Warmed By Memory

The entrance to the cave is low, maybe seven feet, and you almost need to duck to enter. The cave wall breaks the wind, and while you have no way to start a fire that small mercy is enough. You believe you will survive this night.

Still, Kali cannot help but shiver, so you scoop her into your arms, sharing your warmth woth her. You lie down wordlessly, the hard ground uncomfortable, but the both of you are too exhausted to do much else. Kali nuzzles into your chest, uncharacteristically ****, and is asleep in moments. You take longer, your mind restlessly thrown back, searching for answers in the night before your exile.

"It is time, Braya."

The woman stirs awake in her bed of furs, brushing her long blonde hair from her eyes and waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

"Rok? No, it cannot be. Not yet. The cheiftain-"

"Is hunting. You know this. His men hunt with him, and when they return, they will find me waiting in challenge."

"He is also your father, and you underestimate him."

You scowl at her words. Kroga is an old man, while you are in your prime. What do you have to fear from him?

"I will make my challenge tomorrow, mother. But I must have my chieftess by my side. I would claim you."

You see emotions war within her. She is not a hard woman, like the women of the north. Her appearance belies her origins; the blonde hair, so uncommon in the north, the full, heavy breasts and soft round ass so unlike the lean hard forms of northern women. Your father stole her in a southern raid over two decades ago, but these harsh lands have not managed to blunt her beauty.

But while she has learned to adapt to the harsh weather and often harsher tribe, she is still soft. Especially when it comes to her children. While she struggles to form the words, you know she cannot deny you anything. Secure in that knowledge, you tear away the blankets covering her and move to claim what is yours.

Your mother sleeps naked beneath the heavy furs, nipples hardening as they are exposed to the chill. Even with the family fire burning warmly, nothing completely cuts the frigid chill. You would swear they harden further when you free your pride, your member already massive and still growing in the flickering light. You reach out and grab an enormous breast, overflowing even your giant palm.

"Am I not the strongest of the clan, mother?" You growl your question, mauling her tit roughly as you advance closer to her.

"Yes, Rok, you are the strongest..."

You grab your cock, now grown to its full might, and slap it down against her soft belly. "And who is the mightiest of the clan, mother?"

Braya is whimpering now, hips subtley pushing up against you, betraying her need. "You, Rok. The mightiest by far."

You position your pride at her waiting entrance, now dripping with her desire. "Than tell me mother. Who is your true chief?"

"You are! You, Rok, are the true chief! And I will be your chieftess!"

You enter her with one powerful thrust, sinking deep and filling her completely. Braya cries out, exulting in the feel of you claiming the deepest parts of her. You thrust again, hips crashing together with a loud slap.

"By the gods, Rok! It is - it is too much!"

A third thrust, and a fourth, a fifth; each thrust gaining speed, increasing in power, filling the cave with the heavy smacking of flesh on flesh.

"Gods of my people forgive me, but you are greater than any man of my tribe! Greater than any man of the south!"

You are growling now, low and gutteral, grunting with each thrust. You are lost, lost in a haze of lust, reason driven further and further with every word your mother cries. Your hands dig into her soft hips, pulling her down harder onto your turgid member.

"Greater even than Kroga, the chief! Your father! Take me, fill me, give me your seed! Let me be chieftess and mother together!"

You roar, heeding her command and driving your full length into her. Your seed bursts forth, filling her entirely, spilling out around your joined sexes to stain the furs beneath you.

You lay there, drained, panting for breath. Your mother strokes your hair as you rest your head in the warm pillow of her breast. She's whispering softly to you, "My son... my Rok... my chief."

"And you are my chieftess," you reply.

Unfortunately, you know you must go. You will challenge your father tomorrow, and take your place as chief.

The last thing you remember of that night is walking to the entrance of the cave, to retrieve your weapon from your own home. What follows is only pain, and then, darkness.

The dream shifts, the day after falling to your father's ambush. Kroga taunting you, accepting your "challenge", you rising beaten and bruised to face him. Though past his prime, he is still strong enough to beat you in your condition. You are sent away in disgrace with those few loyalists not slain in the night, Kali among them, out into the freezing wilderness.

The dream shifts again... backwards? Your mother, but not beneath you in submission as before. She is atop you riding, bucking wildly, moaning in pleasure. You don't remember this, and your instinct screams that this is not real. The dream fades, like smoke in the night, and you prepare to face a new ambush.