FSE

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The summer air is hot and almost suffocating from how humid it is. The light of the torches and the campfire begins to dominate the scene as the sun sets. The drums start to play, along with the voices of the tribe’s most exuberant members. The festival is beginning. And a time traveler, crashed here in this moment in history, is nervously watching from afar. Far away from anyone’s sight, neatly tucked in the arms of a tree, outside the camp’s border, outside the festivities. He remembered his new caveman friend was preparing himself for something, though calling him aman was maybe improper. He was a tiny little thing, a sort of hyena with little in the way of bulk, with powerful legs and a thick behind. He noted a shift in his attitude, and his routine, a few days ago, he grew accustomed to spending time with what he supposed was a friend, they would go gathering together, and the little caveboi would teach him all sorts of things about what was safe and dangerous, what was yummy and what was gross. He would now stay cooped up in one of the caves in the tribe, only exiting to run the most important errands, and our little alien was hurt from this, from knowing he was no longer a priority, from knowing he was only slowing down his friend. He especially missed their “baths” in the cold river, they would play in the water and try to compete and see who could catch the most fish, of course he would always lose, but the little beastman seemed to have fun regardless. Now it seemed a little clearer what was going on, his friend was helping around for the preparations, and since how our little intruder could not understand them, given their lack of language, it was little surprise how he wasn’t warned from his friend, probably he tried to tell him, but it just fell on deaf ears. Yes that must be it. No matter how reasonable whatever explanation the voyeur gave himself he could not put to rest his anxieties, he just could not stop from fearing the worst. The sun was now shedding its last rays for the day, across the mountains he could see the crown slowly growing, before swiftly dying. He could hear the drums growing more and more incessant, their hypnotic rhythm punctuated by the loud laughter of the men in the village, as always clad in nothing but their stretched loincloths, their superior physique on full display. The first few months after his crash were deeply humiliating and mortifying ones. He struggled to survive in the new environment, used as he was in zero-g and metallic space stations; he just did not have the body or the mind to move through the thicket of the forest. He remembered the first time he went swimming with his friend, remembered how bitter and cold the water was for him, and the difficulty in just wading in the sluggish current, he then remembered how the little beast jumped in the water, how he moved, how silly he looked, proudly displaying his catch in his mouth. He felt his skin grow cold, his flesh droopy and malformed, his bones as heavy as lead. What a deeply bitter person he was, bitterly imagining his friend hitting a rock and needing his rescue, bitterly hoping tonight’s festivities would flop, bitterly hoping he wasn’t himself. The tree provided a nice vantage point, he could see the central ground of the little village clearly and without obstruction, save for a couple of fruiting branches, the fruit just within his grasp, as he held his arms around his abdomen to combat the nightchill. He could see the tribe merrily eating in company, enjoying the enormous catch the hunters brought back, and that the tribe's best cooks spent days slowly roasting over the flame, the hissing sound of the fat droplets hitting the embers fresh in his mind. Gosh he was hungry. As the people finished eating the drums began anew with their hypnotic rhythm, now stronger than before, almost demanding to not only be heard but listened to, in comparison the earlier beatings must have been warm-ups. The village elder, an imposing, heavily tattooed male specimen, came to the center of the gathering. He liked the man, he did owe him, even after finding the little alien in the communal pantry, scorfing down as much food as he could, he did not raise his paw. He was merciful, he offered the food freely, and let him walk free and with a full belly, no fuss, no debt, no conflict. The bitter man could not understand why he did so, did he maybe see him as no more than a nuisance, did he maybe see the hunger in the man’s eyes and took pity? He looked like another caveman he met, another similar in stature and body type, much younger, he still vividly remembered their encounter. It was just a bit after he crashed, he set out to explore and find some spots where to get easy food, eventually he stumbled upon a clearing full of fruit trees, extremely sweet-smelling treasure on their branches. To say he was happy would be an understatement, he felt like he just stumbled on physical salvation. He was so distracted picking the fruit that he almost didn’t notice the massive, kinda fat, caveman happily snoring away under the shade of one such tree, his fur soaked in the juices of the fruits. His blood ran cold, and out of desperation he ran away, afraid that if caught stealing he might get mauled.But when he tripped, fell on his bony ass and yelped, the caveman finally awoke from his nap. The poor man was about to piss himself from the fear, as one massive paw now rested on his shoulder, and turned him around. What met him though wasn’t the massive canines of the hyena beastman, but a confused look form a dopey looking face. Then, as the beast saw the scattered fruit, leaned down and picked them up, set them in the arms of the terrified man, and smiled a dumb, massive, almost braindead smile. He could still remember every detail, the shaggy, dark fur of his pelt, the beautiful painted sun on his chest, where his heart would be, in bold red. And how sticky his fur was from the juice, and…that smell. The beast smelled so sweet from the juice, but there was more, a spiciness and a heat in that odor that made his nostrils burn, he couldn’t quite tell how he felt about that, and he didn't wanna think about it. Reminiscing about that encounter, a deep warmth spread again through his being, and a bitter, almost bitter question tore him apart. “Why am I so afraid of them?” It was in the middle of this reflection that the chief tore away his loincloth, his rigid cock swung proud, above his balls, even from the height of the tree the human could see them swing, heavy and low hanging, only now he remembered how his cloth was always brimming, until now he could not conceive of something being underneath that wear. Only now did he encounter about sex. The tattoos on the chief’s body took another meaning, only now did he truly see them, only now he saw how they worked with the entirety of his body, working with his naked form, they were made to be seen naked. A tapestry on his body, fights and hunts, festivities and celebrations, all on full display, showing the life of this manly beast, and above his cock, on both his thighs was a massive tatoo, detailing two figures uniting. The droning drums were now accompanied, by the slamming of the men’s spears before the chief, by the deep chants of the hunters and by a new, foreign beat in his chest. It was then that he finally saw another figure enter the scene, another beastman was approaching the elder, strutting his body, he had a similar build to his friend, short and lithe, but with one glaring difference. His hips were massive. Easily three times his minute chest, with a back to match. Seeing this the chilling cold in his bones grew, glaring at the new character in this little show only made his face like stone, rigid and austere. The two embraced. The elder began the kissing. The younger began the inescapable moans. Together they began twisting something deep and ugly in the man. He wanted to go away, run and hide in some dark forgotten hole, he wanted to stop listening to those sounds, those moans, those spears, and those blasted, droning…hypnotizing drums. But he could not, so he did not. He stayed there. He kept watching the two kissing, he kept watching as the hand of the elder was placed on the head of his lover, he kept watching as he pushed, he kept watching as the bitch started to worship his pecs, then his imposing musclegut, then the proud bush of pubic hair, then those sagging balls. The moans seemed almost fake, almost, for the clearly tamed bitch was shuddering all through the process, half-lidded eyes as he- no she paid worship to her owner. long, dutiful licks could be heard, or maybe his mind just demanded more detail in this first ever encounter with sex. Then it happened, her head was grabbed, and the proud weapon of the patriarch was aligned with her mouth. With a slam the entire length of veiny cock was slammed without mercy in her throat, using her like a toy, he was clearly trying to finish as soon as possible. Slamming in and out of with brutal force and speed, pulling out till the tip was on her tongue, and ramming it back in until his lover was smushed against his crotch. And with a roar he came, the heart of the voyeur skipped a beat around that single, incredible event, the music seemed to stop for him, just watching this male do what he was born for made his entire world stop. His sack tensed, and a torrent was unleashed, he just knew it, he just knew in that dumb bitch part of his pathetic brain that it must be like a torrent, and he knew it must have been thick, and it must have been smelly, and it must have been potent. He could not see but the back of the bitch, but his mind filled the voids more than well enough. And just like it began, it finished with a roar, not from the chief but from his proud tribe. All the men, the male hunters in front of him were cheering at the rough treatment of his slut, their cocks tenting their loincloths, all of them erupting in laughter and happiness seeing their chief so strong and virile. Still, all this cheering meant something more than a simple “good job!”, the audience was still hungry, they knew what was coming, what was the inevitable conclusion of this show of dominance. The chief took in his paw his spent member, and aimed it at his lover, who was now on his knees before his owner, his lap glistening with a dribble of cum, more likely that of the man than his. And it began, a steady, powerful stream of golden liquid, a beautiful gift for the service received, splashing on his rightful property, drenching him with piss, with the piss of that much older, and so much more manly, beastman. The cunt on her part was enjoying herself, her limp dicklet, still soft in her sheath was no indication for her arousal, her ears were turned back submissively, but a big proud smile was on her muzzle, she was so full of joy and adoration for her master and his gift, it was clear why he chose her, in her own way she was also a prime specimen. What man could possibly resist her? And at that thought the cold bit at the slug’s emotions once more, that twisting, venomous serpent was hatefully rolling deep in his gut. But that cold was now being, for the first time since taking home in that soul, being rivaled by a certain warmth, one that was new to our human’s experience. He found his hand instinctively reaching down, towards his warming groin, towards a weird stiff thing, tenting his makeshift pants. New to this whole thing he tentatively touched his stiff member through the cloth, long forgotten impulses leading the way. It felt weird, there was pressure in his groin, and when he touched it it would diminish, it didn’t feel hot, not in the way his cheeks were burning for a while now, it demanded attention and yet he couldn’t understand how to please it. Touching the sides would feel ..nice, in that way that asked for more, but touching the tip was far too intense for him, it would send electric shivers through his thing all the way to the pouch. In the end he settled to just sorta.. push it down, adding pressure felt good but not dizzying, still he could feel himself slowly growing more and more aroused. The sight of that bitch, she wasn’t just happy, she wasn’t just submissive, she was… so beautiful, so desirable that even the chief wanted her all for herself. The little intruder was foreign to the savage practices of these peanut-brained cavemen, but an old, forgotten part of his brain understood the meaning of that humiliating gesture, and deep down, he craved it. He was once again broken out of his thoughts by a new sound, the village elder’s bellowing laugh. It was so cheerful and joyous, you almost could forget the piss-drenched property lapping at his balls. That laugh betrayed the pride he rightfully felt at claiming a submissive mate, but he wasn’t just celebrating, he was making a show of his masculinity to the young men in front of him. The drums stopped, the air grew tense, our intruder could feel that everyone’s attention was directed at the chief. He raised his arms over his head, hands ready to give a signal, the hunters in front of his had passed the point of just being aroused, their loincloths were soaked in their pre, their piss, and for some, their cum. Then it happened CLAP The sound reverberated through his very soul, and for just a moment everyone was still, then mayhem broke loose. The men started to run, and screams erupted from the crowd, quickly the scene took form, the stronger, manlier members of the tribe were chasing down their potential mates, taking the example their chief laid out for them to heart At first the foreigner was horrified at the show, rape and assault made into celebrations clashed bloodily with his morals, but the he saw it, how playful it all was. Some of the boys would just surrender and immediately fall to their knees, others clearly enjoyed the thrill of the chase, getting wet or hard during it. Some put their heart in the ritual, others almost looked like they rehearsed it with their lovers prior. Some men had their eyes for only one prey, others happily shared their catch with their loyal brothers, others still had multiple mates to claim, each of the bitches sharing the euphoria of submission. The sounds of the festival changed once more, the drums resumed, played by those already mated and disinterested in more mates, still the pounding on those instruments gave away the spiritual fervor with which they encouraged their fellows to fall deeper into the breeding trance. Along with those hypnotizing beats, the moans and grunts, and screams of the village orgy were nothing but purely animalistic, dotting the atmosphere with… a strange feeling that, the grey thing could not truly understand. His pitiful erection was now straining and angry, slowly soaking his rag pants with his clear pre. He undid his pants, and freed his penis, exposing it to the humid air of the jungle. A new smell hit his nostrils, wafting up from his sweaty and unwashed crotch, it was … spicy. It made his overdeveloped brain tingle, and made his lungs burn a little, like a little firecracker was set of in them. The pleasure only increased. Though, for as much as he touched himself he couldn’t find any satisfaction, even though his member was scalding with boiling blood, touching it sent a piercing cold through his body, from his little pouch, to the tips of his fingers. A deep anxiety settled in his heart, everyone was .. with someone, worshipping or being worshiped, cherishing and cherished. And there he was, a little coward, hiding in the foliage like a disgusting pervert, enjoying other people’s affections, always paces away, always out of sight. He was a grey little thing, no soft fur to speak of, no color in his skin, no roundness to his figure, just a grey, rigid piece of meat. And he felt that, he felt ugly, he felt repulsive and boring, he felt like it was no mystery why he was over there in the dark of the night, when everyone else was enjoying themselves in the warm light of the bonfire. And so the cold won out, and he felt like freezing on that cold summer night, it would have been best to go to his shelter, and go under the covers, and sleep. The heat in his lungs, his loins and chest abated, and his member grew cold once again, and went back to not demanding anything from the man of the future. He climbed down from the tree, and started to head towards the crash site, where he made his secluded shelter, his weak legs putting a foot in front of the other, head turned down as he was once again captured in a web of his own thoughts, fears and hatred. Then, as it always happens, a new sound broke him out of his spiralling thoughts, not laughter this time. A ferocious growl came from the forest, as eyes could be faintly seen in the foliage and bush, the cold in his flesh now ran even deeper, turning his blood into ice. Again his brain fired up an old, forgotten function and only one word could appear in his mind. “Run” And so he did, and he ran through the dark jungle floor, jumping through leaves and tangled roots, in the faint light of an almost full moon, his breath already labored. And as it always happens, at the worst moments, he trips. And as it always happens, whenever he trips he can see death right in front of him, her death ready, and already pouncing. And as it always happens, he was wrong. Just as he braces for the impact, already bruised and cut from his little run in the woods, a terrible kick hits the feral beast, sending it flying feets away, a bellowing roar comes from his side, full and proud and angry, for having hurt one of his own. There, ready to fight, there was that caveman, the one that gifted him those fruits. He was standing so tall, so powerful, so..defensive, and once again warmth spread in his body, deep from within his chest, outwards towards his cheeks. The predator was retreating, now scared for its life, and the beastman’s gaze turned to him now, he was visibly scratched up, bleeding from a couple of shallow cuts, nothing that could threaten his life. But the gaze of that savage.. it was worried, almost apologetic, he seemed to be feeling guilty for having let this happen. So he picked the much smaller man in his arms, with the care one would use with a porcelain doll, and started to lick the wounds. The saliva was as thick as it was warm, a hot slimy liquid, full of the enzymes of the beastman. The man almost felt grossed out by this, almost,he expected to be grossed out by this but instead he was just … struck, struck by how intimate this act felt. The spit coated his torn skin, and stung the same way it stung when he had to disinfect a wound, but now everywhere the saliva touched a new, pushier heat bloomed beneath. Like something was trying to get out, to be seen. His breath, labored as it was, started to even out, and with every new, calmer inhale he was more and more aware of the smell wafting off his saviour. He remembered their encounter in the orchard, and the way that smell made him question things, the weird reaction it got out of him, again the dumb caveman was reeking, of sweat primarily, but there was something more, it was the smell of somebody who never washed out properly, at most he dipped in the river, to wash out grime and blood. On him was the musk of a man who took pride in his stink, for the beastman it must have been a source of status, the way it enhanced his presence wasn’t lost on the human, now that there was no sweetness from those fruits the smell demanded attention, like a roar demands fear. Still shook from the scare he got, the little pervert found himself trying to get closer to the source of that smell, unconsciously drawing closer to that stink that made his lungs burn like firecrackers. As the beastmen was about to give another wet lick to his wounds he felt something push against his closed armpit, he looked and found the strange little beast huffing away at his proud stink. His heart swelled, he remembered finding the little thing some moons ago, scared stiff at his sight, always on the highest guard around his family, little and frail and grey. But he could smell it, his deep arousal when he first caught a whiff of his potent stink. He was like him, just too scared. In all truth he was wounded when the little thing din’t try to court him, he was proud of his manly reek,he would piss on his loincloth to strengthen it, in his village he was courted by many bitches and even his younger brothers looked up at how manly he was. His own father, the village chief, was proud of how much he resembled him. So having this little thing not fall on his knees kinda hurt him, but now he understood, he was just shy! All of this, the rejection, his shyness and prudeness, made something new awake in the heart of the dumb beast, it made him want to…to… to force himself on him, to force him to smell his musk and like it, to make him swoon and whine, to make him scream and moan, to own him. He never felt like this, none of those other smaller brothers of his made him feel like this, like he would kill and rape for him. None of them made his heart swell when he saw how the grey man really was, he was colorful like him, he was primal like him, he was stupid like him, he was lazy like him, sex-crazed like him, filthy like him, and stinky… well not quite in the same way as him. He understood now, this shrink-brained caveman, a truth that that overdeveloped monkey could never understand, and he knew it well and deeply this truth. A truth that now I’ll tell in this language. He just needed to be transformed into himself. The man found himself facing against the armpit of his rescuer, the smell wafting from there was just so much more intense, now in his lungs there was the slow crackle of embers, hot and steady and so soothing, but his brain was going through it. His mind was only half there, the other half was looking from outside his body, in almost a fugue state, where everything was blurred but for the center of his focus, everything in slow-mo, to the slow relaxed beat of his heart. Then, it moved, the arm lifted, revealing a deep, humid jungle of hair, and letting loose a tsunami of stench. It was a flashbang of feral pheromones , his brain short circuiting and rebooting from the hit, higher thoughts, such as propriety, shame and complexes unraveling, only a little, silent, huffing man remained. And that would not do, the beastman’s lovers ought to be loud and proud like him of his perversion. So he took the man’s head into his paws, and pushed a digit into that small mouth, trying to bring out that tongue. Once grabbed and exposed to the air he pushed the man’s head back into his armpit, prompting the bitch_to_be to taste his flavor. The little thing on his part put up no resistance, the concept invisible in his mind, clouded by musk, so he let himself be guided and commanded by the casual strength of this animal. As his tongue was brought out he felt confusion, but as he tasted the rancid flavor of that pit fur all was clear, his saviour demanded worship, and once again an old part of his brain awoke, and obliged. As he began lapping the pit he couldn’t help but moan, no matter how offensive the taste could be, knowing it was from this man made him love it. Worship came natural to him, especially towards this hulking, reeking monster. At every lick, at every huff, at every thought of submission something deep within changed, his body adapting a form pleasant for this Alpha male, nothing showed yet, as the DNA in his cells slowly rebuilt itself. But a new change, one much easier to notice, was already taking hold. The stink was burning much more than his lungs, that now felt like a firework show, new neural pathways burned themselves into his brain, overriding so many others. Neurons died at every inhale, and his old self became weaker and weaker, thoughts about the stars, the engines of his ship and his old, grey, cold home were starting to seem more and more unimportant. The hulking beast was please with himself, there were few things his brain could process, how good food tasted, how fun it was to chase prey and run, how good it felt to piss, but that little peanut was willing to use some of it’s power for another thing, his massive pride. Seeing the effect he had on the strange clothed beast filled him with pride, seeing him embrace him and pleasure sent shivers through his body, his tip now leaking and his ball gurgling. But more than anything, his heart was so warm seeing this strange grey thing happy. So there was only one thing to do. The now ex-scientist could feel himself being picked up, and carried away, but just couldn’t bring himself to care, The smell of that beast was all he could think about at that moment, “thinking” might be even too big of a word, both because of his entranced state of mind, and because he would probably not know what it meant anymore. But beyond the lust, beyond the musk he could fell that… he trusted the caveman, like nowhere where he could bring him could be bad, like he would be fine so long he had him at his side, or atop him. So he slipped into blissful trance, and let his … his… “the thing he wanted him to be for him”, decide for the both of them. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The festivities were still in full swing at the center of the village, the lovers would moan loudly enough to be heard no matter where in the tribe you were. But amid the celebrations there was one singular, boyish hyena, anxiously looking for his friend, hoping that he would be somewhere around the camp like he hoped, he felt so guilty for not paying enough attention, one moment his dear friend was hiding in the trees, and the other he was gone. He sent his brother, that dumb oaf, to look for him outside the village, hoping one of them would find the depressed piece of shit. He too, in the same way as his brother, knew how desperately that man needed to become himself, but unlike his blood, his preoccupation came from the friendship he had for the man. So, with what little brain power he had ( a genius compared to the other cavemen), plotted to introduce him to the festivities, knowing something good would come of it. He had, however, more concerns aside from his friend, he had to bat away all the potential mates that wanted to mount him, he had only one man in his mind, and wasn’t willing to be somebody’s else. He was getting tired, running away from his brothers was a workout even for him, who grew up playing in that jungle. As he was thinking those thoughts he spotted his brother returning, his friend in his arms, happily huffing away in those sweaty pits The little beast only now started to register new sounds, the sounds of those animalistic grunts and moans, and it took him even longer to realize he was back at the village. Then, he was brought away from that rich musk, and set down on his wobbly legs, in the middle of the scene, where everyone could see him. He was facing the caveman, who was smiling his dopey smile like usual, the gaze shifting in intensity, there was no word, no movement of his body or arms, but still the command came across crystal clear. “Worship”. The startled critter couldn’t hold himself on his legs anymore, that focused stare, from that dumb beast, made that old instinct flare up, and the sweaty stench of those pits was still smothering any and all higher thought. Seeing his claim so still the caveman employed an old method, the same his father taught him to catch the interest of any bitch, the same he his father used to claim his mother. There was no chase, no roar or fight, he simply let his cock grow, and grow, and grow, until it was tenting his months old loincloth. In front of the hairless monkey was now an obelisk, a monument to masculinity, a club, a weapon, swaying hypnotically like a metronome. The caveman swayed his hips, made his cock jump up and down, up and down and side to side. The piss-stained loincloth did little to hide that monster, when it wasn’t hard it barely managed to contain that prodigious thing, now his balls fell out from the side, and the tip turned near transparent with all that pre. The hairless monkey was utterly transfixed, he crawled towards that massive thing, brought his face inches away from his prize, let the tip of his nose touch that filthy cloth, and finally, took a huff. He came with no warning, no lead up, no build up to it, he just came on the spot, his spent dicklet wet in his pants, his brain going blank for a good few seconds, the pheromones burning those useless neurons, and flushing them away through his cum. After he regained sight, he went into a frenzy, he cupped those heavy, low-hanging balls and felt how burning hot they were, he began to sniff every part of that beastlike monster. The scent of his crotch a thousand times more intense than those pits, and much more clearly sexual. He sniffed and liked those balls, and felt the sweaty fur on his tongue, the taste lingering and bullying his tastebuds. Then he went to the clothed shaft, and got to taste that unwashed, piss-stained, never changed loincloth, the smell of his saviour's piss was acrid, bitter and sour, the piss of a male who needed to mark his property. Then he turned to the very tip of the obelisk, oozing through the old cloth, he could see the glans of that majestic bitch-breaker, glistening in the warm light of the bonfire. The critter had to reach up to meet the eye of the monster, he had to get on his knees proper, he had to put in effort in his worship, and when he touched those thick glans something amazing happened. That massive hyena shuddered with pleasure. Registering this the kneeling animal felt a deep, explosive joy spread through him, the beginnings of a much greater euphoria. He felt so happy to have made his saviour feel good, he felt so good knowing it was him that did it, that provided service. He wanted more, so he tried to push at that spot again, and again until something came of it. That stupid thing couldn’t understand how to please a male, he never knew what pleasure bodies could experience. Above him the caveman was so happy with himself, seeing the effect he had on the previously prudish boy made his heart swell with pride. His cock throbbed, his balls gurgled. But he was even happier seeing how quickly that facade of intelligence was unraveling, now that made his blood go south. His club spurted some more pre, and his watermelon-sized balls felt heavier. He also wanted more, now that the prey was under him there was no need to play stoic, so he grabbed the hair of his claim and yanked him away. He decided it was finally time to let go of his own restraint and prudishness, so with a claw, he cut the knot of his cloth, letting it fall on the face of his imminent mate. Now he was how he should be, naked and free and proud. He wanted to play some more with his property, so he guided his hands, one on the shaft the other cupping the balls. Learning quickly the little thing started to mix up his moves, he would play with the sack as he dutifully liked the mast, or he would massage the trunk as he slobbered on those glistening glans, hiding away in the stinky folds of the drooping foreskin. The man, the one getting treated like one, was enjoying himself, freely grunting his approval for the good worship he received. But now was the time to do the ritual properly, to properly claim his bitch, his property and mate. He motioned at the critter to stop, and did like his father before him did, and his father before him, and his ancestors too. He lined up his weapon with the lips of his prey, and started to push, to prod at those lips , to demand to be taken and accepted. He knew how hard this would be for the inexperienced boy, how scary and painful it was going to be for him, but it had to be done, it was the way, so he could teach him his place beneath him. Also there was no way he could cum just from that blowjob. He tried to ease the novice as best he could, he gently caressed his cheek with that oversized paw, he murmured sweet and calming sounds to sooth his property. Then he pushed. Hard. He rammed that log as fast as he could, to force the bitch to adjust quickly, and so he didn’t have to hear any complaints. For his part, the disgraced scientist had little to complain about, mostly because he had no capacity for such complicated nonsense. But he was scared, he was scared because he felt he was suffocating, because when he got hilted to the fullest the massive belly of his lover obscured any light. He was losing breath, there was no way he could breathe with that log in his throat, his airways shut tight, he was slowly losing consciousness, then… Air again, as quickly as it went in his Alpha’s cock was out, he took a few laboured breaths, then, just as he began to catch his breath, the thing was rammed back in. There was no way he could resist those arms, even if covered in a little pudge those things could easily break apart an oak log. So he had to adapt, there was no way he could resist. His dicklet throbbed. And again, just as he was about to pass out, the cock got unsheathed again, and again he got to breathe. The cycle repeated a few times, each of them instilling in the critter just how powerless he was in the face of his lover. Despite the intensity of the face-fucking, he started to relax, somewhere deep inside he knew that loveable oaf would pull out when it was time, and every time he was proved right he relaxed even further, letting himself be used. He came to trust his lover, trust that he would be taken care of. It started to be almost cozy, kneeling there, knowing you’re already doing all that’s needed of you, no need to worry, no need to plan, no need to think, and those GRUNTS, he felt tears welling up in the corners in his eyes knowing he was doing good, he was making this person he cared about feel good. Spit and pre were sloppily drooling from the club each and every time it was pulled out, and ended up on the face of the little critter, which in turn wet the crotch of the beast when it got smothered in those stinking pubes. Soon the cock, pubes, face and ground where this scene was taking place were coated in watery slime. Another fluid soon joined the puddle, the rigorous facefucking, in concert with the literally brain-melting musk, was enough to bring the bitch to peak again. No touching his bits, not even a fondling of balls, just a quick lead up, and then cumming. He barely registered his own orgasm, too busy with not suffocating. But he did notice a new cycle emerging, every time he got air to breathe, he got lungfuls of musk, and those warm, sharp feelings would concentrate in his little pouch, almost hurting from the intensity. And again he would come, without fanfare or notice from his lover, and even in that fugue state he was in he couldn’t help but wonder :” If I came like this, and felt so much pleasure, what would it look like if he came?”. Images started to float around in mind, of those balls rising up and tensing, of that prodigious cock throbbing, and …what came after was fuzzy, he still didn’t really understand what was happening with his body, much less what would happen with somebody’s else. But still, as it always is, an old part of the brain was remembering its long lost purpose. I think I want to say something new now, the words don’t come as naturally right now. I… think I might have lost the plot to some extent, I think I can do a better job communicating the appeal of this fantasy, and the euphoria it can bring. I wrote a lot of thoughts here, you’re free to skip them, go directly to the line after this wall of text to continue the story. These themes of nature, pleasure, community, stupidity and instinct are not the only thing I want to communicate, because I don’t think they're the inherently joyous part of this fantasy, at least not when viewed in a vacuum, rather it’s their intersection that’s of interest. I think I might be forgetting the appeal of this fantasy I held for so many years, the reason I would spend my nights aching for this story. But I think I have a way to remember it. Years ago, when I was still a little kid, I had a dream that left an impression on me, a clear indent on the surface of my soul. I was on a boat, with my mother, it was one of those pretty boats, those one would use to enjoy a nap in the middle of a lake, and we were both beautifully dressed, in these elaborate, soft, massive outfits, like those worn by the rich people in the 1800’s, with patterned lace and the softest whites, I think she might have even had a pretty parasol with her. We were moving away from somewhere, from a jungle island in the distance, and even though we were so far away already I could see them, Tarzan-like people, on the edge of the island, watching us go away, and I remember asking my mother why we were going away. She responded:”Because those are dumb people”, and in that word, “dumb” so much could be found inside, things that may be self-evident now, under the light of this text. I still remember them, those tall, athletic figures, clad in loincloths, feathers and flowers, now, trying to remember, they looked so proud and beautiful, with dark tanned skin and bodies strong. But when I focus on his face, that of some young savage, I can’t even remember who I was looking at. Was it the village leader? Standing tall, with fire in his eyes, with that stare that knew something bad was being done, that a regretful choice was being taken. I try to focus and the figure shrinks, into a beautiful, athletic boy, his body full of energy and his face donning some kind of…I can’t remember. So I focus, and I see him, that me, laying on the grass, eyes big, looking back quizzically at my clothed self, wordlessly asking a question I cannot hear. I think that for a moment, back then, a flicker of rebellion shot through me, at the words of my mother, I think that for a brief moment I wanted to be with them, I wanted to jump off the boat and swim towards the shore, but then I though “being dumb is bad, I don’t want to be dumb”, so I remained at my mother’s side. I don’t quite know where to go from here, I do believe that everything should reach its full realization, that every soul will persist and eventually reach moral perfection, that every art can be made to fully express the good it contains, that good can be enjoyed as more than mere illusion, but as an inevitability of reason, that’s what euphoria indicates at least. Where does this leave me? I see beauty, and thus I’m attracted, by both the savage and the aristocrat. Dread, terror, hatred and destruction are most beautiful when wielded like lace, with grace, femininity and artfulness. Just as there is this story, of a time traveler being charmed by the caveman culture he comes across and that opts to remain with them, there is also the equally pretty one. Of a misfit being born among them, one that, to some extent, is privy to the beauty of dread, and that, divinely inspired, will burn down the village and all of its culture and beliefs. What does he, or she, look like? That me that’s happy. But just as there is space for that story there is also space for the one I was telling, and the values it brings forth. I think I remember well now the appeal of this fantasy, how sex, domination, tribes and friendships all intersect to make something I care about. Finding my own tribe, those people that won’t be grossed out by my real self, that will understand those weird instincts and behaviors that dot my person, that will share my joy and sorrow, that will spend time with me, meaningful time, ritualistic time, mundane time. People I want to share a way of life with. My sexual impulses something I can proudly and joyfully share, display and enjoy, they would understand, their culture would match my needs. People that will see and understand and recognize the way I want to live. And friends, I definitely want those. What’s their function though? If this story is anything to go by it must be because they wish me good, because they act with my best interest in mind, but it’s more than that. They’re part of the tribe afterall, they want me to become part of their tribe, not because I have to fit in, but because I must become myself, that would be good for me. I think that might really be it, the transformation is the appeal. That’s what makes that oaf of a caveman so irresistible, he’s already much of the way I want to be, following that lust, his casual domination, is like having a guide, someone to make you come outside of that cocoon. I believe transformation is a major appeal of submission, and becoming oneself is then its full moral realization. I have an idea of how to continue now. I understand writing this is a bit like cheating, but whenever possible I take the easy route out of my problems. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lazily being there, just allowing himself to live the moment was bringing something new in his heart, a simmering joy in being as braindead as his lover, being just a beast in heat, covered in sweat and fluids, enjoying the smells and sounds of their mating. Then he felt it, the facefucking picked up the pace, and each and every thrust made his jaw ache deliciously, and he braced himself for that big moment. After the harshest push down that weapon he was kept there, and he could hear those balls rising up , he closed his eyes, the pisshole of that monster opened up nice and wide, and then a flood exploded in his mouth. At first most of it was dumped directly into that tight throat, ending up in the tummy of the ex-human and filling it up with protein, then the caveman, wanting to force a taste on his soon-to-be-official-mate, started to pull out. 4 good healthy spurts of the stuff filled the mouth of the bitch, covering every inch of it in thick, white, musky seed. The taste was weirdly complex, very salty, with some notes of sour and bitter, but mostly it was blissfully savory, it didn’t taste nearly as good as those fruits from back then, but in that moment he understood that he would happily eat only this for the rest of his life under his owner. Then the tip exited the mouth, and those last few spurts, pumping deep from those tanks, painted white the face and hair of that submissive little thing, covering him in liquid love, in those thousands of children they could have together. Both of them were there, panting, looking at each other, adoring how each appeared. From down on the ground the caveman was glorious, his massive stature and size difference enhanced by the prospective, that muscle-gut was like a boulder normally, but from down there it looked like a mountain. And the cock, it was still hard and throbbing, precious cum lazily oozing out the pisshole, it looked like what it was, a weapon of conquest, spent and used to claim more property for its owner. From the ground the smelly, dumb grunting cavemen looked like a god of sex and masculinity. That god of his was also treated by a beautiful sight, the usually composed, prudish and fearful grey monkey was replaced by a panting, sweaty, dirty, stinky and horny cum-brained animal. He looked so happy, so spent after paying proper worship, the heart of the manly beast swelled with pride and joy and relief, seeing this transformation, seeing the grey thing become his colorful self. He brought down his paw, and gently cupped the cheek of his lover, letting him know how happy he was with the performance, how good he made him feel. The little one leaned into that massive paw, greedily accepting the tender attention. He felt it again then, that burning need to dominate, humiliate and own, he then understood, with that tiny brain of his, why this ritual was held by his ancestors. He felt like he himself was becoming fully himself, he felt like he truly was part of his tribe, body and mind in tune with the spirit of all the men before him, all telling him to mark his property. So he picked up his claim, ripped apart the remaining of his useless clothes and took a spot where everyone could see, put down his lover and roared loud, for everyone to hear. The orgy paused, all eyes on the couple. That was what bothered him the most, those eyes, all looking at his ugly grey body, all wondering why he was there, all wishing they didn’t have to see him. His heart started pounding those horrid beats, he felt queasy, and lowered his gaze towards the ground where he could not meet theirs. He wanted to sob, to cry to make his displeasure known to his lover, so he could comfort him, but even as he tried to scream his mouth opened silent, he couldn’t scream nor cry nor ask for help. He felt it then , that massive paw on his face, making him face his owner, who was leaning down, worried for his lover, then, out of nowhere, that big sloppy tongue came out of that muzzle, and gave him a long, wet lick. He was shocked, sure, but ..it sorta worked, it was sudden and like always that tore him away from those spiralling thoughts, and it was sorta funny too. That gave him the strength to look up, to try and meet those gazes. What he saw was a whole tribe of men and boys all mid-fuck, all curious about the strange couple that wanted to show off. The dominant men were pretty much cheering their brother on, with that comradery there’s between truly manly men, wordlessly praising him for his catch. Even the chief was looking on with a deep, fatherly pride in his eyes. And next to him, or rather underneath, there was the only other person whose opinion truly mattered to the ex-intellectual, his friend, still messy and sweaty from the facefuck he was just receiving from his own father. He looked on with pride too, a very different kind from the one of the man above, it was the gaze of someone happy to see a dear one finally come into his own, finally be himself. So that small hyena decided to wash with his friend again that night, he motioned his father and joined the strange couple at the centre of everyone’s attention. Both kneeling in front of their men, both smelling the funk of those unwashed crotches, both ready to smell even more like their owner, so everyone would know who they belonged to. Those massive males took their members in their paws, aimed their weapons towards their new girls, and let loose. A deep, golden liquid splashed on them, a constant stream of stinking piss, soaking into one’s fur and the other’s skin. marking that pungent smell in the sort of way that not even a month in the cleanest stream of water could wash off. Everyone was looking, and yet,...it didn’t feel like being torn apart by their gaze, it didn’t feel like he was breaking some unspoken rule, it didn’t feel like he was on his own. Everybody was about to perform the same, joyous ritual, and each of them was happy to see another find their mate. It felt like he found his tribe.