Takula stared at the dancing flames as he crouched close to the glowing embers of his camp fire. Only hours before he had led a raid with four of his bravest warriors on a well armed party of white settlers and their military guard. The battle had left three soldiers, eight settlers, and all of his warriors dead. Only Takula and one settler had survived ... a young woman.
Now she lay on his blanket by the fire, unconscious and breathing very slowly. Takula still did not understand why she was alive. He had savagely and bravely fought, as his warriors died around him, and had finally killed all his enemy... all but the woman. Takula had thought she was surely dead, as she lay on the ground near their wagon, a deep gash across her forehead. But, as he slowly walked his pony away from the carnage, he heard a faint moan. Checking the woman again, he found she was indeed alive - if only barely. Instinctively, and driven by his rage and anguish, Takula raised his tomahawk to crush the remaining life from his last surviving enemy. But he could not deliver the blow. Never before had he waivered, had he hesitated in battle. But today he had not killed his enemy - an enemy whose family had just killed his own brothers.
Takula now stared at the fire and tried to summon the spirits of the dead chiefs, his dead family, and his dead warrior brothers, to ask them for answers to his questions and to help him with his troubled soul.
“She lives, Takula, only so that you may take a revenge on her that is more painful than the quick death that you almost granted her today”, came a voice from the fire Takula recognized as his Great Grandfather, Ramala. “She must suffer long, and she must suffer greatly, in both body and spirit, to avenge the losses of our people today. This is why the spirits held back your war club today, and spared your enemy. But don’t be fooled, Takula, by the weakness or the beauty of this white devil. You will care for her to heal her wounds, so you may then have her ready to fully feel her punishment”.
“But, Great Grandfather, what is it that I must invent to torture this woman? What will satisfy the spirits and avenge my brothers deaths?” whispered Takula to the flames.
“ We will guide you, Takula. You will know”.
For the next several days, Takula had followed the words of the spirits and carefully ministered to the woung women, using all his knowledge of ancient cures and remedies to bring his beautiful enemy back to health. Her head wound was now a deep gray scar, but even this ugly mark could not diminish her beauty. Her fever had finally passed, but only after days of Takula bathing her naked body with a cold, wet cloth and herbal ointments. She had not regained consciousness for the first five days after Takula had begun his healing, only moaning and crying out in a tongue he could not understand. His anger and pain had not allowed Takula to respond as a man to the lucious curves and hard muscles of the naked body he rubbed and stroked for days. He could only focus on one thing. Make her well, so that he may exact the revenge the spirits wanted.
On the morning of the sixth day, Takula awakened to see his captive crawling away from the camp, wrapped in his buffalo skin parka. This was good. She would survive her wounds - she would heal. He walked over and grabbed her golden hair from behind, and pulled her to her feet as the women cried out and stared fearfully back at Takula.
“Please don’t hurt me more”, she begged.
Takula did not know her words, yet it was clear enough to know her begging sounds. Without a word, he led her back to the blanket and tore off the buffalo skin as she tried to hide her nakedness from him. Takula had driven three stakes into the ground at the edges of the blanket, knowing that if his enemy recovered, she would need to be secured well for whatever torture the spirits would guide him. One was centered above her head, and to this stake Takula bound both her wrists. To each of the others at the bottom corners of the blanket, he bound each ankle. When he was done, he stood and looked down at her.
“You are strong and have survived your wounds because of your strength, and because I, Takula, have tended to you and made you healthy again. But, it is only so that you may suffer more now ... suffer to avenge the deaths of my warriors and my spirit family.”
The woman pulled and kicked against her bindings, and tried not to look at her savage captor. Of course, she knew not one word he spoke, but knew from her position and naked body what his taunting words would soon bring. How wrong the young women was!
PART TWO - “The Torture”
Takula spent the days waiting out his enemy’s recovery, carefully honing his hunting knife blade to a razor sharpness. There had been no further words from the spirits to prepare him for the torture they would direct, but he guessed it would certainly involve cutting and flaying her skin - as he had exacted such torture before. Now Takula knelt down beside his beautiful bound prisoner, as she thrashed against her bindings, wide eyed with terror. He looked up to the bright blue skies and began chanting a prayer to the spirits for guidance in the sacred act which would soon begin. No words came back from the spirits, but Takula felt a strange cool wind begin to blow in his face, and almost of its own accord, his right arm lowered to the blanket as his hand released the hunting knife. At that moment, a shadow passed over them as a huge eagle swooped down and flew past Takula and the woman. As it climbed back away, a single black and white feather floated from the sky, landing softly on the naked stomach of his sun bronzed prisoner. Takula knew this was a sign from his spirit guides, and as he reached to pick up the eagle feather and looked into the green eyes of the terrified woman, he began to “feel” the plan of the spirits. Takula remembered as a youth how the elders would deal with the squaws in his tribe who had broken their laws. Unlike the men, who were beaten and dragged through brush by ponies, the women were dealt with in a more subtle - but no less painful and humiliating way. This then would be the fate of his beautiful prisoner. To endure the slow torture used by his people, but unlike his sisters, this women would be shown no mercy, and would surely die at its end.
Slowly, Takula moved the feather in front of the wide eyed woman’ face. He traced its tip over the contour of the gray snake scar on her forehead. He trailed it over her cheekbones, to her ears, and down the sides of her long neck. The woman stared back at Takula, sweat beading over her naked body, now totally confused at the actions of her savage captor, and more frightened than ever at what this strange ritual was leading to. As he moved the feather up to where her wrists were bound and then began to slowly trail its tip down the inside of her arm, she felt the first electric pulses racing to her brain. “Aaaah, ooono”, she whimpered smiling against her will. This is impossible, she thought, I am soon going to be raped and killed, but I giggle like a child? She bit her lip and turned her head to hide her face from Takula, and tried vainly to emit no sounds, but as he lightly trailed the tip of the feather across her straining bicep to her armpit, the tickling sensations grew beyond her control. She shook, and despite all her efforts, began to giggle uncontrollably while biting into her arm. Takula’s intense expression never changed. He knew now that this woman would never survive this ancient torture of his people. He was glad she fought to control her weakness, as it would only make her eventual pain that much greater.
Never stopping the feather tip, he moved it down from her armpit, beside her heaving full breast, and then across her glistening stomach above the golden haired triangle of her sex.
“God, please stop”, she screamed, now laughing out loud as she thrashed back against the bindings. “I can’t breathe”, she yelled between screams of laughter.
Takula did not know her words, or care. He knew the sounds, the same ones he heard from his sisters years before, and they were sounds of torture - sounds of pain. He moved the feather tip up and circled her navel, which, from the heat of the searing sun above them and the exertion of his prisoner below, had filled with a pool of her sweat. As he dipped it in, and began to flick out the sweat, the woman bucked even harder and her screams increased. Takula twirled the feather and her guttural laughs became so intense he sensed she would soon pass out, so he moved slowly back across her stomach and up her other side. When he reached her wrist, he pulled the feather tip away from her heaving body for the first time in over an hour. The woman continued to giggle softly, as her sweat drenched, golden body still twitched and shook from Takula’s slow torture.
PART THREE - “Amanda”
Amanda Witherspoon had known the feeling of Takula’s torure before. Before her journey west, she had been the privileged daughter of the governor of Virginia. Wealthy, uncommonly beautiful, and the most popular girl with all the young suitors, Amanda had led a perfect life. Almost. Her one flaw, and the flaw that had cost her this perfect life, was that Amanda could not go 24 hours without an intense sexual experience. From her 12th birthday until the day her wagon was attacked, her 21st year, Amanda had not gone a day without sex. Of course, with her voluptuous body and looks, there was never a shortage of willing partners. Amazingly, she had continued this lacivious behavior, right under her strict parents’ noses, for almost eight years without them knowing her secret. Her fun and sexual pleasure, and with it her priviledged life, came to an abrupt halt six months ago, when her father walked into their barn and found Amanda writhing naked on the ground while being licked and nibbled by a well muscled black slave. The enraged Governor had saved a trial and hanging, by immediately putting a musket ball into the poor black man, but while it clearly crossed his mind, he could not deliver the same punishment to his wanton daughter. Amanda was tried for her adultery, and her more serious inter-racial crime, and sentenced to five days in the stocks located in the center of the town square. Every day, and through much of every night, men, women, boys, and girls would come by Amanda to “inflict their punishment”. She had been clad in only a light sleaveless dress, and bound with her wrists tied above her head, and her bare feet locked in the wooden stocks. Each “torturer” could then have access to most of Amanda’s voluptious body and do as they pleased to punish the young woman for her heinous crimes. For five days, she endured the most wicked torture. Some would rake their fingers over her sensitive armpits and down her ticklish ribs. Others would lightly scratch the fingernails over the soft soles of her most ticklish feet. And some found her incredibly ticklish bellybutton and stomach to be their focus of attention. It didn’t really matter where they touched, scratched, or dug their cruel fingers, Amanda’s screams of laughter and begging were heard at all hours of the day and night.
Every night, there was a “torturer” who came when there were no crowds of jeering onlookers, an adventurous soul who would come to have his own private fun. He was gentler and more “creative” in his torture, and Amanda would find a brief respite from her agony. He began with light stroking on her tender feet and toes, producing sweet giggles and laughter, and continued on to her sensitive ribs and underarms. Never hard scratching or digging fingers, just soft strokes that tickled poor Amanda unbearably. But they also had another effect. They would send sharp bolts of pleasure through her breasts to her hardened nipples, and then down to her moist sex. Being tied up and tortured for days was certainly painful for Amanda, but even worse was the time she had to endure without filling her insatiable sexual needs! After “loostening her up” with the light tickling, the torturer would then lightly trace his fingertips across her breasts, pinching her engorged nipples, then back to light stroking under her arms. Amanda would go from giggles to moans to giggles as the torturer played out his fantasy. After this lengthy trial of tickling breasts, nipples, and underarms, he would move down her stomach, dragging his fingertips slowly over her soaking wet sex, and down her legs, again to her most ticklish feet. By now, Amanda would be laughing, moaning, and bucking her firm body against the restraints. She badly needed to come, and could feel her swollen clit throb as her torturer continued - in no hurry - to tickle and excite every nerve in her body. Finally, when his feathery touches to her soles and toes had Amanda out of control, he would slowly stroke one hand up the inside of her quivering thigh to her golden bush. While raking her sole with one hand, he would slide his middle finger from the other hand into wet sex, and then slowly circle her throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. Amanda couldn’t stop giggling from the intense tickling her foot was taking, but the waves of pleasure centered on her sex would finally explode, and she would scream out as a series of incredible orgasms shook her body and she would finally pass out. When her five days were up, Amanda was sent west to live with her aunt, never to return to home, and never again to be recognized by her family.
PART FOUR - “Takula”
Takula stared quietly at his captive as her gigling subsided, and then his eyes wandered slowly over the woman’s brown body covered with rivlets of sweat that spilled off onto his blanket. In spite of the rage he still felt, and the ache in his heart for his lost brothers, Takula could not stop the feeling of passion that now coursed through his lean muscles and sent fire to his loins. When he had cut his white enemies in the past, their screams and pleas had sickened him. That form of torture he understood, this torture, directed by the spirits, he did not understand. His beautiful captive, although pleading for him to stop his tickling torture with the eagle feather, did not at all seem to be in “pain”. The look now on her face was not of agony, nor of fear and panic, but rather of pure pleasure. Takula placed the feather beside her gave in to his desire to let his strong hands roam the exquisite contours of her flesh. The woman stared back into his black eyes, confused at this new direction by her captor. Takula’s hands slid over her hot skin, as he stroked her face and neck, then his powerful hands encircled her small arms and slid down. The sweat poured off her hot skin as his hands moved across every inch of her glistening body. Neither made a sound as they held each others stares. When his hands glided across her heavy breasts, her large red nipples immediately became rigid and pressed hard back into his palms. Only then did the women let out a small cry, and close her eyes, not able to hold the intense stare of Takula. He moved over and knelt between her sinewy legs, ripping off the caribou vest that covered his muscular chest. The woman opened her eyes to see Takula raised up on his knees over her, his massive chest muscles glistening with sweat, caused as much by his building passion as by the glaring sun. His rigid penis had pushed aside the small leather flap that had covered his genitals, and the woman’s eyes could not move away from Takula’s huge manhood. Still, he made no aggressive move toward the moaning woman, and then suddenly, Takula leaned back, and raising his face to the sky, let out a long cry that became a chant, as he begged the spirits to help him understand his duty, and resist his incredible passion.
“Her torture must go on, Grandson”, came the whispered words of Ramala. “The future of our people depends on you and all remaining warriors of our nation to avenge our deaths in this way. The knife and the war club will only bring more death - not just to the white devils, but to your brothers and sisters, and then we will be gone from the Earth forever. The torture you inflict today, Takula, will be the beginning of our last battle. We will win this fight, and we will finally win the long war against our white enemy. The spirits will then rest in peace forever”.
Takula straightened his back and looked down again at the woman, whose eyes again reflected the terror she felt before. His hands moved back to the golden body before him, this time allowing only the tips of his long fingers to touch her hot skin. The woman jumped reflexively at their light touch, and he slowly moved them across her taught stomach and ribs. Again, she could not hold back the smile, then giggles, and finally full laughter as his fingers slid over her sweat covered, and more ticklish than ever, bare skin. This was much worse than the small tip of one feather! Takula’s fingers glided over her lower stomach, now lightly wiggling back and forth, as she erupted into unstoppable gutteral laughing as his fingers avoided her golden bush and wet sex and slowly moved down her hips, over her thighs, knees, and calves - each new area of “virgin” skin sending heightened jolts of ticklish sensations to her brain. She screamed and bucked against her bindings, but Takula never slowed his agonizing feathery fingers from moving across the woman’s golden skin. Finally, pausing for only a moment, he slid down to the bottom of the blanket, and then started the light stroking again - this time on the most ticklish part of her body, her tender feet. The woman could hardly breathe as her high pitched screams of laughter suddenly stopped and she gasped for air. But Takula’s finger tips never stopped moving, up her soft soles, across the base of her wriggling toes, then lightly scratching each toe and raking back down her ticklish insteps. Finally, the exhausted woman could only lay there and smile as her sensitive feet involuntarily jerked with each sensation overloading her brain. Just as she began to pass out, Takula stopped.
He had done all that was asked by the spirits, but Takula’s torture of the beautiful woman had taken its toll on him, as well. As she had screamed and writhed under his fingers, Takula’s blood had raged through him, building a passion he could not stop. The feeling of her soft, wet skin beneath his finger tips, her voluptious golden body straining against the bindings, her sweet sounds, and look on her tortured face, were all too much for Takula. His rock hard penis strained up towards the hot sun as he felt the rush of his orgasm approach. The woman, recovering finally from his last tickle torture, looked up to see Takula holding his throbbing manhood, his coal black eyes glazed over with passion. His muscular body then dove down, pressing hard against her hot flesh. and he suddenly moved up, his huge penis sliding easily into her wet sex. After all the erotic rubbing, touching, and tickling, the woman’s body cried out for the release that Takula’s thrust would soon bring. Both lay there, almost without moving, as their nerve endings absorbed each delicious pulse of the others sex, savoring the ogasmic rush that was building and racing to a crescendo. As the woman felt her first spasms begin, she pushed her clit hard against him, and then, like a great buffalo, Takula roared as his own powerful orgasm racked his body and poured his hot seed into her vibrating sex. Their orgasms would stop for 30 minutes as they rolled over from one peak, and then with the slightest movement, back to another. Finally, it ended, as Takula and his prisoner lay exhausted together.
EPILOGUE
The spirits came often to talk with the Great Takula. Their soft, windlike voices could also be heard by the great chief’s wife, Laughing Rabbit. There was joy in their talks, as their was joy and happiness throughout the nation of Takula’s people. The wars with the white man were long over, and the killing and abuse had been replaced with friendships, love, and harmony between all people in Takula’s land. It is said that every night for the fifty years that Takula and Laughing Rabbit were together, you could hear the screams and laughter for twenty miles that came from the “torture” the great chief would religiously inflict on his “prisoner”, per instructions from the spirits.
