I’ve been working on a new serial - short little stories. I hope you like it!
Welcome to the world of Shay, a totally normal girl in NYC. Totally normal in every way. Except she’s ticklish. I don’t mean normal ticklish. She is exceptionally ticklish…and something about her just screams…TICKLE ME. And ever since she was young, something amazing happens when someone - anyone - thinks about tickling her: Shay experiences it too. The world melts away, and Shay is thrust into the ticklish fantasies of whoever might happen to think about squeezing her impossibly ticklish sides, or torturing her shockingly sensitive feet. What’s a ticklish girl to do??
Enjoy!
Morning commute. Mid-summer in NYC.
Shay grips the bar over her head, steadying herself against the sway and jostle of the downtown A train. She looks up from her phone and locks eyes with a man nearly at the other end of the crowded car. “Shit,” she thinks. “It’s happening again.” His thoughts invade hers. In an instant, she’s inside his imagination. The arm she had been using to hold on to the car is suddenly stuck there. Her other hand, now phone-less, is being held behind her back by someone – the stranger? She tilts her head to look – yes, it’s him.
He leans into her and whispers into her ear, “Someone’s a little vulnerable right now, aren’t they?”
She glances around, terrified someone will notice. But no one even looks up.
“It’s almost 60 blocks to Columbus Circle,” he says. “I wonder if this vulnerable little thing is ticklish under here?”
He slides a hand up her side and traces figure eights in her exposed armpit. She tightens her core and tries to fight the sensation.
“This isn’t real,” she thinks. “It’s just his fantasy, you know this isn’t real.”
But there’s no escaping it. She giggles in spite of herself.
“Please don’t do this,” she laughs. “Someone is going to see!” She knows full well no one will – they’re completely alone in his torturous imagination. He digs into the side of her rib cage, and she realizes, suddenly, that her feet are no longer dancing around on the floor of the train. She’s been spread between the top bars on the subway car, her feet spread wide, standing in an X position. “Oh fuck,” she thinks.
“How about I get some help from these fine folks?” he whispers in her ear.
“Fuck, he’s into gang tickling, isn’t he?” she thinks.
She starts to protest, but it’s already happening. Every eye in the train is now fixed on her helpless body. Without warning dozens of hands descend on her, digging and scraping and dancing over every inch of her ticklish form. She screams with laughter as she feels her clothes falling away. She sees 96th street wiz by and in her hysteria, she tries to count the stops left before this nightmare ends.
“Please,” she screams through her laughter, “I CAN’T TAKE IT!!”
The crowd on the train cheers and doubles their efforts, eliciting renewed shrieks and long periods of almost silent laughter from Shay, who had been stripped of everything but her bra and panties. She bounced and thrashed as hard as she could. “I CAN’T BREATHE!” she cried, after a particularly lengthy bout of insane hysteria.
Just as it seems she’ll rip the car apart with her ticklish struggling, the vision ends. Her phone is back in her hand, and the other is still holding lightly to the subway support above her head. Her clothes, untouched, are as they’d been, and when she looks for the man across the car, she sees him smile at her as he walks off the train and into the Columbus Street Station.
“Jesus, that was a bad one,” Shay thinks, and tries not to think about the tingling feeling lingering in her most ticklish spots as the train whines and rumbles on.
Welcome to the world of Shay, a totally normal girl in NYC. Totally normal in every way. Except she’s ticklish. I don’t mean normal ticklish. She is exceptionally ticklish…and something about her just screams…TICKLE ME. And ever since she was young, something amazing happens when someone - anyone - thinks about tickling her: Shay experiences it too. The world melts away, and Shay is thrust into the ticklish fantasies of whoever might happen to think about squeezing her impossibly ticklish sides, or torturing her shockingly sensitive feet. What’s a ticklish girl to do??
Enjoy!
Morning commute. Mid-summer in NYC.
Shay grips the bar over her head, steadying herself against the sway and jostle of the downtown A train. She looks up from her phone and locks eyes with a man nearly at the other end of the crowded car. “Shit,” she thinks. “It’s happening again.” His thoughts invade hers. In an instant, she’s inside his imagination. The arm she had been using to hold on to the car is suddenly stuck there. Her other hand, now phone-less, is being held behind her back by someone – the stranger? She tilts her head to look – yes, it’s him.
He leans into her and whispers into her ear, “Someone’s a little vulnerable right now, aren’t they?”
She glances around, terrified someone will notice. But no one even looks up.
“It’s almost 60 blocks to Columbus Circle,” he says. “I wonder if this vulnerable little thing is ticklish under here?”
He slides a hand up her side and traces figure eights in her exposed armpit. She tightens her core and tries to fight the sensation.
“This isn’t real,” she thinks. “It’s just his fantasy, you know this isn’t real.”
But there’s no escaping it. She giggles in spite of herself.
“Please don’t do this,” she laughs. “Someone is going to see!” She knows full well no one will – they’re completely alone in his torturous imagination. He digs into the side of her rib cage, and she realizes, suddenly, that her feet are no longer dancing around on the floor of the train. She’s been spread between the top bars on the subway car, her feet spread wide, standing in an X position. “Oh fuck,” she thinks.
“How about I get some help from these fine folks?” he whispers in her ear.
“Fuck, he’s into gang tickling, isn’t he?” she thinks.
She starts to protest, but it’s already happening. Every eye in the train is now fixed on her helpless body. Without warning dozens of hands descend on her, digging and scraping and dancing over every inch of her ticklish form. She screams with laughter as she feels her clothes falling away. She sees 96th street wiz by and in her hysteria, she tries to count the stops left before this nightmare ends.
“Please,” she screams through her laughter, “I CAN’T TAKE IT!!”
The crowd on the train cheers and doubles their efforts, eliciting renewed shrieks and long periods of almost silent laughter from Shay, who had been stripped of everything but her bra and panties. She bounced and thrashed as hard as she could. “I CAN’T BREATHE!” she cried, after a particularly lengthy bout of insane hysteria.
Just as it seems she’ll rip the car apart with her ticklish struggling, the vision ends. Her phone is back in her hand, and the other is still holding lightly to the subway support above her head. Her clothes, untouched, are as they’d been, and when she looks for the man across the car, she sees him smile at her as he walks off the train and into the Columbus Street Station.
“Jesus, that was a bad one,” Shay thinks, and tries not to think about the tingling feeling lingering in her most ticklish spots as the train whines and rumbles on.
