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The Nylon Dungeon: Anissa

MTJpub

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The Nylon Dungeon: Anissa
By Daumantas

Anissa folded her hands tightly together and rested them in her lap. She drummed her fingers nervously. The thought of undergoing therapy for her continuous nightmares had itself been plaguing her for weeks. She was not a demonstrative person by nature. She wasn’t sure how she felt about telling a total stranger such intimate details about her inner life.
She felt herself beginning to perspire.
"Please, go on," the kindly voice of the therapist sounded gently in her ears.
Anissa unfolded her hands and took a drink of water from the glass on the table beside her. She remained silent.
The therapist coughed. "Maybe we should start at the very beginning. When did you first start having the dreams?"
"In college," Anissa muttered. "In the dorm."
"Anissa! Oh my God, are you OK?"
Anissa’s roommate, Ruth, stumbled to the light switch and flicked the light on. The pretty blonde in the bed across the room had awakened her with her screams. Now, Ruth saw, she was gasping for breath, almost hyperventilating.
"It’s all right," Ruth said, running across the room to comfort Anissa. "It’s all right, it’s just a dream. You were having a nightmare."
"Oh my God, it was horrible," Anissa gasped as her breath returned. "It was so awful…and it seemed so real…"
"It’s all right, it was just a dream," Ruth repeated.
Anissa wiped her forehead with one arm and rubbed her eyes. "It was the worst dream I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t know where it came from, but it was so real…"
"Wow! What happened in it?" Ruth asked. "You’ll probably feel better if you talk about it."
"It sounds so bizarre…but…"
"No, just go ahead."
"Well…I dreamed that it started tonight when I was on my way back from the Chem Lab…" Anissa had worked on a project at the Chem Lab that night, returning about 11 p.m. to her dorm room.
"I dreamed that I never got home," Anissa said. "I was on my way back when a guy came up to me and asked me for directions. He was really creepy-looking, and I started to run away, when he took this thing out of his pocket that looked like a pencil and sprayed something in my face…it was like I passed out or something."
"Holy shit!"
"It gets worse," Anissa continued. "I dreamed that I woke up in this room that was like a jail cell. When I tried to move, I found I was tied up. I couldn’t get free. I tried and tried, and…"
"It was just a dream, hon," Ruth reassured her.
"Anyway, these men came in. They were all really awful and vicious. They told me I was in some place called ‘The Nylon Dungeon.’ They said they kidnapped women and held them prisoner there. They told me they were into tickling women who were wearing stockings, so they said they were going to make me wear stockings and tickle me there. They said that while I was out they gave me this stuff that makes you extra-ticklish or something."
"That’s really weird," Ruth said. "Where did that come from? Did you get tickled a lot as a kid or something?"
"No," Anissa said. "I don’t know where that could have come from. I’m ticklish, but I never really thought about it that much. I can’t imagine why I would have dreamed this. And the really weird thing is, it was so vivid…I mean, the thing he sprayed in my face smelled like cinnamon…I swear I could smell it. The dream couldn’t have lasted that long, but it felt like I was there for hours."
"Wow, that is weird," Ruth said. "So, could you feel yourself being tickled or anything?"
"No," Anissa said. "I woke up just when one of these men said he was going to start tickling me."
Ruth shook her head. "This is SO strange."
"I know," Anissa said.
Over the next few nights, Anissa’s dreams had continued. Always the same dream: leaving the Chem Lab, abduction, arrival in the "Nylon Dungeon."
She finally consented to see a counselor at the campus health center. The counselor listened to the description of Anissa’s problem and concluded that she was probably just reacting to the stress of her ambitious class schedule. She was internalizing the stress as "tickling," the counselor said, and feeling herself trapped in her situation.
The problem appeared to have been solved. Following the counselor’s recommendations, Anissa lightened her class load. Once she did, the dreams appeared to vanish as quickly as they had appeared.
"That was the last of the dreams for a while," Anissa told the therapist. "But after a few years, just right after I graduated, they started again."
This time they had taken place after Anissa had moved into an apartment and gotten her first job. It was a professional position, and she was trying hard to succeed. When the "Nylon Dungeon" dream returned, Anissa concluded that she might have been overdoing it and stressing herself again. She bought some books on time management and took great pains to lessen her workload. Again the dream stopped.
For several years Anissa led a healthy, normal life. She moved upward at work, being promoted and gaining prestige and responsibility.
One night at the coffee shop near her office, she met Eric. He was a lawyer with a prestigious downtown firm and quite handsome. They had chatted for a long time the first night; then, when he met her again at the coffee shop, he asked for her phone number. After the first few dates, Anissa knew she was smitten. So was Eric.
A year later, they were married.
They bought a home in the suburbs, and Anissa began commuting to her job in the city. They talked of beginning a family. Her life seemed to be virtually perfect; everything she had ever wanted had fallen into place.
But then, one night, she had the dream again.
"Honey, what’s wrong?" Eric asked, awakened by his wife’s shrieks. "What’s the matter?"
Once Anissa explained her dream, she and Eric concluded that perhaps the counselor’s original analysis was still correct: stress. Maybe the stress of the move to the suburbs and possibly raising a family in the future were beginning to tell on Anissa.
But for several nights running, the dream continued. Eric began to worry.
Eric, after some pushing, convinced her to go to a therapist in the city. She had been reluctant. She didn’t want anyone to think her crazy. But he was insistent; he was concerned, he said, for her health.
"So here I am."
The therapist sat for a long time carefully considering what Anissa had told her. She spoke slowly.
"Anissa…I do think stress is at least partially responsible for your problems. But I also believe you may have a more deeply-seated fear. I want you to try to confront your fears. The next time the dream recurs, remind yourself that it is just a dream. Don’t let yourself be overwhelmed. Just stay focused and remember that it is only a dream, and perhaps you will be able to determine what exactly it is that you’re so fearful of."
Anissa swallowed the last of the water. "That sounds reasonable," she said. "Thank you, doctor."
The woman smiled. "My pleasure."

It was happening again.
The room, the men, the bondage, the description…but Anissa remembered the words of the therapist. "This is just a dream," she thought to herself. "This isn’t happening. It’s just a dream."
"Just a dream, Anissa?" the man snickering over her suddenly said.
Anissa gasped. The dream had sometimes varied a bit, but it had always had the same primary elements. But the man asking her if it was "just a dream," seeming to invade her very thoughts and to taunt her – this had never happened before.
Her toes, in their beige-colored nylons, flexed as she grew more nervous. "This is just a dream," she said aloud. "This isn’t happening. It isn’t real. I’m dreaming this…"
"One heck of an awful dream, wouldn’t you say, Anissa?" the man said.
Now she grew even more nervous. By now she would have awakened…but maybe this related to what the therapist had said – maybe now she would find out what it was that she feared.
"Let’s find out if this is a dream," the man said. He began stroking the soles of her feet.
Anissa shrieked as the full force of Tickling Serum-treated soles being tickled struck her. Her feet seemed unbearably ticklish – more ticklish then she had ever remembered.
The man continued his attack, scrabbling his fingers up and down her soles, tickling vigorously throughout, his fingers flicking across the smooth nylon surfaces. He swirled his fingers around her toes, and ran them up and down the sides of her feet.
Anissa collapsed in paroxysms of laughter. She struggled furiously at her bonds. Her head thrust from side to side. Her feet flailed as she tried desperately to elude the tickling fingers, tried to find a safe haven – but there was no way her bound and helpless feet could evade her tickler.
Her head fell back and she fell into silent laughter as the intensity of the tickling increased. Then, her laughter broke again with piercing intensity, making the sides of the room almost ring.
The man’s merciless attack continued for close to half an hour. When he finally ceased, the helpless girl giggled for nearly ten minutes more before finally gaining her composure. The man stepped across the floor toward her face.
"Does it still feel like a dream, Anissa?"
"It has to be…but how am I…but…I remember…I…I…remember…OH GOD NO!!!"
Suddenly it all came flooding back to her. The night of her abduction. The many days and nights she had been imprisoned in the Nylon Dungeon since then. The countless tickling sessions she had undergone.
"I see your memory is awakening," the man smirked.
"You’re…you’re Louis Grogan," she gasped.
Louis chuckled. "You may remember, Anissa, that it has been about six months since your abduction. That was last spring. Tonight is Halloween. Happy holidays!"
She began to sob, and thrust in her bonds. "What’s going on?"

"We examined several of the girls," Louis said, "to decide which were the most susceptible to suggestion. Dreamers, so to speak. We determined that you were our best candidate. To that end, we brought in a new member, who is a professional hypnotist, to play some interesting games with you. A bit of Halloween fun."
Anissa was still a bit hazy. "You mean…my job…"
Louis laughed. "And your marriage? Never existed. We made it up. Even your trip to the therapist. The whole past six years of your life, as you have imagined them while under hypnosis, have been a complete and total fantasy."
As the fog began to clear from Anissa’s mind, the truth of Louis’s words began to ring chillingly through her: it was indeed true. The Nylon Dungeon was not a "dream" she had been having. The rest of her life was the dream. The Dungeon was all too real.
"Perhaps you’d like to meet our hypnotist," Louis said, summoning a figure from the shadows. "Say hello to our newest member, Anissa."
"Hello, Anissa," a familiar voice said.
"ERIC!" she shrieked.
Eric and Louis both laughed aloud. "Shall we return to the Halloween fun?" Eric said.
"Let’s not waste another minute," Louis said. "Halloween comes but once a year."
Anissa shouted "No – No!" and began struggling, as Louis and Eric approached her stockinged soles once again…
The End
 
what a cruel trick to do to poor Anissa..i thought i read all the Nylon Dungeon series, but somehow missed this one..i wish Daumantis would write some more of those, i loved that series, which i know is strange for a female, but i did..
 
I so do love the Nylon Dungeon series. I hope they write more. I just lto tickle women's stockinged feet.
 
Nylon Dungeon:Anissa

Really good story,I'd love to something like that to a few women i know.
 
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