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Oh, Yes You Will Strip, Roma Downey
Roma Downey walked out of the studio. She was determined that this time she was not coming back. She was fed up with the way they were doing things in there.
She got into her car and drove straight home.
When she got there she went into her house and sat in the living room.
She sat there thinking for a while, in her long white dress.
"Who do they think they are, anyway?" She said aloud.
They had wanted her to strip for a certain scene in the particular movie she was shooting. She had told them, from the beginning, that she was not going to strip. It would kill her image for "Touched By An Angel."
Just then, the doorbell rang.
It was the director.
He came in and they argued a while, before he finally asked for something to drink.
When she turned to go for the drink, he hit her on the head, knocking her out.
When she woke, she was laid back in her living room recliner.
She tried to get up, but couldn't. Her hands had been tied over her head, and her feet were lashed together, and tied to the footrest.
She could feel the knot on her head as it sat against the back of the chair.
The director came into the room with a piece of paper.
"This piece of papers says that you agree to strip for this movie. Now, sign it."
"I'm not gonna sign it," she stated, resolutely.
"We'll see about that," he said.
He went to her feet, and removed her high-heel pumps, revealing her white stocking-clad feet.
"What are you doing?" She asked him angrily.
"It's time to show you who's the boss," he said.
He began wiggling his fingers against the bottom of her feet.
She struggled, and tried to pull loose. When she realized it was useless, she let out a giggle.
"Eeeheeheeheehee."
"So, you are ticklish, are you?"
He pressed harder, using what little fingernails he had, to make it as intense as possible.
She giggled some more.
"Heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee."
Finally, she could giggle no more, and cut loose in roaring laughter.
"Aaahhhaahaahaahahahahahaha. Ahhhhhhhaaahaaahaaaahaahaahaahahahahahaha."
"Ohhohohohohohohoh, my God. Staahaahahahahop. Pleeeeeheeheeheease."
He wasn't ready to stop, yet. He was having fun.
Roma was pulling, and twisting, and turning, but she could not escape those wiggling fingers mercilessly torturing her helpless feet.
He continued to tickle and she continued to laugh.
"Ahhhhhhaaahaaahaaahaaahaahaahaahaahahahahahahahahahah."
"Noooooohoohoohoohoohohohohohohohoho."
Finally, he stopped.
"Now, will you sign this paper saying you will agree to strip."
"Yehehehes. Anythihihing. Just stop tickling me." She was having trouble catching her breath.
He put the pen in her hand, and held the paper on a clipboard, close enough that she could sign it.
She hesitated.
"I don't know."
"Sign it, or I'll go back to work on your feet."
She signed it rather quickly.
Oh, Yes You Will Strip, Roma Downey
Roma Downey walked out of the studio. She was determined that this time she was not coming back. She was fed up with the way they were doing things in there.
She got into her car and drove straight home.
When she got there she went into her house and sat in the living room.
She sat there thinking for a while, in her long white dress.
"Who do they think they are, anyway?" She said aloud.
They had wanted her to strip for a certain scene in the particular movie she was shooting. She had told them, from the beginning, that she was not going to strip. It would kill her image for "Touched By An Angel."
Just then, the doorbell rang.
It was the director.
He came in and they argued a while, before he finally asked for something to drink.
When she turned to go for the drink, he hit her on the head, knocking her out.
When she woke, she was laid back in her living room recliner.
She tried to get up, but couldn't. Her hands had been tied over her head, and her feet were lashed together, and tied to the footrest.
She could feel the knot on her head as it sat against the back of the chair.
The director came into the room with a piece of paper.
"This piece of papers says that you agree to strip for this movie. Now, sign it."
"I'm not gonna sign it," she stated, resolutely.
"We'll see about that," he said.
He went to her feet, and removed her high-heel pumps, revealing her white stocking-clad feet.
"What are you doing?" She asked him angrily.
"It's time to show you who's the boss," he said.
He began wiggling his fingers against the bottom of her feet.
She struggled, and tried to pull loose. When she realized it was useless, she let out a giggle.
"Eeeheeheeheehee."
"So, you are ticklish, are you?"
He pressed harder, using what little fingernails he had, to make it as intense as possible.
She giggled some more.
"Heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee."
Finally, she could giggle no more, and cut loose in roaring laughter.
"Aaahhhaahaahaahahahahahaha. Ahhhhhhhaaahaaahaaaahaahaahaahahahahahaha."
"Ohhohohohohohohoh, my God. Staahaahahahahop. Pleeeeeheeheeheease."
He wasn't ready to stop, yet. He was having fun.
Roma was pulling, and twisting, and turning, but she could not escape those wiggling fingers mercilessly torturing her helpless feet.
He continued to tickle and she continued to laugh.
"Ahhhhhhaaahaaahaaahaaahaahaahaahaahahahahahahahahahah."
"Noooooohoohoohoohoohohohohohohohoho."
Finally, he stopped.
"Now, will you sign this paper saying you will agree to strip."
"Yehehehes. Anythihihing. Just stop tickling me." She was having trouble catching her breath.
He put the pen in her hand, and held the paper on a clipboard, close enough that she could sign it.
She hesitated.
"I don't know."
"Sign it, or I'll go back to work on your feet."
She signed it rather quickly.
