Tethys - Growing The Tribe Pt. 02

Tethys -- Growing the Tribe

Part 2

This is the second part of the second of a series of tales of and by Tethys, a friend of mine. Most of the characters are introduced in the first series, "Gesso". Sorry for the long delay between stories. There are definitely more coming. Hope you enjoy!

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I've made this trip dozens of times. I know how long it takes, I know how it feels, I know the bumps and textures and turns of the route, and I know just what to do to keep this precious cargo bottled up inside me. It's only a couple of tablespoons, but it's thin and slippery, and gravity is pooling it just above the narrow, muscular section of my tunnel. What sperm was mixed in with the semen is slowly swimming the other direction, still energized in its futile quest to fertilize the egg that will never arrive. I concentrate on keeping the muscles tightly closed, not letting the roughness of the road open me up for even a second. I don't want to lose it, yet.

There are those who believe that Carl's fascination with sloppy seconds, his desire to feel another man's cum coating his cock as he forces it out, stroke by stroke, is a symptom of repressed homosexuality, or maybe some weak acknowledgment of submission, the acceptance of cuckoldry, the humiliation of being the afterthought. But Carl doesn't see it that way, and neither do I. As Carl sees it, it's an act of dominance, of taking something from another man and making it his own, displacing the competing seed and overwhelming it with his own. It's an act of power, of triumph, but it's not one that can be delayed.

I've spent some time musing on it, especially during these trips between two lovers. It's about twenty minutes of thinking each time, and I've even done some research online. I've arrived at an explanation which satisfies me, and meshes perfectly with my own vision of my place in the cosmic order. It's the most primal but fully human expression of our evolutionary development, a behavior that precisely matches our anatomy. It's sperm competition, promiscuous mating, ambiguous fatherhood, and the foundation of tribal loyalty.

Our closest primate relatives, I reason, are chimpanzees, bonobos, and gorillas. They each have some nearly-human traits, but each have very different reproductive styles. Gorillas live in harems, in which a single silverback protects and watches over a group of females and their young. The odds are high that he is the father of the great majority of the offspring. He doesn't worry much about competition. Consequently, gorilla sex is nothing to write home about. The male gorilla has the smallest testicles of all the great apes, the penis is small, and sperm volume is low. Mating is perfunctory, and not done with much urgency. The noncompetitive environment makes for a benevolent and tolerant male, and the youngsters are safe, unless the silverback dies and the harem is invaded by a stranger, outsider male with no possible relationship to the offspring. Then there's a real danger of infanticide.

Chimpanzees, on the other hand, have a no holds barred approach to sex. A receptive female might mate with dozens of males in a single day, as often as 50 times. Chimpanzees fight about a lot of things -- territory, food, power -- but not access to females. Everyone gets a shot. There's no individual competition between males, but sperm competition is fierce. Chimpanzees have the largest testicles and the greatest sperm density of all the primates, and a penis twice as long as that of a gorilla. For all that anything goes behavior, though, it goes fast. Sex in chimpanzees only lasts about ten seconds, then it's off to the next partner. Any individual male chimp is unlikely to be the father of any particular infant, and infanticide is an occasional result.

We humans do it very differently. Women don't advertise their ovulation, yet we're always receptive, so a man can never be certain whether sex will result in pregnancy or not. Human males produce copious amount of semen, but the sperm density is low, another reduction in the chances of conception. For a man to have good odds of impregnating a woman, he's going to have to fuck her frequently. And if she's been fucking another man? He needs to remove the other guy's cum from her pussy and replace it with his own. The human penis is great for that kind of task. It's big and fat, and fills up the vaginal space, squeezing out other fluids. The head of the glans makes a nice reverse scoop, catching any semen in the canal and drawing it out with the withdrawal stroke. And if the guy knows what he's doing, he can take his time, thrusting repeatedly until the vaginal tunnel is thoroughly swiped before depositing his own load inside. Just the kind of motions that make a woman want to come back for more, that make a man a fantastic cocksman and lover, are those that also tend to most efficiently remove the sperm from potential rivals. It's sperm competition, but but a type unique to humans.

It's almost a cliché that a man wants to spread his seed around, to fuck as many women as possible to increase the number of children he might sire. He also wants his women to be exclusive and faithful to him alone, to prevent their having children that are not his. A lot of social structures have been built up to encourage this disparity -- harems, vows of monogamy that are more easily broken by the man, male ownership of female property, concubinage -- but these are all artificial structures raised by cultures that have "advanced" beyond their original, hunter-gatherer, small-clan roots.

It's also a common trope that women wants to attract a man to be protector, provider, and nurturing father for her children, and that when she finds this ideal mate she will never look elsewhere. This is also a learned expectation, not one firmly rooted in biology, and there are too many women who, even with the best of intentions, can't uphold this ideal to think of it as more than an imposition.

No, our origins speak differently. There was a time before agriculture, before pastoralism, before property ownership, before clothing even, when social groups were small, outsiders were rare, and the welfare of children required the efforts of every man and woman in the group, no matter who was the parent. The wisest choice of action, and the one selected by biology, was for women to form close bonds with the men who were available, holding for them the realistic hope that at least some of the children would be theirs. With the hope of paternity and the promise of frequent sex, they would be willing to share their hunting successes, to act as mentors and protectors and teachers for the children (not only those that might be their own, but possibly those of their sister's as well), and to enhance the success of the community that they all depended on.

Women would be attracted to men who promised not only to be good providers and fathers, but who looked likely to be able to compete well in the sperm competition game. Thus the big, prominently displayed penises and large hanging scrotal sacks to attract partners and intimidate rivals, and our coy, ambiguous hiding of ovulation along with our constant receptivity, the ability to have more orgasms than any individual male could provide, but not the chimpanzee's hopelessly remote chances of being a father, with the consequent low level of commitment to the children.

It's a good system, I think, a triumph of evolution. But am I embracing it with my multiple male lovers, or undermining it by my blocking of conception? We still feel the same desires, whether we're fertile or not, the bonds, the pleasures, and the passions exist regardless of the chances of pregnancy. Maybe some day I'll bring children into the world. How I will do it, under what sort of paradigm, will be for me and my partners to decide at the time, for now I'm living with the purest, rawest, most primitive, and to me, most satisfying of human behaviors. That attunes my desires closely to Carl's.

I've been deep in thought, and the car has been practically driving itself, so I'm actually surprised when I realize I'm pulling into Carl's driveway. I'm equally surprised when I notice there's another car already there. It's a familiar car, a sharp little Mercedes-Benz 2-door sedan, but it's unexpected. I raise my eyebrows, exit my own car, and head for Carl's front door. It's open, except for the screen, as usual. The windows are open, and the sounds of fans are running inside. Carl likes it hot. There's music playing from the rear of the house, but it's not Carl's usual selection. I recognize "Make Me Feel," by Janelle Monae. Very un-Carl-like. I slip off my clothes and lay them on the arm of a living room chair, and pad towards the back.

Past the kitchen, Carl's house has a sunken den, which he has converted into a fully equipped gym. No commercial gym can give a better workout. It's the source of the music, and it's also the source of the familiar, pungent smell of sweat, and sex. Carl is in the middle of the squat rack, sitting on the bench, darkly tanned and naked as usual. His arms are slightly raised and positioned forward, not to lift a weight, but to wrap around the flawless black ass of the most beautiful woman I know. Her smooth mound is leaning forward, her lower lips against his lips and tongue, and he's licking and sucking happily while he kneads her ass with his hands. They're oblivious to my presence, and I'm awed by the sight. Sonia is dark black, with smooth, luminous skin, high cheekbones, perfect lips, slightly Asian eyes, and very short curly hair that covers her round skull like a well-tended carpet. She's about my height, and a natural, muscular athlete, built like a cheerleader or a gymnast, which she was in college. I love Sonia, but I can't watch for long. I have a cunt full of Taylor's cum, and the view in front of me is threatening to flush it out amidst my own juices. Fortunately, I don't have to. Sonia quickly goes from rapid panting to a full-voiced, moaning orgasm. It sounds as nice as it looks, and now I don't have to feel guilty about interrupting.

"Hi guys," I announce cheerfully. "I hope you have something left over for me!"

"Tethys!" Sonia comes bouncing over as fast as her rubbery legs will carry her, while Carl stands with a bit of a sheepish look on his face. "You're just in time! Carl's already fucked me once, but he says he won't cum in me until you've had your turn. He says you have a tradition. Do you really have Taylor's cum in you now?"

She grabs me in a big, sweaty hug, and we share a sweet tasting kiss. There's a little bit of pre-cum in her mouth that I can taste, but no major ejaculate.

"I sure do, and it's Carl's job to fuck it out of me. I hope he's ready, because I am. And what are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you!"

"I should have told you," she hangs her head and I see the faintest shade of a pout. "But I didn't plan it, really. It just suddenly hit me that I wanted to see this gym you guys were talking about, and I need to start working out regularly, and hey! I want to go with you guys to Hippie Hollow, if that's ok. I haven't been out there in forever, and I'm jealous of you guys getting all that naked sun. I'm not going back to work for a few weeks, and I don't want to be sitting around all day and not doing anything productive. If I can get back in shape and hang out with good friends, that's will be productive!

Sonia and Carl only met last Wednesday, somebody's moving fast to have achieved the status of "good friends." But I approve. I'd been wanting them to meet for months now, I knew she would adore Carl. She took to him quite readily on Wednesday.

"I'd love that!" I answer sincerely. "Carl, you held off cumming in that beautiful woman for my benefit? You're a hero and a saint, and I hope you don't feel like waiting any more!"

I step down onto the sunken floor, and move towards Carl's waiting arms. His cock is already at full attention, and it's gorgeous. He's often sweaty when I arrive, but it's from starting his workout early. He lifts harder and longer than I'm capable of, but he's been doing it for many years. I'm only two years in to my weight training. Today, though, his sweat has a different source, and it also has a noticeably different scent. Not that I don't like this one just as well.

"Carl," I intone huskily as we wrap our arms around one another. "I have a cunt full of another man's cum. I need you to push it all out and replace it with a cunt full of yours."

Sometimes Carl doesn't take me right away. Sometimes he makes me go through a set of bench presses or squats before he fucks the cum out of me, just to challenge my holding ability. Today, we both want to take care of sexual business first. He turns me and bends me over, my hands resting on the safety bar at the side of the squat rack, and Sonia takes a position directly in front of me, giving her hands access to my front and her lips access to mine. I just need the barest of moisture around my outer lips, and Carl's abundant precum takes care of that. A few seconds of his oozing cockhead slipping up and down along my slit, and Sonia's sexy cooing and delicious kissing, and all friction has disappeared. Carl pushes all the way into me, and I hear the gurgling sound of Taylor's fully-thinned semen frothing onto his shaft, and feel the wetness of it splashing off of his testicles onto my clit.

There's no gentle lovemaking here, that's rare enough from Carl anyway, and now he's already worked up from having fucked Sonia earlier without release. It doesn't matter, because I'm worked up too, and Sonia's hands, sliding along my breasts, tweaking my nipples, and reaching down between my legs to catch droplets of mixed Tethys and Taylor, and bringing them back up again for me to taste, are adding an extra urgency to my fire. There will be plenty of time for more skillful fucking later, right now we all want everything we can get immediately.

A few minutes of cunt-pounding, squealing, grunting, sweating, girl-kissing fury, and Carl's liquid passion can no longer be held back. He has been saving it, Sonia has driven him to the edge, and his glands have been working overtime. There a huge initial spurt, and then several long, warm voluminous pulses, as the last of Taylor's stored jism is completely obliterated by Carl's gusher.

"Ooh, I gotta get this on record!" Sonia gasps, and she runs to her purse and pulls out her phone before Carl has had a chance to pull out of me. When he does, he withdraws slowly, his cock glistening, and Sonia has the camera in full closeup mode. My knees are weak and shaky, and it's all I can do to stay on my feet, even with most of my weight resting on my hands, grabbing the bar on the side of the rack.

Sonia takes advantage of my state, and there's no competition from me as she slurps Carl's shaft into her mouth and cleans it until all of the glisten on it is from her saliva. The camera stays busy, and the couple of stray drops of cum that drip from my pussy are captured for posterity.

"Ready to start with bench press?" Carl is ready to go after a few more quick gasps. "Sonia will probably want to get some shots of that too!"

"Yeah, right. I'm gonna set a couple of records right now," I'm a little sarcastic, but as long as the bar's not loaded too heavily I think a couple of bench press sets might be a good way to turn my sexual breathlessness into something more focused. I straighten up, and Carl positions the bench in the proper position inside the rack. The bar is already on the hooks as I lay down -- at least I get to start out laying down. He slides a couple of ten pound plates down the sleeves, and secures them with collars. I have 65 pounds above me. Not a bad starting weight for me.

Last Saturday I had held Taylor's cum in me through all the bench press sets before Carl fucked it out of me. Today, I'm in no shape to hold anything inside while lifting weights. Sonia takes up position between my legs, camera at the ready. I'm sure my pussy is well coated and shiny.

Carl stands over my face, in the spotter's position. God, I love that view! Carl's face isn't handsome in the same standard way that Taylor's is. I call him "My Denisovan." He's got a real Homo sapiens chin, but there's a lot to his face that strikes me as archaic, even primitive. His forehead slopes noticeably into his shaved, shiny scalp, there's even a bit of a brow ridge, his face is wide and big boned, his nose broad and prominent, his eyes a little small and beady. Even so, it has its charm. But it was his physique that I first noticed about him, and still do. A body to make a Greek god blush, to make Arnold swear off steroids. And no, Carl doesn't use any enhancements beyond vitamins and creatine. Rare genetics and years of hard work have built a physique that I consider flawless. He's not like the swollen, injected monsters you see on the professional bodybuilding circuit, more like the old school, Steve Reeves, Reg Park, Vince Gironda, Clancy Ross. I'd never heard of any of these guys, except Arnold, until Carl introduced me to them from old pictures and articles. I know them now, and I agree with him that they set the real standard for masculine muscular perfection. Like them, he carries a big chest and shoulders, slender waist, tight stomach, and nice round ass.

From my perspective, laying on the bench, with him hovering just past my head, his muscular assets are largely blocked by a close-up image of another unusual and attractive asset. It's not dangling above me, it never dangles. His cock always projects outward a bit, it doesn't get completely flaccid like all the others I've seen. It's large, but not disproportionately so. Unlike Taylor's flat-topped "Flight Deck," Carl has what I call a "Rocket Cock." The shaft is almost perfectly round, with little of the prominent veining I often see. Its thickness is consistent over almost its entire length. There's a slight dip just behind the glans, which with it's intact foreskin then widens out before tapering down to almost a conical point, much like a nose cone. The effect is even more pronounced when he's hard, because the foreskin doesn't spontaneously retract, it just looks even more like a rocket thrusting skyward. At the moment, it's still a little engorged, and projects underneath the bar as he hovers his hands just over it.

At the base of his cock, two streamlined testicles complete the impression. These are unusual too, in that there's no big hanging scrotum. His balls are neat and tucked close into his crotch, seemingly attached to the base of his shaft like drop tanks under a jet fighter, or solid boosters on a rocket. I've never seen anything like it, and it never fails to fascinate me. He never objects to my frequent close inspections of the whole assembly.

His form is even more striking for me due to his complete hairlessness, other than eyebrows. I've always preferred bald pubes, and now that I'm enjoying women I have extended that preference to them. Very early on, Carl and I decided that if we were going to ditch the pubic hair, we'd go all out and get rid of all of it. Now, part of my playtime with Carl is shaving his entire body and scalp three times a week. Even his eyebrows get a reasonable trimming. The result is a smooth, sculptured bronze god, whose every movement and every touch turns me on intensely.

I can't muse on viewing pleasure at the moment, I have a bar to lift. It's not a hard weight, more like a minimal working set. There will be more and harder sets to follow. I wrap my fingers around the bar just outside of the beginning of the knurl. My eye is still drawn straight up to Carl's overhanging penis, but with concentration, I grip properly and lift the bar up over the hooks. Carl moves his hands up and backs off half a step. I'm aware of Sonia hovering between my thighs with the camera.