[Reader: if you are sexually active, please use healthy precautions, be regular about medical check-ups, and only act with consent. Actions in this fantasy story do not carry consequences like they do in real life.]
Journey's Arc
I am far from the missionary-boy who came here many seasons ago. He would have been scandalized and horrified at a white man become a naked, phallus engrossed, savage. I continue to be taught by the tribe shaman who treats me in many ways like he would a son, and so I call him by the Pidgin word Papa.
I have just been seated on the phallus chair by Papa. It is the first time. My legs are spread widely. I take hold of my phallus and stroke it. I look around the circle. My brothers are all fondling their own cocks and those of others near them. I lick my lips. I turn my eyes from looking out at them to looking at my crotch. Now, I spread my arms in a gesture inviting them to come and suck. The first to approach is the chief. He is followed by Papa. As others follow, the chief signals for the fire to be lit. The ritual begins. After all have approached me, I lift myself from the dildo filling my ass and join in the frenzy.
My days during the past months have been just like they were before. My skills as a hunter and warrior have become excellent. I am surprised how good they are! So is my brother tribesman who has been my teacher. He has also become my best friend in the tribe.
Now, as each day draws late, I go with one of the warriors to the chair. I remove my penis sheath and lower myself onto the chair. The warrior with me also gets completely naked. He sits down on his haunches and makes sure I’m always at least half hard. Then, any brother in the tribe who wants empowerment from my seed comes to suck my cock or kneels down with his ass in the air for me fuck it. If he wants to contribute to my power, he stands in front of my and tells me to take his cock and suck. Or, he motions to me go down on all fours so he can fuck me. Papa tells me the warriors are feeling more powerful and confident.
Tonight, Papa told me he wants my body to be tattooed. He has many markings on his body. I have thought about asking at least for some. It makes me erect when I think about it. So, when he tells me what he wants for me, my dick just springs up into its gourd sheath. It was so sudden and strong that Papa sees the gourd move.
He reaches for it and takes it off of my stiff penis. He begins to masturbate me. I take his off and do the same for him. Our cum ends in each other’s crotches. He spreads mine in his pubic bush. I spread his on my crotch and abs. I have always had little pubic hair. As we do in our rituals, we clean our fingers with our tongues.
I am happy that I am not the missionary-boy anymore.
It’s only the next day, but the tattooing is beginning. Papa tells me it will take months and months . . . and that much pain will become my companion. He will decide the design. As the tattoo chisel begins being tapped into my flesh, my cock hardens. Something in me is responding. Is this because the phallus god is pleased that I am being marked for my service in his tribe?
As the months move on, my life is much the same day to day. My body is becoming more and more covered with the markings Papa has chosen. There are no mirrors here, so I only see what is on my body when I look down or around to my sides. I like what I see. When I look at it, I immediately take my cock without thinking and begin to masturbate.
There has been one worrying thing happening. We have heard that some nearby tribes are looking to make wars. We are ready. We practice even more than usual. Finally, it comes. We are attacked. Not like the first time that I took part, I have now become one of the most skilled warriors in the tribe. I use my spear, my bow, my knife and my blow gun. The group attacking is larger than we are . . . but, by the battle’s end we are proved better. We lose one brother. The enemy lost seven . . . and then the rest disappeared.
Papa and I take care of our wounded. None will die. One did lose an eye. I see my brothers doing something I’ve not seen them do before. They are cutting off the cocks and balls of the dead enemies before they are buried in the jungle. I ask Papa why they are doing it. He tells me that he does not know. He has not seen it done in the past.
In the few months since the first attack, there have been three more. We have been successful. We are becoming known as a tribe not to challenge. The chief and the warriors are giving me much credit. They all come to me now every week to suck my large cock or to receive it into their holes . . . or to increase my medicine by my sucking their cocks or their fucking me. I have grown not to care which they choose . . . giving or receiving cock. It is the same at the rituals, where I babble with sounds that could come from the jungle, lost in our frenzied masturbation and all that follows.
At the end of the last attack, we chased the enemy through the jungle all the way back to where they came from. It was a day and a half of tracking and chasing. Once there, we set their village on fire. Our reputation will make other tribes fear to test us.
In one of the huts we are about to burn, I see a mirror! It is large, the size of a man’s height. I pull it out before the hut is burned. As soon things are calm, I go back to where I laid it face down on the ground. I pick it up and lean it on a tree. I look at myself.
Who is this man? I do not know him. He is truly a man from the bush. In my missionary days, I would have seen him as fearsome and to be converted from his heathen ways. I stand and stare into my unfamiliar face. I admire my body marked with much ink chiseled into my flesh. I see my sheathed cock pulled upright and my large balls hanging below it. I am proud to be the warrior I am looking at.
My brothers have seen me. They have never seen themselves in a mirror. They laugh and point as they look at themselves for the first time. They remove their sheaths and pump up their cocks. They stand next to each other and compare. I am joining with them. I reach out to my friend, my first trainer, and watch myself as I take his cock in my hand and masturbate it. Now, I kneel in front of him and take it into my mouth with the mirror to our side. I watch as I suck him. It is like this is the first time I am doing it. I have never seen myself do any of the things I have now been doing for years. When he cums and I have swallowed, I begin to laugh. I stand and put my hands on his shoulders, pushing him downwards. He kneels on his hands and knees. I fuck him. I watch for the first time. All of us stay until the light is leaving the sky and watch ourselves in the mirror. It is almost like we are having a ritual in the phallus clearing. We laugh much.
The mirror will come back to our village with us!
After some months without any more attacks, we are more relaxed. The moons mark the months. The dry season and the wet season are the only ways to mark the years. I have not kept track. I do not know how long I have been here. It is years. My beard and head hair are thick. They have not been cut since I arrived here. Although my body is darker than it used to be from being always naked in the hot sun, it is still clear that I am a white man. The marking of my body was long, long ago complete. Now, I can see my changed body in the mirror whenever I wish. I am happy here with my fellow tribesmen, my brothers. I cannot even think of not using their bodies or of not having them free to use mine.
At the ritual this night, the chief is not ordering the fire to be started as soon as he comes into the phallus clearing. I am seated on my chair, gently pleasuring my prostate on its dildo, so my cock is hard and pointing upward. The chief walks toward me. He calls the warrior who trained me and who has become the closest to me of my brothers. We sleep next to one another in the tribal hut if I am not staying with Papa. He is carrying something wrapped in leaves. He holds out his hands for the chief to uncover it. It is a leather cord strung with dried human cocks and balls. They have shrunken somewhat from drying. The chief lifts it for all the warriors to see. He tells them that these were cut from the bodies of dead attackers, foolish to have challenged our tribe. Then he looks back at me. He says loudly for all to hear that my medicine has been strong for all of us. I am told to wear this at our rituals as a sign of honor. As he puts it around my neck, he adds that the cocks of other fools might someday join the ones already there.
My cock has been slowly dripping the liquid that carries my seed. It hangs in the air, strung from my slit downward. I let it remain. I know that wearing this necklace for our rituals will remind us of our power. I sit on the chair as the fire is lit and grows. I finger the dried cocks hanging around my neck.
No, not a Christian missionary-boy. He is years ago gone. I am a living sign of the phallus. Our penises are what hold our tribe together and give it its strength.
Over the weeks since I received the cock necklace, I have been wondering and thinking much. Back in my missionary-boy time, I would have believed these thoughts to be some kind of a revelation.
Whatever power I have, it does not feel to me like it is coming to me from somewhere else . . . from someone else. I am beginning to doubt a great phallus god who is using me or giving me power. I don’t believe in a Christian god, either. I am feeling free. Any powers I have are mine. I do not need to pretend some god has given them to me. My cock, my brothers’ cocks – they are our own. So, when my brothers come to me in the clearing, I am encouraging them and me. We make each other believe in our strength. I am making them and me feel good. That is how they are receiving good medicine from my seed and how I am receiving power from theirs. There is not any spirit causing it.
Since that day when my thoughts became clear not long after receiving the cock necklace, I have had just as much enjoyment in our ritual orgies as before. I feel the same about my tribe. I do not want to be anywhere different . . . or anyone different. I am proud of my naked and marked body.
I do not even regret that I can only think and speak in my tribe’s language now. Papa has made it so that I only can recall things from my old way of talking when I try very hard.
The chief and Papa have started to take me into their talks together. They ask me my thoughts. I have become the youngest warrior on the tribe’s council. Today they tell me that a capture has been made. It is of a white man who has violated our territory. He is telling people that we are savages and that we must change our ways. The chief asks me if I can remember how to say any things in my old tongue. I tell him that I cannot think in it, but maybe I still can understand it a little. Maybe even say a few words.
When the captured man, hands tied behind him, a rope around his neck, is led into our village, I am with the chief and Papa to meet him. For this, I wear the cock necklace. When I see the white man, I know him! I think that he was called Jack. The man before us was the other missionary-boy! He looks very afraid. I recall how I felt the day I stood where he is.
The chief asks him who he is and why he is in our territory. Jack answers in a language different from ours. He tries a second one. It is not ours either. Finally, he tries his own language. As I hear it, I recognize some of what he is saying. I turn to Papa and the chief to tell them that I understand a little bit. The chief tells me to say to the man what he tells me to say, and to tell him what the man answers.
I look at Jack. He does not know who I am. I point to myself and say, “Talk . . . English . . . little.”
He looks at me. He says, “You speak English?”
“Little . . . no much. Chief wants know . . . why here?”
He replies, “I am a missionary. I want to bring you the joy of Christianity.”
He is speaking too fast for me to get it all, but I know from words I catch and from my own past life what he said. I tell the chief.
“Chief say . . . you . . . no change . . . us.”
“But, it is god’s work. I will not change you. He will. I am just his messenger.”
Again, I don’t get it all. I tell the chief what I did understand.
The chief laughs. He takes hold of one of the dried cocks on the thong around my neck and says while looking from it to Jack that this is what we believe in. He tells me to tell the man.
“Penis . . . we believe,” I say as I point to my sheathed cock and my balls hanging below it. Then, I point to Jack’s naked crotch.
He looks shocked. Then he says, “You. You are not like them. You look different. You are the one we’ve heard about!”
I point to my mouth and say to him, “You . . . fast . . . more slow.”
Jack repeats what he said, slowly. He sees that I look different in some ways from my brothers.
More slowly, he goes on, “We . . . heard . . . a . . . white . . . man . . . here . . . who . . . now . . . gone . . . native.”
It is hard for me to know all of what he said, but he sees I am a white man. He still does not know that I was his fellow missionary-boy.
The chief says to the warriors to take him to the phallus clearing and to tie him onto the pallet. A few hours later, we all gather there for the ritual. The pallet is several feet to the side of my chair. When I come in with the chief and Papa and go to take my seat, I watch Jack. He is really afraid. The chief signals for the fire to be lit. When the chanting begins and the drums start, I rise and join the circle. I place myself in the spot closest to Jack on the pallet.
As the frenzy starts to grow and we have all removed the gourd sheaths from our cocks to start masturbating them, I move up beside Jack. I will do for him what one of my now brothers did for me when I was tied to it. As I handle my own cock, I look into his eyes and smile. I take his cock in my hand, and I begin to play with it. I return my hand to my penis and use what is leaking from it to slick Jack’s. He is making useless motions to try to back away in retreat. I am succeeding in making him hard. To make his shaft more slimed, I lean over and suck on it, making sure to leave much drool on it. He is protesting. The chanting and the drums make it hard to hear.
As I handle him, I lean in toward his face and loudly tell him, “You . . . Jaacckk . . . I . . . Maarrkk.” He looks at me. His mouth opens with no words. He shakes his head no. He does not believe me. But, he knows it has to be true.
I continue to work our two cocks. As happened with me on my night on the pallet, the constant tending of my dick along with the wildness all around has begun to make his hips buck. He is moaning. I know he does not want to. But, he does. I have become good at bringing a man to cum when I wish him to. I want us to cum together. We do, each of us on Jack’s chest and stomach.
I make sure he sees me scoop his cum from his shaft and bring it to my mouth. Then, I scoop mine from my shaft and bring it to his lips. He has shut them tight. With one hand I hold his head back to the pallet, firmly holding his nose closed with my fingers so he will have to breathe through his mouth. When he does, I dribble my cum into his mouth. Then I push his chin up and hold it closed. I do not want him to spit out my cum.
When the frenzy of the night ends, all but me leave the clearing. Jack is to be left tied down, so someone must watch in case animals should come. I am again sitting in the chair moving just enough on the dildo to keep my own cock erect in this place of phallus ritual. I have not tried to speak any more words in Jack’s language. It is hard for me. Papa said it was important that all of my past be made hard to remember. He does not want me to be lonesome for it.
I hear Jack say something. It is in a very low voice. I rise and walk to the pallet. He looks at me. He shakes his head and says, “No. This can’t be. Why? How? Why would you go heathen? How could you leave our god? It’s only been seven years. You are condemned to hell, Mark . . . to eternal damnation!”
I only understand a few words. “Why?” “Heathen.” “Hell.” I smile down at him. I take his cock in my hand and begin to play with it again. Just as during the ritual, he makes useless efforts to back away from my hand. I do not speak until it is fully hard and leaking. Now, I say, “This . . . hell?”
His body is jerking with my tending his cock. He cums a second time. I bend over and lick his cum from his naked body. His cum is around my mouth and in my beard. I point to his still hard cock. “This . . . not . . . hell.”
He shouts now, “You heathen! You are the devil. He is in you. Get away from me. Don’t touch me!”
Again, I only remember some words. One of them is “devil”.
I do not leave him. I continue to play with his penis. I know that his body wishes it. When it is light, I leave Jack and go to the warriors’ hut to eat with my brothers. .
When I am finished eating, I go to Papa and tell him that I know who the captive is, and how I know him. I tell him that I told Jack who I am. At first Papa is worried. Then he says that his worry is wrong. No one will pursue me here even if Jack is freed by the chief and tells the white men that I am here. Jack knows from watching me and my having made him cum that I am not here against my will.
The chief decides that for now Jack is to stay with the tribe. He tells Papa and me that maybe he will learn of the Phallus god like I did. Maybe he will join our rituals.
Papa takes me aside after leaving the chief’s hut. He warns me not try to speak any more in my old language with Jack. He tells me it is dangerous. It could bring thoughts of leaving my life in the tribe. I understand his worry. I know that he is wrong, though. I AM a tribesman now. My marked body itself shows that I am. But, I will obey Papa. He has caused my brothers to believe in seeking strength from my seed. I must not risk it being lost to them. Jack must learn the tribe’s language . . . MY language.
Six full moons have passed, and Jack is still with us. He is now called Tkan because he is learning our tongue. That is what it means. Tongue.
It is late afternoon. Seated on my chair, I see Jack come into the phallus clearing. He comes up to my chair and is kneeling down in front of me. He tells me that he wants my seed! I nod to him to lean over and take my cock in his mouth. He has seen this done in the rituals many times. It had been done to him, but he has not sucked our cocks. He is taking my cock first in his hands and masturbating me to full hardness. Now, he licks my cock head and then quickly takes its first few inches. I can feel his tongue licking my shaft. He is beginning to move up and down on my hard penis, increasingly frenzied. I am surprised at his boldness. When I produce the seed he has come for, he swallows it all. Again, I am surprised.
He’s finished. I’m doing something I have rarely done. I rise from my seat and walk to the pallet suspended from the tree. I lie back on it with my knees up, exposing my hole. I tell him that maybe his seed could also make me more powerful. It is his turn to be surprised. He hardens his cock more and enters me. Again, he has seen this done and it has happened to him, but he has not done it. So, on his first visit to me, he has sucked and fucked for the first time. He enters me slowly. When he finds out how it makes him feel, he begins to move in and out more quickly. I hold his cock with the muscles in my hole, tightening and then loosening them. We each groan with pleasure.
When his seed is within me, I stand up, keeping my hole tight so that not any of his cum will leave me. I return to the chair and take my cock gourd sheath from where it is leaning. I turn to him and offer it to him. Until now, he had not worn one. His dick has just been loose. I secure it behind his balls. I take the cord from my waist and tie it around his waist so that the gourd is held upright. Tkan looks shocked.
He has returned to me many times for my seed during the last two weeks. Sometimes in his mouth, others in his hole. I have not offered him my hole after the first time.
Today he has come again. After sucking my cock, he tells me that he now understands why I have become a member of the tribe. It is a clear and simple way to live, even though it is hard. He sees my love for my brothers and theirs for me. But, he tells me that he cannot stay. He is going to ask the chief to allow him to return to his people.
Tkan says, “I do not believe in your phallus god. I no longer believe in the Christian god, either.”
I tell him, using a word in his language, “Tkan . . . Ndu . . . same.”
He looks at me with surprise and says, in the tribe’s language, “You? You do not believe in the phallus god? But, you are a shaman!”
“No. Papa is shaman. I am a warrior. Papa says my seed is strong medicine for my brothers . . . therefore, it is – because they believe it. But, my power comes from me. There is no god-power giving it to me. I tell no one this. Only you. I tell you because you say you do not believe in god.”
It’s been a few days since Tkan spoke with the chief. He is leaving us today. I am sad to see him do so. I tell him that I will walk with him to the edge of our territory. From there, a friend in the next tribe will guide him until he is near his people’s mission. I give him a cloth taken from a captive during our wars. The man had been wearing it to cover his cock. Tkan will have need of it. He starts to untie the cord supporting his penis gourd. I stop him.
“You keep the sheath, Tkan. When you visit us, you will enter the village wearing it.”
We have reached the border of the tribe’s lands. Tkan kneels in front of me. He lifts my sheath from my cock and says, “I will take your seed to encourage me on my journey.” I give it to him, a final gift until he comes here again.
He begins to rise. I put my hand on his shoulder and tell him to stay kneeling. I kneel and lay back on the ground raising my legs. He takes off his sheath. I rest my ankles on his shoulders. He is still hard and leaking from having just sucked my cock. He smiles into my eyes. He slowly enters me and rhythmically rocks back and forth, stimulating my hole, coming nearly all the way out before moving in again. I work his cock with my ass muscles, holding it and then loosening it. After many minutes, he cums and withdraws.
We stand and replace our sheaths. I place my hands on his shoulders and he places his on mine. We look into each other’s eyes. We stand back from each other. He turns and I watch him move away from my tribe’s territory.
I am Ndu. My tribal place of honor is a chair carved from a single tree trunk. Standing higher and behind it, carved from another tree, is an erect penis. It has a mushroom head. A dildo is part of the seat. I am naked. Much of my body is covered with tribal tattoos. When I am in the chair, there is always a naked warrior tending my cock. It is his task to keep me always at least semi erect. When it is my wish to fuck him or for him to suck my cock, or for me thus to serve him, he is anxious for it.
I am proud to be this naked, marked, living phallic symbol to the brothers of my tribe.
You know now how I, Ndu, have come to be the warrior you see before you, whose phallus worshiping tribal brothers believe his seed to be good medicine to make them stronger.
The Christian missionary-boy is no more.
[To Be Continued.]
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