The Valley Below Ch. 01

Prelude to the Journal

As an anthropologist (well, still a student, I must admit) specializing in lost cultures, I was assigned to study the small tribe of people living in an isolated valley in southern Scandinavia. The valley itself was quite low in elevation, surrounded by mountains on all sides, like a gigantic crater. The tribe of people has been cut off, forgotten from modern society, until recently when the more sophisticated satellite imagery revealed rudimentary huts deep in the center of the valley.

My advisor told me of the assignment just the weekend before the start of my journal. I was already on my way there when I started writing, being guided by some half-dozen locals through the mountains that surround the valley. The reason for the short notice and quick departure: it was early October; when winter hits, the journey over the mountains would be too dangerous. It's not suited for vehicles (no roads have been constructed), so we had to travel on horseback, with a couple of mules carrying supplies. Already it had been three days since I'd seen anything resembling civilization.

My name is Jack. This is my journal of my, um, 'scientific adventure'.

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October 24th

The air is starting to get warmer, and not as thin. I'm glad we're over the highest point of this blasted mountain range. It's been rough. Those mountains seemed to go up and up forever. I'm glad we're finally starting to go downhill. Still snow on the ground where we're at, but not as much.

The local guides have been making inquiries. They want to know why a Ph.D student is being sent to an isolated valley. There's not much I can tell them, other than we think there might be an indigenous tribe of sorts there. They seem wary of my intentions, despite my assurances that this is a mission of peace. One of them was reminded of a rumor that some people living in a valley aren't....like us. Not sure if it was this valley he was referring to. Even on this side of the world, urban legends are abound, I thought.

October 25th

In the morning, we descended through a cloud layer, and the valley floor came into view below. They guides left me to the rest of the journey. I'm to meet them back at this spot (marked by a red flag on a metal steak in the ground) the first day of Spring. I led my mule downhill on foot.

October 26th

I didn't expect it to take a whole day to get to the valley floor from the red flag. It looked like only a couple hour hike, but the distance seemed to stretch the closer I got. The valley also seemed to open up and expand, imperceptibly slowly, as I descended. I made camp last night when it got dark. The morning light showed I was just at the bottom of the foothill. Finally, the valley floor!

After an hour or so I spotted a trail, carving its way through the green grasses. The valley floor had lazy rolling hills, divided by small streams of cool, refreshing water, spotted here and there with groves of trees. One of the species of trees looks completely foreign to me, although I'm no biologist, so I didn't think much of it. It had a strange fruit: think of a cucumber, but with a deep purple hue.

I was walking down one of the grass-covered hills when I spotted it in the late-afternoon light: a village! There were about twenty, umm, I'll call them huts, but they were fairly sophisticated-looking. Some, near the stream that split the village in two, even seemed to be two stories tall. They were made of wood, mud, and large leaves, but not like a third-world country hut you'd see in Afghanistan. They were more akin to the too-perfect huts on Gilligan's Island.

As I got closer, I saw some people walking around. They all have fair skin and either blond or brown hair or somewhere in between. They wear clothes that look to be made from sheep wool, hand woven and stitched. When I was about 100 yards out from the nearest hut, some began to spot me and my mule. As I got closer, the commotion in the village built, and everyone — about 30 people in all — came out to see me. I was very nervous, until I saw that most seemed to be smiling. I put up my left hand in a gesture of greeting, hoping it wasn't their form of a middle finger. They waved back (phew!), and just as I put my hand down a small child came running out from the crowd, her mother chasing after her to catch her. The child ran up to my mule, startling it so bad that it ran off with all my supplies. I started to chase after it when I heard someone say "Hey, wait!"

I was astounded. They spoke English? How could this be? I turned around and saw the child's mother walking up to me. She was breathtaking. This tribe of people evidently did not wear bras, for I could see the shape her large tits and nipples through her thin clothing. She was wearing what I could only describe as a large, baggy shirt that ended around her knees, below which were smooth legs with muscular, curvy calves.

After hanging my mouth open for what seemed like a minute, I asked "You speak English?"

"Yes, I do. Not many here do, but I've been teaching those who are willing to learn. I've been in this village for just one season but already one of the families is quite well spoken."

"Uh, wait, you mean you came from outside the valley too?"

"No, no, I go from village to village, as a teacher. There are twenty-four villages in this valley, this is just one. Where are you from?"

I had a million questions on my mind, but all I could do was answer her question. "Um...Nebraska. My name's Jack."

"Well, Jack of Nebraska, my name is Ephine of the village Khandure. This village here is called Tret. Sorry about my daughter spooking your mule away. I'm sure it will return soon enough. In the mean time, may I introduce the Haps family, the one I've been teaching English to. I'm sure they'll be willing to house you for the night, and we can look for your mule in the morning."

She gestured back to a group of four, who then approached. There was a tall man, built like a mountain, probably 6' 5" with big, rounded shoulders and short blond hair. Next to him, his wife, visibly older than her two children but still had a youthful energy to her. She was my height at six feet, had long brown hair, and was wearing a shirt like Ephine's but with no sleeves. Her perky breasts protruded the material obscenely. The son and daughter were probably aged 18 - 20, each looking like a slightly younger version of their parents.

As they walked towards me, I noticed they all had something swinging between their legs underneath the fabric.

"Hello," said the father and mother enthusiastically. "You're from outside?"

"Um...yes, outside the valley. I was sent here to...to study your people. I'm an anthropologist."

"Don't apologize!" said the father. Okay, they haven't learned the word anthropologist, I thought. Ephine gave out a knowing chuckle. "You're our best...uh our GUEST here! You will stay in us home."

By this time everyone else started to head back to their respective homes or places of work. The sun was starting to set over a mountain peak. Dang, it must get dark here early, I thought.

Ephine said her goodbyes, and gestured me to follow the Haps family (still didn't learn their first names...they must not have our culture of introduction that Ephine seemed to understand). Their home was situated at the opposite end of town. While passing through I noticed a variety of different huts: some were probably shops, a school, a trading post. Upon getting a closer look I was astounded at the sophistication: many had actual working doors on hinges, for example, including the Haps' hut.

We all walked inside. There was a large central room with a table and seating on the ground, Japanese style. Directly ahead and to either side were doorways to three rooms (no doors, though), for the parents and each child, I guessed. On the table in front of me was a meal, already prepared. My arrival must have interrupted their supper. There was some meat and rice, but I also noticed the strange, purple fruit was chopped up in a big pile in the center of the table, and more of the fruit hung on the walls. I wondered if they each kept a fruit in a waste band under their shirts, to explain the phallic bulges I had seen earlier.

They each sat down. "Come," said the mother, waving me over. I sat next to her, opposite the father, with the daughter on my right and son on my left. They sat on the low seats, butts on the padded pillows, feet crossed on the soft ground. The father reached to the plate of fruit, in doing so raising his knees up, and leaned to hand the plate to me. As I reached for the plate I saw up his dress/shirt momentarily, and saw the largest flaccid penis I've ever seen. It was dangling out of the bottom of his shirt, thick and uncut. Okay, they don't wear underwear. At least not him. Must just be the women with the fruits under their dress shirts. He sat back down with a huff. I quickly scooped off some of the fruit onto my plate and passed it to the mother sitting next to me. As I did, I noticed from this angle just how large and perky her tits were. Her erect nipples were pointing out and slightly up. Each of her breasts was probably as big as her head. I tore my eyes away from her tantalizing cleavage and back onto my plate.

We all ate in awkward silence. I think they knew their English wasn't very good. I was wolfing down the fruit — it was unlike anything I had eaten. It had a tough skin on the outside like an apple, but dark purple, and inside was a gradient of pink to the center. It tasted like a cross between a pineapple and a kiwi: mostly sweet, a little sour. I ate so much I forgot about the other food on the table, and was too full to continue.

The son said something to the father in their native language, and they both gave out a chuckle. Sensing my confusion, the father said "Good fruit! Good seed!" The mother snapped something at the father, but she had a slight smile on her face. The daughter was also smiling, shaking her head.

They spoke to each other some more in their native tongue, the father trying to play interpreter but I was barely keeping up. Fatigue had hit me like a brick, and after fighting it for a while I eventually gave out a long yawn. "Sleep," said the mother, "Sleep now," and led me to one of the rooms. The son gave a word of protest, earning a scolding from the father. It must be the son's room I'm staying in, I thought. The bed was slightly wider than a double size, on the far side of the room. As I stood in the doorway, they all said goodnight to each other (I'm guessing) and extinguished the torches. The mother and father went to one room, the sister to the room opposite, and the son walked past me into his (our) room. It was then that I noticed just how tall the son was, he probably had a good couple inches on his father.

I crawled into bed first and fell asleep almost instantly. It must have been a few hours later that I woke up in the middle of the night. I could clearly hear wet sounds of messy fucking coming from the parent's room through the open doorways. Occasionally I heard the muffled grunt of the wife, almost has if a hand was over her mouth. Mostly though, I was hearing a wet, sliding noise and the soft clapping of flesh on flesh. I was incredibly turned on, my seven inch erection straining in my pants. I desperately wanted to sneak a peek, but I was laying on the far side of the bed, the son right next to me, on his side facing me, so I'd have to crawl over him. Looking over at his large frame, I decided against it. I reached down to adjust the stiffy in my pants, and in doing so felt a warm softness against the back of my hand.

The son was fast asleep, but evidently was having a good dream. In my horny stupor I turned onto my side, facing him, and slowly lifted the wool sheet, letting the moonlight illuminate what was under the covers. His shirt had risen up to his waist in the night, and his cock was pointing up toward my chest, almost touching my sternum. It was as long as my forearm, I guessed, as thick as my wrist. There was clear precum coated all over the thick head, and both the sheet and cover was damp in a large area. About every fifth throbbing heartbeat, a big drop of fluid would pulse out of the big piss slit. I bent down to look down at his testicles. They were each as big as my fist, held in a thin-skinned, hairless sac. I got an unmistakable odor of penis, ball sweat and cum. I moved back to laying on my side, my head about even with his chest, still holding the top sheet with my right hand, exposing the area between us so I could further, um, study, his monstrous fuckstick. That's when I noticed the stains all over the sheets: dull yellow splotches on an otherwise white fabric.

His cock jerked toward his chest a bit, and just as it did a thick dollop of precum spit out onto the sheet, a small amount hitting my upper left arm. The head seemed to flare up, and die down slightly. Then another jerk, this time the precum hitting my left bicep and chest. I looked down, and noticed his scrotum tighten up. His piss slit opened up, clear fluid running out, and just as I realized his cockhead was pointing at my chest/neck area, an energetic spurt of thick, white jizz shot out, a solid stream as thick as my index finger and as long as his cock hitting me in the neck and drenching my upper chest. The next contraction, just as big, jerked his cock wildly, sending a thick stream up to my face. His warm blast of cum felt amazing, coating the entire left side of my face and spilling off onto the sheet. He slowly rolled onto his back as his orgasm continued, each violent jerk of his cock coating the inside sheet and getting us both wet and sticky.

He started to groan and drift out of his dream, so I laid on my back and pretended to be asleep. I could tell from the movement of the sheet that he was still coming, but nearing the tail end of the longest orgasm I've ever witnessed. A few seconds later, he awoke completely and, noticing the absolute mess he made, carefully removed the sheet and replaced it with a dry one (even though I was still laying in a viscous puddle of cum and my whole upper body was coated). I heard him whisper something to himself that I didn't understand, then almost as if to practice some more English, he softly said "water," and left the room. I then heard the front door to the house open and shut.

The wet sounds of fucking, which had gotten softer as the son was leaving the house in some effort to be discreet, picked back up again. I slowly got out of bed and crept over to their doorway. Peering in, I saw the couple passionately fucking on their bed.

The father was on his back, with the mother riding reverse cowgirl, facing the doorway, on the thick, long shaft. Her eyes were shut. She was obviously thoroughly enjoying her wet pussy getting impaled by the armcock. Each time she rose off the cock I could see that her pussy left the veiny shaft in a copious amount of fucklube. That's when I saw it in the dim light: just above her spread pussy lips, a thin but long cock of her own was pointing up, hard as a rock, reaching the undersides of her massive, bouncing tits.

"Holy fuck," I thought to myself, "does EVERYONE in this valley have a big dick?"