Petite_Tickles
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Aug 13, 2008
- Messages
- 56
- Points
- 0
The history of the Philippines was believed to have begun with the arrival of the first humans using rafts or primitive boats, at least 67,000 years ago as the 2007 discovery of Callao Man showed. The first recorded visit from the West was the arrival of Ferdinand Magellan, who sighted the island of Samar Island on March 16, 1521 and landed on Homonhon Island (now part of Guiuan, Eastern Samar province) the next day. Homonhon Island is southeast of Samar Island.
Before Magellan arrived, Negrito tribes inhabited the isles, who were subsequently joined and largely supplanted by migrating groups of Austronesians. This population had stratified into hunter-gatherer tribes, warrior societies, petty plutocracies and maritime-oriented harbor principalities which eventually grew into kingdoms, rajahnates, principalities, confederations and sultanates.
Where Marilag lived, her village was located in a bountiful valley, surrounded by forests, and tall grass spread across the land like a living carpet of greenery. The village, if it could be called that, was mostly a large gathering of huts and homes, all uniquely built to the owner's preferences, surrounding a massive stone shrine, which was closer to a primitive and ancient temple. There were no real walls that surrounded the village, and instead, most homes were surrounded by small and simple fences of wood and stone.
The culture of the people at this point in time was simple according to day-to-day activities. There were builders, worshippers, hunters, gatherers and for the massive shrine, guards. Modesty was a little known to non-existent concept to the people, as the majority did not bother with any kind of clothing, it certainly did away with the need to wash clothes, since there were none to be washed in the first place.
So who was Marilag in all this? Her name meant 'beautiful' in its translation, and she was descended from a line of proud hunters, warriors and guards. When she was old enough to understand the differences, she chose the path of the warrior and the guard. There was no such thing as a gender bias, at least amongst her people, and a boy or girl could rise to the exact same position next to each other without issue. By the time of this tale, Marilag had already come of age, and was a few years into her service as a guard.
She stood at her full height of five feet, had a firm build, but retained all of her feminine beauty and even some tenderness. She had light chocolate brown complexion, large rounded eyes, a small, slightly upturned nose, and pouty lips. She was slender rather than curvy, but with full and firm breasts, and a supple build that was indicative of a young but strong girl accustomed to agility and moving quickly. Though it was not common custom to do so, Marilag preferred to shave the hair from her loins and underarms, as she found them rather bothersome and unappealing in looks to herself, amongst other...problems that she had with them.
She used a sibat (Filipino staff/spear) as her weapon of choice, and hers was crafted to be more of a cross between a sword with a staff handle, giving her weapon for more reach than a sword, but with the sturdiness of a sword during actual combat.
Despite the seeming isolation of her village, and the relative safety of the plentiful forest that surrounded their valley, Marilag was not without first-hand genuine combat experience. Indeed, the people of her nameless village were not unfamiliar with battle, but not with other tribes or humans. Rather, their frequent quarry were beings and creatures of legend. In the modern age, they would be regarded as myths, folk tales, and magical nonsense. But to Marilag and her people, they were the foes, and occasional allies in their very magical land. The very shrine that Marilag's family fervently guarded belonged to a goddess princess whom many had actually seen in the very beautiful flesh. She was a goddess of mirth and laughter, sometimes. She watched over Marilag's village as a guardian, and unknown to them, would sometimes choose one of them to be a "sacrifice" for her delight. The only good thing was that no one would die from these secret rituals. The bad thing was that that person would usually be a sacrifice almost all the days of her life, and it was always a female that was chosen.
So on a particularly pleasant day, Marilag took her place before the shrine. She was at the base of the dormant volcano where the shrine was located, and the beginnings of the large and magical forests were found rather nearby, by just forty paces, and she would be entering the woods. Recently, she had beaten a particularly abrasive tikbalang (a strange malevolent being with the body of a man but a horse's head and legs), which had surprised her, and tried to run her into the forest, where it would continue to harass and terrorize her until she was too far and too lost to ever find her village again, except Marilag wasn't one given to fear and terror. She ran the demonic being back to the forest instead, minus a hand and almost half a face.
A cheery bungisngis (a friendly one-eyed giant) wandered past, and waved at Marilag, who waved back. The giant disappeared into the western side of the forests, when she heard the sound of someone approaching. Knowing a fellow villager would have called her by name first to allay suspicion and caution, she put her hand out in a halt gesture, and demanded identification of the source of the sounds.
Silence.
Suddenly, from the eastern side of the forest, a beautiful, red-skinned diwata (a Filipino version of dryads and nymphs) with wavy raven hair emerged from amongst the woods. She did not pass beyond the border of the outermost trees and looked fervently at Marilag. She opened her mouth and a song-like voice spoke within her mind, beckoning her by word and by gesture. The diwata faded back into the woods. Under normal circumstances, Marilag would not have heeded such a risky venture, but the diwata were not generally evil by nature, unless the person they were dealing with had done something to earn their ire. Thinking back quickly, Marilag could not recall having committed any offence to such beings, and when one like them called upon her, it was quite likely under the instruction of a higher being, such as a goddess, like the very goddess whose shrine she protected. So, armed with only her sibat, and a belt for which she might hook her weapon to, or in a flash unfasten and use as a secondary weapon, a whip, she strode across the short distance from the shrine to the forest, and once she passed the large ancient trees, she was within the forests.
The diwata was there, standing, waiting. She was beautiful, possessing the figure of a tall woman with full curves and a balanced build, though her breasts were pronounced and very well rounded. She smiled at Marilag, and without a word, turned and started walking. It appeared that the warrior girl was expected to follow without question. Still cautious, but more intrigued, she followed a safe distance away, her eyes and senses attuned to the forest around her, which was very much alive, yet unusually still and quiet. Eerily so. Something was afoot, and she appeared to be the only one unaware.
They walked a good half hour into the forest, and just as Marilag was ready to question out loud the distance they were to travel, the diwata stopped and turned to look upon the girl, raising a palm forward to stop her. She spoke again, this time with her own voice, and said that she (Marilag) had been chosen by the goddess. When asked for what exactly, the red-skinned woman smiled mysteriously, and said as a sacrifice.
Her eyes widening, Marilag raised her sibat anticipating danger and attack, and sliced a long green vine that lashed out from between the trees to grab her. She spun and cut another vine coming from a different direction, but realized far too late that she was doomed, as more and more vines and unusually flexible branches from tall trees began to animate and reach out for her, grabbing her wrists and ankles. She fought, but it was a lost cause, she was unprepared for such relentless attacks, and was soon hanging upside down, held by her ankles before a tree, which turned out to have what appeared to be eyes and a mouth. Her weapon was taken from her, but it hung nearby, and her wrists were held by more branches and vines.
The diwata slowly approached her and looked her in the eyes, assuring her that no harm would come upon her, despite what she thought. She urged Marilag to give in to the events of the "sacrifice", as resisting would only make the experience more excruciating for her, but assured her that the goddess was bestowing a great honour on Marilag, as her family would be thrice blessed for generations because of her. The red woman then waved and vanished within a giant flower, saying she was to be part of the festivities, and Marilag was the main course.
Main course.
That didn't sound reassuring to Marilag, who began to struggle and attempt to break free of her bonds, despite the diwata's suggestion that she gave in to the events, whatever they may be.
Branches that felt like long fingers began to wrap around her eyes and mouth, pulling her head backwards, preventing her from being able to look downwards - or upwards in her case - at her body. She bit hard on the "finger" wrapped around her mouth, and tasted wood and bark, but she didn't care, hoping that the living tree could feel pain. If it did, it made no sign or sound of it, and simply held her head in place.
Suddenly, the vines and branches holding her ankles began to spread her legs a little apart, and she felt something bristly, soft, and feathery gently grazing over the smooth and soft folds of her loins in a repetitive and determined manner. A sweet and high-pitched laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. She twisted her thighs and tried to crush her legs together to stop the tickling between her legs. She had never been touched in that tender region before by anyone else let alone by other objects, and the thin skin there had always been a subject of private embarrassment to herself due to how unusually sensitive they were to touching. And now something unseen was exploiting this secret of hers while she was utterly helpless to stop it.
She had an older sister, who was already wed to one of the villagers. She spoke of marital obligations, and of things her husband did to her. By her sister's description, it sounded pleasurable. But for Marilag, she feared it would probably be torturous, as she discovered from early on, just how sensitive her skin was through personal curiosity. Her breasts and nipples were found to be just as sensitive to the touch, and so, she believed she would much rather live a life of solitude than be subjected to touch in places where she would be made so discombobulated by liberal exploration and obligated to endure it.
She trembled violently as the uninvited brushing and tickling of her labia went on rather mercilessly, her laughter increased, and though she could not see her own reflection, Marilag could feel her cheeks warming, and and she clenched her eyes shut so tightly it almost hurt. She fought against the branches holding her head in place, trying to break free and see her tormentor. A thin sheen of sweat was already beginning to form over her body in the warmth of the evening sun.
She shook her head left to right, roughly, almost cutting and grazing her skin against the abrasive texture of the branches, and she was at last released and she immediately - even as she continued laughing madly - looked upon the object of her ticklish torment over her most private parts. It looked like a strange white flower halfway to full bloom, with over a hundred prehensile petals surrounding the head of the flower. From the head, small polyps or feelers with swollen fuzzy tips moved about in slow lazy motions. The petals had soft, downy fur all long its texture, and each petal could move about flexibly like tentacles, much like the polyps in the head itself. The entire flower was located at the tip of a long, thin green vine, which bent up and down all long the entirety of her loins, leaving nothing of her private regions unmolested.
When she was freed from the branches holding her head, the tickling on her loins thankfully stopped, and she was able to catch her breath. Greedily gasping and sucking in heavy lungfuls of air, Marilag slowly began to ponder how she might escape when she felt herself being moved. Vines from below reached up to grab her wrists as her back touched the ground, but her legs were still held by the branches of the tree with the face. The entire tree suddenly moved and its mouth engulfed her feet from the ankles, but the branches still remained wrapped around them to help firmly keep her legs slightly apart. The vines pulled her arms over her head and tied them together, and more vines wrapped at her elbows, even more tightly binding her, and restricting her mobility by that much more. She swallowed down a lump in her throat, as she anticipated what was coming.
While her fear of pain and death subsided somewhat, she wondered if she might not have preferred pain and death over what she sensed that more tickling was in store for her. Without warning, she felt vines like firm fingers digging into her ribs on either side. Arching her back in response to its full capacity, Marilag cackled and screamed in protest while the vines continued to scratch and dig at her ribs, following her every movement with perfect anticipation, seemingly aware of exactly where she was going to move or how she was going to move, sparing her not an ounce of time to catch her breath or a lessening of the tickling. She willingly gave to the goddess who watched in silence and private, the delight she took pleasure in hearing, and the sheer euphoria of beholding a proud warrior girl reduced to a quivering lump of ticklish mass.
Her sweat was pouring out now, and it only made the tickling even worse, as more tendrils and similar flowers to the loin-tickling one joined the first few that were tickling her ribs so efficiently, and began to cover her sides, tummy and underarms. She was almost "dressed" in tickling vines from the top now, as they wiggled their tickly tips all over the surface of her heaving belly, with one fuzzy tendril dipping into her navel and wiggling about in the most ticklish manner possible, turning her laughter into more screams than anything else. She was only glad that nothing was going for her breasts and nipples, and the tickling of her loins had seemingly stopped. She was afraid of what would happen if they decided to tickle her everywhere all at once.
To her horror, when she opened her eyes at one point, she noticed two rather different looking flowers hovering over her, and from their trajectory, it looked like it was over her chest. The flowers were shaped like a five-pronged star, and the innermost section looked like a mouth with many rows and layers of white teeth. The entirety of the flower's petals also looked bumpy and hairy with some growing large enough to look like polyps with swollen tips. The flowers moved via their tentacles like serpents studying its prey. And then, they dove down, descending directly over her breasts and nipples. The mouths of the flowers wrapped perfectly over the entirety of her rather erect nipples, which had become so against her wishes, as, despite her disdain for the situation, was becoming significantly aroused by the tickling.
The teeth as it turned out were soft fuzzy feelers, and the mouth of the flower was indeed capable of closing gently, creating a slight pinch which would press the fuzzy feelers over the nipples, and the "lips" of the flowers' mouths were covered in more fuzzy feelers and sensitizing pollen, which would graze over her areolae each time the mouth closed and opened. Meanwhile, the flowers' petals, like the loin-tickling flowers, were prehensile and very flexible, and while pressed against the soft mounds of her breasts, moved about of their own accord, creating an excruciating tickling sensation over any part of Marilag's already oversensitive flesh.
The flowers' mouths started "chewing" on Marilag's nipples, and the feelers within softly grazing the swollen and erect skin, while the lips of the mouths tickled her areolae, and the petals tickled the rest of her breasts. That was it. Marilag tilted her head against the ground, looking "upwards" from where she lay and screeched long and hard. She bucked and twisted so hard, she almost broke her own spine trying to throw off the breast-tickling flowers, which like everything else, followed her movements so perfectly, she failed to reduce her torment by even one bit.
Then she felt more furry tentacles, branches, flowers and vines starting to tickle her inner and outer thighs, knees, and even the backs of her knees. While something within the tree's mouth which felt oddly like a wet slimy tongue began to lick and brush over the soles of her feet. The poor girl was beyond hysterical and fell into bouts of silent laughter, with hot tears rolling down on either side of her head. Why was she being tormented so by the goddess?
Finally, the flower that had started her torment by tickling her loins started up again.
Brush brush brush. The white flower with way too many petals began to lightly graze and tickle her labia, paying careful attention to the folds of the skin and the thin slit of her womanhood. She doubted that any other girl in the world had loins as ticklish as hers, and she began to wonder if she was cursed to have it so sensitive. Her vision was turning red, and her brain was screaming at her to put a stop to the sensory torment. She dearly wished that she could heed her brain's wishes, but was powerless to do so. The branches of the tree delightedly scratched at her inner thighs, prompting laugh after ticklish laugh to fall out of her lips, locked in a laughing expression, and she wondered if she'd ever remember how to close her mouth ever again.
For that matter, how long was this going to keep up? She should have passed out by now, or so she hoped, but somehow, she didn't.
She screamed and laughed, and felt something odd deep within her, as her arousal was finally catching up with all the tickling and touching in such intimate places, though her ticklishness didn't lessen at all. If anything, it seemed to be increasing as she was tickled all over her body. With a cry, she was finally given to release and pleasure.
But it was short lived, as suddenly, more vines, branches and flowers seemed to appear, and they found more parts of her that was still uncovered. And to her sheer horror, the tickling was getting worse, and she was also feeling all the more sensitive than she already was. Wailing, she weakly bucked and thrashed. More tongues were licking the soles of her overly ticklish feet, and another white flower had found her bottom, she felt her upraised legs being tickled from behind as well as the front. The fuzzy feelers reached between the crack of her buttocks and occasionally brushed all the way to the front, adding to the one already acquainted with her loins far too intimately for Marilag's liking. She cackled and screamed with renewed laughter, and the merciless tickling went on well into the night, until, at long last, the girl was given much-needed rest.
When she awoke, she was within the folds of a large voluminous flower, but was unbound, and her weapon was nearby. She picked it up and looked up at the morning sun. Her body still tingled, and a slight breeze blew by, and she flinched, feeling a ticklish sensation over her body. She concluded that she'd grown even more ticklish than she already was, turned and fled back to her village. She reached the shrine of her treacherous goddess, who the diwata claimed was the source of her torment last night.
A flower resembling the one that tickled her loins so shamelessly was growing at the foot of the statue of the shrine. Marilag picked it up and studied the flower curiously. When the flower moved of its own accord she threw it away as far as she could and turned to return home. She didn't care. She needed a day's rest after what she endured.
She wondered if her ordeal was over, as the red woman said nothing of this happening only once in her life.
The end?
Before Magellan arrived, Negrito tribes inhabited the isles, who were subsequently joined and largely supplanted by migrating groups of Austronesians. This population had stratified into hunter-gatherer tribes, warrior societies, petty plutocracies and maritime-oriented harbor principalities which eventually grew into kingdoms, rajahnates, principalities, confederations and sultanates.
Where Marilag lived, her village was located in a bountiful valley, surrounded by forests, and tall grass spread across the land like a living carpet of greenery. The village, if it could be called that, was mostly a large gathering of huts and homes, all uniquely built to the owner's preferences, surrounding a massive stone shrine, which was closer to a primitive and ancient temple. There were no real walls that surrounded the village, and instead, most homes were surrounded by small and simple fences of wood and stone.
The culture of the people at this point in time was simple according to day-to-day activities. There were builders, worshippers, hunters, gatherers and for the massive shrine, guards. Modesty was a little known to non-existent concept to the people, as the majority did not bother with any kind of clothing, it certainly did away with the need to wash clothes, since there were none to be washed in the first place.
So who was Marilag in all this? Her name meant 'beautiful' in its translation, and she was descended from a line of proud hunters, warriors and guards. When she was old enough to understand the differences, she chose the path of the warrior and the guard. There was no such thing as a gender bias, at least amongst her people, and a boy or girl could rise to the exact same position next to each other without issue. By the time of this tale, Marilag had already come of age, and was a few years into her service as a guard.
She stood at her full height of five feet, had a firm build, but retained all of her feminine beauty and even some tenderness. She had light chocolate brown complexion, large rounded eyes, a small, slightly upturned nose, and pouty lips. She was slender rather than curvy, but with full and firm breasts, and a supple build that was indicative of a young but strong girl accustomed to agility and moving quickly. Though it was not common custom to do so, Marilag preferred to shave the hair from her loins and underarms, as she found them rather bothersome and unappealing in looks to herself, amongst other...problems that she had with them.
She used a sibat (Filipino staff/spear) as her weapon of choice, and hers was crafted to be more of a cross between a sword with a staff handle, giving her weapon for more reach than a sword, but with the sturdiness of a sword during actual combat.
Despite the seeming isolation of her village, and the relative safety of the plentiful forest that surrounded their valley, Marilag was not without first-hand genuine combat experience. Indeed, the people of her nameless village were not unfamiliar with battle, but not with other tribes or humans. Rather, their frequent quarry were beings and creatures of legend. In the modern age, they would be regarded as myths, folk tales, and magical nonsense. But to Marilag and her people, they were the foes, and occasional allies in their very magical land. The very shrine that Marilag's family fervently guarded belonged to a goddess princess whom many had actually seen in the very beautiful flesh. She was a goddess of mirth and laughter, sometimes. She watched over Marilag's village as a guardian, and unknown to them, would sometimes choose one of them to be a "sacrifice" for her delight. The only good thing was that no one would die from these secret rituals. The bad thing was that that person would usually be a sacrifice almost all the days of her life, and it was always a female that was chosen.
So on a particularly pleasant day, Marilag took her place before the shrine. She was at the base of the dormant volcano where the shrine was located, and the beginnings of the large and magical forests were found rather nearby, by just forty paces, and she would be entering the woods. Recently, she had beaten a particularly abrasive tikbalang (a strange malevolent being with the body of a man but a horse's head and legs), which had surprised her, and tried to run her into the forest, where it would continue to harass and terrorize her until she was too far and too lost to ever find her village again, except Marilag wasn't one given to fear and terror. She ran the demonic being back to the forest instead, minus a hand and almost half a face.
A cheery bungisngis (a friendly one-eyed giant) wandered past, and waved at Marilag, who waved back. The giant disappeared into the western side of the forests, when she heard the sound of someone approaching. Knowing a fellow villager would have called her by name first to allay suspicion and caution, she put her hand out in a halt gesture, and demanded identification of the source of the sounds.
Silence.
Suddenly, from the eastern side of the forest, a beautiful, red-skinned diwata (a Filipino version of dryads and nymphs) with wavy raven hair emerged from amongst the woods. She did not pass beyond the border of the outermost trees and looked fervently at Marilag. She opened her mouth and a song-like voice spoke within her mind, beckoning her by word and by gesture. The diwata faded back into the woods. Under normal circumstances, Marilag would not have heeded such a risky venture, but the diwata were not generally evil by nature, unless the person they were dealing with had done something to earn their ire. Thinking back quickly, Marilag could not recall having committed any offence to such beings, and when one like them called upon her, it was quite likely under the instruction of a higher being, such as a goddess, like the very goddess whose shrine she protected. So, armed with only her sibat, and a belt for which she might hook her weapon to, or in a flash unfasten and use as a secondary weapon, a whip, she strode across the short distance from the shrine to the forest, and once she passed the large ancient trees, she was within the forests.
The diwata was there, standing, waiting. She was beautiful, possessing the figure of a tall woman with full curves and a balanced build, though her breasts were pronounced and very well rounded. She smiled at Marilag, and without a word, turned and started walking. It appeared that the warrior girl was expected to follow without question. Still cautious, but more intrigued, she followed a safe distance away, her eyes and senses attuned to the forest around her, which was very much alive, yet unusually still and quiet. Eerily so. Something was afoot, and she appeared to be the only one unaware.
They walked a good half hour into the forest, and just as Marilag was ready to question out loud the distance they were to travel, the diwata stopped and turned to look upon the girl, raising a palm forward to stop her. She spoke again, this time with her own voice, and said that she (Marilag) had been chosen by the goddess. When asked for what exactly, the red-skinned woman smiled mysteriously, and said as a sacrifice.
Her eyes widening, Marilag raised her sibat anticipating danger and attack, and sliced a long green vine that lashed out from between the trees to grab her. She spun and cut another vine coming from a different direction, but realized far too late that she was doomed, as more and more vines and unusually flexible branches from tall trees began to animate and reach out for her, grabbing her wrists and ankles. She fought, but it was a lost cause, she was unprepared for such relentless attacks, and was soon hanging upside down, held by her ankles before a tree, which turned out to have what appeared to be eyes and a mouth. Her weapon was taken from her, but it hung nearby, and her wrists were held by more branches and vines.
The diwata slowly approached her and looked her in the eyes, assuring her that no harm would come upon her, despite what she thought. She urged Marilag to give in to the events of the "sacrifice", as resisting would only make the experience more excruciating for her, but assured her that the goddess was bestowing a great honour on Marilag, as her family would be thrice blessed for generations because of her. The red woman then waved and vanished within a giant flower, saying she was to be part of the festivities, and Marilag was the main course.
Main course.
That didn't sound reassuring to Marilag, who began to struggle and attempt to break free of her bonds, despite the diwata's suggestion that she gave in to the events, whatever they may be.
Branches that felt like long fingers began to wrap around her eyes and mouth, pulling her head backwards, preventing her from being able to look downwards - or upwards in her case - at her body. She bit hard on the "finger" wrapped around her mouth, and tasted wood and bark, but she didn't care, hoping that the living tree could feel pain. If it did, it made no sign or sound of it, and simply held her head in place.
Suddenly, the vines and branches holding her ankles began to spread her legs a little apart, and she felt something bristly, soft, and feathery gently grazing over the smooth and soft folds of her loins in a repetitive and determined manner. A sweet and high-pitched laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. She twisted her thighs and tried to crush her legs together to stop the tickling between her legs. She had never been touched in that tender region before by anyone else let alone by other objects, and the thin skin there had always been a subject of private embarrassment to herself due to how unusually sensitive they were to touching. And now something unseen was exploiting this secret of hers while she was utterly helpless to stop it.
She had an older sister, who was already wed to one of the villagers. She spoke of marital obligations, and of things her husband did to her. By her sister's description, it sounded pleasurable. But for Marilag, she feared it would probably be torturous, as she discovered from early on, just how sensitive her skin was through personal curiosity. Her breasts and nipples were found to be just as sensitive to the touch, and so, she believed she would much rather live a life of solitude than be subjected to touch in places where she would be made so discombobulated by liberal exploration and obligated to endure it.
She trembled violently as the uninvited brushing and tickling of her labia went on rather mercilessly, her laughter increased, and though she could not see her own reflection, Marilag could feel her cheeks warming, and and she clenched her eyes shut so tightly it almost hurt. She fought against the branches holding her head in place, trying to break free and see her tormentor. A thin sheen of sweat was already beginning to form over her body in the warmth of the evening sun.
She shook her head left to right, roughly, almost cutting and grazing her skin against the abrasive texture of the branches, and she was at last released and she immediately - even as she continued laughing madly - looked upon the object of her ticklish torment over her most private parts. It looked like a strange white flower halfway to full bloom, with over a hundred prehensile petals surrounding the head of the flower. From the head, small polyps or feelers with swollen fuzzy tips moved about in slow lazy motions. The petals had soft, downy fur all long its texture, and each petal could move about flexibly like tentacles, much like the polyps in the head itself. The entire flower was located at the tip of a long, thin green vine, which bent up and down all long the entirety of her loins, leaving nothing of her private regions unmolested.
When she was freed from the branches holding her head, the tickling on her loins thankfully stopped, and she was able to catch her breath. Greedily gasping and sucking in heavy lungfuls of air, Marilag slowly began to ponder how she might escape when she felt herself being moved. Vines from below reached up to grab her wrists as her back touched the ground, but her legs were still held by the branches of the tree with the face. The entire tree suddenly moved and its mouth engulfed her feet from the ankles, but the branches still remained wrapped around them to help firmly keep her legs slightly apart. The vines pulled her arms over her head and tied them together, and more vines wrapped at her elbows, even more tightly binding her, and restricting her mobility by that much more. She swallowed down a lump in her throat, as she anticipated what was coming.
While her fear of pain and death subsided somewhat, she wondered if she might not have preferred pain and death over what she sensed that more tickling was in store for her. Without warning, she felt vines like firm fingers digging into her ribs on either side. Arching her back in response to its full capacity, Marilag cackled and screamed in protest while the vines continued to scratch and dig at her ribs, following her every movement with perfect anticipation, seemingly aware of exactly where she was going to move or how she was going to move, sparing her not an ounce of time to catch her breath or a lessening of the tickling. She willingly gave to the goddess who watched in silence and private, the delight she took pleasure in hearing, and the sheer euphoria of beholding a proud warrior girl reduced to a quivering lump of ticklish mass.
Her sweat was pouring out now, and it only made the tickling even worse, as more tendrils and similar flowers to the loin-tickling one joined the first few that were tickling her ribs so efficiently, and began to cover her sides, tummy and underarms. She was almost "dressed" in tickling vines from the top now, as they wiggled their tickly tips all over the surface of her heaving belly, with one fuzzy tendril dipping into her navel and wiggling about in the most ticklish manner possible, turning her laughter into more screams than anything else. She was only glad that nothing was going for her breasts and nipples, and the tickling of her loins had seemingly stopped. She was afraid of what would happen if they decided to tickle her everywhere all at once.
To her horror, when she opened her eyes at one point, she noticed two rather different looking flowers hovering over her, and from their trajectory, it looked like it was over her chest. The flowers were shaped like a five-pronged star, and the innermost section looked like a mouth with many rows and layers of white teeth. The entirety of the flower's petals also looked bumpy and hairy with some growing large enough to look like polyps with swollen tips. The flowers moved via their tentacles like serpents studying its prey. And then, they dove down, descending directly over her breasts and nipples. The mouths of the flowers wrapped perfectly over the entirety of her rather erect nipples, which had become so against her wishes, as, despite her disdain for the situation, was becoming significantly aroused by the tickling.
The teeth as it turned out were soft fuzzy feelers, and the mouth of the flower was indeed capable of closing gently, creating a slight pinch which would press the fuzzy feelers over the nipples, and the "lips" of the flowers' mouths were covered in more fuzzy feelers and sensitizing pollen, which would graze over her areolae each time the mouth closed and opened. Meanwhile, the flowers' petals, like the loin-tickling flowers, were prehensile and very flexible, and while pressed against the soft mounds of her breasts, moved about of their own accord, creating an excruciating tickling sensation over any part of Marilag's already oversensitive flesh.
The flowers' mouths started "chewing" on Marilag's nipples, and the feelers within softly grazing the swollen and erect skin, while the lips of the mouths tickled her areolae, and the petals tickled the rest of her breasts. That was it. Marilag tilted her head against the ground, looking "upwards" from where she lay and screeched long and hard. She bucked and twisted so hard, she almost broke her own spine trying to throw off the breast-tickling flowers, which like everything else, followed her movements so perfectly, she failed to reduce her torment by even one bit.
Then she felt more furry tentacles, branches, flowers and vines starting to tickle her inner and outer thighs, knees, and even the backs of her knees. While something within the tree's mouth which felt oddly like a wet slimy tongue began to lick and brush over the soles of her feet. The poor girl was beyond hysterical and fell into bouts of silent laughter, with hot tears rolling down on either side of her head. Why was she being tormented so by the goddess?
Finally, the flower that had started her torment by tickling her loins started up again.
Brush brush brush. The white flower with way too many petals began to lightly graze and tickle her labia, paying careful attention to the folds of the skin and the thin slit of her womanhood. She doubted that any other girl in the world had loins as ticklish as hers, and she began to wonder if she was cursed to have it so sensitive. Her vision was turning red, and her brain was screaming at her to put a stop to the sensory torment. She dearly wished that she could heed her brain's wishes, but was powerless to do so. The branches of the tree delightedly scratched at her inner thighs, prompting laugh after ticklish laugh to fall out of her lips, locked in a laughing expression, and she wondered if she'd ever remember how to close her mouth ever again.
For that matter, how long was this going to keep up? She should have passed out by now, or so she hoped, but somehow, she didn't.
She screamed and laughed, and felt something odd deep within her, as her arousal was finally catching up with all the tickling and touching in such intimate places, though her ticklishness didn't lessen at all. If anything, it seemed to be increasing as she was tickled all over her body. With a cry, she was finally given to release and pleasure.
But it was short lived, as suddenly, more vines, branches and flowers seemed to appear, and they found more parts of her that was still uncovered. And to her sheer horror, the tickling was getting worse, and she was also feeling all the more sensitive than she already was. Wailing, she weakly bucked and thrashed. More tongues were licking the soles of her overly ticklish feet, and another white flower had found her bottom, she felt her upraised legs being tickled from behind as well as the front. The fuzzy feelers reached between the crack of her buttocks and occasionally brushed all the way to the front, adding to the one already acquainted with her loins far too intimately for Marilag's liking. She cackled and screamed with renewed laughter, and the merciless tickling went on well into the night, until, at long last, the girl was given much-needed rest.
When she awoke, she was within the folds of a large voluminous flower, but was unbound, and her weapon was nearby. She picked it up and looked up at the morning sun. Her body still tingled, and a slight breeze blew by, and she flinched, feeling a ticklish sensation over her body. She concluded that she'd grown even more ticklish than she already was, turned and fled back to her village. She reached the shrine of her treacherous goddess, who the diwata claimed was the source of her torment last night.
A flower resembling the one that tickled her loins so shamelessly was growing at the foot of the statue of the shrine. Marilag picked it up and studied the flower curiously. When the flower moved of its own accord she threw it away as far as she could and turned to return home. She didn't care. She needed a day's rest after what she endured.
She wondered if her ordeal was over, as the red woman said nothing of this happening only once in her life.
The end?
Last edited:
