[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.]
The Beginning
I’m really in love with my fiancée. We first met in a Christian athletes’ group at college. I was a gymnast. She was a basketball player. We had so much in common, even down to our heights at 5’9”. Because of our strong religious beliefs, we’re each still virgins. We got engaged on our graduation day, but we’re waiting to set the wedding date. Beth wants to start studying right away for a Master’s degree in education. I’m going to spend a year or more doing missionary work in the Pacific. Our friends tell us that getting engaged and then being separated by half a world for a long time isn’t a good idea. But, we are both committed to each other, and Beth backs my doing this missionary work. Who knows – we might end up doing it together after we’re married.
I’m really excited. The plane ride to New Guinea was long, but no problems. I’ve met the missions supervisor, and he is impressed with me. He said I’ll be in a pretty remote part of the country in what’s called the Central Ranges. It’s a jungle area. I’m a little surprised. I knew I’d be in a village, but I’d envisioned something closer to “civilization”. Oh well, if it’s God’s call, then I’ll deal with it fine. I’m sure, I’ll be okay. The supervisor told me that I should let my family and friends know that it’s not in any cell phone range, so they shouldn’t be worried if they don’t hear from me for long stretches of time. That’ll be hard on Beth . . . and on me!
The supervisor introduced me to another guy who’s my age and here to do the same thing that I am. His name is Jack Williams. Jack tells me he’s from Oklahoma. I tell him I’m Mark Jeffers, from Idaho. He’s going to be sent to a coastal area that’s got more population near to it than where I’ll be. We are going to do three weeks of training together here at the center, then we’ll part ways.
The training is finished. It’s taken days, first in a vehicle and then on foot, to get to the area where I’m assigned to work. The village is sure primitive. I have a lot to get used to. The people are basically naked! There are some with sort of thatched grass clothes covering parts of their bodies. Most of the men wear a cord around their waist to tie or hook things onto that they might want to take with them somewhere. No clothes, though . . . and a gourd that their penis is stuck into, like a sheath. It’s kept in place with a loop secured behind their testicles. Some of them have long gourds with the end of it pulled up and tied to their upper body. Others have much shorter ones that they just leave loose. Their testicles are plain for all to see hanging free at the base of the gourd.
I am jolted by what I’m seeing even though I knew I’d encounter it. Actually, seeing it up close and in person is different. My religious modesty in high school and college caused me always to wrap something around my body even going to and from the showers in locker rooms. Nudity when it could be avoided would be wrong. My teammates would tease me and call me prudish or too strait-laced. It kind of bothered me, but I knew I was right. In some places where we competed shower rooms were open. There I had no choice. Some team mates said that anyone as “well hung” as me should be proud to show it off.
There are two older missionaries here, John and Joanna. They’ve been working in the country for many years, but they tell me that they’re new to this particular area. They don’t have a lot of contacts yet. They seem happy to welcome me, but they also question why the supervisor would send me here even before they are more familiar with the area themselves. They say, though, that God will see to it all.
I’ve been here a few months now. I’ve gotten a good feel for things, I think. I’ve even picked up a bit of the language spoken in this part of the country. I haven’t been able to do any spreading of the Gospel so far, though. I’m not that good with speaking yet. I’ve been helping with projects. I studied agronomy, so I can help with adding some modern touches to traditional methods in the area.
John and Joanna are on a ten-day trip to another, less populated, area. They said it’s about twenty miles away. While they’re gone, they have left me in charge.
It’s only my second day alone and “in charge”. There’s a big commotion outside. I go out to see what’s up. The men are trying to tell me something. If I get it right, there’s a man from another tribe who says they need help with someone who’s been hurt. I go into the hut where John and Joanna stay and look for some first aid supplies. I put them into a canvas shoulder bag and come back outside. They motion to me that I should follow them.
We’ve been walking for hours. It’s jungle. It’s hot. It’s humid. I’m dripping with sweat. It’s dawned on me that I have no idea how to get back to the village without these men to guide me. The sun’s dropping, but it’s not really any cooler. The men motion to me that we’re stopping. There’s a good-sized stream here. I don’t know whether it’s a stop just to rest or for the night.
They’re gathering some branches and grass. I guess this is till morning.
I’ve been trying to sleep. I dose off and then wake back up. It’s one thing to hear noises from the jungle from inside a hut in the village, but another to be out in the jungle. Even though a hut’s not substantial, I feel more secure inside one than just on the jungle floor like this. The other three men – the two from my village and the one who came to get us – sleep just fine. They do it in three two-hour shifts, one of them always awake and watching.
I’m roused from one of my short stints of sleep by a lot of shouting, and some cries that sound like fear. That makes me afraid right away. I look around. It’s still dark. Clouds cover the moon. I can’t see much of anything. I get out a flashlight from the shoulder pack. About ten feet away is one of the three others. He is lying still and bleeding. As I grab the pack and move toward him, someone grabs me from behind, an arm around my neck. I struggle, but whoever it is, is strong . . . stronger than me – even though I was that gymnast. Three strangers circle around me. It’s so dark, they’re like shadows. The flashlight is lying on the ground, still lit, but shining out into the trees.
I’ve been tied to the base of a tree since the attack. It’s beginning to get light now. Three men come over to where I am. They’re all strangers to me. Maybe they are members of an enemy tribe of the ones who captured me.
They put a rope around my neck, keep my hands tied, and loosen me from the tree. They are motioning to me to start walking. One of them is holding the cord tied around my neck. It’s not like I could run. I would have nowhere to run to. We walk all day. Their stamina is incredible. They give me some stuff they’ve picked from trees or bushes – even roots. They’ve got gourds that they filled with water from the stream by where I got captured. They hold one of them up to my mouth now and then so I can drink.
If they feel the need, they urinate to the side of the trail as they walk. Same for defecating. Just step aside and do it. With my pants on, I don’t have the same “luxury” of freedom. I try to remember a word in the language – if it’s even the same one they speak – for telling them I have to relieve myself. I can’t. So, I just start making noise and motioning the best I can to my penis and make a sitting down motion. They get it.
They don’t untie me so I can take care of nature’s needs. They just cut my pants and underpants off and throw them aside. So, now I have my boots on, and a shirt and nothing else. I squat down and relieve myself right away. For some reason, I’m not so nervous or scared being observed by the three of them that I can’t succeed. Maybe being scared actually helps!
Once I take care of my needs, all three of them start pointing and laughing. They are pointing at my penis. They reach for it. I jerk back. The guy holding the cord around my neck brings it up tight, holding it right by the side of my neck. Now that I’m secure, they start handling the end of my penis. One of them takes the gourd off of his own and plays with his foreskin. It looks like they are laughing because I have none. He puts his gourd sheath back on and then we start walking again.
I’ve been taught not to use vulgar terms including not for my genitals. It would be unfitting for a person doing God’s work. Even though I know well what those terms are from my years in high school and college doing gymnastics and being in many locker rooms, I try not even to use such terms in my thoughts.
After three days, we come into a village. A number of men come out to greet my captors. They are very curious about me, walking around us as we move to the center of the huts. A man with a large bone decoration in his nose meets us. I wonder, is he the chief? There are so many languages in this part of the country that I don’t understand them. If they hold me long, I’ll be starting from scratch.
The man with the bone through his nose motions to me and speaks to the others. They’re untying me. Guess that makes sense. I couldn’t possibly survive if I ran . . . and, I wouldn’t know where to run to. Plus, I couldn’t take the whole tribe on and do any damage except to myself. He tells them something else, and now they’re ripping off my shirt and one of them is taking off my boots. So, now I’m more naked than these savages are. I don’t even have anything covering my penis.
The chief, if that’s who he is, steps in front of me. I’m taller than he is. He is assessing my body. He grips my shoulders, tests the firmness of my pectorals and abs, and then reaches down to take my testicles in his hand. After gripping my flaccid penis, he ends his body check by running his hands down my calves to my ankles.
He picks up one of my feet and looks at its underside. He laughs as he picks one of his own feet off of the ground and turns it upward. I see how calloused it is due to his being all his life barefoot. He points to his, then to mine, and nods his head at me. I think he’s saying mine will look like his. If I’m right about that, then they seem to be planning on keeping me here a long time. A long, long time. Permanently?
I’ve been praying and praying these whole last three days as we moved through the jungle. Now I’m praying even harder! I just know God will get me out of this.
The chief points toward the jungle and motions the men who brought me here to take me into the trees. They lead me into a clearing that has a huge carved penis and testicles in its center. It must be at least twenty feet high. Off to one side there’s a pallet suspended from a tree. It has a frame of thick branches and thatched grass covers a grid of smaller branches. It’s about four feet long. They motion for me to lie back on it. They’re tying me to it. Very securely. My wrists are spread to its corners. My ankles are tied to its bottom corners so that my knees are bent upwards. I’m afraid.
To my surprise, they all leave. I’m alone. I pray.
As the sun drops, some of the tribesmen start bringing wood. They’re building a fire. When it’s nearly dark, all the tribesmen gather. Some are carrying torches. The chief comes in, along with another man. In the shadows of the torches he looks like he’s maybe in his sixties. His face and body are completely covered in tattoos and painted designs. A shaman?
They light the fire. As it grows, they form into a large circle around the fire and the huge carved phallus inside the clearing. Where I’m tied up is inside the circle.
Now, they’re all removing the gourds from their penises and masturbating their hardening members. I’m afraid. I fear what might be going to happen.
A man who is near me begins to masturbate me. I try to resist, but I’m tied down. I watch him smiling as he hardens his penis . . . and mine. Before long, not only his, but mine also, is leaking. Drumming begins. The men have begun chanting. After a long time, they are worked into a frenzied state. They’re still masturbating wildly, their eyes wide, no longer chanting but babbling, some of them almost writhing. Some of them also masturbate one another. The one beside me has continued to masturbate me along with himself to the rhythms of the drums. As they continue this wildness, some drop to their backs on the ground. They continue pumping on their penises. Eventually, many of them start to ejaculate. My own hips have been moving convulsively despite my desire to control my body. I have been making grunts that sound lustful. Just as the man with his hand on my penis orgasms . . . so do I! My chest and face are covered with my own semen. I am breathing heavily. I don’t know how to feel. My body is saying it has never had such an exhilarating experience. My head is confused. Something in me is telling me I should be ashamed and feel guilty.
But, I do not feel shame. Nor guilt. I feel . . . I feel . . . wild and content at the same time. It’s like I am somewhere else. Somewhere I’ve never ever been before.
It’s been around two months that I’ve been in this village. It turns out that there are only men here. They are phallus worshipers. Every few nights they build a fire in that clearing. They carry on the same ritual as they did the first night I was here. They sing and dance . . . and wildly masturbate themselves and each other. They engage in sex among themselves as well.
That first night when they masturbated me, I tried to resist, but I was tied. It was useless. After that I was no longer tied. They still masturbate me. I just let them because I can’t really stop them. They also force me to take their erect penises into my mouth and anus. I don’t join in or allow anything willingly. It would be against my religion. I try to pray instead to the one true God to deliver me from these heathens.
After that first ritual fire, I ended up living with that shaman. He’s actually pretty kind to me. He’s helped me learn to speak their language, and now I can do the basics. He and the chief have huts of their own. All the others live in some long common huts.
The shaman and the chief have set a few of the tribesmen to teaching me how to use a bow and arrow and a blowgun. They are showing me what berries, roots, fruits, insects are good to eat . . . and which ones are dangerous. Like the chief said would happen, my feet are becoming harder from being barefoot for these last few months. At first, it was really painful. Now, I don’t usually think about it. The same for being naked. And, my circumcised penis quickly stopped being a curiosity.
I have been thinking about my life here. Strangely, I am liking it. At the fires in the clearing where the men sing and dance around the big carved phallus, my own cock has been getting hard. I have wanted to stroke it. My former life up until now has not let me do it, though. Is this where I belong? Did the phallus god draw me here?
After another few months in the village, I started to use a New Guinea Pidgin word for the shaman. Some Pidgin is understood even in the bush. I have been calling him Papa. It means what you think. Strange? Dunno. He’s treating me a lot like a father would.
One day while my hunting teacher is with me in the jungle, we hear warning cries coming from somewhere nearby. The man with me grabs my arm and heads me toward the village. We’re both running. I don’t know from whom. My heart is beating fast and hard. When we get there, I see all the tribesmen with weapons in their hands. We’re being attacked!
An hour later now and it’s all over. A war party from a rival tribe did attack. They underestimated either the number of men in this village or else their ferocity. Either way, several of them are dead and several others got wounded. Five of the men from here were wounded, one seriously, none dead.
Between Papa’s and my knowledge about how to treat wounds, I think our man will recover. Papa kept the medical stuff from my shoulder pack. My capturers had given it to the chief. He gave it to Papa. He was impressed with my ability treating the wounded warrior. Before leaving the States, the mission agency had given me a high powered first aid course.
Yes. The mission agency. I do not think much about spreading the Gospel any more. I have been naked in the jungle with a tribe of phallic worshipers for months. I pray less and less to the god I came here to reveal. I have never once tried to teach or preach about this god. At our ritual fires, I am having feelings of kinship with the others here in my tribe. I must talk to Papa about all this.
The chief was impressed with my skill in saving his warrior. Also, during the battle, it was one of my arrows that killed one of the attackers.
It’s after dark now. The chief has called everyone to the clearing. The fire is blazing. Something new is happening. A drink is being passed from man to man. I’m included. As it’s passed to me, I see the chief is watching me. He smiles at me and nods. I raise it to my mouth.
The drink is fermented. I have not drunk alcohol since a few occasions in high school. It makes me dizzy right away. The drums have started and there is some chanting going on. The men are all drawing into the usual circle around the phallus. They start the chant in earnest. I have heard it so often that I know the words. I actually join in. I’ve never done this before. Is it the alcohol loosening me up? Or, is it something else?
After more chanting, drums, and swallows from the communal jar, the frenzied dancing and masturbating is beginning. As usual, some of the men grab my penis and make it hard. Tonight is different. I’m willingly caught up in it. I’m feeling the exhilaration of having won the battle in the afternoon . . . of having been a part of it . . . of having killed an enemy . . . of having saved a fellow tribesman.
I reach down to my crotch. I take hold of my already hard cock and begin to pump it. Its shaft is long enough for me to place both my hands side by side along its length. It is thick, too. The pre-cum slicks my hands. I reach out to the others near me and take their cocks in my hands. I am chanting. I am babbling sounds that come from somewhere within me. I am losing control. It’s like my cock is taking me over.
The ritual is going on a long time. Much longer than usual. I see some of the men kneeling to suck each other’s cocks . . . and to fuck. I go to the chief and kneel in front of him. I take his cock, look up at his smiling face, and open my mouth. His cock is hard like a rock. It is warm. I am drooling. I taste saltiness. I have not willingly done this till now. I feel the chief’s hands guiding my head on and off his cock. I bury my face in his bush.
Before the night is quiet once again, I fuck another man for the first time. I fuck several men. And, I am fucked again by a number of my fellow tribesmen.
I am back in the hut with Papa. I am different. I’ve changed. I want to be a member of this phallic worshipping tribe. I tell Papa and ask him what I need to do.
It’s the next day. Papa has taken me to the chief. He tells the chief and me that he had a dream the night before the battle. In the dream, a white eagle was fighting along with his fellow eagles against another group. They triumphed over the other males. Then, the members of its own group allowed the white eagle to mount them and have sex with them. He, in turn, moved his tail feathers to allow his fellow eagles to do the same to him.
Papa says the dream was about me. The white eagle was me. I have strong medicine. It is in my seed. It is good medicine for the strength of the members of this tribe of warriors. He says that their seed in me will also make my medicine even stronger.
Papa tells the chief of my wish to join them. He tells him that I should be made a member of the tribe – that my actions in the battle and after it, and also at last night’s ritual, show that. Because of my strong medicine seed revealed in his dream, he says that I should become part of a new ritual that he will discover in his shaman dreams.
It is the next ritual fire. The chief and Papa are telling all the men that I am not a captive any longer. I am to be their brother. My name will be Ndu. It means ‘man’. Papa says that I will not be a shaman, but a warrior and a source, a spring. He says to them that my seed will make them more powerful, that I am a source of success for the tribe and that their seed in me will make me even stronger in my medicine for the tribe.
Before the regular ritual begins, the chief, and then Papa, kneel down and suck my cock. Each of them receives my cum.
Now, the usual dancing, chanting, and frenzied masturbating has begun. More cum. As the night goes on, one different warrior after another is sucking me. And, like at the last ritual, I suck my brothers. They fuck me. I fuck them.
I am Ndu!
It’s been a week since I got my new name . . . since I gained new brothers. I have been given a special gourd sheath for my cock. It is secured by the cord around my waist and goes to the right over my chest, high up pointing over my right shoulder. My balls hang low and heavy beneath it. The loop on its base around behind them, secures it. It is new to me. It makes me constantly aware of my cock . . . which is staying hard inside its new protective cover. Painted on the gourd near its base, where it is wider, is a spring spouting water from a rock . . . a source.
It’s been a wet season and a dry season now that I am Ndu. I think only of how to be a better warrior and member of the tribe. Sometimes I try to think of the English word for one thing or another . . . but it is leaving me fast. Ever since I came to live with Papa, he has been placing his hands on my head each night and chanting away my former life and way of speaking. It is like it’s all getting more and more lost in a mist.
During this long time, the chief has had the craftsmen of the tribe building something. He has not let anyone else see it. Tonight, at the ritual, he has told us he will show it to us. We are anxious to know what it is.
Papa has told me to wait for him tonight. He says I must not go ahead to the clearing. He wants me to enter with him and the chief after everyone else. We are coming into the clearing. It will be light for a little while yet.
I see the chair. It is set off a bit to the side, but inside the circle. It is smoothly carved and polished, not like anything in the village. Behind it is a tall wooden erect penis, a smaller copy of the large phallus in the center of the ritual clearing.
The chief is holding his hand up for silence. He turns to Papa and nods. Papa tells us that he has been told in his dreams – his shaman dreams – that this chair had to be built for the tribe’s special source of power to use.
“Late each day, Ndu will come here to the sacred spot. He will sit on the chair. At least one of the tribesman will come with him. It will be his duty to keep Ndu’s cock large for the entire time that Ndu is here. Any warrior who wishes will come to receive Ndu’s seed or to give of his own to Ndu.”
Now, the chief and Papa are turning to me. They lead me to the chair. Papa unties the cord around my waist. He removes the gourd from my cock, unlooping it from my balls. As I look down at the seat for the first time, I see that there is another smaller, life-sized, erect cock that is part of the seat. To sit in its center, I will have to ride that cock! As I see it, my own cock begins to rise.
Papa turns me around to face away from the chair. He tells me to sit. My hole is well used, as are those of all my brothers, so I do not fear this. I have come to relish the presence of a cock filling my hole. I would be jealous of anyone else sitting on this chair. I look behind me to be sure of the cock’s exact place. I lower myself over it, allowing it to enter me. Once I sit all the way down, it rubs my prostate. My cock angles upwards into a full hardon. I move my ass on the seat so as to stimulate myself even more. I am leaking pre-cum from my slit. I spread my legs wide. I am the source offering my seed to my tribal brothers.
To Be Continued
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