phantom2
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I love this story.
[email protected]
2/7/96
WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? by cluelessjoe
Lori knew a taste of culture and history was not Steve's passion.
"They've got beer!" she finally said, but the lack of an accompanying
baseball game left him yawning. The compromise: she would endure
Wrestlemania on his birthday if he'd go to the Renaissance Faire Saturday.
When they finally arrived, Lori felt like a time traveler in her T-shirt,
cut-off shorts, and Nikes as she walked past the costumed performers and
vendors. Still, compared to Steve's "Bud" shirt and mirror specs, her
costume was downright Medieval. Lori was not surprised that her
"sore-thumb" husband was an instant target of the Faire as a seven-foot man
in peasant garb challenged Steve to arm wrestle. Steve, never one to back
down to a public challenge, seated himself across from the giant and
defiantly rolled up his sleeve. Initially, Steve held his own and even
came close to pinning his rival. "Art thou done playing?" asked the brute,
as he quickly thrust Steve's wrist down to the table. To further compound
the shame, the giant then did a victory lap around the square, holding
Steve over his head as he ran (Renaissance Wrestlemania, thought Lori).
Needless to say, Steve was ready to duck away somewhere by then to nurse
his bruised ego. Five minutes later, however, he was already weary of
browsing the gift shop with Lori.
"Wanna beer?" he asked.
"Already?" she replied.
"Sure. Let me get my beer muscles flexing, and I'll kick that big
putz back to Camelot." Steve also wanted to go see the knights jousting in
the arena. Lori, having spotted a pewter beer mug she wanted to buy for
his birthday, suggested he go ahead and meet her back in front of the shop
in a half hour. She didn't have to ask him twice to leave her shopping.
Moments after Steve left, Lori bought the mug and walked outside. She
needed to figure out a way to get it to their car before he came back. Did
she need her hand stamped? Lori walked around looking for an information
booth.
"Behold!" a boisterous voice shouted behind her. "Tis this not the
thief before thee?"
Turning around, Lori saw the man, dressed in clothes Robin Hood would
envy. "Tis she, m'lord!" cried out the peasant woman next to him as she
pointed at Lori. "The mug she holds tis empty now, yea it held me life's
savings when she robbed it!" Lori, looked around for Steve, figuring he
had set something up. Meanwhile, the man bellowed even louder as he walked
up to her. "Thou hast been accused, fair maiden. How dost thou plea?"
Now she knew this had to be a setup. Steve got embarrassed by the
giant and now he wanted to share the shame. Oh what the hell . . . she
might as well play along. "Guilty", she replied coyly. "Very well!"
shouted the man, now drawing a crowd with his proclamations. "By virtue
of thy confession, thou art spared beheading!" Lori, mimed the word "whew"
as she brushed her hand across her forehead. "In accordance with the laws
of the land, then, I sentence thee to the stocks." He gestured to the
large wooden structure that Lori now noticed for the first time. Still
figuring Steve was behind this, she continued to play along, striking her
best "Home Alone" pose, hands slapped to her cheeks, mouth open in mock
fear. The man then firmly grasped her arm and walked her to the large
bench on the other side of the stocks. She had to chuckle at the absurdity
as she sat down on a foam-padded stadium seat.
As the man raised the top half of the stocks, the peasant woman
lifted Lori's legs to rest them in the half circles cut in the lower half.
"Thy wrists as well," the man cried as the peasant woman gestured for Lori
to place her wrists in the smaller half circles to either side of the ankle
holes. A microsecond after she complied, the top half was lowered and
locked.
"Hey, you didn't read me my Miranda Rights," Lori quipped.
"Wilt thou mock His Majesty's law?" the man bellowed. "Silence the
prisoner!" Before Lori could mock him again, she found the peasant woman
had stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth and sealed her lips with tape (this
modern gag was hidden by another handkerchief tied over her mouth and
behind her head). Steve's really playing this up big, she thought. The man
had now walked to the front of the stocks and began unlacing her shoes.
After pulling these off, he also yanked free her white socks. He then tied
her big toes together and tied these ends off through a metal hook in the
top of the stocks. The man then turned to address the growing crowd.
"Behold! The rewards of thievery!" As she flexed and scrunched her toes,
amazed at the position she found them in, Lori was further shocked to see
the peasant woman cinching first her ankles, then her knees with white
scarfs. God, she thought. As if I could move anyway, for crying out loud.
She almost giggled to herself on that notion. Her cries out loud would
sound pretty muffled at the moment. "Serves y'bleedin' right," the woman
sneered at Lori as she tightened the knots on the knee scarf.
The man now seated himself in front of the stocks and waved a
feather over his head while again addressing the passersby. "In accord
with statutes of His Majesty, this wench has been found guilty of laughing
at the law. She therefore shall taste something to laugh about!" With
those words, he floated the billowy feather across Lori's helpless soles,
effortlessly dancing this from one foot to the other. The squeal Lori let
out from this surprise attack was so high pitched as to be inaudible even
without the gag. She found herself instinctively, by reflex, attempting to
cover whichever foot he tickled with her other foot. However, the tied
toes prevented this evasive action. Her muffled voice finally reached the
decibel range discernable by both human and canine as the man turned the
feather around and slowly raked the quill point up and down each sole:
"Mmph-phom-umph-ooo!" was all that came out.
"Save thy venom, ye blight to society!" the man yelled while
reaching down for an earthen jar. Taking out from it a thick artist's
paintbrush laden with powder, he cried, "As thou hast been an irritant to
thine countrymen, ye too shall know irritation. Behold the itching
powder!" He then forced the powder between each of her toes and across the
balls of each foot. He then stood with his arm theatrically motioning to
her soles. At first the powder had no effect. However, moments later, she
found herself desperately wiggling her toes in a futile attempt to ease the
growing desire to scratch them. She instinctively yanked at her wrists
while wiggling her fingers. However, the massive wood structure made a
mockery of these motions.
The peasant woman now moved toward Lori's feet. "What is it then?
Would y' like a scratch?" She picked up a wooden spoon and stroked it
across Lori's toes. The spoon did give a small relief to the itch, yet the
contact only seemed to increase the hunger to scratch. "Looks like I needs
t' get yer mind off the itching, eh?" With that, the peasant smacked the
face of the wood spoon onto the fleshy pads of Lori's right sole.
"Mmerph!" Lori blurted. "What's that? Y' want another?" The peasant then
smacked Lori's other foot. Jeez! Lori thought. Who are these people?
C'mon, Steve! You've had your fun!
After a couple more sole smacks, the peasant tossed the spoon aside
and began wiggling her fingers inches away from Lori's soles. "Y' want me
t' scratch yer itch, deary?" Lori squinted her eyes and looked away, only
to be bolted moments later with an electric shock of tickling sensation.
The peasant woman furiously attacked Lori's soles with long fingernails
dancing pirouettes across her toe pads, over the balls of her feet, down
her sensitive arches, around her heels, and back up again. Lori's head now
swung back and forth until she finally tossed her head back to let out a
loud stream of laughter (loud even through the gag). After what seemed
like an eternity, the tickling finally stopped. Lori tried to regain the
focus of her tear-soaked eyes. Steve! There he was! Standing down the
street in front of the gift shop. He looked at his watch and then walked
back into the store. He seemed oblivious to her struggles down the road.
For the first time, the thought popped into her head: Maybe he's NOT in on
this!
Her trance was shattered by the voice of the man again: "By order of
the King, ye shall now face thy fellow countrymen!" One by one, people in
the crowd stepped forward to administer "justice". What followed for yet
another eternity was an onslaught of tickling both from fingers and
feathers, more spoon smacks, and even another helping of itching powder.
If her tormentor got too aggressive, the loud man pulled him away (this was
but a momentary rescue before the next tormentor started).
How long did this go on? It seemed like hours, but it was later
clear to be little more than 30 minutes. When the they finally freed her,
she sat on the grass exhausted, fumbling to put back on her shoes and
socks. "Justice tis served!" the man shouted to the crowd while pointing
her way. "Behold! A penitent woman!" He then led them in applause. She
managed a brief smile, a curtsy, and a very quick exit.
"Where the hell have you been?" Steve asked as she walked up to him
in front of the gift store.
"HAP . . . PEE . . BIRTHDAY!" she growled as she shoved the pewter
mug into his stomach with force enough to knock him into another century.
--
[email protected]
[email protected]
2/7/96
WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? by cluelessjoe
Lori knew a taste of culture and history was not Steve's passion.
"They've got beer!" she finally said, but the lack of an accompanying
baseball game left him yawning. The compromise: she would endure
Wrestlemania on his birthday if he'd go to the Renaissance Faire Saturday.
When they finally arrived, Lori felt like a time traveler in her T-shirt,
cut-off shorts, and Nikes as she walked past the costumed performers and
vendors. Still, compared to Steve's "Bud" shirt and mirror specs, her
costume was downright Medieval. Lori was not surprised that her
"sore-thumb" husband was an instant target of the Faire as a seven-foot man
in peasant garb challenged Steve to arm wrestle. Steve, never one to back
down to a public challenge, seated himself across from the giant and
defiantly rolled up his sleeve. Initially, Steve held his own and even
came close to pinning his rival. "Art thou done playing?" asked the brute,
as he quickly thrust Steve's wrist down to the table. To further compound
the shame, the giant then did a victory lap around the square, holding
Steve over his head as he ran (Renaissance Wrestlemania, thought Lori).
Needless to say, Steve was ready to duck away somewhere by then to nurse
his bruised ego. Five minutes later, however, he was already weary of
browsing the gift shop with Lori.
"Wanna beer?" he asked.
"Already?" she replied.
"Sure. Let me get my beer muscles flexing, and I'll kick that big
putz back to Camelot." Steve also wanted to go see the knights jousting in
the arena. Lori, having spotted a pewter beer mug she wanted to buy for
his birthday, suggested he go ahead and meet her back in front of the shop
in a half hour. She didn't have to ask him twice to leave her shopping.
Moments after Steve left, Lori bought the mug and walked outside. She
needed to figure out a way to get it to their car before he came back. Did
she need her hand stamped? Lori walked around looking for an information
booth.
"Behold!" a boisterous voice shouted behind her. "Tis this not the
thief before thee?"
Turning around, Lori saw the man, dressed in clothes Robin Hood would
envy. "Tis she, m'lord!" cried out the peasant woman next to him as she
pointed at Lori. "The mug she holds tis empty now, yea it held me life's
savings when she robbed it!" Lori, looked around for Steve, figuring he
had set something up. Meanwhile, the man bellowed even louder as he walked
up to her. "Thou hast been accused, fair maiden. How dost thou plea?"
Now she knew this had to be a setup. Steve got embarrassed by the
giant and now he wanted to share the shame. Oh what the hell . . . she
might as well play along. "Guilty", she replied coyly. "Very well!"
shouted the man, now drawing a crowd with his proclamations. "By virtue
of thy confession, thou art spared beheading!" Lori, mimed the word "whew"
as she brushed her hand across her forehead. "In accordance with the laws
of the land, then, I sentence thee to the stocks." He gestured to the
large wooden structure that Lori now noticed for the first time. Still
figuring Steve was behind this, she continued to play along, striking her
best "Home Alone" pose, hands slapped to her cheeks, mouth open in mock
fear. The man then firmly grasped her arm and walked her to the large
bench on the other side of the stocks. She had to chuckle at the absurdity
as she sat down on a foam-padded stadium seat.
As the man raised the top half of the stocks, the peasant woman
lifted Lori's legs to rest them in the half circles cut in the lower half.
"Thy wrists as well," the man cried as the peasant woman gestured for Lori
to place her wrists in the smaller half circles to either side of the ankle
holes. A microsecond after she complied, the top half was lowered and
locked.
"Hey, you didn't read me my Miranda Rights," Lori quipped.
"Wilt thou mock His Majesty's law?" the man bellowed. "Silence the
prisoner!" Before Lori could mock him again, she found the peasant woman
had stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth and sealed her lips with tape (this
modern gag was hidden by another handkerchief tied over her mouth and
behind her head). Steve's really playing this up big, she thought. The man
had now walked to the front of the stocks and began unlacing her shoes.
After pulling these off, he also yanked free her white socks. He then tied
her big toes together and tied these ends off through a metal hook in the
top of the stocks. The man then turned to address the growing crowd.
"Behold! The rewards of thievery!" As she flexed and scrunched her toes,
amazed at the position she found them in, Lori was further shocked to see
the peasant woman cinching first her ankles, then her knees with white
scarfs. God, she thought. As if I could move anyway, for crying out loud.
She almost giggled to herself on that notion. Her cries out loud would
sound pretty muffled at the moment. "Serves y'bleedin' right," the woman
sneered at Lori as she tightened the knots on the knee scarf.
The man now seated himself in front of the stocks and waved a
feather over his head while again addressing the passersby. "In accord
with statutes of His Majesty, this wench has been found guilty of laughing
at the law. She therefore shall taste something to laugh about!" With
those words, he floated the billowy feather across Lori's helpless soles,
effortlessly dancing this from one foot to the other. The squeal Lori let
out from this surprise attack was so high pitched as to be inaudible even
without the gag. She found herself instinctively, by reflex, attempting to
cover whichever foot he tickled with her other foot. However, the tied
toes prevented this evasive action. Her muffled voice finally reached the
decibel range discernable by both human and canine as the man turned the
feather around and slowly raked the quill point up and down each sole:
"Mmph-phom-umph-ooo!" was all that came out.
"Save thy venom, ye blight to society!" the man yelled while
reaching down for an earthen jar. Taking out from it a thick artist's
paintbrush laden with powder, he cried, "As thou hast been an irritant to
thine countrymen, ye too shall know irritation. Behold the itching
powder!" He then forced the powder between each of her toes and across the
balls of each foot. He then stood with his arm theatrically motioning to
her soles. At first the powder had no effect. However, moments later, she
found herself desperately wiggling her toes in a futile attempt to ease the
growing desire to scratch them. She instinctively yanked at her wrists
while wiggling her fingers. However, the massive wood structure made a
mockery of these motions.
The peasant woman now moved toward Lori's feet. "What is it then?
Would y' like a scratch?" She picked up a wooden spoon and stroked it
across Lori's toes. The spoon did give a small relief to the itch, yet the
contact only seemed to increase the hunger to scratch. "Looks like I needs
t' get yer mind off the itching, eh?" With that, the peasant smacked the
face of the wood spoon onto the fleshy pads of Lori's right sole.
"Mmerph!" Lori blurted. "What's that? Y' want another?" The peasant then
smacked Lori's other foot. Jeez! Lori thought. Who are these people?
C'mon, Steve! You've had your fun!
After a couple more sole smacks, the peasant tossed the spoon aside
and began wiggling her fingers inches away from Lori's soles. "Y' want me
t' scratch yer itch, deary?" Lori squinted her eyes and looked away, only
to be bolted moments later with an electric shock of tickling sensation.
The peasant woman furiously attacked Lori's soles with long fingernails
dancing pirouettes across her toe pads, over the balls of her feet, down
her sensitive arches, around her heels, and back up again. Lori's head now
swung back and forth until she finally tossed her head back to let out a
loud stream of laughter (loud even through the gag). After what seemed
like an eternity, the tickling finally stopped. Lori tried to regain the
focus of her tear-soaked eyes. Steve! There he was! Standing down the
street in front of the gift shop. He looked at his watch and then walked
back into the store. He seemed oblivious to her struggles down the road.
For the first time, the thought popped into her head: Maybe he's NOT in on
this!
Her trance was shattered by the voice of the man again: "By order of
the King, ye shall now face thy fellow countrymen!" One by one, people in
the crowd stepped forward to administer "justice". What followed for yet
another eternity was an onslaught of tickling both from fingers and
feathers, more spoon smacks, and even another helping of itching powder.
If her tormentor got too aggressive, the loud man pulled him away (this was
but a momentary rescue before the next tormentor started).
How long did this go on? It seemed like hours, but it was later
clear to be little more than 30 minutes. When the they finally freed her,
she sat on the grass exhausted, fumbling to put back on her shoes and
socks. "Justice tis served!" the man shouted to the crowd while pointing
her way. "Behold! A penitent woman!" He then led them in applause. She
managed a brief smile, a curtsy, and a very quick exit.
"Where the hell have you been?" Steve asked as she walked up to him
in front of the gift store.
"HAP . . . PEE . . BIRTHDAY!" she growled as she shoved the pewter
mug into his stomach with force enough to knock him into another century.
--
[email protected]
