Thruster wakes up on the floor, exhausted...
He smells leather.
That isn't possible. It was the hardest thing he ever did, but he pulled them off. He's free...
Just in time, too. They'd seduced him somehow, and it took so much planning and effort to escape. No wonder he passed out, right on the carpet. He still didn't understand how he'd done it. But he's beaten them.
He starts to wonder what his real name is. Yawning, he moves his head a little -
And there's a cool, smooth texture against his chin.
That gets his eyes open.
That odor, and the feel of the cowhide. Touching him...
Thruster sighs.
The call cannot be ignored.
His left hand starts to move. He cannot stop it.
There is no alternative, of course. The desire to respond - the dizzying need - is deep and wordless. No resistance left.
His fingers curl around the soft leather. So soft.
Rolling onto his back, he lifts them into the air. Over him. He looks up, extending the fingers of his left hand...
Sliding them. Inside.
Easing the leather down, deliberately overpowering the snugness, until they embrace his fingers. Covering his entire hand.
The right glove is next. Returning to where it belongs.
And then he sighs again. Pure satisfaction, relaxation -
Between his gloved fingers, a cigar appears. He brings it down to his mouth and smokes gratefully.
Then - as he expects, having seen it so many times before - the right thumb and forefinger slowly came together. And a clean white feather is suddenly there, pinched and held.
He stares at it, and the last memory of freedom dissolves silently.
Below the gloves, thick leather cuffs show up - again - where they used to be. Matching pressure encircles each of his ankles.
The walls begin to shimmer, almost melting, and they reveal the dark steel surfaces which hid him before. The thin mattress is by his side.
Growling happily, Thruster kicks out smoke and gets back on the pad, holding his arms and legs out wide so the chains can reach his cuffs - clicking as they're reattached, pulling his limbs tight.
Leather fingers make a quick gesture, making his hand move as they do. Instantly, his body is covered with moving feathers. The cigar has disappeared.
He snags a breath and starts to roar. There will be no more chances to get away - he's certain of it. Nodding drunkenly, he yells laughter, so relieved to be doing it. What was wordlessly ordered is complete again. So many tools will camp on his touchiest spots.
In for the duration...
14nov02