[CIRCUM] Flesh Harvest
**Frimaire**
He added his foreskin to the pile. Thirty-eight pounds of human flesh.
He hoped it would be enough to satisfy the Goddess.
His glans felt colder than usual without its skin sweater. He never got used to the circumcised feeling. The sensitivity. The chafing. The itching around the ring.
All he could hope is it would be worth it.
He remembered three years ago. When the Goddess was unhappy with the men's tribute. The food stores didn't last the winter.
His father died that winter.
The next year they lowered the required age. More men to make up for the dead. More foreskins to appease the Goddess.
He walked gingerly, trying not to anger his weeping penis.
**Ventose**
His penis had healed in about three weeks. It was still very sensitive.
His wife was demanding, and he appeased her as soon as he had healed.
She wanted a daughter to honor the Goddess. He had sired two sons with her, neither old enough to contribute to the pounds of flesh.
And she blamed him for it.
"You better plug that hole. I want all that seed." Her hand swatted her husband's ass, hard. And she felt his dick twitch within her.
All males had a hole burned into the base of their cock at the age of ascension. To remind men of the responsibility they had. The hole cauterized open, urine and semen would flow out of it unless the man held a finger over the aperture.
Every insemination was deliberate, with purpose. With food being a scarcity, mouths should only be brought into the world when the family could provide. When the community could provide.
The harvest of food would last the final month of winter. The harvest of flesh had appeased the Goddess.
He held his finger on his hole, and shot his seed into his orgasming wife. He would need to start stretching soon for the next flesh harvest.
**Floreal**
With proper stretching, his foreskin reached the ridge of his cock crown. He was happy. A few years ago he had stretched to soon, causing some scaring, and the town cleric made him start over again.
His glans had keratinized. Dry cracks on its surface. He winced at the loss, but was glad it wasn't nearly as sensitive. It would regain it when it was covered again. That was the point of the stretching.
The seeds had germinated well, and the weeds were battling for nutrients. If the rains kept up, and the summer wasn't too dry, the harvest would be truly bountiful. But one rarely kept their hopes up. The Goddess, like all women, was fickle. And could smite her children just as easily as she blessed them.
Each tug of the weeds reminded him of his tugging earlier that day. He had taped the skin to stretch it over his cock head. He had to regrow his foreskin by the fall harvest festival for the flesh reaping. And in a few years, he would have to start teaching his son how to stretch his.
He toiled in the field. The idle work almost allowed him to forget the ache of his cock.
**Messidor**
He stood, proud, in front of the mirror. His foreskin now rested over his glans without rolling back. It was a good place to be, a good feeling. Mating with his wife was starting to feel pleasurable for both of them. Still no daughter yet, but also no son to make her anger rise again.
A finger over the hole as he pissed in the field. Young boys weren't careful and let urine drip off their scrotum. Then suffered under the itching and chapped skin the urea salts made.
He wiped the tip of his cock off, and looked out at his field. The grains were tall and golden. They would be ready for harvest soon. The vines held immature fruit that would contribute much to the oils and spirits that made life worth living.
The Goddess had truly blessed them this summer. Perhaps she would bless them again.
He tucked his cock in his breeches, and went to tend the animals.
And perhaps he would tend to his wife tonight.
**Vendemiaire**
His hands were blistered from separating the chaff from the grain. His children worked hard on the vines. The harvest was upon them.
Even his wife was busy, making cheeses from the milk of the beasts in the barn.
Her belly was barely starting to show.
He dearly hoped for a girl. His wife wanted to bless the Goddess. Males were a burden, only good for farming and fucking, his mother would say. His wife had been of the same school, and enjoyed the latter much more than the former.
When they were younger, she allowed him to take her without covering his hole. Neither was ready to support a child. So his seed would leak from his hole and drip on the towel under his scrotum. An all natural birth control.
If the seed never enters the soil, it can never take fruit. Any farmer knew that.
He sat under the seed and pumped on his cock, remembering his young bride. His foreskin finally covered his head, and he was happy. He had almost regained full sensitivity. His wife would only take him when she wanted to be bred, and now that she was with child, he would be alone with his hand.
He covered the hole above his scrotum with his handkerchief and blew his load into it. Then he got back up to resume harvesting.
**Brumaire**
The collector had come. Allowed him to take his tithe, and packed the rest of the harvest on his wagon, riding to the storehouse.
His swelling wife glowed, but the child's mouth would not count to contribute to the house count until they were born. She always had a healthy appetite when she was pregnant.
For food though, not his seed. His handkerchief had seen a lot of action the past few months as his sensitivity grew. He now had a loose bunch of skin hanging off the tip of his manhood.
He would relish it in the quiet moments when the winds would blow outside. The almanac indicated the winter would be rough, and the insects would be bad next summer.
**Frimaire**
He added his foreskin to the pile. Thirty-one pounds of human flesh altogether.
He worried.