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The Nylon Dungeon: Michelle

MTJpub

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Apr 16, 2001
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The Nylon Dungeon: Michelle
By Daumantas

Cry out, Michelle said to herself. Call out for help.

But she was too petrified. She could barely think. And even if she hadn’t been bound, she would have been too scared to move.

She had awakened just a few minutes ago, in a dizzy fog, and slightly nauseous. What she found when she awakened horrified her.

She was kneeling atop a padded wooden table. Her ankles appeared to be locked into metal rings of some sort, which she quickly discovered were bolted to the table. Her wrists were handcuffed, and attached to a metal chain which was attached to the ceiling. Her arms hung loosely, but she could not lower them. Leather straps were wound around her knees, binding her tan-stocking-clad legs to the table. Her shoes had been removed.

Michelle was utterly terrified. She began to sob as she tried to remember what might have happened. Why had she been kidnapped? She was just a teacher; she didn’t have any money. She didn’t even have a boyfriend. She was new in town.

As the fog of the Sleeping Agent gradually cleared from her mind, she began to remember what had happened. That strange man. It must have been him. But why? She began to sob openly.

It had been her first Parents’ Night at the elementary school. She had been hired in September by the school district straight out of college. Michelle – the sort of girl who had kept a diary and a room full of stuffed animals all through high school – had always loved children, and was looking forward to being an elementary school teacher.

Always a conservative dresser, Michelle tried carefully to look the part of a teacher for Parents’ Night. She had worn makeup, but not too much, and styled her dark brown hair, but not too flamboyantly. She wore a frilly white blouse, buttoned all the way up to the neck, a plain black skirt that came slightly below her knees, and tan nylons. Her black sandals were probably the closest thing to a provocative clothing item she wore, but even those had low heels. Shy and diffident, she was nervous about her first Parents’ Night, and wanted to make sure she made a good impression.

The turnout was rather light, but a few of the parents did stop by her classroom. Everything seemed to go well, at least until the strange man showed up.

He was wearing a green windbreaker over a plaid shirt, jeans, and work boots. He was about thirtyish and wore glasses. He appeared nervous, his eyes darting back and forth. Michelle hadn’t liked the look of him. She hadn’t dated much, even in college, although of course she had put great care into choosing her high school prom dress, and dreamed of the gown she would wear on her wedding day. Men in general sparked her natural shyness. Particularly men she found strange, like this one.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Then, more hopefully, "Er…do you have a son or daughter in my class?"

"No," the man said, and muttered some excuse about "wanting to see how our tax money is spent." Michelle’s nervousness increased, especially as she realized that the man was now staring at her with virtually undisguised lust. It might have been her imagination, but it seemed also that he kept looking at her feet.

"I’m going to have to ask you to leave," she said, trying to sound firm but polite. "I’m afraid the open house is for parents only."

The man said nothing but quietly exited the room. Michelle breathed a sigh of relief.

Ever the dutiful, obedient girl, Michelle stayed until Parents’ Night officially closed at 10 p.m. As she went to retrieve her coat from the cloakroom, she noticed a strange odor, like cinnamon, and an odd hissing noise. Then everything had gone black.

It had to have been that man, Michelle thought, as she began to struggle against her bonds. What did he intend to do with her? She sobbed, and quivered with fear.

Finally the door opened – and sure enough, the odd-looking man entered. "Hello, Michelle," he said. "Welcome to the Nylon Dungeon."

Michelle couldn’t answer. She was too terrified to speak. The man walked around behind the table. He stroked her left sole. She gasped. "Ticklish?" the man snickered.

"P-please let me go," she whispered.

"No, I’m afraid not," he said. "You see, I was out on a hunting expedition tonight, and as it turned out, you are my catch of the day." He paused. "Such a conservative dresser," he continued, "and yet you didn’t cover up those lovely feet. Perhaps you should have thought twice about that. Of course, it’s beyond your power to decide that now."

Michelle couldn’t imagine what this man wanted. Why was he talking about her feet?

He seemed to read her mind. "Allow me to describe your new home," he said, "the Nylon Dungeon. It’s an operation run by a group of associates – wonderful people, I’m sure you’ll come to enjoy them all." He snickered again, and leered at her. "We collect beautiful women and bring them here for our amusement. Part of our operation consists of hunting expeditions, where we choose women from among the general public, to join us as inmates in the Nylon Dungeon. You will remain here permanently, and be…tickle tortured."

Michelle’s face went white. She screamed at the top of her lungs, and pulled frantically against the chain suspending her arms.

The man laughed openly. "Scream as much as you please," he said, after several minutes of Michelle’s screams had brought no apparent reaction from outside. "No one can hear you."

"Why ME?" she cried, breaking again into sobs.

"I saw the notice in your town paper here, for the Parents’ Night, and thought that might provide good hunting grounds," the man replied. "After all, I remember watching my teachers in elementary school, dangling their shoes from their nyloned feet, and wondering what it would be like to tickle them. Surely, I thought, there’s a good chance I would find an attractive, worthwhile captive here." He leered at her again. "And I was right, of course."

The man approached the frightened girl, and began unbuttoning the top button of her frilly white blouse. She screamed again in terror, certain that she was about to be violated. But the man stopped unbuttoning after only two buttons. He then picked up, from a shelf in the wall, a small plastic hand-held device of some sort, and again approached Michelle. She cringed as he touched the device to her neck. She felt a sharp prick.

"There," the man snickered. "You’ve just been given a taste of our own special creation, the Tickling Serum. Prepare to become at least 50 to 60 times as ticklish as you already are."

Sure enough, like thousands of tickling fingers, Michelle felt the sensation surging through her body. Her fearful sobs turned, involuntarily, to giggles, then finally to open laughter. She had always been ticklish – she had hated it when her older brother had tickled her as kids – but this was like nothing she had ever experienced. She screamed with laughter, struggling in her handcuffs, pulling her body back and forth in futile attempts to free her legs. Within minutes, she had passed out.



Michelle had awakened again, to find herself in what appeared to be a dentist’s chair, in a dome-shaped room. She was strapped firmly into the chair. A quick attempt at struggling proved to be useless. Her head fell back, and she winced, and began to grow teary-eyed once again. What sort of horrible place was this?

She shrieked with surprise as the room filled with light. Images appeared on the walls. She seemed to be in some sort of theater. A voice boomed from unseen speakers.

"Good morning, Michelle. I thought perhaps you might like a sense of what you will experience here in the Nylon Dungeon."

"Let me go!" she cried. "Please!"

"Just sit back and enjoy the show," the voice continued.

The images focused on a concrete-lined room, like the one she had last been in. A girl – another girl! -- was in the room. Michelle saw that she seemed to be about her own age, and very attractive, with dark hair. She was manacled at the wrists and ankles to a table. A young man stood over the table.

"Dan, please, no more tickling," the girl begged, her voice booming out of the surround-sound speakers. "I’ll do anything you want! I swear! I’ll give you anything you want, any kind of sex, any way you want it…just please stop!"

"But Gina," the man replied, "how could that be any more fun than this?" He began gently stroking her right sole.

The girl’s reaction stunned Michelle. She virtually exploded with laughter. She tried to beg the man for mercy again, but her words soon disappeared in the hysterical shrieks of laughter. Her head thrust from side to side, and her body shook and struggled. The man mercilessly tortured both of the girl’s beige-stockinged soles, his fingers darting expertly across their smooth surfaces. The girl’s agony was etched into her face as she screamed with laughter.

Michelle began to quiver with horror as she fully began to grasp her situation. This – what was happening to that girl in the film – this was what they intended to do to her. She, the shy, obedient, archetypal Good Girl, was to be mercilessly tickle tortured.

After about 20 minutes of the horrible film, the man finally stopped tickling the girl he had called Gina, and she gasped and giggled with relief. Michelle didn’t get to see what happened next, though. The image suddenly switched off. Then a door opened, and the strange man returned.

"Time to be initiated into the Nylon Dungeon, Michelle," the man said. Michelle moaned in terror, and tried uselessly to struggle, as the man approached her stockinged feet….



The End
 
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