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Linda’s Great Escape, Part II

MTJpub

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Linda’s Great Escape, Part II

By Daumantas

Nigel Wulf and his men, having finished toying with Melissa, removed the set of stocks from her ankles. Nigel then sprayed a shot of Sleeping Agent into the duct, to render the girl unconscious and thereby make it easier for the necessary work of removing the metal sheeting, so as to extricate the trapped girl, to be done. Nigel put in the call, and within a few minutes a maintenance crew arrived to disassemble the duct to remove Melissa.

"Let me know once you get her out of there," Nigel said. "She gets the special punishment, the one reserved for attempted escapes."

The maintenance men merely smiled at this.

"In the meantime, I’m going to be joining my teams outside to help them track down that other bitch." He turned to Frank, John, and Steve. "Teams B, D, and F are already patrolling, so it shouldn’t take long to find her. You two get down to the gym and do your 10 miles. I have relief at your stations already. Once you’re back on duty, let me know the minute you hear anything."

"Yes, sir, will do," Frank replied, hoping to sound competent in order to make up for his mistake. John nodded in agreement.



**************



A light rain was falling in the countryside, which looked to be very pastoral. A cold autumn rain. Linda ran, splashing through the mud and wet grass, panting, heaving with effort, weakened by the effect of the Sleeping Agent she had ingested. The rain felt bitterly cold against her bare skin; her stockings and black skirt had been torn nearly to shreds by her trip through the ventilation ducts and the countryside, and her bra, her only other garment, offered little protection from the elements. Her skin was covered in goose bumps and her nipples hardened from the cold. She shivered and sneezed. She was filthy from the dirt in the ventilation ducts, and the rain plastered the muck onto her skin. Her hair was tangled and disheveled. Every now and then she stumbled and fell as the dizziness brought on by the Sleeping Agent overwhelmed her. But each time she struggled to her feet and again pressed on. She had to find help. She had to notify the authorities somehow, to ensure her escape and to free all those helpless women. My God, what those bastards must be doing to poor Melissa by now…

For nearly an hour she scrambled through the woods and fields, with no definite destination in mind other than to run, and get away, and find help. A few times she ducked into the brush when she thought she heard voices, and spent a few minutes shivering with fear as a flashlight sliced through the rain-sodden air and men’s voices called orders to one another. She knew they had to be looking for her, but if she could just reach help, she would bring down their whole damned chamber of horrors.

Finally, she gasped with glee as a welcome sight greeted her eyes: a country road. Best of all, a pickup truck was driving down the road, loaded with hay in the truck bed. She could see the driver – a kindly-looking, Dan Haggerty-type man with a white beard.

Linda ran toward the truck, waving her arms. "Hey! Hey! Help me! Please, help!"

The driver’s eyes widened in amazement at the spectacle of a half-naked young woman, soaking wet from the rain, running out of one of his fields toward the road. He hit the brakes, and the truck slid slightly in the mud before stopping.

"Oh, thank God," Linda said, panting heavily, "thank God…thank you for stopping…thank…you."

The man was speechless for a few seconds, before he finally could ask, "Who are you?"

"Linda…please…you have to help me…I got…away…the Nylon Dungeon…prisoner…please…call police…"


"What…." the man said, scratching his head in confusion, "Prisoner?" He got out of the truck, and made a calming gesture with his hands. "Now, calm down, miss, and tell me what happened to you. Did someone try to rape you or something?"

Linda, catching her breath, realized she had been babbling and making no sense. Taking a deep breath, she said, "My name is Linda Baines. I’m a newspaper reporter. I was kidnapped a few weeks ago, and I’ve been held prisoner ever since then. There’s a place hidden across the fields through here, they call it the Nylon Dungeon, and they kidnap women and hold them prisoner there and…do stuff to them."

"They WHAT?"

"Like I said, they kidnap women and…look, this is going to sound silly, but…they tickle them. They inject you with this stuff that makes you super-ticklish, and they tickle you, as torture, for the fun of it. They’re holding a whole bunch of women prisoner there." She paused to let this sink in, then continued, "Please…you have to help me. You have to contact the police for me. I escaped, but they’re probably still looking for me. We have to get the police before they find us both."

The man stared at her for a second, seemingly trying to discern whether this story could be true. "Please…" Linda cried, "Please help me…"

Suddenly, with a flourish, the man said, "Come on. Get in the truck. The nearest phone is at my place – I’m a farmer here; these are my fields. My name’s Henry. We’ll get you cleaned up and into some warm clothes, and we’ll call the police from there."

"Oh, thank you, thank you," Linda moaned.

"Come on," Henry said. "If what you say is true, sounds like we ain’t got much time."

Henry’s house, a cozy farmhouse, was not far down the road. A satellite dish was in the front yard, along with a few more trucks alongside the house and assorted farm equipment.

Henry and Linda scrambled inside through the back door. "I’m sorry I’m so muddy," Linda chuckled.

"Oh, don’t worry about that," Henry said, heading over to a telephone on one end of the kitchen counter. "First things first. Let’s call the police."

As Henry picked up the phone and dialed the number, Linda, still shivering, tried to cover herself with her arms. She looked around the kitchen. It seemed normal. Wonderfully normal. She had forgotten how good the outside world was.

"Hello, sheriff’s office please," Henry said into the receiver. "Hello, sheriff’s office? This is Henry Bailey at the Blue Springs Farm. I just picked up a girl along the road, said she’d been kidnapped and held prisoner somewhere around here. Could you send someone over as soon as you can, I think she might be in danger." Another pause. "Thank you, thank you very much." He hung up the phone. "The sheriff’s deputies are on their way, ma’am. You can rest easy now."

Linda heaved a great sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God, I made it, I got out of there…" she said. "You have no idea how goddamn horrible that place is. Someone has to put a stop to it."

"Don’t worry about it right now, miss," Henry said. "I think you’ll be safe here for awhile. I didn’t see nobody around when we drove back, so I don’t think they come out here looking for you, at least not yet. In the meantime, do you want to take a shower and get cleaned up? My wife ain’t here, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you borrowed some of her clothes for the time being."

"Thank you so much," Linda said. "I’ll find some way to pay you back for all this, I swear."

"Just go take your shower, and I’ll get some hot coffee going for us."

After the hour-long ordeal of running nearly naked through the woods – not to mention the strictures of the Nylon Dungeon she had escaped from – the shower felt extraordinarily good to Linda. She let the hot, steamy water warm her from head to toe, and soothingly lathered the soap across her naked body. She shampooed her hair and rinsed long to get the sweat and dirt out of it. She giggled with delight in the shower; never had the ordinary delight of a simple shower felt so good – a shower not taken preparatory to beautifying herself to please cruel Nylon Dungeon masters, but for herself, simply because it felt good.

When she emerged, she found that Henry had thoughtfully left for her a few of his wife’s clothes – a flannel shirt, jeans, socks, and sneakers. The clothes were a bit big on Linda, but they would do until she could get into her own things.

She combed her hair and tied it back in a ponytail, then emerged from the bathroom. Henry already had a pot of coffee waiting.

"Care for some coffee?" he smiled at her.

"Thank you," she replied.

"Cream and sugar?"

"Please," she said politely. "Did the police get here yet?"

"They should be here soon," he replied. "You gotta remember, were a way’s out here, so it takes a while for the sheriff’s deputies to get up here."

"Yeah," Linda giggled. Henry set the coffee cup in front of her.

"Why don’t you sit down in the TV room?" he said. "You’ll be more comfortable."

"Thank you, I will," she answered. She walked into the TV room and sat down on the farmer’s aged sofa. It felt heavenly to Linda, after weeks of hard cots, concrete floors, wooden tables, being shackled kneeling, standing, lying face-down, hanging…

Linda drank the warm coffee, and felt it warm her inside. She began to relax for the first time since her escape. She was free, and the Nylon Dungeon would soon be no more. Lounging back on the sofa, she thought about what this would mean for her career as a journalist, having broken the Nylon Dungeon and liberated all those women held prisoner there. She would probably have publishers begging her for million-dollar book deals for this story.

Soothed by the warm coffee, the comfortable sofa, and still feeling the aftereffects of the Sleeping Agent, Linda was not surprised to feel herself beginning to doze. The police will be here soon, she thought, and surely this kind man will awaken me before they get here if I fall asleep. That was Linda’s last thought before she drifted off.

Henry walked into the TV room and considered the sleeping girl for a few minutes when a black car pulled up in front of the house. Footsteps, up the path, then up the steps, finally a knock at the door.

Henry went to the door and answered it – and found himself face to face with Nigel Wulf.

For a second neither man said nothing. Then Henry’s face broke into a grin. "Hello, sheriff," he chuckled.



***************

"Hello, Henry," Nigel said, smiling back. "As always, the Nylon Dungeon thanks you for your services."

"Well, are you gonna thank me in words or in cash?" said Henry.

Nigel chuckled, then withdrew an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Henry. "Business before pleasure," he said.

Henry laughed. "Hell, Nigel, you should have seen me. All kindly and attentive-like, gave her my wife’s clothes, let her use the shower – hell, this bitch thinks I’m friggin’ Mother Teresa. She didn’t notice nothing – not when I called you and pretended to call the sheriff, and not when I slipped that mickey into her coffee."

"Surprise is always the best weapon," Nigel said, smiling. He and his men entered the TV room, preparing to remove Linda.

"She’s a pretty thing," Henry said, his gaze for the first time betraying lust. "I almost had a notion to keep this one for myself."



Nigel immediately turned a sharp eye on Henry. "You know the organization would frown upon that," he said.

"Oh, I, I didn’t mean nothing by that," Henry quickly said. "Just making a comment. I know damn well better than to try to rob you guys."

Nigel and his men picked up Linda and carried her toward the door. "Well, one of these days, Henry, we just may reward you with something other than money," he said with a smile.

"Now wouldn’t that be neighborly of you?" Henry said with a chuckle.



***********



Linda came back to consciousness slowly. She felt foggy somehow, and for some odd reason the warmth induced by the shower and coffee were gone. It couldn’t have worn off that quickly, could it? She shook her head, and with a series of blinks, opened her eyes – and immediately let out a scream of utter horror.

She was in an all-too-familiar looking, plain concrete-lined room with a metal door. She was hanging from the ceiling in an X-shape, her wrists locked into shackles hanging from the ceiling, her ankles tied with rope, spread wide, and attached to the floor. She was naked except for a pair of black thigh-high stockings. A mirror was leaning against a wall, obviously placed there to allow Linda to view her own captive state; looking in the mirror, she could see that her hair had been styled, and her face had been heavily made up.

"NOOOOO!!!!" she screamed. "MY GOD!! NOOOOOO!!!! Oh God, it can’t be! No, please, oh God, no…."

As Linda broke into sobs, the metal door opened. Four men entered the room – Nigel, Frank, John, and "the Weasel." The latter spoke first, saying, "Linda, Linda…we’ve been a very naughty girl, haven’t we?"

Linda screeched, "NOOOO!! PLEAAAASE!!! NOOOOO!!"

"Shut up," Nigel snapped. Linda immediately stifled her screams, although she could not stop her sobs. Nigel Wulf was a figure of terror to the captives of the Nylon Dungeon even at the best of times. But Linda had never before seen him looking this angry.

"It’s not like you were never warned, Linda," he said. "You were warned repeatedly. But Linda doesn’t listen to warnings. Instead," he said, his voice becoming sarcastic for dramatic effect, "Linda just had to put ‘be stupid’ first on her list of ‘Things to do today.’"

Nigel walked directly up to Linda, and stared deeply into her tear-stained eyes. "Well, let me tell you what’s in store for you, foolish girl." He paused. "I know how deeply you fear tickling. So let me make this absolutely crystal clear for you." He paused again. "You may think you’ve been tickle-tortured up till now. But that has been nothing compared to the tickle-torture that awaits you as punishment for your little escape attempt."

Linda’s sobs turned to short, agonized breaths, as her eyes widened and her lower lip quivered.

Nigel turned to the Weasel. "The syringe, please, my good man." The Weasel eagerly handed a small plastic needle and syringe to Nigel.

Linda watched with intense fear as Nigel began swabbing a small area on her left arm with antiseptic. "N..Nigel…p-please…I…I already have the Serum in me…"

Nigel chuckled, but his face remained cruel. "This isn’t the Serum, Linda. This is the Heightener."

"The what?"

The Heightener," said Nigel. "It’s only used when special punishments are required – like for stupid girls who run outside of the Nylon Dungeon. The good news for you is, unlike the Serum, it eventually wears off. Eventually, that is. The bad news," he said, stopping and staring directly into Linda’s eyes, "is that it doubles the effect of the Serum."

Linda’s jaw dropped wide open. She struggled, moaning incoherently and gasping with terror. But Nigel, ignoring her struggles, plunged the needle into her arm. Linda watched in terror as the liquid in the syringe emptied.

Linda waited for the explosive effect of the Tickling Serum to once again overwhelm her. But there was no obvious, immediate effect. She began to hope, just faintly, that Nigel was merely trying to frighten her. But the four men stood and waited patiently, for about ten minutes, without saying another word.

Then Nigel looked at his watch. "Gentlemen, if you will assist me, please."

The Weasel lunged at Linda’s right foot, and Nigel took the left. Frank and John took, respectively, her stomach and ribs, and her legs.

The scream that erupted from Linda as the four pairs of hands began tickling her virtually emptied her lungs. Nigel was right. This was worse than anything that had come before.

For a half-hour, Nigel and the Weasel worked over Linda’s feet, which flailed helplessly as she gasped for enough breath to meet the screams of laughter that were erupting from deep inside her. Frank dug furiously into her ribs and ran his fingers viciously over her stomach. John stroked up and down the backs of her stocking legs. Linda fought with all her might, but there was nothing she could do to stop any of the intense sensations.

Nigel gripped her left foot in his firm hand, tickling relentlessly at the helpless stocking sole, moving to the toes and heel as his whim dictated, always paying special attention to any spots that were especially ticklish, zeroing in on them and drilling furiously at them until, satisfied with the agony he had extracted, he moved on. The Weasel preferred to play with Linda’s right foot, allowing it to flail frenziedly in every direction, but never allowing it to escape his torturing fingers.

After the half-hour finally finished, the four men remained silent, waiting again for Linda, this time for her to regain her breath. It took nearly ten minutes before her wheezing had ceased to the point where she could speak.

"Please…" she gasped, "no more…I…I’ve…learned…lesson…never try…escape again…I promise…please…Nigel…"

Nigel walked up to Linda and once again stood face to face with her, this time shaking her head as if in disbelief. "Do you honestly think that’s all you’re going to get? Oh, no, my dear, far from it. That was just the beginning of your punishment. You have much, much more to go yet. And it just gets worse from this point on."

"Noooooo…." Linda sobbed.

Nigel turned to the others. "Gentlemen, please remain available, as your services will be required soon." He paused, again clearly for dramatic effect, the others looking at each other out of the corners of their eyes, in obvious awe of his performance. "In the meantime…" -- he turned back to look at Linda, then back at the other three – "leave us."

The three men exited, leaving Nigel alone with Linda, and shut the metal door behind them. In the corridor, "the Weasel" lingered a few more minutes, savoring the high-pitched shrieks, tortured laughter, and incoherent pleas for mercy that soon began to emanate from behind the door.



**************



Nearly a week later, Keiko, a lovely Japanese-American girl, and a recent addition to the Nylon Dungeon, was shackled alone in one of the cells, in a kneeling position atop a wooden table. This was clearly to be her imprisonment for the night. She shifted her weight from one nude-stocking-clad leg to the other, trying to find a reasonably comfortable position.

She gasped as the metal door opened, then relaxed a bit. They were not coming for her; instead, two guards were bringing a girl in to join her. The girl was Linda. She was still wearing black thigh-high stockings, but had been given a white button-down shirt in addition. She said nothing, and her eyes were blank, almost catatonic.

The guards led her into the room, and one pointed to the military-issue cot positioned along one wall. Linda dutifully walked over and sat on the cot. She made no effort to resist as the guard produced a pair of handcuffs and cuffed her hands behind her. The guard pointed to the foot of the bed, and Linda lay down upon it, allowing the other guard to shackle her ankles. Once they had completed their task, the guards left the room. Linda rolled over, wordlessly, facing the wall.

Keiko stared at the silent girl for a few minutes. Then she tried tentatively to strike up a conversation. "My name’s Keiko," she said. The girl made no answer. After a few minutes, Keiko said, "Um…I wish they didn’t keep these cells so cold." Complaints were the standard topic of conversation in the Nylon Dungeon between captives, but again Linda said nothing. "Don’t you wish they could make it a little warmer in here?"

"I don’t care," Linda finally muttered. "It doesn’t matter." A single tear rolled down her cheek. "Nothing matters anymore. I’m a prisoner of the Nylon Dungeon."
 
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