711

He got up his nerve, and called the number.
"Dreamtime," a cheery woman said.
That threw him. "I was, uh, trying to call about an ad. General laborers."
"You've got the right number. Have you ever done B&D before?"
What the hell is B&D, he thought. "No."
"Are you in good health?"
"Excellent."
"Under 30?"
"Uh... yeah."
"Then we've got all kinds of work for you."
He cheered up. "That's good news."
"Light, or heavy?"
"I guess I could do either one. Could you give me some examples?"
"Light stuff doesn't draw blood. Very little bruising."
Stunned, he kept trying to believe he didn't just hear that.
"Hello?," the lady said.
"Blood? What kind of... I was calling about construction jobs."
"Oh. You can make a lot more money if y-"
"Sorry, I've got the wrong number. Really," he said with a nervous laugh.
"Three thousand bucks."
That stopped him in his tracks. "What?"
"You've never tried bondage before, I'm guessing. Not for real. Maybe tied to the bedposts, but not by anyone really, uh, interested. Am I right?"
"No. It doesn't matter. I'm not -"
"The first time, for a strong young guy - his introduction, you could say - is worth thousands of dollars. Not just anywhere, of course, but our clients are extremely... capable."
"You're kidding. Right?"
"Absolutely not."
That kind of money... "I don't think I could, uh, do anything like that."
"If you're under 25, not an addict and good-looking, it could be as much as six or seven grand. For two hours of your time."
. . .
 

Well, this was just great.
Leather straps all over - and they weren't just for show, either - so he was really stuck. And the fuckin' invisible guy chuckled and brought out feathers. Paying all that money to tickle him. Just totally crazy.
"Not tickling," he tells the big white feathers dangling just over his gut. "No. No no no no, aw shit no!"
"You signed up," the voice said, all puzzled. "Light S&M."
"Not this. This isn't light. It isn't. Not to me!"
Another quiet laugh. "Excellent."
While he yelled, the feathers dropped down... and started rocking his world.

There was pressure -
Son of a bitch. Hands he couldn't see were tying a gag between his teeth.
"You howl real nice," the dude said firmly, "but boys who beg too much get silenced. Now you think about that, if you can - while I tickle your lights out."
The gloves started latching on. Pressing, grabbing -
"Nuuuuh," he warbled.
They just dug into his belly, and pecs... and thighs.
 

Alright, he thought, the time's gotta be up. Unbelievable. That had to be why the hands had let him rest. All done...
The restraints were still on him, though.
There was a window off to his right. It wasn't there before.
This... was a different room.

"All done," he said weakly, snapping at the restraints. "Tell 'em. Call the damn number and say I did my part."
"Okay," the tickler growled. "Sure. I'll get right on that."
"It was only supposed to be for two hours," he whined.
"The audition. Yeah. And you got the gig."
"What?"
"Congratulations."
"No, no, no, no. Let me go now. You gotta let me out of this fuckin' place."
"Not really. See, I'm the only one who knows where you are," the voice said smugly. "And I like it that way. No other human has any idea that this fine dungeon even exists."
"Well, of course," he groaned miserably, straining to break the cuffs loose.
"You know why?"
Fingertips traced around his crotch. Easing under his balls - and they were invisible. Not a thing there to see, but his body was just goin' crazy as they traveled and wiggled.
"Aw, fuck, help meeeee!"
"Feelin'... more ticklish, dude? All this privacy?"
He screamed hoarsely - saw eight or ten calm leather gloves taking their positions, and found the energy to test those bonds with everything he had.

712

There was something weird about the shirt...
"Hey," a guy's voice said. I looked - and it was B.
"Hey!," I said back, smiling. "What are you doing here?"
He held up a green slip of paper. "You're stuck with me now."
"Uh-oh."
He nodded, and yawned. Half-awake, but so was I during first period. B had changed. His hair was longer, but that wasn't the only thing that made him seem... I don't know, less clean-cut. My impression was that he had discovered adult forms of fun.
His shirt had a strange pattern, and I didn't want to stare. Under the shirt. Big tattoos? Not B.
"I missed your birthday," I finally said, keeping my voice low. "What did you go and do now?"
He smirked, closing his eyes briefly. "Long story."
"Looking forward to that," I drawled, turning to the chalkboard.

I try to make the first day of school not as much of a waste for the kids as I remember it used to be, but B had me seriously distracted. My sister babysat him and his sister for years. All in all, I'd never found him to be a big pain in the ass. But I'm seven years older, and in one of those weird twists of fate I had just become his creative writing teacher...
 

[victim is supposed to recruit other victims, and yet he's not eager to manipulate the teacher into becoming one]

"It made me lift weights," he said simply. "Wanted a big, strong, tattooed fucker to mess with."
. . .

"Not just like, hey, it'll be fun to mess with people. It has bigger plans. Something really embarrassing, if anyone else knew. Really unbearable. And we fight, y'know, can't help it. Reflex. So we gotta be restrained - but not just any ol' rope will do the trick. No, it found out that thick leather, and steel, keeps our arms and legs really, uh, caught. No matter what." He sighed - sad, but wistful too. "Just kidding around. That's the mood. The joke's on me. Havin' some fun now, making it go on longer, and longer. More intensive. So an alley or a classroom wasn't gonna cut it. Too many people around. A real private place would be better. Then it could relax, get us strapped down just so... With food and supplies there, plenty of shit, and the trail gone cold - we're owned. Right? Then it can really relax and concentrate on... doin' what they like. The restraints are gonna make sure we're not gonna have any say in what happens. Or how long it happens. A weekend turns into a whole week, and another, smooth as shit. A month leads right into the next one -"
"C'mon," I said, in a skeptical tone of voice. "Months?"
"Nine weeks straight. I met a guy who was worked over for almost two years."
"B, I can't buy that."
"Nobody wants to believe it. Too scary."
"Well... yeah. That too. But it -"
"These bastards," he said quietly, conspiratorially, "are just as fascinated when the third month starts as they were when the third day got goin', and I'm not kidding. Somehow that doesn't get old - tickling us. It's torture, except you laugh. Starts back up every morning. I think maybe they get more obsessed as time goes on. We'd get bored, but I wonder if they... Well, anyway. Imagine being kept by those hands..."
. . .

He held a pack of cigarettes out.
"No thanks," I said automatically.
Grinning, he got one for himself.
"Don't you light that until you're off the property."
"Yeah, yeah," he sassed, walking toward the street. "I'm eighteen."
"It's still the rule."
The second he passed the curb, he lit up.
"Better?"
"Aaaah," he sighed, exaggerating it. Big, stupid grin.
"You've changed. That's all I keep thinking."
"I went through a life-changing experience."
I studied him. "You're kinda young to have a life-changing ex-"
"How was it? That's the question you wanna ask."
"No," I shot back.
"Sure you do." He rocked back, squinting at me as he tugged on the smoke. "Thinking is out. It's too hard, with everything going on. They don't miss a trick. Nothing overlooked. Plan all you want, but... naw, that's not it." He looked at his cigarette for a few seconds. "I hate lunch."
"You hate lunch? I don't follow."
"It was always there. Every second. So much for busting loose when it wasn't looking. As soon as I woke up, it was sticking a cigarette in my mouth right away. Big ol' breakfast for the tickle-slave, and then I'd get drilled for awhile. Jacked off. It never took off and left, far as I could tell..." He paused, looking for a reaction. "After a while it fed me again. And a few smokes. Couldn't skip those. The day wasn't even half over yet - not even close - and dinner was hours away. I knew exactly what I'd be doing all that time." He sighed, taking a drag like he was angry. "Sure as anything. The one thing I wanted most - what it all came down to - was for the fuckin' tickling to stop. And it didn't. Get that second meal down my throat, a couple cigs, and I knew there was definitely, absolutely gonna be three or four impossible fuckin' hours until dinner, and maybe five hours after that. Solid... feeling. You can't imagine what it's like. I just wanted it to be over. Y'know?"
I nodded.
B glared out at the street as if some kind of answer was approaching us. "That was all I had left. But the bastard just kept right on tickling."

713

The day finally arrived. She had been working for so long, and despite her own doubts she got the fellowship. The kids were going to Europe with her, and they had inherited her chronic inability to pick up the phone once in a while. Her daughter was going to work at the excavation too, so much like her mother it was spooky. His stepson was bumming around in between semesters - basically a good kid, with an almost sinister sense of humor.
That left him alone for five weeks. Time to write, out in the middle of nowhere, with no distractions.

Her boy had tucked a small (metal box) next to the seat of his car...

714

A dirty, sweaty rebel... not breathing as hard now.
Arms extended and held. Ankles caught.
He throws his hair back, squinting at the armatures.
When the implanted blood-oxygen sensors register 95 percent again, he watches the feather-tipped arms move back in...

715

When I finally crawled out of bed, Janie wasn't there. I lit up a smoke, thought for a sec and headed for the basement.
It was a good guess. She stood in Ry's doorway, watching him sleep.
"Hey," I said quietly, slipping my arms around her.
She nodded, and sighed. "Can't believe it," she whispered.
"Me neither." She leaned into me a little harder. "The little shit."
That got me an elbow in the ribs. Not too hard.

After a minute we went back upstairs. She made coffee, and I had to slip out into the garage and give Ry's biggest present another inspection. It was a hell of a lot nicer than what my pa gave me when I turned sixteen, but probably everybody thinks that...
We started cooking breakfast. As usual, the smells got him moving. I figured it was the bacon. As he lumbered up the stairs like a drunk elephant, Janie and I grinned at each other. It looked like a real smile, from her, so I relaxed some more.
And me? Hell, I was excited. The runt was gonna bust a wad. I remembered how it felt, 'cause I'd been there once. Janie couldn't be expected to get it. But her attitude was good, so the earlier talks about not "losing" Ry must've helped her out. My mom went through pretty much the same thing and I turned out okay.
He was yawning as he stepped into the room. What a moose. He was gonna be popular with the bosses, alright, just like I was - but he'd have it worse 'cause of me. That wasn't news or nothin'. Hell, the last time he dared set foot in my shop - in my old leather jacket, no doubt reeking like cigarettes - I was still working but Ry said it felt like there were hands all around him, almost touching...
I know they've been eager to put him to work. His friends, too - but he's mine, and the bosses get a real kick out of me. Damn. It was gonna be interesting to see how he dealt with it.
Janie started doing the birthday chant, and he looked down, smirking. Blushing his head off. So I chanted too, seeing as it's only right that we get to embarrass the hell out of our kid. He got himself a cup of coffee - never looking up at us, but the grin didn't go away either. When we finished the chant, he rolled his eyes.
"How else are you gonna know," Janie said, hugging his neck, "that I luuuuvv youuuu soooo-ooo much?"
He blushed even harder, and I laughed at him. "Last chance you get to do that, mama."
"Wrong," she shot back. "He's my boy."
Ry looked at me. One happy fuckin' wolf, there, even if he was red as an eject tab. He was thinking the same thing I was - not a boy anymore. Sixteen. A man. Ready to ride, whenever they weren't riding him...
"Think you're fuckin' tough enough now, huh?," I teased him.
He knew I was kidding around. "Guess we'll see."
I had to nod at that. "Uh-huh."
"Let's eat," Janie finally said. "It's getting cold."

His appetite was as big as ever. So he wasn't nervous - or he reckoned he was gonna need all the energy he could get. And he was right. All along I'd made a point of answering every question he could come up with, even the ones I didn't like. My pa tried, but he isn't a big talker. Even if it hurt I was gonna give Ry all the facts, so he'd enjoy it from the get-go.
Janie brought out a mangana cake, his favorite, and when Ty's eyes got big like that he looked to be about nine years old again. Even after he put away the usual double breakfast, he knocked off about a quarter of the cake. Janie beamed at him.
"Whoooo," he finally said, leaning back. His mom refilled his coffee mug, and he nodded his thanks. Then he looked at my cigarettes. Now, Janie and I already knew he'd been smokin' for awhile. You weren't supposed to until after the ceremony, but me and everybody I knew had started a year or two early anyway. Real fuckin' obvious he wanted one of mine, right then. But I just chuckled. Soon enough, buddy...
I put my hand over the pack, and he glanced at my face - oh yeah. He was busted, good and proper. It made me laugh. "Dammit, you're big. Ever gonna stop growing?," I said.
"Nah," he sighed. Old news. The same line I'd been feeding him for a couple years, ever since he started looking down at the top of Janie's head. "So now what?"
Like you don't know, I thought to myself.
"O-Oh," his mom said. "Are we keeping you? Got someplace to be?"
"Ma-aaa..."
"One second." And she hurried out of the room. Ry looked at me. I just shrugged, like I didn't know what was up. But he wasn't buyin' it. I saw him look at my smokes again, and then at me. I just grinned like an idiot.
Janie raced back in, loaded up with gifts.
That shocked him. "What?"
"This one first," she sang. "No - this one."
He looked at me. "Now? I thought... uh, we'd do this later."
She cupped his chin in one of her hands, and looked at his expression - she'd managed to surprise him, but mostly Ry looked pretty damn pleased. "In case you're busy later," she said. "Uh... Out celebrating, with your friends." She didn't sound convinced. He caught that, and looked at me again. After a few seconds, he finally caught on - and whoa, the look on his face!
We both had to laugh.
"Oh, okay," he mumbled. Snickering a few times.
"Uh-huh," I said. "Just in case."
He took a big breath, and let it out slow. But he wasn't afraid.
Right then I was more proud of him than I knew what to do with.

She made him a great choker. Thick silver chain, black beads...
Logo-shirts, socks, and a couple vest pins that were pretty rare. I kicked in a knife and a tool kit for the road that rolled up real small.
He seemed to like all of it just fine.
They'd pull his first leathers on him - all the restraints and the riding gear, measured to fit - at the ceremony. His ride could wait, along with his other presents, 'til they cut him loose. I was definitely gonna have Tush keep a vidcam on the kid's face when he walked into the garage and saw this.

He took a shower and came out of his room in the jumpsuit - tight gray cotton, just like mine had been. It showed him off real good. Sometimes you look at your kid and almost don't recognize him, your little boy's face stuck on a weightlifter's body, like a whole different version of you. His hair was getting long, and not a single tattoo on him yet... all calm and arrogant, usually, with question marks flashing out now and then, not entirely sure about what the fuck was going on.
But he kissed his mom and shook my hand. I handed him the bundle - his riding clothes - and he smirked at 'em, wolf-boy again. No doubt about it, he was his father's son alright.
A couple of his friends were on the street already. Ry hauled ass and caught up with 'em. They all laughed about something.
Then Ry shot a quick look back at us. She waved at him, and he snuck a quick one back at her.
"We won't see those guys walking anywhere," Janie said. "Not for awhile."
"Damn," I chuckled, "you just went and took the words right out of my mouth." She didn't sound sad - and then I got it. My wife was talking about his scoot. After they got done breaking him in, he'd ride everywhere. Make me proud...
But before then, he and his buds were gonna be howling for a few weeks. That was the introduction I got, too. What we do on this rock - all over the system - us bikers, is get hauled into the dungeons so everybody else can go about their business. That's been the deal for more generations than we can count. Let the uprights work their asses off - I was raised, and so was my boy, to take their places. We're the prey. The hands lay off all those fuckin' overachievers, and stick it to our sorry hides.
I remember my ceremony clear as day. The next month was unbelievable.
Damn, were they gonna blow my kid's mind tonight. And he'd see how fuckin' sweet that made everything else.
We got it all. Ride, party, fuck... when they aren't making me howl. Well, starting tonight my kid and his best friends were on board too. Making us howl, then.
They turned the corner, and we just stood there for a bit. I had the day off, myself, and we were damn sure gonna have our own little party before we went to watch Ry become a target himself. My son the adult, born to ride and bred to howl...
"You ol' softie," Janie murmured.
"Fuck," I drawled, getting a new smoke. Then I sighed. "Ya did good, woman. With him. The bosses know it too."
"They better." She stole my cigarette. "It's all your fault. My little boy's just gonna come unglued when they get their hands on him."
That sounded like something I'd say. She always did have a wild sense of humor when it was just us and nobody else around. After a second I had to laugh at the thought, and then she did too.

716

The very first time, Scoop caught him out back.
They'd take turns having a smoke after closing. It was his last shift before he left for the summer, goin' to Norfolk again, and Benny had picked up a case of beer to see him off. So he'd snagged a brew on his way outside, feeling rebellious and not overly motivated on his last night. Stepped out, fired up a smoke and took a few swallows - before the bottle was yanked out of his hand. And it wasn't like he dropped it - something tugged it it out of his grip.
Calm, fuckin' serious hands took hold of his ribs.

"What did you say?," he finally asked.
"Tickling," the voice said - with a sadistic edge. Sorta punching the word.
"I... Uh, what the hell?"
The hands began to move.
It was a wild blur. Not the gloves - his frenzy amazed him. And the chuckling. It just poured out.
He got off a single yell for help, and it was choked with laughter, when a cool hand smacked down over his mouth. There were so many other fingers. Tickling. The son of a bitch couldn't be serious - about this.
Jerking and twisting in every direction didn't do shit. There were always gloves there, blocking his path. All over him. They knew where to latch on. They were shoving him into his car and he didn't even remember stumbling over there. That's how distracting the tickling was. They were good at it, dammit -
His car. It was starting. Time to stop this bullshit. Flail harder.
The sensation inside his upper body seemed to be spreading. And it was a deep, solid flood that made it hard to move. His legs just sorta twitched. Overall, he moved like he was really drunk. The reaction to what the gloves were doing just short-circuited everything...
Driving, somewhere. Empty gloves on the wheel. Others drilling him.

There was a moment of terror - cutting through the confusion - when he realized that he was being carried toward a rusty metal door. It was open, and the tickling hands were carrying his ass right past it.
He had no idea where the building was. Did they make him laugh his guts out for five minutes? A half-hour? That's what freaked him out most of all. Time had skipped out on him. So overwhelmed. Tickling, of all stupid things -
He had to pee. No, that didn't compare to his enormous need to get the fuck away from them. Nobody knew where he was. They had this all planned out...
Tickle prison. Fuck, he just couldn't wrap his mind around it. That didn't matter anymore, 'cause they hustled him into the dark building. Rusty smells. Dust, mold -
Busy fingers. He just needed to turn around...
Tripping up and down his sides. Clutching his belly. Fingers were clamped under each knee. So fuckin' unbearable. Turn. Run.
A light clicked on. Not too bright. This room had no windows. It did have all kinds of fuckin' torture chamber shit, for locking people down. Him, actually.
He looked over his shoulder at the door that was swinging out - and he howled at it to stop.
 
 

Scoop just loved the way his fear could just vanish. In an instant, the feathers put a stop to his panic - who knew what kind of grisly things he'd been imagining? - and replaced it with a deep, soulful, stunned [dread].
"Wait," he said quietly, a big contrast from the shouting a few seconds before.
"What's the matter?," it teased.
His feet did the talking. Damn, did they want to get loose. Scoop was gratified by the worried struggling, and so pleased that the cuffs were doing their job. These feathers - and it moved them closer - are only the beginning. Do your feet suspect that, maybe? All of the different kinds of stimulation coming... eased all the way up his pinned arms -
"No," he barked, "no!"
"Somebody's got a secret," Scoop said. "Or he used to, anyway."
"You can't... this is so... c'mon. Don't."
"Get real."
"Help!," he roared, shouting as loudly as before - but there was a different tone in his voice. Less fear, and maybe more desperation. Scoop loved that.
"Look around," it ordered. "I've got the room all equipped. Tons of supplies. Wild ideas. Do you really think I'd go to all this trouble just to have some moron overhear you?"
"No, no, aw shit."
"There's way too much fun to have -"
"Don't do this, please..."
The delight was almost overwhelming as it brought the feathers down to his soles.
"You're not gonna - stop," he groaned. "Eeef!"
Scoop swept the feathers across, taking its time.
He started fighting the restraints again. From the look on his face, it didn't think he was too optimistic.
"Oh shit," he whined.
It ran the tips of each feather down toward his heels, making him seize up for just a moment. "Can't move your legs, huh?"
A long snort made its way out of his mouth - no matter how hard he tried to keep it in - and then he was chuckling. Such a completely tormented sound. The broad edge of the feathers trailed back up - and immediately he was bouncing, trying so hard to kick. He whimpered and then continued to laugh.
"Your arms are caught too. I guess you know what that means."
"Neeeeeee eeeef h-haaaaalpp," he screeched, and kept right on giggling.
"Boxes of tools, right over there -"
With a gasp, he belted out the best laughs yet. Hearty, completely uncontrollable. He understood, alright, and Scoop wanted that new level of intensity to remain for awhile. It dragged the feathers more quickly, down and up and down and up, brisk waves that moved as if Scoop was never going to stop.
He jumped around, took another deep breath... and bawled out laughter in a higher pitch. Gurgling now and then, his head snapped back and forth. Sweat was already gleaming.
It was not disappointed with his feet. Happily, Scoop decided to make his situation even clearer - by filling up a pair of brown work gloves.
The feathers backed away. He spent half a minute catching his breath, not even looking. Scoop waited...
It was worth it. When he saw the gloves over him, panic motivated him again. There was something childlike in his struggles. A fear of innocent fun, maybe. But he was definitely not a kid anymore, and the levels of fun Scoop knew were gonna turn his hair white.
"Cotton," it said loudly. "These are familiar, I hope. But I have seven other kinds -"
He wailed, slamming back and forth. As if that wasn't reward enough, he started a slow, miserable cackle even before the fingers made contact with his ribs.
 

"Go ahead," Scoop said.
He took another drag. At first it seemed like he was gonna ignore the order, but it knew what he needed.
"You're fuckin'... All these gloves. Right here. Hangin' out, all set to dig back in, right? I want to see something happen, so bad. I don't know. A wall slide across. A net. Something to keep 'em away. And nothing will show up, dammit. They'll start back in and go another hour, and another. All the hours you want. Nothing will change."
"That's right."
"Hey!." he yelled. "The whole fuckin' world, out there... I'm gettin' screwed with. Can't be happening, I know, that's what I would've said, but you gotta get me away from this bastard. All these gloves - hell, it's got enough shit to torture me for months. Making me laugh. And somebody's gotta wander by and hear me, get some HELP, or else I'm gonna get fucked with for a long... long time..."
His voice trailed off, and he took another drag.
"Nobody heard you," Scoop said.
"I know."
"Did you really think -"
"No," he yelled. "I knew better. But I can't fuckin' do this. Gonna start again, you're gonna stick it to me again, and again, and it's just so fuckin' frustrating."
"Until it starts."
"Huh?"
"You don't look frustrated then."
"This can't be happening to me," he wailed.
"You're too busy to stay mad."
"No..."
The fingers above his chest started to look a little twitchy.
"Tell the truth."
"Why? So you can use that against me too?"
"Say it."
Tugging at the straps didn't calm him down a whole lot. "Say what?"
"This is infuriating - until the tickling starts again. And then there's something more important than the anger."
"Screw you!"
His cigarette was taken away - and held just out of reach.
"If you want this," Scoop said reasonably, "and another one after it, you'll tell the truth."
After a low whine, he looked from the cigarette to the waiting gloves. "Dammit. Just... Alright."
"It's true. Isn't it?"
"Sure."
"Go ahead."
He rolled his eyes. "When you're fuckin' tickling me, yeah, I can't stay mad. Not - during that."
"You're not as mad as you used to be," it said, giving the smoke back to him.
"Yes, I am."
"No. You're settling in."
"Oh, bullshit!"
"That's smart. More fun that way."
"I'm tellin' you I can't take any more of this -"
"Look to your right. At the shelves."
With a desperate little whimper, he finally did as he was told. All those toys. Boxes, bags -
Scoop sighed. "How could you possibly think I'm gonna let you go now?"
"Aw... shit."
"So much fun stuff. And you. Hidden away."
"I'm gonna snap, or something," he announced. "Too much."
"From pleasure? I don't think so. Massage never killed anybody -"
"This ain't the same as massage, and you know it!"
"Laughter. Some of the best cum-shots you've ever known. Deep, thorough stimulation. What's wrong with that?"
"All day," he whined. "No - somebody, please, help meeee, HELP..."
The pack lifted up from the floor, long enough to get another cigarette out.
"Nope," Tickler laughed. "Guess you're stuck with me."
One glove dropped down and started playing with his nipples.
"Stop it," he squirmed, trying not to giggle.
"No," it teased. "I'm gonna tickle you some more. All over."
"Dammiihah-hah-hah..."
"You're gonna stay right here and go nuts for me. So much tickling."
Keening, he tried to flop around.
"And you know it," Scoop crooned. "Don't you?"
Bawling raggedly, he nodded his head good and hard.
 

Oh, fuck, this has to stop...
It's in total fuckin' control. He never felt somebody so sure of things, and so calm at the same time. This is how we do it, howler. From now on.
Absolute pro, all bases covered. And this is what it loves most. Fuckin' impossible.
It's got to lay off because he can't possibly take any more of this, dammit, no more. And he's laughing way too hard to say anything. It knows... shit, better than he does, and that's why the damn gloves aren't stopping.
What if he can take a lot more of this than he thinks? It's driving him crazy already, just absolutely nuts, and the fucker made sure he can't even move.
Aw, c'mon, don't fuckin' tickle me any more, he wants to screech. This is serious. Just lay off. Stop it.
 

"Going anywhere?," it teased.
He giggled wildly, squirming for all he was worth.
"I asked you a question," Scoop said sternly. The fingers - oh, it was impossible - they dug in a little bit more firmly. They could step it up even more. They would, too. Later, if not now. Of course they would.
He crowed weakly, feeling the tears run off his jaw.
"Uh... Are you going anywhere, low-life?"
The increased tickling was just going to shatter his brain. That was a given. The impulses throbbed and sizzled their way into the dead-end of his skull, lighting him up. So unbelievably ticklish...
"Well?"
He jumped, and snagged a breath. Blinking, he had a bad feeling that there was something he was supposed to do -
A hand grabbed his hair and tilted his head back.
"Fuckhead. Answer me. Are you going anywhere?"
Finally, he burst into rowdy laughs, shaking his head drunkenly.
"That's right," it said proudly. "Nowhere. You're staying right here... in my enthusiastic hands. Aren't you?"
He shook his head, bouncing up and down with his whole body.
"You're just gonna laugh your fuckin' head off," Scoop promised.
With a feverish wail, he cackled and giggled his acknowledgement.
 

[Well, within 48 hours, I'm gonna change your mind forever. Tickle all the tears and the misery away - until you dig it. And then, buddy, I'm gonna just keep pouring it on. Burying you in it. Then we'll try out other things - kinky shit - and see what really multiplies the impact for ya. Tickling, plus. You're gonna thank me -
Bullshit.
Heh heh. Just you wait.]
 

"I'm doing this for you," Scoop says teasingly. The liar. "Mega-tickling. It's such a chore... but hey, that's just the kind of kidnapper I am."
 
 
 

Tied tight.
"Uh-nnnn-nuuhh," he groaned. Here it comes - again. On the carpet of a fake hotel room, hogtied and gagged -
The door opened.
That smug voice, he thought desperately. Wait for it. Oh, shit, this had to be Scoop. He just couldn't stand the thought of another second in its hands. But the room was obviously soundproofed - thick foam padding on the walls.
It always made sure no one would possibly hear him. For weeks. All this trouble to make the cell look like a motel room - but he knew why Scoop was a privacy nut. And now, with him caught again, it was all systems go. The fucker got him again.
"Hey," Scoop said. "I know you."
Squirming, trying to yell, he flopped as much as he could.
"And it looks like you're supposed to... stay."
Tears sprang to his eyes as he watched the door close.

Hands curled around his arms. Black leather gloves. They picked him up and carried him over to the bed.
There was a big bottle of lube on the side table, and a cock ring...
They laid him down.
"Well, now, that doesn't look comfortable at all."
"Mmmnnnnth," he groaned.
"But you're tied up. No running away, huh? Now... let's see."
The closet opened. It was full of bondage gear.
Seeing it, he shrieked into the gag.
"Alright," Scoop sighed.
Wide-eyed, he watched cuffs and straps start floating off their hooks. Writhing around didn't change his situation. Nothing would get him out of its hands, he thought wildly, no way that would be allowed. Tonight, the whole week, and so on -
"I mean," and Scoop was all but laughing already, "somebody caught you. I don't blame 'em. We've had some major fun... well, I have."
The gear surrounded him.
"Not anywhere enough fun..."
Double-stitched leather straps were brought to the end of the bed. They moved with a serious, solemn air. Just something it had to do, in order to help out the fictional kidnapper who tied him up -
"And this place is hidden real well. Keep you out of trouble. Safe." Behind his back, the knots started to loosen.
"Say," and it whooped, "I got a wild idea."
When his feet came loose from his wrists, he was ready to bolt. Scrabbling around -
"No, no, little monkey," Scoop said.
The hands rolled him over and pulled him up so he sat there, with his fuckin' hands tied behind his back, as eight or ten gloves pounced on his legs.
"You're all sweaty. That can't be comfortable."
"Nnfff nfff! Neeeeennnnth," he wailed.
A glove started unbuckling his belt.
Hands he couldn't see started pulling his jeans down. It was no accident that his underwear slid off too.
He shook his head miserably.
"I wonder what we could do," it taunted. "Kill some time."
Next they went for his t-shirt, pulling it over his head.
"Maybe a lot of time..."
A few quiet chuckles - and a glove took hold of his dick.

He did his best to pull his arms loose when they untied that knot. Scoop just laughed derisively, clamping on with all those gloves.
"One arm, out here... and the other goes here."
They pressed down until the cuffs had floated up and around, buckled tight.
Straps were clipped on, and the tension pinned his elbows well into the mattress.
"There," it said happily. "And now..."
The ankle cuffs.
He stared at the straps being pulled out, with such power, before they were fastened. The clips were big. He doubted they were ever gonna break.
"Give 'em a try," it laughed.
Two gloves attacked his sides.

It was a long minute.
"Yeah. You're stuck."
"Nnnnnnpppfff!'
Something felt different. Looser -
Oh fuck, he thought, it's taking my sneakers off.
"I don't know why, but nothing's more enjoyable than nuking a guy like you. Strapped down." Scoop laughed at him.
Moaning, he closed his eyes.
"Who's gonna stop me? You?"
Gloves were coming out of the closet. More gloves, oh no...
One had some thinner straps and rings that could only be toe restraints.
The cock ring floated off the table.
"I can't imagine your kidnapper would mind if I kept you busy," it said thoughtfully. "You were tied up, just left here. You know there's feathers and oil in the closet?"
Whimpering...
"You up for that, monkey? Big fun?"
The cock ring slid over his meat.
"Before you get too excited... and make a mess."
He shook his head. That was all he could do - but the gloves pressed some eager fingers against his socks, and started taking hold of his sides.

"Somebody's not getting away from me..."
There was such a smug tone in Scoop's voice.
His eyes opened just a little. Active hands crept all over his body. Crippling fire everywhere, hollow chuckles barreling out of his chest...
The gag was gone, apparently. He thought about yelling - and gutsy howls came out instead.
"Such a long night," it sighed.
. . .

His breathing had leveled off. Shit, he thought, any time now.
A glove lingered over his right foot. It was plain as day that Scoop was savoring the moment...
 

He woke up feeling... thicker. Something was -
Clothes. Scoop had dressed him. But the door was still closed. It's not anywhere done yet, he thought.
Leather jacket, t-shirt, jeans. New chaps. And oh yeah, even if they made his feet throb he didn't care - combat boots.
Lifting his hand, he saw thin leather gloves and a cigarette. Scoop had lit one and stuck it between his fingers. He took a clumsy drag.
"Looks like a menace to society, here," it said proudly.
"Shit," he grumbled, jetting the smoke out through his nostrils.
"I know better, though. Don't I?"
A hand touched his chest -
"Nooooooo," he wailed. The fingers slid over to his right side. He couldn't see 'em.
"And now I've got a job to do."
They wandered up and down his ribs.
"How to break you."
The usual dull fear started to grow. Of course.
"Who's gonna feel it?," the tickler teased. It sounded like it was talking to a baby.
"Let me go," he pleaded.
Another hand helped itself to his left side.
Whipping back and forth, he started to snicker. Another damn day of being shredded -
"You are. I'm gonna tickle this monkey."
"Noooooaaaahh hah hah naaah haaaaah!"
"Yes, I am."
Hands took hold of his right leg, and the laces of that boot started loosening up.
He tried to kick, but the fingers dug into his sides a little until he was giggling uncontrollably and squirming around on the bed. The nightmare was just as real as ever, and it wasn't fuckin' over yet.
His left leg was seized.
Please don't take the boots away, he wanted to beg. Please. He couldn't remember how great they felt - so solid, protecting every side of his feet - when the tickling sped up for the fifteenth or sixteenth time today, cuffed and strapped as usual, toes spread by those damn rings, and the fire just pouring all over -
It pulled his arms up, and slid the jacket off the chortling prisoner.

Smoke?," it asked.
It took him a few seconds to collect himself, still breathing hard. "Whuh -"
Sure enough there was a carton on the corner of the mattress. With a strained sound, he stares at it and tugs at his bonds.
"Well... okay."
Wait, he thought, I want one, a few more minutes before -
Six gloves race down - and thrash him. Red-line tickling.
He howled without making a sound, flailing like a snake. Really there was no option but to take in the carnage Scoop rubbed into him...
. . .

"Who's my big ol' ticklish guy?"
He was busy laughing. It had to repeat the question twice.
"Ah hah hah I - Ieeeyah hah hah huh..."
"That's right. And who's gonna get tickled silly tomorrow, too?"
"I - I - ooooaaah hah noh nnn-no no no-wooo hoo hah hah hah haaah."
"Very good," Scoop said firmly.
 
 
 

"Welcome," a voice said quietly.
He opened his eyes and looked around. Was that Scoop?
Then he stared at the manacles...
Thick, shiny metal enclosed each of his ankles, spreading his legs about halfway. Some kind of cloth was wrapped under them, against his skin. All he wore was a pair of dark black briefs he'd never seen before.
His feet were the bigger concern, though. They were just about level with his chest. He just couldn't get his feet to move at all.
Both of his wrists were caught in shackled to the chair, above and out a little. Dark padded vinyl supported his back and his ass.
Two straps, tight over his beltline and under his pecs, kept him from bouncing at all.

After struggling for a couple minutes he wasn't any closer to getting away.
"It's important," the voice said, "that you believe this. Prove it to your own satisfaction."
Oh, fuck, he thought, that's definitely not Scoop.
"You're not going to be able to cover up at all. Shielding any part of your body will not be allowed, any more than getting out of this room."
He looked around the dull black walls, and heard something rolling -
A cart. It stopped alongside my feet.
"Do you know what I'm going to do?"
Eventually he nodded.
. . .

"These. We'll start with... fingers. Watch them, now. This is acetate - and a dozen other textures which will follow. But right now these hands are coming, now that's there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. They'll start in... and keep learning. Every sensitive place on your body. Then, joined by more and more gloves just like them, they'll stimulate those places, downshifting when you start to swoon, pausing for break after break - so you can regain your breath before they continue. And they will, they absolutely will, return after you sleep. After each meal. Always starting in again. Your days will be filled with delirious pleasure. Whatever you considered yourself to be, before now, is irrelevant. You're helpless now, you're ticklish - and you're staying right here."
. . .
 

"There's nothing you can do," it says slowly, "to make me stop."
He writhes back and forth, whooping hard.
"Nothing at all will make the tickling end tonight."
"Nooo hooo hooo hooo hooo haaaaa-aaaaaaw," he squealed.
"Not for a long, long time. That's a promise."
Bouncing, then fighting the straps as hard as he could, didn't do a thing to slow down any of the soft, attentive fingers.
 
 
 

The dreams are usually good. Even if they're full of activity, it's like a vacation. He was shooting pool with Adam, just hanging out, and it was great.
But then he woke up.
There's the poor son of a bitch who got caught. Cuffs and chains. Shit.
He coughed for a few seconds and then let his head fall back down on the mattress, studying the tattooed fucker stretched out on a black satin sheet.
Every time he woke up, it just seemed so incredible that he could be in for another day of it. All over again.
Scoop had him again, and it was never done. No such thing as enough. That was another obvious thing that just didn't sit well. Another full day of tickling, with all the power and chills and insane giddiness and the gnawing need to fuckin' feel it harder.
He was barely able to take it. Scoop was a fuckin' expert, though. It knew exactly how far it can push him. No denying that...
A cigarette landed on his bottom lip.
Fuckin' tickler. Enjoying this much control...
The other daily worry, as he craned his neck to reach the hovering lighter, was that he couldn't keep going through for months and months without losing his mind. Maybe today was the day he'd get swallowed up by the avalanche of tickling sensations for good. No coming back. Everybody's got their limit.
That's when he remembered that he's had that same fear for years. Whether he was getting nuked or not, he wondered if the next time was gonna do it, or if he'd bounce back from that much fever... for the next round.
Taking a drag, he watched himself in the mirror. You're gonna be delirious all day, he thought. Any time now - gloves, feathers, whatever.
"Hey," he whispered.
"What?," it said immediately, all sassy.
"You gonna... let me go tonight?"
"No."
"This week?"
It chuckled. "No."
 

Happy tickler. Scoop was reveling in it... yet it was as calm as ever. Nothing ever surprised Scoop when it was settling in for a few hours of sadistic tickling.
This place is really off the beaten track, he thought. Not even close to done.
. . .

"Dammit, Scoop."
"All these hours and hours ahead of us," it teased, "just waiting to be filled. We're gonna have to entertain each other."
Groaning, he tried to roll over, straining the cuffs on the right side and then the left. Laid out real nice - it could just slip into his armpits, or drill his hips, and what's he gonna do? Shudder. Sweat. Giggle, maybe. It'll pump his cock and take a couple hours to get him off, and then he'll be so much more fuckin' ticklish...
"I can't take this anymore. Not this much p- oh, fuck, Scoop -"
"Pleasure. Is that what you were going to say? I'll be the judge of how much is too much."
Kicking out smoke, he yanked hard with my arms. Still stuck.
"You're doing just fine," it reassured him.
"Dammit, you gotta listen to me," he wailed.
"You're not maxxed out yet. Don't even try to bullshit me. It's obvious. Getting deeper, and... bigger. You're relaxing sooner. Trying to keep up with me."
His cigarette was taken away, and a bottle of water approached from the side.
"No, dammit, Scoop. Please."
"Let's do it."
After a few slugs, he drank the water as slowly as he dared. After this, he thought, the fire starts zapping through me again.
He couldn't fuckin' stand it. A thousand times too much -
Another cigarette was waiting.
"Thank you, oh yeah Scoop, th-"
As the lighter returned he just thought for a second. It said "let's do it," which would seem to mean the tickling would start up - but then it gave him a smoke. So that meant -
"No no no no no."
"Aw, yeah," it said.
He took a light, and slammed his head back down -
Feathers. Dammit.
Two long, white plumes that still looked innocent. They were just feathers, until they fall into the wrong hands. And Scoop had the nightmare hands...
They dropped down and began to torment his dick.

Not this, he thought - forty minutes later. Please tickle me instead...
He didn't dare say it. Hadn't ever worked before. Or maybe too well. It did get a kick out of making him beg for more tickling.
A soft edge glided up and down his shaft, circling around lazily. The other one crept under his balls.
It was unbearable!
Arching and fidgeting as much as he could, his crotch was still wide open - just the way Scoop wanted it. He wasn't anywhere near halfway, either. When it took this much time, he knew what to expect. The long fuckin' ride to his next cumshot would include half a pack of cigarettes and begging, raging, bargaining and tears.

He was covered with ashes and sweat. Painfully hard. It had to be the third hour...
Scoop brought more water a few times, pausing with the feathers long enough for him to swallow.
"This is the gearshift," it said once as it curled greasy rubber fingers around his knob. "I'm gonna nudge you into another level of ticklishness, and another, and there's no telling how many levels you've got. If you think you're feeling it now..."
Oh, fuck, just finish it, he wanted to scream. But it wouldn't do any good. A single feather wasn't enough to against, and the other one traced all around his hips, his lower belly - and he was just so fuckin' horny that he blubbered an hour ago. Scoop didn't say a word. It just sighed proudly and kept right on teasing his meat.

One cigarette after another...
His fingers ached from clenching his fists. He groaned for hours. This was impossible to take.
"Let me cum," he whispered again. The tickling was going to be horrifying afterward, but he just had to shoot his load...
He didn't weep anymore. Scoop didn't even pause. It knew this squirt would wake up every ticklish nerve in his body so they'd be unusually sensitive. All the handling and stroking Scoop would deliver, all over his body, would never be enough to suit it.
Smooth hands sliding for hours, squeezing a little, fingertips making him hoot. Explosions occurring nonstop on his soles - ruthless tickling in his armpits and under his knees and around his neck. That was surely on the way.
His arms had become so ticklish, and his ass.
It really had his number.

"Hey," it said.
He opened his eyes, but there was just another smoke waiting. It was officially the longest jackoff session he'd ever known. There was a dull sense of surprise that the fucker had managed to hold off from tickling him that long.
"Please," he whispered. "Scoop. Please."
"You're just not suffering enough," it said evenly, lighting his cigarette. "Getting enough pleasure, I mean."
Even blinking was an effort. "Alright -"
"I can do better."
"Guh... Go ahead."
"What?"
Whimpering, he tugged on the cigarette."Shit..."
"I'm going to ask again. And then I'll ignore you for a good hour. Keep doing this. Now, what should I go ahead and do?"
Such a monster, he thought. Full fuckin' sadist. He took another drag. "Tickle me."
"Oh. Now you want me to tickle you."
An agonized groan oozed out of his mouth with the smoke.
"Maximum tickling, I bet," it continued. "That's what I do."
"If that's what it t-takes," he sighed. "I just gotta cum, Scoop, please."
"If I start tickling you, I don't know if I can stop myself for a few hours."
"Go. Go, yeah, okay."
"You want to cum."
"Oh, fuck yeah."
"Even though I'm gonna... really dig in."
That's a given, he thought. No way to fight that off. "Please. Let's go."
"Let me make sure I got this straight," it said. The feathers sped up a little. Oh, fuck, he didn't have the energy to arch anymore. It wouldn't be an impressive squirt. "You want me to finish you off in a couple hours."
"Nooooooo!"
There was a chuckle or two. "Oh. Okay. You wanna cum now. And then get drilled."
He nodded drunkenly. His cock was going to hurt all day. The pressure...
Gloves took their time laying down on a dozen intensely ticklish spots. Then the last one seemed to cruise even more slowly to his dick.
 
 
 

The rope was knotted with care.
"No escape," Scoop taunted.
Yeah, he thought as he tried to pull my arms around, the padded walls sorta got that across.
Then he felt contact.
Oh... shit. Hands were tickling me. What a surprise.
Fingers rubbed his armpits through his shirt. Moving down -
His laughter sounded disapproving. I object to this kidnapping, he thought wildly. I had almost a whole year without any fuckin' tickling at all, and now this.
More hands clamped just over his hips.
High-pitched hooting...

He caught my breath. There was snot on his face, he was all sweaty, and his right arm hurt from laying on it. The rope still had his hands caught.
He looked over at the door, which was probably locked anyway. Scoop had always been thorough.
"No getting away," it said happily.
"No no noooooo whaaaa-haaaaah," he roared - because the hands jumped on again. Racing up and down his sides...
Pulling his boots off.

All he knew was determined fingers, moving from one sensitive place to another. He couldn't stand another eight months of this...
Too tired to fight effectively, he felt his jeans being pulled off.
The arrival of the straps was next.
Scoop dug in. That really made it impossible to flail around...

Panting again, he gave the straps a few tugs.
It had his arms straight out from his sides, and a hanging spreader bar cuffed between his ankles. That was a frustrating illusion of being able to move his feet -
Something firm was shoved in his mouth. A tube of leather. Tension pulled on the ends, and a buckle was set. So he was in for a couple delirious hours of slobbering all over a gag.
The overhead lights faded down...
Touch. Not a finger. Barely making contact.
Down his right sole, and dusting up again -
Both feet.
They were feathers, and more of 'em swept up his sides.
He laughed hard - harder - roared and brayed like a fuckin' maniac.
That airy texture slid up his shaft -
But the straps just wouldn't break.

717

A guy's face. He's sleeping - no, wait, he's coming around. Yawning. Woozy. The camera pulls back... He's wearing -
Those are cuffs. Shiny black leather around his wrists. Thick riveted cuffs. Straps disappear off the sides and the top of the mattress, two for each wrist, pinning his hands in between. They're wide straps, pulled tight.
He's buffed out, but there's no way he's gonna bust 'em.
He blinks - oh shit, he's seeing the cuffs. His eyes get big, and he starts to pull. Totally blown away by what he's seeing. The camera keeps retreating... he's naked. Big bed, clean white sheet.
His ankles are caught too. Four straps on each one. He looks down there, and tries to arch. Looking scared. And baffled.
There's a window, above him. The curtains flutter a little - bars. There are iron bars outside the window.
The room isn't very big. There are shelves lining both side walls. Boxes, bags, white jugs, garbage bags full of stuff.
He looks up -
"No. Nooooooo! Help, help, aaaaaahhh..."
Hands? Many... gloves. High up in the air, moving past the camera and down toward him slowly. Like they're stalking him. Big white gloves, about a dozen of 'em, shiny and taut. Satin. Firm, moving easily toward him.
He's pulling out all the stops, but he hasn't budged. "You - hallllllppp, what are you - no, get away, get a- naaawww oh haaallllllppp..."
They arrive. Smooth as birds, they set down, and take hold of his ribs, and thighs. Spreading their empty fingers across his belly and chest.
The last ones arrive at his feet. One covering the top, another squeezing the instep of each foot.
He sputters, looking from one to another. They press down -
"No," he pleads.
And they start to move.
He laughs, and looks amazed that he did. Then he continues. Laughing really, really hard. Slides up to a high-pitched whoop, almost a scream, and then back down to a massive roar.
The gloves keep on going. He starts throwing his head around, then pulls at the straps again. Trying to roll, slide up, slide down, arch his back. Nothing works. He's stretched out too much. Howling now, banging his head. He's completely fucked. Laughing all-out, harder than any man should be able to laugh, or have to laugh. This guy especially. A lot of muscles there, doing him no good at all. Totally unable to get away. Totally wild, the perfect definition of apeshit. They make him howl some more, and keep on rubbing.
The camera moves back more quickly. Out of the room. He gets smaller, and the gloves haven't paused once. He's in for it. Laughing his guts out in there, still trying to turn, covered with white hands. Active, persistent satin.
Out of the house, now. The front door slamming, a lock shooting, and then another. Locked in. Gloves, and all those supplies. Shabby little house, run-down, the kind you pass without even seeing it. Big front yard. Dirt road...
The camera races backward, and up. Way up. Huge fields on all sides of the shrinking house, not cultivated, just weeds or something. So it doesn't matter if the bedroom window's open. Hell, he could be shooting an Uzi in there and nobody'd hear it.
Clouds. The roof of the house can't be seen anymore. That guy, strapped down in there. Roarin' away. Nobody will ever know. A shitload of boxes and bags, toys probably...
What a setup. Perfect. He couldn't be any more helpless. One hundred percent stuck. Laid out out for the gloves to play with, caught in their grip. In for a long, hard ride.
How long 'til they're done with him.. let him go?
Pure, maximum-strength pleasure. The ideal situation - for the gloves.

718

"Hey," a guy said.
I looked around. Nobody -

And suddenly I was back in the doctor's exam room. Just like that.
"Excuse me, but I noticed a reaction... that the doctor missed."
"Where are you?"
My arms went straight out -
Air. In my armpits - as if my shirt and jacket weren't even there. I twisted around.
"There it is again," the voice marveled.
"Hallllp!," I yelled.
Footsteps, and the door starting to open.

A different room. Black. Larger. The walls looked soft.
I was still standing with my arms out. Something invisible held my wrists -
"Better," the voice decided.
The air blew again. Hair-dryers, I thought wildly. Cool air. Throwing myself around, I chuckled nervously.
My jacket and shirt disappeared.
The air was making me laugh.
"Interesting..."
I felt something touch me. One finger. Then more -
Pressing, moving, digging in!
Berserk. Thrashing, hooting, I couldn't shake the fingers. And I roared.
The tickling stopped.
"Oh, this is... fascinating," the voice said.
My jeans disappeared, then my boots.
I floated a few inches off the floor - and the air blasted over me. Chest, sides, thighs -
Feet.
I knew the fingers would return any second now.

The next few minutes were chaos. No tickling I'd ever felt prepared me for it. I was vulnerable everywhere, and the fingers tried me out.
Loopy from laughing - and from feeling so much stimulation - I only realized the fingers were gone. As soon as I started to be relieved about that, one hand wrapped around my cock.
"Does this reaction mean you're happy?"
I was hard. The tickling had fuckin' given me an erection.
"No!," I gasped. "No. Too... m-much."
"Too much?," it said - skeptically. My stomach lurched. It didn't believe me. "But... Well, let's get you into a more comfortable position."
A padded table appeared in front of me. It looked a lot like the exam table in my doctor's office. I was picked up and set on my ass.
"No," the voice said.
"Wait a min-"
Before I could finish, I was absolutely stuck. A black slab was over my head. Thick metal rods stuck out of it...
There were huge silver rings all over me. Around me, actually. My wrists were held almost straight up - and my feet were dangling in the air, spread wide. Rods immobilized the rings which were circling my legs in four places. More rods kept my arms from moving, and pinned my butt down.
Eighteen restraints -
As soon as I was done counting, one more appeared. There was a thick metal cuff holding my cock upright.
"No," I said, starting to plead.
But the fingers came back.
Oh, fuck, they just roamed everywhere.
 

"I'd like you to meet someone," the voice said pleasantly.
That definitely worried him.

[some loose equivalent of "urologist"... but the voice doesn't sound all that much different, and he suspects it's not a different tickler at all.
Other med. "specialists" are subsequently introduced . . .]

719

The sound was an odd one. Faint. But definitely not birds, or any of the usual animals...
Triproot followed the rustling and grunting noises. It was getting closer to an old snare, almost forgotten, off a old hiking path. A little stream was the lure. But it had never paid off before -

Its newest acquisition hung there, wiggling irregularly.

He'd stepped into a loop-snare, which pulled tight and stopped him... until the extra slack was taken up. A thicker noose slid tight, under the pine needles, and caught both of his ankles. As that strap continued to tighten, it lifted him up about three meters, detached the first strap, turned him over - and triggered the next wave of restraints.
Six padded coils started rolling over his body, trapping his arms and thighs. When he lunged, as prey always did, he rotated backward until he was feet-down again - and friction-teeth bit into the straps. He couldn't invert himself again. One last bundle fell down the suspension strap - a porous leather hood with small mouth- and nostril-holes.

All of the restraints were positioned just as Triproot had intended. It had perfected the strap-and-counterweight system quite a while ago. Humane trapping was the only way to go...
And now it had a strong, healthy hiker, caught fair and square in one of the eleven traps on the ridge Triproot had staked out as its own. Even the Forest Service rangers knew that - and they must have been warning hikers to stay away. At least most of the hikers... But some came blundering through anyway. And when they managed to get themselves snagged, they had a new owner.
It paused in front of the bound man, examining the straps. All was well. He wasn't going to budge.
In front of his chest, two large hands appeared. No knuckles or nails. Where the large opening would normally be for a hand, these special gloves were sealed. They had the heft of leather, the feel of oiled pigskin, and the flexibility of thin rubber. Triproot made the fingers flex, and changed the color of the gloves from white to dark brown. With a thought, it cooled the surface considerably...
But his eyes were covered, and he didn't see what it had brought him.
Triproot had another idea. A little hint for its new trophy. From prior experience, it created a combination of scents, various bodily emissions produced after many hours of coaxing. It sent a soft puff of the odors into the hiker's face.
He smelled it. And sniffed again -
Immediately, he was tugging at the straps, wrestling around... with no way of knowing what the signal meant, or how it was learned. But it was time for him to find out.
The gloves levitated over his belly. One strap was covering his navel, but the other had cinched under his pecs. Two or three inches of stomach were protected only by a thin t-shirt...
Triproot had all eight fingers land together, below his breastbone, and slide apart.
He gasped, and started to yell. But his shouts were muffled. Lunging energetically, he bounced a few inches. It had no trouble staying on his shirt. Rubbing.
A strangled bark was cut off - and he made a different noise. Rhythmic, angry. Involuntary.
It applied the thumbs, finding his ribs.
The hiker thrashed harder than ever.
That settled it.

A small bottle appeared by his head. The cap unscrewed and turned over... And several drops were poured into it.
Moving closer, choosing its moment - and Triproot flipped the cap.
The liquid splashed on his front teeth. Instinctively his tongue came out. He made a face as the bitter extract made itself known.
By the time he started to spit, it was too late. He'd already absorbed a good dose through the tissues in his mouth, under his tongue... and it would make his first night at Triproot's den an impossibly sensitive experience.
It could just leave him as he was and dig in - after all, nobody was going to come by and interrupt the fun! - but it was looking forward to getting those hiking boots off. And the jeans. The t-shirt... Cuff his limbs down properly, and the straps from the snare could be be taken off too, exposing everything from chin to ankles.
It disconnected a strap from the trees. And another...
The loose ends wound tight around the hiker. When the last one was unclipped, the gloves clamped over his hips and carried him, squirming and yelling, up the ridge.
A chamber was waiting for them.

The entrance was hidden well. A pair of large boulders, just ordinary rocks - unless a certain "root" was dug up and pulled, and then a crack appeared in the hillside.
It slid the door open, carried him in, and locked the entrance.
Sniffing, listening hard, he wriggled as the gloves carried him down the dark passage.
Five meters lower, through a hatch... and into the cage Triproot had prepared.
He squirmed in midair as the steel panel slid down, clanking, followed by the soft click of the padlocks.
Forty gloves surrounded the hiker.
Now you're all mine, it thought. Oh yes you are.

12july2006
 

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