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The world dissolved into a pleasant, swirling darkness as my limbs gave out. Strong, gentle hands caught me before I hit the packed earth of the square. The last thing I felt was the warm, sticky trickle of combined seed between my thighs as I was lifted, cradled against a solid chest, and carried away from the torchlight and watching eyes.
I awoke to the scent of sacred herbs and the murmur of women’s voices. I was on my back on a thick pile of furs inside a spacious tent, its walls dyed a deep ochre and painted with symbols of fertility—spirals, seeds, and entwined figures. The oil from my purification still coated my skin, making me gleam in the soft light of clay oil lamps.
Nne’s wise face appeared above me, her hands, warm and slick with more oil, already moving over my shoulders. “The vessel is open, the seeds are planted. Now, we ensure the soil is rich and willing, that life takes root in joy, not just duty.”
Other women—Zara, Efua, and faces I knew from the village—knelt around me. Their hands descended, not as worshippers, but as caretakers. They massaged the oil into my skin, their skilled fingers working over my arms, my legs, the soles of my feet. Their touch was firm, purposeful, stirring my blood beneath the surface. They rolled my hips, kneading the muscles of my belly with palms soaked in oil infused with moringa and dakuala leaf, herbs whispered to call life to the womb.
Arousal, dull and thick from the earlier spent passions, began to coil again, low and insistent. My breath hitched as Zara’s fingers traced the line of my inner thigh. Efua’s mouth found the shell of my ear. “Just relax, Osa. Let us prepare you. The men are ready to give their blessing, their strength to the life within you.”
Then their touches grew more intimate. Zara’s head dipped between my legs. Her tongue, flat and warm, laved a slow stripe up my slit, gathering the mingled spend of my father and husband. I jerked, a soft cry escaping me. At the same time, Efua’s mouth closed over my right breast, her tongue flicking the amber stud, sending sharp tendrils of pleasure straight to my core. Another woman attended to my left breast, her fingers pinching and rolling the nipple while her companion traced circles over my lower belly.
I was being worshipped, prepared, awakened. Their mouths and hands were everywhere, stoking a fire that had never truly gone out. I arched into the dual attention on my breasts, my hips rising to meet Zara’s relentless tongue as it focused on my clit, circling the golden stud with exquisite precision. The climax built quickly, a sweet, rising tide. “Yes... please...” I begged, my fingers tangling in Zara’s hair.
I came with a shudder, my nectar adding to the mess on Zara’s chin. But they didn’t stop. As the pulses faded, the tent flap opened.
The first man entered. He was older, broad-shouldered, his cock already erect—a thick, dark shaft of medium length with a pronounced, mushroom-shaped head. Without ceremony, he turned me onto my hands and knees. His hands gripped my oil-slick hips, and I felt the broad head nudge my dripping entrance. He pushed in with a single, deep stroke, seating himself fully. I gasped at the sudden, filling stretch. He moved with a steady, piston-like rhythm, his balls slapping against my flesh with each thrust, his groans loud in the tent. “Take my blessing, vessel. Mix my strength with your lords’.” He spent inside me with a guttural shout, his release a hot gush that spilled out around his softening shaft as he withdrew.
The second man was upon me before the first had left. Younger, with a longer, slightly curved cock, he laid me back and plunged into my well-used channel. His hands roamed my oiled body, cupping my breasts, thumbing my nipples as he fucked me with shallow, frantic thrusts, his own climax following quickly, adding another wave of wet heat to my overflowing womb.
Then came the third. He carried coils of soft, supple leather. With efficient, gentle hands, he bound my wrists and ankles. A rope from a central beam descended; he hooked the bonds, suspending me just above the furs, my body open and offered. He knelt beneath me, guiding his cock—a formidable, veined pillar as thick as my wrist—up into my helpless, dangling core. The penetration was a slow, stretching conquest. He fucked upward into my weight, each thrust making me swing gently, the sensation of being so utterly filled while completely vulnerable driving me to another broken, sobbing peak.
The fourth positioned me back on all fours. His cock was average in length but strikingly thick, a smooth, dark column. As he entered me from behind, gripping my hips to pull me onto him, another man knelt in front of me. His fingers found my swollen clit, rubbing in time with the thrusts behind. Pleasure detonated from both points of contact, a devastating synergy that left me screaming into the furs.
And so it continued. A relentless, sacred procession.
The fifth laid me back, entering me with a slow, reverent grind while a second man suckled at my breasts, his tongue torturing my pierced nipples.
The sixth lifted me, wrapping my legs around his waist as he stood, impaling me on his long, rigid length, while another’s tongue lapped at the juncture of our joining, teasing my sensitized bud with each deep plunge.
The seventh took me on my side, his body spooning mine, his cock sliding into my slick heat from behind as his hands palmed and squeezed my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples.
Each man was different—in size, in rhythm, in the texture of his skin and the sound of his groans. Each cock was a unique offering: short and fat, long and slender, curved upward, perfectly straight, with a small, neat head or a broad, flaring crown. Each eruption was a scalding flood, a pulsing jet that filled me, pooled within me, and seeped out to coat my thighs and the furs below.
The village women never stopped their chanting, their low, rhythmic songs of fertility weaving through the groans and wet slaps of flesh. The air grew thick with the musky scent of sex and sacred herbs.
By the time the twenty-first man—a quiet elder with a thin, earnest face and a surprisingly vigorous, medium-thick cock—spilled his seed inside me with a trembling sigh, I was a vessel in truth. My stomach, once flat, now bore a slight, rounded swell from the sheer volume within. My cunt was a spent, throbbing, gaping oasis, overflowing with a river of white. It dripped from me in a continuous, warm stream as I was finally lowered, my bonds loosened, and laid gently back onto the soaked furs.
The women cleaned me with soft cloths, but the deep, liquid fullness remained. The men filed out, each touching my head or my belly in a final blessing. Silence settled, broken only by my ragged breathing.
Then, the flap opened once more.
Adunbi entered first, his eyes dark with a complex storm of emotions. Then Kayin, my father, followed. The women silently withdrew, leaving the three of us in the tent.
Adunbi came to the furs, lying back. He pulled me down atop him. I was so full, so sore, but when his hands guided my hips, I felt his hard, familiar girth pressing at my entrance. With a sigh that was both exhaustion and surrender, I sank down. His massive cock, the one that had first claimed me as wife, slid up into the crowded, slick channel, parting the sea of seed within me. I collapsed onto his chest, our sweat and oil mingling, and kissed him, a slow, deep kiss of shared destiny.
I felt my father move behind me. His hands settled on my hips. The blunt pressure of his cock, familiar and formidable, pressed against my already-stretched entrance, right beside where Adunbi’s shaft disappeared into me. With a patient, gentle push, he pressed forward. My body, stretched beyond belief, yielded. A sharp, burning fullness bloomed as he slid in, his thickness nestling alongside his son’s within my impossibly filled cunt. I cried out against Adunbi’s mouth, the sensation of being stretched by two mammoth, familial cocks a shocking, profound violation that curled my toes and made my spine arch.
“Shhh, daughter, ” Kayin murmured, his breath hot on my neck. “This is the final blessing. The bloodline seals itself.”
He began to move. A shallow, careful rock. Adunbi, beneath me, matched the rhythm. Inside me, their cocks slid against each other, a slick, overwhelming friction that stroked deep places no single man could ever reach. The pleasure was immense, terrifying, a wave building from the deepest, most saturated core of my being. I was a conduit, a sacred channel being polished raw by the two sources of my own life.
Their thrusts found a sync, a perfect, driving cadence. My world narrowed to the feeling of being split open and filled to bursting, to the grunts of my father and the groans of my husband-brother. The pressure coiled, tighter, hotter.
“Now, ” Adunbi gasped, his hands digging into my back.
Kayin’s rhythm shattered into hard, final drives. “Take us both!”
Their simultaneous roar filled the tent. Inside me, two distinct, pulsing eruptions began. I felt Adunbi’s release, a deep, voluminous flood that heated my womb from within. A heartbeat later, Kayin’s joined it, a fierce, scalding jet that mixed with his son’s, a twin claim that made my already-distended belly push out further with liquid weight. The sensation of being filled beyond capacity, of their combined incestuous seed churning deep within my womb, tipped me over an edge that had no bottom. My vision whited out. My scream was silent, stolen by a climax that felt less like pleasure and more like my very soul being branded.
I woke to the grey light of dawn filtering through the tent fabric. I was on my side, nestled against Adunbi’s solid warmth. My father was gone. The deep, liquid weight in my belly remained, a constant, profound reminder.
A presence, like honey and sunlight, filled the space beside me. I didn’t need to open my eyes.
“You have done well, my vessel, ” Oshun’s voice whispered, a melody in my mind. “The seeds have found fertile ground. Not one life, but two. A son from your brother’s strength. A daughter from your father’s legacy. The bloodline circles back upon itself, stronger for the turning.”