Now I’m not sure if I need to ask forgiveness or permission (or both) from Morandilas, Greenfeather, Daumantas or MTJ. As a massive fan of nylon feet and tickling I was always fascinated with the ND. I thought it would be fun to reimagine it but in an F/M context. I hope some one likes it and that I haven’t upset anyone. There’s more to come if the response is positive. K x.
Nylon Dungeon 2.0
The heavy military boots crunched through the decades old detritus of yellowing papers, computer disks and bullet casings. Flashlights illuminated the cavernous chamber ahead and glinted off long dead monitors and dangling manacles. Proceeding in silence the squad worked their way across the floor of the cathedral like structure and down to the lower levels, past various “play rooms” to a non descript box room which in a previous life might have been a janitors store. The only undamaged item on the back wall was a dusty Britney Spears poster - the young star silently pouting down, oblivious to the horrors that had happened here. The squad leader unceremoniously ripped the poster from the wall revealing a tiny wall safe. Forcing it open the contents were revealed to be several neat racks of phials and syringes containing an innocuous looking pink liquid. Removing her helmet and mask Commander Grace Sparks spoke into her neck comms “Seraphim Squad Leader to Elysium. We have secured the objective.” The reply was swift, “Excellent work Seraphim One, prepare for immediate extraction we have much work to do.”
The Nylon Dungeon had been a cover up wrapped in a secret and buried as deeply in Washington as an incriminating corpse. Following a tip off It was stormed by a combination of NSA and FBI agents in the early 2000’s. The perpetrators and ring leaders who survived the fire fight were sentenced in closed courts to life imprisonment in the darkest corners of the American penal system. Files were destroyed and lost and the location and even very existence of the complex passed out of all memory. Until now. 2027, a radical and brilliantly ruthless female President in the White House. America was being reimagined and the Nylon Dungeon was a cog with a new purpose. An extracted confession from a former guard gave clues not only to the location but incredibly a forgotten stash of the infamous tickling serum. A piece of chemical brilliance that had been impossible to recreate following the destruction of the facilities contents. It was now in the fiendishly well manicured hands of President Imogen Nielsen.
18 months later
Commander Grace Sparks pulled up on to the newly ashpalted car park and surveyed the transformation. The civil engineers and ground work crews had been incredibly busy - what had been at best a dilapidated industrial compound had been transformed into the type of gleaming campus beloved of Seattle tech start ups. All branded as “Nova Dea - solutions for a better world.” Grace smiled - hiding in plain sight once again. Entering the busy reception she was struck by a number of first impressions. Firstly the sheer opulence that spoke of immense resources and secondly every visitor, staff member and even security guard was female. Even more surprisingly every individual was wearing a skirt, heels and sheer nylons, irrespective of whether it was teamed with a lab coat, security vest or receptionist jacket. Grace suddenly felt very under dressed in her military fatigues. She was met by a smiling petite brunette who introduced herself as Dr Nina Burden - site Director. White blouse, pencil skirt, smoky grey nylons and twinkling kohl darkened eyes. “Commander Sparks welcome to Nova Dea. We all owe you a debt of gratitude. Without your discovery none of this would have been possible - we cannot wait to show you what we have achieved here.” “And what more we can do!” A voice from behind interrupted. “Ah Commissar Lycacheva - punctual and committed as ever,” Burden purred. A 6.2 the Russian towered over even Grace in 6 inch heels, nylons the colour of midnight and a tight fitting boned corset. “The Commissar is in charge of the “spiritual well-being” of our work here and quite indispensable. Now if you will follow me to one of our reception rooms.”
Sitting comfortably on leather sofas Dr Burden explained the status of the facility with the zeal of a proud parent. “The site was gutted, deep cleaned, extended and repurposed. We can comfortably hold 80 “guests” and with our own power, living quarters and even food production we are a virtually self sufficient small town with currently over 300 members of staff on site at any point. R+D teams, central administration and of course Ekaterina’s Commissariat who manage disciple and retribution.” “For the glory of the many mothers” snapped the Commissar. “For the glory of the many mothers” repeated Burden and Grace dutifully. “What of the serum?” Asked Grace? Dr Burden beamed, “we have made incredible progress. It was always brilliant but binary. We can now instantaneously increase the sensitivity of a subject 100 fold and at the flick of a switch bring it back to zero or anywhere in between . Adding in sexual stimulants as well as orgasm inhibitors we have created a tool even that even Tartarus would have been proud of! We have elevated tickling, teasing and denial to an exquisite tortuous art form but maybe we should show you in person?” Grace nodded, excited by the prospect. “How many guests are currently being entertained?” “6 war criminals are currently receiving our tender ministrations,” Lycacheva snapped zealously. “All junior members of staff from the original Dungeon - all in their mid-forties now but perfect test subjects - the enforced celibacy of 25 years incarceration along with a pitiful weakness for stockings, nylons, pantyhose, female feet and tickling. I can assure you all of them currently wish they had never been born.” Dr Burden rose to her feet “and now Commander Sparks we must insist you change before we enter the lower levels, no trousers or work boots are permitted beyond this point. Our guests are continually exposed to nothing but nylon covered feet to add to their torment!”
Grace was shown into a changing room where she stripped out of her fatigues and into a tight fitting black body. She selected a pair of off black hold ups and slipped the sheer material over her feet and legs. Returning to the meeting room she asked, “Dr Burden where are the shoes?” Smiling the Dr answered, “Strictly no shoes beyond this point unless for the purposes of dangling or dipping. Just think of your pretty stocking covered size 6’s as weapons in our righteous struggle.” Nodding her understanding Grace asked a question that had been puzzling her, “Apart from the nod to the past, why the emphasis on nylons?” “Ah,” Burden replied, “One of the 3 founding tenets of Nova Dea. Firstly subjects will be visually as well as physically stimulated - nearly all men associate stockings with sexual arousal, from the mild to the full blown fetishist. With standard hypnotherapy the latter level is perfectly possible in all subjects. Second tenet, no physical harm or pain will be inflicted on subjects. And thirdly all subjects will be released after their reconditioning when even the site of a dainty nyloned ankle will render them submissive. Now shall we?” Burden and Comissar Lycacheva led Grace down a set of deep pile carpeted stairs to a corridor not unlike that of an expensive private hospital. They entered Room 1A.
Grace was greeted with the sight of a naked well toned man with an anguished look on his face restrained in a standing position, arms above his head and legs spread and ankles chained to the floor. The source of his anguish was clear. A petite woman, dressed as a french maid complete with white frills and black reinforced heel and toe stockings was kneeling between his legs running a stiff goose feather slowly over his thighs and balls. Two other women, identically dressed as maids were standing either side of him running feather dusters delicately over his chest and nipples. None of the women even paused at the visitors arrival. The torturess with the feather was fiendishly methodical, dragging the length of the plume over the sensitive thigh flesh and using the tip to slowly circle the the base of each testicle in turn. The prisoner had a raging errection and the pool of precum on the floor indicated they had been working on this subject for some time. The man was covered in a sheen of sweat grunting desperately, breathing heavily and trying unsuccessfully to twist away from the feathers caresses in his restrictive bondage. The knelling woman looked up and spoke in a mock french accent to her victim, “does zis tickle mon cheri? Or ‘ow about ‘ere? Do not shut your eyes, you know what ‘appens!” The prisoner had indeed shut his eyes to try and block out the sensory overload. At a nod from the kneeling woman the maids on either side slowly raised one stockinged leg each, rather like human flamingos, ensuring the sheer nylon material of their stockings caressed up and back down the full length of the prisoners legs. He let out a deep seated moan but his desperate eyes flicked open.
“Commander Stark let me introduce you to our first guest, Mark Lawson. Mark has been with us for 2 weeks now. His body currently contains a total orgasm preventing enzyme, an industrial form of viagra and a 10% proof dose of the tickling serum - we wouldn’t want him to pass out!” she chuckled. “Why the french maids?” Grace asked? “Ah, well you see we use all their tropes against them. The ‘french maid’, the sexy symbol of female subservience complete with short skirt and stocking tops. A very common and deeply held fantasy.” Grace smiled, “Ingenious. He looks like he is going crazy how long have you been doing this to him?” “90 minutes into a 2 hour session and you are loving every minute aren’t you Mark?” “Nnnnggg, ngggg, na, na, noooo! P,p,pleeeze you h,h,h,have to eeep! St,stoooop I can’t ta,a,ake it! You argggh h,h,have to let me c,cum!” Commissar Lycacheva’s eyes blazed, “WE have to do nothing. Such insolence! Increase the tickling serum dosage to 15% for the remainder of the session!” “Noooooo!!!!” howled the prisoner. Dr Burden removed a remote control from her lab cot pocket and pressed a button. Instantaneously Marks attempts to struggle increased. The knelling french maid concentrated her feather on every square millimetre of the prisoners bursting balls and her accomplices switched to tickling his arm pits with their diabolical feather dusters sending him into overdrive, bubbling giggles were now mixing into the desperate mans grunts, groans and pleas. “Let us move on. Excellent progress ladies. Keep up the fine work and never forget this mans crimes!”
The 3 of them left Mark to his fate and entered room 1B. In an identically sized room a different but equally fiendish tableaux was laid out. A nearly naked man was restrained face down on a large padded massage table. His legs slightly spread and totally immobilised in stocks his soles pointing up. Curiously he was wearing sheer shiny black stockings and was currently roaring with forced laughter. The source of the mirth was the woman at the foot of the table mercilessly playing her nails up and down each nylon covered sole. The tickler was dressed in a red basque and red sheer stockings and suspenders, “oooh Briiiiiiaan does this tickle? Does this tickle too? Which foot is worse? Oooh have I found a tickle mark? Would you like me to stop Briiiiiiaaaannn? Would yooooou?” And all the time ravishing his up turned stockinged soles.
“Welcome to our second stop Commander Sparks. Let me introduce you to the Red Devil, Commissar Lycacheva’s finest foot tickler and her plaything Brian! Brian is enjoying a cocktail of orgasm suppressant, viagra and 40% proof tickling serum targeting only his feet and as you can see is enjoying himself immensely!”
“HAaa! Haaaaa!! Hoooo! Hooooo! NOOO! Noooo!!! HAAA!!!! Not there not THEEreeee....Haaaaa! Pleeeeeazzzzeee Haaaaaa!!!!” The foot tickling was obviously driving the man insane. Grace had questions, “Dr Burden why have you put him in stockings and why the need for viagra and orgasm suppression?” Dr Burdens eyes twinkled, “ah Elysium was right, you are an observant one! The stockings serve two purposes. Firstly they actually make the feet more receptive to tickling therefore increasing the torture and secondly it both humiliates and secretly turns on the subject in equal measure. Speaking of which I think you should take a look under the table.” Walking around the side of thrashing body in ticklish hell, Grace ducked down under the large padded table and was surprised to see a mezzanine level below on which two chaise lounges had been placed. Reclining on them were 2 woman both wearing impish grins and dressed identically as the Red Devil, in basque, suspenders and stockings but in a deep pink colour. Each woman had ultra sheer black stockings on their hands, almost like a gloves. The massage table had been cunningly designed so that Brian’s hugely erect penis protruded from the underside of the table. The women were taking it in turns to ever so gently caress his shaft or lightly squeeze his head with their stocking covered hands. “Fiendishly brilliant!” Grace exclaimed. “Exactly,” Dr Burden beamed. “Not only are we using his tickling fetish against him but he knows his manhood is being ever so slowly stimulated by two beautiful women dressed head to toe in the delicious nylon he loves and he can never reach climax!!”
“Briiiiiaaan...Briiiiaaan do you like the feel of my two assistants nimble fingers, covered in sheer black hose caressing your cock? Do you? They are wearing very sheer...hot... pink....nylon....stockings and they both have very very high arches and they painted their toenails especially for yooooou,” purred the Red Devil, continually fluttering her nails up and down his defenceless stockinged feet. “Aaaaahhhh!!! HEEE!!! HaaAAA!!! HO! HOOoooo!!! Thiiissss HA! HAA!!! NO! Issss TORTURE AhhhhHAAAAA!!!!” The Red Devil threw back her head and laughed cruelly, “I know my darling! And I think it’s time for the toes agaiiiiin! Nothing but delicious nylon between my finger nails and all your lovely nerve endings. You know you adore it when I tickle your toes!!!!” Brian’s desperate but pointless struggles increased, “NOOOO!!! NOT AGAIN!!! NOT THE TOOOOEES HO HOO AAAAGGGGHH!! HAAAAAA GAAAAAAA!! HAAA HAA HA!!!” The Devil was merciless, using all 8 finger nails to relentlessly tickle the stems, pads and tips of the poor mans toes. The thin layer of nylon magnifying the torture being visited on feet 40 times more ticklish than normal.
“Perfect tickling and verbal teasing technique,” the Commissar noted proudly, “if this was an interrogation he would have told us everything by now, too bad there’s nothing we want to know.” Dr Burden chuckled and led the trio back into the central corridor and to what ever awaited in Room 1C.
Commander Sparks tried to make sense of a room that appeared to be as much a laundrette as a torture chamber. A two metre thin steel hoop was suspended from the ceiling with a number of stockings attached to it with clothes pegs. Another naked well toned “guest” was restrained directly below with only a black mattress between him and the floor. Straps across his forehead, chest, stomach, thighs and knees rendered him utterly immobile. “We are very proud of the simplicity and efficiency of this room,” Dr Burden beamed, “we simply turn on the “wheel of delights” and let the stockings do the work for us! Allow me to demonstrate.” She pulled a lever on the wall and very slowly the wheel and the dangling stockings began to rotate. The prisoner started to make desperate noises through his gag. “The calibration is a little tricky but once everything is in place the bottom 5 inches of each of the eight stockings is dragged slowly, one after another over the tip of the prisoners penis. Specifically the glans. Our research has shown that gently dragging nylon material over a mans most sensitive spot is absolutely maddening!” Grace watched with fascination as the foot of a sheer black stocking was slowly dragged over the tip of the impressively erect cock, resulting in desperate mewling sounds from behind the gag. Seconds later the process was repeated by a beige hold up and then a blue fully fashioned stocking. Round and round and round.
“Now, Commander Sparks, I know you keen to get a little more “involved” in our work here. Well now is your chance to get a little more “hands” or should I say “feet on!” Commissar Lycacheva, 3 chairs please.” The Commissar arranged 3 chairs around the restrained mans head. “Please take a seat Commander. Let me introduce you to Brett. Former guard at the dungeon, raging nylon fetishist and condemned collaborator. We have pumped him full of viagra and orgasm suppressant but the tickling serum is unnecessary in this case and in fact would only lead to unconsciousness. Whilst the fiendish stimulation he is receiving is both elegant and intense we can increase his torment by rubbing our nylon soles on his face and neck. Allow the Commissar and I to demonstrate.” Dr Burden extended her smoky grey nylon clad feet and slowly caressed the mans cheeks with their toes. Lycacheva expertly ran her sheer midnight black soles over his nose and lips. And all the while the rotating stockings continued their relentless cock teasing. Unbelievably the prisoners already engorged errection appeared to grow a little larger. “Now don’t by shy Commander. I am sure Brett would love to meet your pretty size 6’s!” Feeling awkward but at the same time excited Grace stroked her black hosed feet over the mans ears and neck and marvelled as the desperate mewling increased a notch. It was obvious the combination of being caressed by 3 pairs of nylon covered feet whilst having his cock continually tortured by the ever rotating stockings was driving the prisoner sexually insane.
After 15 minutes of foot teasing during which Dr Burden chatted away about all manner of subjects, seemly oblivious to the suffering being inflicted on the “guest”, she suggested a break. Before ceasing the foot rubbing, the Commissar purposely ran her instep over the mans goatee beard and exclaimed “You just deliberately tickled my foot you dog! Such an infraction requires punishment! Dr Burden double the wheel’s speed and raise the serum level to 1%! That will teach him the error of his ways!” Bretts eyes flew open and what were probably desperate pleas and shouts issued from behind the gag. Making the necessary adjustments they left Brett to the tender nylon caresses of the “wheel of delights”. “Your dedication never fails to impress Commissar. Onward to room 4,” Dr Burden said.
As the automatic doors smoothly slid open the familiar sound of desperate laughter and begging met Commander Sparks ears. In the centre of the room another naked man was tied spread eagled over a padded table so his bare backside was facing the ceiling. A blonde woman in white lingerie and sheer white stockings was standing behind the prone prisoner running two long stiff feathers up and down the mans butt cheeks. A second identically dressed woman was sitting crossed legged in a chair near the mans head. “Commander Sparks let me introduce you to the Feather Angels, who as Christopher here can attest to, have perfected the art of feather tickling and verbal teasing!” Grace watched, mesmerised as the devilish feathers went from caressesing the tops of the mans thighs to tracing up and down his butt crack driving the laughter and pleading to a higher pitch.
The seated Angel started talking directly to the prisoner in a sultry voice, “Now Christopher where were we? Oh yes I was telling you just how ticklish my feet are wasn’t I. They are oh so terribly ticklish, especially when I am wearing stockings like these.” She extended her leg to ensure the man got a good view of her nylon encased arch. “If you were to run a feather over my soles I would simply dissolve into helpless giggles. It would be pure torture for me. I would be begging you to stop. My left foot is the most ticklish and let me tell you a secret......If you were to tickle my toes I would do anything to make you stop, annnnyyyything....”. The teasing tickle talk continued with the Angel describing at length the effects various tickling tools would have on her nylon soles and toes and it was clear to Grace it was driving poor Christoper to distraction. Whilst all the time the standing Angel continued her relentless tickling, feathering the very top of his sensitive butt crack before flicking the feathers’ tips over his defenceless anus. The begging and shrieking reached ear splitting levels. The devious imagination of Nova Dea seemed to have no limits, Grace thought. Elysium and even President Nielsen herself would be delighted. Whilst she could have listened to the mans desperate begging and howls of ticklish anguish and frustration for hours, Grace accepted the invitation to move to the next room.
To be continued.....
Nylon Dungeon 2.0
The heavy military boots crunched through the decades old detritus of yellowing papers, computer disks and bullet casings. Flashlights illuminated the cavernous chamber ahead and glinted off long dead monitors and dangling manacles. Proceeding in silence the squad worked their way across the floor of the cathedral like structure and down to the lower levels, past various “play rooms” to a non descript box room which in a previous life might have been a janitors store. The only undamaged item on the back wall was a dusty Britney Spears poster - the young star silently pouting down, oblivious to the horrors that had happened here. The squad leader unceremoniously ripped the poster from the wall revealing a tiny wall safe. Forcing it open the contents were revealed to be several neat racks of phials and syringes containing an innocuous looking pink liquid. Removing her helmet and mask Commander Grace Sparks spoke into her neck comms “Seraphim Squad Leader to Elysium. We have secured the objective.” The reply was swift, “Excellent work Seraphim One, prepare for immediate extraction we have much work to do.”
The Nylon Dungeon had been a cover up wrapped in a secret and buried as deeply in Washington as an incriminating corpse. Following a tip off It was stormed by a combination of NSA and FBI agents in the early 2000’s. The perpetrators and ring leaders who survived the fire fight were sentenced in closed courts to life imprisonment in the darkest corners of the American penal system. Files were destroyed and lost and the location and even very existence of the complex passed out of all memory. Until now. 2027, a radical and brilliantly ruthless female President in the White House. America was being reimagined and the Nylon Dungeon was a cog with a new purpose. An extracted confession from a former guard gave clues not only to the location but incredibly a forgotten stash of the infamous tickling serum. A piece of chemical brilliance that had been impossible to recreate following the destruction of the facilities contents. It was now in the fiendishly well manicured hands of President Imogen Nielsen.
18 months later
Commander Grace Sparks pulled up on to the newly ashpalted car park and surveyed the transformation. The civil engineers and ground work crews had been incredibly busy - what had been at best a dilapidated industrial compound had been transformed into the type of gleaming campus beloved of Seattle tech start ups. All branded as “Nova Dea - solutions for a better world.” Grace smiled - hiding in plain sight once again. Entering the busy reception she was struck by a number of first impressions. Firstly the sheer opulence that spoke of immense resources and secondly every visitor, staff member and even security guard was female. Even more surprisingly every individual was wearing a skirt, heels and sheer nylons, irrespective of whether it was teamed with a lab coat, security vest or receptionist jacket. Grace suddenly felt very under dressed in her military fatigues. She was met by a smiling petite brunette who introduced herself as Dr Nina Burden - site Director. White blouse, pencil skirt, smoky grey nylons and twinkling kohl darkened eyes. “Commander Sparks welcome to Nova Dea. We all owe you a debt of gratitude. Without your discovery none of this would have been possible - we cannot wait to show you what we have achieved here.” “And what more we can do!” A voice from behind interrupted. “Ah Commissar Lycacheva - punctual and committed as ever,” Burden purred. A 6.2 the Russian towered over even Grace in 6 inch heels, nylons the colour of midnight and a tight fitting boned corset. “The Commissar is in charge of the “spiritual well-being” of our work here and quite indispensable. Now if you will follow me to one of our reception rooms.”
Sitting comfortably on leather sofas Dr Burden explained the status of the facility with the zeal of a proud parent. “The site was gutted, deep cleaned, extended and repurposed. We can comfortably hold 80 “guests” and with our own power, living quarters and even food production we are a virtually self sufficient small town with currently over 300 members of staff on site at any point. R+D teams, central administration and of course Ekaterina’s Commissariat who manage disciple and retribution.” “For the glory of the many mothers” snapped the Commissar. “For the glory of the many mothers” repeated Burden and Grace dutifully. “What of the serum?” Asked Grace? Dr Burden beamed, “we have made incredible progress. It was always brilliant but binary. We can now instantaneously increase the sensitivity of a subject 100 fold and at the flick of a switch bring it back to zero or anywhere in between . Adding in sexual stimulants as well as orgasm inhibitors we have created a tool even that even Tartarus would have been proud of! We have elevated tickling, teasing and denial to an exquisite tortuous art form but maybe we should show you in person?” Grace nodded, excited by the prospect. “How many guests are currently being entertained?” “6 war criminals are currently receiving our tender ministrations,” Lycacheva snapped zealously. “All junior members of staff from the original Dungeon - all in their mid-forties now but perfect test subjects - the enforced celibacy of 25 years incarceration along with a pitiful weakness for stockings, nylons, pantyhose, female feet and tickling. I can assure you all of them currently wish they had never been born.” Dr Burden rose to her feet “and now Commander Sparks we must insist you change before we enter the lower levels, no trousers or work boots are permitted beyond this point. Our guests are continually exposed to nothing but nylon covered feet to add to their torment!”
Grace was shown into a changing room where she stripped out of her fatigues and into a tight fitting black body. She selected a pair of off black hold ups and slipped the sheer material over her feet and legs. Returning to the meeting room she asked, “Dr Burden where are the shoes?” Smiling the Dr answered, “Strictly no shoes beyond this point unless for the purposes of dangling or dipping. Just think of your pretty stocking covered size 6’s as weapons in our righteous struggle.” Nodding her understanding Grace asked a question that had been puzzling her, “Apart from the nod to the past, why the emphasis on nylons?” “Ah,” Burden replied, “One of the 3 founding tenets of Nova Dea. Firstly subjects will be visually as well as physically stimulated - nearly all men associate stockings with sexual arousal, from the mild to the full blown fetishist. With standard hypnotherapy the latter level is perfectly possible in all subjects. Second tenet, no physical harm or pain will be inflicted on subjects. And thirdly all subjects will be released after their reconditioning when even the site of a dainty nyloned ankle will render them submissive. Now shall we?” Burden and Comissar Lycacheva led Grace down a set of deep pile carpeted stairs to a corridor not unlike that of an expensive private hospital. They entered Room 1A.
Grace was greeted with the sight of a naked well toned man with an anguished look on his face restrained in a standing position, arms above his head and legs spread and ankles chained to the floor. The source of his anguish was clear. A petite woman, dressed as a french maid complete with white frills and black reinforced heel and toe stockings was kneeling between his legs running a stiff goose feather slowly over his thighs and balls. Two other women, identically dressed as maids were standing either side of him running feather dusters delicately over his chest and nipples. None of the women even paused at the visitors arrival. The torturess with the feather was fiendishly methodical, dragging the length of the plume over the sensitive thigh flesh and using the tip to slowly circle the the base of each testicle in turn. The prisoner had a raging errection and the pool of precum on the floor indicated they had been working on this subject for some time. The man was covered in a sheen of sweat grunting desperately, breathing heavily and trying unsuccessfully to twist away from the feathers caresses in his restrictive bondage. The knelling woman looked up and spoke in a mock french accent to her victim, “does zis tickle mon cheri? Or ‘ow about ‘ere? Do not shut your eyes, you know what ‘appens!” The prisoner had indeed shut his eyes to try and block out the sensory overload. At a nod from the kneeling woman the maids on either side slowly raised one stockinged leg each, rather like human flamingos, ensuring the sheer nylon material of their stockings caressed up and back down the full length of the prisoners legs. He let out a deep seated moan but his desperate eyes flicked open.
“Commander Stark let me introduce you to our first guest, Mark Lawson. Mark has been with us for 2 weeks now. His body currently contains a total orgasm preventing enzyme, an industrial form of viagra and a 10% proof dose of the tickling serum - we wouldn’t want him to pass out!” she chuckled. “Why the french maids?” Grace asked? “Ah, well you see we use all their tropes against them. The ‘french maid’, the sexy symbol of female subservience complete with short skirt and stocking tops. A very common and deeply held fantasy.” Grace smiled, “Ingenious. He looks like he is going crazy how long have you been doing this to him?” “90 minutes into a 2 hour session and you are loving every minute aren’t you Mark?” “Nnnnggg, ngggg, na, na, noooo! P,p,pleeeze you h,h,h,have to eeep! St,stoooop I can’t ta,a,ake it! You argggh h,h,have to let me c,cum!” Commissar Lycacheva’s eyes blazed, “WE have to do nothing. Such insolence! Increase the tickling serum dosage to 15% for the remainder of the session!” “Noooooo!!!!” howled the prisoner. Dr Burden removed a remote control from her lab cot pocket and pressed a button. Instantaneously Marks attempts to struggle increased. The knelling french maid concentrated her feather on every square millimetre of the prisoners bursting balls and her accomplices switched to tickling his arm pits with their diabolical feather dusters sending him into overdrive, bubbling giggles were now mixing into the desperate mans grunts, groans and pleas. “Let us move on. Excellent progress ladies. Keep up the fine work and never forget this mans crimes!”
The 3 of them left Mark to his fate and entered room 1B. In an identically sized room a different but equally fiendish tableaux was laid out. A nearly naked man was restrained face down on a large padded massage table. His legs slightly spread and totally immobilised in stocks his soles pointing up. Curiously he was wearing sheer shiny black stockings and was currently roaring with forced laughter. The source of the mirth was the woman at the foot of the table mercilessly playing her nails up and down each nylon covered sole. The tickler was dressed in a red basque and red sheer stockings and suspenders, “oooh Briiiiiiaan does this tickle? Does this tickle too? Which foot is worse? Oooh have I found a tickle mark? Would you like me to stop Briiiiiiaaaannn? Would yooooou?” And all the time ravishing his up turned stockinged soles.
“Welcome to our second stop Commander Sparks. Let me introduce you to the Red Devil, Commissar Lycacheva’s finest foot tickler and her plaything Brian! Brian is enjoying a cocktail of orgasm suppressant, viagra and 40% proof tickling serum targeting only his feet and as you can see is enjoying himself immensely!”
“HAaa! Haaaaa!! Hoooo! Hooooo! NOOO! Noooo!!! HAAA!!!! Not there not THEEreeee....Haaaaa! Pleeeeeazzzzeee Haaaaaa!!!!” The foot tickling was obviously driving the man insane. Grace had questions, “Dr Burden why have you put him in stockings and why the need for viagra and orgasm suppression?” Dr Burdens eyes twinkled, “ah Elysium was right, you are an observant one! The stockings serve two purposes. Firstly they actually make the feet more receptive to tickling therefore increasing the torture and secondly it both humiliates and secretly turns on the subject in equal measure. Speaking of which I think you should take a look under the table.” Walking around the side of thrashing body in ticklish hell, Grace ducked down under the large padded table and was surprised to see a mezzanine level below on which two chaise lounges had been placed. Reclining on them were 2 woman both wearing impish grins and dressed identically as the Red Devil, in basque, suspenders and stockings but in a deep pink colour. Each woman had ultra sheer black stockings on their hands, almost like a gloves. The massage table had been cunningly designed so that Brian’s hugely erect penis protruded from the underside of the table. The women were taking it in turns to ever so gently caress his shaft or lightly squeeze his head with their stocking covered hands. “Fiendishly brilliant!” Grace exclaimed. “Exactly,” Dr Burden beamed. “Not only are we using his tickling fetish against him but he knows his manhood is being ever so slowly stimulated by two beautiful women dressed head to toe in the delicious nylon he loves and he can never reach climax!!”
“Briiiiiaaan...Briiiiaaan do you like the feel of my two assistants nimble fingers, covered in sheer black hose caressing your cock? Do you? They are wearing very sheer...hot... pink....nylon....stockings and they both have very very high arches and they painted their toenails especially for yooooou,” purred the Red Devil, continually fluttering her nails up and down his defenceless stockinged feet. “Aaaaahhhh!!! HEEE!!! HaaAAA!!! HO! HOOoooo!!! Thiiissss HA! HAA!!! NO! Issss TORTURE AhhhhHAAAAA!!!!” The Red Devil threw back her head and laughed cruelly, “I know my darling! And I think it’s time for the toes agaiiiiin! Nothing but delicious nylon between my finger nails and all your lovely nerve endings. You know you adore it when I tickle your toes!!!!” Brian’s desperate but pointless struggles increased, “NOOOO!!! NOT AGAIN!!! NOT THE TOOOOEES HO HOO AAAAGGGGHH!! HAAAAAA GAAAAAAA!! HAAA HAA HA!!!” The Devil was merciless, using all 8 finger nails to relentlessly tickle the stems, pads and tips of the poor mans toes. The thin layer of nylon magnifying the torture being visited on feet 40 times more ticklish than normal.
“Perfect tickling and verbal teasing technique,” the Commissar noted proudly, “if this was an interrogation he would have told us everything by now, too bad there’s nothing we want to know.” Dr Burden chuckled and led the trio back into the central corridor and to what ever awaited in Room 1C.
Commander Sparks tried to make sense of a room that appeared to be as much a laundrette as a torture chamber. A two metre thin steel hoop was suspended from the ceiling with a number of stockings attached to it with clothes pegs. Another naked well toned “guest” was restrained directly below with only a black mattress between him and the floor. Straps across his forehead, chest, stomach, thighs and knees rendered him utterly immobile. “We are very proud of the simplicity and efficiency of this room,” Dr Burden beamed, “we simply turn on the “wheel of delights” and let the stockings do the work for us! Allow me to demonstrate.” She pulled a lever on the wall and very slowly the wheel and the dangling stockings began to rotate. The prisoner started to make desperate noises through his gag. “The calibration is a little tricky but once everything is in place the bottom 5 inches of each of the eight stockings is dragged slowly, one after another over the tip of the prisoners penis. Specifically the glans. Our research has shown that gently dragging nylon material over a mans most sensitive spot is absolutely maddening!” Grace watched with fascination as the foot of a sheer black stocking was slowly dragged over the tip of the impressively erect cock, resulting in desperate mewling sounds from behind the gag. Seconds later the process was repeated by a beige hold up and then a blue fully fashioned stocking. Round and round and round.
“Now, Commander Sparks, I know you keen to get a little more “involved” in our work here. Well now is your chance to get a little more “hands” or should I say “feet on!” Commissar Lycacheva, 3 chairs please.” The Commissar arranged 3 chairs around the restrained mans head. “Please take a seat Commander. Let me introduce you to Brett. Former guard at the dungeon, raging nylon fetishist and condemned collaborator. We have pumped him full of viagra and orgasm suppressant but the tickling serum is unnecessary in this case and in fact would only lead to unconsciousness. Whilst the fiendish stimulation he is receiving is both elegant and intense we can increase his torment by rubbing our nylon soles on his face and neck. Allow the Commissar and I to demonstrate.” Dr Burden extended her smoky grey nylon clad feet and slowly caressed the mans cheeks with their toes. Lycacheva expertly ran her sheer midnight black soles over his nose and lips. And all the while the rotating stockings continued their relentless cock teasing. Unbelievably the prisoners already engorged errection appeared to grow a little larger. “Now don’t by shy Commander. I am sure Brett would love to meet your pretty size 6’s!” Feeling awkward but at the same time excited Grace stroked her black hosed feet over the mans ears and neck and marvelled as the desperate mewling increased a notch. It was obvious the combination of being caressed by 3 pairs of nylon covered feet whilst having his cock continually tortured by the ever rotating stockings was driving the prisoner sexually insane.
After 15 minutes of foot teasing during which Dr Burden chatted away about all manner of subjects, seemly oblivious to the suffering being inflicted on the “guest”, she suggested a break. Before ceasing the foot rubbing, the Commissar purposely ran her instep over the mans goatee beard and exclaimed “You just deliberately tickled my foot you dog! Such an infraction requires punishment! Dr Burden double the wheel’s speed and raise the serum level to 1%! That will teach him the error of his ways!” Bretts eyes flew open and what were probably desperate pleas and shouts issued from behind the gag. Making the necessary adjustments they left Brett to the tender nylon caresses of the “wheel of delights”. “Your dedication never fails to impress Commissar. Onward to room 4,” Dr Burden said.
As the automatic doors smoothly slid open the familiar sound of desperate laughter and begging met Commander Sparks ears. In the centre of the room another naked man was tied spread eagled over a padded table so his bare backside was facing the ceiling. A blonde woman in white lingerie and sheer white stockings was standing behind the prone prisoner running two long stiff feathers up and down the mans butt cheeks. A second identically dressed woman was sitting crossed legged in a chair near the mans head. “Commander Sparks let me introduce you to the Feather Angels, who as Christopher here can attest to, have perfected the art of feather tickling and verbal teasing!” Grace watched, mesmerised as the devilish feathers went from caressesing the tops of the mans thighs to tracing up and down his butt crack driving the laughter and pleading to a higher pitch.
The seated Angel started talking directly to the prisoner in a sultry voice, “Now Christopher where were we? Oh yes I was telling you just how ticklish my feet are wasn’t I. They are oh so terribly ticklish, especially when I am wearing stockings like these.” She extended her leg to ensure the man got a good view of her nylon encased arch. “If you were to run a feather over my soles I would simply dissolve into helpless giggles. It would be pure torture for me. I would be begging you to stop. My left foot is the most ticklish and let me tell you a secret......If you were to tickle my toes I would do anything to make you stop, annnnyyyything....”. The teasing tickle talk continued with the Angel describing at length the effects various tickling tools would have on her nylon soles and toes and it was clear to Grace it was driving poor Christoper to distraction. Whilst all the time the standing Angel continued her relentless tickling, feathering the very top of his sensitive butt crack before flicking the feathers’ tips over his defenceless anus. The begging and shrieking reached ear splitting levels. The devious imagination of Nova Dea seemed to have no limits, Grace thought. Elysium and even President Nielsen herself would be delighted. Whilst she could have listened to the mans desperate begging and howls of ticklish anguish and frustration for hours, Grace accepted the invitation to move to the next room.
To be continued.....
appreciate the feedback - literally endless possibilities with this construct - I’ll open a bottle of red and do some thinking 
