The door squeaks as it opens.
Only one person hears it. He's squirming and yelling for all he's worth.
The glove over his mouth dampens the noise quite effectively - and eight other hands, powerful yet empty, carry him inside.
As soon as his feet clear the opening, they all pause. This is a moment that never fails to delight. It occurs only once...
A glove closes the door. Another turns the lock.
Now we've got you. There's gonna be torture - an overload of pleasure - right here. No chance in the world you'll miss it. We've succeeded in locking you in the cage and you're gonna absolutely roar with all you've got.
They set him down on the bench.
In the dark room, he flails around...
But the gloves yank his clothes off and get the restraints on without any fumbling. The sweaty, lean body is pulled taut, arms straight out from his shoulders and feet side-by-side. Band after band of leather inhibits movement.
None of his shouts and yells penetrate the cell.
Now, they decide, he can discover why he's laid out.
A flashlight clicks on -
The beam illuminates a feather duster, held in a living cowhide glove.
Seeing it, the captive squeals with fear.
One of his kidnappers brings up a white gallon jug that's topped with a squirt dispenser. One hand after another floats there to catch a palmful of glossy lube.
They pair up over the frantic, screaming man to rub each other down...
You're going to go crazy. For the next seven, eight, nine hours we'll learn every inch of your body. Intense, serious handling. Not a thing you can do except live through it, rest up and feel it all over again.
The first few hours did not disappoint.
After he caught his breath again, fingers curled around several trusty spots on his body.
He got one loud laugh out - more of a yell - and then another. That was it. Then all he could manage to kick out were erratic grunts and groans, this low strained whining, snagging breaths in-between that were desperately needed.
The feel of the tickling was beyond consuming.
Not ten seconds after they began, the gloves paused...
And they stroked slowly, a little more heavily. Deliberate as they could be.
The level of sensation doubled. Tripled. Locking solidly into some whole new exponential world...
He couldn't manage to keep laughing anymore, and that didn't bode well. The immediate change in their technique brought the almost crushing realization that the ticklers could do this all night and still keep him from passing out any time soon. These hands were unthinkably devoted experts. That explained why the room had been deliberately soundproofed.
It made very clear why he hadn't been able to do a damn thing with the thick restraints.
This was going to be serious... and it was going to continue for such a long time that he couldn't even picture them quitting.
And with a last few distracted tugs, his body relaxed. Couldn't thrash, couldn't laugh - and sure as hell he wasn't going to make the ticklers stop.
The sensation ratcheted up yet again.
All he could do was fixate on the effect of the fingers and hands.
Near the end of the third night, soft cloth touched his right sole.
"Oh, no," he mumbled, barely whispering. The tickling had started back up so many times that he couldn't even jump anymore -
The fingers raked down to his heel, gently, and reversed direction.
Despite his inner struggle the rough giggles just wouldn't stay inside.
His squirming was halfhearted, because the straps had taught him that it was no use.
Another glove cupped his left calf.
Weak, quiet laughter consumed him.
15-Feb-2007