Big Game

Big Dicks

The iceberg floated past the coast, white and blue reflecting onto the sea from its mountainous heights. This was by no means the first iceberg that ‘En had seen. Indeed, they were a very common sight, particularly in summer, but she had no idea what they were. It occasionally snowed in winter, but ‘En was not able to associate the sight of the huge white floating islands with the white dusting across the dry winter plains. But these were just one of the many strange things in a world populated by mysterious spirits and large mammals.

There were no large mammals here on the beach facing the sea, however, apart from the seals sunning themselves on a rock not far out to sea. The big game was scattered out on the great plains: elephant, rhinoceros, deer, antelopes, even the occasional lion or hyena. However, without a hunting party this game was just to be watched and admired, rather like the floating iceberg, gradually melting on its long slow journey south. ‘En loved to sit by the sea, even though here, like everywhere else, she had to be careful of those dangerous animals which would see her as just food. Not at all as a young, growing girl on the verge of adulthood, looking for a husband.

Of course, it wasn’t a husband that she had expected to see on the long sandy beach. She had always thought he would be one of the men from her village not many strides away, just by the river, and visible from the sand dune where she was sitting cross-legged and brushed by the warm sea breeze. Smoke was rising from the many fires that blazed in the village. Even though it was summer, she could remember the cool of the winter, when mammoth and bison would come down from the north, bringing with them the warm fur skins that kept her and her people warm. She pulled together the leopard fur that draped around her neck and shoulders at the memory of those cold, snow-free nights. And then she looked out across the sand, hoping to see some small animal she could hunt and kill and take back to her village. It was then that she saw Nuna’en. Of course, she didn’t know his name. Nor even that he was human. It was just a bundle of fur sprawled on the sand, which only as she approached and could see his strangely pale skin was she persuaded that it was a human.

As she rolled over and examined the body, there were many things that she found extraordinary. Not least of which being that here was someone who was not from her village. In all her life, nor in the lives of the village elders, had anyone ever met someone who did not come from her village. Then there was his pale skin: so odd in contrast to her own light brown skin. A face that was pinched and drawn, with ever such a long nose and a ragged mess of dark brown hair in which small bones had been threaded. And his dress. Thick fur. Perhaps from a mammoth. Or a bear. And strangest of all, it covered him from neck to ankle. This puzzled ‘En. How could she even be sure that this was a man, even though he had a beard? How would the man be able to properly speak? And why would anyone choose to hide his or her sex? Nobody she had ever met, in either winter or summer, whether male or female, had ever hidden their genitals. It would be like hiding the mouth or the eyes.

Almost the first thing ‘En did, after she had established that the man was unconscious and would not wake to her repeated shakings, was to uncover his genitals. And what a sight met her eyes. Not only was it bizarre that he should hide his penis in the first place, but that he should hide such a fine one. In all her life, ‘En had never seen such a huge penis on a man. On a horse or an elephant or giraffe, she had seen many much larger ones. But never so considerable on a man. And this penis was not erect. It would be even bigger if it had been. She was tempted to stroke it into life there and then. And to take it into her mouth. To compare its taste with the many others she had tasted. Perhaps from a bigger penis, there would be more sperm. ‘En shivered with delight at the thought of all that hot warm creamy goo on her face and breasts. But ‘En was a good girl, as befitted a well-brought up daughter, and she knew that her first duty was to her village.

And so she dragged the man to the shelter of a rock, hopefully out of sight of any predators, and then ran back to her village, her brown legs and buttocks flashing against the pale fine sand of the beach.

When Nuna’en awoke he was astonished to find himself lying naked on a huge deerskin rug surrounded by more penises and vaginas than he had ever seen before. What was this? Why were these people so indecently dressed? The young, as well as the old, were not so much naked as half-dressed. And so many of them. Light brown skin. Flattened faces. Long straight black hair. And barely hidden by the thick pubic fur was an array of vaginas. He hardly knew where to look. Had he not felt so weak, his penis would surely have sprung to attention and he would once again be victim to the animal urges that had so often overcome him in his own village and had ultimately led to his ignominious exile.

His head fell to one side. His thoughts and memories overwhelming fındıkzade escort him, even amongst these strangers. He remembered so clearly the day when the men in his village discovered him making love with the chief’s daughter. A dangerous sport, but Nuna’en was known to be a man who chased after the bigger game. Mammoths, mastodons, woolly rhinoceri, giant elk. He had hunted them all. And this contributed to his undoing. But why had the spirits blessed him with such a large prick if he hadn’t been born to use it? Not an argument that the chief would understand.

However, the chief was merciful. It was recognised that Nuna’en had served the village well on the hunting parties. No one could forget the day he heroically threw the spear that killed the mammoth whose meat fed and whose fur clothed the village that winter, and who by his bravery and courage had ensured the survival of the women and children of the village. Had he been a lesser man, his fate would have been castration or a stoning. The chief chose instead to banish him. He was sentenced to exile, in the traditional manner. He was taken to the shore-side onto the crumbling glaciers that were crashing into the sea, and left on a mountain of ice that was about to break away and become an iceberg.

And so it was, for how many days or even cycles of the moon, he didn’t know, as the iceberg drifted away from the dry steppes he had known all his life, he was left to eat only what fish he could spear from the sea or birds from the sky, drinking only the melting water of the ice, as his home became an island of white and blue floating across the waves. It was a long lonely journey enlivened only by the sight of strange beasts in the sea: whales, sea cows, great auks, dolphins and giant otters. And on the way, Nuna’en was astonished to see that the world was changing too. Not as in the seasons, when the mammoth herds retreated south in the winter or the mosquitoes ruled the dark forests in the summer. But in more curious ways than that. The sun was higher in the sky. The trees along the shore had broad thick leaves. And the mountain of ice that he and his village believed would be his home forever became steadily smaller as the sun shone more brightly.

Until the day came when there was no mountain. There were other icebergs floating by, but his had shrunk so quickly to the size of a small rock. And then it was gone and with horror he was thrown into the sea, at the mercy of the huge strange swimming beasts that he had watched from the safety of the once much larger iceberg. He couldn’t swim. No one in his village could swim. The ocean was far too cold where he lived for that to be possible, although here the water was almost pleasantly warm. His survival depended on the few branches that he had taken with him to make into spears and onto which now he could cling to stay afloat.

And now here, surrounded by these peculiar people. He opened his eyes again. They were talking to each other. But Nuna’en had no idea what they were saying. They were making noises that sounded so mysterious to him. Clicks, lisps, grunts, growls, and sounds that he recognised but were assembled totally differently. How could it be that people could speak but not speak the language of his people? And all the while, their hands were touching their genitals. This puzzled him at first. Why were these people masturbating so freely in front of him and each other? In his village, masturbation was not something that a man or a woman would admit to. It was shameful to touch oneself. The only correct use for a man’s genitals was to be inside a woman’s, and then only within the sanctity of marriage. But Nuna’en noticed that the genitals were only gestured, felt or shaken when a person was speaking. Even from the haze of his exhaustion he was able to see that this strange genital manipulation was actually part of these people’s language. Rather like people in his village might punctuate their speech with gestures in the air.

And then his eyes closed. The effort of concentrating on these strange people was tiring. What he needed was food and drink. And his tiredness overwhelmed him again. Even the welcome, but rather forward, stroking of his penis that one girl was so keen on doing was not enough to keep him awake, even though his manhood stirred from the attention.

‘En was proud of her discovery. And everyone in the village envied her for it. As the days went by and the tall pale man became healthier, it became clear that he was indeed a normal man, and not an exotic spirit. He had normal needs. Food and drink and sleep. But he was also very unusual. Pale and thin and muscular. And his prick! No one had seen a prick like that! All the married girls were clamouring for the privilege of knowing it better. And it clearly wasn’t likely to disappoint. It became stiff, like a normal prick, even though it was as pale a colour as the rest of him. And one girl, who had tugged on it for very many minutes, reported that it produced semen just as much as it had already been observed to produce urine.

And as the days passed by, he was gradually learning to speak. eskort istanbul At first he couldn’t speak at all. He made strange noises that sounded a bit like speech, but he never touched his penis and some of the sounds were like someone coughing out of the nose. But gradually, like a very bright child, he was learning to articulate. Able to say when he was hungry, thirsty or tired. This pleased ‘En. She had been frightened that Nuna’en, as he called himself, might not really be human at all. Just some kind of peculiar ape or monkey who wore mammoth skin. But he was a person. And more than that, a man. Now, all ‘En wanted was permission to marry him. She was ready for marriage. She had been ready for many months. The blood that dribbled down her leg each month was proof of her readiness. But until she had a husband and a father for her children she would not know the delights of a prick inside her. And she so much wanted Nuna’en’s prick. Her father was the village shaman. She surely deserved the privilege.

It was her mother who had to give permission of course. When it came to matters of marriage or domestic village life, it was the women who decided. And ‘Enwa’em was one of the senior women of the village. She had given birth to as many boys as girls, one a year, of which maybe five or more had lived to adulthood. ‘En climbed the ladder that led to ‘Enwa’em’s hut, which was kept raised by stilts above the ground and the threat of wild animals. She could hear the familiar sound of her mother making love. It was her mother’s admirable duty to sexual promiscuity that had made her so fecund. ‘En hoped that after marriage she should be able to match her mother in the number of different partners she might enjoy in a single day. And every day. Her virgin crotch yearned in anticipation.

There were two men making love to her mother. Sha’an was beneath her, his legs splayed and his penis thrusting inside her vagina, while Rhia’on was kissing her, his erect prick grasped in her hand. As usual her mother was very vocal in her lovemaking. She could be heard from all around the village. ‘En felt so proud. And her mother could fuck for ages! Before long, other men in the village would climb the ladder and join in the fun. ‘En loved it when her mother was penetrated from behind as well as in front. As long as none of that sperm was wasted in the unproductive tight recesses of her anus, ‘En was delighted to see the pleasure it gave her mother.

She knelt down beside Enwa’em and took her mother’s hand in hers, pleased to see her mother give vent to great cries of ecstasy as Sha’an’s penis thrust deeper and deeper into her. Not a penis as splendid as Nuna’en’s, but more than serviceable. And then her lover released the blessed sperm inside her, a satisfying creamy release that seeped out onto her mother’s thighs.

“What is it, child?” asked her mother at last, as she collapsed on top of Sha’an, whose penis was rapidly shrinking as it spurted out the last of its sperm.

‘En gestured with her hands at her crotch to indicate to her mother that most of what she had to say would require her touching herself there. Enwa’em eased herself free of her lovers. She could see that this was a serious conversation that would require a great deal of concentration. Although the stickiness of the sperm pleased her, it glued her fingers together and would interfere with her articulation.

“I want to marry Nuna’en,” announced ‘En, using the gestures which made clear the seriousness of her intent. This was actually slightly painful as this entailed her thrusting several of her fingers deep inside the lips of vagina. And she was still a young girl. Her vagina had never been penetrated by a man’s penis and her articulation was subsequently limited.

“Marry?” asked her mother, a non-vocal question that she achieved with no difficulty at all, her vagina almost swallowing her entire fist.

“Your daughter wants to get married?” queried Rhia’on, who as a man had to articulate in a different way to a woman. To achieve the expression he had to form a hole in his fingers between forefinger and thumb, and pull it up and down along the length of his sperm-soaked penis. “I hope I may soon get to know your daughter as well as I know you, Enwa’em my dear.”

“And so you shall. But ‘En. Are you sure? He is an alien. He is from a distant land, where he says there are many mammoths and very few antelope. And he has an enormous prick!” To articulate this last word, Enwa’em grabbed Rhia’on’s rather smaller penis, which was however rapidly getting bigger.

“It is his prick that I most love, mother. I would so dearly love it to be inside me. As it has already been inside the cunt of many girls in our village.”

“That is true! He has demonstrated his virility. He may yet give our village many children, for which we would be very grateful.”

“So, mother, do I have your permission?”

“Both my permission and my blessing, my dear!” ‘Enwa’em told her. “But he knows nothing of the responsibility of a husband or a father. I will have to let him fuck me this evening and teach him the benefits and duties kağıthane escort of a married man.”

Nuna’en was rather enjoying his recuperation in the village. He didn’t even know the name of the girl who was sucking his penis, and doing it with such skill and expertise. Not that he necessarily found it especially easy to articulate. Some of his attempts to mimic the hand gestures of these people caused incredible hilarity. And it was an incredible effort to make the clicking sounds and glottal stops that punctuated the words. But the language of love, or at least of sex, was pretty universal. And nobody it seemed could keep their eyes or hands off his penis. The girl who was sucking his prick now had just a few moments before entered the hut where he lay with no excuse whatsoever and almost immediately knelt down to lick and nibble at his genitals. Nuna’en watched with pleasure as the girl’s mouth encompassed his prick, her cheeks caving in from the suction, but still only able to get less than a third of his erect member inside her.

From the first day that he arrived, Nuna’en had been expecting to meet or to be introduced to the chief of the village. After all, he was a stranger. He was almost surprised that he’d been allowed to live. He was sure that in his village a stranger washed up on the shore would not be given anything like the welcome he was enjoying. In fact, at the very least he’d have been castrated. His tribe wouldn’t risk the virtue of their women from someone they didn’t know. But it gradually became aware to him, as his language skills improved, that there was no chief. There didn’t seem to be anyone leading the village at all.

At first Nuna’en couldn’t really believe that such a state of affairs could exist. How could decisions ever be made? How could even the simple things like hunting parties be organised? But when he was invited on a hunt, he was able to see at first hand how these people organised themselves. The roles that people played on the hunt were not dictated by rank, birth or status, but by how good they were at performing the various skills required to track down and kill an aurochs, an antelope or a quagga. And he soon showed his worth. The courage and determination that had permitted his survival in his own village was immediately recognised by his hunting companions, who for one day, and one day only, were praising him more for his hunting prowess than for the size of the penis they insisted on grasping and stroking at every opportunity. The animals here were different to those who lived in the steppes near his home village, but there were very many more of them and although many of them were swift of foot, they were no more swift of brain.

But he was not sure of his status in the village. He only gradually discovered that however brave or courageous he was on the hunt, or however well he performed in bed, he was still considered a lesser being. And this was not because he was a foreigner. There was something else. He felt excluded from the discussions that decided the timings of the hunts or where they should be, although he was more than welcome to join when they happened. In fact, he felt almost like a child. A position he was not used to.

Then he heard another person climb up the ladder to the hut where he had been allowed to stay. These people were as free with property as they were with their bodies, and Nuna’en had no way of knowing whether this visitor was for him or just someone who wanted to stay in the hut. If it was the latter, he had no choice but to let them in and to use the hut as their own. If the former, and here Nuna’en’s heart still beat faster in anticipation, he could again be enjoying sex with multiple partners, a pattern of behaviour as common here as it was unknown in his own village.

It was however only the girl, ‘En, who had discovered him washed up on the beach. For reasons that Nuna’en wasn’t sure, this girl, as were other young girls, was strictly out of bounds to him and other men for sexual purposes. However free these people were, they had limits to their depravity.’En greeted the girl who was exercising his prick, who responded without removing the penis from her mouth by a series of hand movements around her crotch. It was then that Nuna’en learnt that the girl whose mouth was firmly glued to his erect penis was ‘En’s sister and that she was called ‘Enya’a, a name that required two fingers to stroke the clitoris. ‘En then sat back on the antelope skin rug with a smile and watched her sister and he make love.

After so many years of making love surreptitiously, frightened of being discovered and castrated, it was odd now to be fucking someone so openly, but strangely enough the very perversity of the situation actually rather excited Nuna’en. However, he was aware that ‘Enya’a was hastening the lovemaking, to bring it to an end sooner than she would otherwise have done so, probably out of respect for her sister, but otherwise too polite to stop altogether. Like her mother, ‘Enya’a was a vocal lover, but she had not enjoyed a cock as large as Nuna’en’s before and her cries of passion were louder and shriller than normal. Nuna’en’s prick pushed in and out of her vagina, as she lay on top of him, her small breasts violently shaking with her passion, the nipples hard and stiff, and trickles of sweat streaking down her slender waist and dampening their intermingled pubic hair.

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