Taking Daya

You drop your club and stop her charge cold, catching the spear below the head, pulling back to grab the handle. Daya struggles, trying to pull the spear back from your grasp, but in your strong hands she may as well have tried to uproot a tree. You can't help but laugh, which only seems to make her angrier. As she pulls desperately trying to retrieve her spear, Daya sways and bounces, unintentionally putting on a sensual display.

You pull hard, dragging her towards you. With one hand still holding the spear firmly, you reach out and grasp the hide straining to cover her chest and yank. Daya yelps in surprise, and releases the spear to cover her now bared breasts. Stumbling, she falls back onto her rear. Scared, embarrassed, but still scowling defiantly. Good. You toss the spear to her, and wait for her to make a decision.

It only takes her a moment before she scrambles to her feet, allowing her heavy breasts to bounce free so that she can arm herself again. You smile grimly. You were right; there was potential among these people, and no more so than in this woman. Bare and afraid, she still stands defiantly.

You are about to stride forward, but a commotion along the edge of the clearing interrupts you. People are emerging; the elderly and infirm returning to the camp. At their forefront is a tall, bearded man who you assume to be the chieftain. Kali strides behind him, grinning wickedly and prodding him forward with a stolen spear. He was perhaps once broad shouldered and proud, but age has left his shoulders stooped and he shows signs of being beaten. The others trailing behind look to him, clearly following to ensure Kali does not skewer him.

You use the distraction of their arrival to advance, wrapping Daya in a firm hold, spinning her around to make sure she has a look at her returning tribe. "I will kill them, you know." The girl remains tense, but her struggles cease, unwilling to risk her father's life or her people's safety. "That is the way of my people. We take what we want, and destroy the rest."

"But I am not most of my people. I would offer you a choice." Her head turns, glaring at you out of the side of one bright blue eye. "Submit to me. Become my chieftess among your people. Keep them in line, get them to see reason and follow me. When your warriors finally return to your call, help persuade them to join me." You grin ferally. "I would rather not have to beat them into submission if I can help it."

"And if I do this thing... my people will be free?"

"Free? No. I told you, these are my people now. I will need them. But they will be safe, and under my protection." Daya falls silent, unsure. "And I will do more. I will transform your people, Daya. There will be no more of the sniveling, fat cowards. You won't have to run, fleeing before all other men and beasts. I will make you strong, and these lands will tremble before you."

She pauses at that, and you see the hate in her eyes falter. You sense in her a kindred spirit, unwilling to spend her life running from every marauder like yourself who comes across her people. Her face takes on an expression of cold certainty.

"I see your strength, Rok. My people... we need some of that. If you can do these things... make us strong... I will submit."

You know the hunters are returning, but the battle-rage of your people calls, demanding the spoils of your victory. The thrill of conquest, and the feel of this paragon of her tribe held against you, has you straining against your loincloth. You will show your dominance now.

The assembled crowd cries out in alarm as you firmly push Daya forward onto her knees. Gently, you grab a fistful if her golden hair and turn her head to face your loincloth covered manhood.

"Show them. Show your people that you, and all of them, belong to me now." She hesitates a moment, but your meaning is not hard to understand. Slowly, she reaches out to lower your loincloth, and gasps softly as your massive tool springs free.

Tentatively, almost agonizingly slowly, Daya grips your shaft, needing both hands to wrap around your turgid member. You hear her people shout and cry out in alarm, but she appears mesmerized, unconcerned with their presence or approval. For your part, you know fear will keep them back, even if the numbers are against you. If anyone gets any ideas, you trust Kali to put a stop to it.

Testingly, she strokes, soft hands gently gliding along your cock, eyes glued to your rigid length. Her mouth falls open slightly, and you push your hips forward, pointedly jabbing your tip past her wet lips. Though surprised, she quickly adapts, suckling your crackhead, and when she pulls back it is only to lick softly along the underside of your manhood. You groan in pleasure; Daya is unlike any woman you have been with before, soft and slow and gentle.

Still, you are a man of the mountain tribes, and your mating is like everything else you do: powerful, ferocious. Using your hand still buried in her hair, you push, hard, driving her mouth down further, almost halfway down your cock, eliciting a startled, **** cry.

For a tense moment, the fire ignites once more in her blue eyes, and you feel teeth sink ever so slightly into your shaft. Your grip on her hair tightens, holding her gagging as both threat and show of power, and you meet her eyes with a cold glare of your own. You stare each other down a moment, and a small thrill passes through you. You have no doubt Daya will back down, but still she makes sure that you know she still has power here. Finally, her jaw loosens, her teeth withdraw, and to your delight you find Daya bobbing her head, taking more and more of you into her mouth. She learns quickly, and moves passionately. When this is over, you look forward to her giving you many strong warriors.

The thought of her swelled with your children and the feel of her warm mouth engulfing you together are too much. You roar in triumph, sending a wave of your cum flooding Daya's warm mouth. She cries put in surprise, falling onto her backside as you continue bucking your hips, spraying her in your pearly seed, marking her as your own. You exult in the thrill of victory, the world seeming brighter and sharper, and even imagine horns blasting a song of triumph.

Wait. As the haze of pleasure fades, you realize that wasn't your imagination. Those horn calls were very much real, and very, very close.

Even covered in your seed in the dirt below you, the cheiftain's daughter manages a hard grin, as though she somehow has the upper hand. "And now we see if you can make good on your promises of real strength, Rok."

Well. That doesn't exactly bode well. Nor does the thundering sound of feet trampling towards the clearing. You spin away, taking only the time to grab your fallen club, and wheel to face this new challenge.