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Viewmaster
06-22-2015, 02:30 PM
So this is another story I have had in my head. It is not part of the Andrea at the beach series which will continue.

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The drums had been beating for days for the old chief who was dying. The funerary circles had been prepared, the central pole standing tall and the circular barriers strewn with the correct flowers and charms. Shaman from each of the four corners of the world had arrived with their acolytes. As the old chief walked his last steps with his two daughters to either side those to guide him into the afterlife had been chosen from among these young women. Their young bodies tormented with feathers and fingers by their mentors, helpless to resist as they were either staked out, hung from trees or buried leaving only their feet and heads exposed depending on the customs of each tribes. The favourites were tried and tested by each method until four were chosen from each tribe.
From amongst the many pale blondes the Northern tribes had brought a tall blue-eyed acolyte was chosen, her knowledge of plant lore and medicine were surpassed only by her extreme ticklish. She could not be more pleased or terrified to have been chosen, her desire to advance from an acolyte to shaman was matched only by her hatred of being tickled. The testing had been pure torture for her even the gentle feathers being too much. However she held on remaining awake whilst less ticklish friends gave up on remaining consciousness their less sensitive bodies being filled with weaker spirits.
From the eastern tribes a petite sultry acolyte with long shiny black hair had been chosen purely on the ground of her ticklishness. She did well at all the requirements of a shaman but compared to her companions she was only slightly above average and not excelling at any skill or knowledge of medicine or plant lore. Both her responses to the tickling and her capacity to absorb the torture convinced the shamanís to choose her, she suffered for long hours being reduced to silent laughter without passing out when many of her sisters, cousins and friends had long since slid into unconsciousness from the unbearable sensations inflicted upon them by the well trained touches of their elders all of whom had once suffered the same torments.
The southern tribes had provided a great many dark skinned beauties. The deserts, rainforests and tropical islands were home to many tribes and internal competition were far fiercer than between the tribes of the other four corners of the world. After much testing a tribute was chosen, her light brown skin unbearably ticklish even to the touches of the feathers that formed her head dress and clothing. Her long curly hair hung in ringlets as she was tormented stretched between two trees. Eventually the shaman of the tribe with whom her ancestors had an ancient rivalry were satisfied that she was more ticklishness than any of their candidates and could withstand the punishment her tormentors would inflict on her long enough for the ritual to be complete. Their objections had been founded on what a gentle a flower she was and they insisted on trying to prove she would not be able to resist the torments necessary to fly the chiefís spirit into the afterlife.
The western tribes had provided more candidates than the others. The chief being from one such tribe although particularly close to the Central plains of landing where legend had it each tribeís ancestors had descended in a metal bird leaving their dying world behind them. Despite the great many candidates one acolyte in particular was favoured. Her lightly freckled pale skin responding to the lightest touch leaving her rosy red cheeks in a permanent smile as she enjoyed her torment. Her joy at being tickled only enhanced her value as tribute, her fellow candidates pleading and begging as their soft feet were tormented, this red headed beauty seemed to enjoy her testing as much as those administering it. Despite her enjoyment she still bucked and thrashed under the more intense tickles her red hair flailing wildly as she struggled against her bonds. She was tormented in a range of positions to exploit her most sensitive spots. A gnarled apple tree supplied the devious minds of the shamans with numerous bondage positions and alongside her fellow candidates she was stretched and exposed.
As the other acolytes were tickled into hysteria and unconsciousness to justify the continued torment of the favourite candidate every position her tormentors could imagine was used to test the limits of this girl. She was laid on her back her arms tied above her head, her feet were helplessly tied to a bough with her toes tied back stretching her pale soles out to the torments supplied by those young enough to climb the tree. Meanwhile her legs and upper body were tormented by as many of women who could fit around her.
Later she was hung upside down by her ankles briefly and still managed to stay conscious despite the combination of tickling and blood rushing to her head. This position was shorter than the others the shaman wanting to keep her awake. Finally she was stretched out, several ropes being used to lower a branch so that after she was tied between the branches and an exposed root she was stretched tight by the careful easing of the branch back into towards its original place until it was tied keeping her the ginger maidenís young body stretched and helpless. Not a single inch of her body remained unexplored by the crowd of shaman women. Sadly for the male onlookers her popularity with the shaman prevented them from watching her torment from afar, being forbidden from entering the circle by ancient shamanic lore.
The four acolytes chosen, lots were drawn to select the seventeen shamans to begin the ritual. Upon their selection the twenty one women entered the inner circle to a slow ominous drum beat. Each of the four acolytes were secured to the central pole their arms secured high above their heads exposing their underarms. Their feet were secured outwards their ankles being tied slightly above their waists to expose the backs of their knees. Their feet were further than hip distance apart but not quite at a right angle although the area around the pole was almost completely taken up. Each large toe was tied back exposing the delicate area between the toes and the balls of the acolyteís feet. Above them the old chieftain was secured to the pole by a pole around his middle, a shaman who had drawn the black stone from a bag of pebbles waited with him at the platform on top of the pole and held several feathered staves to signal to the on looking council. The ritual would depend on understanding the precise time when the chieftainís spirit was ready to rise.

As the acolytes were fully secured the ritual began. The sixteen shamans at the base of the pole took positions, one shaman from each corner of the world taking a position around each acolyte. Two at the feet and one to either side of each girl. They began with feathers, gentle measured strokes beginning the tickling which brought gentle giggles from all the acolytes expect for the Blonde Northern acolyte for whom even this gentle stimulation was torture, her tormentors were careful knowing that this one was the most likely to pass out before the time at which the acolytes spirits were required to rise to carry the chieftainís spirit high enough to escape the burdens of life that are far heavier for great leaders than the concerns of ordinary men. It was for this reason that the ritual was considered necessary, the spirits of most men being considered capable of finding peace on their own, or with only a few administrations of a shaman in a much smaller tickling ritual.

As the sun began to set the shamans introduced the use of finger tickling to vary and increase the sensations the acolytes felt as their laughter filled the valley. The sunset lasted a long time, it being high summer and as the evening air began to cool the first of the shaman women were replaced their fingers beginning to tire. As the evening changed to night torches were lit and each of the shaman women would take their turn based on an indecipherable system of drawn lots and the complex status system that was never fully understood or explained, just accepted and obeyed.
The Night became a blur for the four women who by now had reached the stage in which the spirit was believed to be trying to leave the body but unable to fully achieve flight. Eight more shamanís had been signalled to enter the circle and assisted the women at the acolytes feet in scrubbing the soles with stiff brushes and hot water. After this hot stones were produced from baskets and used to dry the acolytes pink soles, oil being applied to carefully ensure that the soft skin was not burnt by this process designed to increase the sensitivity of each girl such that the final stage of the ritual could be completed. During the scrubbing and hot stone heating the toes receiving tickling attention from softer brushes and feathers.

A signal was given by the shaman at the top of the pole and the intensity of the tickling was increased such that all four girls were brought closer and closer to the limits of their endurance, the shaman women were careful not to over stimulate the girls and took turns between tickling the acolytes and watching for the signals relayed by their sisters outside the inner circle. Those tormenting the blonde had to be extra careful not to let her spirit slip the dainty constraints of her body too soon whilst those tormenting the red-head needed extra help which was gladly provided. In order that balance be maintained the extra shaman required were matches around the other three girls although gentler stimulation was applied, especially for the blonde for whom the gentle feather tickling was unbearable.

With a frantic flurry of her feather covered staffs the shaman observing the old chieftain signalled that he was ready to release the burden of his soul to the winds of the world. The signal was quickly relayed and the tickling was taken to the maximum. Simultaneously all four girls were pushed beyond their capacity and each felt their spirits soar in ecstatic agony their minds seeming to swirl outside of their bodies and mingle in the nightís turbulent energetic air. The onlookers gasped sensing the great release.
As the girlís bodies slumped the tickling stopped and after waiting for the signal that the ritual was a success each of the designated shamans leant in to breathe air into the former acolyteís lungs, the final act of initiation confirming them as a shaman. The blonde had to be untied for her lungs and heart to be pumped by hand to restart them: an ancient ritual of the ancestors taught to all children both male and female. The blonde was brought around, her spirit returned to her. It had been very long time since an acolyte had accompanied the spirit she guided to the heavens and such occasions were dreaded by those conducting the ritual. Although not occurring in memory this eventually was excused as the spirit of the acolyte being too pure for this world, despite this superstation each shaman would never forgive herself for allowing such to happen.

As the festival ended the newly initiated women walked out of the circle with their former mentors each carrying themselves with the authority their new position carried, each and every shaman had to take part in such a ritual and each girl held no bitterness towards their tormentors, knowing that each of them had suffered similarly at the hands of their teachers and held on until the time was right to carry the great spirit skywards to rest above the haven of this world, watching over the peace sought by the ancestors whose world was not cared for as this one was. The chieftainís body was to join his spirit through the action of the birds and wind to watch over his land and people, for ever.

luvtosmellfeet
06-22-2015, 06:54 PM
Very neat really enjoyed that keep going!!! :)