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THE TORMENT OF ENCHANTRA
by XODLIRV
"Catherine Paulson, how did you end up like this?" the young woman asked herself as she looked into the mirror. She was out of character now, not made up as the persona that had made her famous and moderately wealthy; but sometimes she swore it was not herself staring back out of the mirror, but Enchantra.
Catherine had been a young actress when she first accepted the Enchantra role. One of thousands of beautiful young women, a dime a dozen in Los Angeles. She felt she had the acting talent, the certain something, necessary to break into the big time. Four years after her arrival in Hollywood, however, she had still failed to make the grade. When her agent offered her a gig hosting B-grade horror movies on a local TV station–a temporary gig, the agent had said–she said "Why not?" and figured the exposure might be good. The character of Enchantra, however, had caught fire. Audiences loved her, wrote in demanding more. What was supposed to be a summer-replacement show got its own regular time slot; what started out as a local TV show went national on cable. That had been eleven years ago; and now Catherine was still playing the role of Enchantra, doing photo shoots for calendars and T-shirts, signing autographs at sci-fi conventions. But no other offers had come along. She had fallen into the trap that is every actor’s nightmare: she was typecast. Like hundreds before her–Adam West, Clayton Moore, Lynda Carter–she would be forever associated with one role, and never seriously considered for anything else. She was now thirty-five, but still drop dead gorgeous. Her plump, firm breasts showed not the slightest trace of sagging. Her stomach was flat and tight enough to bounce a coin off. Her legs were lean yet muscular, and her face showed not the slightest wrinkle. But all it was good for was dressing up in a kooky outfit and mugging to the camera for a bunch of horror movie fans. What was the blasted point of it all?
The phone rang, and she picked it up. She knew what it would be, though: the concierge, telling her she was due in the convention room in half an hour. She was in a hotel in Philadelphia, a hotel where a large science-fiction convention was being held. She was one of three guests of honor at this convention, along with a bit player from one of the "Star Trek" series and someone who wrote "cyberpunk" fiction, whatever the Hell that was. She sighed. Oh well, it paid the bills. Time to get into character. She squeezed her lithe body into a tight-fitting black satin dress, made to look like Morticia Addams’ dress but with a lot lower neckline. Ash-gray stockings encased her shapely legs; her size nine feet slipped into black leather pumps. Long, pointed false fingernails, painted black, covered her real ones; her eyes were heavily made up in bright purple eyeshadow; fire-engine red lipstick painted her pouty mouth. The crowning touch was a wig of raven-black hair that flowed down past her shoulder blades when she wore it over her own short brown hair. The transformation was now complete; Enchantra was ready to appear.
"Ms. Paulson, hi!" the convention emcee said, when Enchantra arrived in the area backstage of the auditorium. She smiled; at least this one called her "Ms. Paulson" rather than "Enchantra". "All set for today’s festivities?"
"Yeah, ready to go," she said, mustering as much enthusiasm as she could. "Got to please the fans, right?"
"That’s the spirit! You’ll remember from the itinerary we faxed your agent, today is the fund-raiser."
"Oh, right. That’s my favorite part of these conventions!" she lied through a sunny smile. Years ago her agent had suggested it would be marketable if she spoke out for a cause; something appealing to the large demographics without being offensive to potential sponsors. She had chosen literacy; how could anyone be against that? At most conventions and personal appearances she signed autographs or posed for pictures with fans at so many dollars a pop, the proceeds going to literacy charities.
"I think you’ll really like this one," the emcee said. He was a nice-looking man of about thirty, with brown hair and glasses, wearing a Twilight Zone t-shirt. Most of these convention emcees tended to one extreme of weight or the other, but this one was nicely balanced. Enchantra wished she could recall his name. "We’ve tried to come up with something different."
"Oh, really? Can’t wait to see! Variety is the spice of death, after all!" she joked, gently elbowing the man in the ribs. He chuckled at her joke, then checked his watch. "Almost time to go on. We’ve got a hall full of anxious fans waiting to see you, so let’s not disappoint them!"
The emcee walked out through the curtain. Enchantra could hear the fans chanting her name, waiting for her appearance. She waited patiently as the emcee made some snappy patter. Then she heard him say:
"And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for! I give you the horror hostess with the mostest, the Lady of the Night, ENCHANTRA!" The actress put on her best smile and sashayed out on stage, shimmying with every step. The cheers and whistles were deafening. They always were. Enchantra knew that these conventions were mostly attended by single men in their twenties and thirties who lived in their parents’ basements and had rarely, if ever, dated. And she was their queen. It was a living. As Enchantra walked up to the emcee, she noticed something on the stage that she hadn’t seen before. It was a set of stocks, a medieval restraining device! Right there on stage! What the heck was that all about?
"Welcome, Enchantra!" the emcee said into his hand-held microphone. "We’re so pleased you’ve decided to grace us with your magnificent presence today!" He held the microphone to her for her reply; she got fully into character.
"Honey, you couldn’t keep me away, with all these sweet sexy men here!" She waved into the audience, at no one in particular. "Hey there, gorgeous! Your crypt or mine?"
"Not just now, Enchantra! It’s time to make some money for the National Literacy Foundation!"
"Oh, that’s right! They do such wonderful work! If it wasn’t for them, a lot of sexy men might not be able to read my phone number on the men’s room wall!"
"They sure do, Enchantra. And our goal today is to make one thousand dollars for the NLF!"
"A thousand bucks? Well, let’s get to work then! Come on, my darlings, reach into those pockets of yours—for your WALLET, mister, don’t get too excited!"
"Enchantra, you’re too much! Okay, let’s get started!" The emcee walked over to the stocks, and Enchantra followed him. "You recognize this little piece of furniture, don’t you?"
"Honey, this looks like the Marquis de Sade’s loveseat! What the heck is it?"
"This is called a stocks, Enchantra. You sit on the bench part there, and your ankles go in those holes there."
"Oh yeah, this is some kind of torture device! What happens, you lock the victim inside and force them to watch ‘Suddenly Susan’ reruns?"
"Well, nothing quite that horrible," the emcee said, reaching down to raise the bar on the stocks. "Climb inside, and you’ll see!"
"Ooh, kinky! When I said I wanted to give lock, stock, and barrel to the NLF, I didn’t know you took me literally!" Enchantra didn’t understand what was going on, but she played along. She guessed the idea was the fans would pose for pictures standing next to her in the stocks. This was different, but whatever. Still smiling brightly for the fans, she sat down on the bench and placed her ankles in the half-holes in the board. She noticed the holes had been covered with thin but soft padding; she was sure the original design hadn’t included that feature. The emcee closed the bar on her ankles, and locked it in place.
"Okay, everyone, you all purchased your tickets this morning," the emcee said to the audience. Enchantra grew more confused. Tickets? For what? The pictures?
"Everyone who bought tickets, form an orderly line to come up on stage. Let’s not have a riot here, that’d ruin it for everyone. Okay?" Enchantra watched as many of the fans in the audience rose from their seats and formed a line at the steps of the stage.
"Okay, that’s good! Now we’re all ready to—" The emcee held the microphone out to the audience. As one, they all chanted loudly: ‘TICKLE ENCHANTRA’S FEET!"
Enchantra’s eye popped wide and she gasped audibly at that; audibly to her, but no one else could hear over the cheers. She noticed something move behind her; she turned as much as the stocks allowed, and saw a curtain had fallen away from a large sign hanging over the stage. The sign read TICKLE ENCHANTRA’S FEET in huge, brightly-colored letters.
"That’s right, it’s the first, hopefully of many, Celebrity Charity Tickle-Off!" The emcee said as he moved to the front of the stocks. Enchantra felt him pluck off her high heels, one at a time. "This morning at the front table, you were given the opportunity to purchase Tickle Tickets for varying amounts! Green tickets were $10, and entitled you to tickle Enchantra’s feet for five full minutes! Yellow tickets were $25, and get you fifteen minutes! And for the spendthrift among you, red tickets were $100 for a full half-hour of tickling! For the mathematically-minded among you, each participant was limited to purchase of one ticket; so buying two yellow tickets instead of one red was not allowed. Okay, the first ticket-holder can come up on stage!"
Enchantra motioned to the emcee, whispering fiercely. "Hey! Nobody told me about this! You’re gonna let these weirdos tickle my feet? No way! Get me out of here!"
"Too late now," the emcee whispered back. "Guess you should have read the fine print of the contract. Relax, it’s for a good cause!"
Enchantra gulped. She was unbelievably ticklish, especially on her feet! She wouldn’t be able to take this!
The first ticket-holder came up on stage. He was an overweight young man of about twenty, wearing a Star Trek T-shirt. He grinned and handed his ticket to the emcee.
"Ah, a green ticket!" the emcee said. "Five minutes only. Okay, get ready. Enchantra, brace yourself!" The fan walked around in front of the stocks, right in front of Enchantra’s helpless stocking feet. The emcee looked at his watch.
"On your mark–get set–tickle!!"
The fan began scrabbling his fingers rapidly over Enchantra’s soles. She let out a squeal, and giggles burst from her lips. The tickling was intense! The soles of her feet were unbelievably sensitive. They spent a lot of time in nylons and high-heeled shoes; they were soft as butter. The slightest touch sent her into hysterics, and this fan was tickling for all he was worth! Enchantra howled with laughter. Her feet twitched and flailed as much as the stocks would allow, trying to avoid his tickling fingers. But it was useless; there was no escape!
"Time! Fingers down, please." The emcee said. The fan reluctantly stopped tickling, and walked offstage.
"Thanks for your support of a good cause, sir!" The emcee said, then turned to Enchantra, who was gasping for breath. "How you doing, Enchantra? Was he a good tickler, or what?"
"I—I can’t stand any more!" Enchantra gasped. Her face was flushed red from laughter. "Let me outta here!"
"Now, none of that, Enchantra! We’ve got a lot more kootchie-koo before we make that thousand dollars! Let’s have the next ticket-holder on stage!"
The next fan was somewhat older, near forty and balding. He had purchased a yellow ticket, good for fifteen minutes. He was a more methodical tickler than the last. He grasped the toes of Enchantra’s left foot and held them back, just enough to stretch her sole out tight, then slowly ran his fingertips up and down her sole. She shrieked with laughter, and begged him to stop. This brought only cheers of encouragement from the audience.
"Remember, folks, Enchantra is doing this for the National Literacy Foundation," the emcee reminded. "No matter how she begs, show her no mercy! Tickle the daylights out of those sexy stocking feet!"
And that’s just what they did. When the second tickler had finished, Enchantra sat gasping and wheezing for breath. The emcee gave her a brief rest, doing some snappy patter with the audience. It occurred to her to demand that she be released, even to threaten legal action. But these were her fans, the people who watched her show and bought her T-shirts and calendars. Such an outburst would finish her!
The third tickler was another five-minute ticket holder. He concentrated on her toes, tickling the tops of them, the undersides of them, playing with them "piggy" fashion. The fourth, however, had a half-hour ticket! Enchantra thought she would go insane, as he used his fingers, his pocket comb, and a credit card from his wallet to tickle her trapped, super-sensitive feet!
After the half-hour tickler was through, the emcee spoke to the audience.
"I think Enchantra needs a little break, don’t you?" Boos and shouts of "No way!" came from the audience, but the emcee shook his head. "Now, now, be fair. She’s the one going through the torture! Ten minutes, folks, then we’ll have the next ticket-holder on stage!"
The emcee turned the microphone off, and spoke to Enchantra in a low voice.
"Sorry for the surprise attack, Ms. Paulson, but I figured you wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise."
"You...prick!" Enchantra gasped, between gulps for air. "What kind of...sick bastard...would arrange something like this?"
"A sick bastard who believes in the cause you represent," the emcee said. "Haven’t you ever seen some of the Internet sites about you?"
"What do you mean?" Enchantra asked, puzzled.
"I mean, there’s a whole community of people on the Internet whose fantasy is to tickle-torture beautiful women like yourself. And you’re one of their number one fantasies!"
"You’re kidding!"
"No, I’m serious. Check it out for yourself. Go to any search engine and enter the words ‘Enchantra’ and ‘tickle’. You’ll be surprised what comes up."
"So what, you arranged this to satisfy a bunch of weird fantasies?"
"They pay through the nose to satisfy those fantasies. Do you know how much we made selling those tickle-tickets?" Enchantra was silent for a moment. "Over five thousand dollars!"
Enchantra’s eyes opened very wide. "Five thousand?"
"Uh huh. Can you imagine what kind of story that will make for the press, when you hand over a five grand check to the NLF?"
Enchantra thought about the publicity. Thought very hard, indeed.
"What say? Ready for the next ticket-holder?"
Enchantra smiled weakly. "Sure...but I’m gonna have to go to the bathroom soon!"
The emcee chuckled. "I think I can arrange that." He turned his mike back on, and faced the crowd. "All right, let’s get things going again! Next in line, please come up on stage!"
Enchantra swallowed hard amid the cheers, preparing herself. Boy, was she going to have an earful for her agent!!
-The End-
by XODLIRV
"Catherine Paulson, how did you end up like this?" the young woman asked herself as she looked into the mirror. She was out of character now, not made up as the persona that had made her famous and moderately wealthy; but sometimes she swore it was not herself staring back out of the mirror, but Enchantra.
Catherine had been a young actress when she first accepted the Enchantra role. One of thousands of beautiful young women, a dime a dozen in Los Angeles. She felt she had the acting talent, the certain something, necessary to break into the big time. Four years after her arrival in Hollywood, however, she had still failed to make the grade. When her agent offered her a gig hosting B-grade horror movies on a local TV station–a temporary gig, the agent had said–she said "Why not?" and figured the exposure might be good. The character of Enchantra, however, had caught fire. Audiences loved her, wrote in demanding more. What was supposed to be a summer-replacement show got its own regular time slot; what started out as a local TV show went national on cable. That had been eleven years ago; and now Catherine was still playing the role of Enchantra, doing photo shoots for calendars and T-shirts, signing autographs at sci-fi conventions. But no other offers had come along. She had fallen into the trap that is every actor’s nightmare: she was typecast. Like hundreds before her–Adam West, Clayton Moore, Lynda Carter–she would be forever associated with one role, and never seriously considered for anything else. She was now thirty-five, but still drop dead gorgeous. Her plump, firm breasts showed not the slightest trace of sagging. Her stomach was flat and tight enough to bounce a coin off. Her legs were lean yet muscular, and her face showed not the slightest wrinkle. But all it was good for was dressing up in a kooky outfit and mugging to the camera for a bunch of horror movie fans. What was the blasted point of it all?
The phone rang, and she picked it up. She knew what it would be, though: the concierge, telling her she was due in the convention room in half an hour. She was in a hotel in Philadelphia, a hotel where a large science-fiction convention was being held. She was one of three guests of honor at this convention, along with a bit player from one of the "Star Trek" series and someone who wrote "cyberpunk" fiction, whatever the Hell that was. She sighed. Oh well, it paid the bills. Time to get into character. She squeezed her lithe body into a tight-fitting black satin dress, made to look like Morticia Addams’ dress but with a lot lower neckline. Ash-gray stockings encased her shapely legs; her size nine feet slipped into black leather pumps. Long, pointed false fingernails, painted black, covered her real ones; her eyes were heavily made up in bright purple eyeshadow; fire-engine red lipstick painted her pouty mouth. The crowning touch was a wig of raven-black hair that flowed down past her shoulder blades when she wore it over her own short brown hair. The transformation was now complete; Enchantra was ready to appear.
"Ms. Paulson, hi!" the convention emcee said, when Enchantra arrived in the area backstage of the auditorium. She smiled; at least this one called her "Ms. Paulson" rather than "Enchantra". "All set for today’s festivities?"
"Yeah, ready to go," she said, mustering as much enthusiasm as she could. "Got to please the fans, right?"
"That’s the spirit! You’ll remember from the itinerary we faxed your agent, today is the fund-raiser."
"Oh, right. That’s my favorite part of these conventions!" she lied through a sunny smile. Years ago her agent had suggested it would be marketable if she spoke out for a cause; something appealing to the large demographics without being offensive to potential sponsors. She had chosen literacy; how could anyone be against that? At most conventions and personal appearances she signed autographs or posed for pictures with fans at so many dollars a pop, the proceeds going to literacy charities.
"I think you’ll really like this one," the emcee said. He was a nice-looking man of about thirty, with brown hair and glasses, wearing a Twilight Zone t-shirt. Most of these convention emcees tended to one extreme of weight or the other, but this one was nicely balanced. Enchantra wished she could recall his name. "We’ve tried to come up with something different."
"Oh, really? Can’t wait to see! Variety is the spice of death, after all!" she joked, gently elbowing the man in the ribs. He chuckled at her joke, then checked his watch. "Almost time to go on. We’ve got a hall full of anxious fans waiting to see you, so let’s not disappoint them!"
The emcee walked out through the curtain. Enchantra could hear the fans chanting her name, waiting for her appearance. She waited patiently as the emcee made some snappy patter. Then she heard him say:
"And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for! I give you the horror hostess with the mostest, the Lady of the Night, ENCHANTRA!" The actress put on her best smile and sashayed out on stage, shimmying with every step. The cheers and whistles were deafening. They always were. Enchantra knew that these conventions were mostly attended by single men in their twenties and thirties who lived in their parents’ basements and had rarely, if ever, dated. And she was their queen. It was a living. As Enchantra walked up to the emcee, she noticed something on the stage that she hadn’t seen before. It was a set of stocks, a medieval restraining device! Right there on stage! What the heck was that all about?
"Welcome, Enchantra!" the emcee said into his hand-held microphone. "We’re so pleased you’ve decided to grace us with your magnificent presence today!" He held the microphone to her for her reply; she got fully into character.
"Honey, you couldn’t keep me away, with all these sweet sexy men here!" She waved into the audience, at no one in particular. "Hey there, gorgeous! Your crypt or mine?"
"Not just now, Enchantra! It’s time to make some money for the National Literacy Foundation!"
"Oh, that’s right! They do such wonderful work! If it wasn’t for them, a lot of sexy men might not be able to read my phone number on the men’s room wall!"
"They sure do, Enchantra. And our goal today is to make one thousand dollars for the NLF!"
"A thousand bucks? Well, let’s get to work then! Come on, my darlings, reach into those pockets of yours—for your WALLET, mister, don’t get too excited!"
"Enchantra, you’re too much! Okay, let’s get started!" The emcee walked over to the stocks, and Enchantra followed him. "You recognize this little piece of furniture, don’t you?"
"Honey, this looks like the Marquis de Sade’s loveseat! What the heck is it?"
"This is called a stocks, Enchantra. You sit on the bench part there, and your ankles go in those holes there."
"Oh yeah, this is some kind of torture device! What happens, you lock the victim inside and force them to watch ‘Suddenly Susan’ reruns?"
"Well, nothing quite that horrible," the emcee said, reaching down to raise the bar on the stocks. "Climb inside, and you’ll see!"
"Ooh, kinky! When I said I wanted to give lock, stock, and barrel to the NLF, I didn’t know you took me literally!" Enchantra didn’t understand what was going on, but she played along. She guessed the idea was the fans would pose for pictures standing next to her in the stocks. This was different, but whatever. Still smiling brightly for the fans, she sat down on the bench and placed her ankles in the half-holes in the board. She noticed the holes had been covered with thin but soft padding; she was sure the original design hadn’t included that feature. The emcee closed the bar on her ankles, and locked it in place.
"Okay, everyone, you all purchased your tickets this morning," the emcee said to the audience. Enchantra grew more confused. Tickets? For what? The pictures?
"Everyone who bought tickets, form an orderly line to come up on stage. Let’s not have a riot here, that’d ruin it for everyone. Okay?" Enchantra watched as many of the fans in the audience rose from their seats and formed a line at the steps of the stage.
"Okay, that’s good! Now we’re all ready to—" The emcee held the microphone out to the audience. As one, they all chanted loudly: ‘TICKLE ENCHANTRA’S FEET!"
Enchantra’s eye popped wide and she gasped audibly at that; audibly to her, but no one else could hear over the cheers. She noticed something move behind her; she turned as much as the stocks allowed, and saw a curtain had fallen away from a large sign hanging over the stage. The sign read TICKLE ENCHANTRA’S FEET in huge, brightly-colored letters.
"That’s right, it’s the first, hopefully of many, Celebrity Charity Tickle-Off!" The emcee said as he moved to the front of the stocks. Enchantra felt him pluck off her high heels, one at a time. "This morning at the front table, you were given the opportunity to purchase Tickle Tickets for varying amounts! Green tickets were $10, and entitled you to tickle Enchantra’s feet for five full minutes! Yellow tickets were $25, and get you fifteen minutes! And for the spendthrift among you, red tickets were $100 for a full half-hour of tickling! For the mathematically-minded among you, each participant was limited to purchase of one ticket; so buying two yellow tickets instead of one red was not allowed. Okay, the first ticket-holder can come up on stage!"
Enchantra motioned to the emcee, whispering fiercely. "Hey! Nobody told me about this! You’re gonna let these weirdos tickle my feet? No way! Get me out of here!"
"Too late now," the emcee whispered back. "Guess you should have read the fine print of the contract. Relax, it’s for a good cause!"
Enchantra gulped. She was unbelievably ticklish, especially on her feet! She wouldn’t be able to take this!
The first ticket-holder came up on stage. He was an overweight young man of about twenty, wearing a Star Trek T-shirt. He grinned and handed his ticket to the emcee.
"Ah, a green ticket!" the emcee said. "Five minutes only. Okay, get ready. Enchantra, brace yourself!" The fan walked around in front of the stocks, right in front of Enchantra’s helpless stocking feet. The emcee looked at his watch.
"On your mark–get set–tickle!!"
The fan began scrabbling his fingers rapidly over Enchantra’s soles. She let out a squeal, and giggles burst from her lips. The tickling was intense! The soles of her feet were unbelievably sensitive. They spent a lot of time in nylons and high-heeled shoes; they were soft as butter. The slightest touch sent her into hysterics, and this fan was tickling for all he was worth! Enchantra howled with laughter. Her feet twitched and flailed as much as the stocks would allow, trying to avoid his tickling fingers. But it was useless; there was no escape!
"Time! Fingers down, please." The emcee said. The fan reluctantly stopped tickling, and walked offstage.
"Thanks for your support of a good cause, sir!" The emcee said, then turned to Enchantra, who was gasping for breath. "How you doing, Enchantra? Was he a good tickler, or what?"
"I—I can’t stand any more!" Enchantra gasped. Her face was flushed red from laughter. "Let me outta here!"
"Now, none of that, Enchantra! We’ve got a lot more kootchie-koo before we make that thousand dollars! Let’s have the next ticket-holder on stage!"
The next fan was somewhat older, near forty and balding. He had purchased a yellow ticket, good for fifteen minutes. He was a more methodical tickler than the last. He grasped the toes of Enchantra’s left foot and held them back, just enough to stretch her sole out tight, then slowly ran his fingertips up and down her sole. She shrieked with laughter, and begged him to stop. This brought only cheers of encouragement from the audience.
"Remember, folks, Enchantra is doing this for the National Literacy Foundation," the emcee reminded. "No matter how she begs, show her no mercy! Tickle the daylights out of those sexy stocking feet!"
And that’s just what they did. When the second tickler had finished, Enchantra sat gasping and wheezing for breath. The emcee gave her a brief rest, doing some snappy patter with the audience. It occurred to her to demand that she be released, even to threaten legal action. But these were her fans, the people who watched her show and bought her T-shirts and calendars. Such an outburst would finish her!
The third tickler was another five-minute ticket holder. He concentrated on her toes, tickling the tops of them, the undersides of them, playing with them "piggy" fashion. The fourth, however, had a half-hour ticket! Enchantra thought she would go insane, as he used his fingers, his pocket comb, and a credit card from his wallet to tickle her trapped, super-sensitive feet!
After the half-hour tickler was through, the emcee spoke to the audience.
"I think Enchantra needs a little break, don’t you?" Boos and shouts of "No way!" came from the audience, but the emcee shook his head. "Now, now, be fair. She’s the one going through the torture! Ten minutes, folks, then we’ll have the next ticket-holder on stage!"
The emcee turned the microphone off, and spoke to Enchantra in a low voice.
"Sorry for the surprise attack, Ms. Paulson, but I figured you wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise."
"You...prick!" Enchantra gasped, between gulps for air. "What kind of...sick bastard...would arrange something like this?"
"A sick bastard who believes in the cause you represent," the emcee said. "Haven’t you ever seen some of the Internet sites about you?"
"What do you mean?" Enchantra asked, puzzled.
"I mean, there’s a whole community of people on the Internet whose fantasy is to tickle-torture beautiful women like yourself. And you’re one of their number one fantasies!"
"You’re kidding!"
"No, I’m serious. Check it out for yourself. Go to any search engine and enter the words ‘Enchantra’ and ‘tickle’. You’ll be surprised what comes up."
"So what, you arranged this to satisfy a bunch of weird fantasies?"
"They pay through the nose to satisfy those fantasies. Do you know how much we made selling those tickle-tickets?" Enchantra was silent for a moment. "Over five thousand dollars!"
Enchantra’s eyes opened very wide. "Five thousand?"
"Uh huh. Can you imagine what kind of story that will make for the press, when you hand over a five grand check to the NLF?"
Enchantra thought about the publicity. Thought very hard, indeed.
"What say? Ready for the next ticket-holder?"
Enchantra smiled weakly. "Sure...but I’m gonna have to go to the bathroom soon!"
The emcee chuckled. "I think I can arrange that." He turned his mike back on, and faced the crowd. "All right, let’s get things going again! Next in line, please come up on stage!"
Enchantra swallowed hard amid the cheers, preparing herself. Boy, was she going to have an earful for her agent!!
-The End-
