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The Nylon Dungeon: Ann
By Daumantas
Slowly, Ann awoke from her drug-induced sleep.
The sensation was familiar by now: fogginess, a little nausea, turning to gradual consciousness. Familiar, but not welcome. She had come to prefer unconsciousness.
As the Sleeping Agent wore off, the attractive blonde took stock of her surroundings. They had put her on one of the tables this time, spread-eagled. The table was hard wood, and not very comfortable, but given the choice between that and some of the other positions she had come to know these last two months (or, at least, she guessed two months), the table was preferable.
She felt her jaws beginning to ache from distension, and the foul taste of rubber in her mouth, and she realized that she had been ball-gagged. It was always worse when she was gagged, she knew. She tried to be tough - she was a tough girl, she reminded herself - but the tears began to well up in her eyes as she anticipated the tortures to come.
She tested her bonds. Shackled securely, as usual. The wrist shackles were held by short chains bolted into the wooden frame of the table, which stood about waist-high off the floor of the plain, concrete-lined room. Metal rings encircled her ankles and held them directly to the table - this, she knew, to make it harder for her to struggle when the tickling started.
Ann was pretty, in a girl-next-door sort of way, and cut her hair about shoulder-length. She was about 5'8", and had always been complimented on her body - not that it was anything special, she thought, but she could hold her own against most other girls around her 20 years of age. Until she found herself in the Nylon Dungeon, though, she hadn't ever heard anyone tell her she had pretty feet before.
Ann looked ruefully down at her feet, clad in taupe stockings with reinforced toes. She was a tough girl, she reminded herself. God, she could remember when her feet weren't even ticklish. It had only been two months, but it seemed so long ago....
She was living with her boyfriend and had gotten a job with the county, as a clerk in one of the county offices. It was good pay, considering that she had no degree, she figured. She hadn't ever really liked school very much - she was one of the crowd of tough girls who used to hang out in the parking lot after, and often during, school. Drink a little JD, smoke a few joints, make fun of the snotty cheerleaders and their preppy boyfriends. Every now and then one of them would say something back to her, but with her reputation as a tough girl it wasn't hard to intimidate them. She dressed the part, too, hardly ever wearing skirts, let alone stockings, till she started working.
Of course, the county job wouldn't let her get away with that. She had bought a wardrobe full of flashy new skirts and outfits, high heels, and nylons to match. Nothing preppy, she thought, no way - if I have to dress up, I want to at least look stylish.
The job was worth it, with good pay and good benefits. The only part she found annoying was dealing with the public when they came in for permits and things. She still hated dealing with idiots, and when somebody got on her nerves at the counter, she would snarl at them and be rude until they went away. And so it was that day about two months ago when this guy came in wanting a permit for some stupid thing involving his dog or something. The guy was very impatient, and kept asking, "Excuse me, but I'm in a hurry here!" Ann finally told him "Sit down and wait your turn, you jerk!" The man appeared stunned but meekly sat down. Ann walked away with a satisfied smile - still got it, she thought.
She remained satisfied with herself for the rest of the day - indeed, until she was getting in her car to go home that night. As she sat down to turn on the ignition, a sixth sense told her something was wrong, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She didn't have to wait long to find out, though - a hissing noise, a cinnamon-like smell, and suddenly everything went black....
When she awoke, experiencing for the first time the fogginess and the nausea, she couldn't get her bearings at first. Her eyes opened wide as saucers when she discovered she was no longer in her car. She was lying spread-eagled on a table in a room of some sort. Frantically she looked around, but there was nothing in the concrete-lined room but a door and the table on which she lay. She got up to leave - and discovered for the first time her shackles. She thrashed fiercely in them, but quickly discovered it was futile - her wrists and ankles were held securely.
"Hey! Let me out of here!" she shrieked. "Whoever did this, you better let me go now!"
At that, the door opened.
"Awake, I see," a voice said, and a figure emerged into the room - the annoying man from the county office!
Ann stared at him in anger and horror for a second. Then she screamed, "You asshole! What the hell is this? Let me go, goddamit!"
"What a mouth you have on you," he said. "We'll have to do something about that." With that he produced a ball-gag, jamming it into her protesting mouth. He buckled the straps around her head, ignoring her muffled complaints.
"Welcome to the Nylon Dungeon, Ann." She stopped shrieking and glared at him upon the mention of her name. He snickered. "Oh, we've compiled all your records here, you needn't worry about that. We know all there is to know about you. You certainly didn't think you would get away with being so obnoxious to me in the courthouse today, did you?" Ann tried to say something nasty, but could only produce a muffled bleat.
"Let me explain. The Nylon Dungeon is an operation run by myself and a few of my friends. We collect beautiful women and bring them here to be used for our amusement. Sometimes we pick out particular women in advance, sometimes we see someone we like - and sometimes, through sheer serendipity, we encounter a woman like you who invites herself into the Dungeon through her own actions."
Ann didn't know what "serendipity" meant, but she knew she didn't like the sound of that part about being brought here for amusement. Her struggles and muffled groans quieted temporarily, and her expression changed gradually, as her eyes began to grow wider with fear. She felt herself squirming.
"Now I'm going to remove your gag," the captor said, "and explain to you what we intend to do with you here. Surely you must realize that it would be foolish to cry out - there is no reason why you should know the location of the Nylon Dungeon, but I assure you wholeheartedly that there is no possibility that anyone who could help you will hear you. I suggest you listen closely to what is in store for you."
Ann, beginning to quiver, nodded, and the captor removed the gag.
"Now," he said calmly, "allow me to give you a sense of exactly how I and my friends intend to torture you."
"TORTURE?" she shrieked, and began to struggle again.
"Yes," her captor said, with a slight smirk. He then walked down to her struggling, thrusting feet, and removed the red high-heeled shoes.
"A significant part of the torture here will consist of tickling these," he said, looking at the lovely, perfectly-shaped, stocking-clad feet.
Ann suddenly stopped struggling, stared at the man in amazement, and let out what was almost a sigh of relief - she had to bite back the urge to snort mockingly. "Oh, is that all," she said. "Well, I hate to disappoint you, loser, but I'm not ticklish. At all. So whatever fun you and the other little boys are expecting to have, you might as well forget about it."
"Really?" he said, sounding disappointed. "Well...you don't mind if I just give it a little try, then, do you?"
This time, she couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Knock yourself out," she said.
"You're wasting your time, Mr. Dungeon."
"Well, it is my time to waste," he said. With that, he drew a finger slowly up her stockinged left sole. She gasped. "What's wrong?" he said.
"I...I don't know," she answered, "It's...."
"Do you mind if I try the other foot as well," he said, and without waiting for an answer from Ann drew his finger down her stockinged right sole. Another gasp, followed by a shriek, escaped from the girl's lips.
"I don't understand," he said, beginning to smirk. "Does that tickle?"
"Yes," she gasped, confused. "It does tickle, it tickles bad...but I don't know how, I...you...YOU did this somehow!"
His smirk widened into a devilish smile. "Indeed, but my friends deserve credit also. It's a standard processing for new slave girls."
She swallowed hard, her eyes widening. "What...did...you...do" she could barely whisper.
He laughed in response. "It's our own invention here at the Nylon Dungeon. We call it the Tickling Serum. It's a nerve stimulant designed to cause your neurons to fire more rapidly and frequently - I needn't go into the specific details, and you wouldn't understand them anyway. Suffice it to say that it is administered by injection to all new girls to make them, shall we say, more interesting."
Ann couldn't respond. She quivered, her eyes wide with fear.
He circled around her slowly, then bent down low over her face. "I know your type," he said. "Tough girl, Ozzy Osbourne CD in the car, cigarettes in the back pocket - my high school was full of 'em. I'm sure you always made fun of those giddy, silly cheerleaders. They're the type of girl who would be ticklish, right - not a tough girl like you?" He paused for effect, then walked slowly back to her feet. "Well, let me clarify this for you, Ann. Measured by intensity of response, you are now approximately 50-60 times as ticklish as any of those girls could possibly have been under normal circumstances."
Again the finger stroked a sole slowly, and again she shrieked. Only this time, the finger moved slowly up the stockinged sole. Then down. Then up. The immobilized ankle yanked hard against its shackle, and the toes wiggled furiously. Ann tried desperately to stifle the laugh that built in her throat, but it tore itself loose by the fourth stroke.
Her captor paused briefly. "Of course, if it's any consolation to you, we do have plenty of those cheerleader types here as well." He smiled. "Oh, and a few more things you should know. The Serum does not wear off. In fact, each time we use you for tickling amusement, you grow more ticklish. Your foot, for example, is slightly more ticklish now than it was before those four strokes." Her jaw fell wide open in horror at this news. "Rather interesting, don't you think? Now, my dear, time for you to be initiated into tickling torture."
It went on for a solid hour, his fingers dancing over the smooth soles, raking the sides, stroking the heels, digging beneath and between the toes. Ann screamed, howled, her sides aching from laughter. Every now and then he had to lower the intensity just a bit to let her catch a breath, to deny her the relief of passing out. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her jaws and stomach ached from the contortions produced by her laughter. Her head thrust from side to side, and her arms and legs pulled desperately but with utter futility against the shackles.
Every now and then he would focus on a particular spot and drill his finger into it. Because of the permanent effect of the Serum, this action served to make that point particularly ticklish during future sessions. The Dungeon keepers called it Placing a Mark. Each time he placed a Mark, he drilled into the spot until Ann screamed at the top of her lungs with tickled agony.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, he stopped. Ann kept giggling long after the tickling stopped, finally sucking in breath as the giggles subsided.
"Please...." she gasped. "Please...no more....please...please..."
"This was just an introductory session," her captor sneered. "You will have plenty more to come, as you will be staying here permanently. Welcome, once again, to the Nylon Dungeon, Ann."
And there had been more. Many more. And another was about to begin.
She refused to struggle, even as the door opened. It was her last shred of dignity, she told herself. She wouldn't give her captors the enjoyment of seeing her struggle until the tickling started, when she wouldn't be able to help it.
She tensed as he moved toward her stocking feet.....
By Daumantas
Slowly, Ann awoke from her drug-induced sleep.
The sensation was familiar by now: fogginess, a little nausea, turning to gradual consciousness. Familiar, but not welcome. She had come to prefer unconsciousness.
As the Sleeping Agent wore off, the attractive blonde took stock of her surroundings. They had put her on one of the tables this time, spread-eagled. The table was hard wood, and not very comfortable, but given the choice between that and some of the other positions she had come to know these last two months (or, at least, she guessed two months), the table was preferable.
She felt her jaws beginning to ache from distension, and the foul taste of rubber in her mouth, and she realized that she had been ball-gagged. It was always worse when she was gagged, she knew. She tried to be tough - she was a tough girl, she reminded herself - but the tears began to well up in her eyes as she anticipated the tortures to come.
She tested her bonds. Shackled securely, as usual. The wrist shackles were held by short chains bolted into the wooden frame of the table, which stood about waist-high off the floor of the plain, concrete-lined room. Metal rings encircled her ankles and held them directly to the table - this, she knew, to make it harder for her to struggle when the tickling started.
Ann was pretty, in a girl-next-door sort of way, and cut her hair about shoulder-length. She was about 5'8", and had always been complimented on her body - not that it was anything special, she thought, but she could hold her own against most other girls around her 20 years of age. Until she found herself in the Nylon Dungeon, though, she hadn't ever heard anyone tell her she had pretty feet before.
Ann looked ruefully down at her feet, clad in taupe stockings with reinforced toes. She was a tough girl, she reminded herself. God, she could remember when her feet weren't even ticklish. It had only been two months, but it seemed so long ago....
She was living with her boyfriend and had gotten a job with the county, as a clerk in one of the county offices. It was good pay, considering that she had no degree, she figured. She hadn't ever really liked school very much - she was one of the crowd of tough girls who used to hang out in the parking lot after, and often during, school. Drink a little JD, smoke a few joints, make fun of the snotty cheerleaders and their preppy boyfriends. Every now and then one of them would say something back to her, but with her reputation as a tough girl it wasn't hard to intimidate them. She dressed the part, too, hardly ever wearing skirts, let alone stockings, till she started working.
Of course, the county job wouldn't let her get away with that. She had bought a wardrobe full of flashy new skirts and outfits, high heels, and nylons to match. Nothing preppy, she thought, no way - if I have to dress up, I want to at least look stylish.
The job was worth it, with good pay and good benefits. The only part she found annoying was dealing with the public when they came in for permits and things. She still hated dealing with idiots, and when somebody got on her nerves at the counter, she would snarl at them and be rude until they went away. And so it was that day about two months ago when this guy came in wanting a permit for some stupid thing involving his dog or something. The guy was very impatient, and kept asking, "Excuse me, but I'm in a hurry here!" Ann finally told him "Sit down and wait your turn, you jerk!" The man appeared stunned but meekly sat down. Ann walked away with a satisfied smile - still got it, she thought.
She remained satisfied with herself for the rest of the day - indeed, until she was getting in her car to go home that night. As she sat down to turn on the ignition, a sixth sense told her something was wrong, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She didn't have to wait long to find out, though - a hissing noise, a cinnamon-like smell, and suddenly everything went black....
When she awoke, experiencing for the first time the fogginess and the nausea, she couldn't get her bearings at first. Her eyes opened wide as saucers when she discovered she was no longer in her car. She was lying spread-eagled on a table in a room of some sort. Frantically she looked around, but there was nothing in the concrete-lined room but a door and the table on which she lay. She got up to leave - and discovered for the first time her shackles. She thrashed fiercely in them, but quickly discovered it was futile - her wrists and ankles were held securely.
"Hey! Let me out of here!" she shrieked. "Whoever did this, you better let me go now!"
At that, the door opened.
"Awake, I see," a voice said, and a figure emerged into the room - the annoying man from the county office!
Ann stared at him in anger and horror for a second. Then she screamed, "You asshole! What the hell is this? Let me go, goddamit!"
"What a mouth you have on you," he said. "We'll have to do something about that." With that he produced a ball-gag, jamming it into her protesting mouth. He buckled the straps around her head, ignoring her muffled complaints.
"Welcome to the Nylon Dungeon, Ann." She stopped shrieking and glared at him upon the mention of her name. He snickered. "Oh, we've compiled all your records here, you needn't worry about that. We know all there is to know about you. You certainly didn't think you would get away with being so obnoxious to me in the courthouse today, did you?" Ann tried to say something nasty, but could only produce a muffled bleat.
"Let me explain. The Nylon Dungeon is an operation run by myself and a few of my friends. We collect beautiful women and bring them here to be used for our amusement. Sometimes we pick out particular women in advance, sometimes we see someone we like - and sometimes, through sheer serendipity, we encounter a woman like you who invites herself into the Dungeon through her own actions."
Ann didn't know what "serendipity" meant, but she knew she didn't like the sound of that part about being brought here for amusement. Her struggles and muffled groans quieted temporarily, and her expression changed gradually, as her eyes began to grow wider with fear. She felt herself squirming.
"Now I'm going to remove your gag," the captor said, "and explain to you what we intend to do with you here. Surely you must realize that it would be foolish to cry out - there is no reason why you should know the location of the Nylon Dungeon, but I assure you wholeheartedly that there is no possibility that anyone who could help you will hear you. I suggest you listen closely to what is in store for you."
Ann, beginning to quiver, nodded, and the captor removed the gag.
"Now," he said calmly, "allow me to give you a sense of exactly how I and my friends intend to torture you."
"TORTURE?" she shrieked, and began to struggle again.
"Yes," her captor said, with a slight smirk. He then walked down to her struggling, thrusting feet, and removed the red high-heeled shoes.
"A significant part of the torture here will consist of tickling these," he said, looking at the lovely, perfectly-shaped, stocking-clad feet.
Ann suddenly stopped struggling, stared at the man in amazement, and let out what was almost a sigh of relief - she had to bite back the urge to snort mockingly. "Oh, is that all," she said. "Well, I hate to disappoint you, loser, but I'm not ticklish. At all. So whatever fun you and the other little boys are expecting to have, you might as well forget about it."
"Really?" he said, sounding disappointed. "Well...you don't mind if I just give it a little try, then, do you?"
This time, she couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Knock yourself out," she said.
"You're wasting your time, Mr. Dungeon."
"Well, it is my time to waste," he said. With that, he drew a finger slowly up her stockinged left sole. She gasped. "What's wrong?" he said.
"I...I don't know," she answered, "It's...."
"Do you mind if I try the other foot as well," he said, and without waiting for an answer from Ann drew his finger down her stockinged right sole. Another gasp, followed by a shriek, escaped from the girl's lips.
"I don't understand," he said, beginning to smirk. "Does that tickle?"
"Yes," she gasped, confused. "It does tickle, it tickles bad...but I don't know how, I...you...YOU did this somehow!"
His smirk widened into a devilish smile. "Indeed, but my friends deserve credit also. It's a standard processing for new slave girls."
She swallowed hard, her eyes widening. "What...did...you...do" she could barely whisper.
He laughed in response. "It's our own invention here at the Nylon Dungeon. We call it the Tickling Serum. It's a nerve stimulant designed to cause your neurons to fire more rapidly and frequently - I needn't go into the specific details, and you wouldn't understand them anyway. Suffice it to say that it is administered by injection to all new girls to make them, shall we say, more interesting."
Ann couldn't respond. She quivered, her eyes wide with fear.
He circled around her slowly, then bent down low over her face. "I know your type," he said. "Tough girl, Ozzy Osbourne CD in the car, cigarettes in the back pocket - my high school was full of 'em. I'm sure you always made fun of those giddy, silly cheerleaders. They're the type of girl who would be ticklish, right - not a tough girl like you?" He paused for effect, then walked slowly back to her feet. "Well, let me clarify this for you, Ann. Measured by intensity of response, you are now approximately 50-60 times as ticklish as any of those girls could possibly have been under normal circumstances."
Again the finger stroked a sole slowly, and again she shrieked. Only this time, the finger moved slowly up the stockinged sole. Then down. Then up. The immobilized ankle yanked hard against its shackle, and the toes wiggled furiously. Ann tried desperately to stifle the laugh that built in her throat, but it tore itself loose by the fourth stroke.
Her captor paused briefly. "Of course, if it's any consolation to you, we do have plenty of those cheerleader types here as well." He smiled. "Oh, and a few more things you should know. The Serum does not wear off. In fact, each time we use you for tickling amusement, you grow more ticklish. Your foot, for example, is slightly more ticklish now than it was before those four strokes." Her jaw fell wide open in horror at this news. "Rather interesting, don't you think? Now, my dear, time for you to be initiated into tickling torture."
It went on for a solid hour, his fingers dancing over the smooth soles, raking the sides, stroking the heels, digging beneath and between the toes. Ann screamed, howled, her sides aching from laughter. Every now and then he had to lower the intensity just a bit to let her catch a breath, to deny her the relief of passing out. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her jaws and stomach ached from the contortions produced by her laughter. Her head thrust from side to side, and her arms and legs pulled desperately but with utter futility against the shackles.
Every now and then he would focus on a particular spot and drill his finger into it. Because of the permanent effect of the Serum, this action served to make that point particularly ticklish during future sessions. The Dungeon keepers called it Placing a Mark. Each time he placed a Mark, he drilled into the spot until Ann screamed at the top of her lungs with tickled agony.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, he stopped. Ann kept giggling long after the tickling stopped, finally sucking in breath as the giggles subsided.
"Please...." she gasped. "Please...no more....please...please..."
"This was just an introductory session," her captor sneered. "You will have plenty more to come, as you will be staying here permanently. Welcome, once again, to the Nylon Dungeon, Ann."
And there had been more. Many more. And another was about to begin.
She refused to struggle, even as the door opened. It was her last shred of dignity, she told herself. She wouldn't give her captors the enjoyment of seeing her struggle until the tickling started, when she wouldn't be able to help it.
She tensed as he moved toward her stocking feet.....
