The walk from the storage room to the back stage dressing room seemed much longer than before. Shelly thought of it almost as a journey, except it was not the walk that tired her. She was saturated with weariness. Her body felt as unwilling to move as if she had just run a 10k, or finished playing both halves of a grueling soccer match. What was missing was the aching muscles and sore feet. The only pain she felt came from her crotch, a dull, throbbing ache that never stopped reminding her of the exhilarating experience she had just had.
This same exhilaration manifested itself in a wonderful sense of lightness. Her body seemed to drag its way along the endless corridors of the subterranean labyrinth, yet her spirit seemed to be floating like a cloud. Her thoughts were not well formed enough to put into words, but if she had forced herself to she would have described her joy at having finally experienced something close to what she fantasized about for so many years. She had never imagined her ordeal involving anything more mechanical than a simple dildo, yet Richard's horse had grabbed her interest the moment she set eyes on it and it had lived up to and even exceeded her wildest expectations.
The one element that was missing was a sense of fear. In her fantasy, the man or men who ravished her did so with unlimited cruelty. Either they were torturing her to extract some kind of secret, or entertaining themselves by subjecting her to something they thought she would find distasteful. The escape hatch to these scenarios was that she desired such treatment. If it was a secret they were trying to force from her, no amount of the torture they had devised would get her to break. If they thought they were bullying her, the joke was on them. She always pictured herself as screaming in agony and begging them to stop, but only because when she slipped into that role it made the pleasure more intense.
With Richard she had never felt threatened. The only time that she came close to feeling that way was when she was strung up and her was tickling her. That had been a totally unforeseen experience, but after wearing her holoku these last few days it was deeply satisfying to feel the constant, low level tickling it produced extended to such an extreme. The whole time his fingers played over her satin dress her mind seemed to explode from the unbearable sensations, yet it was so exciting she never actually wanted him to stop. She especially liked the way her body struggled to avoid his tickling touch. Her arms never stopped trying to break the bonds that held them, struggling to shield her body from his attack. It was the fact that this was impossible, and the resulting sense of helplessness, that drove her deep into the emotional state she longed for when she fantasized about being ravished with a dildo.
As exhausted as her body was, her nerve endings still kept up their constant flood of messages triggered by the fabric of her dress. By now she thought she should be used to it, that her brain should no longer be interested in the sensation. The truth was quite the opposite. Her every step brought fresh new waves of pleasure from every part of her body. To ignore it would be like not noticing the sound of a jumbo jet taking off a hundred yards away. So complete had her satisfaction been at the conclusion of her ride that she thought the continuing flood of ticklish sensations would seem annoying, even irritating, but it was, as always, as welcome as the sweet smell of gardenias. She had not gone ten yards from the storeroom before her cunt responded to the sensuous deluge of cold satin caressing her body, the ache she felt there modulated by spasms of interest. As she stumbled along lost in the rosy glow of vague, formless thoughts about what had happened, fleeting images of her tied up and tickled by Richard kept floating into her head while the softly urgent tickling from her dress provided the perfect accompaniment.
By the time Shelly reached the dressing rooms she was so overcome by these thoughts and sensations that she really felt as though she had to get out of her dress. Not since the first time since she had put it on, that afternoon Auntie Marge had given it to her, had the sensations it produced felt so unbearable. Then it had been the initial shock of feeling her body encased in a new and completely unfamiliar sensation, far too intense to withstand without conscience effort. Now, as prepared as she was and as accustomed as she had become to it, the relentless bombardment had reached a point that her exhaustion was incapable of tolerating. It still was not irritating, not in the way that having her nipples diddled by a boy right after sex was. The sensation was as pleasurable as ever. It was more like being offered a fabulous dessert after stuffing herself at dinner. Too much of a good thing.
Her only thought as she entered the dressing room was to change, to slip back into the easy cotton comfort of her Bongo shorts and DKNY T-shirt, but her body reacted differently. No sooner had she stepped into the brightly lit room than her bladder made its discomfort known, and it was not about to take no for an answer. She paused for a second, torn between the conflicting demands of her skin and her bladder, but she knew she had no choice. She ran for the bathroom, hoisting her dress up around her waist even before she got to the stall.
As she approached the toilet the sight of it made her shudder, not just because of the relief it held out but because of the layer of accumulated grime that adorned the back of the bowl. She hiked up her dress as far as she could and sat as far forward as she dared, desperate to keep the long, flowing train out of the muck. Even before her bottom made contact with the cold, hard seat her bladder let loose. The sensation of her bottom touching the seat was accompanied by a shudder of immense relief, followed at once by a burning sensation so strong she let out a yelp. Her prolonged ordeal on Richard's horse had left her urethra sore and tender, and the urine burned as though it were acid.
There was nothing she could do but wait. Her pee streamed out for an eternity, enough it seemed to fill a gallon jug. At last it subsided, and with it the burning sensation. When she dabbed herself dry the paper stung a little, but not as bad as when the pee was flowing. With extreme care she stood up and hobbled forward, waiting until she was well clear of the toilet to let go of her dress while trying to keep hold of the train. She tried to wash her hands while juggling the train without letting go of it, finally resorting to clamping it between her forearm and her side.
At last she could get out of her dress. She stumbled back to the dressing room, and who should happen to be standing there but Marilyn. She prayed that whatever the stage manager wanted would not take long, because she was not about to change in front of her. It was bad enough that she was naked under it, but worse still that her cunt was swollen and probably a bit purple. She could think of some girls at school who would be proud to be seen that way, to display the results of a good, long fuck as though it were a badge honor, but she was not one of them.
"Hi Shelly! Have you seen Richard?" Marilyn said cheerfully.
Shelly considered how ludicrous it would sound if she told the truth, that Mr. Macho was skinnying out of a cum-soaked holoku back in the storeroom where he went to jerk off in it every night, only tonight it had be she who had burst the dam.
"Why no, Marilyn." she replied, hoping her voice sounded convincingly detached. It seemed to warble a bit, which worried her.
"Oh. I thought I saw you going off with him awhile ago."
Shelly thought there was a hint of a challenge in Marilyn's voice. She was still standing at the entrance to the bathroom, but despite her best efforts to stand still her body insisted on wobbling, just enough to keep the satin moving over her skin. It was driving her totally mad.
Seeking some relief she walked over and sat down on the battered sofa. The rush of ticklish pleasure made her dizzy, but she managed it without making a sound.
"Uh, yeah," Shelly stammered, more she hoped from the ticklish bath she had just endured that any nervousness about being with Richard. "We did go out for a drink, about an hour or two ago. Haven't seen him since."
"Oh? Where've you been? I mean, I didn't see you backstage."
Shelly could tell that Marilyn was not buying her story, but she stuck to it.
"Well, actually, I just went out for a walk around the hotel grounds."
"Dressed like that?"
Shelly could think of nothing better, so she offered a bit of the truth.
"Uh, yeah. I love this dress. It feels really nice to walk around in."
Much to Shelly's dismay Marilyn came and sat next to her.
"Really?" Marilyn said. "Do you mean, like, the way it looks, like a costume kind of thing?"
Shelly had thought that she had made herself clear, but Marilyn's question made perfect sense. As soon as she grasped that she had a way out, that she could veer away from her original meaning and agree with Marilyn, she almost leapt at the opportunity.
When Shelly had sat down she had dropped the gathered fabric of her train on the cushion next to her. Now it was between them. Marilyn reached out, picked up the edge of the train and ran her fingers seductively over the glossy surface. To Shelly it looked as though Marilyn was tickling the satin. The sight of it made her shudder. So strong was her reaction that she almost jumped up to get away, but she fought back the impulse and tried to act as though nothing was happening. She was thankful that Marilyn's teasing fingers had not set the fabric moving against her body or she surely would not have been able to sit still.
Marilyn was staring at her intently. Her expression was almost one of hunger, perhaps even sexual desire. Then Shelly realized what it probably was, that look people get when they are intensely interested in an idea. Intellectual curiosity bolstered by emotional passion.
"No. I meant the way it feels against my skin," Shelly blurted.
The words seemed to flow right out without her direct control. As soon as she uttered them she felt terribly embarrassed, and her face grew warm in the way that told her she was blushing. Her mouth continued to act of its own volition, drawing into a big, sheepish grin.
Marilyn did not say a word. She just sat there running her fingers in lazy circles over the satin, lost in thought. As Shelly watched she noticed Marilyn's bracelet.
"Marilyn, why does your bracelet have that big 'me' charm?" Shelly asked.
"Huh?" Marilyn replied, snapping out of her reverie. "Oh, this?" she said, holding up her wrist.
All Shelly had intended to do was to get Marilyn's attention, but sighed with relief when she saw that Marilyn had stopped playing with her train.
"It doesn't mean 'me," she said. "It's my initials. Marilyn Evans."
"Evans?" Shelly echoed. Something about that name seemed important, but she could not put her finger on it. She thought about anyone she knew with that name, certain that the reason it seemed significant was that she knew someone with the same name. Finally she recalled someone.
"I used to play soccer with a girl name Betsy Evans. Are you related to her?"
"Betsy. Hmm, no, I can't say that I know anyone with that name."
"We used to tease her, because her initials spelled 'be.' We used to sing the Army recruiting slogan, 'Be, all that you can be...' only we ended it with 'in be' instead of 'in the Army.' Sick, yeah?"
Marilyn laughed. "I've heard worse," she said. "Who ever said that girls are sweet and innocent?"
Marilyn went right back to fondling Shelly's train, slipping back into that intense yet distant expression. Shelly stiffened and her cunt began to throb at the sight of Marilyn's fingers scratching the slick fabric. She could not help imagining how it would feel if Marilyn were doing that along her thighs or in the hollow of her waist, recalling quite vividly the excruciating sensations she had suffered through when Richard did that.
After a long silence Marilyn cleared her throat and spoke.
"When I was around ten I did my first dance in a dress like this. The first time I tried on my costume I thought I would die."
"Why was that?" Shelly asked innocently. The bluntness of Marilyn's statement made her feel a little bit uncomfortable.
"Well," Marilyn said, "it was sort of like what you said. The satin felt really good. Too good, I guess. It was a real shock to me. I remember getting scolded for being disruptive. I guess I was so excited about how it felt that I couldn't hold still or keep quiet."
Shelly wanted to ask what Marilyn meant by 'good,' but before she had the chance Marilyn started off on a story. She was a little relieved, because she was not really sure she was ready to say anything about how ticklish her dress felt.
"My halau was very active. We did performances at every mall and special occasion there was. For maybe two or three years I did the same routine, a slow dance in a holoku, then a fast dance in a ti leaf skirt with uli-uli, and last of all a Tahitian number. In between each number other groups of kids did other things, which gave us time to change.
"I remember looking forward to those Saturdays. My mom was a cashier at a supermarket and worked most Saturdays, so my dad used to drive me. I felt so grown up dressed in my holoku and wearing make-up. My dad, well, he always looked at me kind of funny while we drove. The only time I saw him look that way at me was when I was sitting next to him in the car wearing my holoku. He never said anything, or did anything, but I could tell that there was something going on, and it made me feel great.
"It was really strange changing from a satin holoku into a ti leaf skirt. The holoku felt really cold and ticklish all over, but in a gentle kind of way. The ti leaf skirt outfit was the usual satin leotard kind of thing, and it was made of the same fabric. I didn't know at the time how special it was, only that it was difficult to wear for long. Anyway, the ti leaf skirt felt even more ticklish brushing against my legs, especially since I had been encased in satin for an hour or two before that. Our kupuna always had to remind the girls that when they entered they had to have big smiles, but for me that was never a problem. My problem was to keep from bursting out laughing.
"My last number was a real letdown. You would think that if satin and ti leaves felt so ticklish to wear that a long grass skirt would be worse, but it wasn't. It didn't feel like much of anything. After the show I just put on regular clothes, even though I really wanted to put my holoku back on. And driving home, my father never looked at me that strange way he did on the way there."
Shelly's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. She was going out of her mind from the feel of her dress. Marilyn's sudden outpouring not only meant that she had to wait that much longer to change, but the things she described made it impossible to think about anything else. On top of that, her revelation seemed out of place, which made Shelly a little uncomfortable. Despite that, the similarity between her story and what Auntie Marge and Richard had both described was too great to be a coincidence.
Now that Marilyn had apparently stopped, Shelly was faced with the question of whether or not to participate in the discussion. One part of her wanted to reveal nothing, while another yearned to talk about her own feelings and experiences. At last she made up her mind.
"Marilyn, several times you used the word ticklish. Are you saying that the holoku you wore back then felt ticklish?"
Shelly felt her stomach knot in fear. She had found the courage to ask, but talking about herself seemed impossible. She honestly thought she wanted to tell Marilyn about this strange and wonderful discovery, not just how good it felt but how horny it made her. For some strange reason, every time she moved in that direction she felt terribly uneasy.
"Well, that's the best way I know to describe it," Marilyn said. "I mean, it isn't like when a guy grabs you and digs his fingers into your ribs, or sits on your legs and tickles the soles of your feet. You know what I notice? It's a lot like the feeling when you go to the doctor and she puts that ice cold stethoscope on your chest. That, and someone stroking their fingers real light over your skin."
"Did you like it?" Shelly asked.
"Not at first! For the first minute or so it was so powerful I could barely stand it. It was almost like torture. Then it was tolerable and felt very good. After an hour or so it got worse, to where I could hardly stand it. The crazy part is that I really liked it. It was so thrilling. I couldn't wait to try it again.
"I liked it so much that sometimes at home I'd put on my holoku and just walk around in it. A few times, when my mom was working and my dad went to play golf, I played a kind of a game, pretending I was a captured princess or something like that, imagining that I was tied up and forced to wear it for hours. It was almost self inflicted torture, and it was terribly exciting.
"Most of all, though, I liked wearing it around my dad, like when he drove me to performances. That and dancing in it, in front of all those people. It was really neat knowing that nobody could tell how good it felt."
"How did you know that, that nobody could tell?"
Shelly kicked herself for drawing out this conversation, if only because she felt as though her head would explode if she did not get out of her dress. Hearing Marilyn describe the same experience of feeling tortured only made it worse.
"That's what was so strange about it. That first day, when I was jumping around complaining about how ticklish it felt, all the other girls looked at me as though I were crazy. Later on I asked a few of them if their holokus felt that way, and they all said no. If they said anything at all they just said it felt nice. So I guess I caught on pretty quick that I was different. I just learned to control myself, to hide the fact that I was always tickled half to death when I wore my holoku, and the ti leaf costume."
Marilyn stopped talking, and the silence was deafening. Shelly was pretty sure from the way Marilyn was staring at her that it was supposed to be her turn. There was so much she wanted to talk about, yet it felt so weird to talk about it with a woman she hardly knew. What she really wanted to know was if Marilyn still reacted the same way, and if the tickling sensations aroused her. She finally decided to see what the connection was between Marilyn's story, Auntie Marge and this remarkable satin.
"Who was your kumu hula?" Shelly asked.
"Betty Chang," Marilyn said.
"Oh. That's weird," Shelly said.
"Why do you say that?"
"Well," Shelly said, fighting to keep her voice under control, "I was expecting you to say Auntie Marge."
"Richard's sister? Oh, I was never that good. Betty Chang was one of her students. It was one of those feeder things. Betty's best students were offered a place in Auntie Marge's halau. She used to come to some of our practices. Quite a few, in fact."
"The first day you wore your holoku, the day you got scolded, was she there?"
"I think she was."
"Was Richard there?"
"Hmm. Gosh, I'm not sure. That was a long time ago. Let's see, he would have been, what, around sixteen? Well, a little older maybe. I didn't actually meet him until I started working here. Why? Did he tell you something about us?"
"No," Shelly said, carefully negotiating around the implication that something had gone on between them. "He never mentioned you by name, but he did describe a scene just like the one you did, about a girl who could not sit still when she put on her first holoku."
"Really?" Marilyn gasped in amazement. "What did he have to say about it?"
"Hmm. I really shouldn't say much more, but I will tell you that he hasn't stopped thinking about it, and that he has been searching for a woman like that."
"I can't believe it!" Marilyn exclaimed. "Richard never said a word. I mean, we date for awhile. I had no idea he cared anything about this. Can you believe it? All through high school and college I tried to find a guy who wanted to tickle me, and to find something I could wear that felt like that holoku I wore as a kid. I had no luck on either score."
"You couldn't find a guy to tickle you?" Shelly said. "I should think that most guys would enjoy that."
"Yeah. Well, that's what I thought. It was such a turn-on for me that I couldn't imagine it being different for other girls. And boys too, I suppose. I just assumed that one thing people did to get turned on was tickle each other. Imagine my surprise the first few times I tried tickling a boy and he reacted like it was really annoying. Almost as bad as when I kept waiting for them to tickle me, and all they wanted to do was ram their tongue down my throat and pinch my nipples."
"How about the clothes?" Shelly asked. "Didn't you still have a holoku?"
"I stopped dancing when I was thirteen," Marilyn replied, he voice touched with sadness. "I looked like a giraffe. Much taller than any of the other girls and hopelessly skinny. Braces on my teeth. I felt too ashamed to go out an dance with all those petite, cute girls. I never dreamed that those holokus were the only thing that felt so good. I just assumed that I could buy a satin nightgown or something if I wanted to. Besides, I was really uncomfortable being so addicted to satin. It was the only thing that turned me on, and I just wanted to be like the other girls. So I quit. It wasn't until I got this job that I finally got in touch with satin again."
"Oh, good one!" Shelly laughed. "But, how? Did you start dancing again?"
"No," Marilyn said. "I took the job without really thinking about that. I admit that it was Auntie Marge who offered me the job, and maybe I subconsciously hoped it would lead to something, but I don't recall thinking about it. They were just starting rehearsals for a new show. It was weeks before they started to use costumes. The first time I saw the girls in the line all in satin I practically feinted.
"Right away I started to help with the costumes, even though it wasn't my job. Just holding the gowns was a huge thrill. And the fantasies I started having! You wouldn't believe!
"Finally one night I was helping Auntie Marge in the storeroom when someone came to say she had a phone call. As soon as she left I looked for the biggest dress I could find and put it on. Or tried to, anyhow. They were all so dammed small! Like yours. I could barely squeeze into it, and I couldn't come close to zipping it up.
"It had been years since I had felt that kind of satin against my skin. Just as I was about to step into it I felt afraid. I think I wasn't prepared for the possibility that it would not feel the way I remembered, that it would fail to live up to my expectations. But it did! The shock of it sliding up over my bare skin made me almost lose my balance. The really neat thing about it, though, was the overwhelming sense of relief I felt. It was as if I had finally returned home after being away on a long trip. There I was, shaking like a leaf and fighting back the urge to scream with laughter, yet I felt so centered, so grounded. So connected.
"By the time Auntie Marge returned I had changed back into my regular clothes and hung up the dress. I'm certain she had no idea what had taken place. I had not had time to think any more about it except to feel grateful that I had taken this job. If anything I had decided that I just had to sneak back to that room again, every night if possible.
"Lo and behold, what does she begin to talk about but the fact that she had just gotten the approval to order some new dresses! Together we went through the entire collection to see what there was we could use in the show and what exactly needed to be ordered. After an hour of that I was so turned on I could hardly stand it. It also gave me time to think, and I got this wild idea to ask if I could order one for myself.
"Auntie Marge was quite surprised. In fact, her reaction scared me at first because I thought that she must have realized why I wanted it. Well, as it turned out her only concern was for the cost. Would you believe she pays $500 for each dress?"
When Shelly heard that she stiffened in her seat and glanced down her front in concern, searching for any signs of damage. She had thought that Auntie Marge had been joking when she said how much the fabric of her dress had cost, but hearing an even higher figure from Marilyn made her believe it.
Marilyn went right on talking without so much as a slight pause to breathe. Shelly still felt like she would go mad if she did not get some relief. She had hoped that sitting still on the couch would do the trick, but Marilyn's animated storytelling kept bouncing her around. Normally it would have be insignificant, but Shelly's body was so sensitized that the tiniest movement of the satin sent waves of tickling pleasure rippling over her. The only thing that made it tolerable was the subject.
"She said that the gowns cost so much because there is only one lady who can get this kind of satin, which is made in Japan. Apparently the source is an old fabric making concern that dates back several hundred years. I think she said it is located in Osaka. She said that the secret to making this satin came originally from China, and that ever since the war only this one company makes it, and that they only make a limited amount. Would you believe that this one little old lady who's shop is in Kalihi is the only person outside Japan who gets any?"
"So that's why it is so unusual!" Shelly said.
"Yeah!" Marilyn said. "All through high school and college I looked for satin clothes that felt that good. The best I could manage was like a distant echo. I mean, I found things to wear that felt nice enough to remind me of how those clothes used to feel, that whispered little reminders that it felt ticklish, but nothing even close to what I remembered. I began to think that either I was crazy, or that something weird had been going on with my body that finally straightened itself out. When I wore something like a satin blouse the feel of it reminded me of how other girls used to describe their holokus. Like, it was no big deal.
"You want to hear something really strange? It's not just that the fabric is rare. This lady only makes for special clients. You have to be somebody. She makes evening gowns and lingerie even, but her customers are like European royalty. She even gets business from Japan, but only the old, established heads of big corporations."
"Gosh! How does Auntie Marge rate?" Shelly said.
"Old blood. She's a direct descendant of some Hawaiian princess. Apparently back in the monarchy days there were a few lucky women who knew what it meant to enjoy what you wear. I wonder how many dancers got to wear it, and if any of them liked it as much as I do.
"Anyway, I didn't have that much to spend. I had just started working and was trying to pay off my student loans. Five hundred dollars was an impossible amount to me. Fifty dollars maybe, but that was the limit! Can you imagine my surprise when the order came in and there was a dress for me?"
"What happened?" Shelly asked. "Was it some sort of mistake?"
"Nope. More like a stroke of good fortune. I've never been superstitious or very religious, but when things like that happen I have to wonder if there isn't somebody up there looking out for me.
"The son of an old kama'aina family who had been doing business with this dress maker for years, and her father before that, had ordered a dress for his fiancee. She came in for the fitting and never came back. Apparently she was sensitive like me only she hated the feel of it, and when he found out he dumped her. Either that or she didn't like what he had in mind and left him. Either way, the dress was finished and just sitting there. Auntie Marge bought it for me, and now I'm paying her back a little each month. In a year it will be mine."
"Why didn't she just use it in the show?" Shelly asked.
"Because it's black," Marilyn said.
Shelly suddenly felt dizzy. Of all the dresses she had seen in the storeroom she had only seen one black one.
"Where is it?" Shelly asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
"Well, I can't take it home until it's paid for, so I keep it with the others in the storeroom," Marilyn said. "In fact, I like this arrangement. Every chance I get I sneak down there and slip it on. And, well, you know. It feels so good and I get so turned on, I just sort of, uh..."
"I get the picture," Shelly said smoothly, chuckling silently at how Marilyn's face had turned bright red.
"Yeah. Well, I still live at home, and my parent's would have a hard time understanding why their daughter keeps walking around the house in a black satin holoku and then disappearing into her bedroom!"
Suddenly the last piece of the puzzle feel into place. Shelly realized that the tag she thought read 'Even' had actually been 'Evans.' She just hadn't read it right because it was faded and the light was not very good. Now it seemed as if Richard had been telling the truth, and that Auntie Marge had been wrong. All this time it must have been Marilyn sneaking into the storage room.
"Gee, I didn't mean to keep you so long," Marilyn said, at last dropping the hem of Shelly's dress. "You know, I've never talked about this with anyone. I mean, I don't want you to think that I go on like this to everyone who comes along. It's just that for some reason when I see you in your holoku I get this really strong desire that it feels as good to you as it does to me. I know that's crazy, but I do. Much more than when I see the other dancers in theirs."
"Maybe that's because it actually does," Shelly said with a sly grin.
"What?" Marilyn exclaimed.
"Everything you have said pretty much describes me. Until this past week, just a few days ago, I had no idea that satin could feel so, what? Good? Ticklish? Exasperating? Unbearable? In a way I admire you, because you got such a head start on me. Tonight, while I was out walking around, I discovered what a turn-on being tickled can be. Now I wonder if other kinds of tickling feel as good. Maybe it's just the feel of this satin that makes it work. Have you ever had the chance to be tickled by someone while wearing your dress."
"Actually, no. But I sure would like to try that," Marilyn said enthusiastically. "I tell you what. Tomorrow night, let's go out together. For drinks. You know, in our holokus. I've never worn mine in public, but the idea really appeals to me."
Shelly had a vision of Marilyn strung up in the storeroom as she tickled her the way she and Richard had tickled each other. It seemed so weird, yet quite appealing. Then she remembered that tonight had been a one night stand.
"Gosh, Marilyn, as fun as that sounds, I won't be here tomorrow. I thought you knew?"
"Oh good heavens!" Marilyn exclaimed. "I forgot!. That's why I was looking for Richard. I wanted to tell him that the manager liked your performance so much that he wants you back right away. He wants you and Nathan to open three nights a week, Friday, Saturday and Sunday."
Shelly felt as though she had been grated a stay of execution. She was so happy that she reached out and hugged Marilyn, forgetting until it was too late the effect it would have on her. As she felt the warm softness of Marilyn's body against hers she was engulfed with a rush of tickling so strong that she could not help bursting into laughter. She reacted with pure joy, utterly grateful for the chance to go on enjoying the very sensation that was so close to driving her insane.
Then she remembered what had happened to Marilyn's dress, and prayed that Richard could get it cleaned and back in place tomorrow.
"Yeah, let's do that. It'll be fun," she managed to say through her fits of giggling.
"Great!" said Marilyn. "Listen, hon, I've got to split. See you tomorrow. How's about six?"
"That's good. That'll give us a couple of hours."
"I don't think I can stand it that long, but we'll see," said Marilyn.
As soon as Marilyn left Shelly staggered to her feet, unzipped her dress and slipped it off. The relief she felt was no less tangible than the rush of tickling she felt when she had first put on, so many hours ago. In seconds she was back in her simple cotton clothes, the switch done as quickly as possible to preclude anyone seeing that she had been naked under her dress.
The cotton felt good, very good. It was to her skin what it was to her ears to walk out of a noisy party and into the quiet, warm tropical night. Shelly had never thought about it, about how comfortable and unimposing cotton was, but then she had never had anything to compare it to. It was the first time in hours that she had been able to relax, to breath and move about without being tormented.
As she hung up her ice blue holoku a twinge of sadness swept over her. Barely a minute had passed and already she missed it, the very sensation that she was so relieved to be rid of. She reached out her hand and swept her fingers over the satin, thinking about how it felt when Richard had done it to her, how he had reacted when she did it to him, and the possibility she might get to do it to Marilyn. She could not wait to try it.
Breathing a deep sigh she picked up her bag and walked out of the dressing room. On her way to the exit she spotted Auntie Marge standing in the wings. When Auntie Marge saw her she smiled, a sly, knowing smile of approval.
The End