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??
Christmas Eve. The gym.
Shay hasn’t been home for Christmas in years, and she’s not particularly thrilled to be going now. It’s not that she doesn’t like her family, but her relationship to being tickle tortured goes back ages to when she was routinely tickled within an inch of her sanity by her sadistic cousins while her parents sat unaware out on the porch or downstairs in the kitchen. She shudders thinking about those torturous afternoons pinned to her bedroom floor and made to laugh until she cried for mercy.
To pass some time before her flight, she heads to the gym. Living in NYC, she’s always grateful for a place to take out the frustrations of daily life in the most impossible city on earth. And she knows today it will be nearly empty.
She walks in to find it completely deserted. She hangs her coat in the locker room, and heads to her favorite elliptical in the corner near the TVs. She’s about a mile into her workout when the door opens and two men walk in. They don’t look at her but head for the locker rooms. When they reemerge without their coats, Shay clocks their physiques. They’re both incredibly fit and they immediately head for the free weights. She watches them in the large mirror. Suddenly, one of them looks up at her. She looks away quickly but when she looks back up, they’re both looking. They glance at each other and put their weights down.
“Hi,” says one of the men, waving.
“Hello,” Shay says. She’s aware of her appearance. Her sports bra and leggings leave very little to the imagination, and her body’s shaking and bouncing feels very conspicuous all of a sudden. She puts her head down and finishes her workout.
When she steps off the elliptical, the two men are nowhere to be found. She breathes a sigh of relief and heads for the locker room for her coat, but as she turns the corner, they nearly run into her coming with their coats out of the men’s changing room.
“Oops, sorry,” one of the men says.
“No worries,” Shay says and walks past them into the women’s room. It’s not until she’s firmly strapped down to the enormous bondage table that she realizes their fantasy has already started. Her leggings are gone and she’s reduced to nothing but her soggy sports bra and her thong.
“Oh god, oh god fuck,” she says aloud as the two men appear next to her.
“You know there is something about you,” one of them says. “I don’t know what it is, but – I want to make you laugh until your brain melts, is that okay?”
“You guys, don’t - I’m too ticklish. I can’t move at all, please!” She pulls against the straps but they don’t budge. It’s almost never real bondage in these visions - she’s usually just stuck, but clearly these guys have a sadistic streak and that thought terrifies her.
“You’re ticklish, huh?” The same man says. “That’s great news. I was hoping you were.”
It occurs to Shay that she’s trapped in this fantasy until these guys have to leave the gym - there’s nothing preventing them from sitting in this beautiful nightmare all afternoon.
She feels two hands slide down her forearms toward her armpits and she tenses. “Don’t! Don’t, not there,” Shay begs. By now the entire locker room has become a kind of dungeon. The walls are black, and in the open locker doors hang countless diabolical looking instruments, from feathers to flossers and brushes.
“Oh, sorry,” one of the men says, “when you beg like that it makes us want to tickle you more, so…you did it wrong.” And with that he skitters his fingers into Shay’s helpless armpits.
Within seconds Shay laughs so hard she doesn’t notice the other man drizzling something over her jiggling torso. Through her maddened screams, she remembers another fantasy years before in which a particularly cruel tickler employed baby oil to elicit maximum laughter. She’s laughing so hard from the armpit tickling she can’t even beg, and when twenty fingers finally slide over her oiled skin, she breaks into shaking, silent hysterics. Every ounce of her strength is focused on taking a breath – she can’t even consider begging. When she finally gets enough air, the stream of delicious, maniacal laughter that emanates from her writhing body flows like a river and the two men cheer and lean into their work.
The man stationed at her armpits slides her bra over her head revealing her breasts – a particularly ticklish spot, while the other makes sure her legs and feet are properly oiled.
Shay sputters, “I can’t do this, you guys. Please no more. Don’t tickle me anymoooooore.” But her plea dissolves into frantic, breathless laughter again when four hands start working over her oiled legs and her hyper-sensitive nipples at the same time. She can’t believe how long her body is able to laugh between breaths – especially when the man between her legs begins spidering his fingers into the ligaments of her inner thighs.
By the time they get to her feet, Shay has totally lost her marbles. She is begging incoherently with every breath she can take, and in between, her exhausted body just lays on the table, no longer struggling, just totally consumed by laughter. Tears pour down her cheeks.
“No more,” she gasps. But she knows it isn’t over. She laments to herself for a moment that she’s been blessed with two of the most beautiful feet on the planet. She is constantly being complimented and asked for her foot-care routine, and when the two men actually take a break from tickling her to admire them, they can’t believe their eyes.
The fantasy becomes entirely about her feet now. She finds herself sitting now, looking at her perfect toes pulled back and secured by ties in the sturdiest looking stocks she’s ever seen. She knows it’s pointless to beg so she closes her eyes and waits. When it finally happens, it’s so much worse than she imagines. She bucks wildly against the restrains, but the only movement is the tantalizing jiggling of her nearly naked body. She laughs so hard, she thinks she won’t ever be able to stop. In fact, she laughs until she can’t remember not laughing. It is far and away the most brutal foot tickling she has ever received – in fantasy or in real life.
They look at her, almost lovingly, so beautiful is she in this tormented, over-stimulated state. Finally, one of them says, “hey, I have to catch a train – I’m going to see my folks.”
And just as quickly as it begins, it ends. Shay is standing in the locker room, back in her sports bra and leggings. She looks around. She hears the front door close behind her two tormentors. And for once, she can’t wait to see her cousins for Christmas.
Christmas Eve. The gym.
Shay hasn’t been home for Christmas in years, and she’s not particularly thrilled to be going now. It’s not that she doesn’t like her family, but her relationship to being tickle tortured goes back ages to when she was routinely tickled within an inch of her sanity by her sadistic cousins while her parents sat unaware out on the porch or downstairs in the kitchen. She shudders thinking about those torturous afternoons pinned to her bedroom floor and made to laugh until she cried for mercy.
To pass some time before her flight, she heads to the gym. Living in NYC, she’s always grateful for a place to take out the frustrations of daily life in the most impossible city on earth. And she knows today it will be nearly empty.
She walks in to find it completely deserted. She hangs her coat in the locker room, and heads to her favorite elliptical in the corner near the TVs. She’s about a mile into her workout when the door opens and two men walk in. They don’t look at her but head for the locker rooms. When they reemerge without their coats, Shay clocks their physiques. They’re both incredibly fit and they immediately head for the free weights. She watches them in the large mirror. Suddenly, one of them looks up at her. She looks away quickly but when she looks back up, they’re both looking. They glance at each other and put their weights down.
“Hi,” says one of the men, waving.
“Hello,” Shay says. She’s aware of her appearance. Her sports bra and leggings leave very little to the imagination, and her body’s shaking and bouncing feels very conspicuous all of a sudden. She puts her head down and finishes her workout.
When she steps off the elliptical, the two men are nowhere to be found. She breathes a sigh of relief and heads for the locker room for her coat, but as she turns the corner, they nearly run into her coming with their coats out of the men’s changing room.
“Oops, sorry,” one of the men says.
“No worries,” Shay says and walks past them into the women’s room. It’s not until she’s firmly strapped down to the enormous bondage table that she realizes their fantasy has already started. Her leggings are gone and she’s reduced to nothing but her soggy sports bra and her thong.
“Oh god, oh god fuck,” she says aloud as the two men appear next to her.
“You know there is something about you,” one of them says. “I don’t know what it is, but – I want to make you laugh until your brain melts, is that okay?”
“You guys, don’t - I’m too ticklish. I can’t move at all, please!” She pulls against the straps but they don’t budge. It’s almost never real bondage in these visions - she’s usually just stuck, but clearly these guys have a sadistic streak and that thought terrifies her.
“You’re ticklish, huh?” The same man says. “That’s great news. I was hoping you were.”
It occurs to Shay that she’s trapped in this fantasy until these guys have to leave the gym - there’s nothing preventing them from sitting in this beautiful nightmare all afternoon.
She feels two hands slide down her forearms toward her armpits and she tenses. “Don’t! Don’t, not there,” Shay begs. By now the entire locker room has become a kind of dungeon. The walls are black, and in the open locker doors hang countless diabolical looking instruments, from feathers to flossers and brushes.
“Oh, sorry,” one of the men says, “when you beg like that it makes us want to tickle you more, so…you did it wrong.” And with that he skitters his fingers into Shay’s helpless armpits.
Within seconds Shay laughs so hard she doesn’t notice the other man drizzling something over her jiggling torso. Through her maddened screams, she remembers another fantasy years before in which a particularly cruel tickler employed baby oil to elicit maximum laughter. She’s laughing so hard from the armpit tickling she can’t even beg, and when twenty fingers finally slide over her oiled skin, she breaks into shaking, silent hysterics. Every ounce of her strength is focused on taking a breath – she can’t even consider begging. When she finally gets enough air, the stream of delicious, maniacal laughter that emanates from her writhing body flows like a river and the two men cheer and lean into their work.
The man stationed at her armpits slides her bra over her head revealing her breasts – a particularly ticklish spot, while the other makes sure her legs and feet are properly oiled.
Shay sputters, “I can’t do this, you guys. Please no more. Don’t tickle me anymoooooore.” But her plea dissolves into frantic, breathless laughter again when four hands start working over her oiled legs and her hyper-sensitive nipples at the same time. She can’t believe how long her body is able to laugh between breaths – especially when the man between her legs begins spidering his fingers into the ligaments of her inner thighs.
By the time they get to her feet, Shay has totally lost her marbles. She is begging incoherently with every breath she can take, and in between, her exhausted body just lays on the table, no longer struggling, just totally consumed by laughter. Tears pour down her cheeks.
“No more,” she gasps. But she knows it isn’t over. She laments to herself for a moment that she’s been blessed with two of the most beautiful feet on the planet. She is constantly being complimented and asked for her foot-care routine, and when the two men actually take a break from tickling her to admire them, they can’t believe their eyes.
The fantasy becomes entirely about her feet now. She finds herself sitting now, looking at her perfect toes pulled back and secured by ties in the sturdiest looking stocks she’s ever seen. She knows it’s pointless to beg so she closes her eyes and waits. When it finally happens, it’s so much worse than she imagines. She bucks wildly against the restrains, but the only movement is the tantalizing jiggling of her nearly naked body. She laughs so hard, she thinks she won’t ever be able to stop. In fact, she laughs until she can’t remember not laughing. It is far and away the most brutal foot tickling she has ever received – in fantasy or in real life.
They look at her, almost lovingly, so beautiful is she in this tormented, over-stimulated state. Finally, one of them says, “hey, I have to catch a train – I’m going to see my folks.”
And just as quickly as it begins, it ends. Shay is standing in the locker room, back in her sports bra and leggings. She looks around. She hears the front door close behind her two tormentors. And for once, she can’t wait to see her cousins for Christmas.
