"Okay. Look. Uh, I'm sorry."
His eyes were locked on the pack of cigarettes I'd just pulled from the pocket of his jeans. Now if I had a heart I would've been influenced by the hopeful look he was giving them - almost licking his lips - but there was no smoking anywhere in the facility. Under my roof, obeying my rules. He just gave up that stupid habit... and besides, I don't have a physical body. Not even the fun parts.
It was a black-walled room, twenty by twenty, fully equipped for comprehensive tickling. The gear had been customized for an average-sized male. I'd overhauled a lonely shack out in the middle of the woods, and now it was a superbly camouflaged bunker. The locks were sturdy.
All that had been missing was an energetic, responsive prisoner.
I'll make him more robust and vigorous than he ever thought possible.
The smokes were dropped into a large zipper bag. It already held the contents of his wallet, a knife, lighter, cell phone, rolling papers and some loose change.
"You've been charged and convicted," I told him, "of excessive speed."
"C'mon! I was barely over -"
"Thirty-three in a thirty mile-per-hour zone," I interrupted. "That's an infraction." His lighter went into the bag.
"You're out of your mind," he grumbled.
"A non-moving violation. You're not moving. Remanded to custody, and this is where you'll be incarcerated."
"I was rolling down the road, and next thing I know - is this place. Show me your badge, dammit. I want a lawyer. This is kidnapping. Jail time, for speeding a little?"
I closed the bag and tossed it into the corner. "Time? Were you under the impression there's a sentence? A set term for you?"
That made him stop struggling with the cuffs. "Shit. Look, you can't do this to me. I know what you wanna - no. You bastard. Not this. C'mon!"
"I'm riding you until I decide you're rehabilitated, biker. As long as I like. Believe it. And it sounds like you know what that means."
His groan was full of frustration. "I'm not an idiot." He kicked a few times, but it didn't free his feet. "This isn't a real jail."
"What makes you say that?" I asked, picking up eight long feathers.
Three hours later...
"Nuh! Nnnn-nuh huh huh huh huh."
Breaktime was over. He arched and strained at the straps all over again, chuckling before the feather dusters even touched his skin. One for each side, one for each foot.
He slammed back down, grunting. Then he writhed slowly, feverishly, still rumbling with hoarse laughter.
There's nothing like a feather duster. The visual effect, I mean. By spinning it slowly I absolutely grabbed his attention - and then I started bringing his doom to his feet. Bare and caught, kicking in pure panic, now twisting and yanking... as their doom came closer and closer. The feathers didn't just approach - they seemed to be full of bouncy life, tireless energy eager to drive him insane. No need to rush them back to his skin. The fun of teasing him was so exquisite.
He wasn't going anywhere. I was determined to rock his world, no matter how passionate he was about getting his soles out of the line of fire.
He watches the feather dusters coming closer, twirled by me. Oh, yeah. He was thinking he was doomed, but this man doesn't have any idea how unhinged I'm going to make him. Long after he was incapable of forming a coherent thought, the crippling crippling pleasure would continue.
He just couldn't tear his eyes away, moaning desperately - working even harder to free his legs.
I am going to waste your ass, I thought. Everything's all set.
"Guilty," I sighed - starting to dust his feet again.
And damn, he bucked like an alligator.
My feathers dragged lightly down his soles, and then back up again. It was only the first taste of what I had in store, and his desperation to get loose confirmed that he knew how much more excruciating it would be, consuming, arousing...
With grunts and happy-sounding growls, he arched and flopped and pounded his head against the mattress. With all of his might he was trying not to laugh. His prior attempts to keep the reaction inside hadn't worked out well for him.
It tickled so much. That was obvious. I had him completely helpless, so I could subject him to so many hours of increasingly crazed mirth - and he didn't seem to grasp yet that I was unstoppable. He'd know it soon enough. How wonderful to have a hairtrigger stud under lock and key, isolated, with all of the gear and toys I wanted.
He snorted. Angry chuckles forced their way out of his throat.
I kept the feathers gliding, tracing... tickling.
A quiet, high-pitched moan was followed by restrained cackling. Gritted-teeth, suppressed, angry.
But would I stop?
Bouncing a time or two, he gasped in a lungful of air -
"Hah hah hah hah hah," he barked. "Naah hah huh huh nuh nnnnaaaaah hah haaaaah!"
Very nice.
Tears welled up in his eyes, and every toe seemed to be trying to escape in different directions - knowing their customized ordeal was about to start - but the leather kept him here.
I stroked the sides of his feet too, heels and now those yearning toes. There was no way I was going to neglect his soles. The rest of his body would be fun to plunder.
Steady, unnerving, maddening tickling.
His laughter was getting louder. More involved, now, he told me how much it was getting to him with the most wonderfully rough, involuntary sounds. You are not going to miss a single second of this firestorm, I thought...
And I rotated the other dusters slowly as I aimed for his armpits.
I loved the thought of getting busy with ten or fifteen oiled gloves!
The next morning was electrifying.
I fed him and washed off most of the sweat.
"I'm begging you," he rasped. "Please. I can't take any more of this."
For a few seconds I let his plea hang there - as if I was considering it. Allowed him to hope...
"But you're guilty. You have to take a lot more reformation," I told him. "This isn't over. Not even close. I already hid your bike. Got more supplies."
That took a few seconds to register. "Dammit," he groaned.
I chuckled at him and lifted a gear bag, turning it over so the contents fell between his legs.
The prisoner's eyes got huge - clearly I'd just blown him away again with the latest surprises. While he thrashed, I began picking up things. "I mean, you haven't even felt the texture of these brushes. All over. Every inch of your trapped, crazed body. Fur, soft bristles - "
"Awww no, no, n-no no no no..."
"Now these plastic forks are surprisingly effective. These are permanent markers, medium point, in eight vivid colors. I'll just have to clean and clean until all that ink is... rubbed off -"
He shrieked with fear.
"And you must've seen some of these adult toys before. This thing here is called a bridle gag. These little beauties are skin buffers. Dermabrasion. Aren't they sweet? I take it you couldn't help but notice all five varieties of gloves. Different oils."
"Please," he wailed, apparently choking back a sob.
"Hell, this isn't even all of the tools I brought," I said carefully. "I don't know when I'll be done tickling you."
Seeing him grimace, and flinch, I allowed myself a long, hearty laugh.
17feb2007