Grunt rides the X wearing only a black cotton thong - tight strip between his butt cheeks, quick-release clips on the sides. He looks underneath at the cross-pieces he's lashed to... 2x8's covered with padding and black leather, a thick steel center post allowing no rocking or wobbling.
His yells sound less determined than they did earlier.
Two cuffs on each limb. Thick leather, anchored and held snug by several two-inch belt blanks.
An empty glove drifts up magically. White satin. Gleaming... making him tug and kick as soon as he sees it. Bondage gear, and brand new satin. In the shape of hands, yet. He protests feebly...
The glove carries something short, white - a cigarette. Unfiltered, unlit. It's brought to his mouth - and Grunt rolls his head around, hollering through clenched teeth, but the glove just waits by his mouth for maybe half a minute... then pointedly throws the cigarette away.
Hands grab his chin and get hold of his hair. Another hand glides over with a strap...
A ball gag.
Unable to pull free, Grunt looks at the first glove and pleads -
The ball is shoved between his teeth. As the straps snuggle tight against the back of his neck, the gloves' mood is impossible to miss - they're wildly happy. Crazed. They drift over him, starting to take position. He stares, making soft guttural sounds.
Two slippery hands release the thong, taking it away -
They're landing on him! Rubbing... maniacially.
Grunt twists, and shrieks, kicking out gut-wrenching roars.
Waking up...
A moan, attempts to roll over - eyes opening. Looking around - disoriented, bewildered.
He cringes all the way through... and gets mad. Limbs contorting at the straps, lips pressing against the gag, raging and cursing incomprehensibly. Same shit, next Friday. Grunt had five days to rest up, and here he is again...
The thong isn't on him this time, and the gag's already in place. Looking down and left, his eyes widen at the sex toys - two boxes this time. A carton of Camels sits on top of it... There had been only, what, four packs last weekend, and the gag had been left in place for hours -
He swears loudly, two indecipherable words.
There's movement between the V of his outstretched legs.
Tonight, it's black hands. Four gloves angle over him in an evenly spaced row, then four more... smooth and black, outrageously glossy, the size and shape burned into his memory from last weekend. He gulps at the memory, or tries to -
Four more. White, brand fucking new - and a last row. Sixteen intimidating hands break formation... and reach for his limbs and torso.
Grunt starts to whimper. He cowers in the tight, foolproof cuffs, watching the shiny cloth with huge eyes.
Clasping -
The white gloves dig in.
He whoops... and bellows as they spread out, settling down confidently over the right curves. Molding to fit. He squints at them, and at the black hands indicating how and where to maximize the effect. They make him cackle so hard...
More gloves are joining in, palpating his calves, kneading high on his shoulders, fingering the souvenir from last weekend - his newest tattoo, a good-sized black glove gripping his right butt-cheek.
Grunt recoils strenuously from the zealous stroking, and squeals like a stuck pig.
I just stare straight up and lay still. Can't believe I'm this fuckin' stupid - what's it been, three weeks since I was let go? Four. Not even a month and I go and drive through northtown again... on a Friday night. Dammit!
Same X, new room. Leathers on me. Vest, pants, fingerless gloves... They fit well. Damn gloves got my measurements, alright. No gag yet. The tat from last time healed up pretty good. The vest is open, and if it wasn't the middle of the night I'd be checking out part of the new ink - the long black X across my gut, a pair of white gloves between the crossbeams at one end, a leather cuff at the other.
The rack feels the same. Still no wobble... Must be a lot of work to get it this tight. This place musta been vacant quite a while. The window glass is gone, but I can't hear any people-sounds at all. Why go to the trouble? Longer session? Must be it. What, a whole week? Two?
Stop it. Gotta knock it off, quit thinking. I don't know how long I'll be kept here, not yet, and it ain't gonna do any good to think about it. Probably what they want anyway. Should I yell? Will that bring 'em on me? I decide I'd better give it a try...
Nuthin'. Dammit. The pants creak when I shift around... So do the gloves when I make fists. Full leathers. This can't be good. Not good at all. It figures I'd get hard in the worst possible place to do it, too. Down, boy... I want a smoke. It's a serious nic fit. My dick won't lay down.
A carton, last time I was stretched out on this thing. Fingers closing around my meat. Too sleek... unbearable -
No. I shake my head and take a couple deep breaths. Where's my pack? Can't see my t-shirt or my jeans anywhere nearby. I had almost a whole pack on me...Any minute now, they're gonna stroll in here. One glove bringing the gag. The suspense is just killin' me. Wide awake, too...
A couple hours, I guess. Still real dark. They gotta have smokes close by, damn 'em. Just tryin' to freak me out. The cowhide smell reminds me of those Camels, for some reason.
Damn.
Dawn's gotta be close. I hear the wind once in a while. That's it.
Closing my eyes, I think about when they show up, and how great it'll be to watch 'em open the first pack...
Wha?
I'm... Oh. Dozed off.
Nobody around. They're not in sight. Dawn's coming. They started in the wee hours, the other times... Fuck, a smoke would be great now. Gotta piss bad, too. Outside, the wind's a little stronger than it was.
Is that - No! Dammit -
Hunh. Guess not. Definitely thought there was...
I know what they feel like, tearin' into my feet. Imagination. Hallucinating 'em, now, and there's no need for that. Real thing will start soon enough. And lots of Camels, fuck yeah.
Unnnh -
What the hell is goin' on here?
Phantom movement again. I'd swear it was on my crotch. Nothing there. Really gotta take a leak, though...
Oh man, I'm gonna piss my fuc-
Smoke? Is it? Aw. No. Hallucinating, I didn't -
Wait... Very, very faint. Fuck, oh fuck. I yell. Keep yellin', for a cig as much as anyth-
Bullshit! Calm. Be calm. Chill. I'll be smokin' one after another before too long. Patience. Had to be dreaming it... No response to my yells, anyway.
Aargh. I really gotta go...
Oh, yeah.
What? Did I... Yeah. Dammit. I'm soaked. Piss dripping off the X. Take that - like I can do much else to bug 'em. No, this is just the way they wanted it to go. Humiliating... but it's a relief too. I just couldn't hold it anymore.
Well into the morning now. And I'm thirsty. Shit.
Yeah. That was smoke!
Almost no wind. I smell it, definitely. Camel. Still no gloves, no boxes. I gotta get a fuckin' cigarette, dammit -
Where are they? Gotta be around... right?
I shout for help some more. Throat's dry, though...
Aaah! Damn 'em -
Fuckers. Still no sign, but that felt just like... fingers between my toes.
The bottoms of my feet feel different, somehow. Greasier?
Gotta be, what, at least two in the afternoon...
A needle. I can feel a needle in my left arm -
Looking fast. No? Not fast enough? Or was it my imagination again?
It's hot. Fuck. I'm thirsty, stomach growling. I really need a damn smoke. Ridiculous.
I'm starting to get hard again and I have no idea why. Maybe they did just fix me up with a big load of 'strone, or something. I'm sure not tired...
So are they about to jump me, or what?
A little while, and I notice what I'm doin'. Pulling slow and hard at the cuffs, like it's gonna work... and I was just doin' it automatically. If there was a carton of smokes sittin' here I could rip these fuckers off to get at 'em, feels like.
The afternoon wears on. I close my eyes and think about smokin'. Mutherfuck.
The only other thing that breaks in is a couple of mosquito bites I can't do nuthin' about. Big toe, forearm, neck. Unreachable itches. Boy, it'll be great wh-
What the fuck am I thinkin'? No! It won't be great. They'll fuck with me. Overdo it. I may be jonesin', hungry, thirsty - but no way will it be a great thing...
They'll get here and pull out all the stops. Any time now. I'll be glad t-
No! No. My thoughts keep running back to that. Here I'm trying not to swallow, 'cause of the cottonmouth. Or think about the pack of 'Boros I had in my damn pocket. I can't smoke 'cause my hands are held down, here. They got no fuckin' right. Cock's like steel.
Bring 'em on. Let's get this over with. It wasn't really that bad... if they'd give me more chances to catch my breath, I could -
Fuck fuck fuck! Crazy. That's why they're holdin' off, too. Make me really nuts. Get me lookin' forward to 'em. Sick bastards.
So now I make myself remember the more intense they did to me last time. What they're gonna do again. Those vibrators - aargh. A big shudder, just remembering. Hell. No way I'll be glad to see 'em, though I'd run over my granny for a smoke right about now...
Couple shots of JD. A few brews. Before long, the oil will be spread over m-
Knock it off. Just quit.
Too geeked to nap, soaked with sweat. Dry. Starvin'... no, beyond desperate for a cig. Sun's setting. What's it been? Twenty hours?
No sounds...
Yes! There! I want off this fuckin' thing, but that's definitely smoke I'm smelling. Dammit. I groan, staring hard... at the window -
Wisp of smoke trailing in. The light's about gone, but that's definitely, positively what I saw. A little haze over there too... Easy to see, and more obvious every minute. Fuckin' bastards.
"Bastards!"
A glove pops up in the window, with a cig between its fingers. Bring that over to me, right now - I almost did cheer it on, but I manage to shut up just in time. They're mindfuckin' me, for pete's sake -
The door opens. A big thing is coming -
A cabinet. Gloves carry it in. Instead of a couple boxes, they're bringing in a whole fuckin' cabinet? Dropping it a few feet from my left leg. Wham.
Black gloves rise from below it, and behind it. Circling me. I'm counting... sixteen -
Creak. The doors are - I can't see 'em, but the cabinet doors open.
Another hand. Two more. Bright white. One's got a needle. I stare at it, and at all the black satin. Looking again at the rig heading for my elbow. White hands. So I bet there's even more of 'em this time. This is fuckin' impossible, I can't take any more -
A bottle. White glove cruising over. Big plastic bottle - water. The needle pokes, shoots. Figures they'd do that first of all. They open the water, and I drain that puppy.
Another hand, too big - oh. A towel. Drying me off... quickly, not out to get a rise out of me. Yet. The next gl-
"Yeah!," I bark. A carton. About fuckin' time. It drops it alongside the X -
Another one. No, two more.
Three cartons? I lean over and look at thirty fuckin' packs of Camels. If that's all - but I wouldn't be surprised if there was more in the cabinet. Ten days? More. No. Shit, they can't... Dammit.
The towel and the needle disappear behind the cabinet. All the white gloves take position above the black ones. Eight and eight, and seven -
Eight. The last white one appears. Carrying the gag. And they haven't given me a fuckin' cigarette yet. It's killin' me -
A glove breaks formation and helps the one with the gag. I'm flailin' away, but fingers reef down. Fingers that smell like smoke. A last shove - they're tightening it. Fuck, no, no...
All set.
Three cartons. How long are they g-
They drop down. Palms fall on me, thumbs and fingers, starting it up again. Custom fuckin' tickling.
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