The Cost of Size
A village where males are judged for their future based on their cock size, and where it takes a bit of a different turn.
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The Cost of Size
By Draconicon
Alwir stood with the rest of the clutches of age to be judged by the shaman for their futures. All around him, scales were all but completely bared, with only a single area in the front covered by a scant strip of leather. Tails fat and slender laid over rumps, covering cheeks that ranged from broad to skinny, plump to almost nonexistent. They stood before the shaman's hut, their hands clasped behind their backs like the warriors throughout the tribe, and they all shared the same thought.
Don't let me be one of them.
The moon rose before the shaman stepped free of his hut. The gray-scaled lizard, still standing tall rather than hunched over like his predecessor, looked up and down the line. Eventually, the shaman pointed with his staff at one of them, and the chosen reptile scurried into the tent. Alwir pulled his arms a little tighter behind his back, trying to stand that little bit taller to show that he wasn't afraid when he most definitely was.
Today would be the day that they would be judged, and what they would become. Breeder? Warrior? A student of the shaman? A trader? It all came down to the decision that the shaman himself made, and he did not know just where he would fall. He just hoped that he would not be one of the warriors.
He glanced back at them. The taller reptiles loomed over the rest of them, a second line of scaly flesh to keep him and the other of-age males from running off. Unlike his fellow clutch-mates, they did not have loincloths, nor anything else that would hide their 'shame.'
Alwir looked down despite himself, seeing the leather strands that were wrapped tight around the base of every male's shaft. The leather crisscrossed itself, running from the base of their cocks all the way to the tips, creating an interweaving bondage trap that held the shaft down, curling it between their legs. In the case of some of them, the other ends of the straps, wrapped around the warrior's tail-base, pulled the tip right up against their asshole, pinning it in place and keeping it from getting free. They were constantly on the verge of literally fucking themselves, and the rut that came over them every month was a torment that they were all too desperate to take out on the enemies of the tribe.
He turned away, not wanting to imagine that happening to himself. If he was judged to be a warrior, he would be bound tonight, and he would never be allowed to put his cock to use.
I'm not that big...I'm not that big...
But was he? He knew that he had outmatched several of his clutch-mates, and that they had all but abandoned him out of fear of him falling to his urges, despite the stories never mentioning someone losing themselves to it before their majority. It wasn't so large as some of the warriors...
But not so small that it didn't reach what some of them had to display.
Not me, not me.
The tent opened, and the first-chosen stepped out, holding his arms in the air and grinning. His loincloth had been shed, and in its place was a wooden ring wrapped around the base of his shaft, thrusting it and his sac forward, keeping both on display without shame. He had been chosen for a breeder, his shaft - barely more than four inches long - blessed by the shaman's ring to throb and pulse, dripping already even as the rest of the males stared at him in envy.
As he was led away to be given to the females and fulfill his duties, the shaman stepped out of the tent again. Once more, he gestured with the staff, and once more someone else was chosen and taken into the tent to be judged.
One by one, they were examined, and one by one, they were sorted into different roles. One came free with his cock weighted down with gold coins on either side, and a band of steel around his balls that forced them down like a wealthy pouch, the next with another wooden ring. Three more of them passed in succession before the first warrior was found, and everyone knew before the young male was shown that he had been chosen.
"No, no, not that! NOT THAT!"
The screams echoed from the tent, but only for a moment or three before the young man was tossed out. The lizard hit the ground hard, rolling and coming to a halt with his legs spread. Alwir and all the others could see the fate that he had earned. His cock was pulled back, tied up, his balls all but pushed back into his body from the pressure of the leather bindings. There was no undoing it without the shaman's permission; the knots of leather were so tight to the flesh that there was no seam for a blade, nothing to slide under to cut it off, and the knots were too clever to remove without the permission of the elders of the tribe.
He was bound away from breeding, his only outlet that of the battlefield, or from the occasional relief that the shamans provided for those that were so bound: a finger under the tail.
Finally, the shaman pointed at him, and Alwir stepped into the tent with him. The flap of leather fell behind him, leaving him alone with the elder lizard. A fire burned in a pit in the otherwise empty tent, and the shaman threw Alwir's loincloth into it as soon as they were in private, burning away his only covering.
Please, not me...please, not me...
He had once fantasized about being a breeder, about having a cock meek and small enough to be worthy of doing nothing but rutting with the females all day long, but now, he would take anything. He would take the weights and jewels of the trader that would always tug his cock down. He would take the piercing through the head of his shaft that would mark him as a shaman's apprentice. He would take the heavy weights on his balls that would mark him as a farmer, saving his seed for the harvests and the good times.
He would take anything, anything, if it meant that he did not need to be bound as a warrior.
The older lizard knelt down, his breath hot against Alwir's shaft. The lizard clenched his hands at his sides, trying not to get aroused, trying not to think about the fact that the head of his cock - even while soft - still stuck out past the shaman's fingers. It wasn't that big. He wasn't that big. He wasn't.
The seconds ticked on as he was held, examined. The shaman pumped his cock once, twice, three times, and the embarrassment and the stimulation combined to have him rising quickly. His inexperience left his cock twitching, throbbing, pulsing upwards.
A bad sign. Those that could not control their shafts within the tribe would find them controlled, and often not by means that they would have chosen.
His cock rapidly grew to full size. The breeder's had been merely four inches, while the trader's had been five. His? His topped out at just over seven inches. A borderline case, he was sure, something that could send him to the warriors if he didn't have some sort of mitigating circumstance.
Please, please, please...
He closed his eyes tightly, thinking of what it would mean if he was given to the warriors. No male of age was allowed to hide his shaft; his markings down there would show what he was to everyone, all the time. He would not be able to hide the shame of being judged a brute, of being told that he would not be able to control himself, that he had to be bound and channeled towards others to protect the rest of the tribe.
Please, please, please...
"Hmmph..."
The shaman gave him one more tug, almost as if he was trying to drag another inch out of him, but seven was all that Alwir could bring to bear. He had not been cursed with more, merely more than he should have had. He stood there, trying not to shiver, trying to be brave enough not to beg out loud.
Finally, the shaman gave a firm nod.
"Farmer."
Alwir managed to avoid panting in relief, but he was sure that it still showed on his face. The shaman looked up at him and shook his head, smiling ever so faintly.
"Don't be too relieved. It was close...and if we had not had a warrior already, you would have taken his place."
"...Thank you."
"Be grateful for what you are, and never complain...and never be tempted..."
For a warrior could always be made if someone lost control of themselves. He was being offered trust for his size, allowed to till the fields and bless them with his seed in a way that most people his size would not. It was something that he would not forget.
The shaman did not reach for weights, nor did he reach for the leather straps. Instead, he reached for a bowl, something that was filled to the brim with a green ooze. The older reptile sheathed his hand in a leather gauntlet, pulling it tight to his wrist before dabbing his fingers in the ooze.
"Let your shaft be dulled, until it is time," he said, stroking his fingers down the sides of Alwir's shaft. "Let it be dead to the world, save for when the land calls for it."
The slightest touch was enough to send shivers down his spine, and he gasped for breath as he realized just how little he felt after the first touch. His shaft was going numb, slowly softening and sagging down again over his sac. He groaned under his breath as it felt almost...good, in a way, good to have his temptations taken from him. His cock would be all but dead until the women of the field came to him, when the females touched him or when some scheming male came about with a stolen bit of their potions to reawaken him.
But he would still have the chance to have his time, his fun, his moment with others. His shaft was not to be restrained forever.
Alwir could have wept with relief at that moment, and he barely noticed as the rare metal band was placed between his shaft and his sac. The weight of it was enough to shove his balls down, forcing them away from him and showing off the bounty that was reserved for the land and her people. He would wear it and swell for the duration of his time as a farmer, working hard, and then being given his release.
It was less than what a shaman's apprentice would have, who would at least be allowed to touch himself with the shaman, or the pleasures that the wandering traders would be allowed to buy for themselves, and far, far less than what the breeders would receive on a daily basis. He was under no illusions; he would be allowed pleasure every few days during the planting season, once a day during the harvest, and once a week during the days of winter, but that was still more than the release that the warriors got every few months.
He had avoided the worst fate. He would be grateful.
"Go forth, farmer," the shaman said.
And so he did.
The End
Summary: A village where males are judged for their future based on their cock size, and where it takes a bit of a different turn.
Tags: M/M, M/solo, Cock, Lizard, Reptile, Tribal, Judgment, Cock Ring, Chastity, Numbing, Leather, Size Judgment, Handjob, Examination, Small Cocks Good, Big Cocks Dangerous,