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The Nylon Dungeon: Triathlon

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The Nylon Dungeon: Triathlon

By Xodlirv

Somewhere in the United States, there exists a secret place known as the Nylon Dungeon. Only the men who created it know where it is. The women who are selected to enter it never leave it again.

Tonight, at that secret place, the members of the secret society were gathered to watch the annual Tickle Olympics. The final event had come: the Triathlon.

The members were gathered in the Dungeon’s massive auditorium; nearly every seat was filled. A red curtain hung down on the stage. A man of about thirty, with light brown hair and glasses, walked out on stage, in front of the curtain. He held a cordless microphone in his hand, and spoke into it.

"Fellow patrons of the Nylon Dungeon, welcome one and all! I’m sure you’re all ready for tonight’s event, the Triathlon! This is the final event in our annual Tickle Olympics; the four women who have survived the elimination events preceding this are just offstage now, ready to compete for our mutual amusement!"

A round of applause greeted that statement; the emcee allowed it to die down before continuing.

"As you all know, our four lovely triathletes will be subjected to three different forms of tickling on their lovely stocking feet. The challenge will be to refrain from laughing while being tickled. Not an easy task, considering each girl has, naturally, been subjected to our wonderful Tickling Serum!" The audience chuckled at that. "Each tickle-contest ends when the first woman laughs, and is thus eliminated. Upon elimination, each woman is immediately taken to our video room, where she receives the punishment for failure: ten hours of non-stop tickling of her nylon tootsies, all the while videotaped for future enjoyment by the members!" Another round of applause. "The winner of tonight’s triathlon receives a prize coveted by all inmates of our wonderful institution: one month completely free of tickle torture! Of course, she must continue to earn her keep during that month; usually by tickling the stocking feet of some of her fellow inmates, while our privileged members watch. Let’s face it, no one knows a woman’s ticklish spots quite as well as another woman, eh?" A chuckle from the audience. "And now, without further ado, let’s bring out our contestants! These four women have survived the elimination rounds, and thus have the strongest will power of all our inmates! Well, tonight, we’ll see if we can break ‘em! First, let’s have a round of applause for the lovely Gina!"

Thunderous applause came from the audience as a dark-haired young woman walked out on stage. She was dressed in a French maid’s uniform, complete with black stockings and high heels. She carried a feather duster in one hand, and did a little curtsey for the audience as she walked up to the emcee.

"Gina, are you planning to win the triathlon tonight?" the emcee asked, and extended the microphone to her.

"You bet! I want that month of no tickling, and nothing’s gonna keep me from it!" she declared.

"Well, good luck, Gina! Next, let’s hear it for the beautiful Betty Lynn!"

Applause greeted the approach of Betty Lynn, the beautiful blonde who had once been a hostess on a television shopping channel. She was dressed as she often used to appear on the air, in a fashionable black dress with gray nylons and black pumps.

"Welcome, Betty Lynn! Congratulations on making it to the triathlon!" the emcee said.

"Thank you," she answered. "I just hope I survive to the end!"

"We’ll soon see, Betty Lynn," the emcee said. "Now, let’s hear it for Michelle!"

A beautiful young woman with dark brown hair walked out to the audience’s applause. She was dressed in a nurse’s uniform, with white stockings and white low-heeled shoes.

"Any words for your fellow competitors, Michelle?" the emcee asked.

"Just this: save yourself the agony and give up, because I’m going to win!"

"Great attitude, Michelle! And now, our final contestant, Maria!"

The audience applauded as a young Hispanic woman walked out onstage. She was dressed in a businesswoman’s "power suit", navy blue jacket and skirt, with beige nylons and shiny navy-blue pumps. The fear showed on her face; she was the newest of the four to join the Nylon Dungeon, and had not completed resigned herself to her fate.

"Maria, do you think you have a chance against these other ladies?" the emcee asked.

"I—I sure hope so! I can’t stand to be tickled!" she nearly sobbed.

"Well, none of you can; that’s the whole point, isn’t it?" the emcee asked, getting another chuckle from the audience. "Now, on with the contest!"

The curtain behind the emcee and the contestants parted, to reveal four elaborate restraining devices. Each was a kind of couch, placed with the end facing the audience. The couches reclined at an angle that would allow the audience to see the entire body of anyone lying on them. The ends of the couches were padded stocks, for restraining the ankles; similar padded cuffs, for the wrists, were on the sides of the couches. The couches were elevated several feet above the floor, so that the bodies of the ticklers would not obscure the view of their victims. The entire affair, of course, was being video taped, and a live feed was broadcast to a large screen to the left and above the stage, with close-ups at particular moments. The four women climbed onto the couches without a word of protest; they knew it was no use, and the best they could hope for would be to win the tickle-free month! The women placed their wrists the padded cuffs, and their ankles in the open holes of the padded stocks. At a signal from the emcee, the cuffs and stocks were closed by remote control. The women were now totally helpless.

"Let me remind the audience that these lovely ladies’ delicate stocking feet have been wearing these confining shoes for the last twelve hours," the emcee said, as he walked to the foot of the first couch. "All that time closed up in shoes has made their tender tootsies all the more sensitive! Isn’t that right, Gina?" The emcee asked, as he plucked the shoes from Gina’s black-stocking feet.

"It sure is," she agreed, wiggling her nylon toes. "It sure feels good to get those shoes off!"

"Well, it won’t feel so good soon," the emcee warned. One by one he went down the line, removing shoes. The audience chuckled as he sniffed Betty Lynn’s stocking toes, and laughed at Michelle’s yelp as he playfully pinched her big toe. When all four women were shoeless, he stood at the wings of the stage.

"And now, the most important part of our triathlon---the torturers!" The audience watched as four more beautiful women walked onstage. Each of them was wearing only a lacy bra and a pair of pantyhose. Each woman’s bra and pantyhose were the same color, and all four were different. "These women," the emcee explained, "failed to last the elimination rounds. Therefore, our four triathlon contestants have a shot at the tickle-free month that these beauties failed to win! That should make them ruthless ticklers indeed, eh, guys?" Cheers went up from the audience as the ticklers took their places at the feet of their victims. "The first event of our triathlon will be---fingernails! Ladies, are you ready?" The four victims nodded or spoke their assent. "Are the ticklers ready?" The four torturers eagerly agreed. "Then on my signal—go!"

All four pairs of trapped stocking feet were immediately assaulted by sharp, lacquered fingernails. The four ticklers had been given manicures that day, in preparation of the event. Some let their nails glide slowly across the hosed flesh, up and down, back and forth; others preferred a rapid scrabbling of the nails. The feet twitched and flailed under their assault as much as the bonds would allow; likewise the women’s bodies trembled and shook. The agony of the tickling was etched on their faces; eyes screwed tightly shut, teeth clenched, heads shaking from side to side. The women tried their best to hold in the giggles, the laughter. It was impossibly difficult; every stroke of the nails was like an electric shock though their systems! Gina’s hair was matted with sweat, as her tickler slowly stroked her nails up and down her nylon sole. Betty Lynn tried to concentrate on something else, anything else, as her tickler made little circles on the pads of her toes with her index fingernail. Michelle bit her lower lip as hard as she dared, as her tickler’s nails flew over her foot bottoms like hyperactive centipedes. Maria prayed to the Virgin Mary as her tickler pulled her toes back, stretching her sole, and ran her nails up and down along her arch.

"Five minutes, and no one’s broken," the emcee said. "I know a lot of you guys have bets on this; any of you feeling nervous about your investment yet?"

Two more minutes went by of merciless fingernail assault. Finally, the tense silence was broken by a cry.

"AAHH! HAHAHAHA!! NO MORE!! HAHAHAHA!!" The cry had come from the lips of Gina, the dark-haired beauty on the far left.

"Ladies, cease your tickling!" the emcee announced. The ticklers all stopped, some with a final tweak of the big toe or quick stroke of a nail up the arch as a "parting shot". The other contestants burst into giggles, finally letting it loose, then subsided into gasps and pants.

The emcee walked over to Gina, whose restraining device was opened by remote control. "Tough break, Gina! You were the first to break. But you fought hard!"

"I know," Gina gasped between gulps of air. "My tickler was a tough bitch! In all my time here at the Dungeon, I’ve never been tickled like that before!"

"Well, it’s not over now! Time to head to the video room; we’ll see you in ten hours, Gina!" Applause sounded as the young woman climbed out of her couch. She was terrified of the fate that awaited her in the video room; she considered making a run for it, but she saw the big guard standing just offstage. With a sigh, she walked toward him.

The emcee went from one contestant to the other, getting their thoughts on the contest. Each admitted to having been right on the verge of cracking, but was determined to win. The lady ticklers walked off stage; a five minute intermission was announced.

The women remained on their couches as the lights dimmed for the intermission. The couches were close enough that they could speak to each other.

"Whew! I don’t know how much more of that I’ll be able to take!" Betty Lynn gasped.

"You’ll have to take a lot more, blondie," Michelle declared. "You’re going to the video room for ten hours! I’m the one who’s going to win!"

"How can they do this?" Maria asked. "This—this is inhuman! Does no one know about this? Can—"

"Oh, pipe down, you," Michelle snapped. "We’re stuck here for the rest of our lives; whining isn’t going to change it!"

Then the lights came back up, and the emcee took his position.

"Hope everyone had a comfortable break," he said. "Now, Round Two of the triathlon is about to begin!"

Three of the ticklers walked back onstage. Each carried in her hand a long, thin plastic rod, which terminated in a plastic hand, fingers curled like a claw.

"Our next event—back scratchers!" The emcee announced.

"Hey, bitch," Betty Lynn heard her tickler whisper. She could not see the woman’s face, for the stocks blocked her view. "You lasted the least amount of time, of the four finalists; did you know that? You beat my time by a lousy two seconds! If not for you, I’d have a shot at that month! Well, you won’t get it!"

"On your mark," the emcee said, "get set—tickle!"

With that, the ticklers began using the plastic back scratchers on the nylon bottoms of their victims’ feet. The hard plastic was a more devious tickle than the fingernails; while they might not have the dexterity of human fingers, the women could manipulate the plastic hand back and forth faster than their own hands, and tickle a smaller area more intensely. The audience cheered as the women sat to one side of the trapped stocking feet, vigorously playing the scratchers over their bottoms. Two of the women flirted with their audience as they tickled, pouting and blowing kisses and making jerk-off motions with their free hand, encouraging the men to masturbate as they tickled. One even lifted her nylon leg and extended her sole to the audience, rotating her ankle, as if daring them to reach out and tickle her foot. The third tickler, the one tickling Michelle, did not flirt; she only tickled the helpless white-stocking feet. She knew that it could easily be her, and would be her, tomorrow; she took no pleasure in her task. Many of the inmates of the Nylon Dungeon had adopted a hardened, every-girl-for-herself attitude; one or two had even come to enjoy their life here. But not this one.

Betty Lynn’s mascara (for she had been made up as she used to appear on television) ran down her face in black streaks, as the laughter she would not allow forced its way out of her as tears. Michelle clamped her jaws tightly together, her lips a thin tight line, and her bottom bounced up and down on the padded couch. Maria’s fists clenched and unclenched, as she mentally recited Hail Mary’s over and over. What had she done to deserve this torture?

Finally, a shriek broke from Betty Lynn’s perfectly-lined lips. "EEEEEE!!" she cried. "HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!"

"Okay, ladies, scratchers down," the emcee announced. The ticklers put aside their plastic torture-tools, and stood up. Betty Lynn’s tickler smirked down at her, as if to say: I told you so. The emcee walked over to her with the microphone.

"Wow, you’re a mess, Betty Lynn," he said, noting her black-streaked face. He offered her his handkerchief, as her wrists were released from the cuffs.

"Thank you," she said as she wiped her face. "That back-scratcher was wicked! I just couldn’t stand it anymore!"

"Well, thanks for giving us a good show, Betty Lynn! Off to the video room with you!" Resignedly, Betty Lynn slid down off the couch and walked off stage, where the guard waited.

The emcee carried his microphone over to Michelle’s couch. "Let’s see how our other triathletes are doing. Wow, looks like Betty Lynn wasn’t the only one who got messed up! Guys, can we get a shot of this?" The audience watched the big monitor screen, as the camera zoomed in for a shot of the crotch of Michelle’s white nurse’s uniform. A large wet spot was spreading across the front. "Guess it had to come out somewhere, huh, Michelle?"

"I guess so," she said. "But the little bitch didn’t make me laugh!"

"That’s true," the emcee admitted. "Keep up the good work; you have one more contest to go!" he strolled over to Maria’s couch, where she lay panting, her black hair falling across her face in strings. "And how are we doing over here?" the emcee asked, brushing strands of hair out of her eyes.

"I—I can’t take any more of this!" she cried. "Please, please let me go! Dios mio, this is torture—"

"Of course it’s torture," the emcee said. "This is the Nylon Dungeon!" And the audience all laughed. "Okay, another five minute intermission, and then: the final event! One of these two ladies will walk out of here on feet that won’t be tickled for a month! Who will it be? Place your bets now!" And the lights dimmed as the emcee walked offstage.

Michelle whispered to Maria. "’Dios mio, this is torture!’ You’re a riot, honey!"

"How—how can you be so cruel?" Maria asked her. "We are in this together, we are both prisoners here—"

"Save it, Chiquita," Michelle snapped. "I used to have that attitude, too. I used to be a good girl, a shy retiring thing. That’s what got me here in the first place! I’ve been here six months now, and a day hasn’t gone by when I haven’t spent hours being tickled way past my endurance level! You’re still kind of new here, but you’ll learn; the day will come when you’ll do anything to stop the tickling, even for a day or an hour! You’ll offer them any kind of sex they want—"

"Por dios, no!" Maria gasped. "Never would I do that! Never!"

"Ha! I said that, too," Michelle scoffed. "There was a time when I said I was saving myself for marriage. Well, three months after I got here, I was giving a guy head while he tickled another woman’s feet, for the promise of two days without being tickled! Well, don’t worry; not all of them want sex. A lot of them only like the tickling." Michelle shrugged as much as her bonds allowed.

Then the lights came back up, and the emcee stood between the two couches.

"Only two ladies left, gentlemen!" he announced. "Michelle, and Maria! Who will be this year’s winner? We’ll know very soon, because here come our lovely ticklers again!"

Two of the women in bra and pantyhose walked back onstage. Each carried a small object in her hands, and took her seat at the foot of her victim’s couch.

"Our final event this evening—shaving brushes! Ladies, start your tickles!"

The ticklers began their devious work on the bottoms of Michelle and Maria’s feet with the shaving brushes. The stiff bristles didn’t usually penetrate the nylon stockings, but the Tickling Serum had rendered their tender feet so sensitive, the vibrations of the bristles across the nylon were more than enough to tickle. A more intense, more torturous tickle than anything before, because it didn’t overwhelm their nerves as the fingernails and back scratchers had; the assault was more subtle, more gentle, and thus all the more maddening. Michelle bit her lip as her tickler dragged the bristles slowly up and down the bottoms of her feet, first one foot and then the other. Maria gasped as the bristles first touched her heel, but did not laugh or cry out; she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and prayed silently as her tickler vigorously scrubbed her soles with the brush.

The audience was literally on the edge of their seats. Money was riding on the outcome of this final contest; big money indeed. The directors of the Nylon Dungeon who lost their bets would make it go very, very hard on the loser.

"Come on, sweetie, laugh for Jackie," Maria’s tickler whispered to her, as she slowly dragged the brush back and forth across the tips of Maria’s toes. "Kitchy, kitchy, kitchy!" The tormenting talk made Maria remember her childhood, when her babysitter, the girl from the apartment across the hall, would tickle her toes with her makeup brush. Maria had enjoyed it then! Now, it was the most horrible torture she had ever experienced!

Michelle’s tickler was making circles on the bottom of her foot with the brush, sometimes big circles, sometimes small. Michelle could feel every loop and swirl of the bristles; her fists clenched tightly, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms. Her stomach ached from holding in the laughter.

Finally, the bristles poked through the nylon at the base of Michelle’s toes, and the bristles grazed her most sensitive tickle-spot of all: the undersides of her toes! She shrieked before she could stop herself.

"HEEEK!!" she cried. She immediately clamped her lips shut, but it was too late.

"Brushes down, ladies!" the emcee cried. "We have a winner! Gentlemen, the winner of this year’s Tickle Olympics: Maria!"

"No!" Michelle screamed, above the applause. "No! It’s not fair! I—I didn’t mean to! Give me another chance!"

The remote control unlocked both couches. Michelle tried to run at Maria, but the burly guard grabbed her by the arms and dragged her offstage, her nylon feet slipping on the polished wood as she struggled. "No!" she screamed all the way. "You bitch! I’ll get you for this!"

The emcee handed Maria a handkerchief, and she wiped the sweat from her brow. She stood there on the stage next to him, in her navy blue suit and beige nylons, wiggling her toes as if trying to shake off the memory of the tickles. "Congratulations, Maria!" the emcee said. "You now have a month without being tickled, starting immediately! How does that make you feel?"

Maria watched the cursing Michelle being dragged off. She heard the insults Michelle called at her; some were words she had heard before, from privileged Anglo girls. The emcee had said before that the winner would have to "earn her keep" during her tickle-free month, by tickling other women; and Michelle was on her way to ten hours of non-stop tickling. Maria would see if she could be of help there.

"How do I feel?" Maria asked the emcee. "Tickled pink."



The End
 

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Love this story. It is so gruesome, inhumane, and sadistic. I've read it on your website, and the Nylon Dungeon Stories are great. I wish it really existed. I have a list of women I'd love to get in there and be my tickle slaves.
 
Nylon Dungeon:Triathlon

This is one of my favorite stories I've read on this website,in my favorite series.Like GL2814,I also wish there was a Nylon Dungeon,although I have a suspicion it is based on fact.I could not send a friend there,but there are some women I'd like to send there for revenge.There are also some casual acquaintances I'd consider for my entrance fee.
 
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