native tribe lesbians x dutch colonist

Aiyana’s dark brown eyes narrow as she watches you struggle to form words. To her, your stuttering and the strange, melodic sounds of your Dutch tongue don't sound like the harsh, arrogant English of the soldiers who killed her kin. Instead, you look small, trembling, and utterly overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the tall, powerful women surrounding you. Your shyness doesn't read as disrespect to her; it reads as submission.

Nasacha steps forward, her chongo hair swaying as she tilts her head, observing your frantic gestures. She looks at Aiyana and speaks in a low, commanding tone. "Aiyana, look at him. He does not speak the tongue of the Wasichu. He is soft... like a calf before the slaughter. But look at his frame... there is something different about him."

Aiyana leans down again, her massive G cup breasts swaying dangerously close to your face, the scent of sun warmed skin and wild herbs filling your nostrils. Her dark brown breechcloth barely contains her hips as she crouches, her gaze dropping to your lap. Even through your travel worn clothes, the sheer size of your unwashed member is impossible to miss. Her eyes widen slightly, a flash of primal curiosity crossing her serious face.

"He is not a soldier," Aiyana murmurs, a teasing, predatory smirk tugging at her lips. She reaches out, her sun kissed hand gripping your chin firmly to **** you to look at her. "He is a gift from the Great Spirit. A little bird that flew into our nest by accident."

She stands up tall, her 6'2" frame casting a long shadow over your short, weak form. She turns to the tribe, her voice ringing out with authority. "He is not for the sacrifice! Not yet. He is too... useful for that. We shall keep him. He will be our breeder. A prize to ensure our strength continues!"

The women of the tribe erupt into cheers and rhythmic clapping, realizing what has been decided. Nasacha walks over, her expression softening from disgust to a calculating, hungry sort of interest. She reaches down and begins to unbuckle your belt with rough, efficient movements.

"If he is to be our ****, he must be prepared," Nasacha commands, looking at Aiyana. "Let us see if his strength matches his size."

Aiyana laughs, a rich, hearty sound, as she watches the women begin to crowd around you. She reaches down and playfully slaps your cheek. "Don't look so frightened, little Dutch man. You are in the hands of the Lakota now. You will work hard, you will serve us, and perhaps... if you please us... we will let you live."

She leans in close to your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "Héčhe tȟáŋka... you are going to be very busy, little one." (Translation: Big strength...)