It seemed like an ordinary Saturday night. I had a paddling at eight, and a caning at midnight.
The earlier appointment was nothing special. I've had better. His aim wasn't all that great. I'd have some bruises on my legs, but they usually liked to see shit like that. It let 'em think I was a real bad cat, and a slow learner, like I only understood one thing.
My driving cushion, and a fair-sized joint, made me forget about my aching butt. And I'd gotten sucked off, so it kinda evened out.
I walked into the office. Oro looked me over, and sniffed.
He hated me from the first time he saw me. Jealous. He was a toad. Didn't do appointments - never had - so he looked down on everybody. It was hard to imagine anybody wanting to book him, anyway. Talk about pain...
But he did hire me. That was the only good thing I could say about Oro, and I was never shy about saying it. He was a great manager. I'd get two or three appointments every night I worked, and they were scheduled so I could grab a shower in-between and actually get to 'em on time. He was a shrewd fucker when it came to sizing up clients. And staff.
When he walked in for my interview, the temperature of the room dropped twenty degrees. But after a few questions, he watched Donovan work me over for ten minutes - his smug expression didn't change, not even once - and said he'd seen enough, be back Friday night at seven. No side jobs without letting him know, do not skip out on the monthly blood test and exam... and no smoking pot in the building.
That last one really hurt.
It was a big step up from my last place, though. They didn't know shit about the business. I lasted a month there. At least Oro was smart enough to take care of us. Even me. Healthy staff keeps the money coming in, right?
I'd been working weekends, mostly, for about three months. Still the new guy. Maybe not for long, though - Percy was moving to New York soon. That night, there was a stranger hanging around the door to the showers, pretending like he wasn't ogling us. Big clients got to do that, but this was a twink. Frat boy.
"New meat?" I asked Tree.
He didn't look up from his book. "Maybe. Waitin' for Donovan."
"Ah." Interview. I knew what that was like. He was getting psyched - I could see that - so I just nodded to him as I walked by...
Yeah, my ass was gonna hurt tomorrow. I soaped myself down and just stood there, letting the hot water loosen me up. What a fuckin' world. It sure beat telemarketing, though.
I'd been in the trade for almost two years. This was the fourth service I'd worked for, and the best one by far. My biggest fear had been Oro, 'cause I can take care of myself where the clients are concerned...
But he was a practical fucker. After a while, I was able to relax. He didn't pull anywhere near as much shit as the last service had. It's up to the booker to know the client. And the odds. Oro was careful. Nobody got their hands on us without solid referrals. No big surprises. It's not like I got any choice, after they got the cuffs on me.
So I let 'em beat me up, but not the face or the package. Cock play was different, so long as it didn't leave a mark. If I could whip it out and show Oro or Tree any damage, that client was blacklisted. They did not want that to happen. We shared the same blacklist as eight other shops...
Enemas, hot wax, electricity. Whipping, but only if Oro knew the client real well. No deep cuts, or I got an extra five hundred bucks per cut. I have enough scars already, old ones, from the stepfucker.
The clients like 'em. My scars. They prove I'm a bad boy. Stubborn. Overdue for a good paddling, and they get to be the one to teach me a lesson. Dispense some justice. And not a moment too soon, from the look of things. It's hardly ever as bad as the stepfucker used to do. It's gonna end in two hours, or four... and I don't have to ever see the client again, if I don't want to.
Sometimes, they're even chicks.
I got out of the shower without washing my hair. Good and greasy. Skin cream was a must, though...
Stake was the other badass for rent. He'd been tricking for five years. Anything and everything. Four nights a week - sometimes five - usually all night. I don't know how he did it, except that he really enjoyed himself. Maybe too much. He didn't talk a whole lot about it. When he was sure that Oro was gonna screw me out of the good appointments, he relaxed. Turned me on to a great connection, just this incredible fuckin' herb. Gave me some good advice.
We're not really in competition or anything. He's a biker, I'm low-rent. Worker-bee, too broke to own a motorcycle. They're different acts, though we can cover each other's gigs. I had a feeling that Stake was gonna let me cover some of his regulars when he went off to the big trade convention in Berlin next spring. I'd have to rest up and do extra workouts at the gym just to survive it, but I was always up for a challenge.
I decided on the ripped-up jeans and tennis shoes. No underwear, of course. An old vest, to show off my tats and my abs. I was going to see a new client, but I had to trust Oro...
Tree looked up at me, and nodded. Huge guy. I was glad he was on our side.
"You goin' with the Magnum?" he said.
It took me a minute to figure out which kind of Magnum he was talking about. But it was the same ol' bullshit as usual. "Nah. Don't need it. A good V-8 is enough power for me -"
"You can never have too much power." One of his rules to live by. We'd been talking about the new truck I had my eye on. Cash sale. I couldn't wait. "How much longer?"
I grinned. He always asked me that. "Worst-case, a couple more weeks. Then I can walk in, slap the money down, drive it on out. Fire me up a big ol' heater, to celebrate."
Tree nodded. "Good for you." He squinted at me. "What time is it?"
"Eleven... fifteen?"
"Off by ten. You gotta stay aware, Jason. Know your surroundings."
"I know."
"It'll keep you in one piece."
"It'll put you out of a job."
He yawned. "Quit talkin' that shit. Get going."
"Yessir." He'd get the address from Oro, if he thought he needed it. Tree did some collection work, but mostly he was around to watch out for us. Break in and get us if the client got carried away and forgot when time was up. Stuff like that. He was friendly enough, and I trusted him with my life, but I knew he was only in it for the money like everybody else.
On the way, I had myself another toke. Walk in reeking, real scruffy, the smartass piece of shit they've been itching to get their hands on. Humiliate the loser and make him cry. I can make my eyes leak at the drop of a hat, just by thinking about the day before the stepmonster and my mom got married.
What the hell, maybe it would be fun. A sweet honey in the shadows, watching me get what I had coming to me. That didn't happen too often, but it really got me off. Hanging back, dressed to kill, licking her lips. Teasing the trailer trash with candy he could never hope to have. And I'd do my part, hauling out every hopped-up trait I saw back in Louisville, cussing my head off with the thick drawl I had until I fled to LA. Never looked back, either...
I double-checked the address, and pulled in. Long, rolling driveway. Big money. Real nice house. So I parked off to the side and cut the motor. Locked my wallet in the glove box, and got out.
The only worry I had, right then, was the client. If he got too crazy, I'd have to call Tree and get a lift. Too sore to get behind the wheel... And I really didn't want to cancel my Tuesday night, a standing gig every week with the old guy. He liked to throw tennis balls at me. Chain me up, yank the padded hood over my head and neck, paint targets on me and have at it. He couldn't throw very hard, so I hammed it up, groaning and squealing, threatening him, begging him to stop. One hand throwing tennis balls, the other on his cock... until he was tired. He'd get up and stick a joint in my mouth, and count up his points with a riding crop. That always finished him off. He'd lay at my feet, shivering with delight, and I'd hang there and get stoned. I was used to him. He was in pretty good health, considering, but I always gave Tree a call in the morning so he'd know I wasn't still hung up there... and lately I'd been staying the night, cuddled up in bed with him. He never tried anything, and he was so grateful. When I'd leave in the morning, he'd still be snoring away. And the money was fuckin' fantastic.
Enter by the south side - that's what the directions said. I snuck around the side of the house, but there weren't any doors facing south. Just a door on the garage. It was unlocked.
Nobody was waiting for me. That old bit. Overpower the burglar. Turn the tables... I closed the door behind me, and a light clicked on overhead. Motion-detector. I saw two doors on the other side, and one was open.
A stairway. Going down. Somebody had a little playroom, it looked like. Cinderblock, or maybe a dungeon. I sighed, and walked around a nice-lookin' Jag, dark green...
But I was looking at the open door. The inner side had a box on it, without a lid. A note was taped to the box.
"Help yourself, and come on down."
I peeked inside the box, and swore under my breath. Then I reached in and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Half a pack - of Lucky Strikes, yet. Shit. I hated cigarettes. The stepmonster caught me once, when I was thirteen... And I didn't look as good as I did because I smoked my head off or anything. Pot was different. Everybody knew that.
At least I didn't have to come back here again, and smoke some more, if I didn't want to. I hoped the asshole planned on gagging me.
There was a little airplane-bottle of Jack Daniels - still sealed - but I only sucked down about half of it, so I'd stay alert. The cock ring was leather, and it had snaps. That didn't fit the setup - unsuspecting crook getting a big surprise, and all that - but hey, whatever. I gave my dick a few squeezes so the cock ring wouldn't slide off.
Black gloves. Cheap Harley knockoffs. And a bump, in one of the fingers, turned out to be a choker. Hemp, plastic beads, and a little pot leaf. Pewter. Finally, something I didn't mind wearing...
The box was empty. I stuck a cigarette in my mouth, and slid the pack into my vest pocket. Got my lighter out and fired it up. Absolutely gross... Why did people like cigarettes, anyway? I checked my fly, took a couple deep breaths, put the foul Lucky back between my lips, and snuck down the stairs.
I had to go slow, because it was really dark. That wouldn't last. They all wanted to see. Stare at me. Maybe tape it, for later -
Nine stairs. Low ceiling in the room, maybe. I reached out with my hands. There was one opening, to the right. I still didn't hear anybody.
But in I went.
Maybe the door would close automatically, gotcha, and the client would come in another way, with a gun pointed at my gut. You really fucked up this time, asshole. Broke into the wrong house. See those handcuffs? Put 'em on...
When my knee bumped into a padded surface, I stopped. Waited. Hell, I even took a drag off the cigarette, rushing the smoke back out -
Hands - wearing gloves - landed over my eyes. Not exactly necessary, since it was dark... For a second, I expected somebody to say "Guess who?" I've heard stranger shit. Anyway, I thought, here we go.
"Hey," I barked.
A click - probably light. But those fingers were...strong, for such little fingers. I couldn't pull my head out of their grip.
That didn't make sense. Right away, there were too many odd little things. When I reached up, two more gloves grabbed my wrists. Two guys, then -
But the angles were wrong. I knew. I had to pay attention. Know where the client was, even if I had a hood on...
Both of these guys were behind me, and they were standing in the same place. Which couldn't be possible -
Even as I thought that one over, I reared back and started lunging around. "Hey, mutherfucker..." as if I couldn't count to four. Four hands, divided by two. Small gloves. Could they be chicks? With really... strong hands?
Well, then. I slid forward a little, and turned real fast - but they held me, right where I stood. Easily.
I got worried.
Nobody was that strong. And I still hadn't heard either one of 'em breathe.
The door slammed shut.
They pulled me forward, and after a step I had to bend over. The pad was thick. A bench? Vinyl, anyway.
One glove let go - my left wrist - and took the cigarette away. I thanked it, in my head, and swung my arm around. Not too hard, because it isn't smart to really piss off the guy who's about to start beating you, but I sorta needed to confirm something.
My hand didn't connect - with anything.
And that was impossible.
I tried again. Where the fuck were they? It was... impressive. I even chuckled. Good job. But then I kept on growling, and clawed at the glove that was holding my right wrist.
Something hit me. Left wrist. Hard.
A handcuff.
I jerked back... but only once. It hurt. They had a solid grip on the other cuff. Even by that time, I was seriously confused. Too many question marks in my head - and as I expected, my right wrist was released just long enough to slap another cuff on.
Unless they really fucked up, I was all theirs.
Two pairs of handcuffs. Quick. I had to hand it to 'em. Literally, as it turned out - because they pulled, and eventually I had to go along. Not enough slack to slip out of the cuffs, and I didn't want any cuts there.
Pressure tightened around my head. A blindfold. Good one, too. Leather ovals... Velcro strap to tighten it down. I wouldn't be slipping out of it. What bothered me the most about it was that it had to be a third babe, handling the blindfold. Two more than I'd been expecting. That meant trouble. I seriously hoped they were chicks... But a guy had booked the appointment. Tree had the address. Nobody was that stupid, they'd never book another gig again -
As my arms were pulled up, I felt a shoe break contact with the floor. Then the other one. I was laying across a bench, being turned to the right...
I had to pick up my legs, but I ended up laying lengthwise on the padding.
Gloves yanked on my right arm, and I heard noises I recognized. Creaking, and jingling.
Bucking like a horse - and it wasn't just for effect, by that time - I still couldn't get either arm free. More fingers got the cuff around my arm, slid it into place and buckled it down.
One chance left... Until four gloves latched on. It just blew my mind that they were stronger than I was. Small hands, too.
Soon, the other cuff was on tight.
They got my clothes off - the vest pulling away from my left shoulder, then my right. Looser. Tugged off. That meant... they cut my fucking vest off me! That was gonna cost extra.
After my jeans slid off, they slammed my left leg down, and got it cuffed tight. My right ankle was shoved right alongside it, and I stopped fighting for a second. They were cuffing my ankles together. So my asshole was safe - probably. What the hell was the game plan, then?
When the gloves let go, the cuffs were checked one by one. A good, hard tug on the restraining straps.
I laid there, breathing hard. All laid out. Listening hard for a faint whistling sound overhead. Cane, belt, riding crop -
A soft touch.
My right foot. Down, and back up.
My leg started to twitch. Bending my toes didn't do any good -
A word came to mind, and I fuckin' refused to believe it.
Both feet. Crawling up, and down. Maybe feathers.
"No," I said firmly. "Stop it now. No. Not... This is not the deeeeee hee hee hee eeeeeeaaaaaw naw haw haaaawwww..."
They had me thrashing around, in the first ten seconds. My whole body, going nuts.
The feathers moved slow. Light, and easy. Tickling.
Oh, shit.
I started to panic.
There was one time, before. A fat slob, coked up to the gills - and I'm not judging or anything, I just don't get people who totally let themselves go. But this creep wanted to play with power. Hung me up by my wrists, and barely got started tingling my nuts and my ass-crack, when he gets a crazy look in his eye. Drops the wands, and reaches up - those big fuckin' hands - mauling my sides...
But the feathers just kept sweeping. Slow-dancing. Oh, no.
I twisted as much as the cuffs would let me. There were a lot more than two hands in the room. Gloves -
And then I laughed harder. Talking was beyond me. Stop it, I wanted to yell. Stop! Deal's off. I did not agree to this...
And no stop word.
The feathers took it up a notch.
I slammed my head up and down on the padding. Yelped laughter, warbled... started to howl. Quietly.
But that was my private cue. I had to calm down, right away, or else I'd slide over the line. Being delirious, with a client - not a good idea. Especially new clients. Three of 'em.
With feathers.
Fuck.
Okay. I didn't worry about how hard I was laughing. So long as I could breathe...
I concentrated on my breathing. Panic was dangerous. Deadly. I paid as much attention to breathing as I could. In, and out. Quick breaths - well, sure. That was because I was laughing.
So breathe, and laugh a little less hard. Just a little calmer, each breath. Adding up. I'm okay, staying aware of what's going on around me, I can get through this. Laugh for 'em, give a good show. Stay sharp. No more fear...
No panic.
There.
But it tickled. Both of my feet. Oh, shit, I didn't think they'd have feathers -
I wailed unhappily, and cackled good and hard.
And by then I could think again, and listen. So I did.
Not a single noise. Three... women can't take me down, and do this, without even exhaling. A satisfied sigh. Something.
It's magic -
That made me whoop a few times. Magic.
Stop it. Right now. Breathe, Jason. Pay attention to the air rushing in... being laughed back out...
Alright then.
The gloves would probably be next, tickling away. Intense... but I could take it.
By two-twenty, Tree will smash that door down and come get me, I thought. I'll be okay. No damage - and no cum.
I knew that was wishful thinking, but it helped me relax. Anything was still possible. But I had a hunch.
The first thing a new client shows you is their main interest, usually. They're impatient. If they don't show you the dildo, right off - leave it where you can stare at it - they drop hints that even a boxer could figure out. These fucks got me cuffed down, and they immediately started making me laugh.
Plus, the gloves were too small to be on men's hands.
And there was still the silence, other than me. Freaky as hell. But I chose to take it as a... good sign. They wanted a guy to tickle. Well, they fuckin' got one. Two hours and change, until Tree got here. No door could keep Tree out. That was another thing I took on faith.
The sensation increased. More feathers. Maybe four. I tried to kick, and jump around.
Gave 'em a good scream. "No, noooo nooooooooooo aaaaaah hah hah hah hah heeeee-yaaah hah haaaaaahhhh..."
I didn't have to ham it up. Not at all.
After studying a few more breaths, I settled into a gravelly roar. I needed to think. The easy subject first. The agenda. What were they gonna do to me?
Dammit. Muther-fuckin' tickling...
Just the kind of change-up that makes new clients a real pain in the ass. So to speak. How creative were these babes? Oil. Probably. Shave my crotch? They put me face-down, though. Not too convenient for getting at my meat. I had a cold feeling they'd tipped their hand. Serious tickling, maybe a vibrator up my ass. Nothing to it.
Unless they were ghosts. They wouldn't get tired. Sky's the limit. Every kind of outrageous tickling that only a ghost could pull off. I was going to lay right here and take my medicine. A tattooed, laughing fool. All theirs -
Stop that - dammit - breathe in, out... In...
Eventually, the feathers went away.
They landed in my armpits.
I gasped, and flopped around. Howling. My sweat made the bench slippery.
But I'd been ready for it, sort of. I let my body go, as it strained to get away from the feathers, and did some more thinking.
How...?
I still didn't have any evidence that there were actual - human - ladies, tickling me. And no other sounds... Robots, machinery. Electronics. Hell, if a machine got the restraints on me, I wanted to shake the hand of the guy that built it. One sick son of a bitch.
Clients could be talked to. Not that I could stop laughing long enough... But there would be an opportunity. Probably. And sometimes they'd get of their fill of making me suffer, and start to feel bad for me. Guilty.
But this didn't add up.
The feathers played in my armpits, and I slammed my belly against the pad a few times. Shaking with roars, except they were silent...
I did not want to buy into the ghost idea. Too intimidating. I had to pull myself together. Alright, then. No other people here, apparently, and I have no way of confirming... anything. Who was tickling me - or what - was unknown. Fuck if I knew.
But they were driving me wild.
Feathers.
Faster. Dragging faster. Oh, no. Down to my hips. Across my back...
Ass-cheeks. That made me kick and jerk around, more serious than ever. I didn't want to be there until Tree busted his way in. I had to get the feathers off me. Get away from this room. No more tickling.
My neck.
And - my knees!
Calves, and thighs, and upper arms...
At some point, when I'd calmed myself down enough, I counted.
Ten.
Either there were five people crowded around me, and I was deaf - which didn't stand up, because I could hear myself cackling, the soft creak of the cuffs - or...
Shit. Oh, shit. Ten feathers - and later, would there be ten gloves? I'd be apeshit.
I'd been expecting two hands. Not ten! It wasn't fair.
I had to get out of here...
All warmed up, to their satisfaction. That's what I figured, when the feathers went away.
I squirmed a little, knowing what was next. Blindfold or no blindfold.
My feet...
Covered with feathers.
A little scream burst out of me. And then I hooted like I was never, ever gonna stop.
I couldn't believe this was happening.
A long time later, gasping for air, and I felt something move.
Hey. Air... on my chest. Real sweaty -
There was a metallic sound, up by my hands.
I lifted my head. So, I was on my back. Uh...
Another sound, just like the first one.
Go, I thought. Now. Move -
I sprang up - no good. Very disappointing. My right leg went along. My arms stayed down. And my left leg had gloves pinning it to the vinyl.
Another sound - a clip, snapping. And the crowd hopped on my right leg. Pulling my foot down...
Catching it next to the other one.
The fuckers had turned me over, and I was too wiped out to notice. Not until it was too late.
I shook my head. Weary. How long had I been in here? But I knew that one. Past experience. Take your estimate, and divide it by ten. Unbelievably, my guess was it had been about an hour.
"Shit..."
A feather - oh, no.
I jumped. Kept slamming around.
My meat.
More than one feather... because my balls were getting it too. No. And the damn cock ring was still there.
I didn't know there would be tickling, I wanted to yell. So many feathers, too. Didn't know.
All those gloves. Silent ticklers - nobody else here. Just me, and the ghostly hands. Empty gloves.
Knock it off, right now. Calm. I can take this. I'm a pro. Easy, Jason, it's gonna be okay. I had to stay calm. Had to - focus, breathe in, and out...
More of 'em landed, and they gave my belly a good dusting. My thighs. All up and down my rod.
But that was old news. Getting played with, down there - that happened every gig. Hell, that was my job. So I put some thought into breaking one of the straps. I tried everything.
And I was motivated, because I could not handle the thought of lying here, cock standing tall, while they put those feathers back to work on my armpits - or my feet.
But I couldn't get loose, no matter how bad I wanted it to be over. So I realized I'd just have to deal with it. Fuck.
I'd been in worse spots. And I knew my body. It had only been tickled once - clumsy work, too. That sucked, but I made it through okay. Last time I ever saw that fucker.
These feathers were being used... Well, somebody had spent some time learning how to tickle. Hardcore tickling. I couldn't believe it, and how the hell did I end up there again, and I was gonna cheerfully beat the shit out of Oro the next time I saw him.
Distracted - again. Okay. Think. I could take pain all night long. Eight hours. It wasn't easy, but I'd done it before.
My skin was doing fine - dammit. Tickling, of all fuckin' ways to torture a guy...
Eight hours of this, and I'd be certifiable. 5150. This didn't hurt, not like what I was used to, and I -
No. The guy who tickled me, that was almost two hours and I made it okay.
But two hours, here... The feathers -
I groaned, and arched my back.
This is what I do, I thought. I'm good at suffering. But this is fuckin' ridiculous.
I lifted my head, and shook it. Checking how I felt, if I could think straight, and all that. I wasn't that close to snapping - losing my edge altogether, and then I'd be nothing more than the helpless bottom the clients thought I was. No amount of mental exercises would do shit for me, then.
It's one thing to suffer - but staying ready to turn it to my advantage was the harder part. And I decided I was going to keep my head. Damn ticklers...
Tree would be here. He'd come and kick down the fuckin' door and get me out of here, long before I broke down. I knew I could count on him. And that was a good safety net, because he was big and unstoppable - and he understood.
Okay. I knew Tree would be coming. I had to hold onto that thought.
If this went on and on, I wouldn't have a single defense left. Since I'd never let myself be that helpless before, I damn sure wasn't gonna start tonight.
The feathers got serious. They wanted me to cum, and finally we agreed on something, here. I was surprised they didn't tease me longer. Maybe they knew Tree would be putting an end to their fun, real soon -
I arched my back again and held it. Yelled...
Gushed like it was my first cum-shot of the day.
Serious, huge relief swamped me. And I had to have soaked some of the feathers. Ruined 'em. A small victory. I took my time, and eventually relaxed. Breathing carefully, so I'd stay focused -
Waiting.
Uh-oh. What happens after I cum?
My pain threshold stays about the same, because I'm concentrating on it. Keeping up. But pleasure...
They weren't giving me run-of-the-mill pain, here.
I moved my head around, trying to hear something. Still no sou-
No! Left foot.
Feather - no, bigger, more solid.
Oh, fuck, I am so dead. It's a finger. One of the gloves.
"Yaaaw y-you can't fuckin' d-do this to meeeee," I squealed, meaning very word. "We had a deeeeeeal..."
Another one. Two fingers, barely going at it - and I flopped around like they were shoving ice cubes up my ass. Then a couple landed gently on my right foot.
"Aaawwwww naaaaaah haaaah haaaaah naaaahhhaaaaawww aaaaaaaw haaaaawwww..."
By the time they had my feet covered - solid, outrageous tickling! Impossible to take, much less describe - I was a wild animal. Just crazed. Grunting, but the laughter had stopped bubbling out. That struck me as a fairly bad sign.
Stuck in there. And the cuffs would not let go...
My feet were no longer ticklish - I mean, some new word was needed. After a cum-shot, they'd become, hell, maximum-sensitive. The fingers rubbed and rubbed and rubbed and r-
I had to get a hold on myself. Breathe... But the response to that was obvious. Fuck that! Breathing, staying calm. What a crock. This was far more urgent. It demanded my attention, right now.
Everything else had to wait.
The gloves said so. Right here, Jason. Track us. We're going to rub you and rub you and rub you and rub you and rub you...
That's when I knew I was in trouble.
Suddenly, my favorite thing to do was to throw my head around. Side to side. See, gloves? How much you're driving me nuts?
Armpits! And ribs.
I gulped, and started chuckling. As if it was no big deal, just a little bit of fun. Easy night for ol' Jason.
My body relaxed. I just laid there, real loose on the pad, and tried to come up with a way to let 'em know how intense I was feeling it all. Focusing on those unbelievable fingers. Every one of 'em.
They crawled all over me. All over.
Methodical tickling. Rub, squeeze, scratch lightly, trace, squeeze, clutch again and again.
I had to find something else to... do. Just laying there, lost in it, swamped - it was so easy. I didn't have to do anything. Let them play. Study how it felt.
They tickled anywhere they wanted to. Fingers got between my toes, and stroked my ears. Crawling way under my nut-sac. And I couldn't move. They were busy. It was their show. I'd think about squirming around, but my body didn't go along.
Maybe if I don't piss 'em off, they'll go easy on me. But if this was easy, then what the hell...
Think.
Fuck th-
No. I have to get a grip. Be a smart trick -
That was a good thought. I wasn't over the edge yet, if I could remember that. Stay in control of yourself, and you run the scene. Very good.
My body didn't think so. And it looked like my imagination agreed with it - Where the hell have you been tonight? I'm getting tickled so much, I'm way beyond "can't stand it anymore". All the fuckers have to do is pull my truck into the garage, and hide it - and I belong to them! You getting any of this? I'm so screwed...
Think. Breathe... But it was so hard. So fuckin' hard to concentrate on anything else. I just wanted to think real hard about all the magic hands. What they were doing to me -
Inhale. C'mon. Study it.
And exhale now. That's good. In, and out.
My name was Jason, and magic gloves were tickling the fuck out of me.
Not a thing I could do to make 'em stop.
Well, okay.
I couldn't believe how wasted I was. Just from getting tickled. This called for some serious thought, later, to make sure it never happened again. It could never, ever be allowed to happen again.
I had to be careful.
Breathe in... Out...
Good. Focused.
Oh, wow - devastation, all over my body, careful fingers rubbing -
But I could step back from it, just enough.
That was close.
If they'd pushed a little harder, at the right moment...
I was curious, so I kept studying myself as I concentrated on my breathing. How tired was I, really? Was my neck sore? Forearms, upper back? My balls? Estimating how long it had been...
I didn't like my conclusion, but it seemed to be right. The two-hour mark hadn't even arrived yet. Shit! More tickling for me.
C'mon, Tree. Bust in early. Now would be a great time.
It was a ridiculous thought, but I kept thinking it anyway...
I never would've believed how ticklish I was. Had no idea at all.
The gloves stroked and slid around, scratching lightly, pushing in with their thumbs and wiggling 'em a little.
All I could do was lay there. Feeling it. Giving 'em my full attention, each move they made...
They'd just pick up and go to another spot, settle in, and make me nuts.
Aw hell, they were fuckin' with my feet a lot. Feet and knees. I couldn't even keep track of 'em all. Ten gloves - too many gloves to keep track of, at one time. Fifty damn fingers. Tickling Jason real well. Tracing my ribs and reaching underneath, sliding back out. Over and over. It was horrible, how good they were. Skilled.
I yawned... and then I realized it. Yawned again. Huh?
Sleepy.
Not worn out, or too fatigued to stay conscious. Hell, no.
It was chemical sleep. I didn't even feel the needle. With every minute, though, it got clearer.
Passing out struck me as a real bad idea, for so many reasons. The asshole who booked this nightmare of a gig could tell Tree anything...
But I knew Tree was nobody's fool. So that helped me relax.
The gloves tickled and tickled. If they kept it up as I fell asleep, would they be in my dreams? They'd like that. Magic dream gloves. Tree couldn't stop them. Let's tickle Jason all night, just like this...
I was sliding under. Thick, warm fog, dark... nothing to worry about, the fingers still moving but I didn't care. Maybe they couldn't get me...
Escape from the tickling.
Fuck, yeah.
Smoke.
Old, stale -
The musty, bomb-shelter smell - the weird moisture of the air, underground - that was gone.
Tree came and got me. Hooray. All done...
But I had to be sure. Right? So I tried to roll over.
It didn't happen.
My hands stayed where they were.
I was in no hurry to open my eyes.
This was so catastrophically fuckin' bad that I couldn't even see the point of panicking anymore. This wasn't the cell where I was tickled - it was a different room.
But there were restraints on me. No clothes on. And since Tree had never messed with me before -
Somebody must've pulled one over on him. Caught themselves a badass... to tickle. Hid him real well.
I felt like I was gonna throw up.
So that was my cue. I opened my eyes. Lifted my head, and looked around -
Plain white walls, indirect lighting. X-rack, thin rack, double-stocks, benches. Wide bed, covered in new white satin.
My hands were cuffed behind me, to the back of an old wooden chair. They knew how to make 'em, back then... The legs were bolted down to the floor, but even with my strength I couldn't break the damn thing. Wide leather around my wrists, holding my arms at just the right angle so I couldn't get any real force up or down. Beginner's luck - or somebody knew just what they were doing.
Trouble was, I didn't see a 'somebody', much less 'they' or 'them' -
But I did get to watch a water bottle. Moving up. No hand, there, just the bottle coming up to my mouth...
Like magic.
I knew it, right then - this was a carefully planned, long-term grab.
After staring at the water bottle, it didn't really surprise me at all when a Lucky slid out of the open pack, there on the floor, and cruised on up to my mouth. By that time, if there was any point in putting up a fuss, I fuckin' didn't know what it would be.
A lighter showed off next, and I scowled at it. But I played along. Hell, yeah.
I took a couple drags and tried to pretend it was a joint - but mostly I just sat there, getting dizzy.
The restraints weren't gonna budge. My ankles were parallel with the floor, but there was a good six inches of space. Room for feathers to work. And gloves.
Part of the wall moved.
I caught a glimpse of a stove. Maybe a microwave -
And a tray floated in. It was being carried by black rubber gloves.
They picked up the knife and fork and started cutting up a slice of ham. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for empty gloves to do.
I ate everything they put in front of me, without a word.
As the tray took off, the pack of Luckies moved again...
I kicked out the smoke, and looked around. Not that there was anything to s-
"Jason."
Chick's voice. But where was she?
"W-what?"
"You like what you see, here?" Asshole, I thought. Sadistic fuck. "I built it just for you."
"Or whoever else you could snag," I shot back.
"Well..."
"How'd you do it?"
"Take a guess."
I thought that one over. "Oro."
"Good boy."
"Unbelievable -"
"Not really." Another pair of gloves drifted up. Silk, I thought. Black as they could be. One was carrying an ashtray... "Five grand. No questions asked. Everybody's got their price."
"Don't I know it," I said bitterly.
The voice giggled. "He decided it was okay to schedule an appointment without actually meeting me. Just this once."
"Five thousand bucks. No wonder." I took another drag, and a glove tugged the cigarette from between my lips. I watched it tap the ashes off. "He told me it was a guy. The client."
"I told him to say that."
"Ah."
"An all-nighter. A surprise for you, nothing damaging. He held Tree off -"
"That son of a bitch."
"Oro? Yeah. You called him that. In your letter."
That made me stop tugging at the cuffs. "Uh... letter?"
"Well, yeah. When you resigned. 'Go fuck yourself' was in there, too."
I shook my head. "Tree knows -"
"That was the other letter you wrote. I've got your handwriting down, Jason. You thanked Tree, said you decided to go ahead and buy the truck now... and you were headed to Vegas. Better money, more gigs."
The cigarette went back between my lips. I was thinking too hard to frown at it. "Naaaah, you don't know Tree," I said confidently. "He's like a bloodhound -"
"Without a trail," the voice said. "Don't worry about Tree. You wrote that you promised to stay aware of your surroundings, and you closed by saying that... let me think, now... you hoped the new twink worked out okay."
"Wait. How did you know... You were there. At the office."
"I wasn't going to take any chances, Jason. And let you slip away?"
I just sighed.
"And one more thing - just so you're sure - you told him you went right down and got the Magnum. Is that an engine? And you talked the salesman down. So you tucked five hundred-dollar bills in that envelope, just for Tree... An extra thank-you for being there for you, all those times."
"No," I whispered. "Aw, no." Tree never failed... but he did like money. And the letter had shit from when we'd talked. He knew how much I was looking forward to getting that truck -
"Yeah."
It could work. All bases covered. Lock me away, make me howl...
"I need a joint."
There was a pause. "I don't approve of getting stoned -"
"Aw, fuck!" That did it. I was surprised at how loud I yelled. And I snapped at the restraints. No pot.
"But I suppose... I could make an exception."
I settled down, breathing hard. "You mean it?"
The voice sighed. A long, melodramatic, putting-up-with-male-bullshit sigh. "Yeah. Okay."
That threw me for a loop. "Well. Alright, then."
"It's another way to keep you in line. Obedient."
"Yeah," I snorted, "looks like that's gonna be a real problem for you - in here."
The voice laughed... and more gloves started showing up. The damn silk ones. Drifting around from behind my chair.
"C'mon, now! This ain't... uh, please. Look. I don't want to... Oh, fuck, I can't stand tickling."
"I know. And I promise, Jason, I'm going to change that."
No matter how long it takes. That wasn't said out loud, but I could tell. "We had a deal. Two-hour gig -"
"Two-hour gig." She laughed as if I said something really funny. "I don't think so. It's an open-ended appointment now."
"How long -"
"Open."
"You can't do this," I said quickly.
"Now, don't worry. You're still on the clock."
Two more gloves were arriving, and one carried a leather suitcase. Just past where the Luckies and the ashtray sat on the floor, they turned the bag over -
Bundles of cash hit the floor.
"Shit..."
"And you're going to earn it."
Twenties, fifties, hundreds... None of it new. Rubber bands around the bundles, which were not all the same size. I stared at one, wondering if it was all C-notes. Five grand, there? No. Too thin. Still, even at three thousand per bundle - and there had to be twenty or thirty of 'em.
The glove tossed the suitcase aside, and took my cigarette away. Floating steadily, but not in any great rush.
How long. Three months' pay, there, at my hourly rates -
"And there's more where that came from. Lots more."
"Son of a bitch," I muttered - not at the tickler, at the money. I was just blown away. All that, and more. Still on the clock.
I was gonna get tickled for a long fuckin' time.
About a dozen gloves moved in. Slowly, as if it was even better to tease me, get me looking from glove to glove quickly. All tensed up again, seeing that fuckin' silk about to lay on my sides, my gut - under my knees. Armpits. Reaching for my feet.
"You know what's funny?" the voice said, just as the gloves started to land. "I was going after Stake at first. Bring him here. But I think he's been in the business too long, Jason. He's just not ticklish."
The fingers - they started rubbing!
"Aw, nnnn-no -"
"Far as I'm concerned... you're twice the man he'll ever be."
I started to laugh. Real fuckin' hard. Rocking and leaning every which way, I couldn't get the damn chair to move at all.
14nov2002