Tracker

By Matt

 

 

 

Amazing how the spring semester always flew by.

It seemed like just a couple of weeks ago that students hurried from building to building, trying to avoid the raw January wind, wrapped in layers of clothing. But not now. Boys were sprawled out on the enormous lawn at the center of the campus, a few books and papers spread out as if they were actually studying. T-shirts were peeled off – just to get some sun, right?

No, they were 180-pound billboards, eager to show off the results of all their work in the gym. If they were lucky, the girls would like what they saw.

Tracker spent a lot of time hanging around the center lawn. Today was Friday, and that meant a weekend of unbearable fun for one of the lucky fellows here.

Tracker spotted a fairly good prospect. He was alone, at the moment. No pesky girlfriend hanging around – they always spelled trouble. From the looks of things, he was getting ready to leave. Gaining from years of experience, it watched carefully as the boy gathered his books. Each time he bent over, muscles along his sides flexed and turned solid.

It had seen enough.

Listening to an abysmal 80s rock station was just an unfortunate part of the process, Tracker thought, as it hovered in the back seat of the boy’s rattletrap car. Luckily it was only a ten-minute drive to his apartment.

Once upstairs, Tracker spend a few minutes surveying the place. There was no one living in the adjacent apartment – a real stroke of luck – and an old woman lived downstairs. Probably deaf anyway.

It watched its victim eat cold pizza, the staple of frat boys everywhere. There was a time when it would get a guy strapped down and then feed him, usually a few hours into the evening’s festivities. But that seemed like too much work nowadays. Hell, it hadn’t even brought restraints tonight. A few gloves would pin him down just as surely as cuffs.

It just didn’t prepare as thoroughly as it once had.

Tracker earned its name in school. One of its teachers marveled at how it would gladly stalk a victim for days – even weeks, if it needed to learn his routine – and prepare everything precisely. But how things had changed. Here it was, spending ninety percent of its time on a college campus – which is where rookies hunt, for Christ’s sake! – looking for yet another jock. Another ticklish nerd. The newest member of the swim team. It had become so predictable…

The boy picked up his cell phone and started dialing. Tracker watched closely, prepared to jump him if he tried to make plans or invite anyone over. Not tonight, my friend.

“Hey Jack, it’s Chad.” He was leaving a message. Invisible hands surrounded him, ready to smash that phone into a thousand pieces. “Look, I can’t go out again tonight, man. My head’s still thumping from yesterday. I’m gonna watch some TV and go to bed. I’ll be ready tomorrow night, for sure. Later.”

The phone snapped shut and the gloves receded. Now is as good a time as any, Tracker thought. Might as well get this show on the road…

Three hands clutched each of Chad’s arms, and a few more than that restrained his legs. Too bewildered to make any real noise yet, Chad watched his body lift off the couch and float toward his bedroom.

“Wha – whaahaannnno… somebody help meeeeemmmhmmhmmm…”

A glove slapped over his mouth and muffled the yelling, for now at least.

Clothes ripped in every direction as Tracker’s new victim was laid spread out on his own bed. Most of the sheets were torn away, and in thirty seconds Chad was naked.

Fortunately, the screaming had turned into a more manageable whine by now. It never ceased to amaze Tracker how fast a little fear could turn these big, muscular college men to jelly.

“All right, Chad. Ready to have some fun this weekend?”

“Who… who the fuck is that? Lemme out of here…” Chad whipped his head around, sure that the voice was coming from just around the corner, or maybe from behind the door.

“I’m right here, fuckhead. Don’t worry, I don’t feel like talking tonight. I’d rather get right down to business.”

Ah, this moment. Right before the first gloves touched skin – this was what Tracker lived for. Seeing the wide-eyed fear, the first sweat starting to shine, the muscular arms and legs pulling against bonds that couldn’t be seen…

Nothing – nothing – could ever feel as good.

Four of Tracker’s hands curled around Chad’s ribcage, feeling for the muscles it had seen earlier. The gloves squeezed, just right, and…

Holy fucking shit.

Tracker let go as soon as Chad started laughing. Laughing wasn’t nearly the right word, actually. This was some sort of piercing animal cry, nasal and high-pitched, that came sputtering out like machine gun fire. It was the most god-awful sound Tracker had ever heard a victim make.

Hoping that perhaps another technique would yield more… bearable results, it had the gloves move to his feet. Stiff fingers started raking across Chad’s soles, using a time-honored technique that never failed. But to its dismay, the grating hyena laughter simply went up an octave.

Glove by glove, Tracker pulled off.

It stole one last look at its victim and let out an audible sigh of frustration. And with that, it was gone.

As it headed across town, Tracker punched out a few headlights in a Wal-Mart parking lot to let off some steam. The screeching car alarms sounded downright pleasant compared to that hideous laughter.

It always seemed to end this way. Hours of hard work, wasted! This wasn’t how Tracker was supposed to end up. It was a star student in school, driving those practice victims into hysterics that even the teachers envied. Back then, everyone was sure that after a few years Tracker would have its own prison, just like some of the legendary ticklers. All the students reveled in the stories the elders told, of elaborate prisons in faraway jungles. Keeping men for years at a time, even finding men who enjoyed being tickled.

More than anything, Tracker wanted its own victims, perfect victims, all to itself!

That didn’t seem so likely now. When Tracker found a guy who was physically suitable, he ended up not being ticklish. And even if he was, half the time he’d only last a few hours before passing out.

Tracker figured it might as well start tipping cows for a living. Or fuck with the president’s security detail, like it did after graduation. That was fun…

But this was serious. What did other ticklers have that it didn’t?

Back at the campus, only a few dedicated bookworms walked along the sidewalks that led to and from the library. The sun was minutes away from setting, and it was Friday. Any self-respecting college student was half drunk by now.

And there he was.

Tracker watched a tall figure step through the library door, some books under his arm. The light was poor, but even from a distance it noticed a swagger in his step. Something different. It moved in for a better look.

He wasn’t dressed like the others, to begin with. A dirty t-shirt and baggy shorts, flip-flops and sunglasses – that’s all most of these guys required. But not this one. He wore jeans that fit him so perfectly it was astounding. A nice watch. The sleeves of his polo shirt rode up his arms, revealing muscle, but not too much. He was lean and in shape, but no gym rat. And so tan…

Tracker loved the way he walked. Not too fast, in no hurry at all. In fact, this guy didn’t seem capable of being in a hurry.

He leaned against a tree outside the library and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Most of the boys smoked because everybody else did, and they always looked so awkward doing it. But this guy tapped one out of the pack like he’d been doing it for years and lit it effortlessly, with a shiny Zippo. Even the way he smoked was slow, leisurely. He obviously enjoyed it.

There was a gigantic clock above the library, and Tracker watched the boy crane his neck to check the time. A simple gesture, but it suddenly changed everything.

On his neck, just below his left ear, there was a tattoo.

If Tracker had had a heart, it would have certainly leapt out of its chest. It had no chest either, but that didn’t matter. This was the mark of another tickler! No doubt! To the untrained eye it looked like a little sunburst, one of the designs that was on the lower back of every college girl. But it wasn’t a sunburst – it was a yellow glove, its fingers spread out wide.

Tracker felt the urge to attack him right then and there, an unbearable craving that it hadn’t felt since its school days. It simply couldn’t have been more excited – to find someone this young who had actually been caught before! Even better, the tat was not specific to one particular tickler, so that meant it was open season on this guy. No one had yet claimed him.

Tracker moved in closer.

“Ehhem. Nice tat.” Tracker couldn’t wait to see his reaction, when he realized that he was hearing yet another disembodied voice… which meant more tickling, coming right up.

The boy did a double take, confused for a moment when he saw no one else around. But then he just puffed out smoke, slightly irritated. He had the most irreverent smirk on his face.

“Look. Wherever you are, I’ve got an chemistry final on Monday and a date tomorrow. So do me a favor and let’s do this some other time, okay?” He sucked on his cigarette again, slow as ever.

Tracker was flabbergasted. It had never been talked to by a victim this way – certainly not one who had been caught before. The audacity! Either this guy had brass balls or he was completely insane.

“And so… you think you are calling the shots here, huh?”

“Hell no,” the boy chuckled in no particular direction. “You can drag me off any time you like. I’m just asking for a little consideration here. Your call.”

The only thing more bizarre about this request was that Tracker felt the desire to honor it. And this went absolutely contrary to all of its training, all of its experience.

“I’ve gotta know,” Tracker asked softly, “where do you get the nerve to talk like this?”

He finished his last drag, exhaling smoke as slowly as possible, relishing every second.

“You’re just gonna do what you want anyway, right? So why be afraid of something I can’t control?” He glanced up at the clock again.

If there was one thing Tracker couldn’t handle it was deep conversation, so it backed off instead. Sunday was only a couple of days away, and it had a lot of work to do.

This was going to be a huge challenge.

It had been several years since Tracker had put together a respectable cell, and for good reason. Nobody else had been worth the hassle.

The boy’s name was Seth, it turned out. A quick search of the college computers revealed just about everything it needed – his address, class schedule – as well as a few things that were just plain interesting, such as his GPA (perfect) and his SAT score (near perfect). Pre-med… evidently our Seth wanted to be a doctor someday.

That would have to wait.

Like so many southern colleges, the campus was essentially an island of academia surrounded by open countryside – trailer parks, the occasional farm. And so it didn’t take long for Tracker to find just the perfect hiding place, far enough away to be safe and secluded.

Getting all the necessary equipment ready in less than two days was no easy task. But thanks to the miracles of the internet and FedEx, Tracker had built Seth one hell of a home away from home.

It arrived at Seth’s apartment bright and early Sunday morning. He was up and dressed, studying already.

“Mornin’, Seth. Date go well?”

“Aww… Jesus, c’mon,” he said, clearing his throat. “My fuckin’ exam…”

“Got it covered. Let’s go.”

“Covered, huh? It’s worth fifty percent of my grade! Look, just let me study.”

“Nonsense. You know that weird-looking T.A.? Skinny little fucker? I had a talk with him. You’ve got an ‘A’ already.”

Seth started to object, until he realized what Tracker meant by “had a talk.”

“Long trip ahead of us, my friend. But it’ll be worth it, I promise you. What’s a guy like you doing studying so hard anyway?”

Seth lit a cigarette and didn’t answer. He got up and walked out of his apartment, completely unaware of how long it would be before he saw it again.

“Holy shit! Where the fuck did you…”

“You’ll never guess, dude.” Seth walked over to the bright yellow Mercedes convertible parked beside his own car. It was brand new.

“It belongs to the provost. Shit, he didn’t set the alarm, so I figured…”

Seth chuckled a little and flashed that same adorable smirk.

They rode with the top down. Seth sat in the driver’s seat and Tracker did the actual driving. It simply loved watching Seth smoke casually, not a care in the world. Unbelievable. He had come with Tracker without the slightest hint of resistance.

“So is that the only tat they left you with?”

“Oh, this?” Seth rubbed his neck slowly. “Yeah. I don’t think it was supposed to do even this, but it did it anyway.”

“Not allowed?”

“Something about a midterm, not leaving any marks… shit, I dunno. I was a little preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied, of course… A midterm, you say!” Tracker’s voice lit up. “You mean it was a student who caught you?”

“Yeah, both times I think.”

Tracker could barely keep the car on the road. “Were you taken to the academy? How long did it keep you? There had to be more than one tickler, right?”

“Hey now, I don’t know all the details,” Seth said with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “I heard it talking about a two-day test, and that’s it.”

A two-day midterm. It all made sense! Seth wasn’t the veteran that he may have seemed to be after all. A couple of weekend jaunts – that’s all he’d experienced! Oh, this was gonna be so great… he had no idea.

“So was it bad? How’d you hold up?”

“Well shit, what do you want me to say? They tickled the fuck out of me, I laughed my ass off, it was over. That’s it.”

Tracker growled audibly. Seth had no concept of how much more intense, more searing the experience could be.

“Why don’t you get some of those clothes off. Start with the shoes.”

Seth got that annoyed look again, but did as he was told. Tracker watched him peel off one sock, then the other, without a hint of self-consciousness. Not a trace of fear, even though a dozen gloves could start rocking his world in mere seconds.

Tracker spent the next half hour admiring Seth’s feet. Planning. Scheming. Coming up with a thousand ways to drive him insane.

When the car finally came to a stop, Seth was just starting to nod off. A quick nudge and he came to, rubbing his eyes and letting out a big yawn.

“Here we are!” Tracker sounded downright grandfatherly.

“Here we are, where? What are you talking about?”

“Abandoned mine. Nice big ol’ space down below. There’s a hatch under the pile of leaves over there. Anyway, long story. Let’s go!”

Seth opened the car door and looked around, still puzzled and half asleep.

“Aaah! Shoes on, shoes on!” Seth had almost stepped onto the ground barefoot – a definite no-no. He slid his shoes on and stepped around the front of the car, old leaves crunching beneath his feet.

“Why so fuckin’ far out in the boondocks? What’s wrong with my place?”

“Oh, Seth, Seth. Let me show you why I didn’t use your apartment.” Tracker swept the pile of leaves away and uncovered what looked like a rusty old manhole. The screech of metal echoed around the empty countryside as it was wrenched open.

“Don’t be shy. It’s quite nice down there, actually. Homey.”

“Oh yeah. I’m sure.” Seth walked over and peered into the hole.

The Mercedes suddenly started by itself, and Seth watched it creep into the woods, maybe a hundred feet back from the highway. A few camouflage tarps floated out of the trunk and covered the car completely. Leaves and brush piled on top of that, making absolutely sure that no one would see it from the road.

“C’mon,” Tracker said warmly. “Climb on down.”

Seth went ahead and crawled down the metal ladder into the hatch, gratified by the fact that there was at least light down there. He was definitely starting to feel the anticipation. A whole year had passed since the last time he was caught, and Seth had assumed it was over.

“Mother fuck.” Seth’s eyebrows raised a good inch as he caught his first glance of the equipment.

“Yep. All for you, my friend.” Tracker’s voice sounded as if it were smiling.

The floor – and the walls and ceiling – were covered with a black padding that was soft to walk on. Top-notch soundproofing, as if that were necessary. Above, Seth heard the hatch close with a thud.

“I’m not getting out of here anytime soon, am I?”

“Now why would you say that, Seth? Nobody said anything about how long…”

“I’m assuming you’ll want to use all this shit… on me. That’s gonna take more than a couple days.”

Try a couple years, Tracker thought. But it played along.

“It’s just an assortment. A little menagerie. Nothing says it all has to be used on you. Some things are bound to be more effective than the rest – we’ll see.”

“Yeah,” Seth chuckled nervously, “we’ll see all right.”

Tracker enjoyed watching Seth’s attitude change. While he still didn’t fidget or seem nervous, there was clearly something going on in his mind. Tracker watched Seth’s jaw muscles tense up and release. Tense up and release…

To the left there were three sets of stocks. Polished black, just like the floor. Seth studied the chrome rings along the top with curiosity, honestly admiring the craftsmanship.

“Well made, from what I can see. I must admit.”

“Only the best.” Tracker was inches away from its victim, watching every move.

Two adjustable racks lined the far wall, thickly padded. They looked about Seth’s size. A large bed with only a shiny rubber sheet – that, and about a dozen cuffs and straps hanging in every direction. A couple of vertical frames, also fully adjustable. And, simplest of all, a big black mat, right on the floor, with restraints all along the edges bolted into the floor.

In one corner, a weight bench. An assortment of dumbbells.

The right hand wall was where all of Tracker’s brand new tools were stored, neatly stacked on shelves and hanging along the wall, carefully sorted. Cock toys. A few menacing-looking gags. And there were more varieties of oil than Seth knew existed. So many brushes…

“I’m in way over my head here.” The weight bench could mean only one thing – this was long-term.

“Just relax. I’m gonna take extra good care of you.”

“No chance you’d let me sort of… just climb on out of here, and we can pretend this never happened.”

“Umm… not really.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll definitely have you back for the beginning of the fall semester,” Tracker said. Adding, in its mind, I didn’t say which fall semester…

“But… I have to work! I’ll be dead broke if I don’t at least work…”

“Taken care of, taken care of,” Tracker interrupted. “There’s ten grand in your bank account as we speak. Oh and hey – I stole it from that bitch of an English professor who gave you a B freshman year. How’s that?”

“How did you know about that,” Seth laughed.

“Records are in computers, Einstein. Easy to get to!” Tracker hurried to finish his thought. “C’mon – I know you’re up to your eyeballs in loans. Don’t worry about any of that. I’ll make ’em go away! We’ve got only one thing to concentrate on now.”

They sure as hell didn’t teach a class on compassion in the academy, so Tracker had no idea where the fuck it came up with all that. But strangely enough, it meant what it said.

“Okay, man. Lose the clothes. Let’s go.”

Seth pulled his t-shirt off absentmindedly, still trying to take in his surroundings. Tracker chuckled when it saw Seth’s jeans riding low on his hips. No boxers.

His body was exactly what Tracker expected. Lean, defined – verging on perfection. It could only imagine how the gloves would look, sliding over his chest, over his rippled abdominals. This smooth skin, bathed in oil…

A hand gripped Seth’s arm, around his bicep. An iron grip, but not hurting him.

“No chance for negotiation, huh?” Maybe joking was his coping mechanism, Tracker thought vacantly. Whatever gets you through it.

Seth got his answer when more hands grabbed his jeans and started pulling them off. Latching onto his ankles.

“Oh boy… here we go…”

Seth was lifted up and carried over to the second rack. He still wasn’t fighting! His body was tense, but he refused to thrash around like so many others did. He was smart enough to know he was beat.

“Jesus you’re strong,” Seth said tensely, watching his arms and legs get anchored down. The rack’s padding was eerily comfortable, forming to the shape of his body almost too well. Racks were supposed to be painful, Seth thought. Instruments of torture.

Leather cuffs hobbled his ankles and wrists. He lifted his head and watched strap after strap weave through the buckles of each cuff. Metal fasteners were snapping and clinking together above his head, which he couldn’t see. Not that he needed to.

“I take it you don’t want me moving around much.”

“Damn, you’re smart,” Tracker mocked. “Exactly right, my boy.”

“Umm…wouldn’t it be a little easier on me,” Seth’s voice had started trembling some, “if I could sort of fight you a little? Not that it would help, not really, but I’m just saying…”

“Easier? Why, yes – yes, I suppose it would be easier to take that way.”

The last strap was wrenched tight.

Tracker found itself in a state of absolute nirvana. It hovered over the rack, watching its victim licking his lips, swallowing frequently. I’ve finally got you anxious, don’t I, Seth? Mr. Cool is a wee bit… edgy now. Tense.

“No more waiting, Seth. Everything’s ready.” Even Tracker’s voice trembled.

The lights dimmed way down, except around the rack. The last thing Tracker wanted was distraction.

Seth watched a bottle of oil drift over him, stopping just beyond his feet. Seth watched its contents slosh back and forth slowly inside. Behind him, a quiet ripping sound, like a box being opened.

Latex gloves, pair after pair, drifted over him in formation. They were filled already, filled by invisible hands that Seth knew damn well had unlimited strength and stamina. Tracker had the gloves hang down, as if they were dormant for now. Inactive.

I am so completely fucked, Seth thought. Six, eight pairs…

A few black leather gloves swept in from either side, heading directly for Seth’s feet. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the impact – here it comes…

And then he saw that these gloves carried thin strips of leather, and that they had stopped short. Oh, thank God, he thought wildly – they’re not gonna tickle me. Not yet.

Tracker laid a cigarette on Seth’s lip and he took it gratefully. He didn’t smoke calmly anymore, though. He inhaled with long, purposeful breaths as soon as it was lit.

The leather strips were for his toes, to tie them back. Seth stared down at the metal rings that lined the tops of his ankle cuffs and realized the truth. When the gloves were done, less than a minute later, he could barely even remember a time when he could bend his feet. The bondage was that good. And it was so unfair… those fucking student ticklers never did any of this.

The oil felt warm as it drizzled on his restrained toes, crawling down the tops of his feet in random patterns. Tracker led the glass container over the rest of Seth’s body, zigzagging back and forth over his legs, stomach, shoulders…

“Missed a few spots there,” Seth blurted out, looking down over his glistening chest. How incredibly stupid! Joking at a time like this! Seth just closed his eyes and felt his face burn with embarrassment. He’d done it now…

A couple of the latex gloves moved in Seth’s peripheral vision, closer to his feet. He desperately tried to think of something to say, something that could get him out of this. He felt sheer panic wash over him – he had to make those gloves stop! He couldn’t do this again, not this way, not tied like this…

Tracker took the cigarette away and set ten fingers on each foot, just under Seth’s toes. The feeling of the oiled skin against latex, the taut resistance of his soles, completely immobilized and utterly helpless – Tracker was experiencing a high it hadn’t felt in years.

Seth clenched his teeth and sucked in air, letting out a slow whine that communicated such complete misery. It was the only way he could give voice to the ocean of dread that surrounded him.

The fingers had started to move, swirling carefully. They probed in between Seth’s toes, around the sides of his feet, working their way down at an agonizingly slow pace. Seth was suffering silently for now – and Tracker was fine with that. It was simply watching, taking in every twitch, every high-pitched yelp. Watching the straining tendons along the tops of those beautiful feet react again and again.

Seth couldn’t do anything but breathe and sweat and feel.

Twenty agonizing minutes later, Tracker’s gloves finally reached Seth’s heels. His ankle joints were so fucking ticklish, and he didn’t want to admit it. What a stupid place to be ticklish, he thought wildly… And despite his best efforts, Seth’s body consistently betrayed him. His breathing became rapid, desperate, when those oily fingers reached around the sides of his feet, pulling against the outer edges. His abs flexed so hard when pressure was applied in between his smallest toes.

Oh, yes. Tracker was watching. Always learning.

The gloves lifted off and resumed their neutral position, hanging overhead.

“Oh, fuck me… thank God,” Seth panted, evidently grateful for any break at all, even though it just gave his brain more time to process the dread.

“We are going to spend days – days – on those feet, Seth. You have no idea.”

Seth just glared at the black ceiling, wishing there were something up there to look at. Something that could swoop down and protect him from the gloves that hung just a few feet away, threatening him.

It gave Seth a cigarette, which was gone in a nanosecond. The second one too.

“Look… you’re,” Seth gulped, “you’re a fucking expert. That was so fuckin’ intense.”

“We’re about to redefine the word ‘intense,’ here in a minute.”

“No, look, please… please. I seriously can’t fuckin’ take it. You’ll kill me.”

Tracker just chuckled, admiring the curves of Seth’s chest. A little pool of sweat had collected at the base of his neck, mixing with all that oil.

“Enough talking for a little while, okay? Laughter is okay, though.”

“Oh nonononono pleeeease…”

Twenty fingers clamped onto either side of his ribcage, massaging and crawling and digging. Tracker hit him especially hard, anxious to hear what kind of real noise he could make.

Seth didn’t disappoint.

He screamed the most beautiful laughter Tracker had ever heard. Full-throated and wild, so fucking loud! It was like it came from deep down, deep in his gut, and just flung itself out full-force.

After a couple of minutes, six of the gloves lifted off. The remaining two tormented Seth’s lower ribs, around back. Oh, how he hated that, and his shrieks let Tracker know. More oil flowed onto Seth’s stomach, quickly spread out by the gloves – and Seth lost it again. Each time Tracker sent those gloves to a new spot, his laughter became even more desperate! When they crawled up high, on either side of his pecs, Seth let loose with a delightful squeal. And when they scooted down lower, kneading right above his hips, laughter actually became impossible. It just wasn’t nearly enough.

Seth flailed his head for awhile, slinging sweat, but it was equally unsatisfying. Nothing worked – every stroke, every second of the torture, was positively kicking his ass, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

The gloves eventually massaged more deeply. Tracker had switched to sheepskin, but Seth didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were shut tight, tears streaming.

The time flew. Or crept, inch by inch – depending on whether or not you were Seth.

As much as it loved the full-on, undiluted hysteria, Tracker knew its business. After an hour getting to know each of Seth’s ribs, it backed way off. Fingertips traced lightly over his upper body, pressing just enough to elicit the occasional gasp or whimper. It gave him water.

Down lower, Seth was hard as a rock.

“Hey, Seth,” it whispered, close to his sweaty face. “Look down for a sec.”

One of the gloves pointed at his dick and gave a thumbs-up sign.

“You know, I’ve heard rumors about what happens after a guy shoots his load. The ticklishness, I mean. Well, they say it goes through the fuckin’ roof!”

Seth shuddered, shaking his head. “Nuh… nuh… no… ple…”

“You’re absolutely right. I think it would be downright wrong of me to bring you off. And I have just the thing, right over here…”

When he saw it – whatever it was – Seth almost started crying. Gloves fumbled with a leather cock toy, unsnapping the part that was about to fit over his shaft.

Seth just let his head fall back on the padding with a thump.

“Let’s see if I remember how this thing… oh yes. Here we go.”

A couple of low grunts were all Seth could muster as the leather trapped his dick. But he soon jerked his head up and stared, wide-eyed, once it was in place. It had some sort of texture, inside, that felt so amazing Seth thought for sure he’d lose his mind.

“There. The danger’s passed, Seth. No orgasm for you. See, I’m looking out for you!”

Seth gave a meager pull at the straps holding his wrists in place, just in case by some miracle they’d give way and gloves would let him finish off. They held as firm as ever.

“Y’know, talking about your date the other night, I noticed some very interesting stuff there,” Tracker said almost to itself. “She knew what she was doing, that’s for damn sure. Knew how to get you absolutely wild.” Seth just kept staring at the blackness above him, too exhausted to be angry. The bastard had been watching him.

“Stuff like this,” and Tracker sent two gloves down to squeeze Seth’s pecs. “She couldn’t keep her hands off your chest, and I don’t blame her.” The gloves set their palms along Seth’s ribcage and their thumbs found his nipples, taking full advantage of all the oil.

“Ohohohoho… stop… pleaeehehe… I’m fuckin’ begging…”

“You can keep begging, it’s okay. Beg me to stop – but I know better. We both know what you really want. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

The gloves slowly found every fucking button he had, and spent what seemed like days pushing them all, endlessly.

Tracker fed him slowly, wiping the sweat off his face. Seth was clearly grateful for the break, and for the food, but there was something else. Tracker saw no hatred in his eyes – none of the wrath that a few hours of fingering is bound to bring up. With a voice that was more than a little worn around the edges, he thanked Tracker for the food. Especially thanked it for every cigarette it offered him. Profusely.

The tray was removed, and Tracker cleaned up its captive. Soft towels moved over his body affectionately, although the mere sight of gloves so close caused him to twitch and jerk against his bonds involuntarily.

“Amazing, Seth. Unreal.”

“Oh, fuck,” he croaked. “Unreal.”

“Seth, I must ask you something.”

“Oh God… oh please,” Seth sobbed. He expected a full-scale interrogation.

“No, honest question. Remember when I was really plowing your ribs earlier, right about here?” An invisible finger poked his side, at the base of his ribcage.

“Do I remember it? Shit,” Seth moaned. “I fuckin’ hated that. And you did it for, what, an hour?”

“Oh, fifteen minutes tops.” Seth rolled his eyes. “But here’s the thing. You had this really… happy look, the entire time! And don’t even talk about your dick! I’ll show you the video later – did I mention all of this is on tape? Oh, you’ll get such a kick out of that, when we watch it together.”

“So I was grinning! Maybe the fuckin’ tickling had something to do with that! I can’t help what my… I can’t help that!,” Seth screamed as loud as he could, which sounded pretty pitiful. “You were teasing the fuck out of me! That thing you had on me…”

“You loved it. We both know you love that ‘thing,’ as you call it. It’s a very expensive cock toy, you ingrate.”

There was a long pause. Seth had this wounded look on his face.

“I knew it. I knew it the moment I saw you, Seth my boy! Aahaa… this is gonna be so awesome. You and me, ramping it up more and more, seeing how far we can go! Oh, man…”

Seth was so desperate to speak he choked on his words. “No – no, you… oh you’re so fucking wrong! I do not… do not – you’re outta your fucking mind!”

The oil started pouring again, starting over his shoulders this time and moving down.

“Noooo!!! Nononoooohohoho, you’re wrong!!”

“Liar.” Bright red satin gloves headed straight for Seth’s face, then froze just a few inches away from their target. Seth looked down at his armpits, the thick hair damp with oil and sweat.

“You caaan’t… nah… I’ll fuckinaaawwwwhawhaw…”

They crept around the edges, swirling inward. Seth threw his head around madly, knowing full well that nothing in the world could stop them from probing deeper and deeper, until the tickling swallowed him whole.

Seth grunted. Sweat dripped from his ears, his chin. He was so exhausted.

“C’mon, dammit. Two more reps.”

“Jesus, please…” Seth’s voice squeaked just like the brakes on an old car.

The gloves retreated, finally acknowledging that he’d reached his limit.

Seth laid his head back on the weight bench. Working out naked had taken some getting used to, but Tracker had some excellent incentives. Squeezing out that extra rep or two was a lot easier when half a dozen gloves hovered around, holding three of his least favorite brushes and a bottle of oil.

But damn, the work was paying off. Seth was in shape before, but now he was noticing muscles he’d never seen before. Too bad muscle ended up being more ticklish. His legs, stomach… Seth had never realized how much muscle surrounded his armpits. They were rock solid now, packed with nerve endings and always ready to be played with.

“I know you’re sore. You need some time to recover. Let that upper body rest awhile.”

“Oh, c’mon, Tracker. Gimme a day off or something…”

Seth walked straight to the stocks, in his normal unhurried manner, wondering how many days his upper body would be allowed to “rest” while it tickled the fuck out of his feet.

Tracker certainly wouldn’t be counting.

Seth hated these fucking stocks. This set in particular.

They held just his ankles and were padded to the extreme, perfect for long-term use. Even the ever-present toe restraints were so well engineered that they did their job without causing the slightest pain or numbness.

Numbness… Seth had to laugh at the thought of Tracker allowing that.

He heard laughter, dry and high-pitched. He glanced over at the television across the room – top-of-the-line plasma, mounted on the far wall. Seth never got used to watching himself get tortured. This was one of Tracker’s favorite scenes, which was basically an edited version of the day-and-a-half he spent strapped down to the thick pad on the floor. From this angle, all he could see was a shitload of gloves and brushes and oil…

It had all started running together in his mind. Agony was agony.

“You were so crazed,” it whispered, carrying over a few tools he didn’t recognize. Metal ones. Seth yanked at the cuffs that held his wrists behind his back and, not surprisingly, they held. He let out a furious growl for good measure, but Tracker just laughed at him.

“Quit looking! You’ll ruin the surprise! I’ve waited a long time to bring these bad boys out. Matter of fact…”

Seth moaned as the blindfold wrapped around his head.

“Well, if you weren’t so nosy… What am I going to do with you, huh?”

“Let’s see, tickle my feet for a year or two?” A smartass remark couldn’t make things any worse, so what the hell?

“Riiiight. See? You’re so smart…”

Something pointy – make that five or six pointy things – started swirling all over the tops of his feet as fast as superhuman hands could make them fly.

A couple hours later, Seth rolled his head over and noticed that the television screen was blank. He could see, so that meant that the blindfold was gone…

Summoning all the energy he could gather at the moment, Seth lifted his head and looked toward the stocks. He had no fucking idea why he felt compelled to look, but he always did.

God, he was sweaty. He was never much into sports as a kid, but when he did play outside he never used to sweat like this. Thanks to Tracker, there were a lot of things about him that were different now.

Horsehair brushes, big ones, were sweeping back and forth across the base of his toes. Seth knew these brushes so well – they were some of Tracker’s favorites, for times like this when it wanted to keep him tense and frantic. These brushes were soft enough that when the gloves lowered them onto his feet from above, his toes would completely disappear inside the bristles. Tracker loved to do that.

Memories flooded back to Seth when he was feverish. Stuff he’d long since forgotten – like the time he and his family went to the beach one summer, and Seth could barely stand to walk barefoot on the sand. The little shells tickled too much. His brothers had made fun of him. They tickled him a lot after that…

Oh, motherfuck… just give me thirty seconds! Seth thought wildly. Any break at all.

He looked down again and watched the brushes leave, immediately replaced by leather gloves. The oily fingers started squeezing his heels.

Why the fuck was he hard? Since day one it was like this. Totally involuntary. And Tracker just had a field day with his sex drive. Before it caught him, Seth couldn’t remember going more than a day without shooting his load. Now, he had to be verging on complete insanity before it would let him cum – and that was just so the tickling could turn white-hot.

“C’mon… Track… Track…” It had to know the tone in his voice. What he wanted. C’mon, let me cum – it’s been a week already!

A week. As if he knew what time meant anymore.

Suddenly there was warmth – an invisible hand – sliding down his cock.

“You’ll cum, sweet Seth,” Tracker whispered. “Before the day is out you’ll cum, I promise.”

Seth let out a whine that sounded an awful lot like sobbing. He could feel in his bones that most of the day still lay ahead, and yet somehow that seemed okay. Now that he’d get relief – eventually – it all seemed easier to take.

The leather gloves suddenly sped up, tormenting the sides of his feet. Oh, fuck… it knew he couldn’t take that. Seth threw his head back, cackling uncontrollably, fully aware that Tracker was loving every minute of this. Watching him suffer, watching his misery. That should have made him angry, but instead he just laughed.

Seth was a different person now. It was like everything in his life before Tracker was starting to become more and more meaningless and insignificant. Tracker had taught him how to feel – how to let go of everything except the sensations that plowed through him. What could be more fundamental than that? His endurance had become so great that twelve-hour shifts on the rack or in the swing were not uncommon. And when Seth looked in the mirror at his new body, somehow everything seemed worth it.

In a weird sort of way, Seth felt as if Tracker had given him a gift by catching him.

The gloves picked up thin round brushes and started dragging them between his toes. Some fucking gift, his logical brain screamed. Fuck Tracker, fuck all of this!

The gloves multiplied, heading straight for his ribs. Others surrounded his pecs and fingered his nipples.

It watched him sleep for a long time.

A hand stroked his forehead. It wore no glove, but it felt just like a hand.

“Uhhh,” he grunted, coming around. “Oh fuck I’m sore… c’mon, lemme sleep…”

“Get on up, Seth. Let’s go outside.”

“Please, God, I just wanna sleep for once,” he said with a voice that was broken into a thousand pieces. Seth sometimes wondered if he’d ever sound normal again.

“Sleep later. It’s important.”

Seth rolled out of bed, not terribly surprised that he wasn’t restrained. Tracker let him have a semi-normal morning once in a while, eating and smoking leisurely. But today its voice sounded tense and worried.

“Let’s go outside.”

“Oh, outside. Now I see what’s so fuckin’ important.”

“No, I mean it. Just go.”

Tracker had taken Seth out into the old quarry quite a bit over the summer, letting him get some sun and enjoy the fresh air. The place was abandoned and Tracker would sense intruders instantly, so there was no risk involved. Seth spent hours rolling around in the powdery dust at the bottom of the mine, listening to his laughter echo for what seemed like miles. Tracker’s invisible fingers were always at their most playful when it tickled him outside.

As he walked through the long underground passageway, Tracker didn’t say a word.

The final hatch popped open and Seth climbed out. The sun was brilliant that day, and Seth relished the feeling of warm ground beneath his feet. It was such a rare treat.

“Seth, do you feel the season changing?”

“Do I feel what?”

“The season. Can’t you feel the difference in the air, during the last days of summer?”

“Well, I guess so…”

“It’s August. August 17th.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I don’t really have a calendar handy. You gonna take a picture of me to send home? Holding a copy of today’s paper, like the hostage I am?”

Tracker chuckled. “School starts in two weeks, Seth. Remember how I said I’d have you back for fall semester?”

Seth’s heart skipped a beat and adrenaline shot through him. Was this the end? He couldn’t help but feel overjoyed. But at the same time, how could he explain this sinking feeling, deep in his gut? After all the time he’d spent here, all those crazed, delirious hours, for it now simply to be – over? It seemed unfitting.

“I… I guess I always figured you were just kidding about that.”

“A promise is a promise,” it said quickly. Seth just breathed for a while.

“So, I’m leaving?”

Hands rested themselves right on Seth’s shoulders, squeezing tenderly.

“It’s up to you, Seth. I have never given anyone this sort of power, but I’m giving it to you. If you want, I’ll take you home today – everything is just as you left it.”

He looked down and dug his toes into the sand.

“No other ticklers will bother you,” Tracker said reassuringly. “I’ll give you a tat that will keep them away, and you can get busy becoming a doctor. Or doing whatever it is you really want.” Its voice seemed forced and unsteady.

“But, what if I don’t want to go back to school?”

“I’ll take you anywhere, just say the word…”

Seth squinted up at the swaying trees along the edge of the quarry and bit his bottom lip, holding back a smile. He felt his heartbeat whooshing in his ears.

“People do take time off from school, Tracker.”

“Time off, huh?” The hands on his shoulders slid down a little. “How much time?”

Seth took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Well, sometimes years.”

Tracker let out a yip of approval and slapped Seth on the back. “Oh, my boy, you don’t know how happy you’ve made me! And we are leaving this place, Seth. There is so much world out there for you to experience! So many other ticklers…” For once Tracker was hysterical.

“Hey now,” he yelled, grinning wide. “Don’t fuckin’ kill me!”

“Ooohoho, you’ll be just fine. I fucking knew you felt this way,” it whispered in his left ear, absolutely jubilant. “Just leave everything to me.”

Seth felt a sharp pain in his arm. Tracker’s laughter continued ringing through the canyon, but it was becoming muffled and distant.

Then everything went dark.

Static.

Seth kept his eyes closed and listened to the sound of static on a television, being turned way up and then way down, in random intervals. It almost lulled him back to sleep.

A high-pitched cry rang out, far above him. Then the same cry was repeated, only from a different direction. Birds – but Seth didn’t know that yet.

His eyes felt so heavy, and it took everything he had to crack them open, just a little. They didn’t stay open long; sunlight blinded him instantly and his head throbbed.

“It’s okay… wake up now.” The voice was calm and familiar, but he didn’t recognize it.

Suddenly the floodgates opened and everything started falling into place. Tracker… the old mine… school… laughing… tickling…

Seth grunted and started to struggle a little, but something heavy held him down.

“Easy, easy. Just open your eyes and wake on up.”

Slowly and deliberately, Seth opened his eyes. He lay with his back against hot sand, and above him was the bluest sky he’d ever seen. Waves crashed into the shore endlessly.

He opened his mouth to ask where he was, but nothing came out.

“I’ve got you, Seth. We’re in a wonderful place – when I saw this island, I knew it was perfect for us.” As he listened to Tracker, his mind became fully awake for the first time.

Seth tried to pull his arms in, but they didn’t budge. Slowly lifting his head, he realized that straps held his arms and legs out from his body, tethered to stakes. His body shined with oil. Knowing for sure what was happening actually made him feel better. It was the confusion that had had him paralyzed.

“Ohhh… wow…” He raised his head and looked around. The sand stretched forever, it seemed, on into the horizon. Looking over his shoulder, Seth saw lush vegetation covering mountains. A few high clouds floated overhead.

It was beautiful.

“This place was uninhabited, Seth. Until now – a population of one. You.”

“So this is it, huh? Where I’m gonna stay?” His voice was clearer than he expected.

“Yes… but try not to worry about the future… there’s only now. The present.”

“Exactly,” Seth said with a smile. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“But yes, we’ll stay here together for a while. You won’t believe everything I’ve built for you. For your enjoyment.” Seth felt that tingling in his stomach, the feeling of dread and anticipation and excitement, rolled into one.

“You know, why worry about the future,” Tracker chuckled, “when the present is sometimes way more than you can handle.”

Seth saw gloves – more than he could count – heading toward him.

“Oh no, Tracker, c’mon… not right now, not yet… c’mon, noooaahaawhawhawhaw…”

“Now I can show you real tickling,” Tracker laughed. “You volunteered, remember?”

Seth fought for a while, but eventually threw his head back and gave in to the hands that knew him too well. C’mon, dammit, he thought wildly. Quit holding back and lemme see what you’ve got.