Pima Punishment Lodge

Author: lithium500mg
Title: Pima Punishment Lodge
Date: 01 April 2016

Pima Punishment Lodge

I’m a clean-cut kid, played ball since I was 8, grew to 6’6”, had two years of college, and am now earning money for the next two. Bjorn and I are getting in shape at the Arizona Diamondbacks’ winter camp. That’s near where I was stripped, bound and suspended from the rafters of the punishment lodge. The camp sits on Native American land, Pima-Maricopa land. Bjorn and I were observed relieving ourselves on sacred ground near Salt River Field where winter baseball is played.

It didn’t occur to me that there would be consequences, and, of course, all desert ground looks alike to me. Someone noticed, I don’t know who, but it was likely a young Pima working for the ball club. A few days later I was kidnapped by a gang of four or five young men after batting practice. They jumped me and got me to the ground. One yanked a heavy buckskin bag over my head while the others stripped off my baseball gear, leaving me stark naked.

The manhandling was rough. An arm around my neck was my first focus. When my jersey was pulled back and off, my arms were drawn away from my neck. The undershirt was ripped off, and my baseball pants pulled down to my ankles, mostly immobilizing my legs. They held me until the air was just about gone out of the bag and I stopped resisting. I could breathe a little when I wasn’t expending much energy.

I felt my shoes and socks coming off, then the pants, then the sliding shorts, and finally the cup. They took a while removing the last of the gear, my athletic supporter and cup. I use extra-large protection since my cock and especially my balls are overly large, even for my Nordic build. Apparently these guys had not seen one of these plastic protective devices before.

Not much of my yelling exited the deerskin bag and my protests were further muffled by my struggle to get air. Rather quickly, rawhide pinned my elbows, arms and wrists behind my back, forcing my chest out. More rawhide joined my ankles, knees and thighs. They completed the super hog-tie by joining my ankles and wrists, and further immobilized me by connecting front and back to a wide leather strap, like a weightlifter’s belt, around my waist.

With the restricted air supply, I wasn’t capable of fighting the attack. Rawhide knots seemingly as large as golf balls violently entered my butt, perhaps four or five. Finally a rawhide tie was wrapped around my cock and balls, each end attached to the waist strap and sealing in the butt-filling knots.

When they removed the bag, my protests were halted by more rawhide, a gag with a large ball-knot that filled my mouth. “Quetzalcoatl” one of them said. My blond pubic hair seemed to fascinate one or two of these guys. One pulled hairs slowly out of my squeezed and protruding balls and looked closely to confirm their golden color down to the roots.

There was no leader among my kidnappers, but one told me of the defiled ground that must be re-sanctified. Punishment for defiling sacred land is severe. I must be attached to the ground and consecrate it with my blood and my pain. When I heard this, I started to squirm, but it only tightened the rawhide strip circling my cock and balls. My butt felt like the belly-to-back rawhide strip would cut it in two.

Three of the men dumped my hog-tied body into the bed of a pickup truck, two of whom accompanied me while the others drove into Pima-Maricopa land. On the move they stripped down to their breechcloth-and-moccasin native apparel. I began to feel a lot of pain in my pinned-back shoulders and I thought less about pain in my balls and butt. What I wasn’t expecting was getting hard; I got a raging and unrelenting boner.

The punishment lodge is well inside the reservation, a place where only tribe members are allowed. When we arrived and while I was still in the bed of the truck, two tribal men inserted a pole between the waist belt and my back. I was lifted up and out of the truck suspended from the pole. I remember hoping they wouldn’t drop me, which would have smashed my cock and balls good.

The punishment lodge was a circular log building with dirt floors and log rafters about 20 feet above ground. The entire floor was bare except for a fire pit and two vertically-set lodge poles, each about four feet high and notched at the top. A few of the stronger bucks lifted me up and placed the pole into the notches, suspending me with my head hanging down. I was swinging slightly and frightened that the pole would come out of the notches. I was afraid I was going to fall, so I tried to remain still. Other than my head, I was an immovable package. The suspension tightened my bonds even more, and my balls and boner felt ready to explode.

Once I gathered myself, I could move my head and look around the lodge. I saw maybe 30 tribal members, all young fit bucks dressed only in breechcloths and moccasins, all sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor. They were certainly not all full-blooded Native Americans, and I thought I might have recognized one as part of the practice team. I also could see my cock and balls squeezed out and vulnerable to abuse, castration, or worse. If my butt hadn’t been jammed with balls of knotted rawhide, I would have crapped right there on the pole.

A tribal member I’ll call “Chief” eventually rose and came up to me. He called me by my given name. “Your pain will soon be lessened as the drugs implanted into your body take hold.” As I later found out, each knot shoved up my butt had a different natural medicine. One forced a boner, another diverted pain, and another was something like a truth drug. The two remaining knots, derived from Pima-Maricopa mushrooms, magnified dreams.

Punishment began. The near-naked tribal members lined up in a circle around the lodge, each with a small branch from the Palo Verde tree. They approached me, one at a time, and struck me with their switch, each striking a blow down first on one of my protruding butt cheeks, then the other. They returned to their circle. Again, one at a time, they approached me, striking my chest twice from below, and returned to their circle. Both my butt and chest bled from the skin-breaking swats. Finally, they each returned and struck my balls, once on each side of my erection.

To say I was in agony after the last round is about right although the drugs somewhat dulled all but the testicle pain. I bit down hard on the rawhide gag to survive.

After the corporal punishment was completed, I was lowered off the two posts, the pole was slipped out of my rawhide bonds, and my arms and legs released from the hog tie. I was on the ground and did not move – because I could not move. The blood was just coming back to my joints and filling my arms and legs, and the cuts and bruises on my butt and chest were just deciding to maximize their sting. There was no strength to resist the next part of the punishment.

Just about the time I gathered the strength to move my hands down to my groin to help relieve the agony in my balls, my arms and wrists were tied together, ropes tied to my ankles, and I was hoisted hands-over-head up into the rafters. When I reached near the top, the long ankle ropes pulled my legs apart, leaving my still-crimped cock and balls hanging free with the unrelenting erection. The opening of my legs made me feel like the five rawhide knots could be released from my butt, but they were sealed in tight.

It wasn’t long until the shroom-extract up my butt began working. I started to hallucinate about the same time the members holding the ankle ropes began running in a circle. The combination of spinning, psychoactive “medicine”, stinging pain in my chest and butt, and ball agony, wiped my mind clean. I woke up, stretched out naked, at the defiled sacred site.

I was spread-eagled flat over the plot of land I had used for relief. It was dark and quiet, probably after midnight. As my mind cleared and my eyes could focus better, I could make out my situation using the quarter-crescent moonlight. My body had been cleaned, what I later learned was a kind of ritual-wash performed prior to sacred proceedings.

My bare butt was on the ground. When I squeezed my butt-sphincter, I could tell the knots had been removed. I lifted my head and saw that my cock and balls were tied tight. I was relieved there was no erection. At first, I thought I was alone, but soon I saw the silhouettes of the tribal members all around me. Lifting my head was a signal, resulting in a rawhide gag that completely filled my mouth.

The tribal guys had shed their breechcloths and moccasins for the ceremony. Naked men now pinned my whole body to the ground using more stakes and rawhide strips. One strip at the Adams Apple was enough to immobilize my head, and seven or eight bound my chest. Two strips in particular were just above and below my nipples. The rawhide strips tended to open the wounds on my chest, and I thought I could feel fresh blood running to the ground. More strips immobilized my elbows, thighs and knees.

While speaking a native language and using two small sticks, two of the naked men squeezed each of my nipples enough to draw tears. When my nips were rolled to sufficient length, two smaller sticks were skillfully tied together at the base to maintain the new dimension. I thought I heard “Quetzalcoatl” again. A one-inch fish bone was used for the initial nipple penetrations. The sharp end broke the skin, and the bone was pushed through, leaving me with first one horizontal piercing, then another. I was biting down hard on the gag.

Two-inch hawk bones followed. The insertion was not gentle, and I partly dislocated my jaw biting the rawhide mouth plug. When it was over, the naked tribals backed away and sat, cross-legged, around me in a circle. There was a rhythmic chant coming from the circle.

As the pain mellowed, I had a weird feeling. Even though I was fully immobilized with my bound cock and balls pointing to the stars, I felt proud that I had endured the ritual torture of the last few hours. I even wanted to stick out my chest, but the rawhide still held it tight to the ground. I had been manly and not begged for mercy, although, with my mouth full of leather, the latter opportunity did not present itself.

Perhaps an hour later, the tribals finished their near-silent prayer-songs, and moved closer to me. Their next focus was my groin. My dick and balls were pulled up and out from the rawhide cock ring so that the whole package was loose and flopping but still gathered together.

I felt fish bones penetrating the scrotum, one after another. The pain was less than what I had already been through, more of a horribly bad sting. In fact it was almost stimulating. The bones just penetrated and then exited the skin. Hawk bones followed. Two naked bucks executed the piercings while a third held my cock out of the way. The two were experts, inserting the bony spines and bones in quick sequence. The stimulation of my dick combined with the action on my balls overwhelmed the discomfort of the piercings, and I got hard.

Fortunately, the work on my scrotum was ending since the filling of my dick reduced the slack in the skin. I couldn’t see, but I could feel the boner quickly rising. When they were finished, the secondary rawhide bonds were cut, and the un-clothed aboriginals moved back to their cross-legged circle. I could finally raise my head to see their work.

The moon had risen some, and the bright desert moonlight was enough for me to observe the objects of my torture. I lifted my head up from my now four-point spread eagle. I knew at once. The long white bones bored through my nipples looked tough. I loved them! They looked great! I didn’t care about the pain they were giving me. I loved the bones in my balls too. My balls still hurt from hours of abuse, but, like my nips, I was keenly aware they were part of me.

Maybe it was the hallucinogens that opened my mind. Maybe they allowed me to realize I hated being the clean-cut kid. Or maybe clean-cut kids can have some body decoration. The nipple bones were huge. They stuck out almost an inch on each side. The new-dried blood from the chest wounds made me feel heroic and brave. I looked like a blond savage. My dick got harder and harder.

I pulled up off the ground a little more and viewed my cock and balls, still confined by rawhide. The swelled cock tightened the ball skin so that I could see the squeezed-out pincushion that it contained. Perhaps a dozen bones about an inch long were held in place by a quarter inch of scrotal skin. The decoration of this body part made my balls look like an ornament. It looked good and made me wonder how my dick would look similarly pierced and adorned. Brief consideration buried that thought.

An hour or so passed while the naked tribal men quietly sang and chanted. My body was aching more and more, partly from just the immobility, and my dick eventually became soft. I was probably in a mixed rational/hallucinogenic mode, but I started to consider what I wanted to do in the next few days. I hoped my retribution would end, and I would be freed. I lay quietly, as any movement irritated the wounds on my chest and on my butt. Would removing the bones hurt? Did I want to wear the bones?

As I was just beginning to organize my thoughts, the tribal members cut me loose, removed the stakes from the hallowed ground, and began their cleanup. The cock-and-ball strip of rawhide remained. I moved very slowly, first because of the wounds on my chest and butt. Before I got to my feet I checked out the nipple and scrotal piercings, playing a little with both to see how much discomfort tweaking them would bring. Not too much. One of the naked men gave me some water out of a hollowed-out piece of wood, and something to eat. I’m not sure what the food was, perhaps a mixture of meat and grain.

When I got to my feet, I noticed at once that the scrotal piercings rubbed a little against my inner thighs, even when gathered with my dick. The fresh wounds hurt a little, but made me acutely aware that I had balls, and I liked that. I pulled very lightly on one of the nipple bones and found that it was not going to easily slip out. I left everything alone.

As things got a little more normal, I assessed my condition. I was totally naked, had scabs all over my chest and ass, had a zillion bones sticking out of my balls and nips, and didn’t have a key to the stadium locker room that wasn’t far away. My unexpected comfort with the procedure for sanctifying the small plot of land started to shift to immediate and practical issues like “how do I get home.” Just then, one of the bucks, I’ll call him “Leader,” came up to me and invited me back to the reservation. I said “yes” almost before he finished the offer.

Almost immediately the naked men all stood up, surrounded me and, very softly, chanted “Quetzalcoatl.” At the time, I thought that this was a Pima or Maricopa word for something like “welcome” or maybe “brother.” My knowledge of Aztec mythology is now better. I later learned that what attracted them was my large and fit frame, intense virility and body-wide blond hair.

The men got unnaturally close to me and started stroking my junk, causing ball pain but also forcing a quick erection. I didn’t know what to do. Should I start stroking dicks? I knew that I didn’t want to cum anywhere near sacred ground, but anyway, my balls didn’t feel in the same mood as my dick. I touched a few aboriginal cocks including Leader’s, but it was soon clear that, while OK, that wasn’t the protocol. All the dicks I touched were soft.

Next, I asked Leader if the thong binding my genitals could be removed. I needed a knife to sever the rawhide. He didn’t answer. I noticed, however, that walking bowlegged with my package collected and moved forward avoided painful interaction of the fresh scrotal wounds and my thighs. Walking to the truck, however, was itself painful since my bare feet were not used to walking on rough ground.

When we got to the truck, the tribal men donned their breechcloths and moccasins, but I was not offered any covering. I also could not deflate my erection – either the food or the water I was given contained the relevant medicine, and plenty of it. I stood in the middle of the bed of the truck with the others at my feet for the trip to the reservation. The butt wounds were still not healed sufficiently for me to sit without considerable pain.

The truck stopped at the punishment lodge, and the natives got out. I was standing alone in the bed of the truck, and hesitant to get off. I remembered my experience of getting off the truck by being transported hanging off a pole into the lodge. Shortly, Leader came up to me, his face cock high, and invited me down off the truck. He told me I was being offered membership in the tribe.

I would get a tribal breechcloth and moccasins, and a tribal name: Nopaltzin. I had passed the required rituals of pain, endurance, virility and bravery. I wasn’t sure what joining the tribe meant, but I couldn’t go back to baseball for a while, anyway. I gave it a little thought. I accepted.

For the first time since my freedom, there was plenty of light to fully illuminate my naked newly-pierced body. No clothes, no money, no friends, caked blood and dirt all over, four inches of bone in my nipples, cock and balls tied, a dozen bones sticking out of my testicles, raging boner.

My cock got harder and harder. I never dreamed life could be so raw and brilliant. I thought of Bjorn.