Greetings. As always, I hope somebody enjoys this. I welcome any positive or negative feedback. Grolsch.
This is a story based on a real person but an imagined event. There's this girl at work. Late 20s, reasonably intelligent, quite nice and friendly, but with one personality flaw. She talks way too much. She won't shut up. She goes on random talking sprees about nothing and seems oblivious even to direct comments. She can talk about her hobbies, her weekend, anything virtually non-stop. Now, we've been friends for about 6 months. She really is a nice, well-meaning person, and the sort who would drive 50 miles to get a friend broken down on the road somewhere. If you absolutely needed someone to pick you up at the airport at 2 am, she'd do it.
On the plus side, she's pretty but seems unaware or unconcerned about her looks. Though a bit unkempt, when she tries, her face looks a little like Cindy Crawford's but a little fuller. She has an awesome body. 34c-24-36, literally. Light brown hair, blue eyes, nice smile. Slightly shorter torso and longer legs, which amplifies her chest a bit.
Over the last half-year, she's told me some things about her. For example, I know her underarms and knees are ticklish. I know she's extremely, extremely ticklish on her stomach. To the point that someone even moving a pen near her stomach makes her shake. I've never tickled her, but she's told me about some incidents where she has been severely tickled. She dates quite a lot, and has sometimes complained that her boyfriends always tickle her to excess.
One day she was blabbering on while we were in my cubicle. She was wearing a tight white t-shirt and jeans, a great look for her. It really accentuates her full chest, narrow waist and shapely hips. Ordinarily, I'd want someone like that talking to me, but she just wouldn't shut up! So, I had an idea…
Laura stood there talking. Talking and gesturing. She put actions to her words as she stretched, twisted and essentially treated me to the latest of her kickboxing class exploits. Now, I didn't care one bit. Not a bit. The blank look on my face told her nothing. She was oblivious. Immune to my reactions. I may as well have not been there. I really wondered if she was aware of outside stimulation at all.
I was almost in pain listening to her, but I enjoyed watching her! Arms back, twisting left and right, her well-defined chest jiggled just enough to be really sexy. I tried not to stare, but I also looked at her thin waist when I could.
I had to get up. I had to get out. Get some coffee, get a snack, go to the bathroom, anything. I was afraid my boss would come by and get mad at me for goofing off, even though I was an innocent victim to her non-stop monologue. Still impervious to her environment, she kept talking and gesturing, storytelling and gyrating right in front of me, even though I was trying to leave my cubicle. She blocked the exit. I was trapped.
She kept talking. I moved my hand towards her middle, more to move past her than anything but she jumped and screamed.
"AAH!" NO DON'T TOUCH MY STOMACH"
"Laura, that's the first time in the last 15 minutes you've even acknowledged my presence in the cubicle."
She looked at me like I was high. She had no idea what I meant.
"So, is this what it takes to make you react…"
I grabbed her belly and started lightly squeezing. She looked like she'd been shot. Her well-tanned face wrenched into an open-mouthed smile, showing her sparkling teeth. Her face turned red instantly.
"YOU-HO! HEE HEE HEE HEENOOOO!"
"Oh, that's right, you're ticklish…" I reached for her belly again with both hands. Despite all her yacking about kickboxing class, the girl had no coordination at all. I easily got both hands onto her (apparently) extremely sensitive belly and wiggled my hands all over. Judging by the look on her face, it was killing her! She chortled, doubled over and her eyes bulged.
Laura backed up and bumped into the cubicle frame. She bent over and wrapped her arms around her waist to prevent any more tickling of her belly.
"Don't tickle me!", she shouted, half-laughing. Well, I thought, she's tormented me for years with her droning. A few minutes of payback wouldn't kill her. Maybe make her laugh pretty hard, though.
"Well, Laura, why not? You don't seem that ticklish to me." I said that quite sarcastically, but with enough humor to let her know I was kidding. Where to tickle, I thought. Her arms were around her belly, I couldn't grab her ribs because of her breasts…I tried her knees.
"How about here?" I reached down and gave a knee a strong squeeze. She shrieked and kicked her leg up, but dropped her arms in the process. "Oh, ticklish on the knee too, huh?"
"Stop! It tickles! I'm too ticklish!"
"What did you say? I didn't catch that!". Laura arms were low to protect against another knee squeeze. So, I squeezed her belly again. She wasn't a fat person by any means, but I'm sure her abs were not well-defined either. Her waist was narrow but didn't have much muscle tone. She was an "easy squeeze".
Laura cackled once I got her belly again. She doubled over and grabbed my arm to try and make me stop. I reached high with my other hand and wiggled my fingers in her right armpit. It turned out she was quite ticklish there too. She screamed and jiggled to get away. "NO! FRED QUIT! EEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!"
What a great area to tickle a woman with sizeable breasts! I was thrilled that her underarms were so ticklish. Laura had this girlish laugh with a raucous, out of control quality to it. She twisted and jerked to get her armpits away from the tickling. She managed to turn her back to me. I got both hands underneath her arms and tickled her pits and upper ribs. She was just a bit fleshy there, but certainly not flabby. She clamped her arms down over my hands, which only worsened her situation. I could feel her getting sweaty as the tickling continued.
Laura was working very hard to get away, but I rode her armpits like a rodeo champ! Every other second or so I could feel her hefty breasts pushing against my fingers. Laura managed to turn around again, but in the process we fell down. By now, several co-workers were watching and laughing. "Get her, Fred!", they shouted. Several of them were sick of her non-stop talking too. "Hey, if Laura's laughing, she isn't talking!"
Still, I couldn't just sit on top of her. She was discombobulated, so I took the chance to sit on her legs and and tease her.
"Hey, Laura, those are nice shoes. I bet they slide on real easy". I grabbed one and took it off. "I wonder if your feet are sensitive."
Truth be told, her feet were not pretty. Kind of big, but now that I had one in my hand…
"OH GOD! NO FRED NO! DON'T…AAAAHHHH!!!"
I stroked the sole of her right foot. Laura screamed at such a high pitch glass could have shattered.
"Oh, so your feet are ticklish!"
"NO! PLEASE DON'T! EEE! HEE HEE HEE! SHIT! HEE HEE HEE! STOP! OH GOD! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!"
I was merciless. I had found a spot even more ticklish than her belly, pits or knees. I knocked off the other shoe and started on both feet. She was flailing like Carmen Electra in Howard Stern's famous chair. I gave her a break. Her face was a deep reddish-brown from her laughing and struggling..
"You're got to stop that! I don't know anyone who is more ticklish anywhere than I am on my feet. I'll do anything!"
"Stop…why…", I asked and tickled her again.
Laura flailed madly. Her feet were unbelievably sensitive. It was a maddeningly painful weakness to her. She sat up and tried to kick free, but she weakened considerably from the laughter. She would sit up, then flop down. Up and down, each time I looked and saw her laughing face, but a tortured one. Mouth wide open, cheeks flushing, head shaking and eyes bulging with excitement. I stopped after about 10 seconds.
Laura coughed and leaned over to hit me! I stroked her soles again, and she screamed and fell back down.
"Please, don't do that to me anymore! You can't do that to me! EEEEE!"
I didn't agree. Laura was practically having a seizure on the office floor. Her screams were so loud it almost hurt my ears. Nobody in the office seemed to care. It was kind of nice, seeing a person who'd pestered everybody so much get some payback. I kept tickling her intolerably ticklish feet. Her entire body shook and flexed. Even her hair had lost control. Tears were already rolling down her high cheekbones and her bronze-red face.
"Shit! Please stop. I can't believe you're doing this to my feet."
"Why are your feet so ticklish?"
"I don't know, I don't know. I wish they weren't. I can't take anymore. EEEEEE! HEE HEE HEE!" I tickled her feet again, this time focusing on the arches, where she seemed most sensitive. Laura clutched her own hair and head, grimaced as she laughed and shook violently. Her breasts bounced all over the place. When she finally lost the ability to laugh and her breathing was raspy, I stopped.
Laura ran off to the bathroom. What happened there I don't know, but she left with this final thought: "Now we all know how to make you stop talking!!"
This is a story based on a real person but an imagined event. There's this girl at work. Late 20s, reasonably intelligent, quite nice and friendly, but with one personality flaw. She talks way too much. She won't shut up. She goes on random talking sprees about nothing and seems oblivious even to direct comments. She can talk about her hobbies, her weekend, anything virtually non-stop. Now, we've been friends for about 6 months. She really is a nice, well-meaning person, and the sort who would drive 50 miles to get a friend broken down on the road somewhere. If you absolutely needed someone to pick you up at the airport at 2 am, she'd do it.
On the plus side, she's pretty but seems unaware or unconcerned about her looks. Though a bit unkempt, when she tries, her face looks a little like Cindy Crawford's but a little fuller. She has an awesome body. 34c-24-36, literally. Light brown hair, blue eyes, nice smile. Slightly shorter torso and longer legs, which amplifies her chest a bit.
Over the last half-year, she's told me some things about her. For example, I know her underarms and knees are ticklish. I know she's extremely, extremely ticklish on her stomach. To the point that someone even moving a pen near her stomach makes her shake. I've never tickled her, but she's told me about some incidents where she has been severely tickled. She dates quite a lot, and has sometimes complained that her boyfriends always tickle her to excess.
One day she was blabbering on while we were in my cubicle. She was wearing a tight white t-shirt and jeans, a great look for her. It really accentuates her full chest, narrow waist and shapely hips. Ordinarily, I'd want someone like that talking to me, but she just wouldn't shut up! So, I had an idea…
Laura stood there talking. Talking and gesturing. She put actions to her words as she stretched, twisted and essentially treated me to the latest of her kickboxing class exploits. Now, I didn't care one bit. Not a bit. The blank look on my face told her nothing. She was oblivious. Immune to my reactions. I may as well have not been there. I really wondered if she was aware of outside stimulation at all.
I was almost in pain listening to her, but I enjoyed watching her! Arms back, twisting left and right, her well-defined chest jiggled just enough to be really sexy. I tried not to stare, but I also looked at her thin waist when I could.
I had to get up. I had to get out. Get some coffee, get a snack, go to the bathroom, anything. I was afraid my boss would come by and get mad at me for goofing off, even though I was an innocent victim to her non-stop monologue. Still impervious to her environment, she kept talking and gesturing, storytelling and gyrating right in front of me, even though I was trying to leave my cubicle. She blocked the exit. I was trapped.
She kept talking. I moved my hand towards her middle, more to move past her than anything but she jumped and screamed.
"AAH!" NO DON'T TOUCH MY STOMACH"
"Laura, that's the first time in the last 15 minutes you've even acknowledged my presence in the cubicle."
She looked at me like I was high. She had no idea what I meant.
"So, is this what it takes to make you react…"
I grabbed her belly and started lightly squeezing. She looked like she'd been shot. Her well-tanned face wrenched into an open-mouthed smile, showing her sparkling teeth. Her face turned red instantly.
"YOU-HO! HEE HEE HEE HEENOOOO!"
"Oh, that's right, you're ticklish…" I reached for her belly again with both hands. Despite all her yacking about kickboxing class, the girl had no coordination at all. I easily got both hands onto her (apparently) extremely sensitive belly and wiggled my hands all over. Judging by the look on her face, it was killing her! She chortled, doubled over and her eyes bulged.
Laura backed up and bumped into the cubicle frame. She bent over and wrapped her arms around her waist to prevent any more tickling of her belly.
"Don't tickle me!", she shouted, half-laughing. Well, I thought, she's tormented me for years with her droning. A few minutes of payback wouldn't kill her. Maybe make her laugh pretty hard, though.
"Well, Laura, why not? You don't seem that ticklish to me." I said that quite sarcastically, but with enough humor to let her know I was kidding. Where to tickle, I thought. Her arms were around her belly, I couldn't grab her ribs because of her breasts…I tried her knees.
"How about here?" I reached down and gave a knee a strong squeeze. She shrieked and kicked her leg up, but dropped her arms in the process. "Oh, ticklish on the knee too, huh?"
"Stop! It tickles! I'm too ticklish!"
"What did you say? I didn't catch that!". Laura arms were low to protect against another knee squeeze. So, I squeezed her belly again. She wasn't a fat person by any means, but I'm sure her abs were not well-defined either. Her waist was narrow but didn't have much muscle tone. She was an "easy squeeze".
Laura cackled once I got her belly again. She doubled over and grabbed my arm to try and make me stop. I reached high with my other hand and wiggled my fingers in her right armpit. It turned out she was quite ticklish there too. She screamed and jiggled to get away. "NO! FRED QUIT! EEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!"
What a great area to tickle a woman with sizeable breasts! I was thrilled that her underarms were so ticklish. Laura had this girlish laugh with a raucous, out of control quality to it. She twisted and jerked to get her armpits away from the tickling. She managed to turn her back to me. I got both hands underneath her arms and tickled her pits and upper ribs. She was just a bit fleshy there, but certainly not flabby. She clamped her arms down over my hands, which only worsened her situation. I could feel her getting sweaty as the tickling continued.
Laura was working very hard to get away, but I rode her armpits like a rodeo champ! Every other second or so I could feel her hefty breasts pushing against my fingers. Laura managed to turn around again, but in the process we fell down. By now, several co-workers were watching and laughing. "Get her, Fred!", they shouted. Several of them were sick of her non-stop talking too. "Hey, if Laura's laughing, she isn't talking!"
Still, I couldn't just sit on top of her. She was discombobulated, so I took the chance to sit on her legs and and tease her.
"Hey, Laura, those are nice shoes. I bet they slide on real easy". I grabbed one and took it off. "I wonder if your feet are sensitive."
Truth be told, her feet were not pretty. Kind of big, but now that I had one in my hand…
"OH GOD! NO FRED NO! DON'T…AAAAHHHH!!!"
I stroked the sole of her right foot. Laura screamed at such a high pitch glass could have shattered.
"Oh, so your feet are ticklish!"
"NO! PLEASE DON'T! EEE! HEE HEE HEE! SHIT! HEE HEE HEE! STOP! OH GOD! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!"
I was merciless. I had found a spot even more ticklish than her belly, pits or knees. I knocked off the other shoe and started on both feet. She was flailing like Carmen Electra in Howard Stern's famous chair. I gave her a break. Her face was a deep reddish-brown from her laughing and struggling..
"You're got to stop that! I don't know anyone who is more ticklish anywhere than I am on my feet. I'll do anything!"
"Stop…why…", I asked and tickled her again.
Laura flailed madly. Her feet were unbelievably sensitive. It was a maddeningly painful weakness to her. She sat up and tried to kick free, but she weakened considerably from the laughter. She would sit up, then flop down. Up and down, each time I looked and saw her laughing face, but a tortured one. Mouth wide open, cheeks flushing, head shaking and eyes bulging with excitement. I stopped after about 10 seconds.
Laura coughed and leaned over to hit me! I stroked her soles again, and she screamed and fell back down.
"Please, don't do that to me anymore! You can't do that to me! EEEEE!"
I didn't agree. Laura was practically having a seizure on the office floor. Her screams were so loud it almost hurt my ears. Nobody in the office seemed to care. It was kind of nice, seeing a person who'd pestered everybody so much get some payback. I kept tickling her intolerably ticklish feet. Her entire body shook and flexed. Even her hair had lost control. Tears were already rolling down her high cheekbones and her bronze-red face.
"Shit! Please stop. I can't believe you're doing this to my feet."
"Why are your feet so ticklish?"
"I don't know, I don't know. I wish they weren't. I can't take anymore. EEEEEE! HEE HEE HEE!" I tickled her feet again, this time focusing on the arches, where she seemed most sensitive. Laura clutched her own hair and head, grimaced as she laughed and shook violently. Her breasts bounced all over the place. When she finally lost the ability to laugh and her breathing was raspy, I stopped.
Laura ran off to the bathroom. What happened there I don't know, but she left with this final thought: "Now we all know how to make you stop talking!!"
