The Reluctant Movie Star

"I'm sorry about the movie, Mom"

"I understand, dear."

"It's just that the idea of...you know...having to go through all of that, and then seeing it in video stores--"

"Of course."

"You aren't mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

Linda's mother opened the door to the dungeon and beckoned her daughter in. Another day locked, chained, clamped, or tied to some torture device, thought Linda. What a job. She had to admit, however, that it paid well, and more people were visiting the museum than ever. It wasn't long ago that the museum was in danger of closing, but now that the public had found out that a real live girl was imprisoned in the dungeon, they came in droves. Linda didn't really understand it. Her dumb little brother liked to see her get tortured, but she thought people generally outgrew that sort of thing.

Today she wore a frayed black sleeveless dress that was torn in several places around the midriff. A perfect outfit for a dungeon damsel, her mother had said that morning. When Linda stepped into the dungeon that morning, she immediately noticed something different.

The rack was back.

"Mom, not that thing. You know how I hate that rack." Actually, she had only been on it once, and that was when it had been in their garage. Even then it wouldn't have been so bad, except that she had been dressed in a skimpy bikini and her Aunt Vivian had proceeded to tickle her half to death.

"Get on it, Linda. We're about to open."

Linda felt goosebumps rise on her bare arms as she looked at it with distaste. The rack had stocks for the feet, and leather straps which buckled for the wrists. The straps were attached by two ropes which wrapped around a roller at the opposite end. Once a girl was on it, she could be stretched out very tightly by using a lever attached to a gear on the roller. Oh, well, Linda thought, at least Aunt Vivian was nowhere around. Linda had already disappointed her mother by refusing to do the movie; there was no reason to make an issue out of the rack. "Is Bobby around?" If her little brother saw her on the rack in a sleeveless dress, he would tickle her bare underarms for sure.

"No."

A step ladder had thoughtfully been placed next to the waist-high rack. With a resigned sigh she climbed onto the rack and sat down, placing her ankles into the padded stocks. At least it wouldn't be too uncomfortable, she thought as her mother locked the top of the stocks down. She lay back and raised her arms over her head, letting her mother buckle the leather cuffs around her wrists. Then, as her mother worked the lever, she felt the ropes pull her arms higher until they were straight.

"How's that, dear?"

"Just fine," Linda said, the sarcasm apparent.

"Good." Her mother went to the foot of the rack, deftly removed one of Linda's sandals, and scratched her bare sole with her nails.

"Haahahahaha...Mother! Haaahaaha. STOP IT!"

Then she removed the other sandal.

"Mother, don't! Nooohaaahaa," Linda screamed, her leg jerking involuntarily, as her mother tickled her other foot.

Stopping the tickling, she stepped to Linda's side and looked down at her stretched daughter. "Sorry, dear," her mother said. "I couldn't resist. Now just stay put, and try to look like a girl being tortured in a dungeon."

"That shouldn't be too difficult, now should it," Linda said with irritation. It could have been worse, she conceded. Her mother could have tickled her under her arms.

As if reading her mind, her mother smiled and lightly scratched Linda's bare underarms, watching with amusement, as her daughter yanked at the ropes holding her arms high over her head.

"Mother!" Linda screeched.

"Couldn't resist that either, dear," her mother said. Then she left the dungeon.

Linda had discovered with experience that there were three stages to being restrained, especially when left alone. At first there was a feeling of curiosity, to see if she were indeed really trapped. As always, she tried to get loose, trying to slip her hands out her restraints by twisting them back and forth and pulling downward. This she did for a couple of minutes, while looking up at the cuffs around her wrists. As usual she failed.

Once it sunk in that she couldn't slip free, she went into the brute force stage, where she grasped the ropes with her hands and pulled with all her might to break them. They didn't give, so she relaxed for another try. Again, she pulled as hard as she could, and again she failed. All she could do is lay there, slightly winded. At this stage, her mouth became dry and she imagined herself stretched out for days, while her family forgot about her. It was partly true, because unbeknownst to her, her mother had placed a "Dungeon closed" outside the door.

The third stage was acceptance, where she simply acknowledged the fact that she was stretched out on a rack with her feet clamped in stocks and her arms stretched out high over her head, and there was not a whole lot she could do about it. So she stopped worrying about it and waited for the daily troop of visitors she believed would be coming to see her attached to some sort of torture device.

Now that she was in the third stage, she closed her eyes. Heck, maybe the rack wasn't so bad; at least she was lying down. Maybe she could go to sleep like this....

The next thing she knew, there was somebody standing over her calling her name. Linda tried to get up, but found that she couldn't move. In a sudden panic, she opened her eyes wide and looked around her, remembering after a moment where she was. Standing over her was Aunt Vivian, who was smiling down at her. Was this a dream? she wondered.

"Well, how are you doing, Linda?" Aunt Vivian asked pleasantly.

Still not certain what was happening, Linda tried again to get up, and again she failed. She lifted her head and saw that she was stretched out quite tightly on a torture rack.

"Aunt Vivian?" asked Linda, hoping that it wasn't. Maybe she was lucky and this was just a nightmare.

"Why, Linda, you don't seem particularly happy to see me," Aunt Vivian said in mock disappointment.

"Sure I'm happy to see you. I'm thrilled, really I am," she lied. What the hell was going on here?

"I heard that we're all going to be in a movie, Linda. Is that true?"

"No."

"It isn't?"

"No."

"Perhaps I misunderstood," Aunt Vivian said.

"Perhaps you did."

"I was told that all I had to do was bring this contract to you and you would sign it." Aunt Vivian held up an official-looking document for Linda to see.

"What is it?"

"An agreement to star in a movie, of course. I've always wanted to be in a movie, you know."

"Don't let me stop you."

"You don't understand, Linda. If you won't be the star, the movie won't get made."

"That's the breaks, I guess. I can't sign it like this, now can I?" Linda said, looking up at the leather cuffs around her wrists.

"Of course you can. I'll just place a pen in your right hand, and let you sign it. Then I'll release you. See? I even brought a clipboard."

Oh, shit, thought Linda. It didn't take a genius to figure out the alternative would be torture. Literally. "And if I don't?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Why, Linda. This is, after all, a torture chamber, and you are on a rack. Barefoot...."

Aunt Vivian stepped down to the end of the rack and lightly ran a nail up Linda's arch, causing her foot to twitch and a smile to come to her face.

"....and sleeveless." She returned to Linda's side, and ran the same nail very slowly down Linda's bare underarm, which caused a light giggle. Aunt Vivian held up her hands, so Linda could see the long red nails.

Linda already knew she was going to sign the contract. That much was inevitable. Aunt Vivian would tickle torture her until she gave in, and anybody who scoffed at the idea of tickling being an effective form of torture hadn't met Aunt Vivian. The woman was an expert.

"Well, what'll it be?"

"No contract," said Linda, determined to hold out as long as possible.

"Very well," said Aunt Vivian. "Let's get down to business, then."

Linda braced herself for an onslaught on her bare underarms, but first Aunt Vivian grasped the lever and tightened the rack a notch. Linda felt the leather buckles tugging at her wrists. Her aunt cranked it again, and this time Linda gasped at the tension in her shoulders.

"How's that, Linda?" asked Aunt Vivian.

"Just fine," she said tightly, realizing she had said the same thing to her mother. Linda was now very stretched out with her wrists and ankles at points slightly wider than her shoulders. The armholes in her dress were cut in a manner that completely exposed her underarms and some of her upper sides. Linda was aware of it, and could almost read Aunt Vivian's mind. Her aunt immediately reached for Linda's bare underarms and began scratching.

Linda didn't even try not to laugh. When Aunt Vivian tickled you, you laughed whether you wanted to or not. Aunt Vivian just calmly scratched Linda's bare underarms, knowing that her niece couldn't budge an inch, considering how tightly she was stretched. For Linda, the strain on her shoulders coupled with the nails scratching under her arms was agonizing. She was aware that her laughter was changing into gasps, but she was determined not to beg Aunt Vivian to stop.

Aunt Vivian was an expert at tickle torture, and she knew when to let the victim rest. Often a short break followed by the certainty of further torture was enough to get what she wanted. So she stopped, and looked down at her niece. "This is fun, isn't it, Linda?"

"Yeah, lotsa fun," Linda gasped, her chest heaving.

"Oh, look at this. Your dress is torn." Aunt Vivian stuck her hands inside two of the tears in the midriff of Linda's dress.

Linda's eyes grew wide as she felt Aunt Vivian's hands reach inside her dress and place her palms against her sides. "No, Aunt Vivian, please no," she begged, disgusted with herself as she did so.

"No? I can always remove my hands and give you a pen to sign the contract with."

"Forget it. Noohaaahaaagrrrggggh," Linda screamed, as she felt the fingernails ripple up and down her ribs, from her lower sides to up near her breasts, and back down again. The sounds of tortured screaming echoed off the stone walls of the dungeon, as Aunt Vivian continued for several minutes. She didn't even pause to ask Linda if she had reconsidered. She just kept running her nails up and down Linda's sides.

Linda howled with laughter as she felt the hands under her dress, the fingernails rippling up and down her sides. "Stopit, hahahaha, pleasehahahaha," she wailed, ready to sign the contract, anything to get Aunt Vivian to stop torturing her. But Aunt Vivian just kept it up, ignoring Linda's shrieking and pleading. "I'll signhahahaa," she wailed, and then Aunt Vivian stopped, leaving Linda gasping for air.

"What was that?" Aunt Vivian asked pleasantly, her nails still on Linda's sides.

"I--I'll," Linda gasped.

"I can't understand you," said Aunt Vivian, who began scratching again.

"Argggghhhhh," Linda screamed. "I'll sign!!!"

"Really?" Aunt Vivian's nails were still in place.

"Yes."

"How nice." Aunt Vivian loosed the rack a couple of notches, and placed a pen in Linda's right hand. Then she held the contract upside down, while Linda weakly scrawled her signature on the dotted line.

Linda was going to make a movie.

"Thank you, Linda," said Aunt Vivian on the way out of the dungeon.

"Wait! Let me off this thing!!!" Linda lifted her head and watched the door close behind her aunt. "Hey, somebody!!! Come on!!"

Realizing that nobody was coming, Linda let her head drop back down. "Anybody?" she moaned.