With Some Assurances

The air went silent. Closer to the line of huts, the female wugs croaked silently watching the standoff ensure. The males turned to the side and croaked out silent gossip to their neighbors. The chief took a step closer and faltered. His son stepped forward and steadied him, and helped the chief walk right up to Roonire.

“Not just your life on the line,” The chief croacked. “She break out. Snap you. Snap me. How many?”

“She won’t break out,” Roonire replied sternly. “I have good seed.”

“You do,” the chief coughed.

“She have good ko. I know it. I know it.” Roonire removed his hand from his spear. “With Ash’aro I train her. Make her right. She’s strong. Good body. Good hips. Too good for village. She fell to me. She is mine.”

“And your clain take responsibility for her?” The chief croaked.

“I take responsibility,” Roonire acknowledged. “My clan takes responsibility.”

“Then she is yours.” The chief turned away, helped along by his son. Around the circle the other wugs chirped noisily. Some of Roonire’s friends and clan mates rushed to speak with him. “My advice. Go and get chains now. Before she wakes.” And with that the chief makes the trek to the small mound at the center of the village were his relatively opulent yurt overlooked the rest of the dwellings.

In all of this, none of the wugs bother to look and notice that in one of your hands, specifically the hand that had been fingering your asshole, you are tightly clutching a certain familiar stone.