She blinked, caught off guard, her fingers pausing on my shaft. Her blush deepened, and she looked away for a mont, as if the question itself was foreign. "Enjoy it? I... I do not feel often," she murmured, her voice uncertain. "It’s not about feeling pleasure, Welheim. It’s duty. Sotis there’s a warmth, a fullness, but mostly it’s just... necessary. I do not heal often—like this, with my mouth—because injuries like yours are rare. But when I do, it’s the sa: functional, to make things right."
Her answer hung in the air, revealing the barren landscape of their intimate lives. No wonder the won here were so ripe for awakening. I filed that away, my mind already racing ahead.
Aunt Irene looked at , her expression serious, her fingers still stroking slowly. "But you can’t do that..." she said, her voice firm but gentle. "Your cock is still hurt... the skin around it is gone... So you can’t put it in my pussy to calm yourself down..."
I looked at her, realizing what she was implying. If my cock wasn’t hurt... then I could put it inside her pussy... Is that what she ant?
I decided to test the waters further, but first, she leaned in again, determined to continue the "healing." Her mouth enveloped once more, and as she began to suck and bob her head, struggling anew with my size, my thoughts drifted far beyond this mont.
As her lips slid up and down my shaft, her gags muffled but persistent—"Mmmph! Gggk!"—I envisioned the entire village laid out before like a feast. Every woman here, trapped in their dull, functional existences, would soon learn what real pleasure ant. I’d start with Aunt Irene, of course—breaking her in slowly, then roughly, pounding her tight, neglected pussy until she scread my na, her body convulsing in orgasms she never knew existed. I’d fill her with my seed, not for so tribal duty, but because she’d beg for it, her hips grinding against mine in desperation.
Then, the others. The chief’s daughter, with her lithe body and curious eyes—I’d corner her in the woods, pin her against a tree, and ram my cock into her virgin cunt, stretching her wide as she whimpered and then moaned, her legs wrapping around as I claid her. I’d make her squirt for the first ti, her juices soaking the earth, marking her as mine.
The baker’s wife, plump and fertile—oh, I’d bend her over her own table, flour dusting her ass as I slamd into her from behind, my balls slapping against her thighs. She’d gasp at the depth, her pussy clenching around , milking every drop as I bred her, over and over, until her belly swelled with my child.
The healer’s apprentice, young and eager—I’d teach her "advanced techniques," starting with her mouth, just like this, but then flipping her onto her back, spreading her legs wide, and plunging deep, hitting spots that made her eyes roll back. I’d choke her lightly, dominate her completely, turning her into my personal slut.
Even the elders’ wives, their bodies still supple despite the years—I’d gather them in secret, line them up, and fuck them one by one, their moans echoing as I switched between their dripping holes, covering them in my cum, making them compete for who could take deepest.
The warriors’ won, strong and fierce—I’d challenge them, wrestle them down, and conquer them with my cock, pounding them into submission until they submitted fully, their pussies gushing around as I filled them to the brim.
Every single one—sisters, mothers, daughters of the tribe. I’d fuck them in their huts, in the fields, by the river, turning the village into my harem. They’d line up for , pussies wet and ready, begging for my massive cock to ruin them, to give them the pleasure their tiny-dicked husbands never could. I’d breed them all, swelling their bellies, ensuring my bloodline dominated the tribe. Explicit visions flooded my mind: cum dripping from stretched cunts, tits bouncing as I thrust, asses red from spankings, throats raw from deepthroating. I’d make them addicts, craving my girth, my dominance, my seed.
All while Aunt Irene gagged and slurped below , oblivious to the storm I was planning. Her efforts intensified, her head bobbing faster now, saliva coating my length as she adapted slightly to my size. "Ngggh—! It’s... working?" she mumbled around , her eyes watery but determined.
I groaned, snapping back montarily, my hand guiding her deeper. "Yes, Aunt... keep healing ..." But in my head, the conquest continued, vivid and unrelenting.
Aunt Irene stiffened slightly at my earlier question, but now, with her mouth full, she couldn’t respond. Her fingers paused their slow strokes along my cock earlier, but now she was committed. "No..." she had said before, her voice firm, her eyes narrowing just slightly when I asked about other cocks.
"Have you ever taken another cock besides Uncle Grom’s inside your pussy?" I’d probed.
Her denial had been swift, but the seed was planted. Soon, she’d take mine—and love every inch.
She redoubled her efforts now, her tongue swirling as best she could, her cheeks hollowing with suction. The room filled with wet, slurping sounds, her gags interspersed with determined hums. My cock pulsed hotter, the "injury" forgotten in the haze of pleasure. Her hands massaged my balls gently, instinctively, as if part of the healing ritual.
I thrust gently, testing her limits, and she took it, her throat opening a fraction more each ti. Tears mixed with saliva on her chin, but there was a spark in her eyes—curiosity turning to sothing primal.
As she worked toward the edge, my thoughts circled back to the village won. I’d have them all on their knees, just like this, worshipping my cock. I’d cum down their throats, on their faces, inside their fertile wombs. The tribe would never be the sa.
Finally, with a deep groan, I felt the release building. "Aunt... it’s coming..." I warned, but she didn’t pull away, her healing complete in ways she couldn’t yet fathom.
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