Date: Sun, 30 Aug 2020 11:44:37 -0500
From: John Marris <blackstripe15@gmail.com>
Subject: Milkweed Island - Part 8

Disclaimer: Persons under 18 should stop reading now. This series depicts a
tribal society in fictional world with social norms, and biological and
ecological realities different from anything that exists in our
world. Events and persons are completely fictional.

This story belongs to the author. Do not copy, adapt or repost outside this
website. The Nifty Archives have provided a venue for many years, however,
this cannot be done for free. Please consider a donation:
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html. You can contact the author with
feedback, encouragement and inspiration at blackstripe15@gmail.com.


-Betsu-

Betsu scrambled down the jungle path leading to the fishing village. The
orange afternoon sun sat low in the sky and under the canopy the path was
getting dark. The naked bony eleven-year-old felt small beneath the trees.

`Where is Chapa?' Betsu wondered to himself. He was supposed to meet Betsu
at the crossroads an hour ago.

First Betsu was angry but then he began to get worried. Chapa wouldn't be
late. He knew today was important.

At sundown the Induction Ceremony would begin. Betsu would have to shoot
his seed onto a banana leaf with his family and a crowd of priests,
acolytes and other nervous inductees watching. Betsu knew that some boys
got stage fright and couldn't get even get it up. Those boys would have to
slink away from the pavilion to snickers and averted eyes.

Before the ceremony Betsu wanted one last load from his new best
friend. Over the past few weeks Betsu and Chapa met in secret nearly every
day. They discovered that if Betsu sucked Chapa off and then shot his own
little load inside Chapa's long foreskin nozzle, Chapa could cinch it up
and pass Betsu's cum off as his own precum when he met his father
later. Chapa's father was as cum greedy as Betsu himself. He milked a load
from his young son's balls several times a day. Betsu also got at least one
or two. It was a tough demand to fill, even for a bull balled
fourteen-year-old. Sometimes Betsu felt like they were two dogs fighting
over a bone. So far though, Chapa's father was unaware that he was in
competition of this precious resource. If he found out, Betsu might not see
Chapa again.

Those scary thoughts couldn't stop him. Betsu lived for the moments when
they would sneak off the path and find a soft spot in the
undergrowth. Early on he would latch onto Chapa's cock like drunk on a
wineskin. But soon he discovered the pleasures of kissing and hugging and
wrestling around.

Chapa almost never wore his loincloth. Fishermen found they mostly got in
the way. When he and Betsu rolled around on the forest floor his fleshy
cock and balls clattered between his legs like a bell in a storm. Betsu
could die happy with his mouth full of that flesh.

When Betsu wasn't with Chapa he was thinking about him. The fisher boy was
three years older than Betsu but he treated him as an equal. He was always
patient and tender. He seemed apologetic about his deafness, but once Betsu
got used to his strange way of speaking he sometimes forgot about it
completely. Then something would remind him, and the reality of Chapa's
silent world would hit Betsu like a gut punch.

He wanted to protect his friend however he could.

As Betsu neared the fishing village he slowed to a jog. Chapa's father
might be around. Chapa said he never got involved in the Great Festival
ceremonies. Chapa's father hated the Chief's Village, the priests, and the
Chief.

Betsu ran to the stilted boardwalk that extended from the beach out over
the waters of the cove. The village consisted of a row of huts along the
rickety bamboo boardwalk. The boardwalk was empty. The setting sun out past
the cove was inching towards the blood red sea.

Betsu couldn't stick his head in Chapa's front door for fear of being
caught so he climbed around the outside of the hut and stuck his head in a
window. The incoming tide churned below.

The hut was dark and quiet. Betsu listened for a moment. He could hear his
breath over the sound of the waves. Sure that there was no one inside he
climbed back to the boardwalk and slinked to a nearby hut. He peered into
the window.

Inside was Chapa's grandmother. The old woman was tending a charcoal
brazier in the center of the hut. She was talking to some children. Betsu
strained to hear their voices.

After eavesdropping for a minute Betsu realized that the children were
Chapa's younger brother and two younger sisters. Chapa once had four
sisters but two of them had been hauled off, in years past, to be tributes
for the Ulungu. The fishing village was technically in the domain of the
Chief's Village and the powerful families who lived there preferred not to
offer their own young daughters up to savages. The poor fishermen's
daughters worked just as well.

`Chapa isn't here. Where is he?' Betsu felt panicked. The ceremony would be
starting soon. He had to get back to the Chief's Village. Father would
already be furious.

Betsu dashed down the boardwalk not caring about the noise he was
making. He streaked down the path like a wraith, his tiny feet expertly
dancing between brambles and tree roots. He knew this path by heart.

At the crossroads he ran headlong into Chapa. The dark gangly boy was in a
daze. He was panting and mumbling nonsense.

"Papa! Papa! Papa gone."

Chapa struggled against Betsu's embrace. He was flailing around trying to
get away. His sweaty teenage body was hard to restrain. The nervous stink
coming from his armpits burned Betsu's nose. But once Betsu let him go he
just plopped on the ground muttering.

Betsu moved his face into a dying ray of sunlight so that Chapa could see
his lips.

"Where is your father? Why do you think he is in trouble?"

Chapa stopped shouting and just sat for a moment panting. Then his eyes
flickered and his lips tightened.

"You ceremony. You late!" Chapa bolted up and began pushing Betsu down the
path towards the Chief's Village.

"No. Wait! What about your father?" Betsu tried to resist Chapa but the boy
was too strong. "Where is your father? He is not at your house." Betsu
stared into his eyes.

Chapa was fighting tears. Betsu wanted to hold him and comfort him. "Papa
is drunk. He always drunk now. Hates Festival. Don't worry. I scare
myself. You go. Now!"

With a sharp shove Chapa pushed Betsu down the path and ran in the other
direction. Betsu felt heartbroken. But, not knowing what else to do, he ran
towards the village in the last of the day's light.

The Chief's Village was a clamor of music and laughter. Barbecues were
happening at several places around the Great Temple grounds. Acolytes with
lutes and drums goofed off at playing a song while some of the drunker
woodsmen were wrestling around.

Betsu darted through the crowd to the main pavilion. Draperies had been
erected to make the pavilion into a stage so that the inductees could wait
backstage until their time to participate. The priests had already
assembled the boys back there. Half the island was gathered in front to
watch.

Betsu bypassed the crowd and caught the attention of an acolyte. The
teenage boy motioned him to come around to the side and join the other boys
behind the partition. Just then Betsu's father, who was in the crowd,
noticed him. Betsu felt his glare. He turned to look, even though he knew
he shouldn't. The rage in his father's eyes made all the people between
them in the crowd disappear. Oh no. His father began to move forward. Betsu
pried himself away from his father's death stare and ducked through the
crowd to the annoyed acolyte.

Behind the partition the priests had laid woven mats and set low tables and
some stools. Near a torch stood the High Priest talking to some men Betsu
didn't know. Off to the side, around a low dying campfire stood the four
other inductees; four naked shivering boys.

Betsu didn't know the other boys except Chokani, a boy from the Eastern
Village who spent most of his time at his wealthy uncle's house in the
Chief's Village. Chokani wasn't a bully but he would certainly join in the
fun when other boys were mocking Betsu. His hair had been cut short for the
occasion and he looked cuter than normal, and very nervous. Betsu could see
a thin crest of black hairs around his cock. It was semi-erect and pretty
big. He was squeezing his cockhead like a toddler who has to pee.

Another boy was from the Mountain Village. He was short and wiry, with
thick eyebrows and a shock of long wild pubes above his cock. He was
staring into the fire absently masturbating.

The other boys were twins from the Northern Village. They looked too old to
be going for their cloths, but perhaps getting your cloth wasn't as big a
priority in the Northern Village. Betsu didn't know. They might be fourteen
or even fifteen. One was chewing milkweed. They had both had thick hairy
crooked boners but their cocks bent in different ways. Both had erections
and their wet pink cockheads flickered in the firelight.

All the boys nodded to Betsu as he joined the circle. It was quiet for a
moment, then one of the twins said, "I haven't jerked off in a week. My
balls are killing me."

"Mine too!" said Chokani. "I haven't touched my cock in ten days. I'm
dying." Despite the fact that he was touching it at that very moment.

All the boys laughed but Betsu just looked down. He realized that he hadn't
been saving up his seed. He shot two loads with Chapa just yesterday! `Poor
Chapa. How was he? Could he find his way home in the dark?'

"Did you guys drink a bunch of man seed to give you a boost for today?"
asked the wiry highland boy. His voice was surprisingly low. "Every guy in
my family gave me their seed this morning even though they were all worn
out from seeding porridge and stuff."

"Yeah," said one of the twins. "My dad and uncle took us over to the woods
a while ago and gave us their seed. Kinda pointless. We've been shooting
loads as thick as theirs for a while now."

"You lucked out," said the other twin, chewing on his milkweed stalk. "You
got dad. Uncle's seed tastes so bad. I can't get the taste out of my
mouth."

"What did you do to get ready?" asked the highland boy to Betsu. His voice
startled Betsu from a daze.

Betsu looked into the fire. He was fighting tears. He wasn't ready for the
ceremony. He wasn't even going to be able to get hard. His mind was
somewhere else. He whispered, "I'm not ready."

The conversation died. The fire was so low Betsu could hear the smacking
sounds of the boys gently masturbating over the sound of its crackle. A
priest came around and told them it would start soon. Then suddenly out of
the dark Simal, Betsu oldest brother, came and joined him by the fire.

"Bet, you made it. Father had me out looking for you. Have you seen Pecha?"

"No. Not since yesterday morning. Father was so mad that he missed my
announcement last night, but now he's probably more mad at me."

"He's pretty mad," Simal chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm gonna drop a surprise
on him tonight that will completely dwarf all that other stuff. You'll be
fine."

"Poor Papa," Betsu sighed. "We are a bunch of bad sons."

Simal laughed. "Hey, do you have time? Do you want my seed real quick?"

Betsu blushed. He hardly swallowed anyone else's cum since he met Chapa. He
used to pester Simal all the time, even telling his older brother that it
was ok if he didn't cum he just wanted to feel his big boy penis in his
mouth. But now he had to think.

"Come on!" Simal shouted cuffing Betsu by the ear and dragging him into the
dark woods. "It's not a question. You're not ready for what you're about to
go through. You're off in the stars. You need some fucking cum in your
skull."

Betsu followed along obediently. His brother was so much bigger than him,
and he was used to being pushed around. In the nearby undergrowth Simal
shoved Betsu to his knees, pulled his loincloth to the side and waddled up
to Betsu's pale confused face.

Betsu couldn't see Simal's cock in the darkness but he didn't need to. He
knew it well. He knew the big branching vein that ran down the top of his
shaft and the smaller wiggly one on the side. He knew his brother would
only be half hard. He almost never got fully hard until you sucked him a
bit. He knew his purple cockhead would be drooling precum and that dried
precum would be flaked around the tip of his foreskin and all over the
inside of his loincloth. Simal had a very slimy cock.

Then he smelled something strange.

"What's that smell?" Betsu whispered to the darkness.

"It's my girlfriend. It's her pussy."

"You had sex?" Betsu hissed.

"Yes. A few hours ago," Simal said. Betsu had not talked to Simal so
candidly in years. He felt like he was leaving his body and disappearing
into the darkness. Everything was so strange tonight.

Simal pushed his cock into Betsu's face. The odd fishy smell snapped Betsu
out of it. He said, "You're not supposed to put your seed in a woman until
you are married. You'll get in trouble."

"We'll be married soon. It doesn't matter. Now hurry up and suck my
dick. I'm still horny."

"Marri..mph?" Betsu gagged as Simal crammed his thick unwashed cock into
his mouth.

The weird smell flooded his head. It was like a bit fishy like dick cheese
but sharper and more metallic. After a few sucks it was gone and replaced
by the familiar smells of Simal's musky pubes and his big swollen balls.

Part of Betsu hated sucking his oldest brother's cock. Simal always treated
him like a hole in a melon. Just something to rut in. He never let Betsu
poke around with his cock and have fun getting to know it. But another part
of Betsu liked sucking Simal for that same reason. He didn't have to use
any of his tricks. He could just shut off his brain while Simal grabbed his
tiny head in his big strong hand and ground his slimy cockhead against the
back of Betsu's throat.

In the darkness he was gone again. Out of his body. Out through the
canopy. He was almost blown away on the breeze. Then the heat of his tears
on his face brought him back. Instinctively Betsu had been timing his
breaths. Tuning into the rhythm of Simal's strokes so that he could catch a
quick breath when his throat was unobstructed. But the sudden return of his
conscious mind gave him a shock, and he wretched back coughing.

"Come on Bet. I was almost there," Simal crouched down to bring his face
near. Betsu couldn't see him but he could feel his breath. "You were doing
so great as always. You're gonna be a great priest. Now hurry up and get me
done or you're gonna miss your ceremony."

Betsu felt the warmth of Simal's words. Then his teenage brother stood up
and brought his balls near Betsu's face. They were fat round balls crammed
into a tight sac that seemed too small for them. He had a number of long
straight black hairs growing from them. Betsu took the balls into his
mouth. The heat and stench radiated in his head. Betsu clamped his lips
around them and tugged.

"Nngh.. oh.. quick. I'm coming."

Simal plucked Betsu off his balls with a `plop' and stabbed his dick into
Betsu's mouth just as it began erupting cum. Simal shot seven thick volleys
into his mouth. He kindly kept his drooling cockhead just inside Betsu's
mouth so Betsu could collect all the cum and hold it there for a moment. He
knew Betsu liked that.

Betsu chewed and swished his big brother's hot thick bittersweet seed in
his mouth. He snorted some up into his sinuses so that he could hold onto
the flavor a little longer and then slowly let the rest melt down his
throat. It was only then that he realized his cock was hard.

"Simal, I'm hard. Thanks. I gotta go."

Not waiting for an answer Betsu ran out of the darkness back to the
fire. The other boys were already being lead to the pavilion. Betsu rushed
into place. Several acolytes scowled at him. Betsu followed the wiry
highland boy through the partitions and arrived on the pavilion
floor. Torches on the columns lit the pavilion like a stage.

Several hundred people watched from below. Betsu saw his father, mother,
Akota, Omi and Kala, both his uncles, and his grandfather. Farther back in
the crowd he could see Simal making his way to the others.

The High Priest opened the ceremony. His voice boomed above the din and
everyone fell silent.

"From time forgotten we have welcomed men into this tribe with this sacred
ceremony. Men who will guide the destiny of our people and grow our bright
future. Today we have five boys attempting to prove they are worthy to
become Men of the Island."

The crowd cheered. The High Priest motioned for the first boy, Chokani, to
come forward. An acolyte guided the boy to the center of the stage where a
cupped banana leaf was perched on a thin wooden stand.

The High Priest spoke again in his deep powerful voice, "Our first
potential inductee is twelve-year-old Chokani from the Eastern
Village. Chokani is his father's only son and heir. Chokani, please make
your offering."

Chokani was already hard. He looked petrified at first, but then he closed
his eyes and began pinching and twisting his foreskin over his cockhead. A
nearby teenage acolyte quietly approached him and began teasing his nipples
and plucking on his fleshy hairless sac. The crowd murmured in approval.

After a minute Chokani shot his load. He fired eight blasts of thin watery
cum. Clearly his abstinence had paid off. The cum hit the leaf so hard that
some of it splashed over the side and onto the floor. The crowd gasped,
then burst into applause. Once he was done he sheepishly shuffled away from
center stage, his spent cock waggled as he went.

The leaf was taken to the the priests who stood assembled at the back. The
priests passed the leaf around. Some sniffed the seed. Others dipped a
gentle finger in the puddle and tasted it. Finally the leaf made it to the
High Priest, who lifted it to his face and licked it clean.

Then all the priest convened for a few agonizing minutes until the High
Priest retook the stage and announced, "By decree of the priests young
Chokani is welcomed as a Man of the Island. Please present his cloth."

Another acolyte hurried forward and presented Chokani with a tan
loincloth. The crowd cheered. Chokani cinched the cloth around his loins,
smiled a shy smile and left the stage.

"Lucky," whispered one of the twins. "I hope that means they're in a good
mood."

The twins went next. The oldest one was first. He shot a few thick white
shots and was accepted. But when the younger twin went and shot a nearly
identical load he was rejected.

Many people groaned and moaned in a show of sympathy for the rejected boy
but he still left the stage despondent.

"Don't worry lad, you'll make it next season," shouted the High
Priest. "Next we invite eleven-year-old Hakoka from the Mountain Village."

`Eleven!' thought Betsu. He's the same age as me and he has so much
hair. Betsu even thought he could spy a few wispy black hairs peeking out
from Hakoka's crack. `This is not good. I'm going to look bad by
comparison.'

Hakoka began masturbating. He had lost the erection he had before and he
was having trouble getting it back. Whispers of support hissed through the
crowd but this only made him more nervous. He licked sweat off the wispy
hairs on his upper lip.

The acolyte walked up and embraced the boy from behind. The tall handsome
teen put a supportive hand on Hakoka's thin brown shoulder and gently
brushed the boy's hands away from his cock. Then he began to masturbating
the boy himself. He appeared to have some oil on his hand and soon Hakoka,
with his eyes clinched tight, was rock hard.

The crowd was silent. Everyone was wishing the boy success. Betsu could see
some men rubbing their own erections through their loincloths. Dark stains
of precum dotted mens' bulges.

"I'm going to come," whispered Hakoka.

The other acolyte brought the leaf forward and Hakoka thrust his hips. A
few milky dollops of cum drooled out from his sheathed cock and onto the
leaf. The boy was flushed and exhausted. He sheepishly walked to the side
of the stage to wait for the verdict.

After all the priests had sniffed and sampled the little white puddle, the
High Priest declared Hakoka a Man of the Island and the hairy boy received
his cloth.

Finally it was Betsu turn. He took center stage. More people had wandered
over from other parts of the festival to watch the ceremony. Hundreds were
watching; men, women, boys and girls. He had never been so embarrassed in
his life. His cock was completely soft.  Slowly he began pinching his
cockhead hidden inside his foreskin. He tried to imagine every sexy man he
knew, but his mind kept drifting to Chapa and his lust turned to worry. His
cock was still soft after two excruciating minutes. He could hear
snickers. This was not good.

Then he opened his eyes and looked into the crowd. The men of the island
stood all around; young fathers with young sons by their sides. Under their
musky loincloths throbbed the brown balls that made those sons and made the
seed that nourished them too, helping them grown into men
themselves. Betsu's eyes darted from bulge to bulge. Off to the edge of the
crowd he saw a dark young woodsman jacking off in the shadows, watching
him. The man's bright red cockhead flashed in and out of his ebony foreskin
like a snake's tongue. Pecha felt his boyhood stiffen.

That was when Betsu noticed a pale figure maneuvering through the
audience. It was Toma, Pecha's mean stinky friend. Pecha was not with
him. Betsu hadn't seen Pecha for two days.

As Toma neared the stage Betsu saw that his loincloth was pushed to the
side and he was masturbating and fully erect. His ghostly cock stood out
against his bushy black pubes. Betsu could see the veins of Toma's foreskin
under his tight grip. Then Betsu could hear it, the loud smacking sound
that Toma's sticky precum made as his foreskin slid over the tip of his
putrid cockhead. He smelled it from memory even before the smell hit his
nose.

Toma was giving Betsu an arrogant smirk but Betsu was transfixed on Toma's
cock. He hadn't swallowed Toma's seed in a long time now but he hadn't
forgotten the taste. It was gross, bitter and clotted like spoiled
milk. Pecha shuddered. He somehow knew what Toma was going to do. Was it
even allowed?

Before he lost his chance Betsu leaned down and whispered, "Toma, where is
Pecha? Is he ok?"

"He's fine. He's at your home sleeping," he said as he nonchalantly coated
his outstretched palm with thick white thirteen-year-old boy cum.

Then, without looking for permission, Toma reached his cummy hand up to
Betsu on the pavilion floor above and Betsu instinctively knelt down and
slurped it up. The nearby acolytes pretended not to see and the priests
gathered at the back just laughed, along with many people in the crowd. It
no longer mattered. Betsu may have humiliated himself in front of the
village but it felt good to do so. This was what it meant to be a
priest. He would make a good priest.

Toma's feted seed hit his gut like a brick. The reek of it smeared on his
face made his cock react and he barely had time to shuffle back to the
acolyte with the banana leaf in his outstretched hand. The crowd cheered as
Betsu shot a big thin watery load. He was facing sideways so everyone got
to see it in profile. The tall handsome acolyte clapped him on the back and
lead him from the stage as the other one took his leaf around to the
priests. Betsu felt the warmth of the acolyte's body against his. He was
leaning, nearly falling over. The darkness beyond the torchlight was
pulsing, calling him like a seductive terror.

Betsu lost time for a moment and woke up lurched against the tall
acolyte. The acolyte pushed him forward as the High Priest drew the crowds'
attention back to him. His face was shiny with Toma's cum.

"Betsu, third son of Mora of the Chief's Village. By decree of the priests
you are welcomed as a Man of the Island and an acolyte of the priesthood of
the Great Temple. You renounce any claim to your father's land or
wealth. Please accept your red cloth."


-Simal-

"So he consented!" announced Ata, standing over his hearth.

"To the marriage? Yes sir." Simal sat cross-legged on the other side of the
hearth chewing a stalk of dried milkweed. "As for me leaving the household
and becoming your heir, he only consented to hear your proposal... tonight
at the Great Temple."

Simal saw a flash of anger in Ata's eyes but it was quickly replaced with a
smile.

"Good. That's perfect," said Ata still standing. "I'll talk to him tonight
and tell him. We will unite our houses: A powerful house of the Eastern
Village and an influential family in the Chief's domain."

Simal looked around his soon-to-be father-in-law's modest hut filled with
pots and other ceramics, some broken, and the whole place stinking of mud
and charcoal. It did not look like a seat of great power. Not that he cared
about that.

Ata's wife was fetching water and his daughter, Nomi, Simal's betrothed,
was cleaning up after breakfast. Simal warmed his feet by the dying
fire. It was the third day of the Great Festival, the shortest day of the
year, and the night before had been almost cold.

In his hands was a shallow ceramic bowl that they had made and fired
recently: Simal's first try at pottery. It was a cup for the groom and
bride to share a toast at their wedding before breaking it on the ground,
an Eastern Village tradition. Ata had beamed as they made it.

Now Ata was glancing at the doorway. He seemed to be expecting
someone. "Let me get some firewood," he announced.

Simal moved to help him but Ata refused, so he sat back down. Nomi's
cousin, a boy of eight or nine, had been coming in and out of the hut,
playing pretend, trying to get Simal's attention. Simal had been chewing
milkweed all morning and his morning wood was still semi-hard and
oozing. His hooded cockhead was peeking out of his loincloth and the
glistening slime had caught the boy's eye.

The cousin shyly came up to Simal and pointed at his weeping boner. He
didn't say a word. Simal knew what he wanted though. Dipping his finger
into his foreskin he scooped out some thin precum the consistency of spit
and brought it up to the boy's lips. The boy sniffed it in an exaggerated
curious way, laughing at his own joke, then he clamped his mouth around
Simal's finger and sucked it clean.

Simal tucked into his slimy brown snood a few more times for the boy. Each
time the boy did his exaggerated pantomime, and each time he sucked the
finger clean. Simal knew his milkweed habit made his precum thin and
sweet. This kid obviously liked the taste. He smacked his lips and pulled
on his limp hairless dick. Then he ran back to playing `pirates on the high
seas'.

Simal envied the boy. He did not have to worry about adult things like
marriage.

Ata came noisily back into the hut with a guest in tow. Simal recognized
him at once. It was Kajiura, the Chief's half-brother, a fat guy in his
mid-forties with a great head of gray hair but not much else going for him
as far as looks. Kajiura's name was synonymous with being a jackass in the
Chief's Village.

"Simal my boy. Happy day! Happy day!" Kajiura exclaimed as he reached over
the hearth to embrace him. Simal was shocked and submitted to the embrace,
trying not to show the grimace on his face.

"Ata has told me the joyous news. You will become a man of the Eastern
Village. What a clever solution to your father's `son problem.' I'm
surprised Mora didn't arrange it himself. He'll have influence in the
Eastern Village now, with you here, and he has his choice of heirs
leftover. I mean, five sons!" Kajiura laughed back in the direction of
Ata. "The world only needs so many woodsmen."

Simal blushed as the men joined him around the hearth. Kajiura sat across
from Simal and made a show of looking him over. "He's a healthy looking
boy. He's got an active root there," he said, gesturing at Simal's wilting
prick. Simal blushed two shades darker.

"You'll definitely get a few grandkids out of him."

At that the men could agree, and they patted each other's shoulders.

`Ata invited him on purpose!' Simal realized. He's showing me off to the
biggest gossip on the island so word will get around. He's forcing Father's
hand so Father won't say `no'.'

"Simal, how is your younger brother, the good hunter? I hear he's been
running errands for Sawapane?" Kajiura used the Chief's proper name. No one
on the island did that except in ceremonial incantations. It was
disrespectful.

"I'm sorry? You mean Pecha? Running errands for... the Chief? No, I haven't
heard about that."

Simal's mind went to Pecha and the strange way he was acting yesterday. He
came home in the late afternoon with a black eye and went straight to
bed. Simal wasn't there because he was having sex with Nomi but later when
it was time to go see Betsu get his cloth, Pecha still refused to get up
and go to the ceremony. As far as Simal knew his thirteen-year-old brother
was still curled up on his mat.

"Yes," Kajiura continued. "Apparently our wise chief has them running
around the island playing make-believe about a war with the Ulungi, or
sabotaging the Ulungi delegaton, or something."

"War?" said Simal, having trouble following.

"No, that's nonsense," cooed Ata serving Kajiura and Simal hot tea. "I saw
the Ulungi delegation leave out of here this morning larded up with baskets
of dried plums and dried milkweed and a dozen of our sweet girls. They
looked happy as boars in mud and the Chief was slapping them on the back as
they left the Village. No, no, there are no secret plots Kajiura. Stop
stirring up trouble."

The fat gray-haired man settled back down and rested on his haunches. His
eyes moved back to Simal. Simal had never really talked to Kajiura before,
just heard him talking to others, or heard others talk about him. He was
always arguing and challenging people. He was clever.

"War with the Ulungi. Wouldn't be very good for you would it?" Kajiura
asked Simal.

"It wouldn't be good for anyone. They would wipe us out," interrupted Ata.

"Yes," Kajiura conceded. "But they could have done that any time. They
don't want to and they will avoid it if they can. Our little island is too
far from theirs. They like things the way they are now. If they could get
our milkweed to grow on their accursed island they would probably forget
about us altogether."

"So see, there you go," said Ata. "Nothing to worry about. The Chief is
probably just trying to stir up some pride in the boys by having them run
drills."

"Why would the Chief want to mess things up with the Ulungi?" Simal
wondered. "If the Ulungi didn't take those girls then they would stay here,
and they would need husbands, and those husbands would need land. It would
mess up the way things are now."

"There's a smart boy!" shouted Kajiura, followed by a phlegmy
cough. "Exactly the right question. Why would the Chief and the High Priest
and Alopane, my dear half-brothers... Why would they poke the hornet's nest
when they have it so sweet? Who knows? It's human nature I guess."

And with that the man rolled up onto his feet and brushed the dust of his
large butt. He paid Ata all the necessary compliments for his hospitality
and then turned back to Simal who was standing to help see him out.

"Keep an eye on your brother. He's your father's heir now, right?" said
Kajiura.

Simal made a half-muttered promise to do so and then bowed his goodbyes as
the old man left the hut. Once Ata was back Simal announced that maybe he
should go home as well. They would all meet back up at the Great Temple
that evening. It was the last night of the Great Festival.

"Quite right," said Ata leading Simal to the door. "Now, don't waste your
time arguing with your father about the adoption. I'll talk to him tonight
and make everything right. Just enjoy the holiday with your family."

Simal agreed and left the hut. A little ways down the path Nomi sprang out
from the undergrowth and dragged Simal off the path by his arm. They locked
in an embrace and started clumsily kissing. Simal pawed at her breasts and
in an instant his erection was back in full force.

Nomi pulled away with a feigned look of hurt, then indicated to his sticky
manhood.

"So you can give Cousin Bubu your honey but not me," she said, grabbing his
cock and pinching a bead of precum off his piss slit.

Nomi brought the precum to her lips and seductively licked it off. Simal
felt lightheaded. This was very taboo. Women were not allowed to consume
seed of any kind. They could not even taste test the foods made with their
husband's seed. Simal's body tingled with naughtiness. He wanted to fill
her mouth with his cum. Then he remembered what day it was.

"I'm sorry Nomi. The Great Festival is tonight. I have to present my
offering for the Men's Ritual in front of everyone. I don't want it to be a
dribble. I need to save up."

Simal shoved his drooling boner awkwardly into his crusty loincloth. His
hand was smeared with precum. Nomi gave him a hurt look, then she caught
his hand and brought it to her mouth, licking it clean.

"It's so good. I heard some boys say the taste is not actually good and
that everyone just pretends to like it. But it is so nice and sweet."

Simal blushed and chuckled, "That's just my precum. Mine is really sweet
compared to most guys. Cum is different. It's thick and bitter and
manly. You probably won't like it. Although... there are plenty of guys who
aren't just pretending to like it. My dad acts like he's hearing a message
from beyond after he drinks some guy's load. He's such a weirdo."

"He's not weird. He's just religious," Nomi laughed. Then shot him an evil
look, "Do you like it?"

Simal thought for a moment. "I don't know. Not really. It's kind of
gross. I mean, I'm not really grossed out by my dad's seed. I've been
drinking it since I was little and he never makes me suck him too long
before he takes over with his hand. My brothers too, they don't really
gross me out, but they are little and their seed is thin and sweet. And
their balls don't smell too bad yet. That's the worst part about sucking
some old dude off, smelling his nasty butt and balls."

Nomi laughed again. She was so cute when she laughed. Her dimples framed
her pretty white teeth and her pert young chest bounced up and down.

"Do Papa's balls smell bad?" she giggled.

He playfully grabbed her arm and lifted it then stuck his nose in her
armpit. A few thin hairs were just starting to grow. He took an exaggerated
whiff.

"They smell just like this!" he howled.

Nomi gently slapped his face and sent him on his way. He would see her
later at the festival.

At home, Mother was dressing Kala in his costume for the Children's
Performance. His costume was of an ancient race of evil invaders, obviously
based on the Ulungi with fake `tattoos' doodled into his powdered white
skin. He capered about with his feathered headdress smudging his powder job
and sending Mother into fits. Akota had colorful tassels tied around his
thin brown arms and legs. He was practicing his dance moves. Betsu had
already packed up his possessions and moved to the Grand Temple to serve as
an acolyte. He would be a part of the sacred ceremony later that night.

Simal found Pecha helping Father funnel various containers of boar ball
liquor into one big jug to take to the Temple. Pecha stared intently at the
task, the little furrows in his brow so tight they could hold a coin. The
swelling in his right eye had gone down but it was still dark purple. There
was an abrasion on his left cheek.

"Is he alright?" Simal whispered to Father.

"Pecha is fine," Father said aloud, embarrassingly. "He just had a little
fight with his friends. He's fine."

Pecha didn't react to being talked about. He was locked in a expression of
focus, carefully pouring the milky liquor into the jug. Simal wanted to ask
him about what Kajiura had said that morning, but he decided to wait until
Father wasn't around.

After a light dinner of roasted yams and forest greens, the family headed
to the Great Temple at the center of the Chief's Village. Kala ran off
ahead. Suddenly he was obsessed with finding the perfect pebbles to wedge
in place of his missing baby teeth. He decided this was the finishing touch
to his costume.

Omi, Simal's ten-year-old sister, was practicing the delicate hand
movements for the older children's dance. Her body was painted with ancient
symbols to denote her role as one of the Goddesses of the Sea.

Akota was also in the older kids' performance playing the part of a evil
demon. Most of the boys, except for the star performers, played evil
demons. But Akota seemed to be taking it seriously. He was contorting his
body into the proper bow-legged slouch and twisting his hands in practiced
poses.

Mother carried Mali, her baby girl, in one arm and a basket of food in the
other. Father carried the jug of liquor and canteen of fermented plum
wine. Pecha followed behind everyone carrying the supple woven mat for the
family to sit on at the temple grounds.

As they neared the Village, they could hear the sounds of music and
laughter. Simal fell back to talk to Pecha.

"Where were you yesterday?" No reply. "Getting into trouble, I heard."

Pecha glared at him. "I was working for the Chief. Nothing you need to know
about."

"Well, whatever it was it seems like you regret it." said Simal.

This pissed Pecha off. He started to walk ahead and then turned back on his
heel.

"Dad told me you're leaving the family. That you're going off to the
Eastern Village to be a potter and now I'm his heir. Thanks for deciding my
future without asking me. Without even telling me. I thought we were
brothers."

Simal was stunned for a second. Then he said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know I
ruined your plans to be a celibate mercenary. Oh no! Now we both get to
have wives and children and... actual sex." He hissed this last part in
Pecha's ear to make sure Dad didn't hear.

"I guess I'm the worst older brother who ever lived."

Pecha glowered. "You don't know about me and my plans just like I don't
know you. Too late to change that now. Let's just get this festival over
with and then you won't have to deal with us anymore."

By then the family had emerged into the clearing of the Chief's Village and
the sounds of singing, drums and screeching oboes drowned out any attempts
to whisper. Every person from across the island was streaming towards the
Great Temple. Near the temple gate different craftsmen had spread their
mats and were bartering their charms and trinkets for cakes, pickles and
booze.

Inside the gate the temple grounds was packed with people. Naked boys and
girls gathered into three age groups and prepared to perform a program that
they had been practicing for months.

The youngest children sang a few religious songs with some easy-to-remember
hand gestures. The oldest children, including Akota and Omi, performed the
creation epic of the island, in which the Goddesses of the Sea beseeched
Ranayaga, God of the Western Sky, to save them from demons. Afterwards
Ranayaga impregnates all the goddesses and they give birth to the islands
of the world. For the purposes of this performance the impregnation was
very stylized and involved a lot of awkward dancing and singing in
old-fashioned dialect.

The middle age group, including six-year-old Kala, performed an epic of
more recent history, telling the story of how the people of the island
forgot the old ways of sharing and revering seed and fell into war and
famine. Only after Pane, the Chief's ancestor, rediscovered the old ways
could he bring the island back in touch with the gods and ancestors.

All around loinclothed men and naked women laughed and drank plum wine and
liquor from wineskins, canteens and square wooden cups. Fires were lit here
and there and torches hung from the village floats, placed near the gate
for everyone to admire. At the back of the temple, the Great Shrine was
festooned with decorations and people were lining up to say prayers of good
fortune and touch the massive phallus inside.

Suddenly Betsu ran over to join them in his new red loincloth. He welcomed
everyone to the temple and the family all praised how handsome he looked.

Then the performances started and everyone got quiet. Nomi, Ata and his
wife found them in the crowd and Father and Ata gave each other a reluctant
embrace. Mother welcomed Nomi's mom with all her courtesy and Nomi wiggled
in front of Simal to watch the show. It was fun lightly bumping his bulge
against Nomi's butt in the middle of the crowd in the cool evening air.

Omi danced beautifully and Akota gave it his all. He looked funny painted
as a demon with ribbons streaming off his arm and legs. All the demons made
sure to waggle their painted hairless pricks at the laughing crowd. Demons
are naughty after all.

After the performances more torches were lit and the huge crowd began to
assemble around the central pavilion of the temple. Curtains of rattan had
been drawn on all sides to hide what was inside. The Chief and his younger
brother, the High Priest, stood on the raised wooden walkway that wrapped
around the pavilion. The Chief wore an ornate feathered headdress and a
orange striped cloak made from pelt of a mythic beast, given to his family
by a wayfinder from across the sea. Priests and village elders stood
nearby. When everyone had settled down the Chief began to speak. His voice
boomed in dwindling twilight.

He told the usual stories of his ancestors and their connection to the
island's current way of life. He talked about the past year: various hunts
and marriages and deaths of note. Then at the end of his speech he spoke
about the families whose daughters had been given to the Ulungi as
tributes. But instead of the usual sad condolences he sounded angry. He
promised that he would one day lead our people to a future where all our
daughters could grow up with their families and all Islanders would be free
to chart their own destiny.

At this last part there were murmurings in the crowd. Some people were
supportive. Others thought it was silly to discuss things that cannot
change and rude of the Chief to rub salt in the wounds of the families who
had just lost daughters.

Pecha stood next to Simal in the crowd. Simal could feel him tense
up. Finally the Chief passed the proceedings to the High Priest. But not
before making an ominous hint about a coming storm that they would all need
to weather together to survive. By now disagreement and fear were rippling
through the crowd.

Then the High Priest began to speak. His voice was loud and strong like his
older brother's, but with a more soothing tone. Soon the murmuring died
down. The High Priest spoke about the importance of respecting nature. He
reminded the men how crucial it is to consume seed and find power and
nourishment from your fellow man.

The High Priest said, "Tonight the balls between your legs are churning
with important seed, sacred seed, that will imbue our religious leadership
with divine sight and allow us to chart the course of our people in the
coming year. But every day your precious balls create the milk that will
give strength and wisdom to your father, your son, your brother, or your
friend. Every drop of seed is sacred. May none ever touch the earth."

"Even the lips of your most hated enemy is a better place for your
seed. There it may soften his heart and light his way back to peace."

Then the High Priest led the crowd in a final prayer. During the prayer
Pecha slipped away. Simal wanted to stop him but he couldn't do it without
making a scene. Pecha's words rung in his head, `I thought we were
brothers.'

After the prayer, women and children began to pack up their things and move
to the gate. Nomi's mother praised Simal to the heavens and Nomi gave her
best formal bow to Mother and Father. Omi helped Mother with the
baby. Akota ripped off his costume and ran off after his friend, Gep. As
the last daylight left the sky only the men of the island were left on the
temple grounds.

The torches around the temple's outer wall were moved in closer to the
central pavilion. A ring of torches created a circle of light between the
pavilion and the Great Shrine at the back of the complex. Men moved in
closer but the atmosphere was still casual. The smell of alcohol was heavy
in the air.

Suddenly a troupe of acolytes began to play the ceremonial drums. Men who
still had packs and skins on them disappeared into the shadows to hide
their personal effects in the darkness. Some returned naked, with their
loincloths tied across their chests. Around them men were drunkenly dancing
around. Some began to undress while others, more modest men, remained
clothed a bit longer.

Father was feeling the spirit. He removed his loincloth and tied it across
his chest with quick efficient motions. His thick manhood flickered in the
torchlight. Ata and Simal followed his lead and undressed. Pecha was long
gone in the huge crowd of men and Betsu was performing his ceremonial
duties as a brand new acolyte.

Ata presented them with some pungent scented persimmon oil to rub on their
bodies. Father praised Ata's gift and they all three covered their palms
with oil and began to rub each others' bodies in a gentle friendly
way. Once Ata got to Father's balls he gave his oily sac a firm confident
tug and then began running his cupped hand along the length of Father's
hairy taint. Father returned the gesture, rubbing his slick calloused palm
into the root of Ata's thick blunt dick.

They were drunk. Simal was drunk. His face was hot and flushed. The
drumming pulsed in his head. After a moment, his dueling fathers broke off
their tense but admiring rub down. Both men were erect, and it was too
early in the night to get ahead of the proceedings.

Priests and acolytes, still wearing their red cloths, corralled the crowd
of revelers closer together and got everyone stamping, chanting and dancing
in a circuit from the shrine to the pavilion. Naked men streamed past the
pavilion but the rattan curtains stayed closed and hid what was inside.

Simal was jumping and whooping in the crowd of drunk and sweaty
men. Everyone was naked now: skinny teenage boys, barrel-chested farmers,
hard lean woodsmen, leathery fishermen and saggy grey-haired
grandfathers. Many men had oiled their bodies and the ones who had not soon
became oily anyway. Everyone was dancing close and rubbing against his
neighbor. The air was thick with the scent of the fragrant oils but nothing
could mask the thicker smell of man musk, acrid and heavy like burned meat.

The night was dark. The moon was a sliver in the sky. In the crush of hot
flesh it was hard to make out anything. Near the Great Shrine someone
pushed Simal to the ground. For a moment he thought it must be an accident
until he saw Oroke standing over him huffing. Oroke was the older brother
of a girl Simal had, kind of, been betrothed to since they were both very
little. It was not a promise Simal ever took seriously. In any case, it
appeared the gossip was out and Oroke knew about Simal's upcoming marriage
to Nomi. He was drunk and in the mood to defend his sister's honor.

Simal had to scramble to his feet not to get trampled by the crowd. Oroke
was in a fighting stance and staring him down. All around them naked men
were shouting and dancing. Then, from out of the crowd, Pecha appeared at
his side. He pushed Oroke's chest, throwing him off balance and sending him
tumbling backwards into a tall Highlander. The big brawny man was not
amused and threw teenage Oroke roughly to the ground. Before Simal could
see what happened next, the stream of frenzied worshippers carried him and
Pecha on.

At an unseen signal, the rattan curtains hiding the pavilion interior were
drawn up. Oil lamps had been placed in the rafters of the thatched-roof
structure. An unearthly light reflected off the exposed beams. At the
center of the lacquered wooden floor stood a copper bowl and seated above
the bowl on a great plinth of rough hewn wood was the High Priest, naked
except for a cloak of black feathers and a gold and pearl headdress.

Men poured into the pavilion. Priests stationed at each column did their
best to keep things safe. The rowdiest drunken woodsmen rushed straight up
to the copper bowl and masturbated furiously, shooting their noisy loads
into the large empty vessel.

Simal couldn't see any of this. He was pinned on the step up onto the
pavilion's raised walkway. Tanned naked men with swollen erections climbed
over him to get inside. Someone stepped on his back trying to get over
him. Then Pecha pulled him up by the arm and they both pushed against the
crowd into the din of dry humping and jerking off.

Under the roof of the pavilion the drumming, chants and screams sounded
like chaos. The High Priest presided over the fray reciting prayers in an
ancient tongue. From behind, a tall lanky middle-aged man was humping his
curved prick into Simal's lower back. His precum smeared on Simal's pert
teenage butt making it a slick spot for the man to hump.

Simal did his best to keep the people behind him from pushing Pecha too
hard. Pecha was jacking frantically but his cock was getting soft.

By the time Simal and Pecha elbowed their way to the bowl, more than half
of the men of the island had deposited their seed. The great copper bowl on
it's polished teak stand had a large pool of shimmering viscous
yellowish-white liquid inside. The smallest youngest acolytes, including
Betsu, hid under the stand and helped usher men to the bowl. They also
fished out any stray pubes from the milky slurry, sucking them clean of cum
and discarding them on the floor. They also had to remove a few misguided
flies and mosquitoes but those they did not have to suck clean.

Simal caught Betsu's eye and motioned to Pecha's limp cock. Ahead of them a
farmer and his two teenage boys shuffled up to the bowl. They all had
similar cocks in three different stages of development, with swollen flared
pink cockheads that kept their foreskins pinned back and fully retracted as
they jacked the dusky skin along their shafts. The youngest shot first,
sending five clear jets into the gurgling stew. The father clapped the boy
on the back while his older brother began to shudder. This boy shot volley
after volley of thick white cum. Even with an endless series of oily brown
dicks spraying ropes of seed from all sides, this boy's cumshot caught the
High Priest's eye. He gave the farmer an approving nod as the man shot his
own load into the great bowl.

Then it was their turn. Betsu had already scrambled under the great stand
and was suckling on Pecha's cock like a starving runt on a teet. He had all
of it in his mouth and was grinding his flat little nose into Pecha's soft
fluffy bush. Simal could tell he was squeezing Pecha's cockhead with his
throat, quickly taking his brother from semi-flaccid to hard. Simal felt
the anxious crowd of drunk strokers behind him. He needed to focus on the
task at hand.

A pool of hundreds of men's cum shimmered before him. What Simal was
certain would look like a horror of yellow and beige in the sunlight,
looked like a beautiful glistening pearl in the glow of the firelight. It
radiated power. The smell was intoxicating, like a dank cave full of sweet
mushrooms and rusted metal, or a milkweed grove. Simal couldn't believe how
much seed there was, and there was still a big crowd behind them. Of course
the bowl was very wide and shallow to add to the effect, but still. With a
sense of pride and a shudder of pleasure Simal squirted his load into the
lake.

Pecha pulled his scrawny eleven-year-old brother off his long brown dick
and shuffled to the edge of the bowl. Simal helped him balance as he leaned
over the lip of the bowl. Then Simal fished a hand between Pecha's smooth
lean thighs and grabbed his pendulous balls. Giving them a slow milking
tug, Simal sent Pecha over edge pissing a massive stream of cum into the
pool. The High Priest looked on with lusty hunger in his eyes.

Afterwards, outside the pavilion in the cool night air, Simal and Pecha
found their father and Ata. Everyone was flushed and exhausted from dancing
and jerking off. No one said anything for a while and Simal was grateful
for that.

As the last of the men seeded the bowl and all the young acolytes and
attending priests made their contribution, a low melody of drums and oboes
brought the dispersed crowd back to the Grand Pavilion.

With more than 300 men on the island it wasn't always guaranteed that you'd
get a spot to see this part of the ritual in the mob that formed around the
pavilion. In years past Simal had made no great effort to see, finding the
whole idea sickening. But now he did want to see. He grabbed Pecha and
elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. Ata and Father followed behind.

"Let's go see Betsu," he said over his shoulder.

By the time they reached the edge of the pavilion the priests were already
carefully lifting the great copper bowl from its stand. This was as close
as they could get. The pavilion floor was reserved for the priests and
acolytes now.

The priests lifted the bowl while the acolytes sang sweetly and the High
Priests droned on reciting holy incantations. He tossed his feathered cloak
right and left in a religious fervor. His headdress jangled above the
noise.

Then, kneeling at the center of the floor facing the sacred phallus of the
Great Shrine, the priests began to empty the bowl through a fluted spout on
one side, into the upturned mouth of the High Priest.

From where he stood Simal could see the entire contents of the bowl. A team
of priests tilled it ever so slightly so that it poured like a silver
thread. The High Priest was turned away from him. Simal could only see his
thick black hair through the ring of the gold headdress and the beautiful
black feather cloak stretched across his broad shoulders.

The crowd was startlingly quiet, but murmurs of approval could be
heard. The High Priest drank slowly and deeply. Simal could not imagine the
smell he must be smelling. Even though he had stood over the slurry
earlier, it was a far different thing to have all that fresh tepid semen
passing through your head, flooding every inch of your insides. Simal was
thrilled and revolted. Just watching the amount of cum pouring out made him
nauseous.

It was said in the old days that the High Priest could finish the entire
bowl on his own. Simal didn't believe it. It was enough seed to fill three
large wineskins. It was more than a person could fit in his stomach, not to
mention that seed in that amount in a man's stomach would cause reflexive
vomiting. So, after the High Priest had consumed enough cum to slake his
thirst and satisfy the crowd, he moved out of the way and allowed the
descending succession of priests take a turn.

Once the High Priest was done the focus shifted to bringing the ceremony to
a close. The other priests did their best to drink quickly and move
along. Some drank a little. Some drank a lot. But happily there seemed to
be just enough for all the priests.

The bowl was taken away to be licked clean by Betsu and all the cum hungry
teenage acolytes. Meanwhile the priests convened to channel the spirits of
the ancestors into one final blessing for the island.

The High Priest mounted his plinth and shouted to all the men in
attendance. He had a green pale feverish look. His thick rippled torso was
bloated with fetid cum. His limbs vibrated with power. Simal could not
believe it but he felt envious. He knew the man must be fighting stomach
cramps and a taste in his mouth that would last for days, but still, Simal
felt a pang of jealousy that he would never feel the power of a river of
seed pouring power like a waterfall straight to his core.

"The Ulungi are a curse!" the High Priest bellowed. "Filled with the
essence of all my good brothers, blessed with the vision of the ancients, I
see our bright future. We have throw off the ropes of our oppressor. This
will be the last year we pay tribute to the Ulungi. The ancestors demand
it."

The crowd bristled with hoots of agreement and shouts of anger. The Priest
of the Northern Village stormed out of the pavilion in a rage. The High
Priest continued shouting, his cramping cum-logged gut forcing him to hunch
to the side. He was really sweating.

"They speak to me, guiding me. With your seed inside me their voices are
clearer. Already they have led me to the Ulungi's snakes among us, and
those snakes have been crushed. Soon our people will be free to chart our
own destiny."

Beside Simal, Pecha had his fists clinched. He was staring at the High
Priest enthralled. A big white drop of seed hung from the tip of his dusky
flaccid prick. Simal fought the urge to drop to his knees and slurp it up
on the spot.