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Tutoring was Tim's way of giving back.
Shawn was a real pain in the ass, though...
The younger guy wasn't even trying. Fighting not to cuss him out, Tim sighed and closed his books. As he loaded everything in his bookbag, Shawn hurried back over. The kid offered to shake hands, which was not his usual thing.
As they did, he pressed his other palm against the side of Tim's neck. Squish.
By the time Tim got loose, found the orange derm and peeled it off, he was fighting to stay upright.
Shawn chuckled, and grabbed a bunch of rope...

No matter how he tried to resist, Tim was soon dragged to a dirty bed. Shawn tied him down, anchoring his limbs to the bedframe rather efficiently. He stood over his tutor and pecked out a text-message, smiling real big.
"Whafuck..." Tim managed.
"We're gonna take you down a few pegs," Shawn chuckled. "No. A lot of pegs."
"Uh - halllllpp!"
"Aw, relax. My family's out of town. Nobody's gonna hear you. Empty apartments up, that way, over there, and under us. Yell all you want."
That "command" seemed like proof enough. Well, shit.

Motion, to his left, made Tim blink and squint. Still woozy, but he saw another derm - floating in the air, over to Shawn. It smooshed against the side of his neck. Huh.
Shawn fought, but it looked as if there were several hands holding his arms down... until he konked out. They lowered him to the ground.
"One down," a guy sassed. Cheerful, shady character. Invisible?
"Lemme go," Tim said.
"I will." But no hands started untying the rope holding him. I may get untied, Tim realized vaguely, but not yet. "You look like a good cat. I'm gonna call you Fixer."
"Please help me."
"Real soon. You know why Shawn called for help? Sent that text-message?"
"Are you the help?"
"No, no. Heh. Another guy's on his way here."
"Shit."
"I'll get him, too. No worries. They had some plans - whoa, hold on, not real bad stuff. Some light pain for you. But I'll bet you don't know what the main event is."
"Was."
Shady laughter. "Guess."
He looked around. "No idea."
"You got kids? A job?"
"No. Uh, I'm not... married. Inherited some money." Shut up, he thought, still zoned-out.
"Better yet. I mean, heh heh, it would've been bad if they'd messed with you all night, and somebody had been waiting for a ride. Dinner."
"Yeah," he said, and shook his head. Stop helping the phantom. Toughen up -
With more mysterious chuckling, a phone floated in front of Tim's face. A messaging app was on the screen...
 

 
Groaning, Tim read the text again. Shawn had apparently sent it...
Then he gulped. "Good thing you stepped in."
"I hope so. We'll see."
"Were you here all along?"
"I saw that text. Flew over here - whoops, hold on, I gotta snag Deeno."
Another derm flew to the door, which opened just enough to let the pad out...

Laughter - from the door, and coming closer.
"Two down," the phantom said proudly.
Shawn was picked up by the invisible hands. The door opened.
"Sit tight." Big laughter.

After a few minutes, a gym-bag floated into the room. It landed to the right of the bed... and the door magically closed.
"And then there's Tim," the voice gloated.
"They were gonna tickle me?"
From right in front of him came a contemptuous snort. "Not really." There was a pause. "Because..."
"C'mon. I'm not at my best."
Victorious giggles. "Because they can't tickle you right. Not even close. Short, lightweight bullshit. Piss-poor restraints."
He pulled at the rope.
"Now why I would I say that? Huh?"
Tim heaved a ragged sigh. "You're a pro."
"I saved you from fuckin' amateurs."
"Let me go. I was here to tutor Shawn. For free!"
The gym bag was pulled open, by invisible hands. A big, rolled-up strap floated out. It was shaken apart - into four, five, six straps.
"This place is a shithole, except for one thing," his keeper said. It sounded like it was really impressed. "No one is close enough to hear you. Rrrr-a-w-r. But I got a couple gags if -"
"You gotta be kidding me!"
Easy chuckling - and he saw the straps fly at him, all at once.
His wrists, ankles and upper arms were pinned within seconds.

"Well, now, let's kill some time... until the sun goes down," the phantom teased. "It'll be a lot easier to carry an unconscious man out to his car in the dark. Derms aren't anywhere near as much fun, though."
"Why do you want..." but then he shook his head, because it was rather obvious.
"Aaaa-aand yeah, you figured that one out. I think you're worth the full ride. It's a great dungeon."
"Great?" he snarled.
"A room's open. I like it. Just the place for... a guy who's real fuckin' ticklish, and doesn't have anywhere to be. Huh? Fixer's rich, he lives alone, and -"
"I'm engaged, dammit."
"Aw, you can't lie worth a damn." The gym-bag was moved closer.
"My aunts depend on me. They live with me!"
"Another lie. We'll get your money sent wherever you want it to go - just as if you were a free man." It made a low, thoughtful growl. "If you actually have anybody counting on you to show up tonight, next week, before fall gets here - I will stuff a million bucks in your car. For real."
He acted as angry as he could... until his eyes scanned the room.
"Dude. You're a terrible liar." the phantom chuckled.

He closed his eyes, pulling at the straps again. Determined, but pessimistic... "I've always been told that, by the real people."
"Well, they're right. I have to check now, because you're such an asshole, so if your house or your phone has -"
"Condo," he said vacantly.
"Your condo, then. And your car. If anything confirms that story... a million bucks, tonight, from me to you." It waited him out.
"Dammit, I'm still high. Shawn's stupid takedown-drug."
"Well -"
"Talking to nothing, some magic t-tickler, and I oughta be at Revi's. My own booth."
"The nightclub?"
He nodded. "Not tied down here."
"You won't be tied down here after it gets dark."
"But my aunts..." And he couldn't help but crack up.
"Two-and-a-half down," the voice leered, laughing along with him.
"Oooooh. Dammit, why can't I fuckin' lie when I need to?"
"Why are you a tutor for... the city kids? Rich guy, just helping out? Hmmmm."
He looked at the ceiling. "Stop it."
"I'm gonna get to know you." The bag moved - and black things were pulled out of it.
"No," he whispered, rearing back.
Cloth separated, and got thicker. Full of muscle, it looked like.
Eight shiny gloves assembled over him.
Tim looked at the door, at the half-boarded-up window, all around. He tried to roll over, kick harder, tear a strap loose...
Animated fingers wiggled slowly.
"You're not really gonna do that," he said to the nearest glove.
"Yes, I am. Now why are your shoes already off?"
He opened his mouth, and thought hard. Before Shawn pulled the ropes tight, the second time, he'd been poking and pawing...
"No, no, no."
"Answer me."
"Shawn."
"Ah. Did he have the sense to check and see? If you're one of those wonderfully sensitive types?"
"Help meeee-eee!" he barked at the window.
The gloves came closer.

"Wait! Uh... I gotta know!" he yelled.
The big gloves paused. Satin? Oh, hell. "Know what?"
Tim's mind raced. "You... uh, just gimme a second, oh fuck. Ah. You weren't here, Shawn sent that damn message, and you zoom in? Before he gets busy?"
Easy laughter. "You remember Deeno?"
"Never met him."
"Associates of mine picked up Deeno and Shawn just now. They're gonna have almost as much fun as we will. What's the phrase... poetic justice? I never saw Shawn before today. But we keep a pretty close eye on what Deeno's up to. He has a real thing for tickling guys. Volunteers, when he can find 'em," and it snorted. "Addicts, skinny dudes. Once in a while, we find a howler because of slobs like him. Ooooh -"
"So he hunts for you."
"What? You think I need Deeno?"
Tim rolled his eyes. "It's been a hell of a day. Let that be the stupidest thing I ever say to you."
A glove raced down and grabbed his chin. "You're serious," the tickler finally said. "Good call. Anybody's ticklishness, or their research into it, is worth a look. Their families are, too. None of us need your help."
"I was wrong," he said.
"Payback is gonna be phenomenal," the phantom growled, pulling the glove off his chin. "Anyway. If Denno could think ahead at all, you would've been snuck off to a dungeon tonight anyway - or whatever he'd call a dungeon. Longer fun, that way."
"Aw, hell."
"He seems to be that obsessed, but he's never followed through. Would you have motivated him enough to try and pull it off? Not likely. You oughta be glad he didn't have time to invite a few other tickler-wannabes over. One of them might've had the brains to get you chained down in a basement, or maybe a shed."
"But I'm just as fucked -"
"Not so!" It snorted quietly, as if to itself. "Well, alright, you're more fucked. And less."
"C'mon. Don't do this to me. I'm a volunteer, who came to help Shawn w-"
"Get a clue. You're not talkin' to Shawn right now. I don't give a fuck. I don't sleep, Fixer. Been at this a loooo-oong time. My play-pals, like you, need food and water. Sleep. Moisturizers for their skin. Their ass wiped properly - because there will be no distractions. Every morning, you'll be set for more. Reee-ee-eeal tickling."
"Every morning," he whined.
A glove pulled his shirt open, making a couple of buttons fly. "Let's see if you're worth it." It spread out on the center of his chest.
He tensed up, shaking his head, as three more gloves dove down and settled around his ribs.

"Naaaaaaahhh-haaah-hah-haaaaahheeeee!" Tim roared.
His head was cocked back, and his whole body was stiff right then. The most important thing he could do was let the phantom know how deep the sensation was throbbing, everywhere.
 

Even more gloves had been put to use. He couldn't begin to track them all. Pits, ribs, pecs, belly, hips, knees.

Panting for air.
A bottle was above him. It was hard to see - the sun was going down, alright, and he'd cried because the power of that stimulation had been impossible to track completely. The fucker was way too good at this.
Oh. It was a plastic bottle of water.
"Unnnf," he managed to grunt. Nodding at it.
Down it came...

He was so relieved. No fingers laying into him.
They're gloves, he reminded himself. Invisible hands inside 'em. Strong fingers - that weren't human. Apparently the tickler didn't even need to rest. No fatigue, no muscle cramps... and maybe it never needed to take a break, but Tim did.
A finger tapped his breastbone.
He opened his eyes right away. There was a pack of cigarettes floating just over him.
"No," he sighed. "Don't sss... smmmoke."
"Fixer," the voice warned him, "try again. I got your ass. Don't be sayin' 'no' to me."
Tim wailed.
Something moved. Uh-oh. A change - way down.
Gloves were taking positions - on his feet No no no no, he thought, red alert, help meeeeeeee. Giving the straps the best fight he could didn't do shit!
"No, he tells me, I don't smoke," The phantom snickered.
Tim tried to shriek as fingers dug and slid and combed everywhere.

It was beyond him to think. No words.
His feet seemed to be ten feet high. Covered with fingertips. Moving.

Hours and hours. Uh, no, that can't be right, his brain told him. His feet were... feeling it more. Bigger, somehow. His ribs, too, and his pits.
Moving was beyond him. Derailed. Offline. So was laughing - his roars didn't come out anywhere near hard enough.
"Hey," the voice said, right next to his left ear.
"Oooommmf," he sighed.
"You're past the first limit," the phantom said carefully. "You got it baaaa-aad."
Tim managed to chuckle a few times.

He drank water. No gloves were touching him- but they hung a few inches above his skin. So fuckin' many hot-button places.
"Cigarette?"
Out of reflex, Tim started to shake his head - and froze. He remembered the penalty. It seemed as if a couple weeks had gone by since the tickler had tried to get him to smoke. "Yes, I will, yes, thanks," he sighed.
And here it came...
Already lit. He grabbed it with his lips, cocked his head and took a short drag. Tim coughed.
"This tutor's got other bad habits," the phantom taunted. "But I got the tutor."
"You can't me smoke while you're tickling the fuck out of me," he grumbled.
"He's got a mouth on him," it chuckled. "Do you remember me giving you a compliment? How you already made it past the limit - the first limit?" He nodded wearily. "That's the inability to laugh, or move much at all. It takes us days to find that... personalized overload level for some guys. A few hours is probably average. But Fixer hit the goal early."
"Why are you mocking me?"
"No. First, I'm saying you're not just any ticklish dude. You're definitely worth getting to know... a lot better. Whooo-hooo-hooooooh. And second, you need to understand why you're wrong. You can smoke when I tickle you enough. Roaring and howling are beyond you already, rich kid. Fidgeting is too hard. How much trouble do you think you're gonna have smokin'? Or suckin' down a beer?"
He thought that over. "Aw... hell."
Quiet laughter. Another win.

The lighter flicked. Twice, three times. That roused him. The gloves had been all over him, finding hot spots. They were being used, he thought vaguely, to try different speeds and pressures. It felt like he'd been worked over for a month.
That was when the little flame appeared. It was a ways off. Showing him... two of Shawn's derms.
"Naptime," the tickler said, "I wanna really dig in. Can't wait. Gonna get to your new cell."
"Cell," he said to the lighter. "Look, anything you want, I'll give you. Call this off."
But the derms came to his neck. Squish, squish.
"I got what I want, right here," his captor laughed. "You made my night, Fixer. Big fun."
"Nnn-noooo," he managed, voice fading out as he did.
 

There was black foam everywhere - up, down, covering all the walls. He was in a big box now.
"Welcome," the voice sassed. Another cigarette was coming... and right about then, Tim discovered that the straps weren't keeping him down and spread out any more. They'd been replaced with thick leather.
At least the bedsheet under him was clean, but that wasn't really any comfort at all.
"Where am I?"
"It's a secret. Hee-hee-hee. Now ask me why you're here. Go on, Fixer. Or how long we'll be best buds."
He boggled. "You really moved me to... a hidden dungeon?
"Now that's what you apes call a 'rhetorical question,' right? Along the same lines as 'Are you going to tickle me more now?' or 'How many rounds of tickling will there be before you get bored?' or 'You're not going to use drugs and cock-toys to crank my ticklishness up to intergalactic new levels, are you?'"
Tim smoked, taking his time. From what the kidnapper had done to him already, he knew why he'd been moved. He'd be tickled in here with mind-warping dedication for a long time. His brain couldn't handle that information. Not even remotely possible...
"I don't wanna," he said, without hope.
"Tough. I do," the tickler said.
Aw, it was just not possible. Unimaginable. But that didn't matter. The phantom wanted to keep on tickling him, and it would - right here. Deeper, longer... shredding him for as long as it wanted. Fuck.
One thing was familiar, really - and he'd always hated 'em before, but the relief they gave him today was incredible. Tim was ready for another cigarette.

22sep2019