It had been a lean time for the hospitality industry.
Froth didn't really care. But it had been forced to abandon three dungeons during the past year, and the last one was set up just the way it wanted. The logical thing to do was go find a cabin, and haul a truckload of supplies out there. But it loved the city...
And one day, aimlessly, it wandered into the Haystack. That was the nickname of a big old hotel. Twelve stories. 480 rooms and suites - but over half were empty these days, all the time.
That bothered Froth.
All it wanted was one room.
Silently, the hotel staff was watched. Records were carefully reviewed...
832 was its first choice.
There was plenty of room past the foot of the bed. Classic decor, as though time had left the room behind. That was the appropriate mood, Froth decided, considering what it had in mind.
The west side of the building was less popular, and 832 was five rooms away from the back stairwell. Better yet - the management had closed off the entire floor. That only made sense. Easier on the housekeeping staff, and they'd only need ten minutes to air out the rooms, pull the plastic wrap off the bed, hang some fresh towels in the bathroom.
The monitors that showed what the security cameras saw in the hallway were even turned off. As if that wasn't enough... the ninth floor was also closed. And the west side of the seventh and tenth floors.
The elevators wouldn't even stop on 8 or 9, and the stairwell doors were kept locked.
As a test, Froth went into ten of the "sealed" rooms and put a large potted plant on the foot of each bed. Then it went out to gather tools and supplies, filling a small storage room near the old coal boiler in the basement. And it made the toys it liked best - by the dozen. Really, it was eager to get back to it.
Two weeks later, none of the plants had been returned to their rightful places.
Froth considered fourteen days just fine - for a start. The first attempt would be a learning experience. When someone from the hotel staff came in and put an end to the excitement, it would take the information gained and make an even better plan. All those empty rooms. Surely there was a way to pull it off...
One night it moved everything out of storage, and stocked the room just the way it wanted.
The empty rooms all around were even better than any soundproofing foam. Imagine the effect, it thought happily. A normal-looking hotel room - but no one would ever come around to see what all the fuss was about!
All set. A terrific setup like that called for a man with exceptional sensitivity.
Froth went hunting.
In some parts of the city, there was almost an embarrassment of riches. It was an effort not to keep looking for the perfect toy...
He had to be alone, of course. A long adventure was going to keep him thoroughly occupied. Better-than-average physical condition, and no obvious health problems. Decent stamina, too. His endurance, and his muscle tone, were going to be developed and improved.
The budget motels and youth hostels were investigated first. It seemed amusing to put a guy up at the Haystack who couldn't afford it, enjoying all the rich comforts available to its guests.
The other requirement for Froth's new pet was, of course, blindingly obvious.
A quintet of college kids had arrived at the Cheep-Sleep. Ready to party, tear up the town, get laid. It would have no problem separating one from the pack, leaving hints that he'd gone off to chase tail. Still, a group of men reporting the disappearance of their friend was an unnecessary risk. Not that they'd ever look for him in the Haystack...
There was one new arrival at the hostel, but he was too old. Not lean enough to suit Froth, and he really liked to smoke.
The frat boys started drinking.
Later, after making quick tests in between far too many beers, Froth was torn between going with the most reactive of the frat boys - and that wasn't saying much, really - or looking farther out in the suburbs, where a few more chain-motels were clustered. Slip in, check a few...
The decision was too important to rush. Froth wasn't planning a day or two of torture for its next victim. Even though the impatience was building - after all, the room was just sitting there, all prepped and everything - it decided that the abduction would probably have to wait until the next day.
So it headed east. The hostel was in that direction, a couple blocks away. Perhaps someone interesting had shown up during the past couple hours.
No. Just the old guy, snoring softly. Reeking of beer. More out of habit than any real interest, Froth slipped under his pillow and found his wallet.
A German tourist. That was interesting. The ID card made it pause -
What? Oh, that was his picture alright... But he couldn't be 44 years old!
It studied his face, resting so peacefully. Dark hair and eyes. It looked as though his whiskers grew quickly... Early thirties, at the oldest - that's what Froth had guessed.
Lifting his shirt a little, it appraised his muscle tone without touching him. The lower ribs stuck out nicely, and once he'd burned off, oh, seven or eight pounds, he'd be lean. A few days of intense exertion would do the trick. His lungs didn't sound bad at all.
If his hands were cuffed down, he'd be done with the cigarettes...
Froth was disappointed with the turn of events. A big city, all those potential victims waiting to be caught, and things had come down to this. The suburbs, then -
But it lingered. Maybe it was the way his ribs just begged for a solid attack. Or the tourist angle. He could disappear without a trace. Lost in the U.S.A. Those were attractive points, but it really couldn't get over his appearance. His torso and his face definitely didn't look 44. Maybe that also meant he was, well, youthful in other respects.
There was only one way to be sure.
It dragged a finger across his left armpit -
He recoiled so hard he almost tipped the cot over. Eyes big, looking around wildly.
Well, how do you do... Gabe.
As he settled down again, looking embarrassed, Froth really wanted to grab him and fly right to the Haystack. But it backed off, enjoying the pang of frustration. Now that it had a specific target the brief wait would be, in one way, exciting. In order to arrange the kind of entrance into the cell that it liked best, a few hours of patience would be necessary - for a bigger payoff later.
When he was asleep again, it took some measurements for his restraints.
Gabe woke up at eight. Froth had been imperceptibly hovering over him for two hours.
Waiting was so hard. The plan was too elaborate. He was going to get on a train and leave. Before it steered him inside today, some idiot from the housekeeping department would wander up and check on the rooms - unscheduled, pointless interference...
He could be hit by a bus. Or get arrested.
And it followed him out to breakfast, then over to Central Park.
Waiting.
He bought a carton of cigarettes and stuck them in his knapsack - completely unaware that it wasn't going to let him smoke any more than one of the packs. Why, he was going to quit that very night.
After trudging over to the Empire State Building, Froth wished he'd hurry up and start drinking...
At last. Late afternoon, and he was smart enough to wait until he was fairly close to the hostel. He picked an old bar with a cowboy theme.
Not too many people were there, but it was early. And a weekday. Gabe planted himself in the back courtyard, lit another cigarette and watched TV. He flirted with the waitress, who played along enough to ensure a good tip from him. But that didn't seem to bother him.
Other than eating a sandwich and going to piss, he didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. Froth was enjoying dark thoughts of revenge. Soon - very soon now - it would have complete control of his schedule.
The sun was setting, which would make transporting him much easier. When he ordered a fourth beer, it pulled a tiny packet out of the front knapsack pocket. Nudging his lighter off the table made him reach down to get it -
Unable to see the packet zip over his beer, and open. Fine powder, the color of sand, fizzled slightly as it dissolved.
Considering his capacity for alcohol, Froth wasn't sure the drug would do anything more than make him... vague. Slowed down.
Yawning, Gabe squinted at his watch. His frown suggested he wasn't ready to go to bed just yet. But the drug said otherwise. He finished that beer and stood up, carefully.
It allowed him to walk a few blocks, closer to the safety of the hostel. Waiting for a streetlight, he swayed a little -
Until Froth leaned against his knapsack. Just enough to steady him.
About a minute later, he stumbled... and was caught before he fell.
Gabe looked from his right bicep to his left. No hands there, that he could see - but Froth held on, rather gently, and turned him around.
It was the decisive moment. Would he fight, and draw attention to himself? If so, he'd be dragged into an alley and hogtied. Froth would have no problem immobilizing him and keeping a hand clamped over his mouth until they came upon a roll of duct tape or bungee cords...
But Froth still wanted him to go to his new room at least partly under his own power...
When a few tugs didn't make Froth's invisible hands go away, Gabe sagged a little. Thinking hard, trying to puzzle it out.
Smoothly, it pulled him forward.
"Nein, nein," he barked. Getting sleepy - and yet he resisted the pull of its hands. And then he yawned, nice and hard.
After a few more tugs, he gave up. His body relaxed, walking along... and his eyelids started to droop.
Froth led him down the street, and cut through two alleys. It took quite a while to get his hands working well enough to light a cigarette.
Closer, and closer. He couldn't possibly imagine what was in store for him, at the end of this little trek. But Gabe was too drugged to resist his kidnapper -
At last. His prison loomed over him. Almost there...
It had him pause, right in front of the Haystack. He looked up at it - and oh, how the drug had impaired him. Trying to shake his head back and forth, he ended up yawning.
At the door, Froth bent his arm slowly and brought the cigarette up. Gabe took the hint, tugging on it drunkenly. Froth took it from his fingers and dropped it - as it took him inside. So close, now -
As it walked him to the elevators, as steadily as it could, it eased his right hand into the back pocket of his jeans, pinching two fingers around a room key-card. and pulled it out.
For this uniquely special trip upstairs, Froth had deactivated the floor lockout. It was relieved to see no one else waiting - and even happier when the bell chimed softly.
He tried to back away, muttering "Nein" under his breath a few times...
Phantom hands immediately curled around his forearms, and pushed against his shoulder blades.
All in all, he didn't give the appearance of being all that reluctant as he entered the elevator, but no one was looking in his direction anyway. It turned him around.
Not even trying to disguise its excitement, Froth punched the button for the eighth floor.
He saw the button light up, and squinted at it. His head was wobbly, and his eyes slowly closed.
Not yet, Froth decided. Gabe was going to walk into his cage. It slipped his cigarettes out.
As soon as the filter touched his lip, he blinked a few times. Seeing it, he grabbed the cigarette with his lips. It looked so comical when he tried to focus on the flame from his lighter, and finally got the smoke going!
While Froth had been prepared to walk him off quickly at any floor and carry him up the stairs, it turned out to be unnecessary. No one else had summoned the elevator, and it took him directly to the level where his cell was waiting. His delirious agony was almost guaranteed now. The elevator door opened.
A beautifully quiet, empty hallway. No one should have been there to see him get hustled off the elevator, but the actual moment was powerfully gratifying. He wouldn't be out here again for awhile. Oh, he'd long to be running over this carpet, away from Froth, but it was far too pleased now to ever permit such a thing. He would be too worn out to walk, when it finally finished, and would be carried out, suffering to the last in its restless hands...
It carted him down the silent hallway and right up to the door. Froth snatched the key out of his hand, and slid it into the lock. Green light. Even this risk had been dealt with - Froth had borrowed a master key and hidden it under the edge of the carpeting. The door handle was pushed down.
A stern hand grabbed the back of his neck, squeezing enough to make him blink.
The door opened in front of him. As Froth had imagined - indeed, as if he knew its fondest hopes - he took a slow drag. Eyes trying to recognize the room, perhaps. It was so profoundly pleased at that moment, having pulled him right to the spot where his fate would be sealed... and he was just awake enough to smoke for the last time before being forced into the room where it was forbidden. The threshold was like a magic portal, and a push would end Gabe's vacation and trap him into the tightly controlled world Froth had prepared to hold him.
It relaxed the neck-grip somewhat and took his cigarette away, snuffed it and jammed it into his pocket. His clothes were going straight to the incinerator. There was no telling when he'd be allowed to wear clothes again... and that was wonderfully devious. Three weeks of captivity instead of two was a much more entertaining notion.
Gabe exhaled, and before he was done Froth started pulling him again. Three steps to hysteria. Two. One.
He stumbled over his own feet - but even that surprise was entrancing. The poor guy had been brought to Froth's room just in time. As if he knew that all risks had finally been vanquished, and any possibility of stopping Froth was hopeless...
Froth greatly enjoyed closing the door behind him. Locking it. There.
It hauled him further inside and past the big vase on the dresser - filled with feathers. Froth had placed it there deliberately, where he could look over and see it - feathers rising up, again and again, heading right for him.
But he yawned again, not seeing them. Well, the taunt would remain there, for desperate eyes to discover again and again. It slipped his knapsack off. Gabe sighed softly when the weight left his shoulders, and his head fell forward. The abduction was over, he was going to discover the reason for it when he was fully rested - and completely hindered from disappointing Froth. It was blissfully certain that his entire stay at the Haystack would be a roaring success.
He was as limp as a rag doll when it eased him down to the bed. This man would be astounded by his predicament when he woke up. Right here. Held down, limbs spread wide, fully undressed and vulnerable... gratifying Froth with the proof of its success, enticing it to proceed, tempting it to ramp up the impact even more as he proved, in his fury of demented amusement, that his bonds would not fail.
It flew out and engaged the elevator's floor lockout again. No unexpected visits of any kind were welcome now on the eighth floor.
When Froth returned, Gabe was snoring rather impressively. It It wrapped a dozen straps around him and put an end to his noises with a dildo gag. Then it paused to ogle the result. He was caught because of a single drastic reaction, rocketing out of deep sleep...
Something was missing. A-ha. It pulled off his shoes and socks.
Phenomenal.
All doubt was gone. Froth knew the wildly inordinate reflex it had caused was not a fluke. All day, and particularly now, it just knew he was the captive it had been longing to find.
One more errand remained before it would revel in the last preparations here.
At his hostel, Froth scooped up everything of Gabe's from the storage cages - suitcase, passport, traveler's checks - and flew back. Everything he had brought sat in the bathtub. Later, it would study everything... and after that his shoes, clothes and the highly valued cigarettes would be fed into the incinerator.
Froth hovered over its new victim. He was twitching occasionally.
Lightly, it touched the center of his tempting right foot. Barely in contact at all as it stroked back and forth...
He sighed. A soft grunt. After ten more seconds his leg kicked.
Extraordinary. Gabe was not going to disappoint Froth in the least.
It needed him to be completely insensate for a while. Froth clamped tight hands around his left ankle, and brought a small self-injector over a nice fat vein.
This powerful drug would immediately and profoundly deepen his sleep, shutting off sensory input. The effects wore off more quickly, though - an hour at most and he'd return to his usual "light" slumber.
Froth waited two minutes, then picked him up. Straps flew off, followed by his clothes... and his limbs hung limply. Froth extended them and squirted gel all over his chest, moving up to his armpits. Right behind the can, invisible hands smeared the gel around - and Froth brought four razors out of the closet, six pumice stones, ten brushes with moderately firm bristles.
The tools moved all over him, wasting no time. Wet towels scrubbed firmly. Next, Froth brought three different skin therapy creams and applied them all at once. One was scrubbed into his forearms, neck - and rubbed briskly nearly everywhere else.
Meanwhile, the first thick layer of a mild oxidizer was slathered everywhere on his feet... and a darker gel was massaged into his crotch and armpits.
Froth made the cuffs saunter out of the closet. One layer of leather was positioned, adjusted, wrapped around and clipped into place before the heavy outer cuff buckled tight. Both wrists were soon bulging with leather. Then it turned to his ankles.
As the straps were laid out and attached, all other movement had ceased - except at his feet. All of the tools had gathered there, tackling the calluses... and reviving soles, toes, sides and insteps.
They continued making every spot on Gabe's feet as sensitive as they could be after he was spread-eagled, and Froth tweaked with the angle of this strap, or the counter-tension between this set to contain any directional mvoement, or the height of that cuff. Finally the brushes returned to enliven his torso, knees, thighs...
Fifteen minutes later Froth finally pulled the last of the tools off his ribs.
Four thorough coats of moisturizer, from ankles to neck, the next layer applied as soon the last one had been completed.
He was exposed. Perfectly helpless.
Froth liked its choice more than ever. Gabe was lean, prepped and unable to offer any kind of resistance. Soon he'd be motivated to get up and flee like never, ever before. No matter what he tried, or how desperate he was to get away from the feathers and the ceasefully tickling fingers, Gabe wasn't going to be able to move his ass more than a half-inch.
Every minute that ticked by, its favorite foot cream in the world was increasing his potential for all-out excitement. After the scrubbing and five coats of the cream were deeply worked in, the ingredients were continuing to nourish his skin. Two of the compounds refreshed his muscles - flexor digiti, abductor digiti - and energized the plantar nerves. Four straps ensured that each of his comically enhanced feet would stay right in place for each stroke and squeeze... no matter what insufferable and enduring fun it had at his expense.
Circling him slowly, Gabe's kidnapper ogled all the locations it would ride. The idea of starting to vex his pale, hairless armpits made Froth never want to stop. His knees, his groin, his abdomen and hips - all there for the taking, indisputably condemned to be harrassed and regaled with antagonistic caresses.
He groaned in his sleep... as if its exhilaration had been detected.
Returning to his feet, Froth scruitinized each cuff and strap. They had such important work to do. It decided to pull the mattress and box spring even further away from the wall.
Yes. From his perspective the environment would seem a little less like a hotel room and more like... a customized chamber. It was another visual cue to remind him, when he could think at all, that great care had been taken in all things so that he'd remain isolated and confounded for as many weeks as possible. Booming laughter had that much further to travel in order to escape the confines of 832. Because of the delightful assumption that a sealed floor would remain that way, it feared no members of the staff coming anywhere near Gabe. The loudest peals of laughter would change nothing at all...
The visual effect was invaluable. Without headboard or footboard, the raised mattress - with its corners bending under the tension of the thick straps - was no longer an ordinary bed. Gabe was on stage now. Froth's kinetic display. Just a few hours ago he had been confident, vigorous, capable, fairly oozing endurance... but soon now he'd wake, thrash and realize the role he had to play. Then the performance of a lifetime would begin.
Only one lamp was on. Sitting on a table that had been alongside the bed, it would always be on when he was conscious. With the drapes closed, the dark tones throughout 832 gave it a antique, cave-like feel. Quiet, ignored, secure.
Froth realized, with amazement, that it was more fired up than it had probably ever been before. There was something extraordinary about a captive's very first realization, and the fulfilling confirmation he was about to receive. It drank in the sight - this is how Gabe appears just before he woke up for the very first time in its hands. He's about to see things he could never dare to conceive. Not a man this ticklish. He was discovered, selected... hidden and immobilized, and very soon now he'd discover just how secure the cage was. Froth had a crippling, increaingly arousing state of excitement in store.
He coughed quietly. Waking up! Oh, excellent.
His eyes opened. At last, every hypersensitive nerve ending could now slam the unthinkable, unbearable levels of candied fire to his brain... and all of the tugging in the world, the most piteous whining and snickering, would not affect the persistence of the tickling. Days and even weeks of progressively wilder stimulation were not going to be avoided.
Beyond a doubt he wanted a cigarette. At home, he'd probably just roll over and help himself. At the hostel he must've yawned, pulled on his jeans, and strolled directly outside, lighter rasping before the door even closed. Here, though, he usually wouldn't be able to think about smoking... and when he did, upon awakening like this and during uncountable rest breaks, he'd miss his cigarettes with a hunger that was painful in its intensity. That habit was gone now, and Froth had much more feverish pleasures to take their place.
Gabe slowly started scanning the room. Blinking at his naked body, with such a puzzled expression on his face...
That cot in the hostel lacked these fine restraints. This bed won't collapse as he lunges from side to side, making no progress at all, still in place to be provoked and petted and attacked. Such hideous fun will start now, and increase over the next eight or nine hours. Gabe will be earnestly hoping, as consciousness fades, that tomorrow he'll be anywhere else...
But now, as it wished, be tried to understand the change in his surroundings. That amazed, innocent expression. Pre-tickling. In seconds he'd be testing the restraints, getting angry... then being overcome with fear as the cuffs and straps confirmed he was going to remain a prisoner.
It was the only time he'd wonder why he was in there, held down - and hidden from the rest of humanity. In a few more seconds, Froth would solve that mystery.
He wouldn't ever find out he's in the Haystack, if it was careful. Obviously, it was a quality establishment... even if the new leather pinning him didn't match the decor of the room.
But 832 might as well have been on its own private island. The most heart-tugging anguish would not change his situation. The eighth floor was locked, and everyone on the staff knew it. They'll come to work, and go home - and Gabe would keep sweating through the fiendish, tormenting amusement as if they had never been in the building. All of them would deny the very possibility of what was about to happen, because who would ever think such a thing was possible? Imprisoned... Kept miserably, continuously delirious - for weeks, with any luck. He could laugh and scream just as much as his little heart desired.
Only Froth would hear him. Gabe's performance was going to be honed and appreciated by his solitary, invisible, insatiable patron. Thrashing, wiggling, testing the authority of the cuffs again and again. Thrusting. Gulping the air he needed so badly in order to endure another few seconds of the piercing, mind-boggling delight. The agony of all that irresistible merriment would keep mounting, burning, ramping up, occupying him more and more solidly.
It would enjoy ten mind-boggling days before any staff activity was scheduled on that floor of the hotel. In past reports of the housekeeping and facilities departments, Froth saw there had usually been a difference of several days between the planned dates and the actual work. Ten days could easily be fifteen. By that time Gabe will have thoroughly and accurately convinced himself, through deranged repeition, that no one will be coming to let him out today.
Unthinkable, ecstatic suffering, through each hour that will feel like ten, until Froth allowed him to pass out. That was why it had removed the clocks. Gabe's energy level would determine when bedtime finally arrived.
The maids and janitors would never find Gabe here. Froth had become fixated on preventing it. Only the captive's health was more important. Outsidrs would not come close enough to Froth's improved cell and the dazzlingly ticklish Gabe. It mulled over some hints to suggest that the staff was purposely choosing to ignore his torment. He'd see through that eventually, if he wasn't a total dolt, but it was confident he'd be too addled in the long run to question the final conclusion Froth would force upon him...
The last day of his intoxicating torture would be delayed as long as possible.
With such exquisitely encouraging facts on its side, Froth selected four perfect feathers from the vase.
When he saw them coming, the shock of recognition on his face made all of the effort worthwhile.
The earnest stretching and slamming around was delightful too. Gabe's body was purely desperate to get away before the feathers arrived, and his eyes revealed depthless dread. Of course he had to try to get himself free - and naturally he clung to disbelief and confusion and outrage, because the awful truth was not going to be easy for a morbidly ticklish man to take.
Yet the feathers, like so many other toys right over there in the closet, were unmistakably real.
Gabe yanked harder. His head came up to watch the feathers. That pleased Froth immensely... as did the double-take he did when they stopped, scanning from feathers to feet to feathers, drawing a conclusion that made a whimper escape from his throat. He started moving his feet as much as he could. That was a completely useless, yet entertaining response. He had been blocked from any defensive move that could possibly matter. The terrified man could yell, and feebly pedal and twist and clench his feet. That was all. Even those pathetic protests could be easily halted.
Almost bursting with delight, Froth made the very first tickle down the length of his bare soles.
Instantly Gabe hooted, tensing up completely. With a mighty effort, he tried to jump away from the feathers -
They eased up... and down. Froth studied his face as it made a sweep back up the inner sides. Such tender skin...
"Nein!" he growled hopelessly, eyes just huge.
To answer him, it brought the feathers spiraling in toward the center of each foot -
He took a careful, full breath - and yelled. A raw, wrenching protest. Unbounded distress.
Froth, thoroughy mesmerized, stroked faster.
Gabe kicked out two or three big laughs. Then he shut his eyes - Froth was fascinated by the thoughts probably going on in his head, right then - and forced himself back down to horrified chuckling. As he did, he started snap at his restraints with more determination - an all-consuming need to end the stimulation right now. Despite the laughter - punctuated with the occasional whine of raw fear - he tried as best he could to strain the restraints. Looking for a weakness.
That stopped abruptly when Froth slid two of the feather-tips between his toes.
He yelled "hilfe," over and over... Not at the feathers - he was looking toward the door, trying to summon a maid or anyone who would get him out of the restraints.
It loved the idea that he already knew better. His tickling would continue. He was very probably hoping he could survive until the tickler was satisfied, or decided he couldn't take any more. For a human tickler - what, an hour? Most of the night? Gabe had to be battling with ideas, with fears, that he'd never dared to consider before... and Froth vowed that they'd all be hideously surpassed.
Not only ticklish, but astoundingly ticklish. Right, Gabe? And that would be exploited diligently, right here, for weeks.
He answered with frantic hooting, anxious but soft - a sound Froth particularly enjoyed - before the feathers had finished the first minute.
Froth soon decided it was done with jumping to conclusions about older guys. It was
To think it might never have seen the intensity of Gabe's reactions, all the hysteria - that he could be snoring in that hostel and then going about his vacation, instead of filling 832 with an explosion of barking, lowing, gibbering...
He slammed around, but it was completely ineffective - not only due to his bonds, but also the throes and contortions of his nervous system making muscles seize and pump, wildly scrambled from all the confounding stimuli tracing over more and more of his skin...
It had to keep pulling back. Slowing down...
His sensitivity was downright impressive. Gabe writhed and howled like a man half his age. He was so unglued that Froth couldn't believe how much time had been wasted before, when he had been free to pack up his cigarettes and just disappear. Away from any tickling? Unthinkable. He was being affected so much more than usual - why, the obvious response was make full use of that and keep increasing the stimulation!
Almost reverently, Froth picked up black silk gloves.
"Lächerlich," he mumbled over and over, catching his breath an hour later.
Froth had to race down to the concierge's desk and borrow a German-English dictionary to find out what that meant -
Ridiculous?
That was the word. What did he mean? Was Gabe commenting on how unlikely he found the predicament to be... or how powerful the sensations were?
His perspective needed to be... adjusted. Froth would force him to "think bigger", as it did.
After another seventy minutes, his laughter dwindled considerably.
He still whined and growled, but making noise apparently didn't give him any relief. If anything, it seemed to be disturbing his concentration! When his muscles could no longer stay tense, the demented moans finally trailed off. Deep, regular breathing. Drool seeped out of the corners of his mouth. Occasionally, he managed to grunt or twitch.
His suffering was impressive to watch. Vast, and wordless...
While Froth greatly enjoyed his roars and giggles, his silence was a clear indicator of uncharted territory. With enough variety and plenty of short breaks, the sensitivity of his body was increasing. Nearly all of his energy was being commandeered by his nervous system. Mentally, he seemed to have no coping mechanisms at all.
With his body keeping him motionless - breathing, and processing food to build his endurance - his mind was trapped more hopelessly than even the restraints and the isolated room could accomplish. Was it hysterically trying to narrate what was being used to tickle him, in each overwhelmed location? Trying to guess how and where the next wave of torment would land? Gibbering and wailing that another rest break had to be coming soon, and maybe this time he'd be given a badly needed cigarette... or hoping this was the only day of tickling, that it wouldn't go on forever, and at some point the kidnapper had to let him go.
Or maybe, at this point, his mind was filled with the lusty noises he could no longer make. Savage whoops and barks, continuous keening giggles, ragged screeching interspersed with the occasional "nein" or "hilfe".
Ten and a half hours was enough sleep, for now.
At the front desk, Froth tapped console keys and scheduled a wake-up call for him - in ten minutes.
Then it watched him sleep and thought about what it would do to him that day.
The phone made three quick rings -
He jumped.
It turned the lamp on.
Blinking rapidly... he recognized what was holding his arm down. Both arms. Still caught -
He kicked, and tried to arch.
Very good, it thought. Time to wake up now. Laid out just like yesterday, for the exact same reason -
As it turned off the phone ringer, Froth picked up four pointed feathers... and sent them to his feet.
With a frightened scream, he started to slam and lunge around.
The raucous laughter died down after a half-hour. No more of that bellowed, panicky barking, not to mention all the scratchy yells for "hilfe"...
"Nai haii haiiiiii haii haiiiiiiiinnn," he cackled unhappily. Endlessly.
The feathers were joined by four soft brushes.
Struggling, arching, wild glances around the room - all of that eventually faded away.
He cackled for another hour or two, not counting rest breaks... usually repeating the word "nein" as a set of five chuckled sounds, with the last "haiiinn" longer than the rest. Then he'd inhale, and repeat it again.
After another hour which brought two rest breaks, he watched the gloves return again, swiping across his belly... making him laugh again.
He tried to shake his head, squinting at them. Watching.
Gabe closed his eyes tight, and gulped. Lips moving silently -
Suddenly, he opened his eyes again. Looking around with such disappointment...
When he repeated that two more times, Froth figured it out. He was trying to wake up from the nightmare. How delightful.
The next time his eyes popped open, two gloves began mauling his feet.
He howled and tried to back away from the racing silk. Froth dug in and punished him for even thinking he could get away, because he was safely caught and far too ticklish to escape the long, longer, longest torture Froth had planned, more intense tickling than he could possibly dream up. Certainly the torment was not going to end just because he wanted to wake up and elude it. Gabe was wide awake, and the agony of not being able to laugh hard enough was undeniably real.
Fifteen minutes, and it didn't like the way he was wheezing. So it let him rest up.
As soon as his breathing leveled out, he tried to wake himself up again!
Four gloves attacked his chest and armpits...
And the toe restraints were brought into use, just taut enough to allow a pair of feathers full access between his toes, skating and sawing at a murderous pace.
That pretty much ended his attempts to wake up from its red-hot, overwhelming reality.
Next, he refused to eat his dinner.
After two hours of high-octane punishment for that willfulness, Gabe was too tired to move. It held his jaws open and dripped chicken broth down his throat until the swallowing reflex kicked in.
Before too much longer, it seemed he was either too hungry or too distracted to keep himself from eating...
It was careful to roll him over and massage all of his pressure points. And there were other alternatives that would help give the cuffed skin a break...
Freeing his ankles, it extended both of his legs high in the air.
When he finally noticed, Gabe made a valiant effort to kick them loose. But it had many strong hands locked on his shins, ankles, and around the very top of each instep - so feathers could dance all over his soles.
He convulsed somewhat more freely than usual, but his wrists were still down flat, and staying far apart.
After a break, the feathers began gliding on down. It decided his elbows were going to get special attention, later, because his knees were so excessively reactive. Traveling up his thighs, it was moving inevitably toward an excruciatingly sensitive region...
Then it switched to brushes, concentrated on an area for awhile and moved again.
Later still, Froth moved the silk gloves down all sides of his legs as if he was being stroked by a customized machine. Fingers detoured to torture a knee for a minutes, or squeeze high on the inside of a leg. His cock had grown soft, after being erect for so long...
Two feathers provoking his nipples soon woke it up again.
Impulsively, it put a condom over him. Gloves concentrated on his thighs, with the occasional thumb straying through his pubic hair.
Gabe began to thrust very slowly.
Froth took all of the gloves off, and kept dusting his pecs. It greased up a pair of rubber gloves and delicately fondled his ass -
No matter how light the contact, he bucked wildly when a fingertip moved over his sphincter or the blazingly sensitive skin between anus and scrotum.
Rather suddenly, a few seconds of nipple-dusting made Gabe yelp twice... and ejaculate.
It rubbed his buttocks with a firm circular motion. When his bouncing and writing died down, one palm alternated on the back of each thigh, and a set of fingers slid down and up his butt-crack. The feathers sawed across his nipples faster...
Within six minutes, he came again.
Froth put two gloves on each foot, and two on each side of his torso, in the mood for some brutal fun.
All in all, it was a great way to spend four hours.
Froth decided that it wanted him to ejaculate only when his lust and endurance were at their daily peak, and it was making that convergence occur about two hours before dinnertime. That provided plenty of time for unbridled post-cum tickling, a long break and a meal to fortify him, and all those subsequent hours of stimulation, kindling the need for release to previously unimagined levels - just in time to haunt his dreams. The ringing phone would also mean he was still a few hours away from relief, yet more and more awakened to the systematic teasing and tickling.
Gabe was messy. Each day produced a full garbage bag of dirty sheets and towels, not to mention the gloves...
It was Froth's good fortune to discover the old laundry room was fully operational. Two sets of outdated machines had been left in place, apparently as a stopgap measure if needed. The room was quite close to some of the elevator shafts, yet distant enough from any other room in the basement that was actively being used. And the walls were thick concrete.
With the door closed and the light turned out, any sounds were lost in the din of the elevators, clanging and squeaking.
All the linen and silk it could possibly use was washed while he slept. No one who worked in the basement seemed to be the least bit inquisitive - much the same as the kitchen staff. Their apathy was invaluable to Froth.
The third time the phone rang, Gabe was starting to weep - until he discovered the massive increase in sensitivity he experienced with all of that annoying body hair shaved off...
And the fourth day, that reluctance to eat was finally tickled out of him. He stared at the ceiling with that faraway expression in his eyes, chewing almost mechanically.
As an enticement, it brought him two pieces of the dining room's famous quadruple chocolate fudge cake.
And even though he was obviously keeping as much reaction out of his face as he could, he gobbled them down.
In the bathroom, Froth turned on the water - and started filling a pail.
As soon as Gabe recognized the sound and looked over, he started to groan and flail around. But he certainly wasn't going to miss out...
Bath time.
It rolled the dirty linen out from underneath him with the efficiency of long practice. The rubber sheet underneath was a mess, but it was about to get cleaned as well.
Lots of soap and oil were poured into the hot water...
Undisguised fear was evident in his expression as he watched the pail approach.
It landed on the mattress between his cuffed ankles. Next came the shampoo, dental stuff and a pair of white cotton gloves - which Froth plunged into the pail. Cupping together, they carried water to his head, pouring it and going back for more. The shampoo bottle opened, and a piece of floss was unrolled...
He laid there rigidly, keeping his eyes closed - not wanting to cooperate, but well aware of the penalty for trying to resist. The fingers massaged his scalp, and the floss moved quickly from tooth to tooth. As soon as it was done, a toothbrush moved in.
It took less than two minutes.
There. Froth was always glad to get those tasks over with, and get on with the really enjoyable part of his bath. Lifting two scrub-brushes out of the water, it always paused at let them drip for a few seconds... so Gabe could start wriggling anxiously.
The cotton gloves slid down his arms - over his shoulders, and around his neck. Squeezing, just a little, and releasing.
He giggled uncontrollably.
Froth had the brushes start on his hips, carefully dragging down to the ankle-cuffs and back up again. When it came time to slide under his knees, it forced the mattress down firmly. One hundred strokes, there. And they moved on to his lower back, and spine, moving lower yet for the next fifteen minutes - making sure his ass was red and clean. As they did, the gloves ceased stroking his ears and face, and then his eyelids.
The brushes dunked themselves back into the bucket, loading up again with slick, soapy water. Froth had to keep pausing every few minutes, anyway, just so Gabe could catch his breath...
His chest was leisurely scrubbed for a half-hour... and then his abs, for half again as long.
But his sides were "cleaned" for a full hour, as the gloves polished his pecs. Many rest breaks were necessary, to keep him from missing any of the impact - and then the bristles kept returning to ease up and down again, side-to-side in his armpits, across his ribs, hundreds of easy vertical strokes.
Last, and longest of all - each foot was thoroughly scrubbed. Every surface, very slow crawling bristles, varying the pressure... It took yet another deranged hour to complete, as the gloves lightly and endlessly massaged all the genital surfaces and crevices.
Towels came and dried him, even though Gabe had perspired and urinated so much that he wasn't exactly clean anymore. So a cream was used in the last step. Rubbed in, everywhere, cleaning and moisturizing from ears to toes as it was lovingly and obsessively applied by six latex gloves.
Then it was time to start tickling him again.
Froth slid the cuffs higher, rebuckling them so they were snug around his forearms and shins. It picked him up, set him on his knees and cuffed his hands behind his back. Then it clipped a steel bar between his ankles, spreading them a half-meter apart.
Gabe squirmed harder, attempting to watch the preparations - becoming so agitated when eight sable brushes approached that it grabbed his biceps and held him tightly in place.
The fur danced all over his soles, and the rounded end of one brush dragged steadily around from the ball of each foot to the heel. Two of the brushes immediately began tickling their way up to his ribs.
Gabe squealed and writhed, bouncing maniacally as he crowed and chortled.
Within ten minutes, the merry sounds had all but died out again. He threw his head around, occasionally, but he settled down. Panting for air, grunting and groaning, Gabe was too provoked to laugh. Trying to deal with the helplessness of this new position was his foremost concern.
He fell over. And when he ended up on his back, kicking spasmodically, Froth found it unusually entertaining...
After a break, it returned him to his knees and tethered each shin to the bed frame. Toppling was no longer possible.
Eventually, he quit trying to move altogether, except his head, and started laughing erratically, as if his mind was... elsewhere.
An hour of that was enough. It didn't want him to be uncomfortable - or rather, it wanted the tickling to continue without any other discomfort to distract him. His arms were freed, and he was pulled forward.
With his hands and knees flat on the mattress, Gabe watched the leather circle his limbs and tighten slowly, keeping him right inplace. Sweat dripped off his nose as he tugged at the straps.
Froth brought six rubber gloves and a canister. When he saw them, he started to rock from side to side, trying to fall down. It had the fingers dig deep and start caressing him - spine, chest, ass - with a skin cream that stayed slippery, no matter how much rubbing took place. Whenever he tried to lower himself to the mattress, the fingers moved back underneath and raced over his belly until he straightened his back again.
He bucked like a hobbled horse, saying "Nein!" over and over forcefully. But his voice was silent...
The ringing phone was always a surprise.
Wake up now, Gabe...
The light clicked softly as Froth turned it on. Rise and whine.
"Nuhoooooo-oooooooh," he squeaked.
Four gloves cruised over his stomach, landed there, and began petting him solidly.
If Gabe wasn't already watching, all it had to do was snap the scarf overhead, quietly. When he recognized it, he'd start lunging around. And down it would come.
One of his blindfolds.
Tools and gloves gathered above his most ticklish spots, hanging there. Taking turns...
Randomly attacking for awhile and backing off. Soft caresses, or savage attacks. By pausing for different lengths of time - twenty seconds, all the way up to five minutes - any hope of preparing himself for the next touch was destroyed.
The blindfold was used each day, keeping Gabe strongly reactive for two or three exciting hours.
To gauge how much of an impact each particular technique would cause, it came to recognize seven physical signs all over his body that betrayed him. As time went on, Froth increasingly knew where to spend extra time stimulating him, and which types of contact tickled the most.
Already, it had three methods to keep him from making any noise at all, and four ways to get him laughing again. It was also learning how to make him produce different kinds of laughter...
After he tried to adapt by laughing less and less, his voice recovered to a degree. It was a weak imitation of the howls and screams he made the first day. But Froth conserved it, just so it could listen to five minutes of unquenchable braying here, an hour of hopeless chuckling there...
Another frequent game was stretching him.
Since he was going to be face down for awhile, it put a condom to use - and a jockstrap, without the cup. A pillow was placed under his chest...
Forearms and hands were wrapped together, and cuffs kept his calves similarly stuck. Four straps pulled him taut... and kept pulling, until he whined. Then it loosened them a half-inch and anchored them down.
The pillow almost seemed to offer some protection, since his armpits were resting on linen, but the elevation let Froth slip underneath easily and terrorize his chest, or creep down to his belly - and it did enjoy using gloves. The pillow didn't really shield him at all from its clutching fingers.
The agony of fun certainly wasn't confined to his torso. Unable to roll or shift, Gabe was never spared an intricate, devoted assault on the underside of his knees, his neck or his butt-crack. With his big toes tied together, hanging off the mattress, his feet weren't possibly going to miss out on their usual sadistic workout.
Usually, it added cuffs to his biceps, and his thighs - as well as a thin belt around his waist, all pulled tight and anchored to the bed frame. Squirming was even more pointless...
And tickling next to the cuffs seemed to have a concentrating effect, when he was stretched that tight. His knees were so much more sensitive when there was leather a few inches above and below them, making absolutely sure he'd lay right there and get provoked for two or three hours, with fingers and brushes and feathers methodically working on every accessible location, between the long rest breaks - and then there was always the impact of each restart, shocking him all over again.
As Froth learned what foods he preferred, it saw no recurrence of his early reluctance to eat. He was burning up an incredible amount of calories. Lots of carbohydrates were required.
Gabe leisurely turned the nutrients into delirium, as well as the excess body fat. Chest, arms, legs - all over him, the throbbing pleasure and exertion had worked wonders. His skin had responded wonderfully to the torment.
From his neck to his feet, the muscles had become toned - and more clearly defined...
Substantially more ticklish than before.
The elevator door opened. Froth watched eagerly.
A sullen man stepped out, pulling a vacuum cleaner behind him. Without hesitation, he plugged it into an outlet and started vacuuming the hallway carpet.
He was a day later than expected, which allowed Gabe more hours of incoherent mirth...
Slowly, the distinctive sound grew louder as it approached. Past 816, and then 818.
Six oiled latex hands kept steadily kneading him.
820, 822, 824 -
He opened his eyes. Panting... and listening.
826.
His head moved drunkenly, but he eventually managed to look over toward the hallway, which led to the main door.
828.
After one quick movement, something like a hiccup - Gabe started to fight. Leaning over, bouncing, straining to loosen the cuffs. It was the most Froth had seen him move in two or three days.
830.
His eyes were wide open, and there was a expression on his face. Amazement... and yearning.
Gabe started to yell. His voice had been so weakened by yelping and howling that his loudest shouts couldn't even be heard at the main door to 832. But of course he didn't know that.
Limbs thrashing forcefully, he bounced for a while - unaware that Froth had carefully reinforced the stout wooden dowels underneath him, and added a thick layer of foam over the springs.
And the vacuum came closer. The look on his face was so rewarding. The first sign of another person in the building, and they were coming right toward him. Why, it could be the end of all this horrendous tickle-torture.
The vacuum rolled right up to the door - bumping into it!
Shouting over and over, he found new strength to slam around and kick.
Onward... to room 834.
Gabe stopped screaming, but his body stayed tense. Leaning over, in the direction of the hallway...
But the sound of the vacuum was growing fainter. It was going away.
Down the hall it went.
Another person had been right at the door - but now they were leaving. No, he wasn't going to be taken away from all the solid, fine-tuned tickling. Not today.
He started to tremble, making the straps vibrate the least little bit, and finally he fell back against the pillow.
Gabe's nightmare was going to remain a secret. Locked in the tickle cell, right where Froth wanted him, there was no realistic chance he'd be avoiding far more torment to come.
He started to cry again. But it wasn't going to allow that, so it repositioned four of the gloves and increased the speed of the attack...
Within a minute, Gabe was keening as mindlessly as ever.
Froth had ten fingers provoke the top of his inner thighs - as it continued to track the custodian's movements. Barreling on, the vacuum went down the south hallway, which was shorter... and then up the east wing.
Finally... back north.
The vacuum was finally turned off and lugged into the elevator. By that point Gabe was too distracted to care, even if he had been able to hear it.
Froth pumped his cock slowly - while it checked to made sure that the elevator button was locked out again. And it tried the stairway doors too. They were still locked...
There. It relaxed, inwardly. The plan was going better than it had dared to hope. The hallway carpets were swept, and the floor was locked up again. No other maintenance was scheduled. In fact, no other person should be stepping onto Gabe's floor of the Haystack - including him - for a month.
Thirty interminable, delightful, unspeakably demanding days.
Perhaps it was time... to take things up a few notches.
The next morning, the phone rang and the lamp clicked on.
He stared dully at Froth's newest surprise.
Dark wooden stocks were facing the bed. Just for him.
Behind it, several chains and straps hung from a large four-legged stand.
Despite his complete lack of willingness, Froth unclipped his cuffs and picked him up. Floating him through the air, it planted his butt firmly on a pair of short, wide straps. They were hooked to stout chains, and then his arms were pulled up and out. Clipped. A strap went around his waist like a belt, insuring he wouldn't fall off the open-air seat...
And his ankles were pressed down against the padded half-moon holes.
It lowered the top of the stocks very slowly, delighted by his ravings, the jerking convulsions of fear. A large bolt was the finishing touch, sealing him in the sturdy device.
There.
He looked from one arm to the other, so hopelessly caught... and flexed his toes. His knees were slightly bent, but there was no possibility of turning his legs or altering their position very much at all. His shoulders could pivot a little, but other that that he was truly immobilized.
And best of all, his feet were stranded, way out there. They looked so worried, trying to pedal and rotate.
Tears were running down his face even before the tools lined up in front of him. Artist's brushes, then feathers, pastry brushes, crochet needles... all backed up by dexterous silk hands.
Within moments, a whole new chapter of excruciating pleasure began.
Gabe often spent a frenzied hour or two in the stocks. He could swing his body somewhat, but it didn't change the position of his legs at all.
With a few adjustments, the stocks could trap his cuffed wrists just as well. It never tired of making him swing his chained feet back and forth, absolutely desperate to keep them away from the feathers or fingers which waited patiently at the center of the arc.
And when it wanted him to move even less, Froth bolted a stool onto the frame of the stocks. Every day, he squirmed in the embrace of either the swing or the stocks, or both...
Three weeks later, there was an unexpected treat for him. The window washers were out there, approaching 832.
He'd been in the stocks for an hour or so. As soon as it was clear there would be potential company, Froth unchained his wrists and clipped them to the top of the stocks.
A clanking noise was heard. After a few seconds, he looked over his shoulder at the window...
More metallic sounds, slowly getting louder. Thick rope fell down and swayed gently. Then voices could be heard. Talking - and laughing! But they didn't sound anything like Gabe. Their natural, easy sounds faded away after a second or two.
He peered at the cloudless sky. Pain, and relief, were obvious on his face.
It lifted brushes off his belly and his insteps. Then Froth picked him up - stool, stocks and all. Turning around, he came to rest with the soles of his feet no more than three inches away from the glass. It had never allowed him to be anywhere near that close to a potential exit before.
Maybe the end had finally come. Gabe looked thoughtful. Hoping, despite all that he'd been through... or perhaps he was picturing their shocked expressions when they saw him. Only a few more minutes, and a key would finally turn in the lock, people rushing in, freeing him, and never again would he have to feel the silk or the feathers covering him all morning and afternoon.
A weary smile crept over his face. Under the residue from all those tears, the constant trails of sweat rolling down, and all the snot... it was obvious Gabe was anticipating something wonderful.
Froth closed the drapes.
The heavy, layered velvet slid past his feet, making him jump... and then he shook his head more and more violently.
He coughed a few times, just as the window washer eased over - directly in front of Gabe's window. A wet sponge squeaked as it swiped back and forth -
Froth slid the stocks back another inch. He could no longer reach the velvet with his toes. Though the window coverings had barely moved as a result of his efforts, they were completely motionless now. 832 appeared to be just another empty room on one of the locked Haystack floors. No one in here, getting tortured, who wants to be seen...
He shook his head - once - and then the shock and rage took over. He did his best to slide forward, pounding and slamming as hard as he could.
The rubber blade traveled across the window and back, turning at each side gracefully. An experienced worker, which also meant he'd be quick. Gabe heard the squeaks, and yelled so hard. Froth hadn't seen him do that in weeks.
"Hilfe! H-haaaaalllp!"
But it sounded like a loud whisper.
It brought the brushes back into play. Over his nipples, between his ribs. Froth wanted to remind him of what the future really held.
A slow convulsion gave way to indignant peals of laughter. Snorting, wailing, he yelled "Nein, nein, nein!" So frustrated, so frantic -
The window washer made the final passes with his blade, up near the top of the window.
Gabe kicked and bounced as hard as he could. His feet were so very close to the drapes, and yet he couldn't do a thing to show he was trapped in 832. Yelling was such a waste of time when he didn't have a voice...
But his potential rescuer merely hooked the tools back on his belt, and started moving to the north.
After a few anguished seconds, Gabe slumped, threw his head back, and laughed like he never wanted to stop.
Froth decided that was a good time to blitz each foot with a pair maliciously active gloves... as it unlocked the stocks.
Back on the bed, his restraints were buckled down and triple-checked. It wiggled thirty fingers, threatening him with perfect accuracy. The gloves squeezed and rode his legs, dancing pitilessly across his stomach.
So Gabe wanted the agony to end today, did he? How ridiculous. He had the nerve to hope for a future without excessive, unstoppable pleasure? Froth was deriving complete satisfaction from tormenting him. If he thought for one moment that it was finished with him, in the Haystack or anywhere else it could haul him... a few days of protracted discipline were in order.
When the workman had finished with the room below Gabe's, Froth opened the drapes again.
Squinting, he chortled at the sparkling glass... and the absence of anyone there who could notice him.
The pale sky seemed to hold his attention for awhile, but it had good reason to believe its vigorous gloves were foremost in his thoughts.
The next vacuuming took place four days later than expected.
Gabe wriggled in the swing, listening intently, as his body strained to ejaculate on six careful feathers which never quite finished him off.
All too soon, the scheduled dates for the room-by-room inspection were coming. Froth had three plans, and while Gabe slept it searched the hotel offices for helpful tips.
Three days before the month ended, it found the memo...
Due to staffing constraints, only a sample of the closed rooms would be checked. Five per floor. If no problems were discovered, the full inspection would be deferred - for ninety intensive days.
There were 68 rooms on the eighth floor. If the wrong one was selected...
It found the risk to be energizing. At worst, Gabe would get a few days to rest up - while it prepared his next torture chamber. Froth had decided a month ago to continue tickling him. There was far too much potential to throw away. Long after he finally left 832 - well, it wasn't anywhere near done with him yet...
Relying on the laziness of the housekeeping staff almost turned out to be dangerous. Even though it was several doors away from the elevator, one of the rooms picked for inspection was... 830.
The sounds were muffled - doors opening and closing, mainly - but Gabe did everything he could think of to make noise. Froth had used ten extra straps to keep him from bouncing at all. A dozen brushes tickled him skillfully. He wanted nothing more than to yell, but it kept him shaking with laughter instead.
But he stared at the adjoining wall with big eyes...
Thirty-five minutes later, the employees left. Froth made sure they locked the elevator button, as they were required to do - and then it started filling a pail with hot, oily water.
Its secret was safe until next month, when the hallway would be vacuumed again.
Originally, it had hoped for two weeks of solid tickling.
Gabe suffered in 832 for five dazzling months.
But the time came, as Froth knew it would, when every room was going to be inspected...
The wake-up call jarred him out of the only relief he knew.
Behind him, a lamp clicked on.
Six brushes rose up -
Gabe started laughing immediately, long before they made contact. After he watched them arrive and begin sweeping up his thighs, he giggled at the stocks, the swing - and a new rack, which could bend him into interesting positions. Then his eyes roamed around, noticing the tasteful, understated rose decor...
And that was how he came to know room 909.
Froth was always very thorough about cleaning the prior rooms, removing every trace of Gabe's extended presence. It had always expected at least one of the housekeeping staff to get suspicious, but apparently their powers of observation could not be underestimated...
Ten weeks there, and the annual fire inspection rolled around. Floor by floor, maintenance personnel worked their way up the Haystack.
When the inspection began on the eighth floor... it set him up in 744.
It felt much more secure by keeping him on the floors where the elevator and stairs were always locked.
After a month, he got to know room 813.
A hundred days later, Gabe was moved to 929.
Seven weeks, and off to 1057.
After a mere three weeks there, he woke up in 836.
Two months in 953.
Six weeks in 859.
Eleven weeks in 947.
And that was followed by another riveting three and a half months in good old 832.
Six days ago, Gabe took up residence in 909 again. Froth found it extremely amusing to revisit all of the same rooms.
His sensitivity was continuing to increase. Perhaps there was no limit to how much more ticklish he could become. His torment was just as thoroughly meticulous and hysterical as it had always been - caught in the stocks, splayed across the rack, anchored and fondled on the king-size bed.
Don't mess with success.
That's always been one of Froth's favorite sayings.
18nov03