The walls were made of mud, reinforced with wooden poles, and the roofs were thatched with straw, providing shelter from the elements. The craftsmanship was rudimentary yet effective, a testament to the ingenuity of these people.
As Grom and I moved deeper into the village, the presence of the guards became impossible to ignore. They stood like sentinels, their bodies coiled with strength, their spears held with the easy confidence of men who knew how to use them.
Their muscles rippled beneath sun-darkened skin, their postures alert, their eyes sharp as they scanned the surroundings. When they spotted Grom, one of them stepped forward, his voice low but carrying the weight of authority.
"Elder Grom, you're back... and who is this kid?"
I could feel their gazes on me, assessing, curious. Kid. The word grated. I knew why they saw me that way—no beard, no mustache, not even the faintest shadow of stubble on my jaw.
My body was lean, hardened by whatever strange life I'd lived before this, but to them, I was just another half-grown boy, barely worth a second glance.
My crotch was smooth, too, shaved clean by habit—a preference that felt absurdly out of place here. I wondered how long it would take for the hair to grow back, how long before I'd blend in a little more. Not that it matters. I could work with a kid. Kids were easy to underestimate.
Grom said, "Well, we rescued this kid in the forest. His family was attacked by a tiger, and now he is the only one left. He was not a member of a tribe, so we all suggested taking him into our village." Grom repeated the story I told them.
They all nodded and looked at me with kindness, their eyes a mix of acceptance and welcome. They said, "Welcome to our village." The words were a mix of kindness and generosity, a reminder of the complex social structures that existed even in this primitive world.
I dipped my head, forcing my voice to sound small, grateful. "Thank you for taking me in. I'll work hard. I won't be a burden." The words tasted like ash, but I said them anyway. Play the part. Blend in.
Grom clapped a hand on my shoulder, his fingers thick and calloused. "His name's Welheim. He's one of us now—part of the Grimrock Village, the Grimrock tribe." There was pride in his voice, the kind of pride that came from belonging to something bigger than yourself.
Then he turned to the guards, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm taking him in. He'll live with me and my woman. You guys go do your work," he said.
The use of the word "woman" instead of "wife" piqued my curiosity. It seemed there was no concept of marriage, or perhaps even the terms "husband" or "wife," in this primitive world. I thought it was interesting and I was curious how their relationships were.
The guards didn't question him. They just nodded, murmuring, "Yes, Elder Grom," before melting back into their patrol, their bodies moving with the same predatory grace I'd come to associate with these people.
I noticed all of their bodies were like mine, full of muscles and abs, and some were even taller than me, but some were also like Grom, who had a big belly, a testament to the abundance of food in this village.
As Grom and I walked through the village, the scene around me was a mix of primitive beauty and raw, untamed life. The air was filled with the scent of cooking food, a big fire crackling in the center of the village, around which the women were gathered.
The women were a vision of raw, untamed beauty, their bodies glistening with a sheen of sweat from the heat of the fire and their labor. Their skin tones ranged from creamy white to rich caramel brown, each one unique and captivating in its own way.
Their bodies were adorned with intricate tattoos and simple bone jewelry, adding to their primal allure. Their hair cascaded down their backs in long, silken strands, some as dark as the night, others as light as the sun, glistening with a natural sheen.
Their breasts were full and firm, their nipples dark and erect, some a deep, dark brown, others a soft, inviting pink. The sight of their areolas, visible through the sparse coverings of leaves, sent a jolt of desire through me.
The leaves they wore were more like skirts, but completely open from behind, revealing their bare, smooth ass cheeks. The sight was both fascinating and wildly erotic, a testament to the uninhibited nature of this primitive society.
Their ass cheeks were firm and round, their skin smooth and unblemished, swaying slightly with each movement as they worked around the fire.
The desire to reach out and touch them, to feel the smoothness of their skin, was almost overwhelming. Their pubic hair was a mix of black and blonde; some even had white hair, a stark contrast to their skin tones. The sight was both exotic and wildly erotic, a testament to the raw, untamed beauty of these women.
The sight sent a pang of desire through me, a reminder of the needs and wants that were still very much a part of me. My cock started to grow hard, a reaction to the erotic sight before me.
The women were a vision of exotic beauty and savage charm. Their skin tones varied from creamy white to shades of caramel brown, their bodies adorned with tattoos and jewelry that added to their primal appeal.
I saw all the women come over, and I couldn't help but notice their tits bouncing; some of their nipples even peeked out. But they didn't care, as if this was normal.
I noticed even the men who were around didn't show any perverted look, making me think of the innocence and simplicity of this primitive world.
The women noticed us approaching, their heads lifting in unison. One of them—a tall woman with skin like polished bronze and hair so black it swallowed the light—stepped forward. Her voice was warm, curious. "Elder Grom..."
But I wasn't looking at her face.
My gaze was locked on the way her breasts moved as she breathed, the way her nipples peeked out from between the leaves covering her chest.
On the way her hips swayed as she walked, the firm globes of her ass flexing with every step. On the thatch of dark hair between her thighs, thick and wild, a stark contrast to the smoothness of her skin.
"Who is this kid?" she asked, and I could hear the doubt in her voice. Her eyes flicked over me, lingering on my chest, my crotch, sizing me up. Deciding if I was worth the trouble.
The central fire pit's embers crackled softly as the tribe dispersed after Tharok's oath ceremony, the weight of my new acceptance settling like a pelt on my shoulders. The air was thick with the scents of roasting meat, crushed herbs, and the faint tang of river mud. Children scampered back to their games, their laughter echoing off the mud walls. Men returned to sharpening tools or mending nets. But the women—scattered now throughout the village—drew my gaze like flames in the dark.
Grom clapped a heavy hand on my back, guiding me forward through the circular paths. "Come, Welheim. My hut's this way. You'll eat well tonight—fresh kill from the hunt."
As we walked, the village unfolded in full—huts of reinforced mud and wooden poles, roofs thatched with thick grass and leaves, arranged in a defensive ring around the fire pit. Totems of carved bone and stone guarded entrances, warding off spirits or beasts. The high cliffs encircling the valley cast long shadows, making the place feel like a fortified haven in this savage world.
But my eyes were on the women.
They were everywhere—tending cookfires, weaving baskets, carrying water from the river. Bodies of all ages, all built for this hard life, yet radiating a raw, untamed sensuality that made my blood burn.
Eyes of Perversion flared unbidden, numbers glowing over every fertile form.
Younger women in their prime—sun-darkened skin like polished bronze, lithe muscles under curves that screamed for touch. Leaf skirts riding high, flashing thick bushes of dark pubic hair with every step. Massive breasts bounced freely under thin bands, nipples dark and erect, peeking out as they bent to work. Numbers pulsed: 160 over full tits I'd pinch and suck until they swelled, 220 across wide hips I'd grip while pounding from behind, 350 over hidden mounds I'd spread and devour until they gushed.
I'd take one young beauty first—drag her behind a hut, rip that skirt away, bury my face between those bouncing breasts, biting nipples until she cried out. Then flip her, spread those tattooed thighs, slam deep into her tight cunt, feeling her clench as I filled her.
Mothers moved with confident grace—bodies fuller from births, caramel skin tones glistening with sweat. Bone necklaces nestled deep in heavy cleavage, beads brushing erect nipples as they heaved gourds or stirred pots. Pubic hair peeked wild and inviting through leaf gaps. 190… 260… 380—points for every filthy act: I'd corner one at the river, lift her skirt, feast on that swollen, experienced pussy while her necklace dangled against my forehead. Make her come hard on my tongue, then bend her over the bank, claim that round ass, thrusting until she milked me dry, whispering how I'd breed her again.
Even the elders—skin wrinkled but strong, thighs thick with sacred ink telling tales of long lives—held a fierce allure. Breasts sagging heavy but full, nipples dark brown, bone jewelry hanging low between them. Lower numbers: 130… 180… 280—but steady rewards. I'd seduce an elder in her hut, strip her slow, trace those story-tattoos with my tongue from thigh to tit, suck her nipples until she moaned like a young girl. Then mount her, fuck deep and slow, showing her body could still take a real man's strength, filling her with seed she'd never forget.
Every age, every body—mine to claim. Numbers taunting me with points for every squeeze, every lick, every brutal thrust.
Grom's voice pulled me back. "Watch your step, cub. River Fang's paths are safe, but the cliffs drop sharp."
I nodded, forcing my eyes forward.
As we moved deeper, the presence of the sentinels became impossible to ignore. They stood like living totems at the village edges—coiled muscle, spears gripped with deadly ease, eyes sharp as obsidian blades. Their postures were alert, scanning the river and approaches for threats. When they spotted Grom, one stepped forward, voice low and authoritative.
"Elder Grom, you're back… and who is this cub?"
Grom grunted. "Found him on the ridge path. Family slain by a striped death-beast. No tribe. Tharok accepted him after the oath."
The sentinel's eyes raked over me—assessing, curious. Cub. The word grated, but I swallowed it. They saw me as harmless: no beard, no mustache, skin smooth where theirs was thick with dark hair. My crotch apron hid nothing—clean-shaven, unlike their bushy spills. Body lean but strong, hair shoulder-length and unkempt now from dust.
Let them underestimate.
The sentinel nodded. "Welcome to River Fang, cub."
Grom waved him off. "Back to your watch. The long-tooth packs prowl early these moons."
The sentinels melted back to their posts, bodies moving with predatory grace—muscles rippling under scarred skin, abs etched like stone carvings. Some taller than me, others broad as Grom, all forged by this world.
Grom led on. "Those are our cliff-watchers. Keep the beasts out. And enemies."
I nodded, voice small. "Strong."
He laughed. "Stronger with you soon, cub."
As we approached Grom's hut—larger, near the center—the women gathered around cookfires turned. One—a tall beauty with bronze skin and midnight hair—stepped closer, voice warm and curious. "Elder Grom…"
But I wasn't listening.
My gaze locked on her body. Tits bouncing as she moved, dark nipples peeking from her leaf band. Grass skirt swaying, revealing firm ass cheeks and a thick bush of black pubic hair. Numbers flared: 170… 240… 360.
I'd fuck her first—pull her into the shadows, tear that band away, suck those peeking nipples until they hardened like stones, then spin her, spread her ass, bury deep in that hairy cunt while she bit back moans.
"Who is this cub?" she asked, eyes flicking over me.
Grom repeated my story—lone hunter's son, family killed by the striped beast.
The women murmured sympathy, but their bodies told another story. Another stepped close—fuller figure, caramel skin, bone necklace nestling between massive breasts. Nipples dark pink, pubic hair blonde and wild through her skirt. Thighs thick, tattoos swirling like invitations. 190… 260… 380.
I'd claim her next—bend her over the fire, feast on that blonde bush until she dripped, then thrust into her from behind, necklace bouncing as I pounded, filling her fertile womb.
An elder woman watched from a hut door—strong lines on her face, thighs marked with deep tattoos, breasts heavy and sagging but nipples erect. Bone jewelry hanging low. 140… 190… 290.
I'd honor her too—draw her aside, trace those tattoos with my tongue, suck her erect nipples until she gasped, then mount her slow, fucking deep, showing her body still craved a dominant man.
All of them—young, mothers, elders—their bodies a banquet of explicit promise. Bouncing tits to squeeze, peeking nipples to bite, ass cheeks to slap, pubic hair to bury my face in, cunts to stretch and fill.
Grom's voice cut through. "Welheim, meet my woman. She'll feed you."
His hut loomed—mud walls reinforced with bone, thatch roof wide. Inside, the air was warm with smoked meat and herbs. Skins covered the floor. A small fire smoldered.
Grom's woman—bronze-skinned, curvaceous—stirred a pot. Numbers flared: 180… 250… 370.
I'd have her too—wait until Grom slept, slip in, make her mine quietly.
Grom gestured. "Sit. Eat. Tomorrow, you learn spear with Krag."
I sat on a fur mat, mind whirling.
River Fang.
My new mask.
But soon—my domain.
The voice purred.
The women see you as cub now. But soon, as conqueror.
I smiled into the shadows.
The feast was just beginning.