841

I woke up with a weird headache. Not a really bad one... more like I had the flu or something. While I laid there, I noticed this stench.
Cigarettes. The pillow reeked. Phew. I lifted my head, starting to wonder -
I was dressed. Where was I? Did I fall asleep?
For that matter, when? I remembered getting off the bus, hurrying to the men's room...
I opened my eyes.
Another guy was looking at me. One of those degenerate motorcycle rider types. The room was poorly lit, and I was still lying down -
The guy was me! I was looking in a mirror... on the ceiling. What was I doing, dressed like that? A bandanna was tied around my head, sort of like a sweatband. Leather jacket. T-shirt with a vulgar cartoon on it. Black jeans, which I'd never worn. Boots, and gloves...
My hair was too dark. Way too black. I reached up to touch it, watching my hand move. It was definitely me.
I stared at the glove on my hand. There was no way I'd be caught dead, dressed like this.
What in the world was going on? It was time to get up and find out.
The walls were black. Some of the furniture looked pretty weird. Then, as I could see better, I realized it wasn't furniture, exactly. Even if I didn't know the names, I could get the general idea - it was like an old movie.
I was in a torture chamber.
That got my heart going, sure enough.
Everywhere I looked, there was scary stuff. I wasn't sure where the door was - the most likely place seemed to be where the shackles were hanging. But there wasn't a doorknob or a handle. I had a bad feeling the door would be locked, anyway...
I stood up and took a step. The boots felt weird. The jacket creaked. And the clothes smelled like an ashtray, or worse. Other wicked things. While I wanted to check and see if that was the door, it dawned on me that I'd be moving closer to those shackles. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea -
Over my head, something clicked.

A part of the ceiling started swinging down, slowly, and I heard a humming sound. It looked like a TV...
It was. One of those flat ones. I watched it swing down until it was almost straight. Then it stopped. The room was quiet again -
The TV turned on.
A yellow smiley-face appeared in the middle of the screen.
"Con." I heard a woman's voice. Speakers, in the ceiling. Hidden -
The smiley winked. Who was Con? Maybe they had the wrong guy. I hoped so.
"Sit down."
I didn't want to sit. I wanted out of there. So I didn't move.
Another shaft of light appeared. It landed on a chair. A stuffed, black easy chair with a footstool in front of it.
"H-hello?," I said quietly.
"Hello," the lady said. "Sit."
"Are you... Look, I'm not Con."
"Yes, you are." She sounded pretty happy about something.
"No. My name is Asa."
"Take a load off, Con."
"I'm not Con."
"You are now."
That worried me.
The screen started turning. It was rotating, so it would face the chair. As it went, the screen changed - a woman's face. I took a few steps to get a better look.
"That's better. Sit."
A beautiful woman -
No. Not quite.
I saw a cartoon of a lady. Young lady, just her head and shoulders. Low morals. And it looked like she didn't have a shirt on. Maybe "cartoon" isn't the right word. She was computerized. It was a really good job, too - at first glance she looked like a real woman. And she was pretty...
I looked at the chair again.
"You're not getting any answers until you set your ass down."
"I don't appreciate language like that," I said automatically. But there was no answer.
The lady on the screen just looked down, almost as if she could see me. The expression on her face was hard to read - not angry or anything. As if she was waiting.
I sat down.

"Good boy," she said. On the TV, the cartoon's lips moved as she spoke. But what really bothered me was the way she said it. Like she was... flirting with me or something.
"Where am I?," I asked the TV.
"You're at camp."
That threw me. "This isn't Viciorock."
She chuckled. "Nope."
"I'm supposed to be there."
"No. You were supposed to be at Viciorock. But I told 'em you wouldn't be able to make it this summer."
"That's crazy! I got a letter a week ago -"
"It was from me."
Uh-oh. "Why?"
"I had a better idea. Instead of being a counselor, this year, you deserve to have some... real fun."
"I don't wan-"
"That's sad. Just so sad. But you'll come around." The woman on the TV nodded once. "I sent Alfred a letter, oh, about a month ago. From you. I told 'em you were real sorry, and they said they'd miss you... I've been watching your mail ever since."
So she knew Alfred, or at least his name. "That's not - hey, my folks think I'm there!"
"Uh-huh."
"You can't -"
"Yes, I can. And I did."
I thought of the scary stuff around me, and shut up. Better not get her mad. Whoever she is. More than I anything, I wanted to ask what she... was going to do to me. But I was sure I wouldn't like the answer.
"What's the name of this place?"
She shrugged. "Camp Whoop-Ass. Maybe I'll let you name it. Camp Bust-em-up. No... Work-im-up? Too cutesy. Camp Horndog."
"Where's the door?"
"Wrong. Are you ready to get started?"
"Let me go, right now."
"Huh?" She was ignoring me. "All right. Just relax..."
My fingers moved - and it wasn't me doing it.

It was the gloves. They grabbed the ends of the armrests, and I couldn't make them let go. The boots even got heavy. By the time I looked up at the TV again, the lady was gone. Smiley face -
No. This one was different. It looked like it was laughing.
"Stop it!," I yelled. "All this - make it stop -"
Something was heading over.
A big coil of rope.

As bad as it was, seeing that - I couldn't see who was carrying it. Trying to stand up or roll out of the chair didn't work, because my arms wouldn't move... and I couldn't take my eyes off the rope.
It floated along easily, not bouncing up and down as if someone was carrying it. I couldn't see a soul there, anyway. If the rope just decided to up and float over, all by itself...
Or it was being carried, just by something invisible. Not a human being.
"Not.... real," I hissed.
"Very real," the lady said. "You're a smart guy, Con. I know you are. Do you believe in ghosts?"
"Ghosts are a deception," I said automatically. "Illusion!"
The rope was getting closer. It was separating into pieces. No matter how hard I pulled, it was clear I was about to get tied up.
The boot on my left foot started... getting pulled off. It felt like a hand, over my heel. Nobody there!
"Okay," she said reasonably. "And demons?"
"No! Fairy tales."
I was waiting for the boot to go - but then my sock seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.
"Ah," the lady said. "You used the word 'deception'. Doesn't that imply a deceiver? Someone doing the deceiving? And if I'm not real..."
The other boot came off.
"People fool themselves," I replied, without really thinking about it. I was trying to get my stupid feet to budge -
"Self-sabotage?"
"Uh, yeah."
The voice sighed. "Well, you've learned your lessons well."
"It's the truth. You have no right to keep me -"
"You're eighteen years old," the lady said. "You have no idea yet how much you don't know, Con. But you're going to discover all kinds of truth. Right here."
The rope tied my wrists and ankles down, and I couldn't do anything. There were tubes under the armrests, apparently just so a few ropes could slide through. Trapping me. It was so frustrating.
"And I get to be the one to teach it to you," she said. "All of it." Then she laughed like the bad, bad woman I just knew she was.

"What are you going to do?"
The ropes finished tying their knots. So many knots... "Right now, handsome, you don't want to know. Trust me."
I slammed back against the chair. "Not too scary."
"The truth - all of it - would scare you a lot more." She chuckled, and it wasn't a mean laugh that time, so I relaxed a little. "The question you meant to ask is, what am I going to accomplish?"
"Okay. Wh-"
"I'm going to break you down, Con."
That sank in, and I pulled and pulled at the ropes! "This can't be... happening."
"Sure it can. It all starts with getting you to open your mind. That will take awhile, but just how long is up to you."
"Openmindedness is just another word for compromise," I said, getting louder. The criminal costume was making me sweat.
"Say goodbye to all your trite little sayings, Con. I'm going to beat them to death. Slowly -"
"Let me out, now, you let me go -"
"Why don't you just relax. Your new boots are off..."
Her tone. I sensed trouble. Looking around, I even stopped snapping at the ropes so hard. "Uh -"
"Nice, new socks."
And I had a really terrible thought.

Nobody was this cruel. Tie me down -
But maybe she was.
"Please," I said quietly, trying really hard to stay calm. "Untie me. I really don't like -"
"You have nice feet. So big."
Stop talking about my feet, I wanted to shout. Stay away. I arched as hard as I could, but the recliner had thick padding. There was nothing I could do, to stop her - whatever she was...
Fingers took hold of me! The sole of my right foot.
It's only tickling, I thought hollowly. That immediately reminded me that the rope made sure I had absolutely no control over how much tickling, or how hard. If she only knew how ticklish -
Of course. She was about to find out. And I couldn't prevent it. I was totally at her mercy.
"Don't," I yelled.
"Why, Con," she said, pretending to be concerned. "Are you... Do you mean to tell me you're worried? These feet I've got - tied down - are they mutherfuckin' ticklish?"
"Nooooooo..."
"I think you're lying," she whispered. "Where you come from, liars... get punished."
Another hand got my left foot. I threw my body all around, wailing -
Oh no.
No!

Even through the socks, they were making me unhinged. If this was how bad it was the first few seconds, I was dead.
Bouncing, kicking, I just screamed laughter like I never had before. It wasn't only the fingers...
I was terrified. She said she was going to break me. Torture chamber. If this kept up, tickling might be enough to do it. Hidden away, all the time she wanted. I'd be a certifiable basket case.
The first few seconds became a minute, somewhere along the way. Then a few minutes. More.
Longer.
The fingers just didn't stop.
I would've given anything to get my feet away from them...

Finally - finally - the hands let go.
I gasped like a fish for a long time. The ropes still held me down. Tickled to death, I thought. Not yet, but it's coming...
"Are you okay, Con?"
"N-no."
"I'm tempted to say that's another lie, but you probably don't know better."
That got my eyes open. "This is... crazy."
"Maddening. Driving you over the edge."
"Yeah!"
"That's what I'm going for," she said. Taunting me.
"Oh, no, no -"
"Now that we've got the introduction out of the way," she continued, "you can start getting into it."
My mouth hung open. I didn't know what to say. How completely wrong -
"Think, Con. No more fear of my tickling you. Because I did it. And I'm going to keep doing it."
"Nooooooo!"
"The real thing."
"Look," I shouted, "This is... I can't. I just can't. Please."
"Do you want some water?"
"You gotta listen to me!"
"A beer? You ever had a beer, handsome?"
I closed my eyes.
"Try it. You have a few sips of beer, for me, and maybe I won't tickle you."
"This is absolutely insane," I muttered.
"Ever had twelve beers, Con? A few shots of whiskey?"
"You just can't do this -"
"I've got drugs for ya. Oh, shit. Toys, and magazines..."
"That's disgusting! What did I do to deserve this?"
I heard her sigh. "A very good question. You think about that - when you're able. Because you did do something, Mister straight-arrow churchgoing man, and that's why I brought you here. To work you over."
"Tell me."
"No no no, you've got to come up with that one yourself. Not yet, though - there's no way I'm going to get cheated out of weeks of fun."
Suddenly, I forgot how to breathe. "W-weeks?"
"Actually... months."
The ropes weren't getting any looser.
"Retraining you. How about a smoke, Con? Ready to start your first cigarette?"
"Never, never, nev-"
"You'll hate it at first. After five days, you're really gonna enjoy smokin'. Ten days, and you'll wonder how you ever got along without 'em."
"You wouldn't. Not really."
"Poor, deluded Con. Watch me. But now, if you don't want to have any brand new experiences just yet... I have a more familiar one, to make you cooperate."
My socks. I stared, and yelled at them, flailing all around.
She pulled my socks off.
"Welcome, brave stranger," she said -
Oh, no, no, not those, she couldn't do this. I did not want to believe it, what I saw there.
"...to the Order of the Unsleeping Feather."
I had to get loose, right now, my feet were bare and the feathers were moving down, no, no, no!
"You'd be surprised how many men are in this secret organization," she chuckled.
A whine that didn't even sound human came out of my throat, and then they started to... sweep.
Slowly.

I squirmed for as long as I could. The feathers kept dragging, up, down, across.
Between my toes.
And I must've tried to kick a thousand times. My calves ached.
The feathers kept me laughing, and tears ran down my face.

"See?," she said, teasing me again.
"Hah hah huh huh huh."
"That first round was full of panic. You couldn't help it. Now we can get serious, since you can pay attention so much more... effectively."
I tried to shake my head. Sweat flew off, my hair was soaked, and that was nothing compared to how wet my arms were, in the sleeves of the jacket.
"Con."
"Nuh huh huh hoh hoh hoh hoh-whoooo."
"I'm going to do this to you for hours."
"Aaaah hah haaaa-nnnn nnnuh huh hoh hoh haaaaw!"
"Each and every day, Con."

She was serious.
If I didn't get tickled to death, I was gonna keep feeling it. Suffering. It was beyond my ability to imagine how much...

Longer. That time around was a lot longer.
"Hey, handsome."
"Hee hee nee nee hee hee hee."
"I'll stop... for now. But I want to hear you say the word 'fuck'."
"Neeee-ooo hoooo hooo nooo nuh aaaaah hah huh huh huh."
"C'mon. 'Fuck'. You can do it."
So cruel. I couldn't swear. She had to know that. And I couldn't take any more of the feathers dancing, dancing, dancing -
"I mean it, Con. I won't stop, until y-"
"Ooooo hoo hoo nn-nnnoooo ooo hoo heee-eeee!"
"Fuck. Say it."
"Nah hah nnnaaaaah hah hah-aaaaah f-faaaaah hah hah hoh hoh... Hoh hoh-whooo hoo hoo foo fah hah aaaa-aaaah! Aaaahh wheee hee hee hee fee fee fuh aaaaw hah hah hah."
"Fuck. Nice and clear, now."
"F-ffah hah hah hah... Ffffuh uh huh fuh fuuuuh fffffffuck fuh aaaaah hah hah hoh hoh."
The feathers stopped. At last.
There were sounds, to my right, but I was too busy panting for air to look right then. After a couple minutes -
"Welcome to your new life," the voice said proudly.
I opened my eyes.
A little table was there. Cigarettes, matches, ashtray... and a cold bottle of beer.

"You know I can't d-do this."
"Stop being so negative," she said. "You're just trying things out a little later than most of your peers."
"Peers?" That made me laugh bitterly. "No -"
"Con, sweetheart, listen up now. I'm going to make you do all kinds of exciting new things. I think a word you'd use to describe them is 'unspeakable'. Or maybe 'despicable', though that may be too fancy of a word for you. But you're in for the education of a lifetime, right here."
"Cruel," I wailed. "Impossible, sadistic -"
"They all say that, the first day. You'll see everything differently. I promise you, Con. You'll thank me someday. Damn right."
The cigarettes moved. One started sliding out of the pack. Naturally, I gave the ropes another long, frantic test.
"It's this," and the cigarette moved a little closer, "or another hour of tickling. Well... both, actually. If you don't want me to start back in on your aching tootsies right now -"
"Nooooo! No, no, no."
"Then you smoke."
"Please -"
"Which one do you want, Con?"
"I can't pick either one of those t-"
The feathers were in the air, again. Horribly close to my toes.
"Nnneeeeee!"
"Last chance."
I flopped around as much as the ropes would let me.
And the feathers... started tickling again.

The voice snickered at me.
I opened my eyes, so out of it that I hadn't even realized the feathers had finally stopped. And I wasn't even panting for air, anymore. Maybe I had passed out. Another first. One of many? I had a real sick feeling in my gut.
"You've gotta be thirsty."
The beer bottle was rising off the table.
"No."
"Yes. Or else..."
"Aw, nuts."
"Fuck," and it took a few seconds to realize she was actually correcting me. As if...
But I just closed my mouth.
"Aw, fuck. You can say it."
The bottle twisted, and the cap fell onto the table.
"No."
"You will say it. I get what I want, Con."
"This is deranged."
"Ooooo. Another big word. You're going to live it. That's a good word for you to have floating around in your feverish little head. Deranged."
"I'm not drinking that."
"You won't get anything else to drink, until you try it. A few swallows."
"I'm not kidding!"
The bottle pulled back a little. "Oh, Con. Honey. Look around you."
And I didn't even have to look. I got it. She wasn't kidding either...
Definitely not. I was the one tied to the chair.
With a big, disgusted sigh, I closed my eyes.
Cool glass touched my lips.

"That's... awful!," I said again.
"I'm taping this, so you can sit down in a month and listen to yourself. You think I'm overly amusing today? Just you wait until y-"
"Why would anybody want to drink that... garbage?"
"Oh, keep talking. This is priceless."
A water bottle was on its way.
"If you think that's nasty, remember you're about an hour away from your very first smoke."
"No, I'm not."
She just chuckled.

I drank the water...
And a bottle of liquor came next.
"Oh, absolutely not."
"The same effect as beer, only quicker."
Stupidly, I looked around the room as if there was somebody I could ask for help.
"You're getting drunk tonight, Con. It'll be much easier to get you to smoke. I think you need to do that before I bring out the really fun stuff. Call it a hunch."

I'm really dizzy... and the stuff on the table keeps wobbling. Swaying. My hands just won't come loose.
She's gonna tickle me until I just can't stand it anymore. Wrong, so wrong, all of this -
"You look drunk."
"Go away."
"Wanna cigarette, Con? Your first one?"
"No!"
"Hmmmm. Such a bad attitude... And if I tickled you right now, you'd puke all over yourself. No doubt."
"Uh - yeah. That's rrrr-rright!" And I feel smug. She can't ti-
"So... I guess I'll do something else."
My jeans.
Oh, no. She's unbuttoning my fly.
"You wouldn't."
"So much to learn, badass."
"Now, c'mon. Wait -"
My underwear...
No.
"Nooooooo."
"Oh yes."
I thrash around as hard as I can.
"Why, Con. I do believe your meat is waking up. Just for me."
One long, frustrated yell busts out. But that doesn't stop her either.
 
 

Education.
That word comes into mind again. Another lazy thought, like all the others. Thinking in fog doesn't bother me anymore. It seems natural enough now. I'm a normal fucker, to use her filthy language -
A feather touched my left heel.
I chuckle slowly, watching the smoke drift out.
Some education. There's no way to guess how long she's been working on me - giggling happily as she makes me crazy. Even that word, "torture", has no bite left. Kinda sexy.
She's torturing me for fun. Using pleasure to do it...
And it doesn't look like she's quitting any time soon.
The cigarette is comforting. It feels good. Apparently I smoked three packs yesterday, and that's why she got me drunk first thing this morning. Celebrating.
"Laugh it up, big boy..."
And the things she's been doing to my weiner - well, shit.
 

It seems like some days she's just entertaining herself. I don't even learn any new words, just lay here and hee-haw like a goof, forced to consume every fuckin' substance she brings up to my face.
If the folks back home only knew...
All the resistance has been tickled out of me. The quiz on cheap cigars was postponed for another slow, nightmarish day full of tickling. That happens a lot. Time is not a problem for her. I did ace the spanking exam, though -
Aw, hell, I gotta get away from here. I've woken up dozens of times. There's no reason to think she wouldn't keep the "lessons" going for a full year. I think she'd actually go for that.
 

"You can fight me, and be here for twice as long," she told me once. "Or cooperate and cut months off your schooling. It's up to you, really."
So I decide, one night, to go ahead and hold the marijuana smoke in.
She was so happy.
The most important thing is getting out of her hands...

I really enjoy what she makes me do, but that's not my fault. I suspect it'll be hard to quit smoking. Unfortunately I like it. And they're everywhere.
My folks are never, ever going to believe I was strapped down and made to... learn these things. I mean, everyone shunned Willis when he was caught watching an R-rated movie. But I have to make 'em understand how persistent she is...
 
 

She uncuffs my hands now for a couple hours each day. That gives me hope. Getting somewhere.
I'm learning how to handle matches and lighters. Different masturbation techniques.
Rolling joints is taking me awhile. She has plenty of opportunities to punish me. Same goes for the weirder sex toys. I resist, and she makes me howl for hours...
 

And day by day I'm getting used to all this wickedness. Getting more excited.
Not my fault, though. It's going to happen - whatever she wants - and I don't even expect anything else now.
 

Yeah, I have to say... sometimes she teaches me real interesting shit.
"Well, Con honey, you like the blue vibrator so much that I have no doubt you're really gonna appreciate this dildo." And so on. Always so damn amused, encouraging - supportive, even, while she makes me moan all night. She just loves the tickling.
 

I'm high, most of the time. Horny as hell.
Laughing doesn't even begin to cut it anymore.
By now I've gotta be at least a hundred times more ticklish than the day she started in on me.

"Didn't I say you'd cum to love my methods?"
"Yeah," I whispered, thrusting without success.
Soft fingers curled under my knees. "And do you?"
"Whah hah hah hah hah," I barked.
 

"Let... go. Con. Just let it all go."
Can't fuckin' take this. I can't - too many gloves. Way too many. There's gotta be a hundred fingers on me. Teasing, gentle, careful. Nonstop.
Let go of what? Does she think I'm "holding back" again? Shit!
"Fuck you," I grumble. Laughing fell by the wayside, oh, about five years ago... that's what it feels like anyway. And trying to get loose, even before that.
"Fighting it... so hard," the voice says. Deep, suggestive female voice, film noir siren. Only there's no woman here to say it. Tempting, coaxing, audible and clear as day.
The touches on my gut - my neck -
Longing to pass out...
Nope. Not yet.
Oh no. Knees. Fuckin' knees. Strokers... gliders, sliding around my... chest. Like whirlpool nozzles, everywhere, but more controlled. No, that's not it -
"Can't hold out forever. You know that. Let loose. Relax and let it out..."
I don't get it. Just isn't buttkicking enough yet, or what? How can it get worse? Worse than th-
Biceps - no, no, not the fuckin toes! No -
Just gotta get away. Want so fuckin bad for 'em to go. Let me lay here and sleep, untouched. Tied, untied, I don't care anymore. If they'd just lay off... No plan beyond that, it's too impossible. Pipe dream. No satin, on me. No brushes or feathers, or anything else.
Calves, thighs... belly-button. Insane. All fuckin over.
"You're so... tense...." No kidd- In my oh my pits no they... they can't...
"All wound up. Listen. You just relax now. Breathe... nice deep breaths. The fingers will stop, so you can... breathe..."
And - they do! The gloves stop! Still... touching, but they don't move.
"Auwgh," I blurt. Almost a sob of relief.
"There. That's it. Now just lay back and breathe... breathe in..."
And I am. More confused than before... but I try to breathe deep, totally automatic. Hearing myself think stop this, quit it right now -
"Goooood. Very, very good. Take another deeeeep breath, and hold it iiiiinn..." But it's hard, I need air so bad. The voice keeps coaching, "in, and out..." and I go along, unable to stop myself.
The satin's... still not moving. I'm afraid to look at 'em, but...
Oh man, this is great. No rubbing... Something not right about this, not good. Seems kind, but it isn't -
"...down." What? - the voice, saying something about falling...
"There it goes, all down, tilting and falling, and it's -"
"Hunh?," I say, all confused.
"Don't you see it? The wall. In your imagination."
Not only is she cruel, but now she's losing it. As I am. What wall?
"Picture it, sweetie. Standing in the lonely green field. An old wall. Is it gray? Or black? Old stones -"
She's got it all wrong. I try not to think about it, but I see a brick wall. "Red. Brick." I can barely get it out. What does this have to d-
"Ah. Brick. Old red bricks, green grass, bright summer sky. And the wall, it's leaning forward. See it? Starting to... bulge. Falling. Down, down..."
The mortar, probably... mixed too thin. Or one hell of a strong wind behind it.
"Breathe. In..."
Slow-motion, tumbling bricks, rolling, and dust rises up...
"Out. Slow and easy. And in..."
Big pile of rubble. Huge breach. More of the wall has fallen...
"And out... relax... in..."
Wide, gaping hole. Not much of a wall, anymore.
And something is different. I can't stand it, gotta peek -
Black gloves, all up and down me, a fuckin convention of 'em just off my skin. The rope, still there -
"And out..."
My heart is pounding again, just at the sight of 'em. They're still here, I -
Wait a minute. I'm... not as tired. Alert. How long have they - this breathing thing -
Jet-black satin. My own hands, still cuffed down. But relaxed... I'm not making fists. I was, and now I'm not. So I'm, what, not as wound up?
"The wall... is down," the voice says, a bit smugly. "Forever."
Cool material grazes my forehead - my throat -
Lower ribs! Both sides.
Amd I'm bucking again, all of a sudden. Big war-whoop. More yells. Haw haw haaaaaawww, why it's -
Deep - nnnh worse, so uh way deeper it's like coming but it's not letting up. I'm not thrusting but it's flooding me, the feel of 'em, all of 'em. All over me, now. I thrash a little, mainly to see if this is real. Like they're tickling on the inside, or using magnets, radio waves, unfuckinbelievable. And the picture in my mind, in the sunny field, is the broken bricks all scattered, the wall ruined. Staying down. No protection from the tickling. Not even a wall anymore...
 
 

Aw, I want it.
Hell, I fuckin' long for... everything. Bring it on.
No way I'd ever say that - to her - it would be like begging to stay here for the next few years. Crazed every damn day...
 

"Don't... sss-stop."
"Say what?"
"Anything. This is so fuckin' sweet! I love t-this."
The tickling paused. Even the cock-pump stopped.
"You like?"
"Damn -"
"Wanna stay here, Con?"
"Yeah, yeah, oh fuck yeah."
"Trapped? In my hands? I won't go easy on ya, asshole. I'll step it up. Careful wh-"
"Harder, shit yeah, do it, you f-fuckin'... Do it all! All of it. Anything. You hear me?"
"Well, you're a happy guy," she said. "Are you sure? You want to stay around - in here - and get some more?"
"More!," I squealed. "More, oh shit, more, more..."
"Congratulations, handsome."
I blinked. "Huh?"
"You're halfway there."
 
 

She's sure taking her sweet time today. I think my dick might actually break or something. So hard. Feathers trace around my nipples too. Endless.
One cigarette after another comes up, and water bottles, followed by more smokes - and she still won't finish me off.
"Now, I build you back up."
That makes no sense to me, but I've been waiting for her to say something so I could maybe beg some more. "You're killing me," I pant, like a fuckin' dog.
"Dammit."
"Huh?"
"Dammit, you son of a bitch, you're fuckin' killing me. Let's hear you say that - and make me believe it."
Sighing, I repeat the sentence her way.
"Hmmmm. Again."
 

Oh, wow, she's been moving the gloves from one place to another. Three days now.
I can't even remember what day my birthday is, and I've been trying all morning to get it. How can I forget my own birthday?
They hold still while I eat. Still on me, though.
"Alright," she finally says, giving me a cigarette, "I have a new project for you."
A groan gets away from me, but I can't even hear it myself.
"Use the word 'fuck' in a sentence."
"You're... f-fuckin' mean," I gasp.
"That's one. Give me twenty-nine more. And mix it up - 'fuck' as an verb, as a noun..."
I tug hard on my smoke. "You s-serious?"
Fingers reposition themselves all up my thighs. "Con. You know me. Just stall a little longer, and we can put off the 'fuck' project until tomorrow, or the nex-"
"I'm so fucked!," I yell-whisper.
"Two down..."
 
 

I really like these "blunts." The way they make me feel... all tough, and totally whacked out at the same time.
"There he is," she coos.
"Here I am," I sass back. "C'mon."
"You have the cutest grin right now."
"I'm fuckin' baked."
"No - I mean, even when you're not. Without a feather on you. An easygoing smile. It's there almost all the time now. I know how to be a wild man, it says, and I might just go for it anytime. Women are going to pull your clothes off to get at you, Con."
"They'll have to break in here first," I joke.
"Are you gonna make up for lost time? Fuck around?"
"That wouldn't be r-" And way too late, I catch myself.
"What?"
Six gloves arch up. Well, there goes the blunt. Dammit.
"It wouldn't be right to have sex? Lots of great, animal... rutting?"
"Sure," I lie. "Uh, can't wait."
"Con, Con, Con," she sighs. I guess she didn't buy it.
The gloves fuckin' attack my sides.
 

It's sometime the next day. I think my teeth actually ache from how hard she's been tickling me.
"Hey," she says softly. "What's your real name?"
I lifted my head a little, all confused. "Asa."
"No! It's Con. From now on. You should know that by now - you bad, bad guy."
 

At least two blazing, unbelievable days of balls-out torture just crawl by.
 

My hands are uncuffed more and more. Sometimes gloves just hold 'em down, if she gets the urge to dig in for awhile.
In between the hours of tickling I'm learning all about bongs and pipes.
 

More and more often, she hands me a dirty magazine and lets me jack off by myself. If I don't - she will.
"Slower," she coaches. "Maybe a little more lube."
"Go away!," I shout.
But she just laughs...
 

Then, she breaks out a big-ass book. The dullest shit ever - world religions.
All lies. I don't see the point since I know what I believe already.

She tickles the shit out of me until I break down and read another paragraph.
 
 
 

We're locked in a battle of wills. Week after week.

I just can't get over how sensitive my fuckin' ribs are now.
 
 

"Six," she says.
We're halfway through the quiz. I'm so horny I can't even begin to think straight.
"One's deceased relatives are honored and consulted for advice."
I stare at the brushes, feeling sweat roll down my back. "Could be... I think you mean Shintoism."
"Very good, Con. Seven. The Hindu god of war."
"Aw, fuck, I don't know! Tickleyou. C'mon -"
"That's incorrect," she says happily, squirting even more oil on my feet.
 

The feathers slow down. "Are you ready?"
"Huh?"
"Your report."
Damn. Didn't I give it already? She's got me so fried. The only thing on my mind was my fuckin' armpits. "Yeah. Stop tickling me."
"Oooooo," she taunts. "Alright. Let's hear it."
"People get confused about how, uh, seriously to take the blessed writings. People use the word 'literal' and they mean... 'exact', but that's not what the word always means. 'Literally' is a problem for some because it can't be used lit- uh, with total precision when you're talkin' about the poetry parts. It's not dishonest to admit that some sentences are allegorical - more like parables - and other things are reported facts."
"You forgot half the assignment," she says, putting the gloves back down on me.
"Wait! Wait, dammit, I'm not done. 'Inerrant,'" and I stick my tongue out at her gloves, feeling cocky, "gives some people fits 'cause there's some things that are flat-out wrong. It doesn't weaken the overall... value. Just 'cause a scribe made a mistake doesn't mean it's all bullshit. It just means - well, 'inerrant' isn't the right word. Not really."
There's a long pause.
"Uh-huh. Do you believe what you've just said, Con?"
"Well... yeah. Sure."
The feathers move. Oh, fuck, they're pulling back.
"What if I don't want you to?"
I just shrug. Tell her anything, just to get the fuck out of here... "Well, then I don't believe it."
"Oooooo. Wrong answer, buckaroo."
 

She absolutely torments me for a full, mindblowing day.
 

The lighter snaps shut, and I need this cigarette so bad -
"Here's the deal," she says briskly. "You get to smoke the rest of this pack. And a couple cigars. I'll give you beer - no, water. Well, three beers. And I want you to think about something."
No gloves are threatening me, so I'm glad to nod. "Okay."
"Reflect on each thing I've been doing to you. Think of what I've ordered - and, hot-shot, what I could've forced you to say, but didn't. Why did I make you go through the religion textbook? And why didn't I punish you, yesterday, for your answer to 'do you believe all that shit'. When you immediately said 'yeah.' Are you with me so far?"
"Uh... Almost."
She laughs at me, and ruffles my hair - so fuckin' long, now... "That'll work. You've got a couple hours. Now, just sit there and think."

I'm bored out of my mind. What does she want to hear now? There's definitely gonna be serious tickling, ready to latch on, if I don't say -
No.
I get an idea, but it's too weird.

Around an hour later, the thought won't go away.
I wrestle with it for a good ten minutes... and sigh.
"Con," she says immediately. "What have you got for me?"
"Totally weird," I mumble. And then I get kinda angry. Suicidal... "Tell you what," I snap. "Get my fuckin' ankles free, and keep all your damn gloves out of sight. If I get this wrong, you got all damn year to stick it to me. But I'm not gonna tell you what I think while there's tickling just a couple seconds away. Not this time."
"O-kay," she finally says.
And all the restraints are taken off.
"This better be good," I hear her say quietly.

"You're twisted," I say, taking a quick drag - just in case. "And here's what else I think. You don't like my religion. Think it's a fuckin' cult. Look at this fine young man. He can't even think for himself. Oh, it's not his fault..." I trail off, trying to catch a clue, but she's not making any noise. Casually, I reach over and get myself another cigarette.
"But I'm gonna open his eyes. Turn him into a total fuckin'... reprobate. Pleasure addict. And then, to throw him a curve, I'll make him learn about, uh, what other people pray to. Make him -"
"You were doing so well," she sighed. "Make him - what? Believe something -"
"No, no. That's the hook. You haven't threatened me like that," I say. "Not like I have to, y'know, throw away everything. But I'm not getting out of here until I look at other shi- er, belief systems."
"Look at?"
I took a long drag. "You catch guys, and break 'em down. Tickling. Son of a bitch." That got me a happy little giggle or two. "Drugs. And you're not... I don't know, you don't tell 'em what to believe. You just think this is the coolest way to kick the door in so they'll think about other stuff. It's a big wide world out there - you said that to me once."
"Did I?"
"Don't get cute, dammit. Not right now. This is the main deal, isn't it? You took away... everything. Now I'm a scuzzball. And I gotta work to get back what I had - not that they'll ever take me back now. Or I gotta choose something else. But you came up with this real fun way to... make me open my eyes."
There was a pause. "Sounds like it worked."

"Nooo, it's - this ain't right," I shot back.
"Sue me," she teased. "I'm not human. Hello. I... tickle humans. All I want."
"Yeah. Got that."
"You wanna know what's not right?," she asked. "The way you were raised. Now, shut up. I listened to you. Generations of intolerance. If somebody doesn't believe every little thing I do, they're fucked. Period. And you miss out on so many good things, Con. I don't mean alcohol and cigarettes. I mean the... wealth of other people's experience. What did I tell you about sincere disagreements?"
I roll my eyes. "Sincere people can be sincerely wrong."
"Were you so sure, before, that every damn thing you were taught was one-hundred-percent right?"
Automatically I start to nod...
"Con?"
"Yeah. I'm sure. I was sure." Whatever, dammit -
"I know that expression." A hand curls around my neck. "What have I told you about the need for truth? In here?"
I gulp. "I've got a long time to go before you spring me. When I lie, you just tack more days on."
The fingers relax a little. "If I wanted a parrot, I would've just gone out and caught one. Instead of you, handsome. Will you please try something for me? Think of one time I've punished you for being honest. Not for babbling that dogma you were taught, but telling me what you really thought."
"Well, shit. Easy. There's the time, uh..." I scan the room desperately. Dammit. "Um -"
"I'm waiting."
"You like to punish me," I hiss. "Love it. Doesn't matter what I say."
"True. The first part - I love tickling your ass, and you're gonna get it no matter what. But I do care what you think. And unless you can give me one example," and the hand lets go of my throat, "I don't think it's unreasonable for me to conclude that you don't have any."
I smoke, thinking hard. "Okay. I'll give you that."
"You're so close now," she says eagerly. "The boy I dragged in here would've never been wrong."
Frowning out of reflex, it hits me that she's right there, too. So I nod again.
"What were you thinking about when I asked if your belief system was... y'know, heh, without flaw?"
I look down. "Okay. Uh... Last year. I went to the library to get a book about the Reformation. Had to write a paper about where the majority, um, went wrong. And there was a magazine there on the table. It was open to this article about the genetic markers they found in homosexuals. Doctors from real good schools. I always did good in science cl-"
"Are you gay?"
That made me laugh nervously. "Don't think so."
"Alright. Continue."
"I just liked biology. Pulled a couple more articles..." Still no feathers or anything. Whew. "It just doesn't make sense to me. Y'know? It looks like maybe - maybe - those people were born that way. But they're damned. Well, fuck, that's not fair. It bugged me, the more I thought about it. So I figured there must be some part of the whole deal that I was just failing to see. I asked my dad - and he hit the roof. Took me right to the minister. Instead of giving me any fuckin' answers, they got all over me for reading magazines. 'Worldly trash.'" I chuckled. If they had any idea what had I'd learned to love over these past months -
"People do stupid things."
"Tell me about it," I barked.
"Maybe they didn't know how to answer -"
"C'mon. I could handle that. They were terrified that I was gonna keep asking questions. That was a major sin. We were all given hands so they could... work. Right? But not our brains. That was supposed to be dangerous. Shit. I just wanted to know. Not out to seriously challenge what they believe - uh, what we believe. You know. And I wasn't hot for some guy on the track team or anything, either. I just needed to understand why people would get... doomed for something genetic."
"Was the minister wrong?"
"Fuck if I know. That's the point. I still don't know..."
Another beer came floating over. "Will you find out?"
I thought for a few seconds. "I need more information. That's what it still feels like. Guess I can try. Hell, I've never even met a homosexual -"
"Wrong," she said immediately. "You've never met anyone who dared to admit they were gay, maybe."
That threw me for a good long time. "Maybe. Yeah."

Hands took hold of my calves - gently. I bit back a little squeal.
"Enough thinking for now," she announced. "Time to go nuts."
"Hey. I was honest."
"You did great, Con. This isn't payback. You're just so damn ticklish."
Ah, here come the gloves. "Looks just like more punishment to me."
"Then I'll focus on tickling just the way you like best. Hurry up and finish your beer."
 
 
 

Oh, fuck, day after day...
 

No questions. She isn't answering me either.
Pumped off, and tickled...
I'm cuffed down really tight to the thick feather bed. Sunk. But the fingers have no trouble reaching down. Brushes, feathers - motorized things. I only thought I was losing my mind before. Caught, in bed. Really getting shredded.
 
 

Waking up, again. What is this, the sixth day straight?
She's never been quiet this long. Maybe she said fuck it, I'm keeping him. He's too much fun. Con's gonna feel the fire all year.
Just like - this...
 
 
 

I smell smoke.
That makes me want one. In order to get a cigarette, I have to wake up the rest of the way.
The room is dark and smoky. There's cartoons all over the walls. A certain style of art -
Tattoos.
My whole body throbs.
"Aw, no," I moan. "No way."
Total biker shit. And her favorite thing, too. Smaller gloves and feathers - all over me. spiderwebs here, rope there.
A guy sticks his head through the curtain which serves as a door. Then another head. They're grinning at me. Dangerous types.
"Relax," one says. He sounds tired. "They fit ya - she's got a great eye for these things."
"She?," I say, playing dumb.
"Magic teacher. Kootchie-kootchie. Ordered those tattoos."
I nod miserably. This is unbelievable. "Who did this to me?"
"I did," the smaller guy says. "She promised me another month - a hard one, too - if I didn't do a great job."
"It's fuckin' killer work, Con," the other guy says, leaking smoke.
"What the... hell," I finally say. "Am I free now? Or what?"
He chuckles. "If you want to be. Or if you wanna get nuked for a while longer, just say the word. She'd go for that." One hand reaches into his jacket. Pulls out a cigar.
"No, no, no," I sigh. Then I look around - as if I'd be able to see her, for once, spying on me. "Got to like 'em way too much."
They both laugh - but not at me. Like they know...
Shit. They've been through it too.
"I'm Juice," the tall guy says, holding the cigar out until I come over and take it. "You can crash at my place if you want. I got plenty of room..." He pulls out a lighter and hands it to me. "Yeah, she said you had a thing for blunts."
 

[Juice is 24, maybe 25. He grew up about 30 miles from where Con did.
Quiet and reserved, loyal as they come. No end of cash available, from the TM. He loves his first motorcycle...
Always patient with Con 'cause he's been there, too - acclimating to a completely different, "decadent" world.
He remembers never being happy, for long, back when he was in the cult. Married briefly - pretty much an arranged marriage, both of 'em miserable but dutiful. She feared sex, he was goin' nuts. Out self-flagellating (whipping his back) in the desert to burn off the lust, a gag suddenly got between his teeth... and rope started hogtying him.
His first trip to the tickler's cell lasted about eight months.

Always, always with some kind of smoke in his hand and a relaxed grin on his face...
"Cut way back on the weed, though," Juice says with a sad smirk. "Got a little girl now. Sixteen months old. Her mom, she's still hung up on the raising-the-kid-by-herself thing, but she's definitely weakening." They're all but engaged...
"She's buying a house, so I'll be out of this apartment after next month. You want it?"
 

An envelope is waiting for Con... with two smaller envelopes in it.
One contains a new license and SS card. From what Juice has let on, the new ID is bulletproof. His identity, the one she created, can be permanently his - just by taking no action to reclaim his old life.
The other contains his old license. Asa - was that really his name? The photo is of an impossibly fresh-faced boy who seems only vaguely familiar to Con, like the second cousins in Colorado that he's met only once, years ago.

Con gets exposed to the wild life in Vegas... hiring call girls regularly, at the TM's expense and stern demand... once getting slipped a drug and strong-armed, literally (by the TM), into the bed of a 'call boy,' for comparison... and then is left to decide for himself which life he wants.]

842

I shift around, getting a whiff of how much I stink.
Your gloves are tickling away.
Laughing isn't close to enough. When I get to this point, either I can try to think about shit or I end up getting into the tickling even more. Really trapped - as if the bondage shit wasn't enough. I don't know if the door's locked, because you always got at least the collar on me, but I bet it is.
Nobody knows.
Ah, shit. I had to think of that again? The idea just won't fuckin' go away. A tickle dungeon was picked out, and noooo-body knows. An invisible asshole went hunting, caught me - and here I am. Trapped, and if people found out they'd help right away. I'm sure of it. I have to believe that.
But they don't know. And it's looking like you can keep me here and tickle me until I'm literally, certifiably insane. Day after day of this incredibly cruel, intensive tickling. Nobody knows, so it could start - all over me - and that's also why it can continue. I'm fuckin' strapped down, or chained up, or in the damn stocks all the time. I can't do anything except... get tickled. And it's gonna go on like this, sure as I'm getting tickled right now, because not one damn person knows I'm going through it.
That's just the way you wanted it. And now I'm screwed.
Nobody's ever gonna know, either. There it is. The other half. That extra twist of the knife. If only somebody could wander by and hear me... Well, my voice is gone, but if they somehow discovered what these fuckin' tools are doing to me, it would end up with me getting away from you. No more tickling. All over.
They're not going to come.
I squirm around as your fingertips creep up into my armpits again. Lay here and feel every second of this. There's no other choice. Not for me. There's no chance I'll get rescued because this is a big-ass secret. It's going to stay that way. Me, and you. No telling how many weeks...
Just the way you wanted. As long as you want. Hell, I'm done hoping that tonight's the night.
Two of the gloves land and start slowly tracing paths up and down my thighs.
Dammit, I just can't stand another second of this.
Thick leather restraints. You fuckin' bastard. I wish I could move.
Nobody can know I'm getting nuked. That way, you don't have to stop. I'm gonna feel all of the usual, serious, heavy-duty tickling, poured out, really loaded on. Thorough. That's what happens when you win. Catch some stupid fucker who's ticklish and hide his ass, really isolated. Pull the straps tight, and then you get to just enjoy all the tickling you want.
This isn't going to change any time soon. If it was, I sorta think it would've ended already. You were clever enough, like you've done this a time or two before, and you make sure I was screwed. Perfect secrecy. Nobody in the world having any idea about what you're doing, so I'm just gonna keep feeling all the hot, crazy petting you can dish out.

There. I'm chuckling again.
I can barely hear it, so it can't be that rewarding for you. But you're close by. Just feeling me laugh must be enough. You know I can't stop myself. I just wanna get loose more than anything and put some distance between your fuckin' gloves and my - well, every inch of me.
When you cover my legs like this, it just makes me wish I could roar like I did the first couple days. Let you know.
But I don't have to do anything. If only I could shake your gloves off once in a while. Fuck.
It tickles so much more than it used to...
You're getting just what you want, aren't you? After all these weeks...
Get under my knees like this and I'll go nuts anytime you want. All day long. I don't know what you've done to me, but I never get used to this. Maybe you're just that good. Moving from place to place, and it just tickles so damn much I wanna scream. But my voice is gone, so this is all you get -
Not my feet again. Oh fuck, fuck...
My neck. Well, of course. This really makes me seize up.
You really know what you're doing. If anybody ever told me there were little jails like this, where guys got tortured all the time, I would've laughed at 'em. Invisible hands, tickling, playing, pumping me off...
There's too many fingers. This is too much. I'm going wild, here.
But you keep right on tickling.

843

I woke up in the dungeon from my nightmares. Fully stocked for tickling. Lots of food, and water -
My hands felt funny. I lifted them.
Gloves?
Oh, shit. Not just any gloves.
Look, they seemed to say. Even though I fought it, my head lifted up... and saw the key feather.
I fought, with all I had, to look away.
"Yeah," I laughed, unable to stop myself. "Nuke me. All night."
The feather moved a little -
Chains, cuffs - and a dozen gloves overhead. It was on.
The fingers looked eager as the moved in. And I'd given permission - again - or was forced to invite 'em to shred my ass, just like I'd done fifty times before. A hundred times. And once I said the magic words, well, it was a full-blown nightmare of tickling. Something made me give 'em the green light. Encourage 'em to torture me.
One shiny hand after another took position, gripping or laying down in familiar positions.
I wanted to shake my head more than anything else, but instead this wild rebel yell came barreling out of me. And then the gloves got busy.

844

Ggg pulled Damon's car into the garage and killed the motor.
There - all set. Success felt so good. For a few seconds, it studied the surrounding landscape...
Not a soul was around. A fly buzzed, and the sun beat down. It knew, and he would soon learn, that his arrival would be unknown to anyone else. A very special insanity was so close now, and since it had pulled off Damon's kidnapping there was no obstacle left. The only factor which would determine the extent of his delirium was its own wish.
No one on earth could keep it away from him now. That was a wonderful, giddy feeling.
Its mood was improved more and more with each following act. Closing the garage door, taking him out of the car - and inside. Caught, even more surely. Hysteria was nearer to him, and he kept fighting with the rope that kept him trapped.
Then Ggg closed the door, joyfully, and locked it. Multiple assurances of what would happen, and not be stopped.
With an effort, it hurried up the stairs with him. The excitement it felt really spiked when he got that first glance at his room - the furniture, the gear, black bars over the window. All prepared to its stern specifications, no chance left for any other outcome. He would stay, absolutely, and discover the deranged benefits of each item it had brought to the room. His room...
You'll spend day after day in here, it thought gleefully - as it started closing the big oak door behind him.
Wide-eyed, he stopped struggling for a few seconds and watched the door make a definite statement. Damon was staying in that room for a reason. Something wild was going to happen. In order to make sure it would keep happening to him, all kinds of preparations had been made. That was why he'd been hauled out to a quiet place. It was a secret, and Ggg had no fear left. It couldn't fail now.
An intense day, to welcome him properly. The days didn't even matter anymore. What a rush! It could always get more supplies. He'd stay on his bed and wait for it, thanks to the manacles. Locked in for more, and more...
From the way he reacted when Ggg first squeezed his ribs, he was worth every second of attention. It ruled this place. Every damn decision...
And his time there was going to be filled with sensation more vivid and galvanizing than anything he'd ever known. More extreme, and simply more effective at keeping him delirious - incapable of holding a thought in his head - than he could possibly comprehend. It had earned the right to do every single thing it wanted, for as long as it wished.
One overwhelming second at a time...
 

The first day had been promising. Such a charge - and it had barely scratched the surface. Damon just couldn't stop feeling the burn. Oh, how he tried...
The feathers stroked and sawed. Whether they were actually in motion or not - and before long, even the sight of them approaching his feet again was enough to get him giggling. Such a satisfying restlessness, there, when he had the energy to bounce and arch. Absolutely mindless laughter - high-pitched squeals, cackles, airy hoots. He begged so pitifully, too. Never able to get more than a word or two out, and then he'd break down and laugh for awhile. "No" was the most popular word at first, and then "Please" was groaned out in the most amusing, impassioned way. He barked "Stop!" over and over, filling each word and groan and giggle with pure sincerity.
All that force - his determination to get away from the tickling - and that just wasn't in the cards. There was nothing he could do except give Ggg exactly what it wanted. Uncontrollable reaction.
It was going to have even more fun with him than its wildest estimate had suggested.

Sunday afternoon, two or three hours after it started back in, his trembling hysteria was barely getting warmed up -
There was someone at the front door. Opening it. Coming inside!
Quickly, the tickler jammed a scarf between Damon's teeth and slipped through the floor...
An intruder. Now, of all times.
But as soon as it reached the lobby, Ggg was so much happier!
A young guy stood there, looking around. T-shirt, cutoff jeans, sandals, baseball cap. He reeked of cigarettes and beer.
All by himself.
Well, Ggg just couldn't fuckin' believe its luck.

"Hello?," he said loudly, walking toward the living room. Greeting his tickler. That was real friendly. There was so much more in that single word than he knew.
In another setting, he might've just been trying to get someone to notice he was there. But the tickler knew better, alright. He was doomed.
Slowly, Ggg started closing the front door. Look behind you, it thought. I'm trapping you now.
He did - and made a surprised noise.
That was so exciting. You'll never make it, dude. No matter how fast you run. Might as well roll with it. Have a smoke -
A grin crept over his face. Shaking his head, the guy's expression cleared for a second... but then he looked pained, and almost embarrassed.
"You got me," he said, with chuckles that were so quiet. "Shit."
The tickler didn't understand what was going on, but it hurried to close the door and lock it. By that time, the fucker was lighting a cigarette.
You're okay, it thought.
"Cool," he nodded.
After another pause, Ggg stopped trying to figure out how it pulling that off. There was an incredible opportunity here...
You're going to be honest, the tickler told him wordlessly. I'm going to rock your world in about ten minutes. There's no telling how long I'll make you howl - no, scream laughter. I'm so glad you came here. Now you'll pay. Okay, now, stay calm - loose, even amused at how stupid you are - tell me what you're thinking.
"Oh, fuck," he drawled, "am I in for it now."
Keep going...
There wasn't a trace of fear on his face. "I came in here, all alone. Walked right in. And I'm not gettin' out, am I? Man, you have no idea - my biggest weakness, maybe. And it's the exact same thing you live for. Here I am. Locked in. And now I'm so incredibly fucked." He chuckled, taking a long drag. "No point in begging, is there? No way. This is the place where you're gonna show me how it's done. And I'm certifiable. Dammit. Tickling, redefined, every damn day. All over my ass. No hope for me, now. It's a done deal. Tickling. I'm gonna go out of my fuckin' mind! Ultimate... crazy-ass tickling, right? And I'm not going anywhere now. You're not gonna believe how bad I got it. Soup's on."
Still calm, and happy - even though he had no doubt about the absolute inevitability of what would follow. Yeah, he knew exactly what was up. He chose to walk in, but there was no taking it back now. It had him really, unmistakably trapped...
Like Damon, he wasn't going to escape the most thorough tickling for at least the next several weeks. Probably a lot longer, to look at this dude. It was absolutely serious about that -
The chance of getting out was gone.
"No handle," he said, gesturing carelessly with his cigarette. "Smart. How am I gonna get that door open? I'm not. Super-fucked. You're not taking any chances."
The door would stay locked until he'd felt enough stimulation to suit Ggg - and wasn't that a silly idea? Enough...
He was one smooth son of a bitch, taking another drag as he looked around.
"You can't be real," he added. "No offense. People don't get... You're not a ghost, either. Are you? I can feel all this energy. Excited, charged up. Winner. The champion. This fuckin' place can't be what I think it is, and you gotta have better things to do -"
Shaking his head, he took two hard tugs off the cigarette, one right after the other. Maybe he realized on some level that he'd be roaring too hard to smoke - very soon now...
"No, this is fun. For you. It never gets dull, does it? You're caught up in every second of it. Something that can't exist - well, according to everybody else. But not me. Fuck - not now."
Correct, Ggg thought.
A big shiver ran down his body. "A long, long... long time." He started to take a drag - and thought of something which made him groan nice and big. "Oh, wow, I get it. All the weeds out front. nobody's ever gonna wander by this place. It looks all closed up. Son of a bitch. I don't know how you did this... Got me good. I'm bumming around, not a fuckin' soul knows where I am. And now I'll be stuck in here. Howling. Right? They wouldn't know where to look even if they wanted to. This is serious. Oh, shit, I'm gonna get it for a long time. Right here. I can't believe I walked right into this. All year, maybe? When you start in on my feet I wouldn't put anything past you. And all the doors are locked now. Oh, shit. You got everything you need? Toys, racks, the whole deal..."
He nodded, eating smoke again.
"The perfect setup. And it's gonna be a hard time. Isn't it? Mindblowing. Damn. I am so fuckin' screwed..."
Two prisoners. Even more fun. Now, forget you told me anything, it commanded. Just react. Go.
He heard the soft rustle of leather, and his head flew around.
The hood started encasing his hair. Handcuffs was already dipping toward his side.
For two exceptionally long seconds he didn't move a muscle.
 

When he was stripped and pinned, thrashing helplessly, Ggg picked up the first half-dozen feathers... and closed yet another door.

Damon shook his head as he watched eight sadistic brushes lift off the table - and descend.

Adam warmed up much more slowly. He wouldn't stop thrashing.
For several minutes nothing more forceful than a loud sputtering was contained by the hood. All that fighting didn't seem to distract him enough. The determination to keep from laughing was being tickled away, moment by moment, stroke by energizing stroke.
The tickler filled another pair of gloves.
As soon as they squeezed him lightly, high on his ribs, Adam gasped - took an enormous breath - and just roared.

Within twenty minutes his struggling peaked and disappeared. The sounds of glee went from raw shouts to miserably airy hoots and cackles. He was only beginning to learn to concentrate on the stampede of sensation, unable to keep from experiencing each second as utterly, thoroughly unbearable. No competition for his attention would be tolerated, whether it was an internal coping mechanism or some event in the secure, well-stocked room downstairs and on the other side of the house from Damon's.
Ggg's fingers eagerly dug and stroked and danced...
 

Two cars sat side-by-side in the old garage.
Now, Ggg thought darkly as it locked the doors again, they'll never be found. No clues to suggest there was actually anyone living in the old place. Caught in it.

The night dragged on and on... and on.
Spinning fur disks for Damon, brushes for Adam, tortuous ejaculations for both, furious gloves working 'em over hard after they came. Digging back in with obvious zeal each time... after each rest and all the water they'd drink. Over and over the tickling resumed and ramped up and completely nuked their asses again.
 

Monday was off and running. Harsh, captivating excitement of all kinds.
They were so... ideal. Strong and hysterical, always responsive, promising no end of full-blown payoff to every kind of tickling it wanted to do.

Their nightmare kept resuming, after the tickling stopped long enough to let them catch their breath. Water was forced down their throats, and their glazed eyes watched the gloves saunter back down...
 
 

It let Adam gasp for breath until he settled down.
Tell me what you're thinking.
After a second of two, he had the most arrogant little smirk on his face.
"You're cheating me."
Ggg wanted to watch him smoke again, trying to squeeze whatever comfort he could out of it, so it surprised him with the appearance of the pack...
"Thanks. Asshole. Tickling me. I can't fuckin' believe this. Do you have any idea how intense - no. You're in charge. Aw, hell. Every minute is absolutely unbearable and you..."
He chuckled, almost silently because of all the roaring he'd been doing, and took a long drag.
"But it could be worse. You aren't giving me your full attention. Right? Sometimes it's like you're distracted or something. Like you're not having enough fun with me. I mean, shit, I'm right here. Laid out. And there's times when I'm awake and you're not putting it to use. Shit. I mean, of course I wanna get out of here. But you're not gonna let that happen. Not now."
Adam grinned again, tugging hard on the smoke. "You want to let me off the hook, I guess it's your business. I don't mind if it's easier than it could be..."
 

As soon as they were both snoring, Ggg went and found Ppp.
It was eager to help out.
 

Much better.
Damon was really suffering now. But Adam - oh, was he just coming unglued. Far more reactive than before.
It laid into him harder and harder each day...
 
 

"Ppp."
"Yeah?"
"Switcheroo."
Ppp pulled its feathers off Adam's feet. "Already?"
Ggg chuckled. "Uh-huh."
"Okay."
Ppp left to go play with Damon, and Ggg looked Adam over as it pulled on some gloves. He twitched a couple times. From the amount of sweat he had on him, Ggg decided he could eat and smoke in an hour. Until then...
Twenty rubber fingers enveloped his sides. Perhaps a little oil -
He cringed nicely.
Easy tracing and stroking. Another hour, it thought. Pure delirium. Struggle all you want, you distracted basket case.
The gloves proved that Ggg was in no hurry to stop.
 
 

Here's the thing, it prompted Adam -
"Shoot," he interrupted in that scratchy whisper of his.
Beg Ppp to tickle you harder. Tell it off, joke with it... whatever it takes. You're gotta make it turn up the heat. There's no limit to how much more tickling you can feel.
"Got it," he said obediently.
You need to sound sincere. Like you mean it.
"Oh, I need it," he moaned. "A thousand times har-"
Remember these instructions. But forget all about me ordering you, just now. Got it?
His head twitched... and Adam squinted at the ceiling, moaning to himself.
 

A fine new day dawned, and it waited for Adam to wake up.
On a whim it gave him a smoke, which he started hungrily. Then it nudged his awareness and brought a pair of oiled surgical gloves over him.
"Lookit you," he sighed. "Bossy hands. Bring on the tickling. Long and mean. I wish I'd never set foot in this damn place." Then he chuckled for a few seconds with that big, sloppy grin around the cigarette...
It just wanted to wrap a bunch of fingers around his sides and let loose. Solid, constant insanity today - that was a wonderful certainty. Weeks of perfect fun had been filled with his delirium, and the attraction had grown each day.
"There's no way out," he sighed. "Another hilarious fuckin' day. No matter what -"
Ggg made a slight adjustment in his mind.
"Please," he moaned. "You gotta do me. Bury my ass."
Better, it thought. Even if it was artificial.
"You're so much better at this shit than I ever knew anybody could be," he babbled, "and I can't get enough. Just can't - It's gonna be a hard day, right? Please. Do me good. I need it. You got me dyin' for it. Bust all the records this time. I won't even... Dude, if you let me go right now, I'd strap myself down. You gotta make me see stars all morning. Really pour it on. And harder in the afternoon. Up all night, out of my fuckin' mind, harder. Do me. I just gotta get it as hard as you can do, now. You gotta listen to me -"
He was on the verge of weeping. Ggg clamped a couple of hands around the lower slope of his armpits.
After a jump, and a relieved hiss, Adam nodded eagerly. "Thank you, oh yeah, don't hold back nuthin', thank you, th-"
His chatter was interrupted when the cigarette was suddenly plucked from his lips, and ten sets of fingers tore into the most sensitive spots on his torso.
 
 
 

Almost like a ceremony, Adam's car followed Damon's into the river. It was a fine way to celebrate the start of a whole new year of hysteria...
 

Talk to me, it said condescendingly.
Adam blinked. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered. "So much tickling yet to be done. I'm dying for a cigarette though."
If you entertain me enough, Ggg said without making a sound, I'll make you smoke.
"Bullshit," he fired back. "No, you won't. Dammit. Hours and hours of hard work are a lot more important. To you."
True. Very good.
He nodded once, eased his head back and closed his eyes. "More ticklish than ever..."
 

Adam looked around. Waking up completely, it allowed him a quick second of recognition. Then it clamped down with the thick, deep calm. He relaxed instantly, sighing.
A cigarette touched his lip.
After a few drags, Ggg coaxed him. C'mon, rat. Tell me what I want to hear.
"Aw... fuck," he begged, "get going. Please. You gotta tickle the absolute fuck out of me today."
It rewarded him with a warm endorphic drizzle...
"I mean it," he said earnestly. "Don't hold back nuthin'. Everywhere, nonstop. Tickle me real good. Please?"
Almost giddy, Ggg reassured him as it started picking up feathers.

845

"Stop," he wailed, breaking down into giggles.
"No way," it chuckled. "I don't think so."
Taking a few seconds out from flailing around, he shook his head and cackled.
"You don't really think I'm going to stop. Right?"
He bawls laughter for a little while.

"Y'know," it says a few minutes later - happy as can be - "I've been busy today. Following you around, or getting this dungeon ready. Ever since four o'clock in the morning... when I snuck in and checked to see if you were worth my time. Remember when you woke up? That was me."

846

Crossing the state line was a huge relief. This was the right move...
They'd be so surprised, too. He knew that could be anticlimactic, but what the hell. Two hours until _city_ -
He got a wild idea.

Hadn't done it in, what, six or seven years?
That autofuck place had to still be there. East of town. He thought what the hell, I've been watching my money. Time to blow off a little steam.
No way he'd ever go back to a place with people on the staff. That one guy had really been a sick fuck. Double session, and not at all what he asked for.

The old excitement wound up tighter and tighter as he drove on.
It was four in the morning when he pulled into the covered secgarage, and not many other cars were there. Grinning nonstop, he forced himself not to run to the door.
Swiping his credit card, he waited out the tense couple seconds for approval - and whoo hoo, the latch clicked.
The lobby still looked pretty much the same. Sanitation was the main goal. And privacy.
"Welcome, Mr. _name_," the voice said. It sounded like a polite guy, but there was still that automated accent or whatever.
"Hey," he shot back, "two-hour, bondage mix, milking, light nipple play, light TENS."
"Facial restrictions?"
He always did forget that. "Gags okay, hoods... okay."
"Very good. Which locale would you prefer?"
Waffling between two or three favorites - the alien dungeon, old-time mental hospital... no. "Berlin playroom."
"Please pick a global stopword."
Smiling, he opened his mouth wide and pushed his tongue down. "Ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh."
"Understood. Walk straight down the hall until you see the glowing door. Enjoy your visit."

The door was unlocked. That was another thrill, for him - walking inside a leatherman's torture chamber. You could get hauled in by the holobots, but it cost extra... and it didn't do as much for him as delivering himself up for excitement without knowing precisely what would be done.
But he was stepping inside, as if he didn't know what was in store. Leather and chrome contraptions were all over the walls. It was so great to be able to burn off some tension.
A door to the right led to the bathroom. He stripped down quickly and pissed. Drank a cup of water, and his hands shook from excitement. Then he took a deep breath and stepped out.
Dull red light highlighted the padded rack.
He laid down and spread his limbs. So comfortable - now. Soon he'd be arching and thrashing, without a fuckin' chance of getting away...
The cuffs started making a whirring sound. Big white gloves came up, mounted on the end of robot-arms, and curled around his forearms, keeping them in position as the pressure increased -
Snap. Snap. His wrists were trapped.
Bolts thudded into the door frame.
More automated hands found his shins, and pulled his legs taut. Cuffs rose up to his ankles - snap. And snap.
From the shadows to his left, a large black box hummed softly as it approached. The front panel rolled away.
Cock toys. Pump, gags, electrodes. Intimidating leather, shiny chrome...
More noise from the other side of the room made his head turn. Huh?
A similar box rolled up to his right side. Another cabinet. That didn't seem necessary.
The doors revealed a full-blown nightmare.
"No, no, no!," he wailed, lunging around all he could.
Feathers. Not again. Shit, anything but that.
Brushes and oil. Nightmare, nightmare, it had to be a horrible joke.
Other things looked like they belonged in a dentist's office, but each horrible item was selected or customized for one unbearable tease.

"Stop," he yelled. "Not - tickling. I didn't order this. Uh... Ah oh ah o-"
A palm slammed down over his mouth. "Your experience has been upgraded. Your unified autodom profile has been accessed for additional pleasure techniques. Power tickling is listed," a sinister voice said.
That sentence made him freeze. No! Not tickled willingly, he thought. That was so awful...
He groaned into leather.
Six or eight robot-hands were in sight. Moving. Reaching for feathers, and brushes.
He shouted into the glove. The sound was muffled. Not that they were gonna stop or anything. Of course not. It was a sophisticated system, a well-oiled machine, and the program had been set.
He was about to get tickled again. There wasn't even a sadistic guy this time to blame, punching in the commands for a fucked-up time on purpose. This looked like a real serious malfunction, here. "Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh... uh oh uh oh uh oh uh oh," he chanted. But the fingers were pressing down too hard, and he couldn't make the "ah" sound -
The glove let go. Whew. Others had selected the implements of destruction - for the first round, he thought dizzily - but there was still time. Forcing himself to stay calm, he barked out the stopword he'd chosen.
All that tickling kept coming closer and closer.
"Stop!," he yelled. "I gave you the stopword!"
"Your profile explicitly indicates stopword usage refusal," the voice replied.
"Aw, you can't do this. Stop it. Two hours of - No!"
"Ten-hour action minimum," the voice said. "Seven days, auto-renew."
Frozen with fear, he cringed as the first brushes touched his navel.

847

It can't believe this. The one guy is unclipping the other one's cuffs. No, no...
Done so soon?

Sure, there was some fine shredding - but it ended way too early. The prisoner was clearly good for more. A lot more.
Some bullshit about having to get up early. These humans and their jobs... It never understood why they worked so much.
Well, it has a big job for this touchy son of a bitch. The ticklish one. Definitely.

The guy who did the tickling makes sure his play partner is okay. It can respect that. Keep 'em in the game. After making sure he drank more water, and talking to him for awhile, the homeowner sits back. Relaxed - no, basking in the glow of some fine tickling. It could relate.
But there was just no way the victim's night was over after four or five lousy hours. That was ridiculous.

He's wobbly, but awake enough to drive home. Lighting a smoke, he gets his keys out -
And it pounces.
First the cigarette is knocked loose. Then a strong leather glove curls over his mouth. Gotcha. It's so much happier when there's a good, healthy howler in its grip.
His eyes couldn't look more surprised. Looking around - and seeing nobody there - he jerks in all directions. But it latches onto his arms and legs. Caught by... nothing.
He's shaking his head, or trying to, but there's only one appropriate response to that.
It scootches a few happy fingers under his arms.
Oh, shit, he's just beside himself now.
Shoving him behind the wheel, it keeps a tight lock on his limbs... and drives a few miles outside of town. The house is waiting - for this man, after the workout it observed, it's just the perfect prison. Hysterical exertion is always on tap.
It squeezes those fingertips a little further in, and even though he's bent on screaming and fighting he just has to flinch... and chuckle. Bitter, hard sounds. But when he's not distracted with false hope, the feverish torrent can roll out of him again.
He'd figured the excitement was over for awhile, didn't he?
 
 

"Son of a bitch," he whispers lazily.
It traces feathers trace along the inside and outside of his thighs.
"You f-fuckin' son of a bitch -"
In the dark room, it teases his ears with another pair. Then his neck.
Hissing, he starts to chuckle.
The fourth month of tickling is going well.

848

Ring.
"Hello?"
"Grip has one thing on its mind."
"Wha?"
"Everything's ready. All Grip needed was a target -"
"Unh... You got the wrong number."
"Grip chose you. Neck. Shins. Ass."
"What? I told you -"
"Palms."
There was something odd about that list - wait, just wait now. Grip. Target. Those were all places on his body... where he was ticklish. "Hey!"
"Grip has so many tools. A hidden cell. Thick chains."
"You got the wrong n-"
"Wild nights. So many months. Grip is ready."
He hangs up.
A glove clamps over his mouth.
"And Grip has you now."

849

"Cutthroat Tours. This is Sly."
"Hey, Sly." Younger guy's voice, easygoing, a little gravelly. "I wanna rent a cabin."
I shift in my chair, wishing it was breaktime. "I can help you with that. May I ask how you heard of us?"
"Yeah. Some chick on the park reservation line broke down and gave me your number."
"Ah. That was nice of 'em. So you wanted to stay further north?"
The guy laughed. Sounded like an easy, wild fucker. "Got that right."
"Near the river?"
"No. Uh, look... can I level with you?"
"Sure," Sly said, wondering what was up with this character.
"What I'm looking for is, uh, not close to anything. Remote as it gets. I've got a good Jeep, so I don't even want a road. You get me?"
"Uh-huh. We can do that. There's a place open... next week, a good hour north of Cody, and -"
"Sly. Hey. You don't understand. I bet you've got a place that's so fuckin' out of the way that nobody ever wants it. A long way from the nearest town. Long, long way. Miles and miles off the pavement. Huh?"
"Well," he said, "there's out of the way, and... uh -"
"Talk to me, buddy."
Sly grinned. "Three hours off Highway 72. Nothing at all up there. I mean it. This is as private as Wyoming gets. But the cabin is awesome. Solid, a couple bedrooms, excellent fireplace. If you're willing to pack everything in that you're gonna need - and I mean everything -"
"Check that. No neighbors? Nobody ever comes around?"
"Not a chance in the world, dude."
"I mean it, Sly. You gotta set me up with a place that's an hour from anywhere people would ever fuckin' wanna go. I'll stock it, load up the firewood."
"This is your place."
"Elevation?"
"Uh... one sec," he muttered, grabbing a three-ring binder. "I'm looking. And I don't wanna beat a dead horse, here, but you don't wanna run out of anything when you're at this place. Helicopters can't even get there. The hills are pretty jagged - yeah. Here. Around seventy-four hundred feet, and it's a major rush just four-wheeling up there -"
"So I bring extra smokes. Not a problem."
"How long would you be interested in renting it?"
There was a pause. "A year sounds good."
Sly froze. He stared at a picture of the place. "Can you hold on for a sec?"
"Yeah. Just don't keep me waitin' too long."
"Got it." Sly clicked the hold button, and took a deep breath. The commission on this would pay off his truck. Fuckin' A. It was too good to be true...
"Rollie," he yelled.
"What?," his boss snapped from his office.
"You're not gonna believe this..."

Rollie talked to the guy for a minute, and ran his credit card. Sly stood in the office doorway, biting at a hangnail.
With big eyes, Rollie gave Sly a thumbs-up. The caller must have some serious money - maybe inherited, since he sounded so young.
His boss quickly punched back. "Mr. Warden? Oh, okay. Trapper, then. Thank you again for waiting. We'd be honored to rent you the... Yes. Of course. I'll put you on hold for just a few seconds longer, and he'll be right on the line." Rollie started waving frantically at Sly - go pick this up.
He fairly ran back to his desk, took a quick breath and picked up. "Trapper," he said easily - since the guy had just corrected his boss, a little less formality seemed to be in order.
"Sly," the customer said. Sounded happy enough. "I want privacy. You understand. Are we gonna do this?"
"We are definitely gonna do this, if you want."
"Excellent."
"Have you ever been up here?"
"Aaah, sure."
"But... Okay, I want to send out a map and a bunch of photos to you -"
"E-mail 'em," Trapper interrupted.
"Better yet. And I really don't want to offend you at all... but I want you to find the right place, here. We've got other cabins that are way off the beaten track, but maybe only forty miles from the nearest bar."
"Thanks, but no thanks."
"If someone can't, uh, live off the land, they've really got to haul in everything to stay at this place. It's as far out there as you can get. The snow makes the hills absolutely impassable for a good two, three months. If you're not prepared before it falls -"
"Sly. Shut up. I know you're doing your job. It's a deathtrap for city folk who don't prepare. I get it. Consider me warned. I wanna rent this place for the next year. If I have to make five trips to get everything in there that I'm gonna need, that's worth it."
He hesitated. "Three hours from _town_. Best case."
"Understood."
Sly couldn't believe the guy was still holding firm. "Bring about five, ten cartons more than you think you'd go through. Get me?"
"Oh, I don't smoke. They're not for me."
He was distracted with filling out the fields on the rental agreement. "Will you do me the favor of, uh, making sure everybody else who's coming knows exactly what they're getting into?"
"Already covered," and Trapper laughed then. A weird tone, there. Taunting.
"Okay. Man, I mean... I'd go stir-crazy. You don't wanna get snowed in there without a hundred good books, or something."
"I know the perfect thing to fill those endless hours."
"Think so?"
"I know so. It's everything to me."
"Uh-huh," Sly muttered, flipping to the next page.
"It needs perfect privacy."
"Well, damn, you're definitely gonna have that."
"No one can find out."
That made Sly pause. Uh-oh. He'd sorta figured he was talking to a newlywed, though there weren't many women around who would appreciate the isolation of that particular place. "What is it... er, I don't wanna pry -"
"Hey, I can understand. You're my rental agent."
There was a pause. "So..."
"So, what?"
"The big secret. I'll bite."
Chuckling lazily, Trapper made him wait through a quiet sigh. Happy at the thought of something. "Ready?"
"Yeah."
"Tickling."
Sly kept writing for a few seconds. Then he grunted, all of a sudden, as the meaning hit home.
Whatever he'd been expecting to hear, it sure as hell wasn't that.

Why would Trapper need the most isolated cabin they had, for... tickling? No neighbors to bother - and that wasn't it. Fuck. The snow came, and there'd be no getting out. Stuck there. Tickled. Who could be that into it?
Or maybe the guy was going to be tickled all that time. Just impossible. No, he sounded too relaxed. Sly thought it was more likely he was going to be tickling somebody else. Wow. All those months. Nobody could take that.
"Still there, dude?"
"How..."
"Yeah?"
"How many. If you don't mind... uh, there's two bedrooms -"
"Just me and my guest." The way Trapper said "guest" made Sly shiver.
"For a year."
"To start with," he said easily.
Sly just started to chuckle. Nervous as hell. "You... Really?"
"Really."
"Wow."
"I've got a place here that I like - in Denver - but there's something that really hits home about the wilderness. Y'know? Nowhere to run."
"Run," Sly repeated stupidly. The picture he was getting was just fuckin' impossible.
"Yeah."
"Your... guest?"
"You got it."
"No," he said shakily, "I don't think I do."
"Go have a cigarette," Trapper suggested. "Maybe two."
"Yeah. Y'know, I think I will."
"Call me back."
"Okay. Oh. Shit. I need your phone number."
"I gave it to your boss."
"Yeah, well..." It was good to talk about something ordinary. The images Sly had, in his head, were making it hard to breathe. "He'd lose his head if it wasn't attached."
"You'll keep it safe?"
"Uh, of course."
"Confidentiality is real important to me, Sly. I pay well. You can understand the reason."
"S-sure. So, I'm ready for that number now... and your e-mail address."

Fuckin' wild. Sly sat on the trash can and took another serious drag.
He grew up there, and wouldn't want to hike out from the cabin. Risky shit, there. Somebody who didn't know the backcountry would be screwed. Really trapped there...
With a intense tickler.
Probably the poor slob would never get out the door anyway. People who liked that shit had chains and straps. Caught real good, for a year? Tickled silly?
It was more than he could even stand to think about. No help coming. Zero possibility of escape, really. If Trapper really knew his stuff, every one of those days could be a nightmare. Laughing and laughing.
Nobody was that devoted - to anything.
The dude was yanking his chain. That had to be it...

He went back inside and sat down heavily. After he e-mailed off the map and photos, he tried to keep busy with the forms. His imagination was just killing him, though. Was Trapper married to some insatiable kinky chick who liked to be tickled? But she wouldn't be trying to run away. Somebody would find out, when it was too late, that nonstop tickling was their new life. Shit.
Sly had an awful feeling that Trapper was going to bring another guy up there. Serious restraints. Nothing else to look forward to, either. He'd dread the tickling as it started back up each time, hundreds of hours, maybe thousands -
That was insane. No way Trapper could be that interested in tickling. Not just that. Oh, there was another scary thought...
It was all a big joke. Probably a writer, wanting to get away from all distractions. Not a crazy, obsessed tickler working over the same fuckin' prisoner month after month. Shit like that maybe happened in the city - maybe - but not out here.

"Hello?"
"Trapper?"
"It must be Sly-dog."
"Yeah. Um, did you have a chance to check your e-mail?"
"Give me a sec." Sly heard a computer mouse click a time or two. "Got it. Oh, fuck. Yessir. I like what I'm seeing here."
"Well, great," Sly replied with more enthusiasm than he felt.
"Yeah."
"So you can stop in here and get the keys -"
"Will you mail 'em to me?"
After a pause, Sly said, "Okay. When did you wanna, y'know, show up?" And start making somebody hysterical, he thought darkly. Yearning to bust the straps. Winter coming on...
"How soon can I move in?"
"Well, we gotta get out there and check the place over. No surprises."
"I was thinkin' about next week," Trapper said. "To roll in."
"Oh, that'll work fine," Sly shot back. He felt relieved. "But after the 10th, the owner will be helping out with any prob-"
"You're not gonna be around?"
"No. Uh, I work at _Telluride_ during the season." That wasn't exactly true, this year, but it sounded better than not knowing what the fuck he was gonna do. Of course, with no more truck payment and a few bucks in the bank he could just go home and sit on his ass all winter, hunt when he felt like it, sleep in - except that his dad would get on his fuckin' nerves fifty times a day.
"Aw," Trapper said politely. Didn't seem too bothered by it. Not creepy or anything. "Alright. I wanted to meet up with ya beforehand, but okay."
Meet. Right - kidnap, maybe. Whoa there. After a second or two Sly laughed, just as politely.
"I mean, when I'm paying this much -"
"Full service," he shot back, not altogether comfortable. Well, whatever.
"Exactly."
I'm not included with the cabin, asshole, Sly thought.

__july2006
 

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