Linda Does a Far Far Better Thing

"I don't think you should ground Bobby, Daddy."

"Why not?" Linda's father didn't even look up from the television set. "I've told him repeatedly not to mess with the museum pieces."

Her mother was standing in the kitchen doorway holding a dish towel. "That was kind of dumb, Linda, letting Bobby put you on that rack. You could have been hurt. And what if there was a fire or something?"

She had a point, Linda conceded, not about getting hurt--Bobby had been careful not to stretch her too tightly--but about a "fire or something."

Karen, her sister, who had been reading a book, looked at Linda and said, "I can't believe you let Bobby put you on the rack."

Then Linda said something that surprised herself. "Okay, since looking after Bobby was my responsibility, then ground me instead."

Karen giggled and said, "Yeah, put her in the stocks. They're still in the backyard from the filming."

Linda's mother thought about it. "You know, that would be amusing. A few hours in the stocks would make her think twice about doing something silly like that, and we are being a little tough on Bobby."

Her father considered it for a moment, then said, "Maybe you're right. What do you think, Linda?"

The stocks, thought Linda. That meant she'd get her feet tickled--she had no doubt about that--but it still wasn't right that Bobby should be grounded. "All right," she said with a shrug. This wasn't any different than what she did in the museum on a regular basis.

"Then it's agreed. Tomorrow at noon, Linda, report to the backyard."

"All right," she repeated.

Her mother was quick to notice her cavalier attitude to the sentence. "Wear a bikini," she said.

"Why?"

"Don't argue."

Linda wasn't exactly sure what her mother had in mind, but she knew it wasn't good. Surely her father wouldn't want her to be what he called "Damn near naked."

"Daddy," she pleaded.

"Don't argue with your mother," was all he said.

"But I don't want to be out there damn near naked."

"Why not? It's never bothered you before, and it's only the backyard."

"Why do I have to wear this?" Linda whined. She was standing next to the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, clad only in her skimpy leopard spot bikini, the one she wore early in the movie. She looked out the window at the stocks in the backyard. It was amusing to irritate her father by wearing something like this, but she always had the option of putting something on. Once trapped in the stocks, she could have her entire wardrobe a few feet away, but not be able to reach it. Plus, her father hadn't put up a fuss at her mother's clothing requirement. That took the fun out of it.

"Come on, Linda, let's go," said her mother, grabbing one of Linda's arms. Karen grabbed the other, picking up a cell phone from the counter as she did. They led her to the stocks.

Linda looked at the stocks, resigned to spending the afternoon trapped in them. The device was simple, consisting of a wooden frame. At one end were two boards attached by a hinge on one end and a padlock on the other. Her ankles would be placed in holes between the two boards. A padded bench for her to sit on was attached to the other end of the frame. A vertical pole was at her back. At least they were under a large shade tree, Linda thought, as her sister and mother seated her on the bench. Her mother lifted the top board, and Linda placed her ankles in the holes. A moment later, she was locked in place. Heck, this wasn't so bad, she thought, idly looking at the way her ankles were trapped. And trapped they were, the holes being only slightly wider than her ankles. But the best part was that she had worn sandals, and nobody was tickling her feet.

Then Karen handed Linda the cell phone, which Linda thought was rather decent of her. At least, she could talk during her sentence.

"Call Horace," Karen said.

"Horace? Why would I want to call him?" Horace? she wondered. The geeky guy from high school, who had been an extra in the birthday party scene? She had nearly died from embarrassment when he had tickled her sides.

"Yes, Horace. Call him up and invite him over. Tell him you liked the way he had tickled you a couple of weeks ago."

"Forget it." Linda was aghast at this suggestion.

"Why not?" her mother said. "He's a nice young man, and he likes you."

"He's a nerd."

"Well, Karen," her mother said, "it looks like we'll have to persuade her." She reached down and pulled the sandal off Linda's right foot. She tried to fight it by curling her toes, but it came off easily.

"No," pleaded Linda, but it was no good. Her mother removed one, and tickled Linda's bare sole.

"Noheeheehee," she giggled.

Karen removed the other, and promptly tickled that sole.

"Kaaaarennnnhahaaahaahaha," she wailed, grasping the edge of the bench, trying to pull her feet through the holes to escape.

Karen and her mother looked at each other, wicked grins on both their faces. "Go get a couple of lawn chairs, Karen," her mother said. "We'll sit here and work on Linda's feet until she agrees to invite that nice Horace over."

Linda gritted her teeth and tensed up for what was to come. She could imagine what her feet must look like, protruding from the stocks, her bares soles presenting two targets for up to twenty fingers to dance across. "I'm not calling Horace, Mother."

"That's fine, dear," her mother said pleasantly. Karen had just returned with two lawn chairs, setting one down for her mother, the other for herself. "Thank you, Karen. Linda's being recalcitrant."

"Linda's always recalcitrant."

"I am not recalcitrant," Linda said indignantly, whatever that meant. "Yeowwwwhahahahaaa," she shrieked, as she felt fingers start sweeping over her soles. Her legs jerked reflexively, and she tried to move her feet, but there was no evading the determined fingers torturing the bottoms of her feet.

"How long do you think it will take, Mother?" asked Karen without pausing.

"As long as necessary."

Linda was screaming louder, trying to pull her feet out of the holes. But instated, she pulled herself forward instead and fell off the bench onto the lawn. If the bench hadn't been padded, she would have scraped her bare back. Linda grabbed fistfuls of her hair and tried to ignore the tickling, which of course was impossible. She fell to her right side, and writhed on the ground, her tortured feet still hopelessly trapped. Could an afternoon with Horace be any worse than this? she wondered. Yes, quite possibly, she concluded, especially since she'd be a captive audience, and wearing a bikini.

"Where's Linda, Karen?" Her mother had just noticed that Linda was no longer seated on the bench.

"I dunno. Her feet are still here."

That was when the girls' mother noticed two hands clawing at the padlock. Linda had managed to sit up and, laughing hysterically, her ankles still trapped, try to pull the lock loose.

"Take over on this foot, Karen."

"Sure." Karen began tickling Linda's right foot, just as her mother removed her own, allowing no break in the tickling.

Linda didn't even notice the shift change. She was so driven to yank the lock loose, she didn't notice her mother come up behind her, didn't know until it was too late that two hands had grabbed her bikini top and pulled it up and over her head. When it dawned on her what was happening, Linda stopped pulling at the lock and tried to retrieve her top, which consequently allowed her mother to get it complete free. "Motherrrrr!!!" she wailed, looking with horror at the leopard-spotted top in her mother's hands, realizing she was topless. She was also still being tickled, which caused her to began laughing again. "Motherrrrhahahaaaheeeeehee--Give it hahahaha back!!!"

"Karen," said her mother, drawing the side of her index finger across her throat in a signal to cease and desist.

Karen stopped.

"Mother, give it back," Linda pleaded.

"Make the call," said her mother, holding the bikini top in one hand, the phone in the other.

"Oh, all right." Linda took the proffered phone with one hand, while covering her exposed breasts with her other forearm. "What's the number?"

Karen told her.

"Karen, place you fingers on Linda's feet. If she says something wrong, you know what to do."

Linda shrieked when she felt the fingers touch her feet again. Resigned to her fate, she dialed the phone and made the call.