Irian Jaya

By: David Andrew
(© 2011 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 3

When I woke I felt the icy chill of realization, this was the day of the ceremony. Andy stirred next. As he opened his eyes he looked at me a little sheepishly. I knew what he was wondering. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, very well.” Then he looked over his shoulder to where Barry was stirring, his cock fat and hard with an early morning erection. I could see Andy looking at it, then he turned and saw that I was watching him. He blushed.

“It was good for you?” More of a statement than a question. He swallowed.

“Yes,” he said firmly, “fucking good.”

“I’m glad. I was sure it would be. You couldn’t have started with a better man.” Andy smiled.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted it, to be fucked I mean, but for some reason I’ve never been able to let it happen.” He was comfortable now, it was all out in the open, no pretense, the words just came bubbling out. “I really thought it was going to be much more painful. He’s so big,” he said looking back at Barry’s cock. “I thought he would split me open. It hurt at first, but then I just relaxed, I opened up, it was beautiful. In a way I wish it had hurt a more, I wish he’d had to force his way in. I suppose what I’m saying is that I wanted to be raped, would have made it even more memorable.”

“Don’t you believe it. The first time is always unforgettable. You’ll have much better memories than if you had been raped. Barry knows what to do, and how to do it. You’ll remember last night for the rest of your life. And today I don’t doubt.”

“Yes. It’s going to be quite something isn’t it?” The boy was hard already, so was I. We were going to have to stay that way all day if we were to become “made men.”

“Come on Barry,” I said, “time to rise and shine. Well, you’ve risen already so keep it up! We’re going to have real hard session today.”

“Fuck me!”

“Sure, would you rather be fucked by a well used, horny knob, or a sweet, clean, young prick?”

“No time to argue. Give me them both at the same time!” We laughed, but there was a lot of tension already.

As the camp came to life around us the men were wearing their sheaths again. Didn’t see any of them pumping on their cocks to get them up, one minute they were sitting on the ground, next they were standing there with the sheath rising proudly from their loins. I noticed that a few of the men were also wearing small pouches hanging from a cord around their waists. Some had one, some two, Sidekick had four. I was curious. “What are the leather pouches for? Talismans of some sort?” I asked Andy.

“They’re not leather,” he said, “I’ll give you one guess as to what they contain.”

“Well I know what they look like...”

“Right first time. Yes, scrotums... or should it be scroti?”

“Shit! Taken from the boys who failed the test?” asked Barry in horror.

“No, those were taken from men, men killed in battles. These tribes are always fighting over something, usually it’s land or women. The shaman gets the heads for the collection, the warrior gets the scrotum.”

“And the balls?”

“Oh yes the balls too. With them the victor gets the sexual strength of the victim. The most power comes from balls taken from a wounded warrior while he is still alive. They are greatly prized.”

“What do they do, eat them!” I asked.

“No, look at them. You can see them, they’re still in the sac.”

“But why don’t they rot in these hot, humid conditions?”

“Well, the testicles are taken out of the scrotum when it is removed. Then sac and the balls are soaked in tannin made from the bark of a tree. It preserves them. When they are finished the scrotum still feels soft, so do the testicles, sort of spongy. The scrotum shrinks a bit during the curing, so when they’re taken, they cut off as much of the skin as possible. Not only do they get a more impressive trophy, they also get more power from it.”

“What do they do with the cocks?” Barry asked.

“Didn’t you notice the necklaces that they’re wearing? Andy asked”

“Yes of course,” I said.

“What do you think there made of?”

“Well there’s shells, animals tusks, wild boars I’d guess.”

“Yes, and what else?”

“Bits of bark? Or are they dried bits of some plant?” I’d noticed that some of the warriors had dark brown pieces that I took to be bits of wood strung in between shells and tusks, but hadn’t looked closely at them. I did look now.

“Oh shit!” It was Barry, he’d just seen what I’d seen, these little blackish brown things were penises! “And they’re taken from warriors? Live ones?”

“The most valuable ones are taken when the victim is very much alive! From prisoners!” I swallowed hard. The pouches and necklaces looked different after this explanation.

There was a stirring at the far side of the clearing, the boys, eight of them, were led in. They were sat in a row in front of the skull hut. Right behind them came a file of about twelve much younger, much smaller boys, the newest trainees. They were secured in a sitting position to the posts we had first seen the day before. The fire had been brought to life again and each boy was offered a half gourd filled with a grayish mush. We were offered the same disgusting mess. Tactfully Andy told the bearer that it wouldn’t be right for us to take any more of their food, and suggested that our share should be given to the boys. A smart move. After suitable remonstration the gourds were given to the boys. They accepted, at least the coming ordeal had not robbed them of their appetite. Andy said that the tribesmen never knew where their next meal was coming from so they never refused food under any circum­stances.

Sidekick came over and spoke to Andy: it was time to join the boys sitting in the center of the clearing. It would take reams of paper to do justice to the ceremony, but maybe a few lines will give you the picture. Tense, but extremely turned on, I think that sums up the way I felt. I’d say the other two felt the same judging from the way their cocks stuck out as they walked. We sat at the end of the line of eight boys facing the two tall bamboo poles. The tribesmen had taken their places in front of the trophy hut facing us. The shaman strode across the open space and tapped a boy in the middle of the line on the shoulder. So we were not being taken in order starting at one end of the line, that added a little something extra. As he rose, without a trace of hesitation, I saw that he was small by Western standards, maybe five feet, hundred pounds or so. His prick was small too, less than five inches, but it was up and hard. I guess he had just been bathed in a stream, perhaps his body had been oiled as well, because his very dark skin glistened as he moved across the sunlit clearing. He walked steadily, his figure seemed to shrink as he approached the forty foot bamboo’s. Stopping a pace short of them, he put his hands up and leant forward, supporting his body with his outstretched arms. From where we were sitting we could only see his back, his sweet, tight little ass, but the rest of the tribe had a full frontal view. His master stepped out of the crowd, his body glistening too. He chose a vine from the tangled mass laid by the poles. When he tried a couple of practice swings we could see that it was about ten feet long, the stinging leaves stripped away except for the last six inches or so. He took position to the left of the boy, then swung hard. The bare cane cut across the young ass, the tip wrapping around the slim hips. We couldn’t see it but the bunch of leaves must have enveloped his genitals. The boy’s back arched, his head whipped backwards, and he rose up on his toes as his body went into spasm, but there wasn’t a sound from his lips. The accuracy of the first stroke was impressive, even the best tops who have whipped me needed three or four strokes to home in on my hole. There was a murmur of appreciation from the spectators, whether it was for the top or the boy I didn’t know. The next stroke was laid on at a different angle, coming down across the small of his back, above the hip, down into his crotch to flick up into his ass from between his legs. This time there was a cheer. From the gestures of the smiling crowd it was obvious that the cheer was for the top. He was an expert showing off his skill with the whip and how well he had trained his boy. I won’t bore you with a blow by blow account but I can tell you that this boy, and all the others, took a very good beating. The bare part of the vine was used mostly on the back and ass, the leaves tormenting the tits and genitals. As each boy walked back to where we were sitting we saw the effects. What had been slim pricks were a swollen knobs. Scrotums which had been big enough to have contained a pair of grapes, now hung like large, black avocados between purple striped thighs. As each one returned to his place a clear liquid was poured over his shoulders and spread gently over his body by his master. This seemed to be a soothing lotion, certainly didn’t make him wince, so I assumed that it was not the same liquid that was applied after the circumcision.

When the last of the boys had been taken we knew that one of us would be next. The shaman walked very slowly across the clearing towards us. I desperately wanted it to be me. My balls were aching already, then I realized why. The other two had each pumped a load the previous day, drained their hydraulics as we say in aviation. I had not cum since I had arrived in Irian, I wanted to get started. He hovered in front of us, playing his own game, then tapped Andy.

As Andy rose he looked impressive. The others had been boys, Andy was young, but he was a man. Although not very tall by American standards at six feet and one-eighty pounds, he stood head and shoulders above any of the tribesmen. This must have been the first time they had ever seen such a figure step up for initiation. The interest was intense, every eye focused on the magnificent penis. There were gasps when he reached up and put his hands on the poles, more than two feet higher than the moist marks left by the boys hands. He stood there proudly with his legs apart, then in a gesture of bravado moved them still further apart to give the top complete access to his body. It was Sidekick who stepped out of the crowd and drew a whip from the pile. After a practice swing he rejected the first, settled for the second, a rather heavier one. The first stroke left a bright red stripe across Andy’s white ass: much more obvious than on the dark-skinned boys. His buttocks pulled up tight, but that was the only indication that he had been hurt. Sidekick turned out to be an expert too: gave Andy a more severe beating than any of the boys had taken. By the time Sidekick was through Andy was a mass of red welts from his knees to his shoulders, back and front. I wouldn’t have recognized his beautiful young genitals, swollen enormously, covered in red and black blotches. But mentally he was in good shape, he was on a high, and still hard. Well, a novice had taken it, now it was up to Barry, or myself, to do as well.

Barry was taken next. Just my luck! As he headed back after his whipping his body looked battered, but he smiled, his eyes said it all. “Nothing to it. Go show them.” In fact, after seeing Andy taking the beating, and coming through with flying colors, I wasn’t too worried about this part of the ceremony. I could remember many great sessions when I had ended up black, blue and swollen, but that look from Barry gave my cock an extra boost. I got up without waiting to be tapped. By the time I reached up to place my hands high on the post I felt great. I could almost feel the eyes, staring, comparing, they could see everything I had. I loved it, that’s the exhibitionist in me. ‘Take the whipping,’ I told myself. ‘It’s going to be good.’

The tribesman who came out of the crowd to draw a whip was much younger than Sidekick or the one who had whipped Barry. Later I discovered that his name sounded like Kuchuk, so that’s what I’ll call him. The first thing I noticed about him was that he walked with an air of authority, then I saw the two pouches on the cord around his waist, they were bigger than most of the ones other warriors were wearing, and he had two penises in his necklace, that added a certain something to his presence, no doubt about it. He was well built, the muscles rippled under his smooth, shining dark skin which must have been oiled for the occasion. He took his time selecting a whip, carefully stripping away all the leaves except those on the last twelve inches, then walked around behind me. I expected to hear the swish of a practice swing or two. He took none; the first thing I felt was a lash of flame as the whip came up between my wide spread legs and blistered my penis and scrotum. Another time, another place, and I would have cried out loud, but I managed to swallow the sound in a sharp intake of breath. Then, before I’d managed to draw breath another swipe of flame seared my shoulders, and another swept across my ass. These first lashes were laid on from a distance, I didn’t feel the cane, he was using only the leaves on the tip to scorch my buns, shoulders, back and legs. The leaves tended to cushion the blows a bit, but man, did those leaves burn! My balls had only taken the one stroke, the one which came up from between my legs, but they were on fire already. The end of my cock felt as though it had swollen up like a lollipop. I didn’t look down, I didn’t want to see it. Then Kuchuk got more imaginative. The creeper streaked up between my legs again, right up, like he was cracking a bull whip. The leaves slapped against my upper chest, but the quarter-inch flexible stem cut into my already tenderized left testicle. He was standing directly behind me, more and more strokes followed with equal accuracy, each getting a direct hit on either the left or right ball, some cutting into my penis as well. I realized that he was able to see my sac hanging down between my legs. I thought of pulling my balls up tight, but didn’t dare. He wouldn’t have had such a good target to aim at, but some of the strokes would still have connected. If my balls had been pulled up tight it would have been disastrous. For me the ultimate challenge in S&M is to take a whip directly on my testicles, but the only way I can do it is to let them hang loose, completely loose, so that they swing with the blows. At this point, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kuchuk break off the leafy end. All this had only been preparation for the real whipping, now it was just the cane and my naked body. Just thinking about this got me on a high. Suffice it to say that he was very good. His under-hand, whip-cracking technique was his forte. Without ever moving to one side or the other he got at every square inch of my body between knees and neck. In the end I was so turned on I didn’t realize he had stopped until he tapped me gently on the shoulder and led me back to the others. The cloudy liquid was poured over my shoulders. As it ran down several willing hands spread it over my body. They didn’t just spread it, this was an excuse to explore and feel: fingers worked the cooling fluid around, and into, every nook and cranny. My hairless balls seemed to be of particular interest, they were massaged, squeezed and pulled by so many fingers. The blood surged into my cock. As it reared up the foreskin rolled back. There was a collective gasp, a dozen fingers tried to touch the sensitive head. I almost lost control, almost shot my load, but managed to hold back. The cutting was still to come: I had to remain hard. Not only did the stinging stop almost at once, but I saw that the swellings on the others were rapidly subsiding. The penis of the first boy to be whipped was almost a prick again. The foreskin, which had been stretched over the swollen meat, was now  sticking out clear of the head. At least they would be able to get a hold of it to make a clean cut.

To be continued...

Posted: 10/14/11