My Favorite Provider
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The Provider free porn video
‘Where to do you go, Son of Waru? We are preparing for the hunt.’
Tewaru walked on by his father, as if he didn’t even realize the elder was standing there at the door of the hut. Waru knew that look about his son, knew that there was no reaching him when he was in one of his trances like this. It crushed the village chieftain’s spirit to see his son, who in every respect was the natural ascendant to the chieftain position, in such a deranged state. He had tried to keep this behavior of his son from the rest, knowing that both Malru and Tadru were poised, just waiting for any sign of weakness from Waru and his clan that they could exploit to wrest power and make themselves the chieftain. Imagine what they would do if they learned that Waru’s son was a shirker.
A shirker. That’s what Waru had to admit to himself that Son of Waru was. Not just in the hunt and working in the fields, but where it was more important—on the mat in his hut, producing more sons for the clan. And this was something Waru could not keep a secret for very long.
Tewaru was well formed—the most handsome of the men in the village, and magnificently built. He had, as all could see, the mightiest phallus. It was on this that Waru had maintained his position even when Malru and Tadru had seen that he himself lagged in the hunt and no longer had the carrying power he once had. Tewaru, the promise of the village’s future, the one with the phallus that all of the village women wanted to mount and to steal the seed of and bring new life into the village from. And yet, even though he had been given his own hut, as far as Waru knew, Tewaru had not ridden any of the village women to procreation yet.
And he could not keep this secret for long. The women would talk. Because they had been doing everything they could to cajole Tewaru to lie with them. Even if, the gods forbear, Tewaru preferred to ride the phallus himself, he was not a dunce. He knew what his position and responsibilities were—what his own clan required for its very survival.
And yet, here, when he was called to the hunt, he was walking in the other direction instead—and not responding to the touch of the village women as he passed. Almost like he was in a trance.
And these trances of Tewaru’s were yet another worry for the father. It was almost more frightful to Waru that Tewaru may prove to be a seer. They already had a seer in the village—a man not to be trifled with, a man who had come second to Waru in the choosing time when the old chieftain died and who would not be pleased at the thought of another seer in the village, and especially not one of Waru’s clan.
Waru could only stand there and watch what had been the promise of his clan—their hedge on position and existence—walk through the village, all eyes turned to him—in admiration for his comeliness, his magnificent body, and the swing of his low-hanging phallus, but also with the edge of a question, sensing there was something not quite right, a rising fear that the delicate balance of power and serenity in the village was in danger—the sneers on the faces of Malru, Tadru, and the seer a signal of struggles and strife to come.
This close to the beginning of time, when societies were only starting to organize and to learn to assert their control over their surroundings and, barely, to harvest enough of the bounty of the land to sustain expansion of their numbers, the balance was all important. But this was also the time for the discovery of ambition and the desire to control the lives of others.
Tewaru walked as if in a trance out of the village and along the beaten path to the stream cascading down the side of the mountain from above the village to sea, just beyond the verge of trees from where the village was moved the previous season to hide itself from marauders from the sea. With each season, the village of Waru was becoming more adept at sustaining itself and not just surviving, but prospering.
He walked until he heard the voice of the stream, calling to him, singing to him. The singing waters were calling to him so seductively and with such ringing tones that Tewaru could not understand why the other young men of the village did not hear it. But they did not, the song was only for him.
He stood in the pool below the falls and listened to the seductive singing of the cascading waters. He felt the drops of the water caressing his body, making love to him. And his phallus became a mighty club and his breathing became labored. He was moaning to the tune of the falling waters, which beckoned him to lie down in the pool. He did so, and the current of the stream rolled along his body and began to carry him down toward the sea. The stream deepened and he floated in yet another pool as he lay, face down, suspended in time without the need to breathe, in the water. Fishes rose to him and surrounded his body, and they made love to him. They thrashed about him, in increased urgency and abundance, until he was in the middle of a teaming mass of fish, sweeping over and around his body. Caressing his ramrod-hard phallus and lapping at his sensitive balls. Making love to him, and urging him, in turn, to give them his seed—which, in time, he did, with a mighty cry of release, the milky treasure spreading inside the teeming swarm of fish.
Spent now, he rolled onto his back and let the current carry him down to the sea, where, from the foam of the surf, he rose and walked slowly back to the village.
Tewaru was exhausted when he reached the village and walked with measured steps to the entrance to his hut. Standing there were Waru and a beautiful young maiden, plump and ready and tremblingly willing for mounting.
With a tired wave of his hand, though, Tewaru just waved the maiden away.
‘How can you not do this, Son of Waru?’ the chieftain asked, his voice full of pain and on the edge of anger. ‘You have duties. You know what is expected and what will happen if you do not.’
‘I cannot, sire,’ Tewaru answered, his voice faltering as if he had no strength. ‘I have no seed to give.’
‘No seed to give?’ Waru asked, incredulous. And then he smiled. ‘So, you have been mounting maidens in the pool? All is good then.’
‘I have given my seed at the stream, yes, father.’
‘And which of the maidens . . .’
‘I know not,’ Tewaru answered. ‘I only know that I am drained. And that I must rest.’
‘I wish to . . .’
But then Waru’s attention was called elsewhere, as the village’s fisherman returned to the beaten gathering ground in the center of the village, all laughter and cries of joy and delight.
Waru turned to find them weighed down with strings of the largest fish Waru had ever seen.
From the group, out stepped Tadru, master of the fisherman, who announced with pride and gloating, ‘See, Waru, see what I and my sons have done? Cast your wondering eyes on fish the size and number of which we have never before seen in the village? We will feast tonight and there will be enough for the women to dry and feed us well until the next harvest of our field.’
Waru viewed the celebrating—and what had caused it—with mixed emotions. It surely was a great boon for the village. But it also was a great boon for the clan of Tadru. He could only look on with a smile on his face and a hand gripping at his heart as Tadru called forth all of the villagers to the gathering ground.
‘Come, come one and all,’ Tadru was trumpeting. ‘Come see what the clan of Tadru has done for the village.’
Waru turned to appeal to his son to step up to his responsibilities and his potential before it was too late, but Tewaru had already withdrawn into his hut and was sinking from this world into one of his own in an exhausted sleep.
* * * *
‘It is coming,’ Waru called out from the center of the gathering ground as he pointed to the sky. Massive gray clouds were scuttling across the sky from over the top of the mountain,
from somewhere inland. Looking out to sea, Waru could see that the clouds had awakened the waters and they were screaming angrily and reaching out for the sands at the verge of the sea.
Waru knew these signs. It was one reason he had moved the village inland. But had he moved it in far enough? At this moment if seemed like he had not.
Villagers were scurrying around, gathering up treasures that the gods of the winds were already trying to take possession of. Waru almost commanded them to stop and look to saving themselves only, as the winds, perhaps to intercede for his people and to assuage the anger of the sea, were carrying everything toward the sea.
He was unsure of himself, but even in his fear and doubt he knew he could show no faltering now. He needed two men. He needed the seer and he needed his destiny, his son, beside him as assurance to the villagers that the clan of the Waru would stand by and guide them safely into the next life.
He called. The seer appeared at his side, but Tewaru, Son of Waru, was nowhere to be found.
The seer made a circle in the sand in the center of the gathering ground and began his incantations of calming the gods of the scuttling gray clouds, as Waru directed the collection of the villages most valuable possessions—the fishing implements of the Tadru clan and the farming and harvesting implements of the Malru clan—and commanded the movement of the villagers farther up on the mountain side.
‘And where is Son of Waru, old man?’ shouted the seer, momentarily leaving off his incantations to sneer his accusation. He could see as well as Waru could that Tewaru was not there.
‘I have sent Son of Waru to the sands to plead on our behalf with the gods of the sea,’ Waru answered indignantly. It wasn’t true and the seer knew it wasn’t true, but the seer did not feel quite powerful enough at the moment to challenge Waru. If he was able to calm the gods of the clouds and winds, though, he knew he would gather power—maybe enough power to rise to the position that should have been his already.
‘Take the villagers up onto the mountain, then, old man,’ he said. ‘I will stay here and intercede with the gods of the clouds and winds.’
He watched until the last straggler was beyond the fringe of scrub on the path winding up the mountain—and then he sought out the sturdiest hut he could find and hid from the gods there under a matting of palm fronds.
Meanwhile, at the top of the mountain, Tewaru stood, tall and stretched out, as the gods of the winds and clouds had commanded him to do. He held his arms out in supplication, while the wind whipped around his body, taking and raising his phallus, filling it out, and making love to his body with its swirling drafts. The magnificent young man groaned and moaned at the seduction of the wind on his body, his legs and arms spread wide, and his hips undulating to the moaning of the wind currents. Until, with a great cry, he released his seed to the winds. At that very moment, the gray clouds veered off to the east of the land and were gone, taking with them the strong winds, as quickly as they had appeared over the mountain.
When Waru and the villagers returned to the village, the seer was standing, arms upraised, singing the praises of the success of his incantations, in the center of the circle in the gathering ground. He gave a triumphant stare at Waru as he entered the gathering ground and then both he and Waru turned and followed the entrance of Tewaru into the village from the mountain with their eyes—Waru in dismay and despair and the seer with the gaze of victory.
‘I do believe the sands by the sea are not in that direction,’ the seer said in the sweetest tones he could call forth.
Waru did not answer. He turned and walked toward Tewaru, as the young man, body deflated, barely able to drag himself down the mountain, struggled toward his hut.
‘Come, Son of Waru,’ the chieftain said. ‘There is much work to be done to put the village right again.’
‘I cannot, I am sorry, sire,’ Tewaru responded in a weak voice. ‘I am worn to the quick and can only sleep.’
Tears sprang to Waru’s eyes, and he turned to where neither his son or the seer could see his expression. He felt the power and balance slipping away from him. And he was in despair, as he knew that neither the seer nor Malru nor Tadru could protect the lives and prosperity of the villagers as he could.
* * * *
‘At the morning’s light, We will begin the harvest of the field,’ Malru, master of the planting, muttered to Waru by the fireside in the shadows of the gathering ground. ‘We will need all of the villagers there. It should take no more than two cycles of the sun, as I have reckoned from my survey of the field. Will you be there?’
‘Yes, yes, I will be there. Of course I will be there.’
‘And that whelp of yours? The one who never does anything in the village. Tewaru. Will he be there too?’
‘Yes, of course he will be there.’ Waru could not keep the hurt out of his voice.
‘We shall see,’ Malru said. Then he laughed and rose and left the embattled chieftain alone with his misery.
After a moment, Waru too rose and, by a circuitous route so that no would take note, approached his son’s hut. He wanted an assurance of his own that Tewaru would be at the harvest. It was vital that he was. The other elders and the seer were closing in on them like beasts of the forest. With each passing day, Waru was more and more worried about maintaining the peace and the balance in the village.
But Tewaru was not in his hut.
Instead, Tewaru was out in the field, stretched out on his belly. The vines of the field entwined his body, encasing him from head to toe. And the vines were moving, undulating over him, moving his body in a rhythmic rise and fall, as his phallus was buried deep in the ground. For hours, the vines of the field moved his body and the ground opened to him to receive his seed. Again and again and again his body was teased and caressed to release its seed. And again and again Tewaru gave new life to the nourishing roots of the earth’s bounty. As Tewaru moaned and groaned—and cried out in passion with each release.
The next day, the villagers turned out for the harvest. And when they reached the field, they exclaimed in awe and delight at what the clan of the Malru had produced from them. Never before had there been such an abundance of food. The village was surely blessed by the gods—and by the hard work and faithful husbandry of the land by the Malru clan.
They harvested for five cycles of the sun. And on each day, Malru approached Waru with a sly look and asked where his son was. And on each day, Waru said he had sent his son to the mountaintop to thank the gods of the field for their blessing.
But both Waru and Malru knew Waru was not telling the truth.
And now Malru and Tadru and the seer each believed that he had gathered the blessing of the gods and the power of the villager’s respect and good will enough to challenge Waru for chieftain. Each was still immature enough in their understanding of ambition that they did not see the danger of the schemes and hopes of the other two wishful usurpers. They each had their eye directly on Waru, however.
And at Waru’s declaration on the fifth zenith of the sun that Tewaru was on top of the mountain, the three challengers, as one, stepped forward and called all of the villagers to return with them to the village and wait for Tewaru’s return.
As they knew would be the case, though, what they found in the village was a totally exhausted and spent Tewaru lying in his hut and snoring his life away.
As their raft was being pushed into the surf of the sea, the former chieftain, Waru, and the disgraced—and still weak from exhaustion—Tewaru, Son of Waru, looked back at the sands of the beach and beheld the three usurpers already beginning their struggle of personal power.
What fol
lowed for the newly named village of Pacru, after the former master of the hunt—the wiliest elder of the village, let the three usurpers destroy each other before he himself took on the cloak of village chieftain—were years of leanness, years of such famine and torment that eventually the village dwindled to dust. The fish disappeared from the stream, killing winds screamed down on the village and angered the gods of the sea, which rose up and covered the village, repeatedly with crushing waves and killing foam, and the vines of the field withered and died—as, slowly but relentlessly, did the villagers themselves.
And no one in the villager knew why or how this disaster had fallen on them.
Miles away, however, on an island teeming with game and food-bearing plants and caressed with the cooling breeze from the sea, a father increasingly came to realize the worth and virility of the son he now reverently called The Provider.
Wynona
- 16.12.2020
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