Got there with Part 6 - thanks for all the encouragement and also thank you to those of you sticking with this series (I have weaved in a few requests where I could). Just the final part to go now, in which there are a few surprises coming. K x
Nylon Dungeon 2.0 Part 6
“And what rough beast, it’s hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”
The Second Coming - WB Yeats
Commander Grace Sparks watched as the unconscious body of the Mi6 spy Stephen Graeme was wheeled into the interrogation suite by her black pantyhose clad and shoeless security detail. He was lifted on to the padded bed and restrained spread angled with heavy fur lined cuffs pinning his wrists and ankles. Straps were secured over his chest and forehead rendering him utterly immobile. The table was raised from horizontal to vertical so that Simon hung there perfectly supported by his bondage. Sensors were attached to his forearms by the medical orderlys. There would be three doctors present at all times. One to ensure he did not loose consciousness, the second to ensure he did not prematurely expire and the third to vary the dosage and localisation of the tickling serum as required. “He doesn’t stand a chance,” thought Grace to herself with something akin to a flicker of sympathy. Other assistants wheeled in trolleys covered in feathers, brushes and all manner of tickling paraphernalia so that they were to hand when required.
The preparations complete, the room fell strangely silent apart from the bleeping of the medical equipment. Grace used the time to study her “enemy”. Six foot tall, sculpted muscles and a mop of tousled brown hair. In another life, the kind of man Grace had always meant to meet. He was coming round. “I take it this isn’t the midday flight from DC to London then?” said Simon through bleary eyes which were already taking in every detail of the room he found himself in. Not quite knowing what to say, Grace defaulted to her training. “Good, you are awake. I am Commander Sparks, Head of Nova Dea security. We have a number of questions we would like you to answer. Your interrogators will be here momentarily.” She signalled for one of her detachment to inform Dr Burden and her team. Simon looked her up and down. The sheer black nylon stocking clad feet and legs, her pale athletic thighs and security issue bodice. His cock, against his wishes, became immediately stiff, evidence the hypnotherapy which enforced a deep nylon, foot and tickling fetish had been successful. “You’re military, or at least once were, I can tell from your bearing. I was Royal Air Force. Which service were you?” He asked casually. Grace, wrong footed, blurted “Infantry,” before recovering her composure, “where I served with honour.”
“Hmm. There’s not much honour serving as a security guard in a torture chamber is there?” To Grace’s discomfort he left the question hanging in the air before continuing. “So Commander Sparks, formerly of the US Infantry, what will happen to me if I don’t answer your questions?” She looked directly into his hazel coloured eyes trying desperately to avoid overtly staring at his engorged member, “they will tickle you and tickle you and continue to tickle you until you give them everything they want.” Interesting use of the word “they” rather then “we” thought Simon. He smiled, “Ah the famous tickling serum, I don’t doubt this will be a hellish experience but I’ll take comfort from knowing you will be watching my suffering....honourably of course.” Grace reddened at the unexpected response but before she could answer the double doors were flung open heralding the arrival of President Imogen Nielsen, her Seraphim praetorian guard, Site Director Dr Nina Burden and Commissar Ekaterina Lycacheva.
The Seraphim took up positions along the walls, Burden and Lycacheva respectively dressed in charcoal grey and midnight black hose stood to one side leaving the President staring directly into Stephens face. 5.5 in her off-nude stockinged feet and immaculate business suit with a shock of platinum grey hair and blue within blue eyes. “Ah the cavalry is here,” Stephen quipped. “My dear boy, you would do well to listen very carefully to every word I say before my people make you very uncomfortable indeed.” She held up a perfectly manicured hand to silence the inevitable retort and continued, “You have something I very much want and you are going to give it to me or we will work on you to the point where you will wish you could turn yourself inside out.”
“Madame President. With the greatest of respect I am going to have to politely decline. As a servant of the Crown I will neither betray the Service or my country. You are wasting your time.” The President let out a peal of laughter, “Oh you poor naive boy. I know all I need about your governments’ plots and machinations and the secrets of your so called “secret service”. I have only one...simple...question...who is your agent in Nova Dea? And before you retreat into pointless denials, I refer you to the evidence found on your phone.” She gestured to the plasma screens on the walls which suddenly displayed a collection of images detailing desperate men in various forms of bondage being relentlessly tickled, feathered and teased by a range of stocking clad Nova Dea tormentresses. “These pictures could only have been obtained from an inside source and you WILL give me a name.”
“I’ll never talk,” replied Stephen grimly. Nielsen smiled the smile of a predator, “Dr Burden, Commissar Lycacheva...get me what I want. I shall be watching with interest from the comfort of my observation suite,” she indicated to a wall of one way glass, “and I very much look forward, my little spy, to another illuminating “chat” in a few hours time.”
“You won’t win you know,” replied Stephen. “You can’t enslave half of the population and expect to remain in power.” Nielsen favoured him with a crooked, malevolent smile, “The male population of this fine country need only a handful of prerequisites to content themselves, feeding, fucking and someone to fight. I can provide all three!” She turned on her stockinged heels not waiting for an answer.
As Nielsen left the room, Dr Burden activated the reclining function until Stephen was fully horizontal. Some further adjustments caused various sections of the table to fold away exposing the backs of his knees, balls and butt.
“Activate protocol 1 and raise the ticklishness of his feet to a factor of 5 snapped Commissar Lycacheva. Two large evil looking circular brushes appeared from beneath the base of the table and positioned themselves millimetres away from his immobilised and sensitised arches. Each brush was covered in alternating concentric rings of stiff feathers, sable hair and plastic tipped bristles. They buzzed into spinning life and locked onto his defenceless soles.
“GNNnnnn…” Stephen grunted trying to simultaneously fight the exquisitely awful foot tickling as well as the urge to laugh, which he was damned if he was going to give them the satisfaction of doing. The Commissar padded in her black stockinged feet to the head of the table where she could look directly into her victims eyes. “This is just the start my pretty babushka. I hope you like my little toys. They are full of surprises.” And right on cue the spinning brushes began to move up and down to tickle every inch of his feet from the tips of his toes to the balls of his heels. “Give me the name and we can dispense with all this unpleasantness.”
“GAaaaAaaa, NEevaaar!” Exclaimed Stephen. The Commissar selected two thin, stiff feathers from the waiting trolley and lazily twirled their tips in Stephen’s ears. “The ears are such a neglected part of the body! And so full of delicious nerve endings!” Gloated Lycacheva, running the feather’s tips around his auricle before repeatedly flicking them into his auditory canals. “The traitors name?” Agent Graeme had screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the truly maddening feeling of both the feathers as well as the relentless foot tickling he was being subjected to. “NevAaAaahaaa haaa, haaAaaaAA! DAAaaammm YoUhoohoo!”, Lycacheva smiled at the first signs of laughter. “They all break in the end” she thought to herself but hoped this one would not break “too quickly.” After a further 15 minutes of foot and ear tickle torture a name was still not forthcoming.
“Activate protocol 2 and raise the sensitivity of his feet and abdomen to factor 7” snapped the Commissar. 2 pairs of hydraulic mechanised hands snaked down from overhead and positioned themselves next to his ribs and belly. Guided by lasers and equipped with pressure sensors as well as AI self learning they began to squeeze and poke at his abs and between each rib. “GAAaa,Ha,HAA,HAAAAA!!! GAAAAOOODD NAAAAOOOOOOHHH!” Roared Stephen. The insidious fingers took constant readings and continually varied their attacks returning again and again to the most sensitive spots which elicited the best responses. The spinning brushes were still working on his feet. They had arced forward to concentrate solely on his toes. Simultaneously feathering and brushing each digit and the soft skin at their base. The effect of having his ticklishness increased from 5 fold to 7 fold was dizzying. For the first time Stephen began to doubt his ability to hold out.
“Dr Burden, what are his readings?” Enquired the Commissar. Checking with the sheer suntan hosed medical staff, in their impossibly short lab coats, the site Director confirmed his heart rate was at 165 bpm with plenty of scope to go higher. Nodding, the Commissar once more positioned herself at the head of the table above the writhing agent. “Give me her name Stephen. We know your accomplice must be female, we just need to know her name, just the name.”
“HAAAA, GAAA, HHAAAAA, HoOOO, HA, HOOOOO, NOOOOOO!!!” Bellowed Stephen. “Well let’s see if a little armpit tickling loosens your tongue, spy” sneered Lycacheva. She wiggled her jet black nails, filed to wicked points, in front of his face before slowly descending them into his armpits. Stephen’s laughter increased an octave. The Commissar relentlessly ran her digits over the super sensitive skin sometimes trailing her finger tips over his chest and forearms but always returning to swirling her nails deep in the hollows of his arms. “So how does it feel having your feet, abs, ribs and underarms tickled simultaneously? It must be torture! But I will let you into a little secret. We have not unleashed the full potential of the tickling serum yet and there are lots of parts of your body we haven’t played with yet. Very sensitive parts! Save yourself from what you are forcing me to do to you and give me the name. Talk!” Stephen roared and cackled and sweated but to her immense disappointment stubbornly refused to give up a name or even beg. An hour had passed.
In her plush observation suite, President Imogen Neilsen sipped at a crystal glass of Armand de Brignac as she enjoyed the show. Hi-definition microphones meant she did not miss a single laugh or curse. She had stripped out of her business suit and was languidly reclining on a chaise lounge in nothing but her lace topped nude Parisian stockings. She gently grazed her clitoris with two fingers and let out a satisfied purr. For reasons that are the subject of a different tale, Imogen Neilsen could only achieve orgasm if she was watching a man being tickled senseless. As the Commissar started tormenting the Agents’ underarms her stroking became more urgent and she came for the second time that morning, “oh the suffering…the sweet suffering,” she panted breathlessly.
“You leave me no choice! Activate protocol 3 and raise the serum to factor 9. Full body!” Snarled Lycacheva. Somewhere in his sensorily overloaded brain Stephen registered a small victory - she was getting frustrated. Various feathers and brushes buzzed into life underneath his restrained body. Insidiously they began stroking at the backs of his knees and caressing the crack and cheeks of his butt and licking at the underside of his tight balls. A third pair of mechanised hands with needle tipped fingers descended into his arm pits replacing the Commissars fingers. The brushes at his feet swirled in a randomised blur making him feel like every nerve was on fire whilst the 2 pairs of mechanised hands at his sides had now determined his very weakest of weak points and were exploiting them mercilessly. The constant increase in the strength of the tickling serum meant he became dramatically more ticklish as opposed to desensitised. “Commissar!” Said one of the Doctors. “The subjects heart rate has breached 190 bpm. We are in danger of loosing him.”
“Administer adrenaline! This one is not getting the better of me,” shouted Lycacheva. “I think different tactics are required!” She picked up a sheer black stocking from one of the trolleys and slipped it over her right hand and arm. She also selected a black and white Condor feather and stood menacingly over Stephen’s tickle-wracked body. “You’re close to breaking Agent Graeme. You just need a little…push…Not all tickling is torture. Some is the purest form of pleasure!”
She reached down and encircled his erect head in her nylon covered fingers. She grazed the sheer nylon material up and down and began gently pumping his straining cock. Stephen’s mind was beginning to feel like it was falling apart piece by piece. The pleasure in his super sensitised cock was mind blowing and somehow accentuated the tickling ravages being inflicted on the rest of his body. Every individual stroke of a feather, every poke of a finger or delicate scrape of a needle, he could no longer block any of it out and was filled with an almost feral desire to cum and to beg his torturer to finish him. Lycacheva could sense victory and deployed her final trick. She steadied his cock between nylon sheathed thumb and forefinger and touched the tip of the feather to his glans and slowly, repeatedly stimulated it. Stephen let out a long and desperate shriek and in her observation suite President Neilsen came for the third time.
“TELL ME WHO TOOK THE PICTURES!” Stephen laughed and screamed and babbled incoherently. Lycacheva knew she had him now and continued to fiendishly feather the excruciatingly sensitive tip of his cock.
Commander Grace Sparks’ mind was whirling. A traitor inside Nova Dea! On her watch! And now having to watch the agonies they were putting this man through. He looked as though he was loosing his mind. She tried to distract herself by guiltily looking at the incriminating pictures displayed on the screens around the room. Something nagged at her. A seed of recognition. In one picture she recognised the man having his upper body tickled whilst simultaneously enduring a nylon foot job. What was his name? Stuart, Shaun….no…Simon! It came back to her. Room 6 on her first day. One of the original Nylon Dungeon guards. She could clearly see Magenta with her fingers deep in the mans pits and Colombia’s long silk stocking clad legs and feet providing unwanted pleasure but not Janet and there had been three of them working on him…“Director!” She blurted. “That picture! My first day…the tour you took me on…the insider must be Janet...she had a phone, only she could have taken that picture!”
The world seemed to stop. Site Director Nina Burdens face turned ashen. Lycacheva’s feather froze mid-stroke. Stephen shot a look at Grace which seemed to say, “What have you done!?” Whilst the machines continued their relentless tickle torture.
President Nielsen’s voice boomed out of the speakers in the walls. “Congratulations, you have somewhat redeemed yourself Sparks. But as for you Burden, if the traitor is not brought here, to me, within the next 15 minutes you will live out your days dosed up on serum with one of your precious bird boxes locked on to your aching sex! Commissar, assemble your finest tickling specialists! I want this woman taken apart and I want our “guest” to watch.”
“What the hell have I done?” Thought Grace desperately.
To be continued.
Nylon Dungeon 2.0 Part 6
“And what rough beast, it’s hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”
The Second Coming - WB Yeats
Commander Grace Sparks watched as the unconscious body of the Mi6 spy Stephen Graeme was wheeled into the interrogation suite by her black pantyhose clad and shoeless security detail. He was lifted on to the padded bed and restrained spread angled with heavy fur lined cuffs pinning his wrists and ankles. Straps were secured over his chest and forehead rendering him utterly immobile. The table was raised from horizontal to vertical so that Simon hung there perfectly supported by his bondage. Sensors were attached to his forearms by the medical orderlys. There would be three doctors present at all times. One to ensure he did not loose consciousness, the second to ensure he did not prematurely expire and the third to vary the dosage and localisation of the tickling serum as required. “He doesn’t stand a chance,” thought Grace to herself with something akin to a flicker of sympathy. Other assistants wheeled in trolleys covered in feathers, brushes and all manner of tickling paraphernalia so that they were to hand when required.
The preparations complete, the room fell strangely silent apart from the bleeping of the medical equipment. Grace used the time to study her “enemy”. Six foot tall, sculpted muscles and a mop of tousled brown hair. In another life, the kind of man Grace had always meant to meet. He was coming round. “I take it this isn’t the midday flight from DC to London then?” said Simon through bleary eyes which were already taking in every detail of the room he found himself in. Not quite knowing what to say, Grace defaulted to her training. “Good, you are awake. I am Commander Sparks, Head of Nova Dea security. We have a number of questions we would like you to answer. Your interrogators will be here momentarily.” She signalled for one of her detachment to inform Dr Burden and her team. Simon looked her up and down. The sheer black nylon stocking clad feet and legs, her pale athletic thighs and security issue bodice. His cock, against his wishes, became immediately stiff, evidence the hypnotherapy which enforced a deep nylon, foot and tickling fetish had been successful. “You’re military, or at least once were, I can tell from your bearing. I was Royal Air Force. Which service were you?” He asked casually. Grace, wrong footed, blurted “Infantry,” before recovering her composure, “where I served with honour.”
“Hmm. There’s not much honour serving as a security guard in a torture chamber is there?” To Grace’s discomfort he left the question hanging in the air before continuing. “So Commander Sparks, formerly of the US Infantry, what will happen to me if I don’t answer your questions?” She looked directly into his hazel coloured eyes trying desperately to avoid overtly staring at his engorged member, “they will tickle you and tickle you and continue to tickle you until you give them everything they want.” Interesting use of the word “they” rather then “we” thought Simon. He smiled, “Ah the famous tickling serum, I don’t doubt this will be a hellish experience but I’ll take comfort from knowing you will be watching my suffering....honourably of course.” Grace reddened at the unexpected response but before she could answer the double doors were flung open heralding the arrival of President Imogen Nielsen, her Seraphim praetorian guard, Site Director Dr Nina Burden and Commissar Ekaterina Lycacheva.
The Seraphim took up positions along the walls, Burden and Lycacheva respectively dressed in charcoal grey and midnight black hose stood to one side leaving the President staring directly into Stephens face. 5.5 in her off-nude stockinged feet and immaculate business suit with a shock of platinum grey hair and blue within blue eyes. “Ah the cavalry is here,” Stephen quipped. “My dear boy, you would do well to listen very carefully to every word I say before my people make you very uncomfortable indeed.” She held up a perfectly manicured hand to silence the inevitable retort and continued, “You have something I very much want and you are going to give it to me or we will work on you to the point where you will wish you could turn yourself inside out.”
“Madame President. With the greatest of respect I am going to have to politely decline. As a servant of the Crown I will neither betray the Service or my country. You are wasting your time.” The President let out a peal of laughter, “Oh you poor naive boy. I know all I need about your governments’ plots and machinations and the secrets of your so called “secret service”. I have only one...simple...question...who is your agent in Nova Dea? And before you retreat into pointless denials, I refer you to the evidence found on your phone.” She gestured to the plasma screens on the walls which suddenly displayed a collection of images detailing desperate men in various forms of bondage being relentlessly tickled, feathered and teased by a range of stocking clad Nova Dea tormentresses. “These pictures could only have been obtained from an inside source and you WILL give me a name.”
“I’ll never talk,” replied Stephen grimly. Nielsen smiled the smile of a predator, “Dr Burden, Commissar Lycacheva...get me what I want. I shall be watching with interest from the comfort of my observation suite,” she indicated to a wall of one way glass, “and I very much look forward, my little spy, to another illuminating “chat” in a few hours time.”
“You won’t win you know,” replied Stephen. “You can’t enslave half of the population and expect to remain in power.” Nielsen favoured him with a crooked, malevolent smile, “The male population of this fine country need only a handful of prerequisites to content themselves, feeding, fucking and someone to fight. I can provide all three!” She turned on her stockinged heels not waiting for an answer.
As Nielsen left the room, Dr Burden activated the reclining function until Stephen was fully horizontal. Some further adjustments caused various sections of the table to fold away exposing the backs of his knees, balls and butt.
“Activate protocol 1 and raise the ticklishness of his feet to a factor of 5 snapped Commissar Lycacheva. Two large evil looking circular brushes appeared from beneath the base of the table and positioned themselves millimetres away from his immobilised and sensitised arches. Each brush was covered in alternating concentric rings of stiff feathers, sable hair and plastic tipped bristles. They buzzed into spinning life and locked onto his defenceless soles.
“GNNnnnn…” Stephen grunted trying to simultaneously fight the exquisitely awful foot tickling as well as the urge to laugh, which he was damned if he was going to give them the satisfaction of doing. The Commissar padded in her black stockinged feet to the head of the table where she could look directly into her victims eyes. “This is just the start my pretty babushka. I hope you like my little toys. They are full of surprises.” And right on cue the spinning brushes began to move up and down to tickle every inch of his feet from the tips of his toes to the balls of his heels. “Give me the name and we can dispense with all this unpleasantness.”
“GAaaaAaaa, NEevaaar!” Exclaimed Stephen. The Commissar selected two thin, stiff feathers from the waiting trolley and lazily twirled their tips in Stephen’s ears. “The ears are such a neglected part of the body! And so full of delicious nerve endings!” Gloated Lycacheva, running the feather’s tips around his auricle before repeatedly flicking them into his auditory canals. “The traitors name?” Agent Graeme had screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the truly maddening feeling of both the feathers as well as the relentless foot tickling he was being subjected to. “NevAaAaahaaa haaa, haaAaaaAA! DAAaaammm YoUhoohoo!”, Lycacheva smiled at the first signs of laughter. “They all break in the end” she thought to herself but hoped this one would not break “too quickly.” After a further 15 minutes of foot and ear tickle torture a name was still not forthcoming.
“Activate protocol 2 and raise the sensitivity of his feet and abdomen to factor 7” snapped the Commissar. 2 pairs of hydraulic mechanised hands snaked down from overhead and positioned themselves next to his ribs and belly. Guided by lasers and equipped with pressure sensors as well as AI self learning they began to squeeze and poke at his abs and between each rib. “GAAaa,Ha,HAA,HAAAAA!!! GAAAAOOODD NAAAAOOOOOOHHH!” Roared Stephen. The insidious fingers took constant readings and continually varied their attacks returning again and again to the most sensitive spots which elicited the best responses. The spinning brushes were still working on his feet. They had arced forward to concentrate solely on his toes. Simultaneously feathering and brushing each digit and the soft skin at their base. The effect of having his ticklishness increased from 5 fold to 7 fold was dizzying. For the first time Stephen began to doubt his ability to hold out.
“Dr Burden, what are his readings?” Enquired the Commissar. Checking with the sheer suntan hosed medical staff, in their impossibly short lab coats, the site Director confirmed his heart rate was at 165 bpm with plenty of scope to go higher. Nodding, the Commissar once more positioned herself at the head of the table above the writhing agent. “Give me her name Stephen. We know your accomplice must be female, we just need to know her name, just the name.”
“HAAAA, GAAA, HHAAAAA, HoOOO, HA, HOOOOO, NOOOOOO!!!” Bellowed Stephen. “Well let’s see if a little armpit tickling loosens your tongue, spy” sneered Lycacheva. She wiggled her jet black nails, filed to wicked points, in front of his face before slowly descending them into his armpits. Stephen’s laughter increased an octave. The Commissar relentlessly ran her digits over the super sensitive skin sometimes trailing her finger tips over his chest and forearms but always returning to swirling her nails deep in the hollows of his arms. “So how does it feel having your feet, abs, ribs and underarms tickled simultaneously? It must be torture! But I will let you into a little secret. We have not unleashed the full potential of the tickling serum yet and there are lots of parts of your body we haven’t played with yet. Very sensitive parts! Save yourself from what you are forcing me to do to you and give me the name. Talk!” Stephen roared and cackled and sweated but to her immense disappointment stubbornly refused to give up a name or even beg. An hour had passed.
In her plush observation suite, President Imogen Neilsen sipped at a crystal glass of Armand de Brignac as she enjoyed the show. Hi-definition microphones meant she did not miss a single laugh or curse. She had stripped out of her business suit and was languidly reclining on a chaise lounge in nothing but her lace topped nude Parisian stockings. She gently grazed her clitoris with two fingers and let out a satisfied purr. For reasons that are the subject of a different tale, Imogen Neilsen could only achieve orgasm if she was watching a man being tickled senseless. As the Commissar started tormenting the Agents’ underarms her stroking became more urgent and she came for the second time that morning, “oh the suffering…the sweet suffering,” she panted breathlessly.
“You leave me no choice! Activate protocol 3 and raise the serum to factor 9. Full body!” Snarled Lycacheva. Somewhere in his sensorily overloaded brain Stephen registered a small victory - she was getting frustrated. Various feathers and brushes buzzed into life underneath his restrained body. Insidiously they began stroking at the backs of his knees and caressing the crack and cheeks of his butt and licking at the underside of his tight balls. A third pair of mechanised hands with needle tipped fingers descended into his arm pits replacing the Commissars fingers. The brushes at his feet swirled in a randomised blur making him feel like every nerve was on fire whilst the 2 pairs of mechanised hands at his sides had now determined his very weakest of weak points and were exploiting them mercilessly. The constant increase in the strength of the tickling serum meant he became dramatically more ticklish as opposed to desensitised. “Commissar!” Said one of the Doctors. “The subjects heart rate has breached 190 bpm. We are in danger of loosing him.”
“Administer adrenaline! This one is not getting the better of me,” shouted Lycacheva. “I think different tactics are required!” She picked up a sheer black stocking from one of the trolleys and slipped it over her right hand and arm. She also selected a black and white Condor feather and stood menacingly over Stephen’s tickle-wracked body. “You’re close to breaking Agent Graeme. You just need a little…push…Not all tickling is torture. Some is the purest form of pleasure!”
She reached down and encircled his erect head in her nylon covered fingers. She grazed the sheer nylon material up and down and began gently pumping his straining cock. Stephen’s mind was beginning to feel like it was falling apart piece by piece. The pleasure in his super sensitised cock was mind blowing and somehow accentuated the tickling ravages being inflicted on the rest of his body. Every individual stroke of a feather, every poke of a finger or delicate scrape of a needle, he could no longer block any of it out and was filled with an almost feral desire to cum and to beg his torturer to finish him. Lycacheva could sense victory and deployed her final trick. She steadied his cock between nylon sheathed thumb and forefinger and touched the tip of the feather to his glans and slowly, repeatedly stimulated it. Stephen let out a long and desperate shriek and in her observation suite President Neilsen came for the third time.
“TELL ME WHO TOOK THE PICTURES!” Stephen laughed and screamed and babbled incoherently. Lycacheva knew she had him now and continued to fiendishly feather the excruciatingly sensitive tip of his cock.
Commander Grace Sparks’ mind was whirling. A traitor inside Nova Dea! On her watch! And now having to watch the agonies they were putting this man through. He looked as though he was loosing his mind. She tried to distract herself by guiltily looking at the incriminating pictures displayed on the screens around the room. Something nagged at her. A seed of recognition. In one picture she recognised the man having his upper body tickled whilst simultaneously enduring a nylon foot job. What was his name? Stuart, Shaun….no…Simon! It came back to her. Room 6 on her first day. One of the original Nylon Dungeon guards. She could clearly see Magenta with her fingers deep in the mans pits and Colombia’s long silk stocking clad legs and feet providing unwanted pleasure but not Janet and there had been three of them working on him…“Director!” She blurted. “That picture! My first day…the tour you took me on…the insider must be Janet...she had a phone, only she could have taken that picture!”
The world seemed to stop. Site Director Nina Burdens face turned ashen. Lycacheva’s feather froze mid-stroke. Stephen shot a look at Grace which seemed to say, “What have you done!?” Whilst the machines continued their relentless tickle torture.
President Nielsen’s voice boomed out of the speakers in the walls. “Congratulations, you have somewhat redeemed yourself Sparks. But as for you Burden, if the traitor is not brought here, to me, within the next 15 minutes you will live out your days dosed up on serum with one of your precious bird boxes locked on to your aching sex! Commissar, assemble your finest tickling specialists! I want this woman taken apart and I want our “guest” to watch.”
“What the hell have I done?” Thought Grace desperately.
To be continued.
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