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Ramona came home early, and suddenly I had the night off. Let the tenants bug her, the other assistant super, if they needed anything... for the rest of the weekend. I was looking forward to watching the porn I'd downloaded, and turning in early.
On my way to the stairs, I saw a box by the doorway. Private delivery company, maybe. It was addressed to T. STOKER, apartment B-4. That got me curious, because I didn't recognize the name -
And there were only three apartments down in the basement. Where was B-4?

The hallway led past the three units I knew about, ending at the laundry room and storage cabinets. I shrugged and headed back up.
Only one other door was down there, just to the left of the stairs. It had always been locked - painted shut, I thought - and it was only used by the building owner for storage of her own stuff, as far as I knew. But I pushed on the door as I walked by.
It shifted a little.
The latch actually opened.
And there was enough light from the stairwell landing for me to see an old wooden door, I was pretty sure, maybe twenty yards down that musty hallway and to the right.

Well. I stood there for a second. This was weird...
The door I'd just opened was scraping on the concrete, so it wasn't about to swing closed. It wasn't like I hadn't been in much darker parts of the building when we beefed up the insulation last fall.
Tapping my fingers on the box as I looked around, it was surprising to see there weren't cobwebs in the hallway. This didn't seem like Ramona's work, or she would've definitely told me about the order to clean in here. Maybe I should ask her -
But I was already right by the door. The hallway wasn't too dark...

B-4 was scrawled below the peephole, alright.
"Huh," I muttered, and I knocked but not too aggressively. "Building super," I said, looking back down the hallway to see if maybe anyone else heard me. Assistant super, actually, but that just seemed to confuse people. I knocked again -
The door opened a little.
That was weird. The first time I knocked, it definitely didn't seem to be loose. I pushed it open a few inches. Dark. Odd furniture - and the wallpaper seemed strange too.
I didn't want to open that door any further. Something made my antennae perk up. The box would be just fine in the hallway - so I took hold of the doorknob to close it up again.
Hands grabbed me.

Under my arms, and clamping along my sides. Six or eight hands.
I squawked and just about did a backflip. The box slammed against the door.
"Trespasser," a guy hissed.
The hallway went dark. Actually, the far door had been closed. Nobody else was around!
Before I even had time to get scared, all those hands hauled me forward -
The door slammed behind me.
Light clicked on -
A big bed with straps and cuffs lining the edges. A rack, chains, stocks... lots of cabinets.
I heard a lock snap shut behind me.

"Wait," I said, staring at the bed. Thick cuffs... to hold me down. So many hands, overpowering me. Aw hell no. "I'm the super, I was just -"
The box slid away from me - and lifted off the ground. That stunned me.
"This is my package," the voice said. I couldn't see where it came from. "Mine. You have no right to sneak into my private... playroom," the guy said.
"No, I didn't sneak in, now look -"
"Liar!"
The box top tore open. A bag flew out...
And from the bag came some long, brown feathers.
"Filthy burglar."
Fingers dug into my sides.

Yelling, I reared back, slamming my arms tight. More hands immediately grabbed my hands and pulled 'em behind my back.
Twisting, I started to laugh.
"Is something funny?" the voice taunted.
They had me. This was serious. Bad, unbearable...
I laughed louder. Harder. It was all I could do.
The hands never let up.

Everything just sorta cut out for a while, there.
My torso was just on fire. Not a real burn, of course, not entirely bad somehow, but way, way too much...
I was gasping for air.
Oh, shit - I wasn't looking at one of the walls. The ceiling was padded too.
Flat on my back - and spread wide. Cuffed.
I lifted my head. Dammit, the invisible hands had strapped me down to the bed. Soundproofing foam. No matter how loud I yelled... or laughed...
Another bag rose out of the box - the delivery I made, along with my own ticklish self.
Dark shapes.
"Aw NOOOOOO," I yelled, fighting like crazy. "HAAAAALLLLLP!"
Gloves were coming to life. Firming up, in mid-air.
Coming for me.
They looked mad.
Too shocked to do a damn thing, I watched my t-shirt rise up, as if it was pulled wide open -
And the fuckin' hands pounced.

Roaring. Laughing so hard. Fingers terrorizing my 'pits, my ribs, raking my belly, squeezing my pecs.

A couple minutes, maybe, and they paused.
Oh, the gloves didn't go anywhere. They just let me catch my breath.
"D-dammit," I complained -
And they nuked me again.

Five times, or maybe it was closer to ten. I completely lost track...

Movement. My legs.
Aw hell, the gloves were crawling up and into my jeans!
Freaking out, hooting like a fool, I tried to roll and mash 'em. It wasn't working. The fingers tickled so much. Way too much. Shins, and calves -
Knees.
I howled and howled.
Under, over, light strokes and fierce squeezes in just the wrong places, palms sliding up and down my calves -
Fingers crawling up my thighs.
It made me crazy. Berzerk. Oh, shit, I couldn't move enough to stop 'em, couldn't get my damn hands free - and I was hysterical. Insane, rowdy laughter wasn't anywhere near enough to deal with the chaos all over my legs. Nothing had ever tickled so much -
The fucker knew how to do it. Way too much. Serious skill.
Oh, I just roared until the tears ran down my cheeks.

A long time later, I was finally able to breathe again.
Something tugged -.
"Noooooooo no no no, aw no, c'mon," I begged. Invisible hands were slowly pulling off my right shoe.
Then my left.
Hell, I had to get loose - immediately - before the hands got a death-grip on my feet, and started touching down, racing, kneading...
But all of my thrashing didn't do shit. One sock, then the other, was pulled off and dropped.
Wiggling their fingers, a half-dozen gloves converged. Fuck yeah, they were gonna make me explode now. My feet were trapped. Exposed. They were stalked by a fuckin' sadist, a real pro...
"Please," I whined.
"Dirty trespasser," the voice said. "You wanted to see my playroom? Well, now you're staying in here. And these feet are filthy. They need a good scrubbing."
"No, p-please, aw somebody HAAAALLLLP MEEEEEE -"
"Every inch. Just like the rest of you. Scrubbed, and moisturized - to soften you up - make you more and more sensitive - and then another long, careful scrub."
I wailed, tugging at the straps.
"And another. But first - a hard... massage."
The gloves attacked.
Diabolical tickling.
I shrieked, and whooped... trying to kick, to pull up, whip-saw, bounce. Anything.
Hands clamped around my shins and pressed down.
Others grabbed my insteps and curled over my toes.
The gloves tickled without mercy... and now I couldn't move my fuckin' feet at all.

When I came around - oh, shit, that felt like hours of insanity, I'd never felt anything so crazy-making in my entire life - my clothes were gone.
There were more gloves hanging over me. It was just impossible. Fifteen? Twenty?
I started giggling, more desperate than ever to get loose.
"Sweaty, dirty thief," the voice said. "I'll teach you..."
I screamed as the gloves started coming down.

Everywhere. Deeper tickling. That was my best guess.
Worse. A whole new level of fire, rubbed in, squeezed in, petted and fondled.
My cock was being pumped. Slowly. Oh, fuck, so miserably slow.
I couldn't laugh anymore, and that made the sensation even worse. The tickler had to know this was way, WAY too much - and talking was beyond me. Even fidgeting. It had to call the damn gloves off. I was getting way more stimulation than I could possibly take.

Hours crawled by.
 

I'd realize that the powerful throbs had died down - and then, dammit, another break was already over, and the gloves were starting back in.

I came - almost passing out from the sheer force of it - but every fuckin' inch of my body was far more ticklish than before. The gloves didn't let up in the least. Roaming everywhere, sneaking under, tormenting my neck, my nipples, my hips, stroking my forearms, stroking my ears. Returning to my soles and just pulling out all the stops.
Tugging feebly, I cackled when I could. Unhinged. Losing it. All that mattered was the fingers and the grips, sliding and burrowing and clutching.
 

Every time I woke up - that padding was there. Making sure no one could find out, and come help me. Get me away from the mysterious tenant who made all those gloves move and squeeze...
I lifted my head.
Gloves were coming back.
No amount of yanking and begging did any good.
My cock was grabbed before they even arrived - and I saw a leather contraption cruise down. Buckling.
My dick stuck out of the top... but it was lined with fur. Tickling - constant contact. I started laughing again. And then I tried to thrust - but my balls were stretched down.
I hooted at four feathers that came to my trapped cock-head. They started to edge me, and flick. I roared with laughter, flailing around - and thrusting. Which tickled.
So I laughed fuckin' harder, and the feathers started in - under the rim of my glans, and all over my ball-sac. It tickled way too much. I had to thrust -
And that fur was becoming unbearable. Pressing all around my shaft... Like living oil, tickling all on its own. Every twitch.
I laughed silently and shook my head, as much as I could, at the gloves that were landing all over.

It went on for years. I swear, time just stopped or something.
Every instant was filled with pure fuckin' fire - tickling cranked up so much higher now - that throbbed from my crotch and made even my fingers, and my scalp, intolerably sensitive.
And the feathers didn't ever pause. The fur, even soaked with my pre-cum, made me wanna howl.
But I couldn't shoot my load. That was a whole new kind of nightmare.
The gloves kept grabbing my attention, though.
Fuck, it just seemed like it was never gonna end...
 
 

I have no idea how long I slept. The cock-trap must've been taken off, because my attention didn't get drawn to my cock. The impact of each glove had become about a hundred times more intense. Didn't even remember the climax... but the tickling afterward went on for another careful year or two.
My face was pressing something -
The wet sheet.
"No, no, no more, ppp-ppleeeeease, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... d-do it, aw please," I babbled. My limbs were caught just as snugly as before. Laid out, face-down... so my backside could be tickled. Completely.
A glove started raking my left foot. And another one joined in on the other sole.
Squealing, barking, bouncing...
Stuck.

They worked on my ribs and spine, teased my ass-crack, stroked my triceps. Fuck, my knees were even more ticklish. Gloved hands made it pay, unspeakably powerful sensation, on the underside of each knee. Others crept under, squeezing above and below my kneecaps. I was totally desperate to roll over, and the straps were definitely not gonna let that happen.
Curled gloves danced up and down my thighs. Scritching my balls, trailing back down and tickling their way back up again.
I howled and screamed and tried to plead for my life. Nuclear sensation hit me... everywhere. No place was safe.

They drilled my feet, on every surface, and then moved - like a hungry pack - to my sides.
Going as wild as I could manage hadn't fazed them at all. Now I was too addled to move, or make any noise. They rocked on, and on...

I looked at the door for the longest time.
Everything hurt. I must've slept for hours, because I was wide awake. And dammit, I didn't want to be... here.
Strapped to a padded rack, leaning back somewhat. Stinking. Aching from head to toe.
The bastard hadn't let me go. Though I really wanted to believe it was all part of the same nightmare, I knew exactly what was coming. And also, deep down, that I hurt too much for this to be a bad dream.
The box was still there. Filled with tickling shit. I brought it here. What a moron. Probably the bastard had left it there, right when I was coming by. Dropping off packages was part of my fucking job, here. It got me to walk right up to the door of this fuckin' torture chamber, and push the door open -
A pair of gloves floated over and clamped over my soles. I started giggling immediately, moaning because it hurt to breathe.
"Even criminals... have to eat," the voice said. "Keep their strength up. The day's just begun, trespasser." The gloves squeezed me. "You'll eat now, or two hours from now."
Oh, fuck, they started moving -
"Choose."
"Hah hah hah hah, I - I'll - eee heee heee heeh eeeeat," I whooped.
The gloves stopped tickling. And held on. Yeah, as soon as I was done eating, I knew exactly what was in store. But it was so wonderful to have 'em pause like that.
A cupboard opened. Out came a tray, and some bottles...

Soon I was staring at "breakfast".
Three energy bars, two candy bars, a big glass of instant coffee - made with cold water, and mixed way too strong - and a few different pills. They didn't look like vitamins to me. Speed, maybe, and some drugs that would probably crank the tickling up to a whole new dimension for me. An energy bar lifted off the tray. I watched the wrapper peel off. It came to my mouth, and I looked at all the shit on the tray. Hesitating.
The gloves squeezed, moving a little -
"Okay," I snapped.
And I ate everything.

A couple minutes later, I watched a big bottle come hovering over.
"Please," I groaned, "no more. Please."
"Thief," the voice snapped. "You reek."
Waterless sponge bath -
Poured all over me, good and thick.
A dozen toothbrushes floated down and got to work.

"Oh noooooooo," I tried to wail, but then I had to giggle. Twitching was all I could manage, and even that was erratic. Fingers had been tracing, crawling, and digging in so many places, for so long, that I couldn't even begin to keep up. It took so much concentration just to try a kick.
The cuffs kept me trapped.
Laughing silently. Already feverish.

Fifty times? A hundred? Round after round, always another attack. Every one just totally unbearable. Several meals. Days of this?
Another minute was unthinkable. But I was still stuck. The tickler was gonna keep doing this.
Sure as shit.
I howled silently at the soundproofing above me.
 

A humming sound snapped me out of a daydream. The brushes had made me cum - and their scrubbing had turned me into a slobbering wreck, after the sensation increased yet again.
I finally figured out what was being held up in front of my face. A massager, of some kind...
A glove came up and slipped through the elastic strap. The plastic box sat on the back of the empty hand. Another glove and vibrator got ready.
"Oh, no," I said, trying to rear back.
The tickler's fingertips started coasting up and down my sides.
Tickling that buzzed. Hell, I just came absolutely unglued. The cuffs didn't move at all. The gloves rubbed slowly, from my 'pits to my lower ribs, no matter how much I reeled or how hard I laughed.
Another pair got busy on my thighs.

I came again.
More gloves joined in. Aw, fuck. Wow. They didn't have massagers, but they mauled my feet and belly with their usual brutality.
 

Finally, decades later, I looked around. Dazed, but not tickled -
And as if the bastard was just waiting for me to recover enough, a couple dozen feathers started lining up with frighteningly ticklish spots.
 

"Not done teaching you a lesson," the dude sighed - not as angry? Relaxed. Calling all of the shots.
Looking for the source of the voice was pointless. A tickling phantom, all kinds of hands, set up a secret dungeon. It seemed like I'd been worked over for years and years...
"You wanna invade my space - and then put my playroom at risk, 'cause I know you just can't wait to shoot your mouth off later - well, you're gonna suffer for it."
Shaking my head took a determined effort, and so did chuckling like a fool. The fingers up and down my legs wanted all of my attention.
"Gotta admit, criminal, your suffering is top-notch. I snagged a hot one. Taking you down was... heh, I'm all inspired. You're giving me ideas, more than I know what to do with. Nowhere near done, here. Do you think I'm kidding? I bet you don't."
I tried to laugh "Help," as loud as I could, but the coverage in my pits was too intense. Talking or moving was just beyond me.
"But I've discovered a really annoying thing. Try to follow along, dammit."
My head lolled, which was the closest I could get to nodding.
"If you don't reappear pretty soon, the building manager will eventually think to check everywhere."

That took me a while, with palms sliding here and thumbs rocking there, but finally I understood. Rescue. From miles away, my brain was so relieved - and immediately warning the rest of me not to get too happy. The tickler was fuckin' insatiable, and there was a crushing reason it would bother to tell me... some worst-case plan -
"Now, you're mine... and I don't know when I'll get done with you. Paying attention. thief? I'm going to prep the backup playroom for you. It's hidden real damn well. I want you locked in, and not having any idea where I'm punishing you. Month after month. Or I'll spread it out. Haul you back there. I'll get more ideas, and new tools will come out... Yeah, you're good for another year of me really focusing on you, trespasser. It'll probably be spread-out -"
I managed to wail laughter at the ceiling. It wasn't anywhere near loud enough.
"So - every day off from that job upstairs, you get your ass down here. Right in here. Time to howl. You don't get here by nine in the morning, I'll haul you back in myself. Count on it. You try to run - and I'll stash you right in the backup room. Your new home. All day, every night, total tickling."
"Noooo nooo nuhhwhaah hah hah nah nnnnaaaah -"
"Hell, yeah. If somebody finally opens that hallway door, I've got two plans mapped out to rush you out of here. If they finally decide to replace you, I guess you deserve room-and-board from me. A much better playroom, trespasser. No one comes near it. Serious physical conditioning will increase how much you can feel. The right drugs help too. No risks -"
"Nuh huh huh nuh nnn-whaaah hah huh w-whuh whyyyy?"
"Thief," and it chuckled at me. The master. So pleased. "The only reason I haven't stuck you in there already is... the low-life who inspired this playroom. He's gonna sneak back into town at some point. I'm tired of waiting, so his son might be the one rocking out with you. The kid's gonna be eighteen this winter. His dad will reappear. One or the other, right there with you. Oh, I'll make real sure you learned your fuckin' lessons."
I managed to chuckle and hoot at the gloves covering my pecs.
"Feel it harder. For me. Your boss. Gotta earn your keep - whenever I want to rub in some more payback. From now on, thief."
Skilled fingers dug in everywhere...

22sep19
uploaded 31dec22