NylonHound
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Someone recently mentioned having seen this story I wrote several years ago. I thought I'd share it with the group!
* * * * *
April 7, 1967. A day like any other, to most. But to six women, six very famous women, it was a day that would forever live in their minds.
"This is the address, Miss Montgomery," the limo driver said, as they pulled up in front of the building. It was small, unpretentious; not the kind his passenger was used to.
"You're sure?" the blond woman in the back seat asked, dubiously. "Doesn't look like much, does it?"
"I couldn't rightly say, ma'am," the driver said. "Do you want me to wait for you?"
Miss Montgomery checked the address on the card against that on the building; this was the place, all right. "No, thanks. Just pick me up in two hours like we arranged." The driver opened the door for her; she stepped out, pressed a ten dollar bill into his hand, favoured him with a smile, and walked to the door of the building. The limo drove off.
In the four years she had been starring on "Bewitched", Elizabeth Montgomery had posed for TV Guide magazine several times. Usually the buildings where the photographer's studio was housed had been more upscale, more modern. This place looked almost...seedy. Well, who cares? She thought with a shrug. They must know what they're doing.
Elizabeth walked into the building, noticed there was no receptionist. She checked the building directory on the wall of the lobby, and found her destination: A. Kitzeller, Photography. Third floor. Elizabeth entered the elevator and pressed the button marked 3.
The doors opened directly onto a receptionists' desk; apparently, A. Kitzeller took up the entire third floor. A strikingly beautiful young woman was seated behind the desk; her hair was flaming red, her nose small, her lips full. Her lips were not the only thing about her that was full, either. In spite of the beautiful people, male and female, Elizabeth had seen in Hollywood, she felt a trifle intimidated.
"May I help you?" the woman asked, looking up as Elizabeth approached.
"I'm Elizabeth Montgomery," the young television star said, offering the card her agent had given her. "I have an appointment for a photo shoot. For TV Guide."
"Oh yes," the receptionist smiled. "Mr. Kitzeller is expecting you. His prior appointment is running a little late, but he doesn't want to keep you waiting. He instructed me to ask you to go into Changing Room B, put on the costume you'll find there, and he'll be right with you." And the girl pointed a long, lacquered fingernail to indicate the direction in which Changing Room B lay.
"Thank you very much," Elizabeth said, and started down the hallway. The receptionist hadn't seemed impressed at meeting the star of a hit TV show. Maybe this photographer had a lot of famous clients, and the girl had become jaded. Then again, maybe she didn't watch TV.
Elizabeth's agent had told her it was to be a costume shoot. TV Guide's production people had come up with a corny idea of photographing Elizabeth in a witch's costume. Well, it was their money. In the changing room, Elizabeth found the costume: a diaphanous gown of black silk, black nylon hose, black satin pumps, and a black conical witch's hat with a wide brim. She giggled to herself at the sheer camp of it, even as she changed into the costume. When the change was complete, she stood in front of the full-length mirror and looked at herself, decked out as a beautiful blond witch. She smiled at the thought. Then she heard a faint hissing sound, coming from somewhere in the room. Something smelled strange; sweet, like burning peppermint candy. Then, all of a sudden, the room began to grow dark.
Elizabeth didn't know how long it was before she awoke again. Consciousness came back to her gradually. Her head began to stir. She faintly heard a female voice say, "Look, Elizabeth's waking up." She tried to stir, but found her own movement greatly hampered; when she tried to move an arm or a leg, something restrained her. When consciousness came back to her fully, she could not believe her eyes and thought she must be dreaming.
She was still wearing the campy witch's outfit. She was seated in a pushily-upholstered reclining chair of some kind, but of a like she had never seen before. The armrests were fitted with thickly-padded manacles that clamped around her wrists; comfortably, not hampering circulation or chafing skin, but making sure her arms were not going anywhere. She looked down and saw that her legs, just above the ankles, vanished into a vertical board, like an old-fashioned stocks, but upholstered as pushily as the rest of the chair. Wiggling her toes, she could tell she still wore her satin pumps.
Elizabeth looked around her. She was in a room with walls, ceiling, and floor completely bare. It was brightly lit, she could see perfectly well. As she looked around, perhaps the biggest surprise yet greeted her eyes. She was not alone here! Other female TV stars like herself were in this strange room, each confined in a bizarre chair like hers! To her immediate left sat Barbara Eden, star of "I Dream Of Jeannie", wearing her complete genie costume. To her right she saw Donna Douglas, Ellie May of "The Beverly Hillbillies", in the Daisy Mae attire she had made so famous. Across the room, against the opposite wall, Elizabeth clearly saw Tina Louise, attired in Ginger's evening gown and heels; Dawn Wells, dressed in Mary Ann's shirt, shorts and canvas shoes; and Julie Newmar, fully made up as Catwoman, complete with cat's-ears hat.
"Welcome to the party," Julie said resignedly.
"What the Hell is going on?" Elizabeth demanded, angrily.
"We wish we knew," Barbara offered. "The same thing happened to us as probably happened to you."
"Yeah, we were kidnapped," Tina said, venom in her voice. "All of us, tricked into getting into costume somehow, then gassed and next thing we know we wake up here!"
"I was the first one," Donna said, no hint of backwoods accent in her voice.
"One by one the others came. You're the most recent."
"And the last," A voice heavy with static crackled over a loudspeaker. Instantly, six pretty heads swivelled up in search of the sound, but could not find it.
"Who are you?" Dawn asked, fearfully.
"Please don't be afraid, ladies," the voice beseeched. "I assure you, you're not going to be harmed, or sexually violated. You haven't been brought here for that."
"Then what are we doing here?" Elizabeth fairly screamed. "What's the meaning of this?"
"All will be made clear shortly," the static-heavy voice said. "Let me preface by saying, there is a certain clientele who will pay very dearly for certain, shall we say, custom-made video tapes of celebrities, such as yourselves, acting out certain....fantasies."
"You sick bastard!" Tina spat at the disembodied voice. "You said we weren't going to be raped!"
"And so you won't be, Miss Louise," the voice reassured. "I promise you, nothing of that kind is going to happen. All will be made clear. I promise you, once the videos have been made, you will all be released unharmed. And nothing you can do, no offer you can make, will prevent the making of these videos. So just sit back and relax, ladies."
With that, the voice died. The lights went out, too, suddenly plunging the room into total darkness; Elizabeth could hear a gasp, but could not tell from whose mouth it originated. Elizabeth soon realised the darkness was not total, for she could make out shapes and outlines. As she stared ahead of her into the darkness, she saw one of the chair-contraptions being moved out into the centre of the room; they were obviously on casters of some sort. A single light in the ceiling clicked on, throwing a single beam of light into the centre of the room. Elizabeth, and the others, could now see that the chair in the centre was Julie Newmar's. TV's "Catwoman" sat helplessly in her chair. She did not strain against her bonds; she had tried that before, to no avail.
Then, the women heard the unmistakable sound of high heels clicking on the floor. The sound was coming toward them. The silhouette of a woman became visible; and soon the woman herself had stepped into the light. She was quite beautiful, with flaming red hair. With a gasp, Elizabeth recognised her as the receptionist from the photography studio! A glance at the expression on Julie's face showed that she, too, recognised the girl from somewhere. Now she was dressed in a black spandex outfit, complete with thigh-high, high-heeled boots, and a small domino mask on her face. Her hands were gloveless, and her long, sharp nails, lacquered fire-engine red, glowed in the light.
The woman silently adjusted a lever in the back of Julie's chair; the recliner tilted backward, lowering the helpless actress' head while elevating her feet. Her spandex-clad legs were fastened in the padded stocks just above her leather ankle-boots; the soles of these now faced perpendicular to the floor. Smiling, the redhead grasped the high heel of one boot, and with a swift tug, yanked it off Julie's foot. Elizabeth could see that the spandex leggings ended just above the ankle, and that below them Julie wore tan stockings, probably to prevent the boots from chafing her feet. Julie's eyes went wide with horror; she apparently guessed what she was now in for. The redhead pulled off her other boot, leaving both stocking feet wiggling helplessly.
"Oh no," Julie began to plead. "Don't do this. Please, don't do this!"
But the redhead seemed not to notice. Slowly she lowered one hand to the captive woman's left foot, and began gently stroking the stockinged sole up and down with the tips of her sharpened fingernails. The foot quivered under her touch, but was trapped. Giggles began to burst from Julie's lips. The motions of the fingernails became faster; they seemed like a flurry of red ants roaming over the trapped woman's foot. Julie's laughter grew louder, became hysterical.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!! STOP!! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!! PLEE-HEE-HEE-HEESE! STAA-HA-HA-HA-HAPP!!!!"
But the redhead continued the tickling torture. Her long nails now toyed with the trapped actress' right foot, gently pinching the toes in a taunting "this-little-piggie" style.
"OH NO! NA-HA-HA-HA-HA!! NOT MY TOE-HO-HO-HOS!! PLEEE-HE-HE-HEESE!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!"
Julie bucked and thrashed as much as the chair's restraints would allow, which was not much. Now all ten of the redhead's nails were rambling all over both trapped feet. Somewhere a video camera was recording every ticklish torturous second of this. It went on for what seemed like ages, but was truly only half an hour. Finally the redhead stopped, and withdrew her hands. Julie lay back, exhausted, her long brown hair matted with sweat, breathing in shallow gasps. The light clicked out; in the shadows, the others could see the redhead replace Julie's boots, push her chair back, then walk away.
Julie was too exhausted from her ordeal, but the talk immediately began among the other captives.
"I don't believe this!"
"People are going to pay to see this?"
"I won't be able to stand it!"
"I'm just too ticklish--they can't do this!"
"I'll die! I know I will!"
The excited chatter went on for about ten minutes. Then another chair was moved into the centre of the room, and light clicked on. It was Barbara Eden's turn. The arrival of the redhead was unheralded by sound this time, for she wore no high heels. As she came into the light, the women noticed she was barefoot. She wore a harem costume not unlike Barbara's, only in blue and purple. She adjusted Barbara's chair, so that her head tilted back and her feet, still in their red harem slippers, were parallel to the floor.
"Look, honey," Barbara said nervously as the redhead adjusted the chair, "I can get you money. Lots of it. As much as you want! Or do you want to be on TV? I could do that. You're very pretty. I could get you a part on my show. Whatever you want! Anything, just please don't---"
The redhead only smirked, and whipped off the harem slippers in one quick motion. Unlike Julie Newmar, Barbara wore no hosiery; her feet were completely bare. It was then that the women noticed for the first time, the hairbrush that hung from the redhead's belt. She took it off her belt then, and raised it to her own head; slowly, luxuriously brushing her hair. Then, she slowly lowered the brush to the captive woman's feet.
"Oh my God, NO!" Barbara screamed, as the stiff bristles gently brushed against the skin of her sole. The redhead slowly dragged the bristles up and down, their tips just grazing the soft skin of the young star's pampered feet. Her shrieks were deafening. Not laughter so much as screaming; one would think she was being branded with hot coals. Her feet must be unbelievably ticklish. The others watched in fascinated horror as the redhead moved from one foot to the other, from slow strokes to quick ones, covering every inch of Barbara's captive feet with the bristles of the hairbrush. They knew that similar torments awaited them; even Julie Newmar could not be sure her ordeal was completely done. Barbara could not even beg through her screams, so intense was her torment. After half an hour of this, the redhead stopped, and replaced the brush on her belt. The light went out, and the others could barely see her replace the harem slippers and push the chair back.
Another fifteen minutes or so of frenzied talk. The women wondered aloud who would be next, what form the next torment would take, what they could do to prevent it. But deep down they knew there was nothing they could do.
To their surprise, two chairs were next. They were arranged in the centre of the room, facing each other, with a little space of about five feet between them. The light clicked on to reveal the chairs' occupants to be the two stars of "Gilligan's Island", Tina Louise and Dawn Wells. Their redheaded tormentor arrived, this time in island dress; a big red flower behind her left ear, a bright red sarong with yellow flowers all over it, and barefoot. She made the adjustments to the women's chairs, leaving their feet parallel to the floor and facing each other. Tina cursed and threatened as her white heels were removed, exposing her soles in beige, reinforced-toe nylons. Dawn whimpered and begged as her canvas shoes came off to reveal completely bare feet. The redhead began swaying on her feet, as if dancing to an unheard island rhythm. As she danced into the little space between the chairs, her hands fluttered in the movements of a hula dancer. The bright red nails fluttered closer and closer to the helpless feet, which quivered in anticipation. Finally the nails grazed the bare and nyloned skin, eliciting giggles and shrieks from the captive stars. The redhead's hips still swayed in time to unheard music as her fingernails fluttered up and down the trapped soles, along the arches, across the bases of the toes, across the broad middles of the soles. Tina laughed with gusto, loud guffaws; Dawn merely giggled, but frenzied giggles, at machine-gun pace. The haughty Tina's threats changed to pleas for mercy; Dawn could frame no words through her staccato giggling. Elizabeth thought she saw a wet stain form at the front of Tina's dress, near the groin area. After half an hour of this, the redhead stopped and the lights went out. Again the shoes were replaced and the chairs pushed back to their spots.
"Can't take this! I can't!"
"Oh God, what if she comes back for me again?"
"How long are they going to keep us here?"
"That damned brush! I couldn't take that again!"
Another chair began to move. Elizabeth knew it must be Donna Douglas, for it was not herself. The light clicked on, confirming this. The redheaded tormentor arrived, but this time the women got a surprise. She was not alone. She was dressed as a farm girl, in chequered shirt and rolled-up jeans, and in one hand she carried a clay pot with the handle of some kind of utensil sticking out of it. With the other hand, she held a leash...leading a live goat into the room! This seemed appropriate, somehow; the goat could easily have been one of Elly May's "critters". Again the adjustment to the chair, and again the removal of shoes. Donna's feet were totally bare. The redhead took the utensil by the handle and drew it out of the pot; it proved to be a paintbrush, and the pot full of honey, which dripped from the brush. The redhead slowly applied the honey to the young actress' captive feet with the brush. Not an inch remained uncovered; soles, heels, toes, insteps, between toes. When both feet were completely covered with honey, the redhead stepped back and took the leash off the goat's neck. Immediately the hungry goat began to lick the trapped soles, its raspy tongue slithering all over in pursuit of every last drop of honey. Donna's screams of laughter were deafening; that tongue had to be the most diabolical tickle-tool yet! It snaked in and out between Donna's toes, and the poor woman lurched out of the chair as far as her restraints would let her. And whenever the goat licked her feet clean of honey, the redhead immediately applied more with the dripping brush. The torture went on, unhampered, for the full half-hour; through her dark jeans none could tell, but Donna's bladder emptied about halfway through.
Again the torture finally stopped. The woman replaced Donna's shoes, pushed her chair back, and led the goat away. This time, everyone knew who would be next: Elizabeth Montgomery. The others tried to give her courage.
"It won't last forever, Elizabeth! It'll seem like it, but.."
"Nothing you can do, so just take it as best you can!"
"Just relax and it'll be over before you know it! Really!"
"Don't bother begging with the bitch; she's enjoying this!"
"God, yes! I saw the slut's crotch get moist while she was tickling me!"
"I actually saw her touch herself while the goat was licking Donna's feet!"
Then Elizabeth felt her own chair move. It positioned her in the centre of the room, and then the light came on. She had to blink, for under the light it was very bright. She heard the click-click of heels, far off but getting nearer. Despite her fear, she wondered what this fantasy would be.
Shortly the redhead arrived. She was dressed in a white laboratory coat, white heels, and a pair of glasses. What was this to be; science vs. the supernatural? Elizabeth had no time to wonder, as her chair was levered back. She felt the satin pumps pulled off one foot, then the other. She saw the redhead smirk at her once, then her face vanished behind the vertical board of the stocks as she bent down to her task. Elizabeth tried clenching her toes, but she felt them firmly grasped and pulled back. Then the nails; Oh, God, then the nails! Elizabeth felt electric ripples racing up her legs as the nails gently ran up and down her sole! She bit her lip, tried to hold the laughter in; but it all just flooded out! Those devilish nails traced patterns all over her stockinged soles; slowly, then quickly, then slowly again; along her hyper-sensitive arch, across the tips of her toes, across her heel. And when that one foot was nearly numb from the tickling, the redhead switched to the other foot, scrabbling her nails all over the bottom of it like a hyperactive spider crawling on her foot. Elizabeth howled with laughter; sweat trickled down her face. Her witch's hat flew off as her head thrashed from side to side. She couldn't stand any more of this. Now the redhead was playing with her toes, drawing little circles on the bottom of each one; the sensations were like little lightning bolts shooting through her. Her throat was getting sore, her stomach muscles aching from the continuous laughter. And finally, when she was sure she could stand no more, the tickling stopped. She felt her shoes being replaced as she lay against her chair, sobbing and gasping for breath. The light went out again, and her chair moved back into position.
Elizabeth could hear the other actresses talking, wondering aloud if the ordeal were over, or if there were another round of tickling. Tina expressed doubt at the promise of no sexual assault. Through it all, Elizabeth could smell a familiar scent; burning peppermint.
Elizabeth Montgomery awoke on a bench outside the building. She looked down at herself; she was wearing the outfit she had arrived in. She quickly ran inside the building.
She stared at the directory. No A. Kitzeller, Photography; the third floor was, apparently, a dental office.
She took the elevator to the third floor; the same layout, same receptionists' desk, but a bland-looking woman in her forties was seated behind it. Posters pontificating on dental hygiene dotted the walls.
Bewildered, Elizabeth Montgomery left the building. She thought of calling some of the others, but something stopped her. She never spoke of that strange day again; and neither did any of the others.
But forever they would share the secret of the strange room, the bizarre chairs, and the silent redhead.
* * * * *
April 7, 1967. A day like any other, to most. But to six women, six very famous women, it was a day that would forever live in their minds.
"This is the address, Miss Montgomery," the limo driver said, as they pulled up in front of the building. It was small, unpretentious; not the kind his passenger was used to.
"You're sure?" the blond woman in the back seat asked, dubiously. "Doesn't look like much, does it?"
"I couldn't rightly say, ma'am," the driver said. "Do you want me to wait for you?"
Miss Montgomery checked the address on the card against that on the building; this was the place, all right. "No, thanks. Just pick me up in two hours like we arranged." The driver opened the door for her; she stepped out, pressed a ten dollar bill into his hand, favoured him with a smile, and walked to the door of the building. The limo drove off.
In the four years she had been starring on "Bewitched", Elizabeth Montgomery had posed for TV Guide magazine several times. Usually the buildings where the photographer's studio was housed had been more upscale, more modern. This place looked almost...seedy. Well, who cares? She thought with a shrug. They must know what they're doing.
Elizabeth walked into the building, noticed there was no receptionist. She checked the building directory on the wall of the lobby, and found her destination: A. Kitzeller, Photography. Third floor. Elizabeth entered the elevator and pressed the button marked 3.
The doors opened directly onto a receptionists' desk; apparently, A. Kitzeller took up the entire third floor. A strikingly beautiful young woman was seated behind the desk; her hair was flaming red, her nose small, her lips full. Her lips were not the only thing about her that was full, either. In spite of the beautiful people, male and female, Elizabeth had seen in Hollywood, she felt a trifle intimidated.
"May I help you?" the woman asked, looking up as Elizabeth approached.
"I'm Elizabeth Montgomery," the young television star said, offering the card her agent had given her. "I have an appointment for a photo shoot. For TV Guide."
"Oh yes," the receptionist smiled. "Mr. Kitzeller is expecting you. His prior appointment is running a little late, but he doesn't want to keep you waiting. He instructed me to ask you to go into Changing Room B, put on the costume you'll find there, and he'll be right with you." And the girl pointed a long, lacquered fingernail to indicate the direction in which Changing Room B lay.
"Thank you very much," Elizabeth said, and started down the hallway. The receptionist hadn't seemed impressed at meeting the star of a hit TV show. Maybe this photographer had a lot of famous clients, and the girl had become jaded. Then again, maybe she didn't watch TV.
Elizabeth's agent had told her it was to be a costume shoot. TV Guide's production people had come up with a corny idea of photographing Elizabeth in a witch's costume. Well, it was their money. In the changing room, Elizabeth found the costume: a diaphanous gown of black silk, black nylon hose, black satin pumps, and a black conical witch's hat with a wide brim. She giggled to herself at the sheer camp of it, even as she changed into the costume. When the change was complete, she stood in front of the full-length mirror and looked at herself, decked out as a beautiful blond witch. She smiled at the thought. Then she heard a faint hissing sound, coming from somewhere in the room. Something smelled strange; sweet, like burning peppermint candy. Then, all of a sudden, the room began to grow dark.
Elizabeth didn't know how long it was before she awoke again. Consciousness came back to her gradually. Her head began to stir. She faintly heard a female voice say, "Look, Elizabeth's waking up." She tried to stir, but found her own movement greatly hampered; when she tried to move an arm or a leg, something restrained her. When consciousness came back to her fully, she could not believe her eyes and thought she must be dreaming.
She was still wearing the campy witch's outfit. She was seated in a pushily-upholstered reclining chair of some kind, but of a like she had never seen before. The armrests were fitted with thickly-padded manacles that clamped around her wrists; comfortably, not hampering circulation or chafing skin, but making sure her arms were not going anywhere. She looked down and saw that her legs, just above the ankles, vanished into a vertical board, like an old-fashioned stocks, but upholstered as pushily as the rest of the chair. Wiggling her toes, she could tell she still wore her satin pumps.
Elizabeth looked around her. She was in a room with walls, ceiling, and floor completely bare. It was brightly lit, she could see perfectly well. As she looked around, perhaps the biggest surprise yet greeted her eyes. She was not alone here! Other female TV stars like herself were in this strange room, each confined in a bizarre chair like hers! To her immediate left sat Barbara Eden, star of "I Dream Of Jeannie", wearing her complete genie costume. To her right she saw Donna Douglas, Ellie May of "The Beverly Hillbillies", in the Daisy Mae attire she had made so famous. Across the room, against the opposite wall, Elizabeth clearly saw Tina Louise, attired in Ginger's evening gown and heels; Dawn Wells, dressed in Mary Ann's shirt, shorts and canvas shoes; and Julie Newmar, fully made up as Catwoman, complete with cat's-ears hat.
"Welcome to the party," Julie said resignedly.
"What the Hell is going on?" Elizabeth demanded, angrily.
"We wish we knew," Barbara offered. "The same thing happened to us as probably happened to you."
"Yeah, we were kidnapped," Tina said, venom in her voice. "All of us, tricked into getting into costume somehow, then gassed and next thing we know we wake up here!"
"I was the first one," Donna said, no hint of backwoods accent in her voice.
"One by one the others came. You're the most recent."
"And the last," A voice heavy with static crackled over a loudspeaker. Instantly, six pretty heads swivelled up in search of the sound, but could not find it.
"Who are you?" Dawn asked, fearfully.
"Please don't be afraid, ladies," the voice beseeched. "I assure you, you're not going to be harmed, or sexually violated. You haven't been brought here for that."
"Then what are we doing here?" Elizabeth fairly screamed. "What's the meaning of this?"
"All will be made clear shortly," the static-heavy voice said. "Let me preface by saying, there is a certain clientele who will pay very dearly for certain, shall we say, custom-made video tapes of celebrities, such as yourselves, acting out certain....fantasies."
"You sick bastard!" Tina spat at the disembodied voice. "You said we weren't going to be raped!"
"And so you won't be, Miss Louise," the voice reassured. "I promise you, nothing of that kind is going to happen. All will be made clear. I promise you, once the videos have been made, you will all be released unharmed. And nothing you can do, no offer you can make, will prevent the making of these videos. So just sit back and relax, ladies."
With that, the voice died. The lights went out, too, suddenly plunging the room into total darkness; Elizabeth could hear a gasp, but could not tell from whose mouth it originated. Elizabeth soon realised the darkness was not total, for she could make out shapes and outlines. As she stared ahead of her into the darkness, she saw one of the chair-contraptions being moved out into the centre of the room; they were obviously on casters of some sort. A single light in the ceiling clicked on, throwing a single beam of light into the centre of the room. Elizabeth, and the others, could now see that the chair in the centre was Julie Newmar's. TV's "Catwoman" sat helplessly in her chair. She did not strain against her bonds; she had tried that before, to no avail.
Then, the women heard the unmistakable sound of high heels clicking on the floor. The sound was coming toward them. The silhouette of a woman became visible; and soon the woman herself had stepped into the light. She was quite beautiful, with flaming red hair. With a gasp, Elizabeth recognised her as the receptionist from the photography studio! A glance at the expression on Julie's face showed that she, too, recognised the girl from somewhere. Now she was dressed in a black spandex outfit, complete with thigh-high, high-heeled boots, and a small domino mask on her face. Her hands were gloveless, and her long, sharp nails, lacquered fire-engine red, glowed in the light.
The woman silently adjusted a lever in the back of Julie's chair; the recliner tilted backward, lowering the helpless actress' head while elevating her feet. Her spandex-clad legs were fastened in the padded stocks just above her leather ankle-boots; the soles of these now faced perpendicular to the floor. Smiling, the redhead grasped the high heel of one boot, and with a swift tug, yanked it off Julie's foot. Elizabeth could see that the spandex leggings ended just above the ankle, and that below them Julie wore tan stockings, probably to prevent the boots from chafing her feet. Julie's eyes went wide with horror; she apparently guessed what she was now in for. The redhead pulled off her other boot, leaving both stocking feet wiggling helplessly.
"Oh no," Julie began to plead. "Don't do this. Please, don't do this!"
But the redhead seemed not to notice. Slowly she lowered one hand to the captive woman's left foot, and began gently stroking the stockinged sole up and down with the tips of her sharpened fingernails. The foot quivered under her touch, but was trapped. Giggles began to burst from Julie's lips. The motions of the fingernails became faster; they seemed like a flurry of red ants roaming over the trapped woman's foot. Julie's laughter grew louder, became hysterical.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!! STOP!! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!! PLEE-HEE-HEE-HEESE! STAA-HA-HA-HA-HAPP!!!!"
But the redhead continued the tickling torture. Her long nails now toyed with the trapped actress' right foot, gently pinching the toes in a taunting "this-little-piggie" style.
"OH NO! NA-HA-HA-HA-HA!! NOT MY TOE-HO-HO-HOS!! PLEEE-HE-HE-HEESE!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!"
Julie bucked and thrashed as much as the chair's restraints would allow, which was not much. Now all ten of the redhead's nails were rambling all over both trapped feet. Somewhere a video camera was recording every ticklish torturous second of this. It went on for what seemed like ages, but was truly only half an hour. Finally the redhead stopped, and withdrew her hands. Julie lay back, exhausted, her long brown hair matted with sweat, breathing in shallow gasps. The light clicked out; in the shadows, the others could see the redhead replace Julie's boots, push her chair back, then walk away.
Julie was too exhausted from her ordeal, but the talk immediately began among the other captives.
"I don't believe this!"
"People are going to pay to see this?"
"I won't be able to stand it!"
"I'm just too ticklish--they can't do this!"
"I'll die! I know I will!"
The excited chatter went on for about ten minutes. Then another chair was moved into the centre of the room, and light clicked on. It was Barbara Eden's turn. The arrival of the redhead was unheralded by sound this time, for she wore no high heels. As she came into the light, the women noticed she was barefoot. She wore a harem costume not unlike Barbara's, only in blue and purple. She adjusted Barbara's chair, so that her head tilted back and her feet, still in their red harem slippers, were parallel to the floor.
"Look, honey," Barbara said nervously as the redhead adjusted the chair, "I can get you money. Lots of it. As much as you want! Or do you want to be on TV? I could do that. You're very pretty. I could get you a part on my show. Whatever you want! Anything, just please don't---"
The redhead only smirked, and whipped off the harem slippers in one quick motion. Unlike Julie Newmar, Barbara wore no hosiery; her feet were completely bare. It was then that the women noticed for the first time, the hairbrush that hung from the redhead's belt. She took it off her belt then, and raised it to her own head; slowly, luxuriously brushing her hair. Then, she slowly lowered the brush to the captive woman's feet.
"Oh my God, NO!" Barbara screamed, as the stiff bristles gently brushed against the skin of her sole. The redhead slowly dragged the bristles up and down, their tips just grazing the soft skin of the young star's pampered feet. Her shrieks were deafening. Not laughter so much as screaming; one would think she was being branded with hot coals. Her feet must be unbelievably ticklish. The others watched in fascinated horror as the redhead moved from one foot to the other, from slow strokes to quick ones, covering every inch of Barbara's captive feet with the bristles of the hairbrush. They knew that similar torments awaited them; even Julie Newmar could not be sure her ordeal was completely done. Barbara could not even beg through her screams, so intense was her torment. After half an hour of this, the redhead stopped, and replaced the brush on her belt. The light went out, and the others could barely see her replace the harem slippers and push the chair back.
Another fifteen minutes or so of frenzied talk. The women wondered aloud who would be next, what form the next torment would take, what they could do to prevent it. But deep down they knew there was nothing they could do.
To their surprise, two chairs were next. They were arranged in the centre of the room, facing each other, with a little space of about five feet between them. The light clicked on to reveal the chairs' occupants to be the two stars of "Gilligan's Island", Tina Louise and Dawn Wells. Their redheaded tormentor arrived, this time in island dress; a big red flower behind her left ear, a bright red sarong with yellow flowers all over it, and barefoot. She made the adjustments to the women's chairs, leaving their feet parallel to the floor and facing each other. Tina cursed and threatened as her white heels were removed, exposing her soles in beige, reinforced-toe nylons. Dawn whimpered and begged as her canvas shoes came off to reveal completely bare feet. The redhead began swaying on her feet, as if dancing to an unheard island rhythm. As she danced into the little space between the chairs, her hands fluttered in the movements of a hula dancer. The bright red nails fluttered closer and closer to the helpless feet, which quivered in anticipation. Finally the nails grazed the bare and nyloned skin, eliciting giggles and shrieks from the captive stars. The redhead's hips still swayed in time to unheard music as her fingernails fluttered up and down the trapped soles, along the arches, across the bases of the toes, across the broad middles of the soles. Tina laughed with gusto, loud guffaws; Dawn merely giggled, but frenzied giggles, at machine-gun pace. The haughty Tina's threats changed to pleas for mercy; Dawn could frame no words through her staccato giggling. Elizabeth thought she saw a wet stain form at the front of Tina's dress, near the groin area. After half an hour of this, the redhead stopped and the lights went out. Again the shoes were replaced and the chairs pushed back to their spots.
"Can't take this! I can't!"
"Oh God, what if she comes back for me again?"
"How long are they going to keep us here?"
"That damned brush! I couldn't take that again!"
Another chair began to move. Elizabeth knew it must be Donna Douglas, for it was not herself. The light clicked on, confirming this. The redheaded tormentor arrived, but this time the women got a surprise. She was not alone. She was dressed as a farm girl, in chequered shirt and rolled-up jeans, and in one hand she carried a clay pot with the handle of some kind of utensil sticking out of it. With the other hand, she held a leash...leading a live goat into the room! This seemed appropriate, somehow; the goat could easily have been one of Elly May's "critters". Again the adjustment to the chair, and again the removal of shoes. Donna's feet were totally bare. The redhead took the utensil by the handle and drew it out of the pot; it proved to be a paintbrush, and the pot full of honey, which dripped from the brush. The redhead slowly applied the honey to the young actress' captive feet with the brush. Not an inch remained uncovered; soles, heels, toes, insteps, between toes. When both feet were completely covered with honey, the redhead stepped back and took the leash off the goat's neck. Immediately the hungry goat began to lick the trapped soles, its raspy tongue slithering all over in pursuit of every last drop of honey. Donna's screams of laughter were deafening; that tongue had to be the most diabolical tickle-tool yet! It snaked in and out between Donna's toes, and the poor woman lurched out of the chair as far as her restraints would let her. And whenever the goat licked her feet clean of honey, the redhead immediately applied more with the dripping brush. The torture went on, unhampered, for the full half-hour; through her dark jeans none could tell, but Donna's bladder emptied about halfway through.
Again the torture finally stopped. The woman replaced Donna's shoes, pushed her chair back, and led the goat away. This time, everyone knew who would be next: Elizabeth Montgomery. The others tried to give her courage.
"It won't last forever, Elizabeth! It'll seem like it, but.."
"Nothing you can do, so just take it as best you can!"
"Just relax and it'll be over before you know it! Really!"
"Don't bother begging with the bitch; she's enjoying this!"
"God, yes! I saw the slut's crotch get moist while she was tickling me!"
"I actually saw her touch herself while the goat was licking Donna's feet!"
Then Elizabeth felt her own chair move. It positioned her in the centre of the room, and then the light came on. She had to blink, for under the light it was very bright. She heard the click-click of heels, far off but getting nearer. Despite her fear, she wondered what this fantasy would be.
Shortly the redhead arrived. She was dressed in a white laboratory coat, white heels, and a pair of glasses. What was this to be; science vs. the supernatural? Elizabeth had no time to wonder, as her chair was levered back. She felt the satin pumps pulled off one foot, then the other. She saw the redhead smirk at her once, then her face vanished behind the vertical board of the stocks as she bent down to her task. Elizabeth tried clenching her toes, but she felt them firmly grasped and pulled back. Then the nails; Oh, God, then the nails! Elizabeth felt electric ripples racing up her legs as the nails gently ran up and down her sole! She bit her lip, tried to hold the laughter in; but it all just flooded out! Those devilish nails traced patterns all over her stockinged soles; slowly, then quickly, then slowly again; along her hyper-sensitive arch, across the tips of her toes, across her heel. And when that one foot was nearly numb from the tickling, the redhead switched to the other foot, scrabbling her nails all over the bottom of it like a hyperactive spider crawling on her foot. Elizabeth howled with laughter; sweat trickled down her face. Her witch's hat flew off as her head thrashed from side to side. She couldn't stand any more of this. Now the redhead was playing with her toes, drawing little circles on the bottom of each one; the sensations were like little lightning bolts shooting through her. Her throat was getting sore, her stomach muscles aching from the continuous laughter. And finally, when she was sure she could stand no more, the tickling stopped. She felt her shoes being replaced as she lay against her chair, sobbing and gasping for breath. The light went out again, and her chair moved back into position.
Elizabeth could hear the other actresses talking, wondering aloud if the ordeal were over, or if there were another round of tickling. Tina expressed doubt at the promise of no sexual assault. Through it all, Elizabeth could smell a familiar scent; burning peppermint.
Elizabeth Montgomery awoke on a bench outside the building. She looked down at herself; she was wearing the outfit she had arrived in. She quickly ran inside the building.
She stared at the directory. No A. Kitzeller, Photography; the third floor was, apparently, a dental office.
She took the elevator to the third floor; the same layout, same receptionists' desk, but a bland-looking woman in her forties was seated behind it. Posters pontificating on dental hygiene dotted the walls.
Bewildered, Elizabeth Montgomery left the building. She thought of calling some of the others, but something stopped her. She never spoke of that strange day again; and neither did any of the others.
But forever they would share the secret of the strange room, the bizarre chairs, and the silent redhead.
