A drop in ticket sales
The play was not going well.
Abbey had been a member of the dramatics society for over ten years since her early twenties, and thought that she knew best. She had undertaken every role behind the scenes and had played her fair share of walk-on’s, leads, cameo’s, and anything else required. Now she was directing for the first time as a solo venture.
In preparation for the role, Abbey had gone on a ‘Directing Course’, designed to ‘put the director in touch with the inner feelings of the actors’, to ‘improve their ability in subtle ways that would impress them beyond belief’, and ‘draw from each actor the very best in dramatic or comedic performance’. Unfortunately for Abbey, she chose to ignore the advice of those around her.
“Audiences want to be challenged” said Cal, her best friend since their school years, “but not too much. They love thrillers, comedies, even farces- leave the serious or fringe theatre for the places that perform them best. Village crowds love the straightforward plays, even if they have seen something similar before”.
“I don’t agree” Abbey had retorted, “my way will shock the audience out of themselves. The play I have chosen to direct will make them sit up and take notice. Our actors can be made to become more professional, if I have anything to do with it”.
“However well meaning your intentions” said Cal, “you are forgetting one thing- most of our acting members don’t want to become professional actors. That’s why they are in the Dramatics society. We’ve had our share of wannabee DeNiro’s and Pacino’s, for sure, but let’s face it- most of us have day jobs. Our acting range is limited, but we enjoy doing what we do. That’s not to say that we can’t become more professional, but is it really such a good idea to force people into a ‘more professional’ style of acting when they might not want to go there in the first place?”
Abbey ignored her friend. She had cast the play on schedule and continued with her plan. In a tight twelve week rehearsal schedule, two nights a week at the parish hall, most plays were barely ready by the time play week arrived. With little or no time to spare, Abbey commenced the first four weeks of rehearsals with ‘games’ as she called them, to break down the resolve and hesitations of the cast in working together. Abbey had actors running around her village hall pretending to be animals, children, hugging each other, getting ‘into the moment’ she called it, and participating in voice warming up exercises for up to an hour a week, removing the chance for valuable rehearsal time.
The result was an absolute disaster.
As the play week neared, it became obvious that the ‘Games’ weren’t working. The cast simply didn’t know their lines or stage moves, and when the shambles of a play looked like it might be cancelled, Abbey dealt with her stress by taking out her frustrations on the cast. Her friend, Cal, had even warned her that ‘there was no substitute for rehearsal time, and the cast simply had not enjoyed enough rehearsal time practising the play. Undaunted, Abbey refused to accept any blame and insisted that her cast were at fault for not learning their lines soon enough.
Privately, Abbey would have done anything to rectify the situation. This had been her big chance to prove herself, or so she thought. She had no idea how highly she was thought of by the members anyway, but instead she wanted to be accepted as a ‘serious, professional director’ by the society. She had wanted to achieve the kind of accomplishment that Cal and her husband, the society property master, Adam, enjoyed. Everything they touched seemed to work, and that only fuelled Abbey’s frustrations.
The week of the play arrived, and the dress rehearsal was a total failure. Three members of the cast corpsed on stage, enduring lasting silences whilst the prompt whispered in vain from the wings in an effort to salvage the production. The first three nights fared little better, with some audience members walking out part way through Act one, for the first time in the society’s history.
On the Saturday morning of that week, all bar the last night had played out to a dismal reception from the audience. They had a meagre audience of ninety for the last night, when the parish hall could hold around two hundred. The society held a coffee morning for the village residents in an attempt to recount some of the losses the play had made.
In the kitchen, Abbey finally admitted her failure. She was stood talking to Cal, her husband Adam, and to Miriam the society Chairman.
“Ticket sales are right down” said Miriam, “the treasurer is furious, the parish council isn’t too happy either, and we look like we’re going to come in at a loss of around £100 by the end of tonight. The money’s only a drop in the ocean, but that’s not the point. The principle of the thing is that we may lose regular audience members after this debacle, and our takings in the next play will be low as a result”.
“Can’t anything be done to make up the loss?” asked Adam, “it seems a shame to record our only loss of over sixty years as a thriving society”.
“I’m not sure. Abbey? Any ideas?” asked Miriam. Abbey shook her head. She murmured something about ‘doing anything’ to make up the loss, but could suggest nothing.
“You could always give the audience what they want and pull the play” joked Cal, trying to raise Abbey’s spirits.
“They’ve hardly given us any laughs the past three nights” said Abbey. “This play is supposed to be a comedy and they haven’t laughed at any of it”.
“Well” said Adam, “there is a way round that, if you’ll bear with me”.
“I’ll bear with you” said Abbey, resigned to failure. Adam took Miriam and Cal off to one side, then disappeared up onto the stage behind the closed curtains. Around one hundred and fifty people had attended the coffee morning, a mixture of families from around the village.
Abbey continued working in the kitchen until she felt Miriam touch her arm.
“Abbey, will you come with me please?” asked Miriam, “We’ve found a way to bring laughter back to the stage, and to make up the loss in ticket sales. Will you help?”.
“Of course. I’d do anything” said Abbey, allowing Miriam to lead her through to the back door of the wings and up onto the dark stage, hidden from the coffee morning by the front of stage curtains. There, lit by the overhead lights on the stage, stood Adam and Cal. Abbey was taken by the hand and sat down on the couch that formed part of the furniture props for the play.
Cal immediately produced a length of white rope and as Adam held Abbey’s hands in front of her, Cal wound the rope around her wrists several times, tying the ends off in a reef knot.
“What’s going on?” asked Abbey, taken aback by the speed of Cal’s rope work. She remembered Cal had won recognition for her knot tying skills in the Girl Guides years before. As she sat on the couch, her mind struggled to comprehend the sudden turn of events. It was only then that she noticed Adam kneeling before her, and picking the cotton laces of her trainers loose.
“Adam?” she asked.
“Don’t ask questions, Abbey” soothed Miriam from behind her, laying her elderly hands on Abbey’s shoulders. “It’s your way of making up”.
“Making up?” repeated Abbey as Adam’s deft fingers pulled the single loop free and unlaced the overhand knot from her shoe. He dug gently under the crossed laces at the front and pulled each one upwards, just enough to loosen the fabric of the trainer around it.
“You said you would do anything” reminded Miriam.
“But why is he taking my shoe off?” asked Abbey, still not comprehending. “Adam, don’t” she said in a voice that started to whine.
“Sorry” said Adam, “but I need to take your shoes off for this”. He took hold of her ankle and slowly pulled the back of the training shoe down and forward. It met resistance from the fabric of her white cotton sock at first, then strength beat friction, and the shoe slid with a soft sound from her heel. With a gentle tug, the shoe slid forward from her foot, and he deposited it on the floor.
“Miriam? What’s going on?” asked Abbey, who couldn’t take her eyes off the kneeling form of Adam, who had now transferred to her other foot and was busy methodically tugging the laces open, releasing the knot, and pulling on the crossed laces at the top of the trainer.
“We need to bring laughter back to the stage, and this is the method” said Miriam.
“What are you going to do to me?” asked Abbey, voice more than a little concerned as the second shoe was slowly pulled over her heel and drawn forward from her foot before being placed next to its partner on the wooden stage floor.
“Well” said Adam, “I asked you to ‘bare’ with me and you agreed” he said. “I’m afraid I need your socks also”.
“My socks?” Abbey nearly shouted, “No! Not my socks! Miriam?” she turned her head to look up in despair at her chairman, who merely pressed down harder on her shoulders to keep her in the seat.
“Sorry Abbey” said Adam, taking hold of one foot and pushing the leg of her jeans upwards until he came to the elastic neck of her white cotton sports sock, “but I think it’s time we took these socks off”.
Abbey started to panic with the realisation that she could not control her destiny for the next few seconds. She hated people taking her socks off- for one thing, she was ticklish, and hated anyone tickling her anywhere on her body. She could only protest weakly and stare as Adam inserted his fingers inside one sock and gently pulled. The sock bunched up as it rolled down towards her heel. Then, lifting her foot from the ground, he pulled the edge of the sock around the curvature of the joint and left it stretched taut on the back edge of the heel. Moving his non-supporting hand to the front, he gently grasped her toes through the material which caused an involuntary shudder from Abbey as an unwelcome smile sprang to her lips. Pulling his fingers from her toes but retaining a firm grip on the material, he gently pulled the forward edge of the sock until the entire garment was taut. Under his firm but unyielding pressure, the back edge of the sock began to slide inexorably over her heel until with a soft ‘pop’ of fabric it shot forward past her high arches, sliding quickly over the instep, the ball and finally the toes.
Abbey could only glance at her slender foot as Adam placed it reverently on the ground and turned to her remaining foot. Adam half turned to Cal as he lifted her other foot, ignoring Abbey’s protestations.
“Are we ready in front of the curtain?” he asked.
“I’ll just go and check” said Cal, disappearing through the heavy black curtains and calling for silence from the patrons of the coffee morning.
“What’s going on? Why are you doing this?” asked Abbey, fearing the next few minutes. Adam ignored her question as he continued to work.
“Let’s have you in bare feet, shall we Abbey?” he said as his fingers tugged the other sock down to her heel, slid the fabric over until it gathered in her instep, then he grasped her toes once again and lightly pulled the material off her foot, discarding both socks by the shoes. “Showtime- on your feet, girl” he said, pulling her bound wrists and raising her to a standing position. Outside, they could hear Cal addressing the people in the main audience room.
“Ladies and gentlemen” said Cal, “in a new and unexpected fund raising gesture, Abbey, the producer of the current play, has agreed to sit at your mercy with the assistance of the stocks used in the Christmas pantomime. Let’s give her a big hand, folks!”.
The applause was considerable as Miriam opened the curtains enough for Adam to lead Abbey out into the bright light of the main room, her blue jeans bunching around her bare feet. Off to one side Abbey could see the stocks, sat with the top open and Cal crouched beside them, waiting for her to be put in. Her feet slapped the warm wooden floor as she was led forward, conscious of the eyes of the crowd on her. To Abbey it felt like an execution, to be brought forward, bound and barefoot, at the mercy of a crowd eager to see what would happen next. The stocks came closer and suddenly she was stood behind them whilst Cal placed a cushion on the floor for her to sit on.
“Down you get, Abbey” whispered Adam in her ear as he gently pushed the back of her knees forward. Her legs buckled and she was lowered to the ground by Adam’s firm grip. Once seated comfortably, Cal and Adam took a leg each and placed her bare feet in the holes before lowering the upper section of the stocks in place. With calm precision, Abbey listened as the clasps were fastened and padlocked in place, preventing any escape.
Abbey fought back the tears of humiliation. This was worse than any indignation she had suffered in her life, and the horror increased as she heard Cal announce the nature of the fundraiser.
“For £2 a person may have a minute of un-interrupted tickling on Abbey’s size seven feet. We have here a selection of feather boas from the wardrobe, clean paintbrushes from the decorating store room, and of course, your own fingers”. A laugh greeted her announcement, and already several people started to approach the front of the stage with a hungry look in their eyes as they took in the details of Abbey’s exposed clean pink soles and the apprehension on her face.
Eagerly, the first money changed hands, Adam pulled out an egg timer he had been given from the kitchen, and set one minute.
“Go” said Cal, and the first minute began.
Abbey’s senses exploded in laughter, the maddening torture of having her nerves raised to a full Adrenalin rush whilst her feet jerked around in the stocks as she tried but failed to withdraw them. Her head rocked back in laughter, eyes closed tight against the tears that started to flow immediately. The first fingers began as a maddening tickle rush and did not abate until the minute was over. Thankfully for Abbey, she became desensitised soon after the start. Unfortunately, Cal stepped in to second place, queue jumping with the consent of the next man in place. When the minute started, Cal began slowly, lazily drawing her fingers over Cal’s exposed soles and between the soft skin on her toes whilst she watched for the facial reactions that would betray a hot spot. Finding her prize half way through the minute, she pulled the cap off a marker pen and made small ink markings to illustrate her findings. Finally, she increased the soft tempo causing a rising tide of hysteria in Abbey that caused her back to arch and her head thrown back in laughter.
By the tenth paying customer Abbey had lost control of her senses and was reduced to silent laughter as fingers stroked her instep, tweaked her toes, ran lazy circles around her heel, softly caressed the pliable skin above the hard line of her heel, and ran gentle lines up the sides where the skin creased. She had never felt such humiliation and was powerless to prevent a society member taking multiple photographs for the annals of fund raising events. Brushes, fingers, feathers, even the rough tongues of pet dogs brought into the room scratched, stroked, caressed and bullied their way over, around, above and on top of her defenceless feet, with many people paying to come back a second time.
After an hour Adam called a break to release Abbey. Realising her torment was over, she was helped from the stocks by Adam to a rising applause from the audience, and gingerly stepped down onto the floor of the parish hall. Her bare feet registered carpet as Cal and Adam took her into a side corridor, then onto wooden floor again as they went through to the back dressing room and on into a private toilet so the pressure of the bladder from all the laughter could be relieved.
“You pair of swines!” she said when at last she was finished and Cal escorted her from the toilet and she found Adam waiting for her. “If I ever get the chance for revenge, I will!”.
“I’m afraid there’s some good news and some bad news” said Adam.
“What’s the good news?” asked Abbey.
“The good news is that we’ve raised just under £60 in one hour” he said, cheerfully.
“What’s the bad news- you won’t untie my hands?” asked Abbey.
“Not quite- we’re still forty pounds short, so it’s back to the stocks for you” said Adam.
“No!!!” cried Abbey as Adam and Cal took one arm each and began to drag her across the room, bare feet trying to gain purchase and sliding on the polished wooden floor. They handled her, protesting and struggling, out of the room, across the corridor, and into the main hall where a rousing applause greeted her struggles. Adam lifted her from under the arms as Cal took hold under her struggling legs and she was lifted onto the stage and placed back in the stocks. By now Abbey finally lost the will to fight and went limp as the stocks were locked in place and a crowd of over fifty people formed.
“We’ve only got fifty minutes to go, right?” asked Abbey of Cal as the padlocks were clicked into place, “so not all of these people will get time to attack me”.
“Sorry” said Cal, “Miriam’s granted permission- this fund raiser runs for as long as it runs- but then, it’s only eleven in the morning, and at the worst we can stop the queue if it gets to seven pm tonight!”.
“What? No!” protested Abbey, as the first person’s money clinked into the tub and they approached with an evil grin.
The End
The play was not going well.
Abbey had been a member of the dramatics society for over ten years since her early twenties, and thought that she knew best. She had undertaken every role behind the scenes and had played her fair share of walk-on’s, leads, cameo’s, and anything else required. Now she was directing for the first time as a solo venture.
In preparation for the role, Abbey had gone on a ‘Directing Course’, designed to ‘put the director in touch with the inner feelings of the actors’, to ‘improve their ability in subtle ways that would impress them beyond belief’, and ‘draw from each actor the very best in dramatic or comedic performance’. Unfortunately for Abbey, she chose to ignore the advice of those around her.
“Audiences want to be challenged” said Cal, her best friend since their school years, “but not too much. They love thrillers, comedies, even farces- leave the serious or fringe theatre for the places that perform them best. Village crowds love the straightforward plays, even if they have seen something similar before”.
“I don’t agree” Abbey had retorted, “my way will shock the audience out of themselves. The play I have chosen to direct will make them sit up and take notice. Our actors can be made to become more professional, if I have anything to do with it”.
“However well meaning your intentions” said Cal, “you are forgetting one thing- most of our acting members don’t want to become professional actors. That’s why they are in the Dramatics society. We’ve had our share of wannabee DeNiro’s and Pacino’s, for sure, but let’s face it- most of us have day jobs. Our acting range is limited, but we enjoy doing what we do. That’s not to say that we can’t become more professional, but is it really such a good idea to force people into a ‘more professional’ style of acting when they might not want to go there in the first place?”
Abbey ignored her friend. She had cast the play on schedule and continued with her plan. In a tight twelve week rehearsal schedule, two nights a week at the parish hall, most plays were barely ready by the time play week arrived. With little or no time to spare, Abbey commenced the first four weeks of rehearsals with ‘games’ as she called them, to break down the resolve and hesitations of the cast in working together. Abbey had actors running around her village hall pretending to be animals, children, hugging each other, getting ‘into the moment’ she called it, and participating in voice warming up exercises for up to an hour a week, removing the chance for valuable rehearsal time.
The result was an absolute disaster.
As the play week neared, it became obvious that the ‘Games’ weren’t working. The cast simply didn’t know their lines or stage moves, and when the shambles of a play looked like it might be cancelled, Abbey dealt with her stress by taking out her frustrations on the cast. Her friend, Cal, had even warned her that ‘there was no substitute for rehearsal time, and the cast simply had not enjoyed enough rehearsal time practising the play. Undaunted, Abbey refused to accept any blame and insisted that her cast were at fault for not learning their lines soon enough.
Privately, Abbey would have done anything to rectify the situation. This had been her big chance to prove herself, or so she thought. She had no idea how highly she was thought of by the members anyway, but instead she wanted to be accepted as a ‘serious, professional director’ by the society. She had wanted to achieve the kind of accomplishment that Cal and her husband, the society property master, Adam, enjoyed. Everything they touched seemed to work, and that only fuelled Abbey’s frustrations.
The week of the play arrived, and the dress rehearsal was a total failure. Three members of the cast corpsed on stage, enduring lasting silences whilst the prompt whispered in vain from the wings in an effort to salvage the production. The first three nights fared little better, with some audience members walking out part way through Act one, for the first time in the society’s history.
On the Saturday morning of that week, all bar the last night had played out to a dismal reception from the audience. They had a meagre audience of ninety for the last night, when the parish hall could hold around two hundred. The society held a coffee morning for the village residents in an attempt to recount some of the losses the play had made.
In the kitchen, Abbey finally admitted her failure. She was stood talking to Cal, her husband Adam, and to Miriam the society Chairman.
“Ticket sales are right down” said Miriam, “the treasurer is furious, the parish council isn’t too happy either, and we look like we’re going to come in at a loss of around £100 by the end of tonight. The money’s only a drop in the ocean, but that’s not the point. The principle of the thing is that we may lose regular audience members after this debacle, and our takings in the next play will be low as a result”.
“Can’t anything be done to make up the loss?” asked Adam, “it seems a shame to record our only loss of over sixty years as a thriving society”.
“I’m not sure. Abbey? Any ideas?” asked Miriam. Abbey shook her head. She murmured something about ‘doing anything’ to make up the loss, but could suggest nothing.
“You could always give the audience what they want and pull the play” joked Cal, trying to raise Abbey’s spirits.
“They’ve hardly given us any laughs the past three nights” said Abbey. “This play is supposed to be a comedy and they haven’t laughed at any of it”.
“Well” said Adam, “there is a way round that, if you’ll bear with me”.
“I’ll bear with you” said Abbey, resigned to failure. Adam took Miriam and Cal off to one side, then disappeared up onto the stage behind the closed curtains. Around one hundred and fifty people had attended the coffee morning, a mixture of families from around the village.
Abbey continued working in the kitchen until she felt Miriam touch her arm.
“Abbey, will you come with me please?” asked Miriam, “We’ve found a way to bring laughter back to the stage, and to make up the loss in ticket sales. Will you help?”.
“Of course. I’d do anything” said Abbey, allowing Miriam to lead her through to the back door of the wings and up onto the dark stage, hidden from the coffee morning by the front of stage curtains. There, lit by the overhead lights on the stage, stood Adam and Cal. Abbey was taken by the hand and sat down on the couch that formed part of the furniture props for the play.
Cal immediately produced a length of white rope and as Adam held Abbey’s hands in front of her, Cal wound the rope around her wrists several times, tying the ends off in a reef knot.
“What’s going on?” asked Abbey, taken aback by the speed of Cal’s rope work. She remembered Cal had won recognition for her knot tying skills in the Girl Guides years before. As she sat on the couch, her mind struggled to comprehend the sudden turn of events. It was only then that she noticed Adam kneeling before her, and picking the cotton laces of her trainers loose.
“Adam?” she asked.
“Don’t ask questions, Abbey” soothed Miriam from behind her, laying her elderly hands on Abbey’s shoulders. “It’s your way of making up”.
“Making up?” repeated Abbey as Adam’s deft fingers pulled the single loop free and unlaced the overhand knot from her shoe. He dug gently under the crossed laces at the front and pulled each one upwards, just enough to loosen the fabric of the trainer around it.
“You said you would do anything” reminded Miriam.
“But why is he taking my shoe off?” asked Abbey, still not comprehending. “Adam, don’t” she said in a voice that started to whine.
“Sorry” said Adam, “but I need to take your shoes off for this”. He took hold of her ankle and slowly pulled the back of the training shoe down and forward. It met resistance from the fabric of her white cotton sock at first, then strength beat friction, and the shoe slid with a soft sound from her heel. With a gentle tug, the shoe slid forward from her foot, and he deposited it on the floor.
“Miriam? What’s going on?” asked Abbey, who couldn’t take her eyes off the kneeling form of Adam, who had now transferred to her other foot and was busy methodically tugging the laces open, releasing the knot, and pulling on the crossed laces at the top of the trainer.
“We need to bring laughter back to the stage, and this is the method” said Miriam.
“What are you going to do to me?” asked Abbey, voice more than a little concerned as the second shoe was slowly pulled over her heel and drawn forward from her foot before being placed next to its partner on the wooden stage floor.
“Well” said Adam, “I asked you to ‘bare’ with me and you agreed” he said. “I’m afraid I need your socks also”.
“My socks?” Abbey nearly shouted, “No! Not my socks! Miriam?” she turned her head to look up in despair at her chairman, who merely pressed down harder on her shoulders to keep her in the seat.
“Sorry Abbey” said Adam, taking hold of one foot and pushing the leg of her jeans upwards until he came to the elastic neck of her white cotton sports sock, “but I think it’s time we took these socks off”.
Abbey started to panic with the realisation that she could not control her destiny for the next few seconds. She hated people taking her socks off- for one thing, she was ticklish, and hated anyone tickling her anywhere on her body. She could only protest weakly and stare as Adam inserted his fingers inside one sock and gently pulled. The sock bunched up as it rolled down towards her heel. Then, lifting her foot from the ground, he pulled the edge of the sock around the curvature of the joint and left it stretched taut on the back edge of the heel. Moving his non-supporting hand to the front, he gently grasped her toes through the material which caused an involuntary shudder from Abbey as an unwelcome smile sprang to her lips. Pulling his fingers from her toes but retaining a firm grip on the material, he gently pulled the forward edge of the sock until the entire garment was taut. Under his firm but unyielding pressure, the back edge of the sock began to slide inexorably over her heel until with a soft ‘pop’ of fabric it shot forward past her high arches, sliding quickly over the instep, the ball and finally the toes.
Abbey could only glance at her slender foot as Adam placed it reverently on the ground and turned to her remaining foot. Adam half turned to Cal as he lifted her other foot, ignoring Abbey’s protestations.
“Are we ready in front of the curtain?” he asked.
“I’ll just go and check” said Cal, disappearing through the heavy black curtains and calling for silence from the patrons of the coffee morning.
“What’s going on? Why are you doing this?” asked Abbey, fearing the next few minutes. Adam ignored her question as he continued to work.
“Let’s have you in bare feet, shall we Abbey?” he said as his fingers tugged the other sock down to her heel, slid the fabric over until it gathered in her instep, then he grasped her toes once again and lightly pulled the material off her foot, discarding both socks by the shoes. “Showtime- on your feet, girl” he said, pulling her bound wrists and raising her to a standing position. Outside, they could hear Cal addressing the people in the main audience room.
“Ladies and gentlemen” said Cal, “in a new and unexpected fund raising gesture, Abbey, the producer of the current play, has agreed to sit at your mercy with the assistance of the stocks used in the Christmas pantomime. Let’s give her a big hand, folks!”.
The applause was considerable as Miriam opened the curtains enough for Adam to lead Abbey out into the bright light of the main room, her blue jeans bunching around her bare feet. Off to one side Abbey could see the stocks, sat with the top open and Cal crouched beside them, waiting for her to be put in. Her feet slapped the warm wooden floor as she was led forward, conscious of the eyes of the crowd on her. To Abbey it felt like an execution, to be brought forward, bound and barefoot, at the mercy of a crowd eager to see what would happen next. The stocks came closer and suddenly she was stood behind them whilst Cal placed a cushion on the floor for her to sit on.
“Down you get, Abbey” whispered Adam in her ear as he gently pushed the back of her knees forward. Her legs buckled and she was lowered to the ground by Adam’s firm grip. Once seated comfortably, Cal and Adam took a leg each and placed her bare feet in the holes before lowering the upper section of the stocks in place. With calm precision, Abbey listened as the clasps were fastened and padlocked in place, preventing any escape.
Abbey fought back the tears of humiliation. This was worse than any indignation she had suffered in her life, and the horror increased as she heard Cal announce the nature of the fundraiser.
“For £2 a person may have a minute of un-interrupted tickling on Abbey’s size seven feet. We have here a selection of feather boas from the wardrobe, clean paintbrushes from the decorating store room, and of course, your own fingers”. A laugh greeted her announcement, and already several people started to approach the front of the stage with a hungry look in their eyes as they took in the details of Abbey’s exposed clean pink soles and the apprehension on her face.
Eagerly, the first money changed hands, Adam pulled out an egg timer he had been given from the kitchen, and set one minute.
“Go” said Cal, and the first minute began.
Abbey’s senses exploded in laughter, the maddening torture of having her nerves raised to a full Adrenalin rush whilst her feet jerked around in the stocks as she tried but failed to withdraw them. Her head rocked back in laughter, eyes closed tight against the tears that started to flow immediately. The first fingers began as a maddening tickle rush and did not abate until the minute was over. Thankfully for Abbey, she became desensitised soon after the start. Unfortunately, Cal stepped in to second place, queue jumping with the consent of the next man in place. When the minute started, Cal began slowly, lazily drawing her fingers over Cal’s exposed soles and between the soft skin on her toes whilst she watched for the facial reactions that would betray a hot spot. Finding her prize half way through the minute, she pulled the cap off a marker pen and made small ink markings to illustrate her findings. Finally, she increased the soft tempo causing a rising tide of hysteria in Abbey that caused her back to arch and her head thrown back in laughter.
By the tenth paying customer Abbey had lost control of her senses and was reduced to silent laughter as fingers stroked her instep, tweaked her toes, ran lazy circles around her heel, softly caressed the pliable skin above the hard line of her heel, and ran gentle lines up the sides where the skin creased. She had never felt such humiliation and was powerless to prevent a society member taking multiple photographs for the annals of fund raising events. Brushes, fingers, feathers, even the rough tongues of pet dogs brought into the room scratched, stroked, caressed and bullied their way over, around, above and on top of her defenceless feet, with many people paying to come back a second time.
After an hour Adam called a break to release Abbey. Realising her torment was over, she was helped from the stocks by Adam to a rising applause from the audience, and gingerly stepped down onto the floor of the parish hall. Her bare feet registered carpet as Cal and Adam took her into a side corridor, then onto wooden floor again as they went through to the back dressing room and on into a private toilet so the pressure of the bladder from all the laughter could be relieved.
“You pair of swines!” she said when at last she was finished and Cal escorted her from the toilet and she found Adam waiting for her. “If I ever get the chance for revenge, I will!”.
“I’m afraid there’s some good news and some bad news” said Adam.
“What’s the good news?” asked Abbey.
“The good news is that we’ve raised just under £60 in one hour” he said, cheerfully.
“What’s the bad news- you won’t untie my hands?” asked Abbey.
“Not quite- we’re still forty pounds short, so it’s back to the stocks for you” said Adam.
“No!!!” cried Abbey as Adam and Cal took one arm each and began to drag her across the room, bare feet trying to gain purchase and sliding on the polished wooden floor. They handled her, protesting and struggling, out of the room, across the corridor, and into the main hall where a rousing applause greeted her struggles. Adam lifted her from under the arms as Cal took hold under her struggling legs and she was lifted onto the stage and placed back in the stocks. By now Abbey finally lost the will to fight and went limp as the stocks were locked in place and a crowd of over fifty people formed.
“We’ve only got fifty minutes to go, right?” asked Abbey of Cal as the padlocks were clicked into place, “so not all of these people will get time to attack me”.
“Sorry” said Cal, “Miriam’s granted permission- this fund raiser runs for as long as it runs- but then, it’s only eleven in the morning, and at the worst we can stop the queue if it gets to seven pm tonight!”.
“What? No!” protested Abbey, as the first person’s money clinked into the tub and they approached with an evil grin.
The End
Have fun here, this is a wonderful place. 
Wish I was in the crowd 
Long tickle torture on the feet in public makes for a great story 
