Elder Grom repeated the story, his voice steady and reassuring. Before I could say anything, I found myself wrapped in the arms of one of the women. She was shorter than I, and as she embraced me, my chest pressed against her breasts.
The warmth of her was overwhelming—her skin radiated heat, and the softness of her breasts, full and heavy, crushed against my chest with a pressure that sent an electric jolt down my spine.
The leaves she wore as clothing did little to conceal the texture of her nipples, already hardened into tight peaks that grazed against me with every breath she took.
The contrast of her dark, pinkish areolas against her sun-kissed skin was intoxicating, and the scent of her—earthy, musky, like warm honey mixed with the faintest trace of smoke—filled my lungs, making my head spin.
"Oh, you poor, poor child..." Her voice was a soft whisper, thick with sympathy, wrapping around me like a physical embrace. "You must be so scared... so lost... But you don't have to be anymore. We're here now. We'll keep you safe. No one will hurt you again."
I could hear the sincerity in her words, feel the genuine kindness in the way her fingers traced slow, soothing circles on my back, as if I were something fragile, something precious.
But beneath that comfort, there was something else—something primal, something that made my cock swell painfully against the flimsy covering of leaves I wore.
The sensation was almost unbearable, the fabric doing nothing to hide the growing bulge, the throbbing need that pulsed with every heartbeat.
Grom's voice cut through the moment, gruff but not unkind. "I'll take him to my house. He'll live there. You can meet him later—I have to go back. Tharok and the others are waiting for me in the forest."
I swallowed hard, my voice rough with an emotion I couldn't quite name. "Thank you," I managed to say, my throat tight.
The women stepped back, their expressions shifting from warmth to understanding. They knew the rhythms of this life—hunting, survival, the unspoken rules that governed their world.
And then there was the problem.
My cock was rock-hard, straining against the leaves that did absolutely nothing to hide it. The leaf skirt clung to me, but it was useless—every shift of my body made the bulge more obvious, more embarrassing.
I watched as Grom turned to leave, his stride purposeful, his body already tensed for whatever awaited him beyond the village. The weight of his absence settled over me, the realization that I was now in their care, in their world, with no way back.
The leaves I was wearing couldn't cover me, and I knew I needed to do something about it. I instantly used the Magical Tool to create a structure like underwear, but from the outside, it would look the same as theirs, just leaves.
The tool stretched and morphed, forming into a leaf-like underwear that covered my erection, a stark contrast to the primitive world around us.
Grom called out, "Irene, Irene." His voice was full of affection.
As we walked in, I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. I didn't know what Grom's woman looked like, but I was ready to find out, ready to face whatever challenges and obstacles lay ahead. This was my new world, my new life, and I was ready to claim it as my own, to explore the raw, untamed beauty that surrounded me.
Grom's hut was exactly what I expected—rough, practical, and undeniably lived in. The air inside was thick with the scent of dried herbs, smoked meat, and the faint musk of bodies that had slept and sweated within these walls for years.
A massive stone slab lay in one corner, flat and worn smooth by years of use, likely serving as a bed. Spears leaned against the walls, their tips sharpened to deadly points, their shafts polished from constant handling. Bundles of dried leaves—clothing, I assumed—were scattered about, some folded neatly, others tossed aside in haste.
I suddenly saw a woman... it must be Irene, Grom's woman. Her body was a mix of exotic beauty and beautiful charm, her skin a rich, sun-kissed bronze, her hair a cascade of dark, silken strands that fell to her waist.
Her breasts were full and firm, their weight causing them to sway gently with her every movement. Her waist was narrow, tapering down to wide hips that flared out in a way that made my hands itch to grip them.
She turned toward Grom first, her voice laced with surprise and a hint of concern. "Grom, you're back so early. I wasn't expecting you until sundown. Did something happen?"
Grom shook his head, his expression serious. "No trouble. But we found someone who needs us." He gestured toward me. "His family was taken by a tiger. He's alone now. We're taking him in."
I saw Irene coming over, her body moving seductively. She hugged me tightly, her tits pressing against me; I could feel her nipples poking at my bare chest, making me gasp.
She patted me on the back, her voice a mix of kindness and comfort. "It's okay, don't be sad. From now on, we will be your family." From her voice, it felt like she was comforting me.
I nodded. I could feel my cock wanting to explode now, as Irene was just hugging my upper body.
If she moved just a little lower, if her hips brushed against mine, she'd feel it. She'd know exactly what her body was doing to me. The thought sent another surge of blood rushing south, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from reacting, to keep from pressing myself against her like some desperate, rutting animal.
Grom's voice broke the tension, his tone urgent but not unkind. "Irene, you take care of him. I have to go—Tharok and the others are waiting."
She pulled back, her eyes lingering on me for a moment before she nodded, her expression serious. "Go. Be safe."
Grom went back, leaving Irene and me alone in the hut.
Irene stepped back, she tilted her head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle, her dark eyes tracing over my face, my chest, lingering just a little too long on the way the leaves clung to my hips.
"What's your name, kid?" she asked, her voice soft but curious, like she was trying to memorize the sound of it.
I forced a smile, keeping my voice light, innocent. "Welheim."
"Welheim," she repeated, as if testing the sound of it on her tongue. Then, softly, "If you want... You can call me Aunt Irene. From now on, your Aunt Irene and Uncle Grom will be your family."
The words hit me harder than I expected. There was something about the way she said it—like it was a vow, something unbreakable. Like I belonged here, with her, in this hut, in this life.
"Aunt Irene," I said, the title feeling strange on my tongue, foreign but not unwelcome.
The heavy hide flap of Grom's hut swung shut one final time as he left for the evening scout with Tharok. The sudden quiet felt almost deafening—only the soft crackle of the central fire pit and the distant thump of village drums remained.
I stood just inside the entrance, the warm, thick air wrapping around me like a living thing. Smoke from burning herbs curled lazily toward the thatched roof. The scent of roasted meat lingered from earlier meals, mixing with the deep, earthy musk of hides and human bodies that had lived, sweated, and loved within these walls for years.
Irene stood by the fire, stirring a clay pot suspended over glowing coals on a tripod of carved bone. The flickering amber light danced across her bronze skin, highlighting every curve, every shift of muscle beneath.
Eyes of Perversion flared to life without warning, painting her body in glowing numbers that only I could see.
180 pulsed over each full, heavy breast—barely contained by the narrow leaf band that crossed her chest like an afterthought. Dark nipples, already peaked from the hut's warmth or perhaps some unconscious awareness, pressed visibly against the thin material, begging to be freed.
250 glowed across wide, fertile hips that swayed gently as she worked, hips made for gripping hard while thrusting deep.
380 burned hottest over the shadowed mound beneath her grass skirt—the richest promise, points for burying my face there, for spreading her open and claiming that wet heat until she screamed.
Smaller numbers danced on thick, tattooed thighs, the elegant curve of her neck, full lips parted slightly as she hummed an old tribal tune.
My cock surged instantly, straining against the flimsy leaf apron. The Living Artifact sensed my need and subtly thickened the front panel, weaving extra layers to conceal the throbbing bulge—but nothing could hide the ache, the raw need building like a storm.
Irene turned fully toward me, dark eyes soft with protective warmth, midnight hair cascading to her waist like a river of silk.
She stepped closer, voice a gentle murmur.
"You poor lost one..."
Before I could speak, she enveloped me in her arms.
Her body pressed flush against mine—warm, soft, impossibly strong.
Full breasts crushed against my chest, heavy and yielding, the weight of them perfect. Hard nipples dragged across my bare skin through the thin leaf barrier, sending lightning straight to my cock.
The bone necklace nestled deep in her sweat-glistened cleavage, cool beads brushing my flesh as she held me tight.
Her scent flooded every sense—smoke from the fire, crushed healing herbs on her skin, the deep, intoxicating musk of a woman in her prime, fertile and alive.
My head spun.
She stroked my back in slow, soothing circles, fingers calloused from years of work but impossibly gentle.
"Oh, little one... you must have been so frightened. So alone in that wild place. But no more. River Fang is your family now. I am your family. We will keep you safe."
Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, pressing harder, nipples grazing my chest like sparks on dry tinder.
I felt her heartbeat through the soft, heavy weight of her tits—steady, strong, inviting.
My cock throbbed painfully, trapped between us, pre-cum already beading at the tip. The Artifact's concealment held—just—but if she shifted lower, if those wide hips brushed mine, she'd feel everything. Know exactly what her body did to the "lost cub" she comforted.
The thought sent fire roaring through my veins.
Fantasies exploded behind my eyes.
Grom's own sister—taboo even here, perhaps. That made it sweeter.
I'd start right here—spin her slowly, press her back against the mud wall, rip that leaf band away and bury my face between those massive tits. Suck those dark nipples until they swelled darker, bite just hard enough to make her gasp my name.
Then drop to my knees, lift her grass skirt, spread those thick thighs and feast on that 380-point mound—tongue delving deep into wet folds, lapping until she dripped down my chin, bone necklace bouncing as her hips bucked against her brother's roof.
Flip her over the cooking tripod, spread that firm ass, tongue tracing from pussy to tight hole before sinking my cock deep, pounding until the hut shook, filling Grom's sister with seed while he hunted.
Breed her right on the sleeping furs he shared with others—make her mine in his own home, leave her leaking and satisfied, carrying my mark before he returned.
She pulled back slightly, hands resting on my shoulders, eyes searching mine with genuine concern.
"You are safe here, Welheim. With Grom—my brother—and with me. Always."
Her thumbs brushed my collarbones—innocent comfort.
To me, pure foreplay.
I swallowed hard, voice rough with barely restrained hunger.
"Thank you... Aunt Irene."
The tribal kinship title rolled off my tongue, strange but perfect—hiding the darker truth.
Her smile was radiant, sisterly—and completely unaware of how erotic it was.
"Aunt Irene," she repeated, tasting the words. "Yes. Since Grom has taken you in as kin, I am your aunt by bond. And he your uncle. We will care for you as our own blood."
Our own.
The words ignited darker fire.
Grom's sister—closer than a mate, blood-tied. Claiming her would be the ultimate dominance.
I'd make her mine in every way—teach "Aunt Irene" what a real nephew's cock felt like stretching her, filling her, breeding her until she begged for more, whispering forbidden words in the dark.
The voice purred in my mind, velvet and hungry.
Start with the sister, my lord. Blood makes the conquest sweeter. The first points are always the most delicious when taboo.
Irene released me fully, turning back to the pot with a gentle smile.
"Sit by the fire, little one. Food is almost ready. Fresh boar from yesterday's hunt—rich and strong. You'll need strength to grow into a proper River Fang hunter."
She bent to add more herbs, grass skirt riding high.
Firm ass cheeks flexed invitingly, dark cleft visible for a heartbeat.
Numbers flared on her ass—220 each side.
I'd spread those cheeks wide, tongue tracing every inch, make Grom's sister beg before burying deep in that tight back entrance while her tits swung free.
She straightened, oblivious, and gestured around the hut.
"This is home now. Sleeping furs there—" she pointed to the massive pile of soft hides in the corner, big enough for forbidden heat. "—Grom's spears on the wall for protection. My herbs and healing roots here by the fire."
Her breasts swayed heavily as she moved, nipples peeking again with every shift.
I'd pull her onto those furs tonight—strip her slow under firelight, suck those dark nipples until they ached, trace every tattoo with my tongue from thigh to tit, then mount her deep and relentless, thrusting until the hides were soaked with sweat and seed, her brother's sister broken and claimed.
"Irene," I said softly, playing the grateful cub perfectly. "I... I don't know how to thank you. For everything."
She smiled, warm and open, ladling thick stew into a carved bone bowl—rich with tender meat chunks, roots, and spices that made my mouth water.
"Just eat. Grow strong. Hunt well. That's thanks enough for now."
She handed me the bowl.
Our fingers brushed—deliberately this time on my part.
Heat shot through me like lightning.
Soon, those calloused fingers would be wrapped around my cock, stroking, guiding me into her wetness.
Or clawing my back as I fucked her senseless, claiming Grom's own blood.
I sat on a low stone by the fire, bowl in hand, the warmth seeping into my bones.
Irene settled nearby on a woven mat, legs crossed beneath her skirt, the fabric parting to reveal more tattooed thigh.
We ate in companionable silence, fire crackling, shadows dancing on mud walls.
But my mind roared with plans.
First points.
First forbidden conquest.
First woman—Grom's sister—to break and claim.
The hut's warmth wrapped around us like a promise.
Outside, evening drums thumped the tribe's rhythm.
Inside, my hunt had already begun.