A collective sigh moved through the torch-lit circle as Amadi’s seed trickled down my thigh. His place was taken instantly, but not by the next villager. Kwame’s strong arms turned me, his eyes burning with a possessive fire. But before he could claim his turn, a new figure stepped from the shadowed ring.
My brother, Adunbi.
He moved with the same easy, powerful grace I’d known since childhood, but now I saw him through a different lens. The firelight played over the heavy muscles of his chest and arms, the taper of his waist into the simple cloth tied at his hips. His face, so like mine in its strong bone structure, was set in an expression of solemn purpose. And jutting proudly from the opening of his loincloth was his cock.
Oh, ancestors.
It was a weapon of flesh. Not as long as the unicorn’s impossible shaft, but easily as thick, a pillar of dark, veined granite. It stood straight out from his body, easily twenty six centimeters of rigid muscle, but the girth... it was the girth that stole my breath. As thick as my wrist, a pronounced, flaring crown sat atop the shaft like a broad, smooth plum, the slit already glistening. The sheer mass of him looked impossible, a challenge my well-used body trembled at even as a fresh, shameless heat flooded my core.
He didn’t speak. He simply looked at Nne, who gave a slow, approving nod. His eyes then found mine, and in them, I saw no simple lust, but a fierce, protective admiration. This, too, is part of the blessing.
Kwame, behind me, understood the shift. His hands, which had been ready to push me down, changed their grip. He wrapped his arms around my upper body, locking my back against the solid wall of his chest, pinning my arms to my sides. His own hard length pressed against the small of my back.
“Steady, vessel, ” Kwame murmured into my ear, his voice rough. “Take your family’s strength.”
Adunbi closed the distance. His big, work-calloused hands settled on my hips, his thumbs stroking the new, soft swell of my belly. The touch was so familiar, so brotherly, yet now charged with a potent, ritual electricity. He leaned in, his forehead touching mine, and I could smell the sun and dust on his skin.
“You carry a miracle, sister, ” he breathed, the words for me alone. “Let me help it grow strong.”
My throat was too tight for words. I managed a jerky nod, my body already trembling in Kwame’s unyielding hold.
Nne’s voice rose again, a new layer woven into her chant, a deeper, more familial rhythm. It seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.
Adunbi’s hands left my hips. He took himself in one fist, and even his large hand couldn’t close all the way around that monstrous thickness. He used the other to guide himself, the broad, blunted head slick with his own fluid and the remnants of Amadi’s release that coated my thighs. He pressed against my entrance, and I felt my body, still loose and slick from the healer, instinctively tense.
The pressure was immense. Not a tip, but a wide, unyielding dome demanding entry. I whimpered, pushing back against Kwame.
“Shhh, ” Kwame soothed, one hand coming up to cup my breast, his fingers toying with my pierced nipple. “Open for him. The vessel must learn to hold all kinds of strength.”
Adunbi pushed, just a steady, patient increase of force. My body resisted, the stretched ring of muscle fluttering wildly. Then, with a soft, wet pop, the crown breached me. The sensation was a bright, stretching burn that melted into a shocking, immediate fullness. He was inside, but only the very head, and already I felt stuffed.
He held there, not moving, letting my inner walls acclimatize to the invasion. I panted, my head lolling back on Kwame’s shoulder. Adunbi’s eyes were locked on where we joined, his jaw tight with restraint.
“More, ” I heard myself whisper, the word a plea.
He obeyed with torturous slowness. He withdrew an inch, the thick ridge dragging exquisitely, then pushed forward again, gaining another half-inch. The stretch was profound, a slow, burning expansion that made me feel split open in the most glorious way. Each fractional advance was a victory, my body yielding millimeter by millimeter to his persistent girth. The wet, sucking sounds of our joining were obscenely loud in the ritual silence.
He began a shallow rhythm, in and out, each retreat making my entrance cling desperately to his shaft, each advance forging deeper. I could feel every ridge, every vein on his colossal cock as it carved a path through my sensitized channel. He was filling me in a way Amadi hadn’t, stretching my inner walls to a breathtaking tautness, the broad head massaging deep, forgotten places with every thrust.
Kwame’s hand left my breast and slid down my oiled stomach. His fingers found my clit, a hard, needy pearl, and began to circle it with a knowing pressure. The dual sensation was too much. The deep, stretching fullness from Adunbi’s relentless penetration, and the sharp, precise pleasure from Kwame’s fingers sent me spiraling.
My climax hit suddenly, a sharp, clenching wave that made my entire body seize. I cried out, a broken sound, as my channel spasmed rhythmically around the massive intruder. Adunbi groaned, a deep, guttural sound of triumph, and drove forward, burying himself to the hilt at last.
The feeling of being completely impaled, so utterly full, stole the remains of my breath. His hips were flush against my buttocks, his heavy balls a warm weight against my skin. He was all the way in, and I could feel the thick root of him nudging against my deepest part.
“Yes, ” he snarled, his composure shattering. He pulled back and slammed home again, his grip on my hips iron-tight. “Take it. Take all of it, sister. For the life inside you.”
His thrusts lost their ritual slowness, becoming powerful, driving pistons. Kwame held me firm, his own hips grinding against my back in sympathy, his fingers a frantic blur on my clit. I was a doll between them, utterly possessed, used for a sacred, brutal purpose. The pain of the stretch melted into a pleasure so intense it bordered on agony. Each pounding drive of Adunbi’s hips shoved me back onto Kwame, who absorbed the impact with a grunt.
I felt another orgasm building, a deeper, more resonant one, born from the very core where new life stirred. It gathered like a storm, fed by the pounding rhythm, the chanting, the smell of sex and sacred oils, the feel of my brother’s sweat-slick skin slapping against mine.
Adunbi’s rhythm grew frantic, erratic. “Gonna seed you, ” he gasped, his voice raw. “Gonna fill the sacred ground.”
His warning was my trigger. The storm broke, and I came with a silent, open-mouthed scream, my vision flashing white. My inner walls clamped and milked at the monstrous thickness buried within me, and that was all it took.
With a roar that echoed Amadi’s, Adunbi plunged deep and locked. I felt the base of his cock swell, a final, impossible expansion, and then the first jet. It was scalding, a thick, viscous flood that erupted against my cervix with such force I felt it like a punch deep in my womb. Another followed, and another, a volley of hot, claiming pulses that had no end.
The volume was staggering. As my own contractions subsided, his continued, a seemingly endless torrent filling the space his brotherhood had stretched. The pressure built inside me, a warm, liquid weight that made my already-rounded belly feel taut and heavy. I could feel it, a distinct pooling, a sealing heat.
He stayed there, pulsing, for what felt like an eternity, his body shuddering against mine. Finally, his breaths began to slow. He leaned forward, his sweat-damp chest pressing against my back, his lips against my ear.
“Strong, ” he panted. “The magic will be strong.”
He began to withdraw, and the sensation was a slow, agonizing reverse of the penetration. His thick, flared head tugged at my well-stretched entrance, and a hot gush of his release followed its retreat, spilling down my thighs to join the others on the sacred ground. When he finally slipped free, I felt emptied, hollowed, and dripping.
I sagged in Kwame’s arms, my legs utterly useless. Adunbi stepped back, his magnificent, softening cock glistening in the firelight. He looked from my ruined, dripping form to Nne, and gave a single, respectful nod.
The elder’s chanting softened, becoming a hum of completion. Her ancient eyes, filled with a knowing deeper than the night, settled on me, then moved to Kwame, who still held me upright. His own need was a hard, insistent pressure against my back.
Nne’s voice cut through the hum, calm and definitive. “The family’s blessing is given. Now, the maker’s turn. Let his hands shape the vessel’s joy.”