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??
Sunday afternoon, early fall. The Laundromat.
Shay’s normal Sunday routine is so consistent that Paula at the laundromat Shay frequents can predict her arrival within a minute. Washing goes in, then to the grocery store across the street, then back to throw the clothes in the dryer and wait for them to finish before lugging both laundry and groceries back home.
Today, Paula doesn’t need to look up from her work to know it’s Shay wheeling her cart through the front door.
“Hi Paula,” Shay says.
“Hi, honey,” Paula replies.
The first thing Shay notices today is a woman near the back she’s never seen before. It’s a small laundromat and it’s rare to see anyone new. The strange woman is very tall, Shay guesses near 6-foot, and big all over. She stands against the washers waiting and watches Shay wheel her cart in and begin emptying its contents into one of the large washing machines near the front.
Shay, aware she’s being watched, feels oddly self-conscious and hurries to finish her load and head to the grocery store. Something about this woman’s gaze makes Shay feel exposed – her leggings suddenly feel too thin, and her t-shirt, shrunk from over-washing and frilling at the seams, offers little cover. She finishes stuffing her clothes into the industrial machine and glances back at the woman. She’s quite beautiful, Shay thinks. Massive legs and breasts and long blonde hair that hung in tight braids past her shoulders. Shay imagined her helming some Viking ship and wondered how she come to be washing her clothes in West Harlem. She finishes loading her clothes and walks quickly across to the store.
26 minutes later, Shay crosses back toward the laundromat. “Surely, that woman must be done by now,” Shay thinks. But to her surprise, from the sidewalk, Shay sees her still at the back folding clothes. As soon as the bell of the door jingles, Shay knows she’s made a mistake. Her eyes meet the Viking woman’s ice blue stare from across the room, and Shay feels the world starting to melt away.
“Oh god, no, not now,” she thinks. But this woman’s fantasy has taken hold and Shay can only hold on for the ride. Before she knows what’s happening, Shay feels an enormous hand on her suddenly un-socked ankle. So abrupt is this vision that it takes her a second to realize she’s upside down. Her small frame is hoisted in the air by her blonde assailant, who uses her free hand to lightly dance across Shay’s helpless bare sole.
“No, don’t do tha…” but Shay can’t finish her thought because electric jolts shoot through her hyper-ticklish foot and sizzle somewhere in the pleasure/pain center of her brain. She screams with laughter. Shay looks to Paula for assistance, but apparently in this Viking’s fantasy, no one notices this is even taking place. For what seems like forever, Shay bucks and kicks and laughs and gurgles and begs and pleads to no avail. Her t-shirt is draped up around her face exposing her midriff and she feels the foot tickling stop just long enough for her torturer to lightly place her on the linoleum floor and kneel over her, pinning Shay’s arms down between her muscular legs.
The woman pulls Shay’s shirt the rest of the way off.
“You are,” she says quietly, “way too much fun.”
“Please stop,” Shay says. “I can’t take this anymore.”
“Oh, I think you’ll be okay,” says the woman. “Tell you what. I bet you can feel my feet from where your hands are right now.” It’s true – Shay feels the woman’s toes wiggling near her hands. “You tickle me and I’ll tickle you. And if you can get me to stop before my dryer is done, I’ll let you go.”
Shay looks up at the dryer on the wall. “How long is that?”
“About half an hour,” the woman smiles. “Don’t worry, baby.” She leaned in close. “I am almost as ticklish as you. Why don’t you give it a shot?”
Shay reluctantly scooches her hands toward the woman’s bare feet and wriggles her fingers as best she could. The woman gasps.
“Ohhh! Well that was very good,” the woman grins. “Maybe you’ll beat me after all. I’ve found the most ticklish people also make the best ticklers, wouldn’t you say that’s true? Although, I think you might have a harder time tickling me in the midst of what I’m about to do to you.”
“No no, please don’t!” Shay begs, but the woman, with all ten fingers, digs into Shay’s helpless ribcage. The woman’s hands are so large they reach nearly across her entire torso and it makes Shay completely lose her mind with laughter. As usual in these fantasies, Shay’s limbs are totally immobile though she can’t say exactly what is restraining her besides the weight of her captor kneeling on her arms.
With all the concentration she can muster in the midst of her ticklish torment, Shay reaches for the woman’s soles and starts tickling frantically. The reactions are more intense than Shay expects. The woman roars with laughter, bouncing up and down on Shay’s arms.
“Oh god! Oh gaaaahhhd,” the woman screams and doubles down on her efforts. Both women, now completely hysterical, do their best to out tickle each other – both approaching the edge of what their bodies can take. The woman’s huge hands cover every inch of Shay’s upper body, doing especially devastating damage to her insanely sensitive underarms. And Shay’s desperate fingers find a particularly ticklish spot under the ball of the woman’s left foot and were it not for her own torment, Shay might have even enjoyed making this stranger scream in ticklish agony.
Just when it feels to Shay that she can’t take another second, the woman screams, “OKAY STOP STOP STOP!” The tickling stops. The woman’s huge breasts heave over Shay’s sweat-drenched face.
“Well that was fun,” the woman says, slowly climbing off of Shay’s exhausted body. “Thanks for that.”
And just as suddenly as it began, it’s done. Shay blinks and she’s standing where she’d been – next to the washers, looking across at this strange, blonde woman near the dryers. Her shirt is on, there is no sweat on her face, and the digital clock on the dryer blinks 0:00. The woman grabs her clothes, hoists her bag onto her shoulder, and strolls out the door, never taking her eyes off of Shay, who stares after her, embarrassed that the only remnant of her imaginary adventure is a warm, damp feeling between her legs.
Sunday afternoon, early fall. The Laundromat.
Shay’s normal Sunday routine is so consistent that Paula at the laundromat Shay frequents can predict her arrival within a minute. Washing goes in, then to the grocery store across the street, then back to throw the clothes in the dryer and wait for them to finish before lugging both laundry and groceries back home.
Today, Paula doesn’t need to look up from her work to know it’s Shay wheeling her cart through the front door.
“Hi Paula,” Shay says.
“Hi, honey,” Paula replies.
The first thing Shay notices today is a woman near the back she’s never seen before. It’s a small laundromat and it’s rare to see anyone new. The strange woman is very tall, Shay guesses near 6-foot, and big all over. She stands against the washers waiting and watches Shay wheel her cart in and begin emptying its contents into one of the large washing machines near the front.
Shay, aware she’s being watched, feels oddly self-conscious and hurries to finish her load and head to the grocery store. Something about this woman’s gaze makes Shay feel exposed – her leggings suddenly feel too thin, and her t-shirt, shrunk from over-washing and frilling at the seams, offers little cover. She finishes stuffing her clothes into the industrial machine and glances back at the woman. She’s quite beautiful, Shay thinks. Massive legs and breasts and long blonde hair that hung in tight braids past her shoulders. Shay imagined her helming some Viking ship and wondered how she come to be washing her clothes in West Harlem. She finishes loading her clothes and walks quickly across to the store.
26 minutes later, Shay crosses back toward the laundromat. “Surely, that woman must be done by now,” Shay thinks. But to her surprise, from the sidewalk, Shay sees her still at the back folding clothes. As soon as the bell of the door jingles, Shay knows she’s made a mistake. Her eyes meet the Viking woman’s ice blue stare from across the room, and Shay feels the world starting to melt away.
“Oh god, no, not now,” she thinks. But this woman’s fantasy has taken hold and Shay can only hold on for the ride. Before she knows what’s happening, Shay feels an enormous hand on her suddenly un-socked ankle. So abrupt is this vision that it takes her a second to realize she’s upside down. Her small frame is hoisted in the air by her blonde assailant, who uses her free hand to lightly dance across Shay’s helpless bare sole.
“No, don’t do tha…” but Shay can’t finish her thought because electric jolts shoot through her hyper-ticklish foot and sizzle somewhere in the pleasure/pain center of her brain. She screams with laughter. Shay looks to Paula for assistance, but apparently in this Viking’s fantasy, no one notices this is even taking place. For what seems like forever, Shay bucks and kicks and laughs and gurgles and begs and pleads to no avail. Her t-shirt is draped up around her face exposing her midriff and she feels the foot tickling stop just long enough for her torturer to lightly place her on the linoleum floor and kneel over her, pinning Shay’s arms down between her muscular legs.
The woman pulls Shay’s shirt the rest of the way off.
“You are,” she says quietly, “way too much fun.”
“Please stop,” Shay says. “I can’t take this anymore.”
“Oh, I think you’ll be okay,” says the woman. “Tell you what. I bet you can feel my feet from where your hands are right now.” It’s true – Shay feels the woman’s toes wiggling near her hands. “You tickle me and I’ll tickle you. And if you can get me to stop before my dryer is done, I’ll let you go.”
Shay looks up at the dryer on the wall. “How long is that?”
“About half an hour,” the woman smiles. “Don’t worry, baby.” She leaned in close. “I am almost as ticklish as you. Why don’t you give it a shot?”
Shay reluctantly scooches her hands toward the woman’s bare feet and wriggles her fingers as best she could. The woman gasps.
“Ohhh! Well that was very good,” the woman grins. “Maybe you’ll beat me after all. I’ve found the most ticklish people also make the best ticklers, wouldn’t you say that’s true? Although, I think you might have a harder time tickling me in the midst of what I’m about to do to you.”
“No no, please don’t!” Shay begs, but the woman, with all ten fingers, digs into Shay’s helpless ribcage. The woman’s hands are so large they reach nearly across her entire torso and it makes Shay completely lose her mind with laughter. As usual in these fantasies, Shay’s limbs are totally immobile though she can’t say exactly what is restraining her besides the weight of her captor kneeling on her arms.
With all the concentration she can muster in the midst of her ticklish torment, Shay reaches for the woman’s soles and starts tickling frantically. The reactions are more intense than Shay expects. The woman roars with laughter, bouncing up and down on Shay’s arms.
“Oh god! Oh gaaaahhhd,” the woman screams and doubles down on her efforts. Both women, now completely hysterical, do their best to out tickle each other – both approaching the edge of what their bodies can take. The woman’s huge hands cover every inch of Shay’s upper body, doing especially devastating damage to her insanely sensitive underarms. And Shay’s desperate fingers find a particularly ticklish spot under the ball of the woman’s left foot and were it not for her own torment, Shay might have even enjoyed making this stranger scream in ticklish agony.
Just when it feels to Shay that she can’t take another second, the woman screams, “OKAY STOP STOP STOP!” The tickling stops. The woman’s huge breasts heave over Shay’s sweat-drenched face.
“Well that was fun,” the woman says, slowly climbing off of Shay’s exhausted body. “Thanks for that.”
And just as suddenly as it began, it’s done. Shay blinks and she’s standing where she’d been – next to the washers, looking across at this strange, blonde woman near the dryers. Her shirt is on, there is no sweat on her face, and the digital clock on the dryer blinks 0:00. The woman grabs her clothes, hoists her bag onto her shoulder, and strolls out the door, never taking her eyes off of Shay, who stares after her, embarrassed that the only remnant of her imaginary adventure is a warm, damp feeling between her legs.
