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 4  

They took the boys in the same order as before. The first lad was on his feet as soon as the shaman pointed at him. I looked at his face. He was serene, whatever fears he had had were now gone, he was ready to be cut. As he approached the huge log, the one that we had played on the day before, he was enveloped by a crowd of tribesmen. They had sat back to watch the whipping from a short distance, now we couldn't see what was happening because they crowded closely around the boy on the log, jostling each other to get a better view. It seemed to take forever, but I guess that was because we had to sit and wait. Eventually there was an expectant hush, then a collective intake of breath. The heads leaned yet further over the boy. At last a collective 'Aaaaah...', and a stirring in the crowd indicated that the job had been done. Shortly after this we saw the small figure of the 'new man' being led out of the clearing down a jungle path, off to play the flute. This is all that I saw of each of the guys who were ahead of me so I can't tell you anything about how they took it. When Barry's head re-appeared above the crowd it was my turn, and I still knew no more than Andy had told us the night before.

I won't deny it, by this time I really felt pretty sick, but once I was on my feet my mind cleared. This was just another S&M session, far out maybe, but worse things are done every weekend back home. That thought helped, suddenly I was over my fears. Strangely the fact that there would be no anesthetic made it even more of a turn-on, although I must admit that I would have preferred a modern, sterile dressing to a witch-doctor's brew for the after care. ( I suppose it was like the first time I had my balls pierced, I was scared shitless. I had told the top that I would accept his limits, I had agreed that there would be no safety signal, but when I was bound, gagged and blind-folded I felt sick. As I lay in darkness waiting for the stab of pain I realized that there was absolutely no way out, no way of saving my testicles, the needles were going to pierce them. Strangely, once I accepted that it was going to happen, I felt better, even managed to hold them up for the top: he pierced me through and through.) Anyway, I rose and walked towards the crowd which parted as I approached. I saw the log, the ropes in place. Willing hands positioned me so that I was standing at the end, the wood wet with blood, they motioned me to sit. I felt the wetness against the cheeks of my ass, then the hands gently pushed me back. My hands were taken down to either side, my feet pulled back on each side of the log, in a few moments I was secured. I heard a familiar sound somewhere beyond the crowd, slick, slick, slick; a blade being honed on stone. Just our luck, we had fallen in with a strictly traditional tribe. 'At least it was metal,' I thought, 'not long ago it would have been done with a flint.' The crowd parted and a familiar face appeared, two actually, the shaman and Kuchuk. I felt their fingers on my penis, rough skin, rougher finger-nails. Other fingers were feeling my balls, squeezing them, the way you might feel fruit in a market. I was in heaven, I just adore it when my balls are put under real pressure. There was a collective gasp, and a chorus of chattering, as the fore-skin gave up the unequal struggle, rolling back to reveal the soft pink glans. By now I was slippery with pre-cum and once my foreskin had rolled back clear of the head it was difficult to get a hold of it. Eventually the fingernails got a good grip and I felt the skin of my cock being dragged up clear of the head. I couldn't see whose fingers were holding the foreskin, but I did see the blade in Kuchuk’s hand. There was a pause, then the sharp sting as the blade was drawn across the tight skin in a line around my cock just below the head. But that wasn’t the end of it. The blade wasn’t sharp enough to finish the job with one slice, I felt another stinging line, no, more like a line of fire, much longer and more painful than the first all the way around my poor, beaten cock. My balls fired the load of cum that I had being carrying around for the last couple of days. It splattered down all over my stomach, chest, face, firm and jellied because I had waited so long. This caused great excitement, hands reached out to scoop it up. As my body was shoved about by the crowd I felt two sudden slashes at my cock which brought more jism. The man with the knife cursed the crowd. The jostling eased, but tongues went on licking at my body to get the juice. The end of my penis was now burning fiercely. I like to think it was Kuchuk who cut me, but it might well have been the miserable, fucking shaman. Some fingers were pulling on the loose flap of skin, but I guess the semen had dribbled down on to the cut because they were having the greatest difficulty keeping a hold on it. The fire moved in a ring around the end of my knob as they worked their way around in a series of pulls and slashes, but by this time I was again on a pain-induced high. I would have come again and again, but my balls were empty. When I am being tortured I normally verbalize a lot, plead with the top to stop, beg him to spare my balls even though I want the beating to go on and on, harder and harder. Well I nearly made the mistake of crying out loud, "Oh God yes! Cut it. Yes, YES, CUT IT!" It was on the tip of my tongue, I remembered just in time, how awful to be castrated, no, emasculated, just because you encouraged the top who was cutting your cock! I tried to look down to see what I looked like but couldn't see a thing past the press of bodies, some still trying to lick up the last of the cum. I couldn't see, but I could feel every last knife stroke, it was like being jerked-off by a fistful of razor-blades. Yes, very memorable. Eventually, as the last shred of foreskin was sliced through, my prick jerked free. I felt a few drops splash my chest and face again. I thought it was the last of the semen, then I saw the colour. When my limbs were released and I was helped to sit upright I saw what they'd done. My penis looked like something out of a butcher's shop, just a slippery red mass. The blood still flowed freely, some of it already congealing in the little bit of pubic hair at the base of my dick. I could see where the flow had divided down each side of my scrotum. I felt the sticky wetness between the cheeks of my ass, not just on the outside as when I had sat down, the blood had flowed right down into my ass hole. My penis felt as though it was a foot and a half long, still burning furiously. Had I been blindfolded I'm sure I would have thought that it was on fire. As I was helped to my feet I saw Kuchuk, he was holding a half gourd filled with a pale green liquid, the smell was appalling. He stepped closer, the gourd in his left hand, with his right hand he took a firm grip on my dripping cock, then plunged it into the liquid. If Andy hadn't warned us about this treatment, I'm sure I would have screamed. I know I would, and I'd be writing about a rather more severe torture, one I hope never to experience. My legs almost buckled, but I was supported by many willing hands. It felt as though my prick had been dipped in acid; the proud erection collapsed in a moment. When Kuchuk took my cock from the brew it was shriveled and limp. There was general hilarity all round so I suppose that it happened to all the candidates. I hoped that the pain would subside, it didn't, not immediately, but gradually over the next few minutes it eased. The shaman disappeared into the crowd taking the gourd of liquid with him. I was left surrounded by smiling faces each one wanting a closer look at the sliced pink penis. I took another look to see what they had done. It was strange seeing the pale pink head, like looking at another man's prick. Just behind the glans was the bright red ring where the foreskin had been cut away, still wet looking, but no longer bleeding. After a minute or two he reappeared carrying a small tusk, Andy tells me it's from a wild boar, suspended from a very thin vine which he handed to Kuchuk. There was a general rumble of appreciation as he hung the tusk around my neck. I had a pretty good idea what was in it, later I discovered that I was right, my fore-skin of course. Once he had secured the thing he took me by the hand, like leading a child, and guided me down a path out of the clearing.

By this time I was pretty much beat up, I'd had enough. But, as you and I both know, in the best S&M sessions the bottom has no control. This was a good session: knowing that there was no option gave me the strength to go on. We walked along a track that sloped steeply down the mountain. We did not go far, after just a couple of hundred yards he turned off the track working his way around a huge stand of bamboo. There, just a few feet from the path, was a completely secluded open space, the ground covered in moss. He sat, then gestured to me to get down between his parted legs. As I knelt down he lay back, the long curve of the penis sheath arching over his stomach reached nearly up to his chin, his scrotum hung loose between his legs. I waited, not sure what to do next. There was just a very small patch of wiry hair at the base of his cock. His balls had been visible all the time, none of them covered their scrotums, but up close I could see that it was almost hairless. Natural or plucked I don't know, but the few hairs were wiry, tightly coiled. The dark, oiled skin of the sac glistened and rippled as his generously sized testicles stirred within. He pointed to the sheath indicating that he wanted me to pull it off. This was something I really wanted to do. I took hold of the thing and pulled gently. It was firmly in place. I pulled harder and it came away. At last I saw him, up close, naked and fully aroused. His penis looked like an eight-inch ebony carving. The shaft was truly black, the head had just a suggestion of dark red in the blackness. The most curious thing to my eye was that the head did not flare out like a mushroom at the end of the shaft. It was elongated, about two inches long, the same diameter as the shaft, looked like the slug in the end of a very large bullet. I guess this was caused by wearing the sheath all his adult life. I must admit that my first thought was to wonder what it would be like to be fucked by a penis with no head. Good for a virgin maybe? Well I had been on the receiving end for several hours, now it was his turn to hold them up and take it. I wanted to say, "You've whipped me and cut me, that's OK. In your culture that's something men have to take. Now you're going to show me that you're a man too. And if you utter a sound I'll pull your balls off with my bare hands."  I wasn't angry, I didn't want revenge, but I did want his manhood at my mercy just as he had had mine. 'Manhood', that's an expression you see often enough. What is a guy's 'manhood' to your mind? To most writers it seems to be a man's tool, his shaft, his penis. Not to my mind. Spread-eagle a naked man, take his cock in your hand. What do you see in his eyes? Pleasure probably. Take his testicles. What do you see? A whole range of emotions. Fear: will this go too far. Yearning: he hopes it will go far enough. Acceptance yes he wants the pain. Anxiety: will he take it well enough. But one thing his eyes will say clearly, "Please... do it to me", and I guarantee you will have his undivided attention. Yes, to my mind his testicles are his 'manhood'.

I slipped my hand up between his legs, got his balls in the palm of my hand: trapped them by circling the neck of the sack with my thumb and forefinger. I watched his face, he was relaxed, breathing easily. I reckon he knew what was coming. I squeezed. I crushed them as hard as I could with one hand, had there been pips I would have heard them squeak. His mouth opened, his head shook from side to side. Beneath the dark skin his stomach muscles rippled in a washboard pattern. But his balls? No he didn't pull them up, he didn't twist or turn, he didn't utter a sound. I must admit I was impressed. Normally he would have had a young boy with him after a circumcision, a boy who would gently, gratefully, milk his balls for the power and strength they contained. I wasn't going to milk him, I didn't want milk, I wanted whipped cream. I had only my bare hands, but I laid it on hard. I slapped them from side to side, from top and bottom. He still took it in silence. His cock looked so tempting as it jerked with the blows. Very soon the oily sheen was gleaming with a copious flow of precum. I couldn't resist any longer. I bent forward and slipped it into my mouth. I told you it looked like ebony, well that's exactly what it felt like: smooth, hard and slippery. I knew that I wasn't going to be satisfied until I had been fucked by this stone-age savage.

I took his shaft in deep, all the way in one long suck, then let it slide out using my teeth on the urethra. His cock flexed in my mouth. I still had his balls, one each hand, and continued to play with them. Well, maybe play is an understatement, I worked on them, hard. But kneeling between his legs, with his cock in my mouth, there wasn't space to slap them around. I got into a good rhythm, plunging down, scraping up, testicles popping in and out between my fingers. His head shook, his hips lifted, thrusting to meet my mouth, his breathing getting faster all the time. I was in a quandary, no that's not the whole truth, I was just plain greedy. I wanted it all: his seed in my mouth, to taste it, savour it, swallow it; and his shaft up my ass while it was still rock hard. If I brought him off would he stay hard for a second shot? Of course I also wanted to fuck his stone-age ass, but that was out of the question. Well two out of three ain't bad. I pulled away from him on the next upstroke, turned around to face away from him, then knelt down, right down with my head on the ground, ass in the air waiting.

I didn't wait long. I felt him moving behind my back, then his knob was at my hole. Lubrication was no problem, he had been dripping pre-cum at an amazing rate since the sheath had come off, one hard thrust and he was in. Did it feel different? No, I can't say that it did, but it sure as hell was the hardest thing that was ever shoved up my ass, dildos not excepted. He knew how to fuck too. He thrust in so hard that his swinging balls slapped against mine. After a while I realized that his nuts were no longer loose, they were being jammed into my ass: he had tightened up and was about to come. I thought briefly of trying to stop him, but it was too late. He exploded. Each thrust pumped cum deep into my body, but I didn't let him shoot it all. Andy had said that these warriors could feed several boys so I still hoped for a man-sized mouthful. As I twisted away I felt his cock slip out, I had been well lubricated by his pre-cum, now I was awash with the real thing.

I turned around to face him, he was still in prime condition, strong, hard, throbbing. By pushing gently on his shoulder I persuaded him to lie back. He didn't resist. I knelt astride his body facing towards his feet, looking down at the penis that had been buried deep in my ass. It looked  even better now; glistening, slippery, a drop of cum sliding slowly down the shaft. I took it in my mouth again. Clean him? No way. This was primitive sex, stone-age sex, we were doing what men had always done with men. I leant forward and sucked in the whole length. Does that seem gross? Well, that's what I did. To my delight he didn't just lie back to enjoy it, very soon I felt his fingers on my balls. His cum had oozed out of my ass, the sac was slippery, the testicles slithered between his fingers. He tried to work them up into my hole, but they kept escaping. Eventually he managed to trap one and force it in. All this time I was sucking steadily with long strong strokes, my fingers playing very lightly with his balls, not working on them, just barely stroking. As I felt them pulling up into the firing position I applied more pressure: that brought them up tighter, he was ready, so was I. Now I raked his urethra with my teeth and dug my finger nails into his balls. That got to him. The cum filled my mouth, so smooth, so slippery; and because of his isolation, so pure. I was savouring his juice, rolling it around my mouth with my tongue, when he trapped my other ball. I felt his fingernail, rough, coarse, gritty, digging into the fleshy testicle. As he put the pressure on forcing it up and up the pain was beautiful, too beautiful to last. It couldn't escape; I didn't want it to escape. My ass was oozing his cum, no better lubrication. I relaxed my sphincter and it slipped into the hot, slick cavity. But still he wasn't satisfied, his finger followed it, forcing it up as far as the cords would allow. Just before I shot my load he crooked one finger around my cock to line it up with his mouth. He got every last drop.

We rested a while on the smooth, green moss. I cannot tell you how much I would have liked to be able to talk to this stone-age warrior. Ask him about his life, his hopes, his fears; but most of all about the pouches he wore around his waist. How old was he when he took the first one, had he known the men, were they dead before he took his trophies, but there was no way I could find out. I could have fallen asleep on the soft moss, nearly did, then I remembered that since I was the last to leave the clearing the others were probably waiting for me to come back. When Kuchuk rose to leave I followed him. I was right behind him as he worked his way around the large clump of bamboo back to the path. When I stepped down on to the path he wasn't there. I looked back around the bamboo, I stared into the jungle as far as I could see. Nothing, nor any sound either. He had simply disappeared. I remembered the offer we had been made the day before, a head start into the jungle. Suddenly I shivered in spite of the heat. What chance would a modern man have against one of these tribesmen who could move through jungle without being seen or heard?

Getting back to the clearing was no problem, just had to follow the path uphill. I could see Barry sitting under the big tree where we had left our gear with the walky-talky in his hand.

"Hey David! You still got your cock and balls?" he sounded cheerful, obviously still had his.

"Well I've got both balls, and what's left of my cock". As I got nearer to where he sat I saw that he had bandaged his prick, looked like a fat, white wiener. "That looks neat; and I just love that long white foreskin" I said referring to the three inches of cotton that hung off the end of his cock.

"Yeah, the foreskin's for old times sake, looks good doesn't it? It's one of those tubular bandages, meant for fingers I guess. There's plenty more of it in the first aid kit, want me to do you?"

"If by 'do' you mean wrap up my bleeding dick, yeah I would, otherwise forget it."

"Well that's about all any of us are going to do for a while. Come, sit over here."

"No sign of Andy?"

"No, he's been gone a long time. Hope there's no problem." I could see the anxiety in his face.

"He was in good shape when he left, I'm sure he’ll be alright. Maybe he's just having a real good time." I tried to sound upbeat, but I was anxious too, Andy had left the clearing at least half an hour before I did. "Have you got through to the base?" I asked trying to take a more positive line.

"No. It's no good. I've been calling for about half an hour, not a squeak out of them."

"Well I guess it's the tree. Trees can kill the signal. I'll try it out in the open when you're through." Barry took a hold of my dick-head and pulled gently on my cock, stretching it so that he could clean up the wound. The head was so sensitive I immediately started to swell up.

"You can't possibly still be horny."

"No, I can promise you I'm not, but just a touch on the head is enough to get it up."

"OK, now just hold still till I get it cleaned and wrapped." I nearly went ballistic with the first drop of surgical spirits, felt like he had put a match to the end of my prick. But Barry hung on and in spite of my writhing he did a great job, pretty soon I had a long, white foreskin too. 

To be continued...

Posted: 10/21/11