Back to Part 5
- - 26 - -
Carra mailed a catalog to me. Worse, it was interoffice mail.
By the time I got home I had worked up a good head of steam...
"Hey - what's wrong?" Valet said as soon as I came through the door. Scuzz looked over at me, from the couch - dressed, and cradling a joint.
"Wanna talk to you," I said to the ceiling. "Right now."
"Okay," it says easily. "How about the drawing room?"
I head right in there, fighting the urge to stomp my feet.
"What is it?" Valet says.
"Valoric," I snarl.
"Oh. You found out."
"Carra found out," and I turn around, looking at nothing in particular. "No telling how many other people at Headquarters know."
"I'll take care of Carra," it replies, "by nuking Shane. He's overdue for a weekend of hell anyway."
"Leave him alone."
"Not on your life. He eats it up. I make him sing like a bird..."
"So much for privacy."
"Listen to you. Neither of 'em can tell me what they don't actually know. Randy's friends are still throwing up enough interference. It's really irritating, actually -"
"Valoric."
"Right. I doubt anybody else knows, amigo."
"The name? Val?"
I hear a sound next to my left ear, a lot like someone clicking their tongue in disgust. "You've got me on the brain. They don't."
"Dammit, Valet -"
"She saw the catalog, and thought of me?"
I pause. "Well, no. The stuff inside. And the product descriptions. She recognized your unique fuckin' style."
"Hmmmm," it purred, "There's only about a dozen people I've talked to enough so they could figure that out. And between you and me, I doubt half of 'em can even read."
"I'm trying to be pissed off, here!"
"Yeah. Okay. Sorry."
It's so unsatisfying... "You started a company without even telling me?"
"I figured you'd be upset."
"Tickling gear."
"You know me, amigo."
"Yeah."
"Those are your feet in the logo."
"Son of a bitch..."
It's enjoying my reaction. Definitely. "Relax, now. It's all separate from your companies."
"That's not the point -"
"Grossed five million last year."
I freeze. "You're kidding."
"Nope."
"When did you start this?"
"The catalog? It first came out... uh, just about thirty months ago."
"Five million? That can't be right."
"It is."
"Most of this shit is cheap."
"What? How dare you."
I shake my head. "It's not very expensive."
"Yeah, I took a bath the first year."
"You? Don't you mean 'I', or at least 'we'?"
"No sir. Me. It's all me. My money."
I squeeze my forehead with both hands. "Oh, shit."
"You gave me an interest-free loan, which I paid back last year. Kevin keeps me legal. He's the owner, on paper, but I guess we both know who owns Kevin. Especially his belly, and his ribs -"
"Enough."
"And here I thought I was doing a good thing, concentrating on what I like best."
I get so frustrated I actually do stamp my foot. "Automated tickling kits?"
"Well. And manual tools."
"You sell 'bots. Self-injectors. Those damn things -"
"Whoa, there. What Valoric sells is about one-twentieth the intensity of what I put into you. Much lower range. They're really intended to let people walk around in a happy little tickled buzz all day long."
"I don't believe this. I should've given it all away. Charity. Run back to Mexico."
"You never had a chance," it sneers. "I was on you like a wet blanket."
"Stop goading me for a second," I shout back. "This is serious shit, here."
"Why?"
"People are getting, uh, enslaved by your damn inventions -"
"You don't get it," it says, way too patiently. "They're in charge of the tickling they get. They pay for this shit, Boyle. Because they want it."
"Oh yeah? 'Valor-adaptation' -"
"Valaptation," it shoots back. "At least get the word right."
"Slavery."
"Oh, couldn't you get a little more melodramatic? If you tried?"
"I can't believe Kevin is involved with this," I mumble.
"Well, he's not totally aware of... how involved he is."
"Sometimes, Valet -"
"Hold the damn phone, buddy. Let's look at the big picture. I invented a whole new market. My sex toy learns. Monitors vital signs, tells 'em the safe words and go-words periodically - and it can't be activated by anybody except the owner. No way to make it attack somebody else. Self-pleasure, all the way."
"And kids?"
"Never. Built-in pressure sensor, checking the rate of cellular decay. Accurate to within one month. Nothing at all is gonna happen if they're under 18."
"This is sick," I wail.
"Imagine. You, saying that to me."
"Don't go there, Valet. Are you gonna tell me these things never tickle people against their will?"
"Well... No. If you want to get picky about it."
"Damn you -"
"Listen, cokehead." And that shuts me up, almost every time, because the threat is loud and clear. "Take a deep breath, willya? Let's say somebody looks through the catalog. Oooo, nice tools available. Gotta get me some of these, and a few of those... They turn the page and see the Monorizer. That's my base model. Headband, instruction manual and a small leather bag. It won't turn on until they're read the whole manual - and amigo, there isn't a single lie in there. I mean it. They press their thumb on four different places, and the manual tells the headband to initialize. Then -"
"I get the idea."
"Boyle, so help me, I'm gonna gag you if you don't shut up and just stand there. You need to hear this. Hell, maybe you want to hear it too." It sighs, sounding annoyed.
"Okay," I finally grunt.
"Good. Get the whole picture for a change. After they've digitally signed the manual, they have to hold their thumb on the end of the gripper-lock for ten seconds. Microvacuum pulls a few cells of blood out, painlessly, and the kit has its permanent registered owner. For anybody else, it's dead as a rock. Okay? The headband starts to talk. Makes the owner select a primary language, maybe a secondary language if they want, and then they have to agree again with the terms and conditions. Four times, amigo.
"Yeah, yeah."
"Voice-patterns analyzed for stress and consistency. They have to say the stop words, go-words and primary commands a couple times. As a test. And then they have to pick up the headband, with their thumb in the right place, and hold it up to their forehead. So I know they wanna get what's coming to them."
"Valet," I complain, "C'mon now."
"Sssssh. The headband will be active, if they confirmed all the warning stuff before. Padded leather, amigo. I hear it's very comfortable. Slowly, it wraps itself closed... and that fucker's not comin' off!" Valet laughs and laughs. "Unless they use the stop word, of course. I mean that. It's going to keep itself snug enough that it won't slip off, or get pulled off when the owner tries to drag his head against the floor. Whatever."
I sigh slowly.
"Then the bag opens itself up, and here come the gloves. Everything's wireless. Thirty-day batteries, nice and light. To start out, the owner doesn't get restrained at all. But the gloves learn all about him. Fifteen minutes, typically, that first time. All of the data is stored in each component. Safer, that way. If a glove controller fails, the others can compensate."
"This is wrong, Valet."
"Fifteen minutes," it insists. "Voluntarily selected. They use the stop-word, it stops. Later, if they permit the use of a gag, they can call the whole thing off by flexing their jaw-muscles. Eight consecutive bites. You get it? No matter how they're gagged, they can always do it... and that muscle is never used in that same way when you guys laugh. It works real well, that signal. And the whole system is always learning. That's valaptation. It's tuned to improve the tickling for the particular dude who's trapped in it - who owns it. Infinite learning curve."
"Restraints," I said. "You can say 'voluntary' all you want, but the sight of... anything holding me down says otherwise."
"Amigo, buddy, that's you." Spoken tenderly. "My own personal toy. Guys I actually catch are not going to appreciate the subtlety."
"Thanks. Yeah. Just - thanks a lot."
It pats me on the head. "Aw, now. You've seen... real restraints. In this kit, they're cool. Thin wire bracelets, with black beads. Once the owner puts those babies on - or the gloves do it for 'em - his limbs are paralyzed. But they'll still feel all the tickling. Oh, fuck. If the customers wanna have the gloves tie 'em down, or drag them into a nice pair of stocks, it's no problem."
"Training restraints," I interrupt.
"Yeeeeah, I guess you could say that."
"Do these fuckin' kits give hand jobs?"
"That's an upgrade."
"Keep 'em there all night? All week? Tickling?"
"Hold on. I'm not trying to kill 'em. There's an add-on module if they want sessions to last more than ninety minutes. Care, feeding, cleaning. Nobody goes down for the whole night without confirming when they wanna be let loose again. Actually, there's a free module to sync the Monorizer with a private internet calendar or a PDA. That's the only way to get the most out of valaptation."
And it pauses, so I take the hint. "Why?"
A few satisfied chuckles. "The kit can keep learning how to work on their body... but you know how I enjoy a good mindfuck. Amigo. Huh? I get 'em to show their schedule to the Monorizer, and it's all heavily encrypted so it can't be read or hacked. Then I've got 'em. I know when the tickling really has to stop, not just when they want it to stop. If they're experienced enough with their kit - which means, asshole, they've chosen to use it a couple dozen times - it'll start overruling them. Small ways, at first... No, you can't stop laughing and go to sleep at two. I am your Monorizer, and I say you'll suffer until four."
"You unbelievable son of a bitch."
"Or eight," Valet snaps. "If they want to play, I'll make sure they get all the fun they can handle. Be honest with yourself - would Hunk own one of these, right now, if I hadn't caught him?"
Obviously enough, yeah. But I can't admit that. "That still doesn't mean it's a good thing. Addictive."
"Why, thank you," it says sarcastically.
"You're making it easier -"
"Popularizing it. The same thing people have been doing to each other for centuries."
I kick out a quiet, growly sigh.
"Now it's safe to do it to yourself. You keep forgetting, I think, that when they tell it to stop, it lets 'em go -"
"Until they get hooked on it."
"Dudes who lay out money for this are already hooked on it. Usually. The return rate is fifteen percent, amigo. Full refund. Those people try it once, and never again. It's the warped fuckers like Hunk that keep buying upgrades."
"But still... the stop words are ignored? Damn."
"Only after their own personal kit has hours and hours of knowledge about them. And really, it's an extra hour, or not being allowed to cum, or the blindfold being used against their will. Not big stuff, as you know it. But constant variety."
"But you said it would feed 'em."
"If they want to sign up for that, sure. The bag taps into into the net, all wireless, and dumps information back to me. If they look promising, and healthy... I'll let 'em buy the Infinirizer upgrades."
"Crazy."
"Fun," it chuckles. "There's modules that focus on body parts. Very detailed. Asshole is a different module than ass-cheeks, for example. And there's verbal taunting, all different kinds. Straight and gay, every major role-playing gig. Other upgrades for each of the toys I find most useful. Shaving, spanking, various kinds of oil. Violet wands... Their own bags order the gear and plan out a wonderful nightmare weekend for 'em. Picking up the pace. Bringing out riding crops the poor slob never saw before, toe restraints, enema bags. Ignoring their squeals for help, the jaw-signals. And the bags know exactly where to fuck with their owners, how far to push. Every seventy-two hours they're told they can actually, really use a stop-word and get free. About half of the time, they choose not to."
"This is bad, Valet, totally fuckin' bad."
"No. You wanna know about bad? There's a few assholes out there who tamper with their Infinirizers. Hack 'em. Only a few hundred dudes are that into it, but still. Somehow," and it snickers meaningfully, "they got hold of mod chips. Voiding the warranty, Amigo. All bets are off. These unauthorized downgrades do awesome things -"
I snort. "You just don't get it. Don't even want to."
"Erasing all the stop-words, auto-activate the gloves to put the headband on 'em while they sleep. Set up a random ambush mode - grab 'em when they walk through the door, in their car, at work... dragged into a storeroom for the week. Awareness of a dozen hardcore restraint devices. A full month of action, then two months, and so on. Drugs, piercing, tattoos, milking, soundproofing... the whole deal. I mean, their units are hunting 'em now. And I know about all of it, because the bags call in and tell me what's going on. I make sure the more ticklish ones have extra units sent their way, and lots of toys. I'll pay their bills, just to keep 'em good and caught - and thirty-three of those dedicated guys have been moved out, by their Infinirizers, to top secret cells. One of 'em was even here last winter."
"Enough. Stop -"
"Never enough, amigo. Not even close. The only place I draw the line is with owners trying to trap other dudes. I block that, and send a complimentary bag to the victim instead. Five million bucks, last year. Oh, they love this thing in Germany. And Texas, oddly enough. Philadelphia, Kansas City, Montreal. Shit, in Japan -"
"How could you do this?"
"Money. And it amuses me. A lot."
"You can't be making money on this... Uh, all that tech? Each unit -"
"One hundred and ninety-nine bucks."
I freeze, right where I'm standing. No.
"Yeah. Amigo. That's all the basic kit costs 'em. I lose that much on each unit... But roughly one-third of the users will buy an upgrade. Forty bucks. And about one user in twelve will buy more than ten upgrades. That's where the profit comes in. Lots of free upgrades given as prizes, and always a big discount for bikers."
"Aw, no. This can't be happening."
"Ask me."
I look around. "What?"
"You know you want to ask me. 'How many'."
"No," I bark. "That's definitely not what I need to know. If I can't get you to stop this -"
"Then what is it? I saw you thinking about the question."
"How many different upgrades?" I finally admit.
"Oh. That's easy." Valet chuckles, just to keep me waiting. "I offer a nice discount, as more and more upgrades are bought. Right now, there's sixty-eight modules available."
"Slaves," I mumble. "Valet. No."
"Happy guys." A fist punches me in the arm, real hard. "Hell, we all gotta do what we're best at."
- - 27 - -
I'm driving home from the office. Valet is along for the ride, probably to make sure I don't run into anything. It counts the number of motorcycles going by, cheering each time it sees one of the models we make...
"You changed the world, y'know," I mumble.
"What did you say?"
So I roll my eyes and repeat it -
"Pull over," it says. "Pronto."
"O-kay."
As soon as the car stops moving, arms wrap around me - from the back, as if the car seat wasn't even there.
"I did it for you," Valet says happily. "All of it. I love my big ol' Amigo."
"Aaaaaw, now," I stammer. "How can I hate you properly when you pull shit like this?"
"Hah. I know you. And you don't like all the tickling... so I do what I can to make up for it."
"Since you just can't stop tickling?"
"You got it."
I look at my chest. No arms there, that I can see. "You've done good, Valet. For a whole lot of people."
"And how do you feel about that? About me?"
The silence probably seems a lot longer than it is...
"Yeah," I nod.
"Yeah, what?"
Shifting around, like the trapped animal that I am - "What you said."
"I'm not going to let go until you say it."
"Oh, c'mon."
"Amigo."
"I love you, Valet. Dammit. There."
"Hee hee..."
"Can we go now?"
"Wait until I get you alone," it chuckled, releasing me. "Gotta come up with something special."
"Mail call," Valet says.
A box is hovering in the doorway.
"Did it get here?" Scuzz drawls.
"Yeah," and a magazine pops out. It's tossed over to him -
But his face goes dark when he sees the cover. Looks over at me, and turns the magazine around - Ticklish Twinks.
"Boooooo," I say quietly.
"Guess that's for Hunk, huh?" And it giggles. An issue of Easyriders floats over to Scuzz's waiting hand. He watches it approach with a carefully neutral expression on his face -
"Amigo. Your turn."
"No thanks -"
A fancy envelope hovers above the box. I recognize the handwriting and automatically heave a sigh.
"C'mon, now," Valet coaxes. "At least -"
"Throw it out."
"Aw."
"Dude," Scuzz says, looking curious.
"My mom," I reply. "The annual card."
"Oh."
"She's early," it finally says, trying to make the best of it.
"No." I get up and leave. "More likely, she doesn't remember which month I was born."
Knowing how fuckin' slim the odds are, I head for the key-rack anyway. I just wanna drive for awhile.
"Buddy," it says - from in front of me - "turn around now."
"I wanna get drunk."
"Do it here."
"No."
And suddenly I turn, just like a robot. Lighting a cigarette. Completely unable to stop myself.
Swaggering as I walk into the mullet lounge, I sit on the couch and watch the door close. My arms go straight out, from my sides, and Valet pulls my shirt off...
When the rope is tied and checked, it turns off the 'bot-hold.
"Don't do this," I say sadly. "Can't a guy just feel bad?"
"Well, of course you can," Valet shoots back, and it sounds surprised. "In an hour. Tons of happy-endorphins, first, and then if you wanna go out and get shitfaced I'll line up a limo for ya."
"Valet," I groan, pulling at the rope -
Motorized brushes are closing in.
"She doesn't love me."
"I don't know about that," it says thoughtfully.
Damn - my belly. Spinning fur in my navel. I rock back, start giggling -
"But I know somebody who does love you."
"Nooooo hooo hoooo nuh nnn-nnnoh oh fuh fuh-oooo hoo hoo hoooonnn..."
"Who is that, Amigo? Huh?"
I thrash around, starting to squeal. This is so sick. It's warped me, that what it's done.
"Are you gonna say it? Or am I gonna tickle the living fuck out of you? Huh? Real all-out tickling. No more Mister Nice Torturer."
"Noooo hoo hooo huh valll-aaah aaahh hah hah haaaaa-eeeff fuh huh huh fuh -"
"Who loves Ameeee-go?"
I hoot for a few seconds, with sweat already starting to roll, and concentrate. "Huh ssss-Scuzz! Skuh aaaah hah huh huh skuhhh-Scuzz zuh hee heee-eeeee..."
"Oh, wow," it chuckles. "You bastard. That's one dead Amigo, coming up. You. You're a dead man... laughing."
My sandals are unbuckling...
"Aaaah hah hah val vuh haaaa-eeee... Val aaaal allayy vuh V-valet hey hey eeeee-hee hee haaaay -"
"That's right," it says. "I do. But you're still gonna pay for that crack."
Quick fingers start tickling my feet.
"I should've done this a long time ago," it says.
Since it's already been tickling the shit out of me all day, in my old bedroom, I have no idea what Valet is talking about. I manage to lift my head a little. "What... You've been d-doing it."
"Sorry. What I meant was that one summer. When you started going wrong."
All I can do is pant for air.
"I wouldn't mess with any other sixteen-year-old. But my amigo... well. You thought you were such a big man. Fucking your brains out, smoking your dope."
"You got... no right -"
"Put a sock in it. Or I will. That was even before I let you smoke in here. Or Randy. Trapped, right here. Out of harm's way. I can't help thinking your life would've been all different, if only I'd known about tickling then."
"I would've left for Mexico... a year sooner."
"Naaaah." The doorknob rattles. "You never would've made it off the grounds. And then I would've covered this door with locks. Kept ya here."
"Real healthy."
"Compared to what you did? Buddy. Think about it. Sixteen-year-old you, crawling in after a party. Stinking like beer, and smoke. I'd help you into bed, before you passed out. Peel off your clothes and see the evidence of all that wild sex you just had. Then - well, that's when I should've... chuckled over you, in the dark. Quiet, sinister. Bring out some fine new restraints. Every toy I could want. A fierce, innocent week, making you howl until you were hoarse. To start. Getting your attention -"
"Innocent," I snap.
"Oh, yeah. Just high-spirited fun, all over you. That was before you'd really picked up all the bad habits you've got. Just wholesome food and water, nice clean sheets under you all the time, and eager, sadistic tickling."
"You've thought about this way too much."
"Every day," it says - sounding sheepish. "I could've saved you a lot of grief, if only -"
"Stop it. Really. You can't be feeling guilty."
"Uh..."
"It's just too ridiculous. Years of torturing me, and you expect me to believe you regret not starting sooner?"
"You're missing the point. If I'd gotten you in hand that summer, there would've been no need to torture you -"
"Or Scuzz, I guess."
"Well."
"Yeah. There never was a need, Valet. You really did it because you wanted to."
"Now that's such a crock of shit -"
"Randy. Hunk, for fuck's sake. You wanna talk about innocent?"
Fingers grip my ribs. After a long whine, I start hooting slowly.
"I gotta think," it mutters. "That means you gotta stop talking for awhile. And I do like the way you moan..."
"You're such a kidder..."
When I wake up, Valet doesn't greet me. It takes me a few seconds to realize that, because I'm sorta busy being glad I'm not cuffed down. I light a smoke and go to the bathroom.
Walking into the kitchen, I feel all this energy in the air. Something serious is goin' on.
"Hey," I say to the refrigerator -
It opens, right away. A glass of orange juice zips over to the table. Banging down. It doesn't seem optional, to me. I drink it, looking around.
"You okay?," I ask it. No answer. Silence...
Whooooh. Dizzy -
Strapped down. I have clothes on.
And a hood. Half-hood. Something hums -
"What's the deal?" I say.
"Shut the fuck up, and hold still."
Wow. Angry captor. Way too calm.
Another ten minutes, maybe fifteen, and the humming stops. Valet tears a couple straps off and pops the backrest up real quick. I could use a cigarette, but it's got me worried.
"Boyle," it says - and fuck, I'm not Amigo anymore. What the hell did I do?
"Yes?"
"Scuzz took off."
I feel my mouth drop open -
"And before you start celebrating, I'm in a real, real, real bad mood."
"Understood," I say quickly.
"Laugh at me later," it sighs. "I know you're dyin' to. But not right now."
It sounds so sad that all I do is nod.
"I just scanned you. He didn't tell you anything. You're off the hook..."
"Whew."
"Randy, however, must've helped him. I am going to find those two, and throw 'em in the dungeon I made just for them. And they will never get out."
I have a chill running all the way down my body.
More straps are unbuckling...
"Now I will go hunting. Even though I have the most incredible urge to torture you, for information that you don't have... I don't dare start in on any of you right now."
I say nothing. It picks me up - and I figure out the clothing. Prisoner shit.
Down the hall, outside, being carried quickly. To the old coach house -
And the door slams open.
There's a few generic jail cells, and I go in one. Handcuffs snap around my wrists. Ankle-cuffs. Boxes fly past me - cigarettes, water bottles, food. Two lighters are tossed on the bunk.
Two bottles of JD are shoved into my hands.
The cell door shuts - slowing down, as if Valet is getting control of its rage.
"Obviously you're not going to leave the grounds."
And I look at the chains on my legs. "Check."
"Fuck. Just wait until I find him... Oh. I need the hood."
Within a few seconds it's tugged off. Nylon, or something stretchy, with wires running all through it.
"You sit tight."
The front door slams.
All there is to read in here is gay tickling mags. I can't decide if that's on purpose, or not.
After dark, the door squeaks open.
Hunk is rushed inside...
The cell next to mine. He doesn't have any chains on, though.
"That's easy," he says, smoking one of my cigarettes. I watch the coal bounce as he snaps off the ash. "It's terrified of losing you."
"Again."
A chuckle. "Hey, I wasn't gonna say it."
"But there's tracking devices in me."
"In all of us. I don't wanna even see what Valet's like, if you and Scuzz both disappear."
"Huh? Oh. Aaaa-aaah."
"Yeah."
"I hadn't even thought of that. Without him around -"
"Endless angry tickling."
I let that hang there. We are seriously fucked. "Maybe even more than you'll like."
He takes his time, finishing the smoke, and flicks it away. "Anything's possible."
"Wake up," somebody says.
I roll over, and see a big, lean skinhead through the bars.
"I'm Arrow," he says. "Valet told me to come and feed you."
"'bout time," Hunk yawns. From his relaxed attitude I guess he's met the punk before.
"Hope you got something other than energy bars," I say.
He laughs. Not a real nice laugh. Arrow knows something we don't know.
We gobble down pizza while he leans against the opposite bars, smoking one cigarette after another. Staring at me like a slow death would still be too good for me. Intense dude. He's terminally angry - no doubt more than he used to be, now that Valet took an interest in him.
"Got good news and bad news," he says, opening a box.
"Is that a video camera?" Hunk asks.
"Uh-huh."
Nobody says anything until the tripod's set up, and Arrow tests the camera. He turns around, and I really don't like the smile he's got on his face.
Digging in the box, he pulls out a pair of wide leather cuffs... and holds 'em within reach of Hunk.
"Put 'em on."
Hunk shoots me a look, and reaches outside his cell.
"And these," Arrow says, "are for the infamous amigo. Put 'em above his shackles."
He's gotta be kidding.
"Valet says." And then he chuckles a few times.
"I doubt it," Hunk says. But he doesn't sound too certain.
"Don't do it, then. I hope I'm there when you tell it. We didn't wanna..."
"Son of a bitch," I mutter.
Arrow squints at me, but doesn't say anything.
We have to drag our bunks as close together as we can so I stick my feet through the bars, into Hunk's cell.
"Here," Arrow says. Tossing something to Hunk, whose hands are still uncuffed.
Duct tape.
"Oh, fuck..."
This is weird, even for Valet.
Hunk is told to tape our cuffs together, circling round and round, so we can't pull 'em free. Our soles are pressing together. And Hunk is not as weirded out as I am. Worried - but his dick's hard.
Arrow laughs, and pulls out a bottle of oil. Shaking it slowly. "Grease yourselves up," he commands. "Cocks, and feet."
"Oh no," I say. "Valet? Are you here? This is sick."
No answer. Arrow's eyes are shining, barely human, as he reaches in and hands the oil to Hunk, who looks concerned - about me, if I'm reading him correctly...
When Arrow squints through the camera eyepiece, he starts chuckling. Easy sigh, leaning back against the other cell. Casually lighting a new smoke. He knows he's got our attention.
"Jack off."
"No," I snap.
"Your boss is looking forward to seeing this tape, fucker."
"Arrow," Hunk says, in a let's-be-reasonable tone.
"Get yourselves off," Arrow laughs. "I'm not feeding you again until you do."
"C'mon -"
"Three."
I look at Hunk. Big eyes. And if I know him at all, he's fighting not to smile.
"Is is your birthday again already?" I growl.
"Hey. Fuck, I had nothing to do with this!"
"It actually said three cumshots. That was the number?"
Arrow takes a drag, squinting at me. Arrogant son of a bitch. "One, two, three." He's rather enjoying being Valet's assistant.
Oil slides down my package, poured by my own cuffed hands.
And when Hunk murmurs, "Sorry, dude," there's no mistaking the excitement in his voice. He pours the oil over our toes -
Tickling oozes down. Warm flesh twitching against my soles, everywhere, and how the hell could this just be so paralyzing? So fuckin' intense? I can hardly even bark out the laughter.
"Play with yourselves," Arrow says. "Prisoners."
It's impossible. I can't keep my feet from moving. Neither can Hunk. I can tell he's trying...
His feet are constantly tickling mine. Sweet, piercing contact, moving just enough as I stroke off.
Within a couple minutes, we're both howling. I look at Arrow, needing to see some pity there, any mercy at all. But he looks from Hunk to me and back again, smoking -
And jerking off, himself.
I can't concentrate. Laughing too hard.
This is gonna take a long time.
And - two more cumshots after this one?
Eventually, Hunk and I work out a plan. Without a word, I work on his feet, tickling him on purpose. He howls, pounding the mattress with his fists - and I make a few desperate strokes on my cock. Before I can finish, he's got to stop me from stimulating his feet anymore, and turns the tables on me.
It's an exhausting half-hour. But we succeed. Hunk first - keening with joy - and I come a few seconds later.
"Time to... put in a new tape," Arrow pants.
We all smoke, not saying anything.
Two more. That's what I'm thinking. I'm gonna figure out a way to get back at Valet. This is a new low. Incomparably twisted.
Arrow chuckles quietly. "I'm definitely gonna need a chair," he says quietly. "And you guys look like you could use a beer, too."
I shift a bit, and Hunk starts giggling uncontrollably. There's no point in apologizing. We're gonna set each other off, without intending to do it, for a couple hours yet. My feet are so ridiculously awake that's it's a constant effort not to laugh, myself. But I need these fuckin' smokes...
After about half a beer, I lift my head and look at Hunk.
He's zoned. Sweaty... but not altogether unhappy.
"Okay," he says. And then - I hope it's involuntary - he shows me his teeth, and starts pushing against my feet.
I drop my head and howl.
"Nice," Arrow says.
"Get back at me," Hunk shouts. "Amigo. Push back. Do it. Let's get this over with..."
I'm lost in a hurricane of electric pleasure. Enjoyment is something alive, mischievious, kicking my ass. Something too much like lust is shooting up from my aching feet.
Hunk crows and titters. I'm stuck in a low, hollow whoop. Over and over. The damn overload is always there, feet on fire, legs, balls...
We seem to be deadlocked. I'm getting hoarse -
"Amigo!" Hunk groans. "Think about... a time. Fuh hah hee hee heeeeef... When it got you off, and it felt good. Remember -"
"Got it," I rasp. "Th-thanks."
It's good advice. Really good. Within ten minutes we're arching - and the movement makes us scream laughter, as we squirt.
I smoke, distantly wondering how the fuck I'm ever gonna do that again. Hunk's feet are hot against mine. Coming three times has never been a problem before - certainly not when Valet did it, chuckling with satisfaction.
That might work. I need to start thinking about one of the best cum-shots. Carefully review the whole damn thing, from the murderous tickling to the finish. All the way through.
"We g-gotta... do that remembering-thing again. Starting way earlier."
"Way ahead of you," Hunk growls.
"Good."
"Beer," Arrow says, holding a bottle within reach.
"Why do you hate me so fuckin' much?" I bark.
He smiles. "Amigo. You really hate this shit, don't you?"
"Arrow," Hunk says tiredly.
"But your fuckin' inheritance made it possible. Reached out and locked on to me. I was just in a club, havin' a good time - and your babysitter dragged me in here. Maximum tickling, and then it got worse, and worse. Me! Damn near tickled to death."
"We've already gone over this," Hunk says.
Arrow's head swivels. "Last time I got tortured for ten straight weeks.."
"Oh, cry me a river," I grumble, taking another drag.
"You fuckin' piece of shit -"
"Seven years," I say to the ceiling. "I was twenty-five. I'm thirty-two now. Scuzz was caught a couple years before that. Do you understand anything?"
I look back over at him. Veins are sticking out, on his temples, and his eyes are so dark. Enraged. If looks could kill, and so on. But his mouth finally closes, and he looks up. Takes a deep breath.
"You guys got one more cum-shot to do."
"Shit," I groan.
"Give him time," Hunk says. I look over at him. Huh? He cocks his head -
Arrow is looking bummed out. Not as angry. I think I see. If Hunk has been talking to him already, and he's thinking hard now...
I look back at Hunk, who sticks his tongue out a little. He's not exactly hating this, and I know that. Pervert. I smile at him, shaking my head a little - and he starts tickling me. And himself.
Our heads go back, and we hoot together.
Valet really got us good this time. Unbelievable.
One of the longest cum-shots of my whole damn life. Arrow actually stops us and gives us each a liter of water. His eyes are still intense, but.. it looks more like hormones to me, not that same rage he had before.
"Thanks," I whisper.
He just blinks.
Hunk and I have a smoke - and I surprise him, by pressing against his toes before he ditches the cigarette.
"Oh, you bastard," he squeals. "I'm gonna get you for t-that."
And he does. It's so sick, and ludicrous. But we're too far gone now, and we're gonna see it through.
Finishing is all a blur.
Hunk is snoring - but our feet aren't stuck together anymore. His ankles, of course, are still cuffed. If I wanted to, I could reach through the bars and get a death-grip on the connecting chain, and torture the fuck out of those feet.
In my foggy state of mind, that seems like an interesting idea. But I decide I'm just too damn tired.
Giggling, thickly. Waking up.
Spread across the bunk. Cuffed down.
Feathers slide up my ribs.
Hunk is hooting monotonously. Gagged, it sounds like.
"You didn't run off, huh?" Valet growls. Like it was a possibility -
"Nooo hoo hoo hoo hooo."
"And this torso hasn't been worked over, and I mean skillfully tickled, for a few days."
I pound my head on the mattress.
"Good ol' amigo."
Fingers squeeze my hips - and crawl into my armpits. No, no, no...
It's jerking me off. Slowly. Can't believe it -
"Maybe I'll just move my favorite guys to a safer place," it says. "One of the maximum-security dungeons I built for those assholes who ran away. And I'll just keep doing this every day, from now on..."
I open my eyes. Hoping it's just kidding around.
Laughter. Yeah. So it is fuckin' with my head. "Yeah."
Feathers start back in, on my nipples.
I wake up a padded room. Again.
Smoking nonstop while my crotch is fondled, I watch Arrow get it. He tries to arch, one more time, tattooed arms straining to break the cuffs or the chains...
Fingers slide across his collarbones, settling low behind his neck. That makes him cough once, suddenly. He quits pulling and relaxes. His face looks as if he just ate a bug.
The thumbs touch down by his larynx and slide away from each other a little, pressing down. The other fingertips slide up and out. Digging in.
His head moves slowly, as if he wanted to throw off the hands. That isn't going to happen. None of the restraints have failed, no matter how hard he fought. These cuffs are going to keep him flat on his back, spread out on the rubber-sheeted mattress. He won't be able to prevent anything.
Ponderous massage continues to intensify. Squeezing in very slow circles, moving around the base of his skull.
His head tilts back, but that doesn't stop the hands either. With a last dismal tug... he starts to chuckle. Involuntary laughter. Silent, as it has been for the past couple days. He was whooping and squealing, cackling as forcefully as he could, when the scratchy volume failed. Now he laughs without making any noise - except the sound of labored breathing.
The hands continue to stimulate his neck, forcing him to snicker continuously.
After about an hour, he gets to watch me suffer...
Finally the cuffs are taken off, and the door is opened.
We lay there for awhile, smoking. I don't want to crawl out of the room while he watches. Maybe he feels the same way. I just need a few more minutes to rest -
"I didn't... believe you," he growls.
"What?"
"This. You're not like Hunk."
"No," I snap, thinking he means that I'm... But I look over at him, and figure it out. It isn't the gay thing. "I hate it. Really."
"Good," he finally says.
He's glad that I'm getting something that I hate, like he does. At least he's relieved.
Or maybe I'm off the hook for somehow setting all this up, because I secretly enjoy it. Me, and him - everybody - getting put through their paces. That's the explanation I'm going with, because I like it better.
- - 28 - -
I'm in Scuzz's room. A long day into it, no end in sight.
"Hey," it barks.
"What."
"Tell me something."
I take a quick drag, just in case it's going to take my cigarette away. "Shoot."
"Why did Scuzz leave?"
"Uh. Is this a test?"
"What? No. Just tell me."
"Maybe because you were torturing him all the time."
"Big deal -"
"I wasn't done, Valet. Maybe he wanted to have a normal life. A real life. Is that so surprising?"
"He's not up to it."
I have to laugh at that. "Gee, I wonder why. How many years ago did you catch him?"
There's a pause. "You really think so?"
"Humans aren't meant for this," I say quietly. "Not what I've gone through. Or Hunk -"
"And what am I supposed to do now," it says, getting testy. "What? Every time I get worried about something, I work you over. Hunk benefits when I get a new idea, or something else exciting occurs to me. And the shit-for-brains biker was the one I locked down whenever I got angry."
"I... never knew that."
"Well, I never told you. And now I don't have an outlet. Whenever I get mad."
"There's always... uh... meditation."
An awful pause seems to fill the room.
"Or," and my cigarette is taken away, "I could rename you Scuzz."
"Help," I wail faintly, hoping to make Valet laugh.
"Moron," it shoots back. And then it chuckles, reminding me of Randy at a strip club in Haleiwa. Maybe the sound is modeled after Randy's chuckle, or it permanently changed the way he laughs when he's horny, just to suit it -
"Yeah. I am. Is there anything else you'd like me to say, to help you cool down?"
Feathers are gliding slowly down to my chest.
"Valet, you're the greatest," it chortles. "You're always right."
"Valet, y-"
"I'm never gonna run away like Scuzz did."
I lift my head. "Hey. Are you serious?"
"Amigo."
The feathers play with my nipples. They start moving very slowly.
"Nnnnnnf. I'm... I already tried that. Didn't work out too well."
"Okay," it says reasonably. "I'm never gonna run away again."
It's too hard to keep looking at the feathers, so I let my head fall back. "If I did, about five hundred more g-guys would be huh huh huh suh-sorry."
"Say it."
"Aaaah hah I I'm nnn-nnnah hah hee hee nnnnever guh huh huh huh huh hah hah g-gonna run away hay hay hah hah haaaa-ooowhoo hoo hoo uh ageh heh heh aaaaw hah hah hah hahhiiiiiihh..."
"Close enough," Valet decides. "Brace yourself."
Rowdy laughter is coming from the mullet lounge. I'm surprised the door's open.
"Sssssh," Valet whispers. I stick my head in -
It's got an older guy. Mid-forties? Hard to tell with the blindfold on. Solid prison tats, some of the usual biker icons. A dozen straps hold him to the wide recliner.
"Nnnn-nnnnnaah hah hah hah hah heeeeennnn-nnfff... I can't fff-fuckin' stand thih-hih-huh whaaaaaah hah heeee heeeennnaaah staaaah staaaap, stop it, please, pleeeee-eeeze aaaaaw haaah haw haaaawww..."
Gloves leave his soles - and graze his stomach, sliding lightly over sweat and piss, leaving trails through the oily hair.
"Neeeeee heee haaaaw naw nuh nuh oh hah hah haaaaw!"
Into his navel - and that finger makes him jerk suddenly. It slips back and forth.
"Nooooo hoooo hoooo-ooooo noooo nuh huh huh huh..."
They wander across, several fingers barely touching him, zig-zagging.
"Pleeeeeeze," he wails, dissolving into chuckles again.
Palms slowly clamp over his ribs, answering the plea with calculated pressure that makes him laugh silently.
"Why?" I whisper.
"He might know somebody who knows where Randy's hiding," Valet whispers back.
More fingers start landing. Thighs, neck, arms, hands.
Rub and clutch, pet, polish, dig in.
He shakes his head erratically.
The club smells like... damage. Entropy in action.
I ignore the stares, which I expected, and scan the crowd for a big fucker -
Oh, shit. He's on the stage. Playing bass. I didn't know. Being in Valet's hands sorta messes up any shot at a musical career.
The band is better than I expected...
Four quick songs, and the set ends. He rubs a filthy towel over his head and hands to get rid of some of the sweat, jumps off the stage -
Coming for me. Angry as hell.
I take a step back, wishing for once that I was in one of Valet's 'bot-nightmares. This is gonna hurt. A lot.
Maybe four steps away, he stops. Head down, taking a big breath. Then he looks up, squinting... but for the moment, I might be safe.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he barks.
"Good news."
He snorts at that, and shoves past me. I turn, and figure out he's heading for the door...
And when I make it outside, he's tugging hard on a cigarette. Waiting.
"Can I get about ninety seconds," I say, "before you pound the crap out of me?"
That gets a little smirk. "Go."
"I've been workin' on... it. So has Hunk. You know who was lined up to become the next Scuzz, right?"
He shuts his eyes. "I figured that out."
"It always went after him when it was angry. We convinced it to, uh, spread the anger around. Deal with it before it builds up."
"Deal with it. Fuck."
"Yeah, well, it's a start."
He looks at me. "So - what? I'm free? It's not gonna make me a permanent addition to your fuckin' zoo?"
I force myself to look him in the eye. "You got nine months off. No visits. The bad news is, you're still full of 'bots. Like me, and Hunk." I chuckle, but it's just nerves. "It can't get along without us. We get nailed when it's having other feelings. But you -"
"I don't believe it."
"Fine. It'll sink in. We had to negotiate our asses off -"
"What am I supposed to..."
"Your band."
He shakes his head. "What?"
"That's my guess. I've got money, it's got connections. Are you guys ready to tour?"
"Hell, they've been touring. Without me."
"Yeah."
At least he's not angry anymore. "Nine months."
"It promised. But."
"A-ha," he yells.
"Wait. I wanna remind you about the 'bots. You're not gonna get... hauled off, but there's enough hardware in us to make us think it's happening. It didn't promise to completely leave you alone. Fucker kept giggling."
He sighs. "Same shit, then."
"Valet used the word 'vacation'. For us, that's always been hands-off. There's a good chance nothing will happen, the whole time. But it could. I wouldn't be... totally shocked if you have a free day sometime and find yourself in a motel room, getting the business."
"Same shit."
"No. It wants you to stretch your wings. That's a quote. And it knows damn well you can't do that if you're looking over your shoulder all the time."
He lights another cigarette, thinking hard. "I'm not gonna... call it. Talk to it, about the money."
"You don't have to," I say quickly, digging in my pocket. "Here's a card from a guy who, uh, works for me. My accountant. He knows, but Valet doesn't bug him. As much. You tell him you're Arrow, he'll take it from there."
I get a dark look, a quick nod - and he takes the card. Still thinking a lot. I have time to light a cigarette before he looks at me again.
"Why?"
And here go any cool points I might've earned, I think to myself. "Me, probably. It bugs me that you think I had anything to do with what's goin' on. Like I wanted this to happen, in any way. You, and all the others, getting roped in... And you know when Amigo's sad, something's gotta be done."
Finally, I sneak a look at his face. A lot less angry. Whew.
"I get it," he says.
And that's about all I could ask for, I decide. All I'm gonna get. So I shoot him a vague salute and leave him there, staring at the trash under his feet, dragging on his smoke for all he's worth.
"Hey, Amigo," it says, sounding like it's in a hurry.
"What's up?"
Pause. "Got me a tagger."
"Graffiti?"
"Yup." It growls, way too happy. "Caught him in the act. He's twenty, and that's old enough to know better."
"And..."
"He's a screamer. Oh, fuck. Won't last long, but talk about exciting."
I sigh. "Don't hurt him."
"As if I'd do that. Buddy."
"Whatever."
It laughs. "I'm gonna decorate his cell. His kind of art. Y'know? Since he likes the smell of paint so much."
"You're a sick, sick fucker."
"And I won't forget that slur. Don't go anywhere, dude."
"Yeah, like that'll happen," I grumble.
"Fuckin' menace," Hunk says.
"You're drunk," I tell him. "Gonna get in trouble. Both of us -"
"No," Valet says, and I think it's amused. "Just him."
"Yeah," he barks. "Just me. This time. Fuckin' tickle the shit outa poor Hunk."
"Stop," I say, amazed. He's just asking for it. "Stop talking."
"Aaaah, nothing matters. That's too much, I say. Don't tickle me any more. You're wearin' me out... And it don't stop."
"Hunk, you're suicidal."
"Hunter. My name's Hunter."
"Okay," Valet says, picking him up. "Off we go."
"Noooooo!" he wails... starting to cackle.
"Aw, I'm not even tickling you yet."
"I know. But, you're... You will."
"Oh, yeah."
"Menace to the world. Blow it up, Amigo. The whole place."
"Honestly," it snorts. He's floating away.
"It's built lots of places, Hunk," I say to his back.
"You can't get rid of me," it says to him - kindly. "We've been over this before."
"Tickler," he shouts. "I hate your ass. Tickling me, tickling, tickling..."
He's gone.
"You look spooked," it says.
"Tell me again how you're not really hurting anybody. He's bent."
"I'm going to straighten him out," it replies firmly. "This happens about once a year. He was just about begging for it. You heard him."
"We're all bent, Valet."
"But you're keeping your nose clean." It makes two loud sniffing noises. Coke. Real subtle.
"So... When was the last time he needed to be straight-"
"Quiet!"
Yeah, that's what I figured. But I made my point, and it's got something to think about - after Hunk's snoring.
"Respectfully, Valet, I get the idea that he doesn't want to be tickled."
"Wrong. Hunk doesn't want to be nuked. He loves being tickled, buddy. By me. I'll give him a couple days of nice, easy, lusty fun. He'll talk my ear off, raging at me, weeping, and I'll talk him down. Don't even need the 'bots to do it. I want it to stick."
"We're like lab rats. Fuck."
"Extremely ticklish lab rats... which I happen to adore."
"You say the creepiest things when you're trying to be nice."
"Nice, hell." A few dark chuckles. "I'm being completely honest. That's what you say you want, right?"
"It is."
"You can have a long sit-down with him, tomorrow night. See for yourself."
"I'll hold you to that. And maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea if he got so drunk beforehand."
Laughter. "Aaaaaaw. Catch ya later."
I shake my head.
"Get it? Because I will."
"You'll catch me later. Yeah. That was funny about five thousand times ago."
"But I always mean it."
"Goodbye."
Snickering, as it seems to be leaving the room.
After a minute I light a new cigarette off the old one, and pick up the TV remote.
Rested up. Feather mattress - that's different. Naked, but there's really nothing odd about that at all.
I'm in my old room. Dark. It feels relatively safe, after a few days of doing the Scuzz routine. I didn't give him enough credit...
Clicking on the table lamp, I'm glad to see a water bottle. After I have a few slugs of water, I get myself a smoke.
Slowly, fingers close around my wrists.
"Dammit," I say quietly.
My ankles are caught and spread apart. Straps jump up. I arch, but it's a token effort. The hands pinning me don't move at all.
Each strap gets one last tug. There.
"Now I know where you are," Valet says.
I roll my eyes, and take another drag.
"You don't get it, Amigo. You think you do... See, I never feel totally fuckin' comfortable unless you're locked down. And you did this to me."
"Bullshit."
"Not only do I know you're safe, but you're going to stay this way. In one piece."
The light clicks off.
"What are we doing now? Randy? Do I get to be him?"
Valet favors me with a growling, easy chuckle. "Good times. A lot of months, here. Sweating in the dark... But no, buddy. You get to be you. My best friend."
My cigarette jumps out from between my lips, and I watch it float to the ashtray. Landing there, to burn out.
"I gotta piss."
"When have I ever let you down?"
Paper, and then quiet rubber sounds.
"Oh no you don't," I warn it, catching on.
"Oh yes I do," Valet shoots back. "Quit wiggling."
The condom catheter rolls over me. One last hard squeeze, and I grunt.
"These feet aren't goin' anywhere," it says proudly.
"Valet -"
"No running, no roaming. Fun-loving feet, safe at home."
"C'mon!"
The door opens...
I watch it close.
Tickle.
A whisper. Or I just thought it.
In my mind's eye, I see a gold plastic bottle.
"No," I moan. "Shit..."
Tickle tickle TICKLE!
The voice sounds like an older man. Definitely unbalanced. It cackles. Way too excited.
I look around wildly. I'm imagining the voice, I know I am. It left me alone, here...
And I'm hearing this totally unhinged tickler, ready to go. I'm laid out, all set -
Tickle...
Much more urgent. Almost yearning. Desperate to get at me. My cock is getting hard, and my heart is almost sympathetic...
Echoing, multiplying, manic voices. I can barely make out the word. Inhuman delight. Focused on me.
I lay still, breathing hard, and wait for the fingers to dig in.
On to Part 8
Back to Part 1
2000