged.
A squadron of leather gloves waited above each of the departing guys, and bandannas were wrapped around their foreheads. The door creaked open, revealing it was late afternoon. Both of them were blindfolded.
"Oh, of course," Tres croaked.
"No way to tell, and get help out here," Dos complained.
"Yup." They had both realized that Uno was still stuck for more of the same. No telling where the Smiler's Room was.
Clamp - the gloves grabbed their arms and made 'em stand up.
"This will end," Tres said, trying to aim it at Uno.
"Somehow," Dos muttered. "Hang in there. I don't know what to say, dammit."
"I'll be okay," Uno said calmly - and then he chuckled. Huh.
They were walked to their vehicles, and each was sat behind the wheel. Gloves pinned their legs, and kept their hands on the steering wheels.
A lighter seemed to rasp near each of their faces, and a lit cigarette was eased between their lips. The window next to them slid down some.
The tickler must've washed the windows, Tres decided. Nothing too suspicious would be allowed -
His truck's engine turned over. The other guy's ride was next.
Dos had a scary moment - what if their marathon wasn't over, and they were being hidden again? But he remembered the car keys hanging over him, and decided the intense workout was over... for now, at least.
New battery, Tres wondered, as the gas pedal was revved. Some basic maintenance - because they'd been sitting for a long time. Months?
When smooth pavement was under them, Dos was definitely relieved.
Tres didn't hear the other guy's car anymore. Best he could remember, they'd been taken east. He suspected there was another path to get 'em back to the highway.
Their rides were pulled over... and changed direction. That happened a few times.
Both mens' blindfolds were loosened. Nighttime. Heading back toward home, it seemed.
Thinking about his tattoos, Tres shook his head. "Ain't done with me," he murmured. "With us." A glove snuck under his left knee.
Dos had gloves wrap around his ribs. Uh-oh. "Gimme a break," he laughed. "No more. Not... not yet."
The gloves gave 'em a slow squeeze - confirmation - and let go.
feb2020