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The village leader, a large, hairless man wearing a feathered cape and using a forged iron spear like a walking stick, had finally arrived and was standing before you and your fellow youth. “Mudheel young,” His voice booms out across the village, and the ambient conversations all fall into silence as the tribe gives its full attention to their leader. “Today, you have no name. Today, you have no skill. Today, you have no value. A strong tribe is made of strong people. Today, you are weak. Today, I reject you from the Mudheel tribe.”Had you not heard this speech every year, his words might be shocking to hear. Certainly, if an outsider were in attendance, the opening lines would seem unfairly harsh. But everyone here was Mudheel, by birth or by choice or by force, and many of them had been through this ceremony themselves. After an acceptable pause, the leader continues. “Tomorrow, perhaps, you will be strong. Tomorrow, perhaps, you will have skill. Tomorrow, perhaps, you will find. I knew what he wanted and I wanted nothing more than to provide it. I opened my mouth wide, tilted my head back and accepted the gift of his meat. I could smell my own blood and filth on him and did not care. His cock slid back onto my throat, the pain and pressure I had felt last time now a perverse pleasure. He rammed his cock down my throat, rammed it so hard that it felt like those hard abs might break my nose. I didn't care. The speed and intensity of his assault built until finally he drove fully into my throat and clutched my head tight against him. I felt his scrotum tighten against my chin, felt the meat of his cock pulse, felt the jet of his cum in my throat once, twice, a dozen times. And I felt my own cock spasm as I came, gushing onto the carpet. He held me there, gagging and swallowing, some of his load leaking out my mouth and down my chin until the spasms concluded. He pulled his slackening cock from my mouth and yanked the boxer blindfold from my head. There was my.
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