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Before I was back down on the ground, I felt somebody touch me. And then grab my sides.
I made a weird grunt and sucked in real fast, losing my grip. Fucker was tickling me. I instinctively grabbed the pole and kicked a foot free.
"No, stop it," I chuckled. What asshole would...
I dug my free heel in, and looked around. Flashes of black, moving real fast. But there was nobody there. At that point I was about one big step from the ground.
And I was alone. No doubt about it. Couldn't have been a bird, or even a pair of birds. Those were grips on me, for a good three seconds. Strong as... hands.
I stood there and lit a cigarette. Still thinking maybe somebody would show themselves, rustle the weeds and give themselves away.
Nothing.

So I picked up the cable spool and took it to the back of the van. Opened the door, threw it inside, turned -
And fell backwards. No... was pulled. Hands, again, all over my arms. And a hat was pulled on me. I saw black fingers -
But only for a second. The hat came down, over my eyes.
It was a hood. Leather. It was tugged down, and a string tightened under my chin. There was a mouth-hole -
I landed on my side, next to the spools. The doors slammed. I flailed around, but kept banging the tool shelves. Hands got my head and turned it, and one pushed my jaw open. Pills hit my tongue, and then liquid - it was wine. I spit it out, all over my shirt.
The hands slammed me down, and forced more wine down me. Cheap wine. Then there were the sounds of stuff moving, muffled by the leather. I was pinned on my back, trying to yell.
The hand let go of my jaw, and something was tapped on my lip. I felt it, decided it was a cigarette, and threw my head around. They slammed my head down, and I cussed at 'em. But they put the smoke there again, and lit it. I let it fall and yelled. A fist wrapped around my thumb and started bending it backward -
"Ow! Okay, alright," I shouted. "Don't!"
After I took a couple drags, and let the cigarette hang, the fingers let go of my thumb.

I started to feel weird. They hadn't slammed my head that hard, and I hadn't swallowed enough wine to explain it. I wrestled around, but they had my limbs pinned down.
Yelling didn't bring any help. The street had been pretty quiet, though.
They lit another cigarette off mine, and by the time I smoked it I was dizzy. When they dragged me up and set me in the driver's seat, I could hardly move. I heard the engine turn over, and hands pulled my head up. The van started to move, and I couldn't get my feet anywhere near the brake pedal. My arms were tight to my sides...
As the engine was gunned, my cigarette was swapped for a new one.

After a few miles, and three or four turns, the van stopped. I tried to bolt, but they weren't letting go. A new smoke came, and as I waited for the old butt to light it I thought I heard a gate opening. Then the van moved again, more slowly, winding back and forth. Driveway, maybe.
It stopped suddenly, and the door opened. I was dragged out -
The van left. Drove away.
I couldn't stand up, but the hands kept me upright. I tried to get away from 'em, and it didn't matter. I yelled again, dropping the cigarette. And they just held me.
A slight wind, but no sounds. My tool-belt jingled, but I couldn't make out anything else. So I yelled for a couple minutes. Help, call the police, need some help here. If you can hear me...
But I didn't get any response.

The hands just let me yell. I think they wanted me to know there were no neighbors or anything. I wouldn't be able to raise help. Nobody would come.
When I quit, they carried me forward. Cussing to myself, squirming...
Into a building.
They sat me down on a weird angled bench. Despite my fighting, they got wide cuffs on my wrists and pulled 'em over my head. Fastened 'em up there somehow. Tight.
Other cuffs went over my socks, and stretched my legs out.
Then they force me to drink some water, and lit another smoke.

I sat there and tried to pull free, but I was caught. And messed up, by whatever the pills were.
After a couple more cigarettes, they unbuttoned my fly. I yelled at 'em, lunging around. But they went ahead and got my dick out - and tapped something with it. A rim - they had a bottle, or something. Plastic. For me to piss in.
A finger tapped me, down there, and tapped my chest hard. As in, do it. I wrestled around, but the finger poked me in the breastbone a couple more times, and I gave in. Then I got more water, and more cigarettes.
Later, I pissed again. Feeling less dizzy, as the water was brought again. The urinal was taken away, and my fly was buttoned up.
Fingers pulled at the string around my neck, loosening it -
They pulled the hood off.
There was a big window, and I saw the city. The sun was setting.
Black walls, shiny. Floor, ceiling -
And a pair of gloves.
In the air, in front of me. Black leather gloves. Big ones. They were empty - no hands in 'em, no arms underneath. But they moved a little closer, like magic. All filled out.
"Vertex welcomes you, Mr. Galindo."

A woman - she had to be right there, but I didn't see her. "I - my name isn't Galindo," I said, squirming.
"Of course it isn't," she said, kinda mysteriously.
Another pair of gloves came from behind me, quickly. They were white. Shiny - maybe satin. As empty as the others. One of 'em jabbed me in the chest. They stayed just a few inches from me. I pulled harder at the cuffs - they were maybe five inches wide, and bolted to thick iron rails.
I felt a tug - one of the white gloves pulled my ID badge off and carried it to the leathers.
"Your name... is Jackson," the woman said, turning the badge over idly. "You work for the power company."
"Yeah," I said, and got jabbed again.
"The work truck was a nice touch. Commendable. We've returned it to the facility in Saugus."
I didn't know what to say. What were they gonna think? I mean, I worked out of Saugus, but... damn.
"A few details, and then we'll begin. Discretion is of the utmost importance to us. Naturally, you wouldn't have requested our services unless you were confident of that. But we wish to reiterate the privacy - and security - of our facility, here -"
"I didn't order any services," I said.
The nearest glove made a fist and punched me in the gut. Not very hard, but it shut me up.
"Payment has been processed, and your orders were given full consideration. There have been two changes made."

A little cube was wheeled next to me. A table of sorts. Black and reflective, like the walls -
And a glove appeared with a carton of cigarettes. Generic. It slammed the carton down.
"While we know you quit smoking years ago, other than the occasional cigar... 'Jackson' didn't. He smokes quite a bit."
"What the fuck is going on h-," I started, and got popped in the belly again.
"The other addition is our mark upon you. A souvenir of this night... We tattoo all our clients. In your case, a small 'V', for Vertex, below the knuckle of your right index finger. We want you to think of us, and what we're about to do to you, whenever you see it. When you're holding a pen... or a cigarette, it will remind you. And while you can have it removed, we don't... recommend it."
More gloves came, and started taking off my tool belt.
"That's how confident we are, that you'll remember this as the most intense - the most electrifying night of your life."

"No," I said, tugging again. "No -"
White gloves tore my work-shirt open, and ripped my t-shirt off.
Another set removed my socks the hard way, pulling the toes up until the material gave.
"Nothing will interrupt us, Mister... Jackson. Our main concern is your health. Sensitivity. We will not permit injury, and we will insure you stay... responsive.
"At this point you have two burning questions - what will happen, specifically. And why. They're baffling, aren't they? Let's settle that last one first. Why are we doing this? To you? The reason is... no reason. This is not a matter of revenge, or punishment for some misdeed. You're just a working guy who was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. We planned a night of unlimited stimulation. All we lacked was a healthy captive. We saw you, up on the pole -"
"That's right, and I don't wanna b-"
The voice ignored me. "And we liked what we saw. So we kidnapped you. Brought you here... And now, we're going to play with you. Hard play. Unparalleled excitement. Five, six hours of heavy tickling. Maybe seven. Then a feverish hour of sexual stimuation, without release. More tickling. A long buildup to a barbaric ejaculation. And we anticipate you'll be more sensitive then, so the tickling will continue, to another long-delayed climax."

I didn't believe it, what the voice was saying. They wouldn't. "No," was all I could manage, almost like pleading.
The leather gloves moved... to my hands.
"Tickled all over. We have all the tools we could want, and oils, rubber gloves..." Other gloves met 'em, and pull the leathers on my hands.
"Please, no -"
"Monitored closely. You'll laugh until your voice is gone. When you're not laughing, or catching your breath, you'll smoke. Chain-smoke. You'll be drunk at times. Hooded, maybe, at others. Whatever we want to do to you."
The white gloves started drifting... down. Closer. Some going toward my feet.
"And nothing can stop us. You do understand that, don't you, 'Jackson'? No one will disturb us. There is no safe word. No way you can escape..."
The fingers touched down on my sides, and belly. And feet -
"Nothing more remains to be said. You will not be spoken to again. Everything you say will be ignored. Enjoy your night... with Vertex."
The gloves moved.
I went berzerk.

They felt like...
I don't know how to make it clear.
Maybe the only thing close was when sex is at its best - right before the pivotal moment, when the pleasure is so sharp you can't stand it, and you don't want it to end but you know it will. It has to, 'cause it's just too much. Too strong. That rare state of being paralyzed with it, overloaded...
They weren't pushing me that far. Not to that peak.
But they were on the path. And it wasn't for a few seconds. It started intense and got worse. And it didn't fuckin' stop.
The most important thing in my life was to get off that bench. I could stop howling, once I got out from under the gloves. That required getting my hands free...
Well, one hand would be a start.
My feet, then. If they weren't cuffed down I could whip-saw my ass outa there. Uh... right?

None of that happened. Shit, I couldn't even think that clearly, for a long time. They were all over me, and I lunged around and roared like a banshee. It went on.

I coughed. Smoke. Pushed the cigarette out of my mouth.
Gloves, shaking a new one out of the pack, opening the lighter.
My limbs were still caught. That made no sense, 'cause they'd obviously scrapped their plan and worked me over for hours. They stuck a new cigarette in my mouth, and held my head still when I shied away from the lighter. So I sucked in, and looked out the window -
Still dark. Impossible. They'd been...
It only seemed like "all night". I had no idea how brief it had actually been, so far.
I started to, uh... whimper. Pull at the cuffs.
A glove floated up with a bottle of water. They let me beg, then. Squirm around and fuckin' plead. The only response was more cigarettes.
They made me drink the water.
And they got back down to it.

I couldn't laugh hard enough.
They laid into me everywhere. Creeping under. Up my back, down my legs. It had been so exciting, it was ridiculous - and they made it multiply. The feeling...
More pleasure than I could stand.
But it kept increasing.

And... increasing again.

Breaks didn't register right away. It wasn't until I wasn't panting anymore, and had a smoke or two in me, that I realized the fuckers weren't touching me. What I longed for most, and I couldn't even notice when it came - a pause in the action.
The sky was as dark as ever.
My jeans were gone. And my underwear. Hadn't even noticed...
I pulled at the cuffs, and pleaded with 'em.
It didn't matter.

None of it mattered.
At some point, my body gave up. I laughed less. Finally noticing they actually slowed down. Not tickling as hard. Well, that looked like a good time to concentrate on breaking loose.
But I couldn't squirm. Told my arms to pull... but they wouldn't. Tried to bellow, and that was beyond me.
There were hands on me. Everywhere. Working deep -
Something smaller. Also. Light, wispy. Nipples, feet, between armpits and ribs. Disturbing, in their own way. I had to look. Knew better, didn't want to... then blinking hard several times, to clear my eyes, and snickering like a biker.
They had feathers. Right there, dragging 'em back and forth, sweeping. And way down, and alongside -
"Nnaaaaawwwww haw haw huhwhah hah haw haw haaaaw..."
I was raving. Couldn't tug, or squeal anymore. Just couldn't.
And the sensation was slamming home like fire. The burning traced continuously, without doing damage. I wasn't going numb. It wasn't pure pain, either. Hell, no. I felt like I was just waking up.

The smoke break was longer...
No, they were on me. And I had a cigarette. At the same time. I tried to laugh, but it was too much work.
Something different. Smaller than a finger, bigger than a feather. Horrible / sensational wetness, spreading?
Oil, I guessed. I couldn't open my eyes. Patches of amplified tickling, breaking out all over. Growing. A new definition of intense. As if I had twice the nerve pathways, twice the skin...

A sequence of smokes, and water, and determined tickling took more time than I could estimate.
But the city lights looked just the same.

The vague belief that an area - such as my feet - would eventually quit being ticklish... Was I ever that naive?

Another new thing, after dozens of 'em. Bad, this one, very bad. Took me a while to place it. Didn't believe what I was thinking. No way, they wouldn't. No matter what she'd said... the voice, their invisible spokeswoman. They'd already been giving me all I could take.
And then, more feathers. I think I managed to shake my head. No, no. The feathers doubled, eventually becoming brushes.
Now, oiled fingers. I was snickering again, around the cigarette. They stayed away from my cock, but covered the rest of the area. Solidly.
Within a few minutes I went from being desperate to get 'em off me... to being more desperate that they'd leave. Before finishing the job, I mean. I was able to thrust, sometimes, and it was wonderful. If I got too carried away there were oily gloves on my feet, double-timing it...
And when they'd slow back down, the feathers - on my nipples - got me wild again.

I had to cum. Just had to.
But the gloves covered my hips instead - and my belly. Bulldozing -
I flailed again, squealing, roaring like it was the first five seconds all over again.

Blurry, jumbled images. Gloves and feathers, brushes. A bottle of scotch. Cigarettes. Unable to move, before long. But they continued.

And... continued.

More sensation, covering my balls. Edging down, under -
Up! Rare touches. Surrounded by solid goading, all over...
It seemed to go on for days. I was astounded it could take this long.
My nipples got meticulous attention, and my armpits. Feathers were isolating my toes, surrounding them.
And when something would mercifully dust down my shaft, I was too overwhelmed to shoot. I couldn't manage it, and I was too addled to plan for it. They built it up slowly, backing away so eight hands could roughhouse with my sides and keep me from shooting. And crept back there...
They squeezed my nipples slowly, and that finally gave me the push I needed. The hands dug hard into my armpits, raced over my ribs - but I whooped like a madman, thrusting away. And shooting!
Like rocks. Like passing a stone. Bunch of stones. Relief like I've never known -
And something traced lines across my soles, riding on oil. That feeling... blew away the orgasm. I refused to believe it.

Gloves squeezed my armpits. And suddenly, I jumped off the bench. This - now, this was the real article. I went wild, and they weren't even tickling that hard.

When it settled down - no, when I quit rassling and squealing - it was still insane. The cigarettes and water bottles were my best friends.
Still dark. I felt brushes slither again, and took my time before deciding it was a real window, not a fake. I was pretty sure I hadn't slept. So it was still the same night...
And they kept laying into me.

After a lot more excitement between my legs, I noticed a change. There were fingers rubbing my meat, but it wasn't -
I looked, again. A rubber. They'd put a rubber on me. That made me cackle again, for some reason.
On they went...

The night kept stretching, longer and longer, and I still wasn't any less... responsive. So tired, I was shaky - but my pulse was still thudding so hard I felt it in my thighs. Under the fingers, below the oil.
When you're overdue, and you can't even come up with a guess... no idea when you're going to be done, it sheds a whole new light on jacking off. Getting jacked off. If that was all I had to concentrate on, maybe it would've gotten old. Yeah, right.
I started to grind away, despite the gloves crawling all over. Then I remembered what was next. After -
Oh, shit.

Stalled it for a while. I trotted out the usual images I thought about only when I needed to lose a hard-on. Nothing was working. They all seemed pretty remote, compared to the greasy fingers.
Getting closer. Needing it bad - and flashing on that first couple seconds of tickling after I came last time, a century ago. Or so it seemed. The sensation had fairly taken my breath away. I was doomed. Still trussed up -
Muscles got tight. Traitors. Nothing I could do, and the fingers kept coaxing. I arched, gritting my teeth -
And came like a fire hose. Yelling, with what voice I had left. Damn rubber.
Even as I did, the pressure distracted me. Loose grips, holding on. Geting more and more... vivid.
They can't possibly dig in now! They wouldn't.
Starting to move, making me gasp.
Sure they would.

And they did.

I still don't know how to describe that last lap. What it felt like. How much I felt...
 

Finally. Daylight. Smog and low clouds...
I was waking up. Looked around, carefully. I was numb all over, with the lack of soreness that means you're going to be sore as hell the next day.
I was dressed. And the cuffs were off!
I lifted my head - and was just too worn out to get up. Figures. Then I smelled food.
Gloves brought a tray over. And that was all I needed. My mouth started to water. I reached for... bacon. But I was too weak to hold my arm up -
My hand kept going. The glove, still on me, got hold of a mug. Brought it to my mouth. It was chicken broth. I sipped at it, then gulped.
My hands picked up the fork, and steadied the plate. I ate as fast as they allowed. A bunch of scrambled eggs, and toast, and home fries.
I cleaned the plate. A white glove brought a huge cup of coffee to my right hand. The glove I wore latched to it smoothly. My other hand went into my shirt pocket, found a pack of smokes and tipped one out. I bit it eagerly, and watched the glove pick up the lighter and roll my thumb over the spark-wheel.
Drowsy, despite the coffee and a couple more smokes... Nodding off.
 

Dark sky, and fuzzy lights of the valley -
Naked again. Cuffed. Again? What was this?
I stared at the leather gloves, posing over me.
"Welcome back, Mr. Galindo," the voice said quietly.

10jan01