The Queen of Tikili Island (mostly F/F)
The Queen of Tikili Island
The seaplane circled the wonderful tropical island in its final approach. It touched the lagoon surf with a huge splash of water and several hard bumps, jumping on the gentle waves like a flat pebble, then it moored at the small wooden pier.
Sweet Hawaiian music surrounded me as I set foot on Fantasy Island. A large group of beautiful women in Polynesian palm-leaf skirts performed their traditional welcome dance, greeting each newcomer with a “Lei”, a long necklace made of colorful and fragrant flowers. Each of the twelve passengers was handed an exotic cocktail or a glass of champagne, and we toasted to a wonderful vacation here.
After one of the cute Polynesian girls had guided me to the bungalow that was to be my home for the next week, the owner of this fantastic resort greeted me personally. The mysterious yet debonair Mr. Rourke was everything I had imagined from his TV series. He literally radiated a magic flair. After the usual small talk, he said: “Well, in your letter you wrote me about your personal fantasy. Of course it will come true, but it may take some time to prepare everything to your taste. May I suggest that you take one of our sailboats to explore the island coast tomorrow? I heard you are an excellent yachtsman, and I’m sure you will enjoy the trip. The boat rent is included in our service, no extra charges.”
I nodded in agreement. A boat trip was exactly what I needed to chase away the usual stress from my job. Doubtlessly Mr. Rourke thought that I would enjoy my fantasy better in a vacation-like state of mind.
Alas, so I started my tour on the following morning. Halfway around the island, I saw another island about 3 miles away, and I felt a mysterious urge to head that way, out of the calm lagoon on to the open sea. Wind and weather were just perfect that day, so it was more of a sportsman’s challenge than a dare. Coming closer, I could see the lush green and the gleaming white beaches, a wonderful place to have a picnic lunch.
Suddenly, the boat shuddered with a nasty jolt, accompanied by a sickening crunch at the bottom: I had hit a coral reef! The dingy craft began to fill with seawater at an astonishing speed. My only chance was to jump and swim to the nearby unknown island, or I would sink with my boat. Fantasy Island was too far away, and I didn’t trust the sharks enough for such a long distance.
Luckily the beach was only about 300 yards away, and I have always been a passable swimmer. As I approached the beach, I could hear voices through the roar of the surf on the reef. Female laughter, to be exact. Soon I saw a girl kneeling in the sand, her back pointing towards me, so I could not make out what she was doing. But I heard more than one woman laughing, and sure enough I was able to see another girl, standing near a palm tree and also doing something mysterious.
This riddle aroused my curiosity: Why were those girls laughing so hard? Causing as little noise and splashing as I could, I swam nearer to the voices until my feet touched ground. Finally I had reached the beach, and as soundlessly as I could manage, I sneaked nearer to the action. And what I saw took my breath:
The girl kneeling on the beach tickled the soles of a woman whose body was buried in the white sand! Only her feet stuck out, and her head which she seemed to be laughing off. The two beauties were much too busy to notice me, so I ducked and passed them by silently to get closer to the mysterious palm tree. I identified the sounds coming from there as female laughter, quite similar to the beach scene, and I was right: One girl was bound tightly to the tree, and the other one stood in front of her, tickling her sides with both hands. From the spot where I had landed, I was only able to see the torturers’ back, not the ticklees.
If I had thought I had seen enough miracles for the day, I was wrong: Not far away, another Polynesian beauty hung upside down from another tree, the feet bound to a low branch, her hands fettered on her back. One girl tickled her feet, while a second woman busied her hands on her upper body. All the participants were topless and barefoot, their only garment seemed to be a skirt made of palm leaves, the traditional clothing of Polynesia. This revealed a lot of bronze-tanned, perfectly smooth and obviously highly ticklish skin, truly a sight to behold. “Wow, I’ve found it! At long last, I’ve found Paradise Island!”, I exclaimed.
This shout startled the women, they hadn’t noticed my presence before. The three active ticklers threw themselves on the ground and bowed low, murmuring incomprehensible words. As they realized that I couldn’t understand them, they stood up again and made inviting gestures towards the mountain at the center of the island. I understood: They wanted me to follow them, undoubtedly to their village. Still dazzled, I obeyed.
They led me along an obviously well-used path through the lush vegetation, keeping their eyes down and murmuring constantly something that sounded like a prayer. After less than five minutes, our small group arrived at a large clearing with at least twenty skillfully construed, rather large huts, made of palm fronds. A dozen children of all ages came running towards us, shouting excitedly and thus alarming the other inhabitants. More tropically clad women streamed out of the huts and bowed low as they saw me.
I felt bewildered and a little embarrassed by so much attention. These people seemed to take me for somebody they knew! So I tried to clear up the mistake, but nobody understood me. Finally, an impressive woman in a robe made of colorful feathers appeared from the biggest hut. Her whole bearing told me: That’s the Queen of this island. Silently, she looked at me for a long time, then she, too, bowed.
“Welcome back to Tikili, oh Master. We not see you long time! Every full moon we sacrifice three girl on beach for your return, since eight generations.” This puzzled me even more, and I asked: “I don’t know for whom you mistake me, lady, but I’m just a stranded tourist. My boat sunk out there by the reef. If there’s a phone somewhere on this island, we can clear this up in a minute!”
She stared at me: “You speak word no understand, same like Master. I show you island, no phony. And I tell you story to understand.” Together with her entourage of three girls, she guided me through her village, while she told me an incredible story:
Apparently, this island had never had contact with the outside world until a stranded sailor arrived at their beach, about 150 years ago. After he had recovered from his injuries, he showed many useful things to the population. Some agriculture, a lot of craftsmanship, and several treatments for wounds and broken limbs to heal better. The islanders respected him greatly, and he became an influential person. Soon he married the island queen’s daughter, and they had many children.
But he also instigated a new custom: He loved to tickle the village girls whenever he could, and to please him, they often volunteered to be tied down and tickled by their “Master”, as they called him. The islanders were a merry people who loved to laugh a lot, so these tickle games suited them fine. Every year, they celebrated the Master’s birthday with a big tickle party of many participants.
After the sailor’s death, his eldest daughter became Queen of Tikili, as the island was named by now, referring to the Master’s word for their wonderful new games. They couldn’t pronounce it correctly, so they said “tikili” for “tickle”. To honor his memory and hoping to bring back his reincarnated spirit, they “sacrificed” three girls, every month after full moon. They didn’t kill them, of course, but the girls had to submit to a whole day of intense tickle torture. Yet, there had never been shortage of volunteers so far, because over the generations, tickling had become a normal part of their life. It was even considered a special honor to belong to the chosen ones. Only the most ticklish girls were worthy of this honor, and several test competitions ensured the careful selection.
As it seemed, my ship-wreckage happened at an auspicious date: It was their monthly tickle sacrifice event, and the very next day, the anniversary of the Master’s arrival was to be celebrated with a huge tickle-fest. Just then, a white man swam ashore, like the legends told, and everybody on this island was sure: I was the reincarnation of their Master!
Somehow, in the back of my head, a suspicion began to arise: I had already arrived in my fantasy for which I had booked this trip! But the anticipation of the coming tickle events soon made me forget my puzzling how Mr. Rourke could have arranged all this. It was simply no longer important.
My hosts pampered me with tidbits of the most delicious tropical fruits, two beauties fanned cool air with palm fronds, and the whole village was incredibly friendly. The evening celebrations had started with a traditional Luau, the baking of a whole pig in an earth-oven. Laughter and giggling could be heard among the constant happy chatter, and from time to time I could see some girls tickling each other for fun.
After dinner, the villagers performed several traditional polynesian dances. One of them was particularly interesting, as the dancing girls sneaked out tickle attacks on their neighbors, trying to get them out of rhythm. The victims giggled shrilly but couldn't be distracted.
Finally, the Island Queen got up and held a speech in their melodious language. The only comprehensible words for me were "tikili" and "master". Afterwards, the Queen addressed me: "Now Master, you see girls for tomorrow celebrations. Hope you like!" Twelve Polynesian beauties in their late teens or early twenties stepped forward and bowed in front of me. I was glad not be a judge in a beauty contest, because the decision would have been extremely difficult. The Queen spoke some words to the selected girls, and they all stretched out their right foot towards me. "Test tikili on feet!" the Queen told me, and I was only too happy to oblige.
One by one, I tickled their lovely, tender soles. The girls squealed, giggled, twitched, but none of them withdrew her foot. Only the last girl in the line had problems: she actually collapsed to the floor when I tickled her tootsies. But even then, she kept her foot in place!
The whole village applauded happily as the presentation was over. Some delicious liquid was served in coconut halfshells, and it seemed to contain alcohol, as my head started to get dizzy, even though in a most enjoyable way. "Master showed us how to make booze from fruits," explained the Queen. "We only drink it when special celebration. Very good!" Indeed!
An hour or so later, the liquor showed its effect: More and more people went back to their huts to sleep, and as I was a bit drowsy myself, I followed their example. I was assigned a seperate hut which turned out to be quite comfortable. Sleep arrived only seconds after I lay down in my hangmat.
*
The first half of the next day was dedicated to the spirits of the ancestors, and ritual sacrifices to the various deities and Tikis of the island. They were asked to smile benevolently on the tickle celebrations, which started in the afternoon.
The twelve chosen girls performed one of those enticing polynesian dances with swaying hips and extremely gracious movements. Although it was meant as a form of prayer, it did everything to spur on my arousal. No red-blooded man could have withstood that sight of their perfectly formed bodies, the smooth bronze tan of their skin nicely contrasting to the yellow palm-leaf skirts. As tradition dictated, this skirt was their only garment; their nude breasts were barely covered by their long, flowing black hair. The pronounced rhythm of the drums enhanced the erotic impression of the swaying body motions.
Several hours after lunch, the Queen took command or the celebrations. She ordered the girls to kneel down in a daisy-chain circle, one behind the other. Some of the girls trembled with anticipation of the tickling, but all of them wore a big smile on their beautiful faces.
The Queen blew into a huge horn-like sea shell as a signal to start. Immediately the air was filled with girlish squeals and loud guffawing. Some of the participants attacked the soles of the girl in front of them, others kneaded the ribs or tummies from behind, and they switched their target frequently.
One of the girls squealed particularly loud; she pressed her arms down to protect her super-ticklish sides and armpits, but in vain: The fiendish fingers from behind were already there, wickedly wiggling in the gap between the defensive arms and the ribcage. The tortured girl's features contorted in a mask of involuntary hilarity, her eyes closed firmly in her agony.
Of course, this meant that the girl in front of her was able to execute her tickling on her own victim without distraction, and she made shameless use of this unfair advantage. But the girl in front of her seemed to have a strong will. Although she was screaming in top voice, she didn't interrupt her own tickling action for a second.
Suddenly, further on in this circle of tickle pleasures, a girl collapsed helplessly from the tickling inflicted on her. She wasn't even able to make any protective movement, only her muscles twitched in uncontrollable laughter. Her tickler had to reach forward to get at her, but this made her armpits fully accessible for the fingers from behind. A perfect place to attack her most ticklish area, and the opportunity was not wasted: Her devious tickler sneaked her fingers in and wriggled them with hard pressure. This was too much for her, she couldn't uphold her own attack on the collapsed girl.
This short rest gave new strength to the previously tickle-paralyzed girl, and she concentrated on the feet in front of her face. The owner of these tootsies was so surprised by the renewed attack that she jumped forward, taking down her own victim with her, and the whole circle collapsed like a row of domino pieces. one above each other.
Now all restraints were gone, and the formerly well-organized order developed into a chaotic tickle-fight, each against all. Arms and legs flailed in helpless reaction to the multiple tickling which was coming from all sides now. The circle became a huge tickle-ball of wriggling limbs and squealing faces. It was really hard to tell which tickled foot belonged to which laughing girl, and it was impossible for the participant to know by whom they were tickled. This whole melee went on for at least fifteen minutes before the Queen blew into her seashell-horn to restore order. Slowly the knot unwound, not without another occasional tickling sneaked in. But finally, the twelve individual girls stood in front of the spectators, and they had their eyes fixed on me with expectation.
The Queen noticed that I had no idea what they expected from me, so she explained in her broken English: "Master must now choose who was three most ticklish girls, understand?" I nodded, but rather cluelessly. "That's almost impossible to tell, as it was just a huge ball. Maybe if I could test them seperately?" I asked, hoping to tickle them myself. The Queen smiled: "Oh yes, Master can do what he want! How you tickle them?"
I told them to kneel down in a row. Two girls should hold the arms of the victim apart, while two other ones were to fixate her ankles to the ground. That way I could freely test their most ticklish spots. Each girl said her name before I tickled her, and all of them gave me a beautiful smile, as if to cajole me to choose them. The first girl was Alana, a rather tall and almost skinny girl. When I knelt down on her right side to approach her ribs with my fingers, she trembled slightly in anticipation. She reacted strongly, and this even increased when I touched her armpits: she erupted in a high-pitched squeal. But her feet didn't seem to be extremely sensitive; tickling her soles just elicited a sweet giggle from her.
Kailana was next. I decided to attack her with both hands on her sides from behind. She almost fell out of the other girls' grip, her laughter piercing the air. The same shrill laughter followed the first touch of her soles. Hmm, nice reactions, but I didn't like the sound of her voice. Keona, on the other hand, showed a beautifully melodious laughter and even stronger reactions, no matter where I tickled her.
One by one, I tickled all the twelve wonderful girls, and the decision became more and more difficult. All were excruciatingly ticklish, and every one of them could have participated in any beauty contest. Soon I became afraid of standing up between the tickle tests to move to the next girl, as my shorts displayed an embarrassing bulge at the front. The girls must have noticed it, too, but they only smiled knowingly, which made me relax a bit.
After I had reached the end of the row, I was still unable to choose the three most ticklish girls, although I had narrowed down the number to five of twelve. So I asked to get a second try with those five to reach the final choice. The Queen smiled approvingly, and I took my time to test my favorites. My hands explored every nook and cranny of their ticklish bodies, counted each rib for a dozen times, dabbled in extremly sensitive, smooth armpits, took care of each delicious toe (with the eager assistance of my tongue), and caressed each wrinkle of the high-arched soles. They elicited a cacophony of sounds, a turmoil of ticklish emotions, a hysteric ballet of twitching muscles. The girls guffawed, giggled, squealed, and pleaded, they squirmed and wriggled and jolted, but the restraining arms were strong and my fingers were well-practised in the art of tickling.
Finally, I reached my decision on who were the ticklish girls: Leilani, Miliani, and Keona. They had almost passed out during the exhausting test. I don't know who sweated more, the girls or I. The Queen sensed our condition and moved the whole party over to the beach, where we had a refreshing swim in the lagoon, followed by an invigorating sunbath. The other girls horsed around and splashed like kids in the pool, everybody was so free and happy here.
Dawn was already painting the beach in pastel colors when the flares were lighted. They surrounded a group of palm trees which stood in a perfect triangle. Between them, helpful hands had suspended three hangmats with some unique features: Additional ropes secured them to the base of the palms to prevent them from swinging around too much, and more ropes were tied to the head and foot ends to fetter wrists and ankles.
My three contest winners lay down on these hangmats and let themselves get tied there without a trace of reluctance. The Queen resumed her explanations: "Big honor for girls, be sacrifice to gods. Nine girls now tickle three girls until sun has sunk in sea." Ah, now the sacrificial ceremony was about to begin. The nine ticklers were the remaining girls from the contest, and they wore a big smile on their face when they started the ritual tickling.
The procedure showed that my choice had been correct: They were the most ticklish girls I had ever met. At first, each girl's feet were tickled one after the other, to enable the auditorium to enjoy each individual reaction. Then, all three girls underwent a simultaneous foot-tickling to elicit a chorus of hilarity. This tactics was repeated with every imaginable tickle-spot: ribs, sides, tummy, armpits, and as the hangmats provided full access from all sides, the buttocks were tickled, too, from beneath. The latter torture was particularly funny, because the bound girls jumped around like fish in a net.
To my utter disappointment, the sun settled rather fast in these southern latitudes, the whole ceremony lasted less than an hour. However, I bet that the sacrificed girls were all too happy about the end of their torture. Nevertheless, the gleam in their eyes told me in no uncertain terms that they had enjoyed their ordeal. The bronze skin wore typical red blotches of lust around the breasts and necks, and their walk had gained a langorous swaying quality as they moved towards me.
The Queen spoke a final prayer to the gods and put her hand gently to the forehead of each girl in a blessing gesture. Then she turned to me: "Now Master, we hope you like Tikili Island. Big honor for us that you are here. Please one more favor: Please accept these three girls as servants for night. Even bigger honor for girls and for us. Yes?"
Now, my mind was in a frenzy: I was really getting these three extremely beautiful and highly ticklish girls as a present for the whole night? Wow, I was speechless! But the promising smiles of my "servants" made me feel right again, and I nodded thankfully.
All the people around me beamed and applauded until the Queen interrupted: "Thank you, Master! Let me give you another present: This chain made out of twelve sea shells, one shell for one girl of ceremony. This to remind you of today!" And she donned a wonderfully crafted necklace around my neck, made of small, shiny sea shells with a fluffy red feather between each of them. I was overwhelmed with so much hospitality.
We had a huge dinner around large campfires, more girls danced, everybody passed me the finest tidbits, and I was hugged and kissed countless times. My three servants read every wish from my eyes, and when the feast had ended, they followed me into my hut, cutely giggling.
Arrived there, the three beauties performed a special dance for me, highly sensuous and seductive. At the end, they took off their palm frond skirts and fell on me, undressing me as well, while their fingers tickled every square inch of my body. When I was as naked as them, they surrounded me in a tender hug from all sides and kissed me. They giggled when they noticed my obvious excitement, but they didn't lok embarrassed at all. Instead they concentrated their caresses on my most erogenous body parts.
But that was decidedly to fast for me, so I started to tickle them. After another brief tickle fight, one of the girls produced two seagull feathers out of nowhere and chatted excitedly in their native tongue. I had no idea what this meant, but the other girls unterstood. Together, they held the third girl's ankles apart and lifted them up into the air. Ah, I was to use the feathers on her! And I had an idea where she wanted me to use them. But I couldn't resist to feather-tickle her whole upper body first, she was too delightfully ticklish to skip the foreplay. Her friends took care of the highly sensitive soles in the meantime, which brought the tortured girl's laughter to a feverish frenzy.
When I felt that she had been tickled enough, my feathers circled around her fragrant venus flower. That changed the pitch of her voice to a low moan, interrupted by sweet giggles. My feathers danced about the delicate area in unpredictable spirals, touching her lust pearl every now and then. Whenever I touched her most sensitive spot, she let out a gasp, and her eyes told me how aroused she already was. The to other girls had turned to a gentle tongue-tickling of her toes and arches, which spurred on her lust even more. When I felt her climax approach, I made both feather tips dance madly on her pink button. She closed her eyes, her hips bucked like electrocuted, and with an unearthly moan from deep within, she thrashed around in the orgasm of her life. Her lust waves arrived in a seemingly endless row, and it took them several minutes to get over.
The two ankle-holding girls and I hugged and kissed her tenderly, but not for long: The other girls had become so horny in the sexy procedure that they actually squabbled about whose turn it was next. I told them to settle that point in a mutual tickle fight, and they fell on each other to tickle the opponent into submission. Another row of orgasm tickling followed, and another gang tickling, and another tickle fight, and more orgasms (some of them my own)...
I don't remember all the details, the tickle orgy went on and on, my brain felt like being drunk, and my muscles had turned to jelly when we finally fell asleep, in a bundle of interlocked limbs and sweaty bodies.
*
When I woke up that morning, I was still revelling in the sweet dreams I had after that wonderful Tikili celebration. At first, I refused to open my eyes to relive my experience more lively.
But I was in for a shock when I finally allowed my eyelids to give way to the bright sunlight: This wasn't my palm frond hut on Tikili! At first I didn't realize where I really was, but then the truth hit home: I was in my bungalow on Fantasy Island, no doubt. Before I could wonder too much about that miraculous change of setting, somebody knocked at the door. It was the mysterious Mr. Rourke with his gnome-like servant Tatoo.
"Good morning, Sir. Did you sleep well? Your breakfast is being served on your verandah in a few minutes. I thought I'd better wake you up, as you wanted to sail around our island today."
"What??? Why... how... you mean..." I stuttered. I was totally nonplussed. After I had collected my wits, I burst out: "But that was yesterday! The boat shattered on the shoals, and I swam ashore a small nearby island called Tikili, and there was lots of friendly people, and my fantasy was fulfilled to perfection!" Mr Rourke smiled politely: "Sounds interesting. But there is no island near Fantasy Island, the next one is two hundred miles away. Your boat is ready at the jetty for you whenever you like."
"You mean... this wasn't reality? Just a dream? And my fantasy... is not yet fulfilled?" - "I don't know about your dreams, but your fantasy has still to be made real. Tomorrow, or the day after maybe. It is supposed to happen as a surprise, you know. Today is reserved for your boat trip, as you desired. Have a beautiful day, Sir!" He turned to leave, and he left me speechless.
Tatoo, however, winked at me in an odd conspiratory way and pointed at his neck before he left. At first I didn't know what he meant, but then I realized it: My hands went to my own neck, and there it was! The beautiful necklace, made of sea-shells and purple feathers, given to me by the Queen of Tikili.
I began to wonder what the real surprise of Mr. Rourke would be like...
