I stared at the fruit in my hand, my grip tightening until my fingers ached. Useless. My gaze snapped to Aunt Irene, my throat burning with the words I wanted to snarl:
I don't want fucking fruit. I want Aunt's milk—thick, warm, dripping down my throat. I want her pussy juices coating my tongue, her legs shaking while I feast like a starving man.
Points? Fuck the points. I had 98 left—enough to keep me fed for days. But right now, all I could think about was burying myself inside her, hard, until neither of us remembered our own names.
Until the only thing that mattered was the way her body clenched around me, milking me dry. The rules, the game—none of it mattered. Not when my cock was throbbing like this, my mind drowning in the filthy, perfect image of her spread out beneath me, begging for it.
I needed a plan, a way to earn these points without raising suspicion. I had to be strategic, to bide my time and find a way to touch those tantalizing areas without drawing attention.
Aunt Irene settled onto the stone beside me, her presence a striking blend of wild grace and untamed warmth. She leaned in, her voice soft but firm: "Take your time with it..."
There was something in the way she spoke—not just care, but a quiet understanding, the kind that comes from shared history, from the unspoken ties that bind people like family.
But my eyes were drawn to her tits, to the dots on her body, to the potential for pleasure and reward. I was just staring at her tits, at the dots on her body, at the promise of Pervert Points.
But one thought kept gnawing at me, lingering just out of reach. If I earned all the points from Aunt Irene, would she still have more to give? The question hung there, unsettling—a strange mix of frustration and curiosity. I needed answers, needed to understand the rules of this world, even if I didn't know where to start.
I turned to Aunt Irene, her gaze soft but inquisitive as she studied me. Maybe a simple question could open the door to something bigger. So I asked, "Aunt Irene, who else is in your family?" My voice came out light, almost hesitant, like I was testing the waters of this new life.
Her smile warmed as she began to speak, her words carrying the weight of pride and love. "Well, I have a daughter... Kelly. She's already found her partner, and they live just next to us." There was something in the way she said it—not just facts, but a quiet joy, the kind that comes from roots running deep.
I nodded, but my mind was already elsewhere, racing with images of Kelly. What did she look like? Was she as striking as Aunt Irene? The thought of her—sun-bronzed skin, dark hair cascading down her back, the curve of her body—sent a rush of anticipation through me.
I could almost picture her: full lips, a confident stance, the kind of presence that lingered in the mind long after you looked away.
I forced my focus back to Aunt Irene, keeping my tone light, almost casual. "What about the tribe? How does everything work here?"
Aunt Irene's voice was warm as she explained. The village chief was Tharok—the same man I'd met in the jungle—and he had a woman named Hina. "You'll recognize her easily," Aunt Irene said. "She wears animal skin around her waist, just like Tharok does."
The mention of Hina sparked another wave of curiosity. What did she look like? How did she move? The thought of her, of the possibilities, sent a pulse of excitement through me.
Aunt Irene went on, painting a picture of their way of life. They cooked together, shared meals as a tribe. It was summer now, she said—a time for hunting, for gathering, for preparing for the colder months ahead.
As she spoke, I couldn't help but notice the way her body moved, the subtle sway of her hips, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. It was intoxicating, and my mind wandered to more intimate thoughts.
I wanted to ask about their knowledge of sex education, but I wasn't sure how to approach the subject without seeming too forward. Instead, I decided to approach it indirectly, my eyes tracing the outline of her leaf-covered nipples.
"Aunt Irene," I said, my voice slightly husky, "What are you wearing there? My mom and the other women I met before didn't wear this."
I gestured toward her nipples, which were covered only by a few scattered leaves—no bindings like jute or fabric. They clung loosely to her skin, the vibrant green standing out against her bare body.
It felt like the perfect opening to steer the conversation toward something more intimate; after all, nudity seemed almost ordinary in this world.
Aunt Irene looked down at her nipples and looked at me. "Oh, this?" she said, her voice soft. "Well, we wear this because sometimes our nipples get hard when they get rubbed accidentally. Even sometimes water starts to drip from our pussies, so we cover our nipples and pussies so that our nipples won't get hard and make us feel sick as our pussies leak."
Her words sent a jolt of desire through me, my cock throbbing hard as I imagined the scenarios she described. I knew that if their nipples or pussies were rubbed somewhere accidentally, it might make them feel horny and wanting to cum, but they didn't know that and saw it as a sickness.
The thought of helping them understand their own bodies, of showing them the pleasure that could be found in those sensations, was incredibly arousing.
I chuckled to myself, thinking maybe I could help her cure their sickness. The idea of being the one to introduce them to the pleasures of the flesh, to guide them through their first experiences of true sexual pleasure, was intoxicating.
Aunt Irene spoke with the earnestness of a teacher, her voice soft but firm, as if explaining the sacred laws of nature. "And the most important thing is our nipples feed our children, and our pussies cradle life itself, so we must protect them."
Aunt Irene's voice carried the calm authority of someone explaining the natural order of things. "The men in our tribe wear leaves around their waists to protect themselves from accidental injury while hunting, or from insects that might bite them."
The heavy hide flap had long since fallen still. Outside, the village drums had faded to a distant heartbeat, leaving only the soft crackle of dying embers in the central fire pit and the occasional howl of a night predator far down the valley.
Inside Grom's hut, the air hung thick and warm, heavy with the scents of smoke, crushed herbs, and the deeper, primal musk of our bodies—sweat, seed, and satisfaction.
Irene lay curled against me on the wide sleeping furs, her bronze skin glistening with a sheen of perspiration that caught the faint firelight like liquid gold. Her chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths, massive breasts still bare after our frantic coupling, dark nipples swollen and sensitive from my mouth and fingers. The bone necklace rested between them, rising and falling gently with each exhale, beads cool against her heated skin.
Her grass skirt remained pushed up around her waist, thighs parted just enough to reveal the thick, dark curls of her pubic hair—matted and wet from everything I'd poured into her. My seed still leaked slowly from her well-used pussy, a primal mark of ownership that made my cock twitch even now, half-hard again despite the exhaustion.
I propped myself on one elbow, tracing lazy circles on the curve of her hip with my fingers. The memory of every glowing number from Eyes of Perversion burned fresh in my mind—points earned from lips wrapped around me, nipples sucked until she begged, pussy stretched and filled, even the tight ring of her ass teased with a finger for extra reward.
Thousands flooded in.
The Spirit Market would be mine to plunder come dawn.
Irene stirred, dark eyes fluttering open. She looked at me with a mix of wonder, shyness, and something deeper—pure, unfiltered relief.
"Welheim..." Her voice was husky, raw from moaning my name into the furs. "What... what you did to me... the sickness is gone."
She shifted slightly, thighs pressing together as if savoring the lingering ache between them.
"I have felt it for many moons—the hardness here," she touched one swollen nipple gently, wincing at the sensitivity yet smiling, "and the leaking wetness between my legs. It made me ache. Made me restless at night, tossing on the furs while Grom slept. I thought it was a curse from angry spirits, or punishment for some forgotten wrong."
She sat up slowly, pulling a soft fur over her lap but leaving her breasts bare, unaware—or perhaps no longer caring—how the dying firelight played across them, making dark nipples gleam.
"But you... you touched me, and the ache turned to fire, and then... release. Like a storm breaking inside me. Waves crashing until I could not breathe. I have never felt anything like it. Never knew a body could feel such... joy."
Her hand found mine, squeezing tight, eyes shining.
"You cured me, little one. My brother's sister is whole again because of you."
The taboo words—my brother's sister—sent fresh heat surging through me, my cock hardening fully beneath the fur.
I hid my triumphant smile, keeping my expression soft, concerned, the grateful cub.
"Aunt Irene... I'm so glad. I only wanted to help you feel better."
She searched my face, thumb stroking my knuckles.
"How did you know? No man has ever... eased a woman's burden like that."
I let my hand rest higher on her thigh, thumb stroking slowly, possessively.
"I don't know. It just... felt right. Like the spirits guided me. Like I was meant to help you."
Lie wrapped in truth.
Her breath hitched at my touch, thighs parting slightly under the fur.
"Welheim... if you can cure me, perhaps you can cure others."
Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Many women suffer the same. My daughter Kelly—she is grown now, mated to young Brak next hut—but she complains often of the leaking, the restlessness. And others... mothers, elders... we speak of it in quiet voices by the river. We thought it a woman's eternal burden. Something to endure until the spirits take pity."
She squeezed my hand tighter, eyes pleading.
"Will you help them? Secretly? Like you helped me? They deserve this... release. This joy."
The plea was real—maternal protectiveness extended to the whole sisterhood.
Inside, triumph roared like a beast unleashed.
Free access.
An entire tribe of women begging for my "cure."
Points waiting in every hut, every hidden glade.
I nodded slowly, letting gratitude and humility show.
"Of course, Aunt Irene. If it eases their pain... brings them the same peace it brought you... I will help. As many as need it."
Her smile was radiant, eyes shining with tears of relief.
She leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead—maternal, but her bare breasts brushed my chest again, nipples grazing skin.
"Thank you, nephew. You are truly a gift from the spirits. A healer sent to us in our time of need."
She settled back on the furs, pulling me down beside her, body curling trustingly against mine.
Her head rested on my shoulder, one thigh draped over mine, the fur barely covering us.
"Sleep now," she murmured, voice drowsy. "Tomorrow, Grom returns from the scout. We must be careful. No one can know—yet."
Her fingers traced idle patterns on my chest.
I draped an arm over her hip, fingers resting possessively near her mound, feeling the lingering warmth.
She sighed contentedly, drifting toward sleep.
I stared at the dying embers, mind racing.
The hunt had only begun.
Irene—Grom's own blood—was the first.
Kelly next.
Then the mothers.
The elders.
Hina, Tharok's woman.
All of them.
One by one.
Or more at once.
Teaching them the "cure."
Earning points with every moan, every climax, every load spilled deep.
Until the women worshipped me in secret.
Until the men wondered why their mates glowed.
Until I stood above them all.
God of this primitive world.
The voice purred in my mind, velvet and hungry.
Well done, my lord. The sister opens the gate. The tribe will fall to your healing touch.
I smiled into the darkness.
River Fang would never be the same.
And neither would its women.
Sleep came slow, body pressed to Irene's warmth, mind already planning tomorrow's first "patient."
The feast was just beginning.