20oct02
- - 5 - -
The far wall slid up. behind it, there was a wide metal door.
She opened it, and floated out a miner's helmet. The light clicked on, and it landed on his head.
The tunnel was wide enough to park a car in. A smaller car. It turned a couple times, and his head-lamp found another metal door... which was also locked.
"You guys don't fuck around," he muttered.
"C'mon, tough guy."
After that, the tunnel slowly became... a hole.
Bodie's boots kept trying to slide out from under him. "How's anybody supposed to get up and down here?"
She grabbed the collar of his jacket. "Like this." Hands picked his legs up, off the ground.
They made much better time when she carried him.
"No. I meant..." And then he quit squirming, because the answer came to him. "Amy. Amuseur. Ummm. People can't get up and down this hole. Can they?"
"Not without help," she said, teasingly.
"So you cart 'em in."
"Uh-huh."
"And... Oh."
"Uh-huh."
He watched the tunnel walls for a few seconds. "If I had enough time, I could climb out. Make some picks. Stakes."
Rustling, in his pocket, stopped when a new smoke slipped out. "Sure. It's possible. But it's never been done." He watched the cigarette come closer, and felt his lighter start to move. "It would take you hours. Assuming you had, let's say, full use of your hands and feet. No restraints on 'em. And assuming I wasn't busy distracting you - tickling the shit out of you - just to ruin your big escape."
"Ah," he said, at a loss for anything else to say. Bodie took a hard drag, and saw a third door. It was rigid steel cross-hatch, like in a locker room.
Beyond that - a black steel number with bars all the way across it, sliding back as the valve-type handle turned.
"Wow," Bodie said automatically. That was one secure door...
"It isn't opened very often."
His pulse started to speed up, but he thought it was better to change the subject. "There are other ways out, then?"
"No comment," she said quietly, turning him around. "Don't you worry, handsome."
The door swung in, and stopped. There were no handles on the inner side - but bars could be heard, sliding and locking.
Locking me in, he thought. When the hell was I here before?
"Your safety is my... favorite thing to worry about."
"Yeah. I just bet."
She set him on his feet. They were in the middle of a hallway. Caged light bulbs on the ceiling, dirty white carpeting in the floor. Thick shag. All of the doors were closed - and while none of them had handles, most had more than one kind of lock.
Bodie really didn't like the look of one room, further down - there must've been eight padlocks holding it closed. Big fuckin' locks. And that was on the side the captive couldn't even see.
"How many guys are down h-"
"None of your business. Prisoner." Then she paused. "Eighteen. Not counting you. There's another wing, about the size of this one..."
"Whoa."
"At least you have the sense to be... very impressed. Now, walk. To your right - last door."
"Do I have to?"
A hand gave him a shove. "I wanna show you off."
"That's okay," he said automatically, "you don't ha-"
She shoved him again. "This is important to me. Last time I brought you here, you were a wannabe. Now... you fit right in." She squeezed his sides quickly, making him jump - and walk faster. "So... you're gonna get the tour. Behind-the-scenes. And you wanna watch that mouth of yours. Understand me?"
Oh yeah -"
"Stop." He was almost at the door. "Wait." Across the hall and down a little, a door opened.
He looked at the entrance to their destination. Behind the scenes, huh?
Metal clicked. There were... shackles... floating over to him.
"C'mon, now -"
"Bodie." She was right up to his ear. "You do not... want... to embarrass me."
It had been months since he heard that tone out of her. He gulped, completely unable to help it.
"Do you?"
"No."
"Do you?"
"No, Amuseur. Definitely not. I won't."
"That's better." The wrist-shackles sprung open. "Here's the plan. Finish your smoke, pull off your jacket. Now."
When her hands shoved the legs of his jeans up, a little cloud of brown dust appeared, settling on the carpet. His ankles and wrists were caught at approximately the same time. He was glad his hands were bound in front of him -
"Another house rule," Amy sighed.
His cigarette drifted away from his lips. The coal was pinched flat, and the butt flew behind him. "None of you shifty, low-life types are allowed in here... unless they're hobbled. And there haven't been many, Bodie. It's a privilege. Very rare."
"Gotcha," he nodded.
"Thank you," she said, very sarcastically.
The door opened.
- - 6 - -
The sound of people laughing and cheering. Guys. At a bar, watching a hockey game... And as he went through the door, he smelled smoke...
He saw a lot of TV sets. No - monitors. For security cameras. They lined the side walls -
And then, he stared at the gloves.
They were crowded around a pair of big monitors. Leather, rubber, cotton. Satin. Most were making tight fists, and pumping them at one of the screens - go, team, go. Some were... wrestling around, or giving each other high-fives.
Just below the monitors to his left, there was a shelf. A big ashtray - and over it, a stained brown work glove held a cigar between its fingers. There were a bunch of cigarettes in the ashtray already, just sitting there. Smoldering. A little atmosphere -
Bodie leaned against the door, wishing he was invisible. All those gloves...
He was more afraid than he'd been in years.
The ticklers wearing all those hands were just totally caught up in what was on the monitors. Something blue moved, to his right. He turned quickly - but it was just a pad, being dragged into the center of the floor.
Fingers squeezed his ass. That was an old signal, from Amy - settle down, inmate. You're gonna be okay.
The shackles on his hands stared to rise, and his ankles were picked up. Off the ground. She got in another deep squeeze as she carried him to the pad, and then he was dropping. Sitting down. Closer to all those wild-ass tickling psychos -
That was when he got his first good look at what the monitors were showing.
The ticklers were watching guys... get nuked.
One, on each screen. A view from overhead, but well past their feet. They were spread-eagled. Their feet looked really big from that angle. But their faces were easy to see. And their cocks.
Shit, were they laughing hard. All sweaty. Covered with tats, like Bodie was. They were howling with laughter... and thrusting. Cumming -
No. Bodie forgot to breathe for a second. They just kept... trying. It was so horribly clear - from the feathers. At least two dozen, on each guy, moving fast. Bodie remembered.
Tickling them so hard they couldn't shoot their loads. Uh-huh.
He looked at all the gloves. Real happy fuckers. He sat behind 'em, on the floor. Shackled. And they were already about as excited as if it was the last quarter of the Super Bowl.
"Amy," he whispered. "Help."
Something was shoved into his hand. A bottle of beer. He stared at it, and nodded. Pounded it down in one throw. Then he looked at the screens again...
Most of the smaller monitors had other guys on display. Stocks, and racks, and swings that were hung from the ceiling. Tied down on padded tables, strapped down on beds.
Scooter trash, every one of 'em. That same fried expression. Half-smiles. So out of it... Hours into a long day packed full of tickling. They didn't watch the movement going on around them. Gloves, and brushes, and tools everywhere -
His bottle was taken away, and replaced with a full one. Something landed on his leg. Bodie looked at a pack of smokes. His lighter was stuck into his other hand...
The ticklers got louder. One of the guys they were watching was arching harder, shaking with the effort to hold himself up there - while he laughed. With a couple of quick jerking motions, it looked as though he was going to cum. But the feathers sped up, apparently... and he collapsed back down again. Smiling, a little. Or maybe Bodie just imagined that part. He'd looked in enough mirrors as he came, thanks to Amy...
A few voices in the room let out disappointed yells, cussing and laughing.
A cigarette tapped his lip. He took it, and lit up. His hands were really shaking.
When the other victim began to thrash, another voice or two got excited. It's a race, Bodie realized. They're out to see which guy can be... stalled off longer. He took a real hard drag and exhaled the smoke slowly. Looking around at all the monitors, he chugged beer.
After a couple minutes, it still wasn't over. The guy who arched did it again, and a fuckin' blizzard of feathers got busy on his feet. The thrasher rocked in place, and feathers buried his armpits. Bodie realized he'd been smoking his cigarette continuously. He got himself another...
An ashtray floated down to him.
Then, a false alarm - from the guy who thrashed around. But maybe half a minute later, the other guy arched, and arched, and slammed back down - but he bounced right back up into another arch, and he gushed like a fire hose.
The cheering was so loud, it made Bodie wince.
The other guy started to come. Other voices cheered at that. They sounded just like... people, in a bar or something. Half-drunk, rowdy, blue-collar... thugs.
Bikers. Of course.
They had the act down perfectly. Only he got the impression - and being shackled there, on the floor, didn't fuckin' help one bit - that they were way larger than any biker could be. Giant one-percenters, who really, really liked to make bad guys... laugh.
Sweat ran down his belly.
What was Amy thinking? Bringing him here? He listened for her voice. Desperately. She wouldn't just... leave him here? Right? Throw him to the wolves. Then he realized something - Shit. She's one of them. She tatted him up, got him the Sportster... And maybe thirty minutes ago, she had him out there, hotdoggin' on some other guy's bike. Showing off.
Well, that's it. I'm dead. He looked at seventy or eighty fingers, and tugged like a mutherfucker on his smoke.
The guys who'd just cum weren't moving. But the feathers were busy. Of course. They'd keep torturing 'em for a good hour or so. Bodie knew all about it -
He had more pressing concerns. The gloves were turning away from the monitors, two by two. No big hurry. The ticklers were quieter now, razzing each other.
Phantom hands... coming closer.
Bodie got a last drag in, and snuffed the butt in the ashtray. He hoped he'd get points for being... tidy. Or something. Anything -
"Well, what the hell," one of 'em said. A different voice laughed. "Who tracked that in here?"
"What? Oh. This turd, here?"
Amy chuckled... but she didn't say anything. Thanks a lot, he thought. Bitch.
The gloves paused.
"Ain't very big."
"Little piece of shit -"
"Sweatin' like a pig, ain't he? Why do you suppose that is..."
"Looks like maybe he's been playin' outside, there."
Slowly, they started heading down. He started pulling at the shackles. Couldn't help himself. Fighting off total panic was the only goal he had left...
"Hmmmm," a low voice said, from just over him. "Could be."
"Them tats are okay. For a poser."
"You think? How'd he get in here, then?"
Amy still didn't say anything. Bodie tried to think of what he did to piss her off this much -
"Naw. He's one of ours."
"The hell he is -"
Several voices talked at once. Some agreed, and some didn't.
"Check his teeth."
He didn't like the sound of that -
"Bodie. Smile real big for us," Amuseur said. So he did -
Laughter broke out. Loud, and crude as it gets...
"What?," he said.
"I told him. Really, I did. Told him to keep his mouth shut," Amy said. That got another laugh.
He couldn't remember her ever telling him that -
"Dumb fucker." But that was said with affection. So it was okay to breathe, again - but it also creeped Bodie out in a whole different way.
"What?," he yelled.
"Whoo-oooo..."
"You got something... on your teeth," Amy chuckled. "The big ones, in front."
He ran his tongue back and forth. There was something there. A weird... texture. He made a face -
More laughter. "Fuckin'-A," one of them barked.
Another voice whooped it up. A pair of gloves clapped, slowly, and other pairs joined in.
His hand was nudged - the one holding the beer - so he finished it off, swishing it around in his mouth.
"Bugs," one of 'em laughed. "Welcome, brother."
"Little brother."
"Bugs?," he repeated. "On my... Oh."
Somebody whistled. How they did that - without lips - he still didn't know.
"Yeeeah."
"Bugs on his teeth. Okay, then. He's in."
This one yours, Amy?"
She sighed. "Do I have to claim him?"
"Aw, hell no."
"Leave him... to me."
A new cigarette came up, and slid between his lips. He knew a hint when he saw one. So he lit up.
"Yeah..."
"Just throw him in Nineteen," the really gruff voice said. That got a laugh.
Oh, fuck, he thought. They gotta be kidding. No -
"Nineteen. Alright."
The gloves were coming closer.
"Gotta be sure about him."
Uh-oh. Amy, he thought, looking around. As if he'd see her. Please -
"Now, if he could ride..."
One of the big monitors blinked - and caught his eye. It showed the desert. A bike came over a rise, into view. Popped a wheelie... turned a skid. Real nice. Then the rider looked around as if he was bored. Is that it? Any excitement 'round here?
The voices laughed again. Wilder. Edgy.
Damn, Bodie thought. That was me? The camera was hidden somewhere. In the rock-door. Yeah. That would be the right angle, for what he just saw.
The tape was paused. Amy set me up, he thought, looking at himself. Head turned a little, cigarette in his teeth. And a scowl. Cool guy. Not impressed. Real slick fucker... with no idea what was in store.
A voice sighed. "Fuck. Yeah."
"Nice moves -"
"Keep him."
"Definitely."
"Nineteen," another tickler laughed. "Get 'im."
They were almost on him now. He braced himself -
"Find out. If he's... fun."
"I bet he is." Several voices agreed, or chuckled.
"Let's... find out." More clapping.
One pair of leather gloves pulled his shirt up - and tore it apart.
"There -"
"Oh, yeah."
"Much better."
The scraps of cloth were tugged away. "Nineteen... huh?" The voice was interested, but still kinda wondering. "Amuseur? Uh... You mind?"
She made a growling noise. Her happy growl. Bodie closed his eyes. "Knock yourself out."
Fingers started to land. Everywhere. And it was on.
Fuckin'... ticklers!
He whipsawed back and forth, squealing like a pig. Hollering laughter...
Barely aware of cheering. More clapping.
A few voices were chanting, "Nineteen..."
Some hands he couldn't see pinned his shoulders, and the gloves had a fuckin' field day on him. A long minute. Impossibly long. Maybe two. Or five...
And when they pulled off, he knew he was really in for it, because there was no way these jackals were gonna stop after a lousy couple minutes.
- - 7 - -
"Oh, yeah," a gravelly voice declared. "Dude's got it bad."
Bodie gasped for air, too scared to move.
"I think he made the cut." More clapping.
"Damn right. Ticklish little fucker."
"Scooter tramp."
"Real sensitive type. Touchy."
"Yup."
"Nineteen it is, then."
"Am - Amy," he stammered.
"Yeah, Bodie?"
He opened his mouth... and didn't really know what to say next. Help, he thought. You gotta help me. But that wouldn't do him any good. Not with Amy. So he tried to think of something else -
The ticklers just roared.
"Oh, stud," she chuckled, way too fuckin' merrily. "The look on your face, there." Hands started to rub his shoulders.
But he wasn't reassured. "So what's... Nineteen?" Even that was funny to some of 'em, apparently.
"The rooms are numbered here," she said.
Oh, shit. He had to actually bite his tongue - literally - to keep from begging. But he managed to nod.
"One... to Eighteen." Hoots and howls. Clapping.
"Eighteen?," Bodie said. "So what's Nineteen?"
"There isn't any Nineteen. Badass. It doesn't exist."
He had to think about that one for a few seconds. Another cigarette slid out of the pack.
"Well. That's...," and as one or two started to laugh at him again, he blurted, "You guys are fucked up."
Dead silence. Three awful seconds.
And then, howls - of approval.
Gloves punched him on the arms. His lighter slipped out of his hand and provided him with fire, then snapped shut just about as hard as it could.
"Sorry," he whispered. Not knowing if she was mad or not, for what he'd said -
"Hey - let's go build a Nineteen. Tonight."
"Just for him..."
That sounded like a popular idea.
"Teach him some respect," Amy said. "Hey-yyy. I know..."
Uh-oh, he thought. He knew that tone. Apology not accepted. He tried to stand up. "Aw, now, Amy -"
His cigarette was taken away.
Somebody else hooted at him.
The gloves came back.
"No! Look - I, uh -"
And fingers dug in.
"Get 'im!"
"Lay into him good..."
"Naaaaww haaw haaaw haaaaaaaawwaaawww..."
His arms ended up over his head. The shackles were being pinned to the pad. Same thing, at his ankles. It was unbelievable -
"Well... damn."
"Hey," one of 'em barked. "Grease-spot. You like this?"
"Nooo hooooo hoooo-ooo," Bodie wailed... before realizing it was another fuckin' no-win question.
A mild shout went up. "The fuck he doesn't," one voice said firmly.
"I'm gonna see how much he... doesn't like it. On his belly." A pair of gloves wiggled their fingers -
"I get his pits."
"Nooooooo -"
A satin glove grabbed the toe of his left sock. He yelled louder, and stared at it. The others kept on tickling. Bodie just had to flop around and roar.
They just drilled him. A lot longer than two minutes, that time. If he hadn't been sorta dehydrated already, Bodie knew he would've pissed all over himself. And the pad -
"Doesn't like it. Sure." A happy voice, right by his ear.
"Liar."
He was vaguely aware of his socks going. Off. They pulled his fucking socks off. That was bad. Only one reason they'd do that -
Soft fingers. No! Bodie kicked, and kicked.
Satin. Rubbing, and petting. Too much...
He stopped laughing. A whine leaked out of his throat. The addition of those fuckin' hands, roaming all over his feet... Well, that was it. Just a few minutes of tickling, and he couldn't laugh anymore. That meant the tickling could go on for a lot longer, now, if they wanted.
Amy would tease him for an hour, before pushing him to this point. Ride his ass. She was a big fan of uncontrollable laughter. Wearing out his voice -
"Oh... Ffff... Fuck," he panted. Only six of 'em. He was coming unglued.
"Lookit that," a voice said. "Big ol' grin."
Several voices laughed.
"He's eatin' it up."
"Damn, girl," one of 'em laughed. "What'd you do to this fucker?"
"Don't blame me. He was like that when I found him," Amy shot back.
"Ay... Amy. Help. H-hhh-haallllp -"
"Bodie." She clicked her tongue at him. Made that sound, anyway. "Alright. I'll help out -"
Her hands slid under his knees. Invisible - but he recognized the feel of them. The shape. He whined, real loud.
She squeezed and wiggled her fingers. Just the way he hated.
Bodie just slammed his eyes shut, and shook his head.
"Wild," one of the ticklers remarked.
"Blissed out.
"Addicted to it -"
"You don't see that every day."
"I'm gonna play with his titties."
"Let me at his fuckin' neck..."
Once in a while, he could beg. Weakly.
The hands kept right on tickling him.
- - 8 - -
His body was wide awake. Bodie was tired, though. He laid there, wondering what the deal was. And finally, it dawned on him - no tickling.
Cautiously, he opened his eyes.
There was a cigarette in his mouth, but it wasn't lit. His lighter clanked open...
After a drag or two, his smoke floated over him. A water bottle came down to his mouth - the kind with a squirt-tube. While he drank, he counted the gloves.
There were only six in the room.
How long were they tickling me, he wondered...
Shift change? No - he caught on. Their captives were awake now. That was probably it. Another wild day for the bikers.
The screens were still lit, showing at least a dozen guys. Only a couple of 'em weren't getting tickled, and they did look as if they were sawin' logs...
He sat up, and groaned.
"Hungry?," Amy said.
"Yeah."
"Guess I better scrounge up a couple burgers -"
The door opened. "Hey," she said, not to him. Way above his head.
"Somebody pissed his pants."
Bodie looked - and blushed. Dammit.
"I missed out, huh..."
It was a new voice. Low, and calm. Dangerously casual. Like it didn't need to talk big. It reminded him of somebody - Amuseur. Oh yeah.
"Nineteen," one of the other voices said.
The new voice chuckled... and Bodie wanted to run away. Real bad. Just from the way it laughed.
A pair of leather gloves cruised over him. "They pull that 'Nineteen' shit on you?"
"Uh-huh... Sir."
It chuckled again. "Sir. Well, she taught ya right."
Bodie's feet lifted off the ground. He kicked, but they kept rising...
When he fell back, so his shoulder blades were on the pad, his wrists flew up. Over his head. The shackles slammed on the pad.
"That ain't gonna help you. Outlaw. Sir, and ma'am..."
The gloves started rubbing his feet. Very lightly.
Bodie hissed in air, and started to squeal.
"We know better."
"Sorry, sorry," he managed to get out - and then he started to whoop.
"Smile when you say that..."
He tried to roll around. Or arch. He couldn't get his feet away from this talented... executioner.
And he had to do something, right away, because it was only two gloves on him and he was ready to jump out of his fuckin' skin!
They paused. Bodie's laughter faded out. He stared at the gloves. Just leather. A little oil. But, oh fuck, the technique...
A recurring nightmare was coming true.
"You," he said, like it was an accusation. "Have you... uh... I know you -"
The voice laughed. Twice. "Still tryin' to flatter me?"
The gloves started moving again -
"Yes, little Bodie. We've met before."
And the fuckin' hands kicked it into gear. He screamed laughter, just like a little kid.
It knows, he thought wildly. It really knows...
After a minute - a much longer minute than usual, possibly even the longest minute of his life - the fingers stopped moving.
"That was some good ridin', A. The last one-eighty... that was sweet."
"Well, thank you," she said. Sounding pleased.
He started to snicker, and realized that if those fingers started tickling again, he was going to laugh harder, and harder, until he was hooting again, and whooping, and howling like a wolf, and then he was gonna be back to the place where he couldn't laugh at all, and the tickling would slam through him harder and harder, if the fingers kept going...
"Got him off the Sporty?"
"Gave it away," she replied. "Another rookie I mess around with."
Wait - his Sporty? So that's where it went, Bodie thought. He figured she took it -
Another rookie... So that's what she thought. Just how much of this shit would Bodie have to take, before he was off probation? Five more years? Ten?
"Uh-huh. Real good work. This one's a keeper, now."
"Yeah. Pain in the ass, sometimes."
"Show me one that ain't," Bodie's tickler said.
He whimpered. Once. And the gloves started back in.
Oh, no. The fingers rubbed slowly... and he was hooting right away. Totally unwilling -
Bodie barked laughter, right at the gloves. As if the bastard didn't even need to think about it - and there he was, just about ready to shit his pants. It was the most amazing, threatening experience he'd had all year... at least since Amy got into rotary tools.
"How's Dee working out?," Amy asked.
"She's catching on. She's been on the same guy for, what, four months now." A glove stopped tickling long enough to gesture at one of the monitors. He couldn't tell which one. And then, horribly, it started dragging its fingers over his left sole again -
"A good start."
They both chuckled. Bodie hiccuped twice, and giggled like a fool.
"So, babe... You gonna share the wealth, here?"
"This little thing? Just like old times."
Him. Oh no, please no, Amy... Bodie realized he was the little thing. This extremely skilled torturer had just been promised some time on his ass. He was gonna die -
"Alright."
"Tomorrow. Then, we gotta split -"
"Aw, now. A-my..."
"I know. Unless I come to my senses."
Bodie started howling again. Not very loud. His tickler didn't react. Soon he'd be unable to laugh at all...
And delirious. Amy watched him, and fought down the urge to giggle. Bodie's anguish was so delightful -
"Whatcha gonna do?," it said.
"Loan him out."
"Lucky bastard -"
"Biker... rabbit."
The tickler whistled. Its fingers stopped. "No shit?"
"Not this time."
"I dunno," the voice said thoughtfully. "This lop -"
"Lop-eared, you mean. Conejo loco."
"Conejo?" And it started the fingers moving - again.
"Noooooooooooaaaah hah hah hah haaaah...." And then all Bodie could do was moan.
"The palace."
"Uh-huh."
They both sighed.
"When he's done there... Haul him back here. Let me at him. A full visit."
"You can take that to the bank," Amy said. She sounded thrilled.
"Cool."
The gloves let go of Bodie's feet, and he sighed real big. The shackles weren't being held down any more, either, so he managed to roll over on his side.
"I just might build a Nineteen for this one. Trick it out," the voice said. Very matter-of-fact. "Have Cal break it in right. He gets first crack at 'em, always... And then your little badass and I got some business. If that works for you."
Amuseur gave a little squeal of delight. "Ooooo, wow. We're there."
Behind him, the door opened. Bodie looked in time to see it close.
Hands - Amy's hands - grabbed him around the biceps and sat him up. "Food. You lucky dog."
Lucky. Huh. "Hooray," he gasped.
"Whiskey, maybe a joint... a bath, definitely... And hell, I'll letcha take a nap."
"Then -"
"You know."
"Yeah," he said, picking up his smokes. "I do."
- - 9 - -
She led him down the hallway, to another one. His boots and jacket floated behind him.
Bodie listened, as he passed the doors... but he couldn't hear a thing.
"Serious, uh... soundproofing," he said hesitantly.
"I told you," she chuckled. "No need to get their hopes up."
He didn't quite follow that, but he nodded anyway. They were coming up on the scariest door he'd seen, so far... the one with eight padlocks on it.
"You don't like that, do ya?"
He made a face - ya caught me...
Amy squeezed his butt-cheek. "That's where Bufhold plays. It's really into immobilization. Maximum restraints."
"Wonderful," he said. "I hope I never get you that pissed off at me."
She thought that was real damn funny. "Not a chance. Buf's okay. Just... excessively focused."
At the far end, she opened a door. He padded in.
Big... rubber bathtubs.
"Whoa. Uh -"
She grabbed his arms, and closed the door behind him.
"So who was that last one? On me?," he said, between bites of his third cheeseburger.
Amy had pulled up a little table, and he sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.
On him? As in... "Oh. You mean... 'Sir'?"
Bodie swallowed hard. "You heard that, huh."
"I hear everything," she taunted him. "I got my eye on you."
"Eye," he snorted. "Hands, yeah. I don't see no eyes -"
"All the more effective. If you can't see me."
"Uh-huh. Anyw-"
"That was Cal-Boss."
"Oh." He chewed for a few seconds. "Your boss, too?"
"I have no boss. And I'm going to make you pay for that one," she teased. And she wasn't kidding. "Gonna make you roar 'specially hard. No, genius. I don't answer to anybody."
"So it's... the boss of Cal?"
"Very good."
"And he's here? Now?"
"Who - Cal? Naw. Not right now. He gets to break in new rooms, when they're done..."
Bodie was having a little trouble swallowing. "Tough gig."
"Boss caught Cal, and then it decided to build a place to hold him. Real private. Just kept adding rooms..." She opened another beer.
"Eighteen rooms," he said, plenty worried.
"Yeah. Soon to be nineteen. Cal's got your number. Oh, you're so screwed now," she laughed. "And you don't even realize what an honor that is."
Bodie decided not to say anything to that. No point.
"When was this place opened?"
"You're just full of questions tonight."
He changed course. "What's the record?"
"Bodie, honey, I d-"
"What is it?," he said, and his voice wasn't as steady as he would've liked.
She started massaging his arms.
"C'mon, Amy. How long... What's the longest a guy has been kept here?"
"No comment," she said quietly.
"Fuck!"
"You don't need to hear the answer to that one."
He grabbed his cigarettes.
"What's with you?"
"What's with me?" He shook his head, and lit up. Then, "It's that Buffer - Bufholder. Isn't it?"
"Bufhold. No."
"Right. All them locks, up and down the fuckin' door -"
"Wrong," she said, continuing to massage him. "It only hauled that guy in a couple months ago."
"Months," he snorted.
"Oh," Amy said. "I see. You're still scared."
He rolled his eyes. "I mean... damn. Nineteen. For me. This place creeps me out, and I... uh, can I possibly ask you to promise me something?"
"Shoot."
"I need... some reassurance, here -"
"Bodie -"
"Ssssh," he said, before he realized how fuckin' stupid it was to do that - to Amuseur. "I mean... Amy. Look. Promise me, uh, you're not gonna take off."
"Me?" She chuckled, and studied his face...
"Don't leave me. Here. With them."
"Hey..." Then she caught on. "You want me to watch over you."
"Yeah."
"How sweet."
"Amy." His jaw was set.
"Oh, alright. Sheesh... Here's a promise. I mean it. Um... Every minute you'll be here, I'll be here."
"The same... minutes?," he finally asked.
"Yes. Suspicious fucker."
"Well, uh, you're just being awful secretive," he said, and it sounded lame even to him. "Or something."
"Trust me. Biker dude. Rough and tough... Okay?"
"Like I have a choice."
"I just promised. Have I ever backed out of a pr-"
"No, no. I... Look, your word is good. I know. I'm just freaking out here."
Her fingers traveled up to his shoulders, and kept kneading. Very gentle hands.
He took another drag. "No need for that, Bodie."
"Fuck. That Boss character -"
"Cal-Boss. 'Sir', to you."
"Ha ha. I mean, shit, the tickling..." And he shivered.
She stopped massaging him. "I love it when you do that."
"Don't I know it. Well - you know - I like it when you tickle me."
"C'mon now. Inmate, you like it when anybody tickles you."
"Well..."
She laughed at him. "Poor Bodie. He's in for it now." He just sat and smoked. "But you got it all wrong."
"I bet I don't -"
"You're not the only one who gets into it."
Bodie let loose with a short, barking laugh. "No. You do. All you ticklers -"
"I'm serious," Amy said. "I mean, your fellow inmates."
"Well, that explains all the locks on that one door."
"Buf gets a kick out of it. It's not as if the prisoner can see 'em."
"Guys love it so much, you gotta lock 'em in. Soundproof the place. The security around here is all just for show. That right?"
"To be brutally honest, it doesn't matter. If they like it or not. But it just so happens... Look. Once the tickling starts, and they know there's no getting out of it... a lot of 'em come around."
He drank his beer. Careful not to react, but she knew him too well.
"You guys don't see yourselves, the way we do," Amy continued. "Now, ol' Bodie here - he's real fun. In the first five seconds he's blown away. Couldn't be more obvious. Sheer fuckin' bliss. It feels so goooood, huh? So he's gonna stick around. Definitely. And these other guys, tough as nails - until I take a feather to their armpits, and their feet... Gotta break 'em. All that attitude. It's a trip. Get rowdy on 'em a while, as they tug at the straps, and howl at 'em. And eventually they figure it out. Nothing they can do to make the barbaric tickling... stop."
"Say that."
"It's on, brother, and it's gonna stay on. So they might as well relax. Give it up, badass. You're gonna feel this fever for months. I explore their bodies, and find out what makes 'em grin. Work on those spots. Those weaknesses. And some of 'em, Bodie, just flip right over. They just melt. Mean dudes... end up looking like you do, pretty much. Except no one looks quite as thrilled as Bodie does -"
"Very nice," he grumbled.
"Or as cute," Amy added quickly.
"They don't wanna be here!"
"Not true... I think I need to set your ass down in front of the video screens for a few hours," she said thoughtfully. "Those nice reclining stocks. The comfortable ones. I'll let ya smoke... and watch 'em go through the various stages. You guys either run with it - or you just get off on hating it. Endless tickling."
"So - what are you saying? Everybody learns to like it, soon after you start -"
"Don't use sweeping generalizations, Bodie. They're ignorant. There is no 'everybody', okay? Some guys never find a... groove. But they're in the minority. A small minority. Frankly, they're not as much fun. No transformation there, as the big thug discovers he's enjoying himself. Coping with it. And then, hell - they're in for the full ride."
"Let me get this straight," he says slowly. "Guys who... discover they like tickling, get tickled for months. And guys that never, uh, make themselves like it... they get cut loose?"
Amy squeezed his biceps. "True. I might argue with 'make themselves like it', but - yeah. There are some exceptions, but they're few and far between."
"Because?"
"They're no fun."
He rubbed his temples. "Right. But sometimes, you must've worked 'em over. Just to try to change their minds. Stuck with it for awhile..."
"Bodie, that's a rookie mistake. We know better."
"Oh yeah?," he grinned. "So what do you do, train 'em? Is there a school for ticklers, somewhere?"
"No comment."
His smile disappeared. "Amy. I was kidding."
"I know."
He dropped the subject. Smart cookie. And the massage was working, as it always did. He was relaxing nicely. After his nap, he'd be so much different. Totally crazed...
"Maybe I'll make a tape of you, and stick it on the monitor. So you can compare your face to the other inmates. Then you'll see for yourself."
"Aw, now," he yawned. "That's just creepy."
She eased him down to the floor. "You're ready to conk right out, aren't ya? Taming that shovelhead, it just wore you right out."
"Yeah. All those gloves had nothing to do with it... And Cal-Boss..."
"And there's soooooo much more tickling ahead, Bodie."
He started to curl up in a ball, and she petted his head. "Did I understand correctly? You're lettin' Boss have at me tomorrow?"
"Uh-huh. Overdrive fun for you."
"Fuck," he muttered. "It knows something."
"Wha?"
He opened his eyes again. "Present company excluded - and I mean that, so don't be throwing it back in my face - that fucker..." All of a sudden, he shivered.
"What a day you're gonna have," Amy said happily.
But he ignored that taunt. "Somethin' about the way it... tickles. Scary. Like it really knows. Uh. Goin' right for the... bullseye."
"Between you and me," she whispered, "no one uses leather gloves more skillfully than Cal-Boss."
"Fuck. Just... swell," he said, and then he faded out.
Amuseur kept massaging him until he was fast asleep.
On to Part 3
20oct02