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The Nylon Dungeon: Linda Part One
By Daumantas
Linda found the whole situation very baffling indeed.
"No ransom demand, no apparent motive," she scribbled in her notebook, recording what the police had told her. "No evidence to suggest a sex crime. No reason to suspect a runaway situation."
She sighed. She hadn’t been a reporter for very long, but she had already learned that the police were not necessarily forthcoming with the press. Could they be covering something up? Did they have more leads than they were letting on? It’s so hard to tell – the cops were so used to thinking that, number one, the press is the enemy, and number two, that a pretty female reporter must surely be dumb and easy to deceive. They had their reasons for obfuscation, she knew – after all, the disappearance of the popular cheerleader had thrown the whole college campus into a panic -- but she had a job to do, too.
Linda frowned, and adjusted her skirt. "What the hell is going on?" she thought.
The only real evidence, in fact, that Jessie had even been abducted came from another student, who insisted that he had seen her being bundled, apparently unconscious, into the back of a blue van. The van had sped off before he could react. He called the police, but an ongoing search across four counties had turned up no sign of the van. And the police had nothing else to say.
I’m getting nowhere, Linda thought. Just the same stonewalling for three days now. Not a word from the cops. "The matter is under investigation." "Students should exercise normal caution; however, we do not believe that there is a safety issue on the campus." Yadda yadda yadda.
There’s got to be more here, she thought. She was an award-winning reporter at her college newspaper last spring, for heaven’s sake. Surely she could figure out what was going on.
Despite the cops’ stonewalling, she had heard the rumors. Some sort of ring that conspired to kidnap girls for unknown, but apparently unsavory, reasons…the chief of police was supposedly getting hush money…Jessie wasn’t the first girl on campus to disappear, just the best known, and the only one to hit the news. It seemed crazy, sort of like hearing that the aliens from the Roswell spacecraft had shot Kennedy. But still…what if there was at least an element of truth to this?
Suddenly, the idea clicked. Perfect!
She stood up, smoothed her skirt, and walked over to the editor’s desk, her high heels clicking on the wooden newsroom floor.
"Jack," she said, "I need to take a few days off."
Jack, in the middle of opening his third pack of Rolaids of the day, looked up incredulously. "You’re kidding," he said. "The biggest story of the year lands on your beat, and you just want to walk away from it?"
"I can’t make any headway with this," she said. "The cops aren’t saying a thing. There’s just going to be no leads for awhile. I might as well take my comp time now, before this story drives me to swallowing Rolaids all the time like you."
Jack chuckled. He had a warm spot for his newest reporter. "All right," he said. "I’ll let Fred tangle with the cops for awhile. Take a few days to unwind. Then get right back here."
Linda was jubilant as she bounded out to her car. What she was contemplating was dangerous and possibly foolish. But if she could get to the truth first – what a break! This could make her journalistic career.
She didn’t even want to tell Jack, not only because he would try to talk her out of it, but because it would inevitably get around the newsroom, and then out into the grapevine, and somebody else would try to pull it off. Still, she saw the need for precautions.
She drove home quickly, intent on putting her plan into effect immediately. She hurried upstairs, fumbling with her keys, and let herself into her apartment.
Precautions, she reminded herself. First things first.
She sat down at her computer, flicked it on, and waited for the word processing program to come up. Then she typed, "To anyone who finds this message: I have decided to pose as a student at the university and try to find out what happened to the missing cheerleader, Jessie Barron. I am leaving this message in the event something should happen to me. I will have my cell phone concealed with me at all times." She then wrote the number. "In a drawer in my nightstand, locked in a drawer, will be my notes." She saved the document under the title "HELP!" and concealed it in a maze of subdirectories.
Two nights later, Linda had a fraternity party to go to.
Going to and from various classes, she had questioned the students, working her questions into casual classroom and dining hall conversations as surreptitiously as she could manage. She had recorded some of the rumors she had heard over the past few days in her notebook, concealing it in her nightstand just as her message on the computer said. The rumor mill had led her to the fraternity. Some of the brothers there supposedly know something, she had been told in an anonymous note, passed to her in the library after a casual chat about the kidnapping. She knew, without having to ask, that they would be partying that Friday night, and that with her long, brunette hair, her slim legs and gorgeous body, she could get in easily, no questions asked. This would be the time to see what she could find out. She was sure of it.
She dressed nervously, slipping into a slinky black dress with miniskirt, sheer black nylons, and high black heels. Looking good, she knew from experience, would help loosen the frat guys’ tongues. Then she remembered her message. The cell phone! Her outfit certainly left her no place to hide it. There was nothing for it but to put it in her purse.
As she added a finishing touch – clasping a silver ankle bracelet around her right ankle – she thought she saw a vehicle pull slowly past her apartment building. For a second, she froze. But the car continued down the street, and Linda sighed with relief. She went to her car.
It seemed the standard fraternity party – the guys all drunk, leering at the girls, the music tremendously loud, drinks spilled everywhere, couples bounding upstairs. Linda stood at the bar, nursing a Coke – she had told the bartender she was taking medication and couldn’t drink alcohol, which he had seemed to believe.
"Cool party," she shouted to him, over the music.
"About average," he shouted back, smiling.
"Didn’t Jessie Barron used to come to parties here?" she said – and immediately thought, uh oh, you idiot, that was too abrupt.
But the bartender didn’t seem suspicious. "I think so," he shouted back. "But she made the rounds, you know."
"Yeah, I guess," she shouted in response.
She turned to look toward the dance floor. All these young girls, looking so happy to be here, reveling in the attention, she thought.
She didn’t see the bartender just barely exchange nods with a clean-cut looking man across the room.
The man walked over to Linda.
"Hi," he said. "I haven’t seen you around here before."
"I, uh, just transferred from a branch campus," she said. "I’m Angie."
"Jeff," the man said, politely. "Pleased to meet you."
"Thanks. Me too."
"Can I get you a drink?"
"I’m not drinking," she said. "I’m just having Coke."
"Well, let me freshen that for you, anyway. Allen – our bartender – isn’t real swift. You’ve gotta keep on top of him." He laughed. Linda pretended to laugh with him. What a dork, she thought. But he might be useful. She handed him the glass.
"Here you go, Angie. And one for me," he said, hoisting a beer glass. "Cheers." He downed his beer.
Well, if anyone is going to be drunk, it’ll be him, not me, she thought. Maybe I can get some information out of this guy. She downed her glass of Coke.
"So what brings you to our party?" he said. "Curiosity?"
"Well, I’ve never been to a frat party before, so I guess I’m kind of curious."
"That’s not what I mean," Jeff said. He folded his arms. A smile gradually grew across his face, joined by a smile from Allen the bartender behind him. "I think you know what I mean."
"What are talking…" Linda started to say, but she felt…odd. As if she were about to faint.
"Something wrong, Angie?" Jeff said, the barest hint of a smirk appearing on his lips. "Would you like to sit down?"
Linda didn’t answer, but collapsed into a chair. Her mind seemed suddenly foggy, but she still managed to force out the thought, damn, I’m stupid, the Coke, they drugged it. Then her eyes closed.
When Linda awoke, it took her a minute to remember what had happened. The party…Jeff…the Coke…where am I?
She looked around. She was seated on the floor of a concrete-lined room, with her back upright against a metal pole in the center of the room. The room had a single door and no windows. Attempting to rub her forehead, she found herself unable to move her arms. She twisted her head around, to find that her hands were handcuffed behind her back and around the pole. She tested the cuffs – they were secure. It was only then that she noticed that her ankles were shackled together by a short chain, which was also joined to another chain, attached to an eyebolt on the floor. The shackles held her legs stretched outward.
Don’t panic, she thought. Remember, you took precautions. There’s still a chance.
After just a few minutes, the door opened. To Linda’s utter lack of surprise, Jack and Allen entered. However, she was surprised at one thing – a third man trailed them, pushing a small television set on a cart.
Jeff circled in front of her. "Welcome to the Nylon Dungeon, Linda," he said.
She gasped. "A-Angie," was all she could say.
Jeff smirked. "No," he said, "Linda. You didn’t think you would really get away with it, did you? Snooping around campus, asking questions. You should have looked elsewhere for that big news scoop, my dear."
Linda’s fear rose, but she stiffened, trying to remain calm. "You’d better let me go," she said. "They’ll be looking for me."
Jeff laughed aloud. "I’m sure they will," he replied. "They’re looking for Jessie, too. But they won’t find her. Or you."
"I wouldn’t be too sure about that," she said.
Jeff smiled. "Allen, would do me a favor and retrieve the items?"
Linda watched silently as Allen left, returning a moment later with a small cardboard box. Jeff reached into the box.
"Do you recognize this?" he said, pulling an object from the box.
Linda gasped. Her notebook! "How did you find that?" she heard herself say.
"That’s not important," he said. "What is important is that no one else will find it."
Don’t panic, she told herself. You still don’t know if they checked the computer. But Allen quickly dashed those hopes also.
"Very clever of you to put that message on your computer," he said. "You hid it very well. Unfortunately for you, we have several brilliant programmers here in the Nylon Dungeon." He pulled a disk from the box. "This disk contains your little ‘HELP!’ document – along with the virus we used to destroy your hard drive, in case there were any other hidden messages out there." Replacing the items in the box, and handing it to the man who had wheeled in the TV, Jeff said, "Have these items destroyed." The man left the room.
Now Linda’s fear was apparent in her face. Jeff continued, "You see, my dear, they may be looking for you, but now that your bread crumb trail has been removed, they will have no idea where to find you."
Linda swallowed hard. "What are you going to do with me?" she whispered, her eyes clouded with fear.
Instead of answering her, Jeff turned to Allen. "I think she’s been able to talk long enough," he sneered. "Gag the captive, please."
Linda, frozen with fear, could not even protest as Allen produced a ball gag. He pulled it into her mouth, and fastened the clasps behind her head.
"To answer your question, Linda," Jeff went on, "you might like to see what you are about to experience." He sighed. "Really, I would have preferred the Dome for this. Unfortunately, it’s in use right now."
Jeff flicked a switch on the TV, and it flickered into life. Linda gasped at the image that appeared on it – Jessie Barron. She was dressed in her cheerleader’s uniform, with tan stockings, but with no shoes or socks. A ball gag, like the one in Linda’s mouth, filled the mouth of the pretty blonde. She could be heard moaning into the gag, and her eyes pleaded for mercy. She was tied in a tight hogtie, and appeared also to be strapped around her torso to a table.
A thirtyish man approached Jessie silently. As Linda watched in confusion, the man began tickling her feet.
Linda shuddered at Jessie’s reaction. The girl screamed into her gag. Her entire body shook as if in convulsions. The man appeared to be tickling her feet only lightly, in fact barely touching them, yet the girl screamed and struggled as if the agony were unbearable.
Her toes wiggled violently, her feet thrust back and forth. She tried desperately to shelter one foot with the other, but her efforts brought her no relief. She bucked furiously in her bonds. Linda watched in terror. She could handle most things – being a reporter makes one worldly in no time. But tickling was something she deeply feared. She was fiercely ticklish, and her older stepbrother had tortured her mercilessly as a young girl, pinning her down and tickling her feet almost daily. The experience had left her deathly afraid of tickling. She couldn’t stand being tickled, and feared it almost more than death. Now, as she watched the helpless blonde being tickle-tortured before her, she felt as though it was her worst nightmare come to life. Linda tried to look away from the TV, but still she could hear the sounds of the girl’s muffled laughter and screams, and Linda’s body quaked with fear.
Jeff flicked off the screen. Linda, still shivering, immediately tried to speak, to ask what sort of horror this was, but could only produce muffled bleats.
"So you see what happens to our guests here in the Nylon Dungeon. Jessie, along with the other captives here, is to be kept as a plaything for our amusement. We abduct beautiful women for the pleasure of tickle torturing them. And all of our captives, including you, will remain with us permanently." Linda’s eyes grew wide, and she froze for a second. She moaned "NO" into her gag and frantically tried to pull her hands free.
Jeff laughed aloud at her struggles. "My dear Linda, it appears that you fear being tickled. How absolutely delicious. You don’t know how entertaining you will be for us." He cleared his throat, then went on. "You are about to fulfill your purpose in entering on this little project of yours – you will soon find out, firsthand, exactly what has happened to Jessie Barron, and all the other girls as well. Unfortunately," he added, laughing again, "I’m afraid you will have no opportunity to write your story for the paper on what you have found out."
As Jeff approached Linda, she screamed into her gag with fear. She again turned her head, moaning piteously, as Jeff pulled the black high heels from her stocking feet.
"You are about to discover just how ticklish a woman can become," he said, crossing to her neck. He withdrew a small black device. "Enjoy the Tickling Serum, my dear. And prepare to become about 50-60 times as ticklish as you already are."
She tried desperately to pull herself away, but restrained to the pole, she could offer little resistance as Jeff pricked her neck with the device. Immediately, she felt the sensation strike her – like millions of tiny fingers, tickling her everywhere, rushing through her body. For agonizing minutes she screamed into her gag with laughter as her head shook violently and her legs thrust in their shackles. Then she passed out.
Jeff surveyed his victim for a moment, then spoke to Allen. "Let’s remove our intrepid reporter," he said. He smiled, and Allen smiled back. "I’m sure she’ll enjoy what we have planned for her this afternoon."
By Daumantas
Linda found the whole situation very baffling indeed.
"No ransom demand, no apparent motive," she scribbled in her notebook, recording what the police had told her. "No evidence to suggest a sex crime. No reason to suspect a runaway situation."
She sighed. She hadn’t been a reporter for very long, but she had already learned that the police were not necessarily forthcoming with the press. Could they be covering something up? Did they have more leads than they were letting on? It’s so hard to tell – the cops were so used to thinking that, number one, the press is the enemy, and number two, that a pretty female reporter must surely be dumb and easy to deceive. They had their reasons for obfuscation, she knew – after all, the disappearance of the popular cheerleader had thrown the whole college campus into a panic -- but she had a job to do, too.
Linda frowned, and adjusted her skirt. "What the hell is going on?" she thought.
The only real evidence, in fact, that Jessie had even been abducted came from another student, who insisted that he had seen her being bundled, apparently unconscious, into the back of a blue van. The van had sped off before he could react. He called the police, but an ongoing search across four counties had turned up no sign of the van. And the police had nothing else to say.
I’m getting nowhere, Linda thought. Just the same stonewalling for three days now. Not a word from the cops. "The matter is under investigation." "Students should exercise normal caution; however, we do not believe that there is a safety issue on the campus." Yadda yadda yadda.
There’s got to be more here, she thought. She was an award-winning reporter at her college newspaper last spring, for heaven’s sake. Surely she could figure out what was going on.
Despite the cops’ stonewalling, she had heard the rumors. Some sort of ring that conspired to kidnap girls for unknown, but apparently unsavory, reasons…the chief of police was supposedly getting hush money…Jessie wasn’t the first girl on campus to disappear, just the best known, and the only one to hit the news. It seemed crazy, sort of like hearing that the aliens from the Roswell spacecraft had shot Kennedy. But still…what if there was at least an element of truth to this?
Suddenly, the idea clicked. Perfect!
She stood up, smoothed her skirt, and walked over to the editor’s desk, her high heels clicking on the wooden newsroom floor.
"Jack," she said, "I need to take a few days off."
Jack, in the middle of opening his third pack of Rolaids of the day, looked up incredulously. "You’re kidding," he said. "The biggest story of the year lands on your beat, and you just want to walk away from it?"
"I can’t make any headway with this," she said. "The cops aren’t saying a thing. There’s just going to be no leads for awhile. I might as well take my comp time now, before this story drives me to swallowing Rolaids all the time like you."
Jack chuckled. He had a warm spot for his newest reporter. "All right," he said. "I’ll let Fred tangle with the cops for awhile. Take a few days to unwind. Then get right back here."
Linda was jubilant as she bounded out to her car. What she was contemplating was dangerous and possibly foolish. But if she could get to the truth first – what a break! This could make her journalistic career.
She didn’t even want to tell Jack, not only because he would try to talk her out of it, but because it would inevitably get around the newsroom, and then out into the grapevine, and somebody else would try to pull it off. Still, she saw the need for precautions.
She drove home quickly, intent on putting her plan into effect immediately. She hurried upstairs, fumbling with her keys, and let herself into her apartment.
Precautions, she reminded herself. First things first.
She sat down at her computer, flicked it on, and waited for the word processing program to come up. Then she typed, "To anyone who finds this message: I have decided to pose as a student at the university and try to find out what happened to the missing cheerleader, Jessie Barron. I am leaving this message in the event something should happen to me. I will have my cell phone concealed with me at all times." She then wrote the number. "In a drawer in my nightstand, locked in a drawer, will be my notes." She saved the document under the title "HELP!" and concealed it in a maze of subdirectories.
Two nights later, Linda had a fraternity party to go to.
Going to and from various classes, she had questioned the students, working her questions into casual classroom and dining hall conversations as surreptitiously as she could manage. She had recorded some of the rumors she had heard over the past few days in her notebook, concealing it in her nightstand just as her message on the computer said. The rumor mill had led her to the fraternity. Some of the brothers there supposedly know something, she had been told in an anonymous note, passed to her in the library after a casual chat about the kidnapping. She knew, without having to ask, that they would be partying that Friday night, and that with her long, brunette hair, her slim legs and gorgeous body, she could get in easily, no questions asked. This would be the time to see what she could find out. She was sure of it.
She dressed nervously, slipping into a slinky black dress with miniskirt, sheer black nylons, and high black heels. Looking good, she knew from experience, would help loosen the frat guys’ tongues. Then she remembered her message. The cell phone! Her outfit certainly left her no place to hide it. There was nothing for it but to put it in her purse.
As she added a finishing touch – clasping a silver ankle bracelet around her right ankle – she thought she saw a vehicle pull slowly past her apartment building. For a second, she froze. But the car continued down the street, and Linda sighed with relief. She went to her car.
It seemed the standard fraternity party – the guys all drunk, leering at the girls, the music tremendously loud, drinks spilled everywhere, couples bounding upstairs. Linda stood at the bar, nursing a Coke – she had told the bartender she was taking medication and couldn’t drink alcohol, which he had seemed to believe.
"Cool party," she shouted to him, over the music.
"About average," he shouted back, smiling.
"Didn’t Jessie Barron used to come to parties here?" she said – and immediately thought, uh oh, you idiot, that was too abrupt.
But the bartender didn’t seem suspicious. "I think so," he shouted back. "But she made the rounds, you know."
"Yeah, I guess," she shouted in response.
She turned to look toward the dance floor. All these young girls, looking so happy to be here, reveling in the attention, she thought.
She didn’t see the bartender just barely exchange nods with a clean-cut looking man across the room.
The man walked over to Linda.
"Hi," he said. "I haven’t seen you around here before."
"I, uh, just transferred from a branch campus," she said. "I’m Angie."
"Jeff," the man said, politely. "Pleased to meet you."
"Thanks. Me too."
"Can I get you a drink?"
"I’m not drinking," she said. "I’m just having Coke."
"Well, let me freshen that for you, anyway. Allen – our bartender – isn’t real swift. You’ve gotta keep on top of him." He laughed. Linda pretended to laugh with him. What a dork, she thought. But he might be useful. She handed him the glass.
"Here you go, Angie. And one for me," he said, hoisting a beer glass. "Cheers." He downed his beer.
Well, if anyone is going to be drunk, it’ll be him, not me, she thought. Maybe I can get some information out of this guy. She downed her glass of Coke.
"So what brings you to our party?" he said. "Curiosity?"
"Well, I’ve never been to a frat party before, so I guess I’m kind of curious."
"That’s not what I mean," Jeff said. He folded his arms. A smile gradually grew across his face, joined by a smile from Allen the bartender behind him. "I think you know what I mean."
"What are talking…" Linda started to say, but she felt…odd. As if she were about to faint.
"Something wrong, Angie?" Jeff said, the barest hint of a smirk appearing on his lips. "Would you like to sit down?"
Linda didn’t answer, but collapsed into a chair. Her mind seemed suddenly foggy, but she still managed to force out the thought, damn, I’m stupid, the Coke, they drugged it. Then her eyes closed.
When Linda awoke, it took her a minute to remember what had happened. The party…Jeff…the Coke…where am I?
She looked around. She was seated on the floor of a concrete-lined room, with her back upright against a metal pole in the center of the room. The room had a single door and no windows. Attempting to rub her forehead, she found herself unable to move her arms. She twisted her head around, to find that her hands were handcuffed behind her back and around the pole. She tested the cuffs – they were secure. It was only then that she noticed that her ankles were shackled together by a short chain, which was also joined to another chain, attached to an eyebolt on the floor. The shackles held her legs stretched outward.
Don’t panic, she thought. Remember, you took precautions. There’s still a chance.
After just a few minutes, the door opened. To Linda’s utter lack of surprise, Jack and Allen entered. However, she was surprised at one thing – a third man trailed them, pushing a small television set on a cart.
Jeff circled in front of her. "Welcome to the Nylon Dungeon, Linda," he said.
She gasped. "A-Angie," was all she could say.
Jeff smirked. "No," he said, "Linda. You didn’t think you would really get away with it, did you? Snooping around campus, asking questions. You should have looked elsewhere for that big news scoop, my dear."
Linda’s fear rose, but she stiffened, trying to remain calm. "You’d better let me go," she said. "They’ll be looking for me."
Jeff laughed aloud. "I’m sure they will," he replied. "They’re looking for Jessie, too. But they won’t find her. Or you."
"I wouldn’t be too sure about that," she said.
Jeff smiled. "Allen, would do me a favor and retrieve the items?"
Linda watched silently as Allen left, returning a moment later with a small cardboard box. Jeff reached into the box.
"Do you recognize this?" he said, pulling an object from the box.
Linda gasped. Her notebook! "How did you find that?" she heard herself say.
"That’s not important," he said. "What is important is that no one else will find it."
Don’t panic, she told herself. You still don’t know if they checked the computer. But Allen quickly dashed those hopes also.
"Very clever of you to put that message on your computer," he said. "You hid it very well. Unfortunately for you, we have several brilliant programmers here in the Nylon Dungeon." He pulled a disk from the box. "This disk contains your little ‘HELP!’ document – along with the virus we used to destroy your hard drive, in case there were any other hidden messages out there." Replacing the items in the box, and handing it to the man who had wheeled in the TV, Jeff said, "Have these items destroyed." The man left the room.
Now Linda’s fear was apparent in her face. Jeff continued, "You see, my dear, they may be looking for you, but now that your bread crumb trail has been removed, they will have no idea where to find you."
Linda swallowed hard. "What are you going to do with me?" she whispered, her eyes clouded with fear.
Instead of answering her, Jeff turned to Allen. "I think she’s been able to talk long enough," he sneered. "Gag the captive, please."
Linda, frozen with fear, could not even protest as Allen produced a ball gag. He pulled it into her mouth, and fastened the clasps behind her head.
"To answer your question, Linda," Jeff went on, "you might like to see what you are about to experience." He sighed. "Really, I would have preferred the Dome for this. Unfortunately, it’s in use right now."
Jeff flicked a switch on the TV, and it flickered into life. Linda gasped at the image that appeared on it – Jessie Barron. She was dressed in her cheerleader’s uniform, with tan stockings, but with no shoes or socks. A ball gag, like the one in Linda’s mouth, filled the mouth of the pretty blonde. She could be heard moaning into the gag, and her eyes pleaded for mercy. She was tied in a tight hogtie, and appeared also to be strapped around her torso to a table.
A thirtyish man approached Jessie silently. As Linda watched in confusion, the man began tickling her feet.
Linda shuddered at Jessie’s reaction. The girl screamed into her gag. Her entire body shook as if in convulsions. The man appeared to be tickling her feet only lightly, in fact barely touching them, yet the girl screamed and struggled as if the agony were unbearable.
Her toes wiggled violently, her feet thrust back and forth. She tried desperately to shelter one foot with the other, but her efforts brought her no relief. She bucked furiously in her bonds. Linda watched in terror. She could handle most things – being a reporter makes one worldly in no time. But tickling was something she deeply feared. She was fiercely ticklish, and her older stepbrother had tortured her mercilessly as a young girl, pinning her down and tickling her feet almost daily. The experience had left her deathly afraid of tickling. She couldn’t stand being tickled, and feared it almost more than death. Now, as she watched the helpless blonde being tickle-tortured before her, she felt as though it was her worst nightmare come to life. Linda tried to look away from the TV, but still she could hear the sounds of the girl’s muffled laughter and screams, and Linda’s body quaked with fear.
Jeff flicked off the screen. Linda, still shivering, immediately tried to speak, to ask what sort of horror this was, but could only produce muffled bleats.
"So you see what happens to our guests here in the Nylon Dungeon. Jessie, along with the other captives here, is to be kept as a plaything for our amusement. We abduct beautiful women for the pleasure of tickle torturing them. And all of our captives, including you, will remain with us permanently." Linda’s eyes grew wide, and she froze for a second. She moaned "NO" into her gag and frantically tried to pull her hands free.
Jeff laughed aloud at her struggles. "My dear Linda, it appears that you fear being tickled. How absolutely delicious. You don’t know how entertaining you will be for us." He cleared his throat, then went on. "You are about to fulfill your purpose in entering on this little project of yours – you will soon find out, firsthand, exactly what has happened to Jessie Barron, and all the other girls as well. Unfortunately," he added, laughing again, "I’m afraid you will have no opportunity to write your story for the paper on what you have found out."
As Jeff approached Linda, she screamed into her gag with fear. She again turned her head, moaning piteously, as Jeff pulled the black high heels from her stocking feet.
"You are about to discover just how ticklish a woman can become," he said, crossing to her neck. He withdrew a small black device. "Enjoy the Tickling Serum, my dear. And prepare to become about 50-60 times as ticklish as you already are."
She tried desperately to pull herself away, but restrained to the pole, she could offer little resistance as Jeff pricked her neck with the device. Immediately, she felt the sensation strike her – like millions of tiny fingers, tickling her everywhere, rushing through her body. For agonizing minutes she screamed into her gag with laughter as her head shook violently and her legs thrust in their shackles. Then she passed out.
Jeff surveyed his victim for a moment, then spoke to Allen. "Let’s remove our intrepid reporter," he said. He smiled, and Allen smiled back. "I’m sure she’ll enjoy what we have planned for her this afternoon."
