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- - 8 - -
 

We have a terrific week and a half, Carra and I. As it goes along, I even dare to hope that Valet will actually stay out of the picture.
What a fool I am.

I've taken to hiding from Valet in my office, playing the new GameAleph when nobody else is around. Two hours after I left Carra, my cellphone rings.
"Oh, good," she says, sounding very relieved. "Where are you? I really need to talk."
"Okay. Your place?"
"No. The place you said you should take me."
"Huh?"
"The airless place."
Racking my brain, I remember when I last used that word. "Oh. You mean -"
"Quiet. I'll explain. Go there, in half an hour."
"Yes, ma'am..."

I guess correctly. Not too many women would have the guts to walk into LTR by themselves. Carra's already at a table, and she doesn't look nervous at all. Preoccupied...
"Hey, you," I say, bending down to kiss her.
"Hey, Boyle."
"Beer?"
"Club soda. Or orange juice, if they have it."
I look at her, for a second, and then just nod.
When I come back from the bar with our drinks, she grabs my hand as soon as I sat down.
"Okay. No easy way to do this," she sighs. "I'm pregnant."
"Oh -"
"It's not yours. I'm six weeks along. Maybe seven."
I sit back, and eventually I even remember to close my mouth.
"I just got the call," she goes on. "After you dropped me off at home. Obviously. It seems to be perfectly healthy."
"That's terrific," I finally say. "It really is."
She studies my face, gulping. "I want to be with you. But..."
"The father-to-be?"
Carra makes a comical face, sipping her juice. "Yeah. I'm meeting him for lunch tomorrow. But I wanted to practice on you. Tell you first."
"Tell me... Oh. You wanna give it another try. With him."
"It's the way I was raised. I'm not going to apologize, either, because I agree. This baby deserves to have one home, if we can make it work. Not two."
I take her hand and squeeze it.

"Won't he be surprised," she says - jokingly, but the tears are welling up.
"I'm here. Y'know, if he isn't up to the task."
"I know!" Carra says immediately, with an even louder cackle. "Oh, I know that. It's so hard." She glances at me, and then back at the glass in her hand. "Shane wants kids. I was the one who wasn't ready. So we called it quits."
"And here you are," I mumble. It hurts to be here, but at least it's a chance to look at her for a few more minutes...
There's another thing, in the back of my mind. Nagging -
"Wait," I say suddenly.
She looks up, and her expression isn't all that happy. And I'm glad to see that. It helps, a little. Shane - what kind of dumbass name is that, anyway? "I'm sorry," I say, grinning despite myself. "I thought of something else."
She raises her eyebrows.
"This isn't the time," I say. "But I'm not sure when I'll be -"
"Just talk. Distract me for a while."
"Gladly," and I squeeze her hand one more time. Maybe one last time. Letting go of it is too fuckin' hard, and I try to cover my glum mood by pounding down most of the beer. "I had this idea, a while ago, and... I really need some accounting services."
She bites her lip, for a second or two, and starts to laugh at me.

It would be touch-and-go. If Valet is eavesdropping, of course, it doesn't have a chance. It could even get Randy caught again.
Don't think of his name, I tell myself. No specifics.
I tell Carra I want to open a special kind of account, funded only by me, that a few other people can access from anywhere, anytime. Something like a hundred grand a year, maybe piling up there if nobody comes calling for it. The recipients won't have to have proper ID, and I wasn't sure if there would be DNA samples in the official files. Then again, I didn't want this to be a blank check for anybody except a handful of guys...
And the most important thing of all is that I can never be asked about it in person, by phone, by v-mail. The trustee has full discretion. I don't even care if some of the money is used by the trustee, if it's her. The account just has to be hidden well enough that I won't stumble over it and get curious, but not buried so deeply that auditors will raise a stink.

She sits and thinks that over for a full minute. "The trustee can't use the funds. If I did, there goes my CPA license."
"Swiss account, then."
"You are a criminal mastermind, aren't you?" she laughs. "No. And thank you, but I can take care of myself. That was a clumsy attempt, but very sweet."
"Just don't say I'm like a brother to you. I'll have to kick something, real hard -"
"No, Boyle."
"Well... I can still send a gift to your baby shower, right? Big 'ol present."
Carra looks as if she's biting her tongue.
"So you'll do it?"
"A mystery. I like a mystery... It's no conflict of interest, since I primarily do internal accounting. Geiler wouldn't have to know." He's the CFO, her boss... "You're going to have to sign a few papers, which I can draw up in an hour or two. No way around that. The bank would laugh me right out the door otherwise."
"Yeah," I say, fretting.
"Of course, you know how... undecipherable financial documents can be."
When I look up at her again, she has a positively wicked smile. "I could hug you," I say - feeling a sharp pang in my chest. Wrong choice of words. Oh, I was gonna be miserable, later - but maybe that would keep Valet occupied, so it didn't find out what I asked her to do.
"Aw, you."
"Yeah, yeah -"
"So when are you gonna tell me?"
I cock my head. "Tell you..."
"This is about Val, isn't it?"

Tread lightly, I think to myself, staring at her. "Val?"
"That's who you're hiding the money from. Your assistant."
Eventually, I start to laugh. "Whooo. Oh, shit."
"Educated guess."
"You're too damn smart for your - for my own good, too, Carra."
"Just tell me he's not blackmailing you." She watches me, and rears back. "Oh, no."
"It's a long story."
"They always are."
"No," and I kick out smoke. "This is a first."
"Well, I'm dying of curiosity now."
I look at her face, totally smitten with her, and realize I can't possibly expose her to the kind of slavery I know. "Too risky."
She bites her lip again. "Too late, you handsome thing. Maybe with some women you can dangle a big, juicy secret like that, and then back off. But not me. I could use some additional... distracting, right about now."
"Me, too," I say sadly, "but I don't think you're thinking about the kind of interference I am."
She wrinkles her nose at me. Bittersweet smile. "Start talking."
"No." And I thought for a second... Putting my finger on my lips, pointing at the ceiling, my jacket, and making the sssssh- gesture again.
Slowly, she nodded. "It occurs to me that you probably have to tell me - you big weasel - because it may well already be too late for me to, ah, gracefully detach."
I gave her a big thumbs-up sign, nodding. Then we thought hard for a good minute. She didn't make any move to go.

"Let's get out of here," I say, not entirely sure if I was gonna tell her the... whole truth or not. "Go for a ride."
"I want to hear that iono-trance CD again."
"You can have it," I reply, too loudly. Then I drop my voice and mumble. "But we can't take my car. Or yours."
We head out the door, and she grabs my elbow. Points to a cab across the street. I have to grin, nodding back at her.

Our conversation is deliberately vague. I tell the driver to take us east, because I've got an idea.
The luggage store is still open. We're not there long...
And then we head off to a hotel I never use. A big tip convinces the manager to hold my credit card and put a fake name into the computer, until we check out tomorrow.
I don't have a lot of hope we'll get sweaty together, one last time.

That isn't the main reason we're here, though.
Shushing her, we put all our clothes in the steamer trunk I just bought - Carra is examining my leather jacket. With her fingernails, she picks at the collar - stops, and points dramatically - at a tiny piece of metal, there... with a green wire disappearing from it and going down into the inner lining.
We lock the trunk and put it into the closet. Hotel robes, and nothing else, except the obligatory joke from Carra about how I really will go to any length just to get her out of her clothes...
And then I start to tell her.

Trying, at first, to spin things so I'd come out looking better. Just an innocent victim of circumstance, and all that shit. But after about five minutes, it's too much effort.

Three beers, two bottles of mineral water and two plates of chicken wings later, I've spilled all the things nobody knows. Well, except Scuzz.
She leans back on the bed, exhaling slowly.
"Crazy," she murmurs. "You're deluded, mistaken, or you're telling the truth. There are other possible options, explanations... but I don't think they'll work here. I like you dangerous types, but I already knew you were definitely not a psycho. Pleasantly crazy, yeah."
I pull my lighter back and snap it shut, grinning at her. "Gee, thanks."
"So that leaves... simple misunderstanding."
"For three years? Me, and who knows how many other guys."
Carra rocks her head from side to side. "Probably they're not all as sane as you."
"Ooooo," I say, mocking her.
"But what I have to go on is the facts I observe directly. That means you... and I've talked to Val, on the phone -"
"So?"
"So - if it isn't an ongoing misinterpretation of the facts..."
And all I can do is stare at her.
"Close your mouth," she orders. "It's creepy. Smoke some more or something."
And I do what I'm told. Then, "So, you believe me?"
She gives me a wry grin, without making eye contact. "Not much of a choice, here. It's a ridiculous story. I don't want to buy into it for a second. You're not dumb enough to tell me a bizarre story like that - tonight, of all nights - in order to win me over."

We end up laying side-by-side. Snuggling. I'm sensing victory, here. One last sendoff fuck -
"If it can read minds," she says thoughtfully, "there's no way to prevent it from doing anything."
"Yeah."
"It'll find the money you want me to hide."
"Oh. That."
"Yeah - that. You big dope. But if it can't read minds, I think we might be able make it work. Maybe." She tilts her head back and looks me in the eye. "How good of an actor are you?"
"Lousy. Where Valet is concerned -"
"OK." She pats me on the ass a few times. I like it when she does that. "Then we won't try to forget all about the account I'm going to set up for you. We're going to change the meaning of it instead."
"Huh?"

She has to explain it a couple times.
Instead of telling myself we never talked about... things, the key is to redefine it. Talking over all the ways it could fail, the idea becomes less important somehow.
"You won't react," she says, "if it's just a trivial matter to you, small potatoes - and you're preoccupied with something else."
"Got that covered," I drawl.
Carra. Losing her - that's my distraction, until Valet starts tickling me again. That's always the great certainty. Maybe the only one.
Through the sheer number of words, ideas, possible baby names and sick jokes, I end up with so many other things wandering through my head that she laughs at the look on my face.
Then she smirks, again, and unties the sash of my robe.
The sex is slow and consuming. We both cry, at one point, and then laugh and finally gun it for home.

I left her at the hotel, sitting on the foot of the bed. Meditating. One last, tingly kiss... and she started concentrating on her own very real concerns. Whether we liked it or not, Valet would be watching her very, very closely for awhile.

When I pull into the garage, I take a few minutes and sit there, just replaying that last fuck. I don't even smoke. No anger toward Valet, really. And no fear either.
I just want Carra... and I can't have her.

Between feeling bad about that, and keeping an eye out for Valet's attempts to "cheer me up," I manage to get to bed after a relatively small amount of interrogation.
The only thing that's really worrying me is that I have to tell it - that Carra knows. Everything.
 

A few days later, a thin binder is routed up to me from "C. Singh." I stare at the name for awhile, remembering the way she smelled. And that enthusiasm.
My hand signs the papers like a machine that does this all day long. A benevolent something-or-other, and I trust the CFO. All I can think about is Carra's tongue...
 

- - 9 - -
 

The phone rings. You-know-who usually answers it.
"Amigo," it says. "C'mere, boy. C'mon. Good boy..."
I walk up and take the levitating phone without a second thought. "Hello?"
"Amigo." Carra laughs at me.
"Hey!"
"Heel. Roll over... Good grief."
"Yeah, I know. How are you doin'?"
"OK. Except for the morning sickness."
"I bet."
"You'll never guess why I'm calling."
"Don't get my hopes up."
"You skank. I've been invited to dinner."
"Where?"
"Your place."
I cup my hand over the phone. "Val-"
"Since you blabbed about me," it sighs, "I have a right to... y'know, protect you."
"Hah."
"I'd love to," Carra says.
"Not a good idea," I whisper, as if that's gonna help.
They both laugh at the same time...

She comes to the door with an escort. Huge farm boy in a suit. More or less the exact opposite of me...
"Hi," and she kisses me on the cheek, just like an old friend. My dick doesn't like that. "Boyle, this is Shane."
A big moose of a guy. Scandinavian cereal-box model. I have a really bad feeling.
"C'mon in," Valet says, from behind me. Why she would do this to Shane - bring him here, another party to Valet's bizarre secrets - is a complete mystery.
"Wow. You must be Val," Shane says. Beaming. "If I didn't see it for myself, I would never have believed it."
I turn and see him grab one of the floating leather gloves with both hands. The other glove moves in. A big, happy handshake.
His eyes are shining. That makes me wonder -
"And the plot thickens," Carra whispers to me, sounding pretty damn amused.

It's definitely one of the weirdest meals I've ever gone through.
Valet called Shane a few days ago. Played him like a fish. Then Carra filled him in... and he shows up here?
Nobody rides for free. What was she thinking?
It has to know I'm onto it - that tone in its voice. I'd bet a million bucks there's a cell being decorated, somewhere, just for him. Shane's days are numbered. And he looks like a real unlikely dude to be waylaid by a little ol' tickling maniac. But it's a done deal. That's the feeling I have.
And Carra must have known, too - if she believed me at all. She just walked him right into the trap.
I'm not too hungry. Everybody else is joking around like old friends. From the conversation, I gather Shane's a lawyer. The bigger picture is clearing up somewhat. Valet can always use another lawyer... especially a big, ticklish one.
This is all too fuckin' surrealistic for words.

"Valet?" she says quietly. Looking at me.
"Uh. Yeah. Buddy, the lady wants a word."
I just sit there, feeling like such a tool -
"Shane, my man, how'd you like to see some of the cells I built? Get a look at bondage the way it should be done?"
He chuckles, shooting Carra a quick glance. "Okay. Sure."
So long, I think sadly. Been good to know ya.
"Let's take the coffee out by the pool," she says, grabbing my arm.

The summer night, and the crickets. Smoke climbing slowly away from my hand...
"It's been the most amazing four days," she chuckles.
"I don't know how to say 'I'm sorry', uh, often enough -"
"Shut up. Amigo. I know you are. And I also think you did the right thing."
"You do?"
"Let me talk for a minute."
I sit back and take another drag.
"There. Good ol' Boyle. Tough guy." Her laughter is soft, and easy. "Got a major problem. But no one's going to believe the truth. So you were going to just blunder on, and do the best you can. I know you guys."
"Now wait -"
"Sssssh. Whether you realize it or not, you needed to tell somebody. You really did. Someone who wasn't a prisoner, like you. And I came along."
"I'm sor-"
"You know what? I'm going to start punching you, hard, if you keep on interrupting."
I wave, shutting my mouth, and snap the ashes off my cigarette.
"This is a big deal. Just listen. I saw your face, when Shane was standing there... You've got to hear this, Boyle. Great harm is going to come to us - I don't know, maybe to everyone, and it's because of Valet. Or. Or, or... great good. So I'm going to say horrible things, now, because apparently it's the job in front of me to do. Be the rational outsider. Cold, pragmatic."
I don't like the way this is going...
"Do you know," she sighs, "if your door had opened and 'Val' had been just an ordinary person, I think I would've completely lost my mind? No, you can't understand... But a pair of magic leather gloves. Just perfect. Torturing you guys. Keeping you trapped."
"And now, Shane."
She darts over and pops me one, on the triceps. "That's one."
"Ow -"
"Yeah. And Shane. I guess it didn't tell you. Valet paid me a visit last night. It gives the most incredible foot-massages."
I start to laugh. And I mean, titter like a seventh-grade girl. My whole life is collapsing, neatly, because Carra and Valet are on the same side.
"Sssssh," she says, holding my head to her chest.
And I'm... sobbing. All of a sudden.
What a dork.

Wailing like a little kid. "It won't stop tickling mee-eeeee..."
"I know," Carra says quietly. "Sssshhhhh."
That last outburst of mine makes me so embarrassed, I'm immediately pissed off. "S-sorry. I don't know whuh what my prob-"
"Boyle," she says.
"I don't do this shit. Bawling."
"Boyle. Let go of my breasts."
I look down. "Oh. Shit." Moving my hands away quickly. "I'm sorry -"
"You guys," she says, hugging me tighter.
"Make it stop. Please?"
"I can't," she says immediately. "If only I could, honey."
"Damn..."

Eventually she lets go of me, and sticks a cigarette between my fingers. "We're gonna talk," she promises. "A lot."
"Okay."
"Boyle. Look at me. That's it. I've spent a lot time talking to Valet this week. It seems to... well, to be pretty impressed with me."
"That's good."
"Lost little boy," she says bitterly. "I tell myself that's only natural. But I'm not up to this. I have these damn mood swings now -"
"Oh, hey," I coo, getting up.
Her turn.

"Oh, fuck," she finally barks, after weeping for a couple minutes. "Some pair we are. Saving the world."
"Are you mad at me?"
"Yeah." Carra snuffles and pulls free. Wiping her eyes... "You got me involved. This is an absolute nightmare."
"I know."
"Wait. I'm also angry because you thought you had to deal with this, all by yourself. Big macho jerk."
"Who's gonna believe this?"
She shoots me a smirk. "I know. And I'm also mad because it tortures you guys. Even if it is with pleasure... and there was no way to keep it from adding Shane to the harem." She brushes her hair back. "I'm definitely pissed off at myself, because I can't come up with a way to make Valet stop it."
Some vague sense of self-preservation makes me glance around. "It's probably listening."
"Boyle - Amigo - I guarantee it's listening." She looks at me. Tired, or sad - I'm not sure which. "You underestimate your importance. Remember that." With a long sigh, she finds that fetching mental equilibrium of hers. "What you think about Valet is the most important factor in our control. So to speak."
"Aw."
"Listen to me. Listen! We made a deal, Valet and I. No lies. Ever. If it wants to get cute, with the head-games, it's promised to refuse to answer me instead. And so will I." She squeezes my biceps. I like that. "You might try something like that."
"It loves to fuck with me way too much."
"Maybe. There's a negotiating point."
"I guess."
She lets go of me, again. "The only reason it's still interested is because it believes I love you. Okay? Valet and I agree on the big thing -"
"Amigo's gotta be kept safe," I say hollowly.
She squints up at me. "Safety. Yours. Look, we've gotta go in. Can you trust me, Boyle?"
I look around. "No way you could make things any worse."
And she slaps me! "I'm down here. Look me in the eye. Now, let's try that again. Do you think you can trust me? To fight for you? All of you?"
"Uh... I can try."
"Try hard."
She slips her arms around my waist, and turns me around. We start walking back to the front door - and inside, where the cells are.

"I fucked up," I say to my feet.
"You did the best you could... in an impossible situation. Maybe the gut instinct to tell me was the right one, badass. Just try to reserve judgment, okay? Huh? On everything. Big ol' softie."
"Yeah, knock it off."
"You're so damn cute. Can you blame Valet?"
And that literally stops me in my tracks. "Whoa!"
She laughs at me. "I'm not going to say the mental picture's anything less than entertaining. After all, you're such a stud."
"I hope you're not talking about the, uh, the thing I think -"
"Tickled. Howling Amigo. There must be videos. If I ask, do you think it'll trip all over itself to get a disc in the player?"
I stare at her. "Benedict Arnold."
"Boyle. Trust me. I'm smarter than you are."
"I'm never gonna get to sleep tonight."
"It's surprising you still say things like that. You know. Unless you want it to tickle you 'til dawn."
I shake my head. If it was anybody else, except her, saying shit like this. Tonight...
"And now," she orders, snuggling even closer, "I need you to listen hard again."
"All this listening. I don't know, I got a headache -"
"Shut up, okay? Step back. Boyle, stop and look at yourself from a distance. You're studly, you're bright, handsome fucker, smooth, great in bed -"
"Stop it -"
"Hah. Composed. You're a full-blown adult, off the coke. Filthy rich. But you weren't any of those things when Valet met you. Right? I mean the first time. A lonely, scared little kid. It says it used to hug you, and stroke your hair."
"Uh. Yeah."
"Yeah. When's the last time you asked it to do that... Amigo?"
"Asked it?"

"A powerful... something. This non-physical being is your old imaginary friend. Remember? No one on this earth matters more to it. That kid who needed to be comforted is a confident man now. Parents have to adjust to that shit. Valet's not even human."
"Say that," I groan.
"Are you listening? It wants to feel needed. Like any of us would. Anybody... So it tickles you, and you're helpless again. Delirious, instead of all sad and everything. But completely vulnerable. The way you used to be."
"Bullshit," I mumble.
"You know I'm right. Or you will after you think it over. Calm, cool, collected Amigo. Turned back into a... responsive little animal. Valet has to tickle you in order to console you, bring you a glass of water -" "You are so... freaking me out, here."
"It's developed a taste for that," she adds, shrugging. "Bikers. Real tough guys. Deconstructed, so it can wipe their nose, and then as they man up it needs to make 'em real happy again."
We look out at the front yard. "I don't know what to say."
She snorts quietly. "Then I'm right. Maybe. Or you think I might be." She looks at me. "Now Shane's roped in."
"Why?"
Carra bites her lip. "My baby. I made a deal - another deal. Faustian... No matter what, Boyle, this baby comes first for me. You'll understand later. I sure hope you do. And this baby will never be in Valet's restraints. Or pumped full of 'bots. Not unless he or she wants to be... And I'd sacrifice every man on earth to protect this kid. Boyle. I have to think like a mommy now."
"I get it," and I sigh. "Scares the shit out of me, but - damn. You're a practical woman."
"Sometimes I have to be," she says, messing with her hair. "And so do you. I know your life is hell, sometimes, but we have a window of opportunity here. With Valet. You need to think about that, and soon."
"I will."
"Be brave, Amigo."
"Stop being so heroic," I whisper, opening the front door. "You're making the rest of us look bad."
We squeeze hands one more time, let go and walk in slowly.

To my amazement, Shane's in the living room - still dressed. No restraints on him, but he probably wouldn't like to know what I do, all too often, chained to the very same spot on the couch.
"Babe, you gotta see this place," he tells Carra.
"I will," she replies, simply.

As soon I wave 'em off, step back inside, and close the door -
About twenty hands lift me off the ground. Carting me, quickly, to the piano room.
No piano, though. Black walls, padded floor, dim light.
Big iron cage. Eight by eight, maybe.
Without a word it strips me, cuffs my hands in front, and shoves me through the door. Slam, click, metal ringing, switches being thrown.
When no fingers jump on, I reach for the cigarettes on the foot of the bed. The smoke reveals those infrared-beams. Surrounding the cage.
Impulsively, I say, "Valet. You okay?"
A long sigh. "I am now."
I shrug. "Well, you got me."
"I worry so much."
"Yeah," I say. "And I wish I knew how to help you with that."
"Don't ever run away again," it threatens.
"Okay."
"Liar. You say that now. In your new permanent home."
"Now, wait a m-"
"It should be. Then I could actually get something done, without monitoring you all the time."
"Whew," I say. "Scared me, there, for a second."
"Of course," it mutters, "if you wanted to stay in here, from now on..."
"No. Even more scary, Valet."
"You need a good scare sometimes."
"You don't have to be my dad," I say gently.
"Dammit-all." It's sounding about as frustrated as I've ever heard it.
"Okay, come in here... and kick my ass."
Shadows move - and four white gloves race over to me. I sneak a last drag. They curl around my arms and lay me in bed, on my back.
One of them strokes my cheek. Hanging there...
Waiting for my reaction.

I have several conflicting feelings. And it isn't like the tickling is over. That's just stupid.
Carra said Valet wants to be needed.
"Just like the old days, huh?" I say, managing to smile.
"Uh-huh."
I take a breath, not daring to sigh. "Feels good. Would you... do that, Valet - Keep d-"
The gloves land - and they're not tickling. I'm still getting hard. Damn. They rub my pecs, with a totally different way of moving - and it's not driving me crazy.
"Have you been studying massage, or something?"
"Hand-jobs," it snaps. "I don't know if I can resist that, Amigo. What you got goin' on, there."
"I was paying you a compliment, before you got all distracted."
"Oh. Yeah. Massage... A lot of stuff." The gloves pause. "Boyle. I'm sorry."
"About what?"
"All of it." Slow fingers, gliding across my shoulders. I'm still tense, but it's pretty remarkable that I'm not hooting already. "And Carra."
I don't know what to say.

"You and her... I screwed that up."
I lift my head. "Hey. No, you didn't. Did you get her pregnant?"
"No-oooo."
"Then it's -"
"Shane. His fault."
And I know that tone. Just the way it said his name. Oh, fuck. "Don't go after him... extra-hard, on my account. I mean it."
"You mean it. Ooooooo." A glove ambled over my stomach. "She's something else."
"Yup."
"I'm going to hire her away from you."
"Nice. What? Wait. You are?"
"Uh-huh. Her, and Shane."
I can imagine what his work days are gonna be like. Not much time for practicing law, there. "Do I even have to tell you to go easy on 'em?"
"Nah," it chortles. "Big, tough Amigo-guy. I'm so scared."
"Well, you better be."
"Maybe I'll make Carra your new supervisor. In life. Tickle-queen, all you guys laid out at her feet, all delirious."
I squirm around. "Where the hell do you come up with these ideas?"
"I don't need to sleep. Got a lot of time on my hands."
"Hell, I've been saying that for years now. Too much time -"
"Too many fuckin' hands," it adds.
"Try some new hobbies. You may like 'em."
The gloves hang there. Wanting to shut me up, the hysterical way. I know that posture.
But they just start stroking me again.
"Speaking of sleep," it says quietly, "you've had a long day."
"And."
"And, what?"
Too late to back out now. "That's usually followed with something like 'and you're going to have a staggering day tomorrow...', right?"
"Oh," it snorts, "I'll give you 'staggering.'"
"There," and I yawn. Coincidence, I'm sure. "Now I can fall asleep."
"Ooooo-ooooo..."
 

- - 10 - -
 

After a few days I moved ol' Randy to one of the backup places. No one would ever stumble in and find him there. I was very careful with him. A good nursemaid... and it got exciting every day. I got every book and video I could find, because tickling was the most fuckin' fun I'd had in years! It was like an ache, whenever I wasn't laying into him. I had these long imaginary conversations with his ribs, and his knees. Just for fun. Interrogations, and games.
The thought of my amigo's big feet cuffed down, just getting the works, on the mattress next to Randy's... that made me dizzy. Four immobilized feet to play with. And play with some more, and more, and then I could terrorize four armpits for a good long time, the whole torso of each, and go back to covering their feet. Heh... Shit - if tickling, and I mean Valet-tickling, couldn't get their minds off the damn drugs, then nothing would.
I started ordering lots of bondage stuff.
And I got ready to settle a score with a sleazebag who was wasting his daddy's money at a prestigious university. Nothing more than a drug dealer in designer clothes... and the one who got my Amigo hooked.
He had a very long summer, and fall. Part of the next winter, too. I pulled out all the stops.
He was the reason I started talking with Nailer.

He shrieks. Low-pitched, and ragged - but it's shrieking just the same. "Do we have to listen to this?" I yell.
The noise shifts right into braying...
"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Valet says.
Scuzz's door closes.
Hunk looks at me. Stoned, sloppy grin.

I was learning more and more about how to motivate guys. Keep 'em in line. But I figured there would be a lot to learn from a human who was a fuckin' expert tickler. And Nailer didn't disappoint me. He made custom racks and stocks, toys, and I'd already diverted, oh, maybe twenty grand his way. So he was feeling generous.
The discussions we had! It might have been easier to actually watch him work, but he was very good at describing things. Within a few minutes I could usually figure out how to get the technique right.
You know... I was completely honest with him. It felt good. I was never sure if he really believed that I had Devon locked down. Randy, too, when I could catch up with him. And the other dudes I hauled in, for practice. Nailer always seemed to be taking me seriously, but I did wonder if that was mainly because it made the conversations more enjoyable. He'd definitely spent a long time tickling guys, real torture, and there were hints that it wasn't always voluntary. So we got along great. I never would've taken... shit, a couple dozen ideas all that seriously, if he hadn't gone over the maddening advantages again and again.
Huh. Who knows. Maybe I would have lost interest in tickling by now if Nailer hadn't been so generous with his time. Of course, I took care of him. Close to three hundred grand so far, and nobody makes equipment that's as sturdy. Solid. He makes a suspension frame that won't fuckin' quiver at all. That kind of stability is seriously intimidating...

While I kept looking for Amigo, I got much better at tickling. Hunting down lowlifes who needed a few weeks of delirious ass-kicking. Real attitude problems were incredibly fun to... dismantle. And I got a few addicts cleaned up, all buffed out. But most of the guys had other addictions. I used 'em to mess with their heads - tobacco, alcohol, pot. So much fun, there. Withholding, teasing, tripling their habit. Just another way to show 'em I was in charge. They didn't get to decide how much they drank. Not anymore. That third or fourth pack would continue to prove that I always got my way... and if they didn't want the next incarceration to run twice as long, they had to do just as I said, whether it was something they enjoyed or not.
I found better ways to detox 'em from all of their stupid habits - and the lousy diet those scumbags had. Shit, don't even get me started on that... Since I didn't know how far down my Amigo was gonna go, I made sure to catch some of the lowest, most hardened men I could. Reform 'em. One guy wasn't the baddest of the bad, but he was so fuckin' ticklish I always found it hard to throw him back for long. Over and over. Like Randy. What a set they made. Cool cats, until the tickling started - and continued through the weekend, the whole week, and another week. Heh. Just like bookends, when I put 'em both in the stocks and tore into their hides. Noisy fuckers. Tattoos moving, covered with sweat, fidgety in their chains...
Good times.

I wanted to try different settings. A new guy might wake up in my locker room. Spend a week there. Or ten weeks. Maybe come to in the nightclub, or the whorehouse parlor... Every kind of hospital room amused me. Locked rooms, all of 'em. Nice, thick padding. I made a crack house room, a boxing gym. Oh, and a couple old-fashioned prison cells, because that was where they'd end up if they didn't change their ways. I liked giving them that sample of their future, with all those hours of tickling to keep the boredom away.
Some of those college boys needed a warning, too. Their criminal tendencies may not have been as violent as the typical street thug, but they didn't fool me. Anybody could turn bad. Look at my Amigo... Three or four months, maybe some serious tattoo work to remind 'em, and they were new men. Real men, maybe. All done with the frat-boy bullshit. Learning a little humility. That's what I hoped.
 

"Hey," Valet says. It sounds cheerful. I'm glad it's not all wound up, fiendishly cackling. So I let myself relax a little. "Good. You're here."
"What's up?"
"Got something to show you," it says. "C'mon."
A black satin glove heads down the hall, beckoning me with a finger. I light a cigarette and follow along.
"Bad news?"
"Naw," it says.
A door opens, and I walk in.
An exam-rack, stirrups and wings holding wrist-cuffs. A cart with tools and a power unit all ready, tingling-wands laid out there.
Uh...
The lights go out.
I wheel around, and hands grab me.
Valet chuckles in a very sinister way. The door closes, cutting off the light from the hallway.
"No! Valet!"
"Yeah."
Hands, all over me. Pulling my jacket off, boots, jeans - at the same time they're dragging me to the rack.
It's still cackling as the cuffs fly into place.
"You lied?"
"Lied?" it says suggestively. "Me?"
"On the phone." I pull at the straps. "Get down... here. Something that can't wait."
Valet laughs once.
"I flew back here, just for this?"
"Just for this? Just? No big deal, right? Smartass."
"Dammit -"
"You're reeeeeally gonna pay for that."
A click - the beam of a flashlight, in my eyes.
"Alright. Here's what just couldn't wait..."
The beam moves - showing me a white feather.
"I've seen a feather before," I say angrily.
"Oh. Yeah. I guess maybe you have." It laughs harder.
The flashlight clicks off.
Fingers hop on and dance, making me piss all over myself.

It cleans me up. Not even a pause in the action.
 

I stumble into the kitchen, every nerve in my feet and armpits just wide awake, waiting for the fingers to attack again...
"Morning," Hunk says, not looking up from the newspaper.
"Toilet."
"Yeah."
Valet's been messing with the voice chips in the toilet. Lewd chuckles, insults when I stand there and pee. One time I started to sit down and some guy's voice told me to bring that ass closer, oh yeah, let me have it. I couldn't shit for a day and a half after that.
"It's all Hunked up."
"Aw... Hunk you," he says, grinning. "Good thing Scuzz is on leave," and he blows on his coffee.
I have to think about that one. "It's you. I thought the toilet was you, doing a bad Scuzz-voice."
He squints at me. "No. You're still stoned."
"Ah. Maybe."
"Unless that's a suggestion. You know. A hint."
"Stop it."
He grins. "So long as you know you got a standing offer... Boyle."
"Hey," Valet says, warning him.
"Amigo, then."
"I'm surrounded by freaks," I sigh, pulling the business section of the paper over.
"That closet must be getting kinda tight."
"Closet?... Oh, good grief. Does that line ever work?"
Hunk shrugs. "Sometimes."
"The only closet I'm in is full of a bunch of fuckin' invisible hands. And rope."
We both look up, waiting for it -
"Oh," it says. "And soundproofing. Keep talking, buddy. Tell me more about this closet. I'll have it done by tomorrow."
"Kinda slow on the uptake, today," Hunk mutters to me.
"Yeah, well," Valet says. "Sue me."
"Sexual harassment," I say - immediately regretting it. Hunk has an enormous smirk. Turning a page, casually...
It's his serve. "Well, I reckon there's gotta be sex first."

He sure does like to see me squirm. As if I'm finally gonna sigh and say alright, dude, okay, let's go. Right now...
"No," I shoot back, "not according to the law."
"Valet's the law, 'round these here parts."
"Yeah," it says smugly. "That's right. I am, aren't I?"
"You know, you're unbelievably handsome," I tell him, as deadpan as I know how. And it's true, but I like to trot out lines like that every so often, just to watch him think.
"Son of a bitch," he finally laughs.
Play with my head, I think, and I'll throw it right back again. Same old Hunk. "And not just pretty, either. Handsome. Too handsome, it's intimidating to be sitting at the same table with y-"
He sneaks a look under the table, at my package. It's been making us wear nylon briefs around the house lately, and nothing else. I'm not getting hard - unlike some other times, when Valet has snuck pictures of Krista, my first lay, into my head. Whew.
Hunk sits back up, making a disappointed noise. "Valet," he barks, "go on and punish this creep. Get him."
"Leave me out of this," it snickers. "I'm enjoying the show too much."
"Go get yourself some hamsters," I taunt. "And those plastic tubes -"
"Not ticklish enough," Valet says immediately.
I turn back to face Hunk. "For the hundredth time," I say melodramatically, "Valet's got you fixated on me. That first night -"
"Oh, give it up, willya? I'm not eleven years old anymore."
I shake my head.
"One of these days," he says quietly, "you'll cave. Just for me."
"And you'd have a heart attack, if I did. Don't hold your breath. I'm not your... rescuer. Get that through your head."
He looks around, and back at his newspaper. "You will be."
"What?"
"Someday."
"Hunk."
He thinks for a second or two. "You're the key. We are gonna be... free of this. All this. And you're going to make it happen. I don't know when, or how. But I know it. I can feel it in my bones."
I stare at him. "Fixated. Hello?"
"Nope. It's not the same thing. You gotta have faith, stud-pup." He looks over at me, and deliberately runs his tongue across his upper lip.
"Gross," I whine.
"Nah."
"Yeah."
"Someday..."
I shake my head, deliberately not looking at that fucking smirk on his face, and we both go back to reading the newspaper.
 

- - 11 - -
 

The earnings reports are finally out, so I'm sneaking off to the riverfront house for a long weekend. A couple days ago, when I announced my intentions, Valet didn't say much - so it'll probably interrupt my getaway. Or maybe it won't. We all end up hoping for that. Actually being left alone for a few days straight... then again, it's hard sometimes to stop looking over my shoulder, waiting for it.

A good hour and a half down the interstate -
"Boo!"
And even though part of me has been expecting this, I still swerve to the right. "Don't do that!"
"You can't stop me."
"I know. Asshole."
"Tool."
"Jerk-off."
"So," it says, "I figured that since you were just gonna drive for awhile anyway -"
"Parasite."
"Wow. I haven't heard that one in awhile."
I just shrug... and the CD I stops playing. As it starts popping out I see another disc, already floating up, ready to go.

Well, fuck. Listen to me. Blah, blah, blah - oh, but you're gonna listen anyway. Right? I could talk all week, and you're gonna lay right here and be the best damn audience I could ever want. Now.
You got the picture. Keep up the hunt for my best buddy, set up more and more cages for him. And finally, wonderfully, I knew he was coming back. And I mean... back into my hands. No way he'd ever make me crazy again. Worrying about him.
So that's the kind of thoughts I had going on when I drove him away from that hotel, and back to the mansion he owned. I guess I got more and more emotional. Relief, excitement, devotion... and oh, fuck, my little dope fiend was gonna pay. More than anyone - well. I'd show him what a bad idea it was to skip out on someone who loved him as much as I did.
And I did love him. I didn't care if he believed it... or if he even remembered me. It was still my job to help him. Watch out for him. Years of worrying. And now I'd become an expert on everything he needed... and everything I craved, too. Health, and strength, safety... plus a constant fuckin' supernova of pleasure, tailored just for him. My Amigo.

Well. He finally woke up, slow, but I had a plan all worked out. By his hand, I set a pack of smokes and his lighter. When he managed to light one, my gloves zipped over and took it away. I shook a finger at him. Naughty, naughty.
And they fuckin' attacked his body.
Finally, he was back here again... in his own bed... and I got to make him shriek. Sweet laughter. I paused to drop the cigarette in a big ashtray I'd gotten him, and used a dozen unseen hands to pin him down. And I tickled him like I'd been longing to do for years, to show just how damn happy I was to have him home again.
I let him take a nap, after a few hours. Plenty of rest breaks before then, and water. But no smokin'. When he woke up - finally - he reached for the pack again. And I punished his ass for the rest of the night. It was clear to me, even then, that he was unusually sensitive. Maybe because it was me, his old buddy, doin' the tickling. His jailer. I wondered if the dreams he had, when I used to stroke him while he slept, were paying off now. That's a nice thought, isn't it?
The next time he came around, he stared at the pack for a few minutes. And then, I do believe, he got angry. Real defiant, lighting that cigarette. I shook a finger at him again, and brought out the leather restraints. The time after that, I'm not sure he was really even awake. He seemed to be on auto-pilot, as if he'd done it so many fuckin' times that he wasn't even aware... But he lit a cigarette. Heh. So I cuffed him down again, and rolled a big cart full of toys up to his bed.

For two or three days, he had nothing else to think about. Pure sensation. Then he'd wake up and look at the cigarettes, and his eyes would dart all around. Afraid. And starting to understand how life was gonna be. I laughed out loud and made him jump. Then I cuffed him down, and we talked. It was... heaven. Amigo was back, he was staying, and he wasn't too far gone. Mentally. I made him smoke a couple packs, pound down the booze he liked best, and I answered all his questions. I didn't tickle him for, oh, maybe eight whole hours.

As soon as I walk out of the truck stop, my car door starts to open. "Automatic door opener," I mumble as I get in.
"Yeah."
"Any chance I can get a day or two off? Completely free of... uh -"
"Well, I don't know."
"Please?"
It makes a triumphant growling noise. "You pay attention to the rest of this fascinating story, and let me drive. Then - aw, hell. Okay."
That's good news. I test the coffee I just bought, but it's still too hot. "Will there be a test, afterward?"
"You're asking for it, Amigo."
"I know. It was reflex."
"Honestly..."

Relax. A few more minutes, and then I'll nuke ya. Heh heh... The zen-point. Tickling yin and yang, perfectly balanced. Everybody gets there sooner or later. Randy kinda set the standard in some ways. I let him smoke, because it seemed to add to the whole experience. The relief of having a cigarette calmed him down, but then it got to be too much of a good thing. Smokin' all the time... Heh. He didn't know what to do with himself.
And that was the real beauty of tickling, as far as I was concerned. He didn't want to be all excited, but he couldn't help it. I'd play hard for awhile, and make sure he had plenty to eat. All the water he could hold. And five hours into his day, it was time to go zen on his ass. Just enough tickling, in the right places. He was swamped, just like he was wrapped in a warm, wet cocoon of pleasure that was alive, and moving, with a vague smile on his face, always with this little hint of pain. Way too much input...
But I was careful to keep him right on the edge of the cliff. Not letting him wig out and panic. And I wasn't about to back off enough so he'd get all angry 'n shit. Right there. Get him to that zen-point. Hold him right on the fuckin' edge.
Some guys teach themselves to enjoy it. And obviously they set themselves up for the supersonic ride of a lifetime. But not Randy. I learned a lot from him.

You guys. That first day or two, you're still looking for the fuckin' SWAT team to break down the door. Anybody. Somebody to come in and save your hypersensitive ass, 'cause you know full well I'm not taking off the restraints. Right?
But once I prove that I'm much too smart to work you over in a place where there could be any chance of an interruption... and too smart to let you escape, then I work on you until I get you to the zen-place. The only way the tickling will end is when I finally let you pass out. Oh - and tomorrow, too. I think that's a key part of it. Today you're gonna suffer, or enjoy it - or both. Heh heh. The hours will just refuse to fuckin' end.
But you have to be taught that tomorrow will be exactly like this, and the next day. Uh-huh. None of that "maybe this is the last night" bullshit. I'm unstoppable.
When you know, like you've never known before, that I haven't even thought about when I'll stop, and set you free - well, that's it. Time for you to go zen. Stop the clock. I might as well control time and space, buddy. Yeah. That's right. One day follows another, sure as shit, and I fill 'em all up the same way. You forget what life was like before I started tickling you. This time. You don't wish, or hope, for an end to it - dude, you're totally beyond that! Because now you know there's no end. It just is.
Logic tells you it'll stop, someday, but after a while you can't even get a fuckin' fantasy in your head that helps explain what "an end to the tickling" even means. You used to know what the word "finished" meant, right? And "free." Heh. Those words have been irrelevant for so long, they might as well be from a whole 'nuther planet. None of that matters, because I'm going to tickle you again today. Every day. Me! So finally you just let all that thinking and worrying - you just let it go.
Tickle-zen. You know exactly what I'm talkin' about.
Don't you... Amigo?

And later. The rest breaks are rewarding in their own way. Several hours crawl by, and you can't find the energy to fuckin' move. Sometimes you remember the cigarette or cigar or joint hanging from your mouth... and you wanna smoke it, maybe just to keep me off your back. Or your belly. Heh. All that skin, pinking up, the sweat. That distant look in your eyes - because it's so damn hard to pay attention to the room, where my gloves and tools will always come back. Won't they?
I've got you making the ultimate movie, in your head. All the tickling history we have now. Anything could happen. The possibilities are endless, in there. Fantasies becoming real. No clocks, no rescuers. Not in my world.

Well, I bet you want a smoke. Getting pretty tired of that gag, huh? Just deal with it. Heh. Since you've been such a good little audience, I'm going to tell you something new. New information, buddy. About the 'bots. You got any idea how much I've spent, just on the 'bots? Of course you don't... Almost nine million bucks -
Whoa. Settle down, Amigo. I earned some of it back. Easy, there...
A few dozen people on the payroll. They don't know where the DNA comes from, so you can stop hoping they'll get curious. They've done amazing stuff. Some of the clinical trials are ending next month. All it took was funding the right labs. And they made me proud. Nanobots made from you. Your stem cells. Undetectable, no rejection problems... And now you have an invisible leash. All through you. Distributed. A full network of busy little transmitters, so I always know where the hell you are.
But you're wondering why I said "clinical trials", aren't you? Aw, I know how you think. That first 'bot was the biggest pain in the ass... The most expensive. It's all smooth sailing now. The researchers cooked up some nice little machines to regenerate you. Liver, lungs, heart, blood vessels, nerve synapses, synovial fluid - that's for your skeleton, fucker. What else? Uh... Muscle. Yeah. And best of all - skin. You know how I feel about your skin. They're still working on something for vocal chords, but it's tricky. You sound like a real tough guy now, and I kinda like that.
Once they knew how to do it, making custom 'bots for the second guy was easier. The eighth dude was a piece of cake. You know what? I'm pretty much giving 'em away. You have enough money already. These little helpers are going to change the world, Amigo. They're gonna salute the rich kid who made 'bots available for everybody...
What do you think of that?
Oh, I'm gonna keep you impossibly healthy. My favorite buddy in the whole world. All those 'bots swimming around. Keepin' the anti-cocaine 'bots company.
That's it. So, I bet you're really' dyin' for a cigarette, huh? I know you. Okay.
 

And school's out. Again. I don't even try to hide my relief.
"Have a smoke," it says casually.
"If you insist."
"You wanted a test, so here comes -"
"C'mon!"
"Question one."
I relax. "Oh. Shoot."
"Do you remember the first thing you said, right after that recording ended? I talked your ear off, and pulled the gag."
"Uh... No one's going to believe this."
"Yup. Then you called me a 'fuckwad'."
"Well, uh, that is pretty much what you were acting like. That time."
"That was the first time you ever called me a fuckwad." It sounds almost proud.
"So you keep track of stuff like that..."
"You bet. Next question, buddy. True or false - I recorded our story just for my own amusement."
"False."
"Good boy."
"Fuck off."
It laughs at me. "Who's it for, then?"
"You made it for me."
"That's right. Here's the big question. All the marbles. Why did I make this recording?"
I kick out a sigh, because I'd been expecting a trick question. "So I'll remember what a great humanitarian you are."

Valet considers that for a second or two. "I think I'm insulted."
Good, I think. "Valetatarian, then."
"Amigo! I like that."
"You're one of a kind," I say drily.
"I sure am."
"So, uh -"
"That part about the joy buzzer - now, there's no way you were just acting surprised. You freak."
"Yes I was, you... wench."
"Oh-ho."
"Get back at me later," I taunt it. "After I catch me some fish."
"You awake enough to drive?"
"Yeah. And now I've got a lot to think about. You know. Serious reflection."
"You are such an amazing suckup," it laughs.
"Learned from the best."
"Just wait until you get back home. Oh, man..."
An invisible finger flicks my nose. That's the signal, usually, that Valet has left. I'm on my own. Probably.
 

- - 12 - -
 

A few minutes early, The fucker actually knocks on my door.
"You ready?"
"Yeah." As ordered, I'm all decked out in riding gear -
"No, you're not," it says. "But I'll put the chains on after you're walked downstairs."
"Of course..."

Scuzz and Hunk are fully dressed, too, and chained to their seats like I am.
There's an enormous green V on the wall, and for some reason it reminds me of those old spy movies. Insane arch-criminals -
Valet lights my cigarette, and Scuzz's. Then, Hunk's cigar.
Carra walks in. Eyeing me. "Gentlemen."
"Madam," Hunk says softly. And Scuzz hoots at that.
She ignores them and opens her briefcase. "This shouldn't take too long. Valet and I have developed a business plan. We need your input. Honest, objective remarks a-"
"Perfect," Scuzz yells. "Couldn't be better."
"Dude," it growls.
"Well, you have to give him that one," I say. "It is funny." Carra's trying not to smile.
"Do I have to get the gags?"
"No, no, master," Hunk says. "Nice master. We'll be good."
"Alright, then. Carra?"
"I didn't make any handouts," she says, "because I thought you might not have full use of your hands."
"Ooooo," Hunk says.
"Good one," Scuzz has to admit.
"Thanks. Are you ready?"
"Uh-huh," I say.
"Riding gear."
We prisoners look at each other. And I think, well, who's more of a fan of leather than Valet is, anyway...
"Leather pants -"
"Those went out again," I mutter.
"No," Hunk says. "They're back in. You really gotta get out more."
"Jackets, chaps, boots, shirts. And..." She makes a hurry-up motion.
"Gloves," Scuzz finally sighs.
"And gloves."
"Market's kinda saturated, isn't it?" I ask.
"We're going to create a new one. Value -"
"Aw, no," Hunk says - and Scuzz is shaking his head.
"Hear me out. Better stuff, guys. We start with plain, simple classics. Higher quality, discounted prices. Nothing fancy. Thick, solid... affordable."
"Okay, then," Scuzz nods.
"Jackets," Carra goes on. "Brando, euroracer, bomber, collegiate team. No trim, no extra styling, no knitted cuffs or collars. That's the initial product line. Next, we want to add a layer of Ultilar in the middle -"
"Whoa," Hunk says, looking mystified.
"They make bullet-proof vests from it now," she says to him. "A very flexible polycarbonate mesh. Not much heavier than buffalo hide. Just the thing for skidding a few hundred meters on your back."
"And it'll be in the gloves," Valet adds.
"Of course. This is the point where I tell you goons that you're wearing the prototypes now."
We look at each other, and start flexing our fingers. They looked just like ordinary gloves to me - if any glove can be considered ordinary when Valet is around. But my hands are cuffed behind me now. I still can't notice any difference.
"Seriously?" Scuzz says.
"Yeah," it replies. "Can anybody even tell? Or see a difference, when you got dressed?"
We all shook our heads.
"Your gloves, chaps and jackets," Valet says proudly.
"Why?" I blurt. Everybody looks at me.
"All together now," Hunk leers, looking at Scuzz -
Who nods, drawling, "Gotta keep Amigo safe."
"Oh, fuck..."

It's a good plan. Not as risky as I first thought. Ostentatious riders will be critical - I mean, they'll be merciless - but as Scuzz noticed too, that's only going to make... our kind of people more loyal. And bike sales are starting to pick up, out of the worst market for 'em on record. The hybrid engine laws almost made 'em extinct.
Valet, I know, is thinking ahead, as it dreams of all those guys. Almost at the right age now, and wanting something stark and maybe retro too, as they set themselves apart from their contented parents. Riders spurred on by peak testosterone levels, never suspecting the pack of invisible hands reaching for them in the unwatched parking lots of fuel stations, parks, arenas, titty bars...

When it's satisfied that we don't have any unconquerable criticism, Valet unlocks the chains -
"Oh. Yeah... One more thing."
All four of us groan. Could be anything -
A door opens.
"I want to formally welcome... my latest acquisition."
Shane rolls in - naked, gagged, cuffed to an executive office chair. Sweaty, sticky, panting for air. And yet he's pretty calm. Even as worn out as he is, I can't shake the notion that he's... content?
Carra's cheeks are red. She does not look happy to see her fiancé this way. It's a pretty typical Valet shocker, though the other guys and I are sadly used to it.
"Ours is a strange and wondrous relationship," she says, staring at Shane.
It hits me, like a tire iron, that she's getting aroused. I know that tone. A budding top, maybe. And Shane thought he wanted to be the master, but Valet totally flipped that around on him.
"Very strange," I add.
Shane looks over at me, with tired eyes I can't exactly decipher. Maybe angry at me, too. That sorta makes sense. Valet's invisible, so it's harder to work up a good rage at a couple of feathers, or something...
"Let him go," Hunk says.
"You heard the man," it laughs, uncuffing the poor slob.
"Why humiliate him like this?" I say.
"He's gonna be around. Handling real estate for me... when other duties permit."
I look at Carra. "When's the baby due, again?"
"Amigo," it says darkly, "I can count. Five months before ol' Shane here has to do the full-fledged daddy thing."
Carra shrugs.
I gotta have a talk with it, I think to myself, about proper child care and development...

Valet takes Shane away and washes him up. Scuzz takes off as quickly as he can, and the rest of us end up in the living room with a bottle.
"I'm sorry," I tell Carra again.
"Stop it. Wasn't your idea, was it?"
"Of course not..."
"Sometimes, B- Amigo, you have to be practical. Emotions cloud judgment. There'll be time to get angry at Valet later."
"Survival skill," Hunk says.
"Yes. And you three already use it to your advantage."
I groan and close my eyes. "Terrific."
"Besides, he... Never mind," Hunk says. "Forget it."
Carra studies him. "He. Shane? He sorta likes it. Is that what you were going to say?"
And he blushes!
"No. You don't know him like I do."
"I should never have dragged you into this," I tell her.
"Fate," she shoots back, keeping her face serene.
There's no way I can meet her eyes right now. "Yeah."

Shane likes his new leathers, no matter how sore he is.
Unfortunately he'll be spending more time here than he ever expected...
 

Valet seems to be in awe of Carra. Before long her opinion is almost as important as, well, mine.
However much I don't want to admit it, Shane's getting special attention because he's with Carra and I'm not. All the talking in the world isn't going to get it to ease off him, apparently.
It's tickled her, too. Slow, giggly planning sessions. Rope, and feathers. I almost get the feeling I'm not supposed to know about that.
The levels of intrigue are already too much for me. The politics of corporate boards is a lot simpler by comparison.

One cell is now a bordello. It turns out Shane has a thing about the old West.
Ghost whorehouse, where the ruddy young cowboys get kept and tortured in the way Valet likes best. Native methods, though I have my doubts that the Shoshone or the Chumash were ever this into tickling.

There's one video that gave me bad dreams.
Shane was in a jail cell, cuffed down to a bunk. He looked as if he'd been tickled all day...
A cock pump with German writing floated down. It looked something like an oversized, custom-fitted plunger, a plumber's helper with a short, thick staff, filled with layers and rollers. Soft foam. Some of them had feathery textures...
He resisted as much as he could, but he was already tired.
Fingers tickled and tickled his feet, and his sides, as the first orgasm took him. The attack got mean, for a few minutes...
And then the pump slowed down, apparently. There was a control pad - red buttons, more words in German in the display window.
He groaned helplessly.
Three other men were wrestled into the cellblock. Prison alumni, and definitely not acting - they fought as if they knew what was going to happen.
All four cells were filled, and locked. The prisoners were spread-eagled, just like Shane...
And the tickling started.
He looked confused, and I didn't blame him. The felons were roaring and slamming around, worked over in the weak light - and Shane was laying there, trying to come.
Then there was a montage of images. The other captives fought less and less. Their voices faded. Shane was tickled, intermittently, and not as hard. Clearly the need to cum was making him sweat...
And babble.
Would he have preferred the unhinged tickling Valet forced him to observe? I think that was the point. Two impossible choices, there.
Shane wept, at one point. A slow zoom in on the black rubber tube showed something moving slowly, at the tip. On him...
At times he'd jump suddenly and start giggling. It seemed as if buttons on the control pad were doing that. The word "elektrische" was over them. One button, sinking down - and just from the way he moved I could imagine a weak trickle of current under my own nuts.
By the time the other guys passed out, Shane was raving.
That next cum-shot never came.

I think that's where the video ended, but I knew Valet. It was easy to imagine the next morning, when Shane came to. I'd been there myself. More desperate than ever, seeing the pump still in place, begging as loud as I could.
But the response would be feathers, and tickling brushes. Prolonging the need, accentuating it...
 

One drizzly night in Brussels, my cell phone chimes in my pocket. I get it out.
The display says VALET.
I kick out a long sigh - as if that'll help - but it's half a world away from me, so I feel safe.
"Yeah?"
"Hey, you! Great. I really appreciate your answering the phone."
Hmmmm. "Uh-huh. Are you on a cell phone?"
"Cordless... Listen, amigo, I need you to do something."
"Oh, fuck," I snicker. "I've heard this before."
"No no no," it says quickly. "Just shut up a-"
"You're not getting me to hurry back, Valet. I know what you're thinking."
"Well, yeah. I'm always thinkin' about that. I admit it - but I'm not trying to get you to come back here," it laughs.
"Sure."
"Damn, you're a suspicious cuss - Uh-oh. Hold on a sec, okay?"
"What -" but it sounds like Valet set the phone down. Shit, it's got the nerve to make me wait for it. I reach for my smokes, wondering what that "uh-oh" meant.
A car roars around the corner. I turn to look - it's a minivan. Barreling past me -
Something about the driver didn't look quite right. The brakes lock up... I'm just starting to get a bad idea when the back doors pop open. A crowd of dark hands zoom at me.
"Dude," Valet says in my ear, "Tag. You're it."
One palm slaps over my mouth, and they whisk me inside. Drop, slam, peel out. Rope starts wrapping my legs together. A proper gag is buckled in place.
The driver isn't even looking b-
Oh, hell. I watch the streetlight slide over it.
A cardboard cutout.
"Private villa," Valet giggles. "It's all yours. Brick. Spooky basement. We'll be there in a few minutes..."

"Dammit," I rasp. "You gotta let me... have a life."
"Workin' on it," Valet fires back. "But even now, you got a fine life here. Full of tickling. Fifteen million dollars, almost. And me -"
"Ooooo. Back up to fifteen?" I grumble. Fuckin' Valet has spent way over ten million on the 'bots. And a couple mil on dungeons and toys, unless I miss my guess. I own more real estate than I don't even know about... The bastard goes through money like there's no tomorrow, then starts investing to earn it back -
But I better think about this later, because it's opening another bottle of oil.
"I told you... Goofball. You were running wild, out there. Before you came home. Remember that," it says brightly. "You're not smart enough to have this much money. We both know you're a lot... safer when I'm looking out for you."
"My ass."
"Yeah. That too."
"I hate you," and the words just snapped right out, real loud, before I could think about how immeasurably stupid it is to piss Valet off.
"Ooooh. Like I believe that - coming from you. Bad dudes... changing your minds every five minutes. But I'm not going to let a pissy mood spoil my fun. Gonna cheer you up, number-one Amigo of mine."
Six rubber gloves, bulking up, squeaking quietly.
"Right now," it says happily, "And aaaaall-llll night long."
 

Scuzz puffs a cigar to life.
"No tickling, right now," Valet says.
"Huh."
"Unless," I add.
"Well, yeah," and it snickers.
"Do you ever get tired of fuckin' with our heads?" Scuzz asks, sounding as if he really wants to know.
"No," it shoots back happily. "I know it amazes you. Think how I feel. Apparently it's one of those things I can never get enough of. Hell, I've got mind-games worked out for the next three months, already."
"Swell," I say.
"I know."
A white-board floats through the door. When it's in front of us, it stops. Hanging there.
Pens cruise over, popping their caps off.
"Picture, if you will," and the pens start flying. "A tough ol' biker. Caught by me. Tickled and tickled..."
It's drawing a cartoonish version of Scuzz, limbs spread out, laughing hard. The pens sketch in some of his tats.
He looks over at me, scowling.
"I spare no expense to keep him... fun to play with."
It draws a few hypodermic needles.
"Gotta love those 'bots. He's tagged so I can always find him. Staying off the hard stuff, vital systems rebuilt and strengthened..."
"Is this going anywhere in particular?" I ask.
"Shut up. And yeah, I slip up - once - and his cigarette habit gets goosed up -"
Scuzz makes a snorting noise.
"No small feat, for this fucker. And I'm still working on that one. But there's more to be done. Gotta keep my biker scum more and more crazy. Sooo..."
"Yeah?," he grunts.
"More 'bots. He's gonna do what I want."
My hands start to move.
"Hey," I mutter.
Dropping my smoke in the ashtray, my right hand meets up with my left... at my crotch.
"Oh, fuck," Scuzz says.
"I can't... stop 'em," I say.
"No," it laughs. "You can't."
Unzipping my jeans, getting my cock out -
"He'll do anything I want."
I stand up and start... twirling around.
"This is really sadistic," I bark. And then I stop moving - or rather, Valet lets me stop.
"Sorry. Just demonstrating."
Embarrassed, and royally pissed off, I sit down and put myself away.
"We're calling those motor-control 'bots. If somebody gives me shit when I'm trying to get 'em into my getaway vehicle, now I can make 'em climb right in without a peep."
I have a cold feeling in my stomach.
"And that's good," Valet continues, "but I also control of what he feels, and sees -"

The room changes.
Green vinyl walls. Another cell. I'm dangling from wrist-chains. So is Scuzz.
His eyes are big. "You getting this, too?"
"Uh, yeah."
A quick flash of light... and the room is full of gloves. Hundreds of 'em.
Scuzz whimpers. "Aw, hell -"
A hand grabs my hair and pulls my head back. Him, too.
The gloves look ready to go. Two of them zoom right up in front and open their palms.
Black wood paddles appear.
"Shit!" Struggling doesn't do any good.
They take off, circling around behind -
Wham.
"Mutherfuck!" Scuzz yells.

And then we're sitting at the kitchen table again. My ass is throbbing.
"Sense-overlay 'bots," Valet says proudly.
"Wow," Scuzz whispers, after a pause.
"And finally -"
My head. A slight tap, or something.
"Dude," Scuzz says, "You know what I've always wanted?"
"No. What?"
"To be tickled for a whole year straight. Non-fuckin'-stop."
"Yeah." He's right. Damn, I want that too. For years I've been wishing... "It doesn't work me over hard enough," I announce.
"Say that."
I lean closer to him, and smirk. "And the stupid fucker doesn't even know that we've been doing coke."
Scuzz brays and nods his head. "For years."
"If it don't tat me up soon," I chuckle, "all over, I'm goin' back to Mexico."
"Fuck Valet," he says breezily. "I was talkin' to Randy the other day, and he told me the best fuckin' joke..."
We blink, and look at each other.
"Memory-cognition 'bots," it says.
"It's... so real," I finally stammer.
"I control what you do, see, feel, think and remember."
There's nothing to say, really. I feel sick.
"Now... you assholes take off. Get drunk tonight. Calm down, and talk it over. I'll expect you back... Wednesday."
Neither of us move.
"Go," Valet says smugly.

"If we don't... fuckin' behave," and Scuzz pounds the bar, very drunk now, "it can't let us run around and get hurt. 'Specially not you, Aaaahmeeeegoh..."

On to Part 4

Back to Part 1

2000