Dexter—!" Her voice was sharp, confused, her breath catching as her gaze locked onto the obscene bulge straining against the loose hide wrapped around my waist.
The air between us thickened, charged with something filthy, something unspoken. "Hurry up..." she hissed, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "We have to go back. Kina is waiting for us."
I nodded, my voice rough with faux innocence. "Oh..." But instead of tucking myself away, I pulled the hide aside, revealing my cock—thick, veiny, painfully hard, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. The moment it was free, it jerked in the open air, throbbing with need.
Kerry's eyes widened, her lips parting as she stared at it. "Oh..." Her fingers twitched at her sides before she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a hushed, concerned murmur.
"It's... It's hard again..." Her gaze flickered up to mine, searching—worried, but something darker lurked beneath the surface. "Is it hurting?"
She reached out, her calloused fingers wrapping around the base of my cock, her thumb brushing against the pulsing vein running along the underside. "Do you want Aunt... to use her saliva again?"
The air between us was thick—heavy with the scent of her, the memory of her pussy dripping, the sound of her piss hissing into the grass.
My cock throbbed, aching, desperate to be inside her, but I forced myself to wait. There was Kina—waiting, unaware—and the other women, the ones I'd met before, all potential playthings in this primitive paradise. I couldn't give in yet.
So I swallowed the urge, my voice false with innocence, rough with restraint. "No, Aunt... it's fine..." I shifted my weight, my cock pulsing in my grip, the veins throbbing, the tip dripping with pre-cum. "It's not hurting... It just became like this... maybe because it wants to pee..."
Kerry nodded, her dark eyes dropping to my cock—thick, veiny, obscenely hard—before her fingers reached for it. "Let me... hold it for you," she murmured, her voice soft, hesitant, but her touch was firm as her hand wrapped around the base.
The moment her skin made contact, I groaned, my hips jerking forward involuntarily, my cock pulsing in her grip.
And then—
She stepped behind me.
Her body pressed against my back, full and heavy, her tits—swollen, aching—mashing into my skin, her nipples hard as pebbles against my flesh.
The heat of her radiated through the thin hide of my skirt, her breath hot against my ear as her fingers tightened around my cock, her other arm snaking around my waist to pull me flush against her.
"Hmmm..." she hummed, the vibration of it sending a shiver down my spine. Her lips brushed the shell of my ear, her voice a low, filthy whisper. "Dexter... see if you can pee..."
I exhaled sharply, my cock throbbing in her grip as the first stream broke free. It hissed into the grass, hot and steady, aimed at the same spot where Kerry had peed just moments before.
The sound of it—raw, unfiltered, obscene—mixed with the throb of my cock in her hand, the way her fingers squeezed just enough to guide the flow. Her thumb brushed against the underside of my cock, teasing the vein that pulsed with every spurt, her breasts pressed so tight against my back I could feel her heartbeat.
"That's it..." she murmured, her voice thick with something dark, something hungry. "Let it all out..." Her fingers tightened, milking me slowly, her hips rolling against my ass in a rhythm that made my cock jerk violently.
The pressure of her tits against my back, the heat of her breath on my neck, the way her thighs pressed against the back of mine—it was too much. I could smell her—musky, sweet, still dripping from before—and the knowledge that she was right there, holding me, touching me, helping me pee like some filthy, intimate act made my head spin.
The stream slowed, the last drops dripping into the grass, and Kerry's voice cut through the silence, gentle but firm. "Dexter... are you done?"
I nodded, my cock twitching in her grip, the last remnants of piss clinging to the tip. "Yeah... thank you, Aunt..."
She chuckled softly, her fingers lingering, stroking the length of me slowly, teasingly, before she finally released me. But not before her thumb brushed over the head, smearing the last drops of piss and pre-cum together in a filthy, obscene gesture.
"What are you thanking me for?" Her voice was warm, amused, but her breasts were still pressed against my back, her nipples hard against my skin. "We're family..." Her lips brushed my ear again, her voice dropping to a whisper, dark and promising. "We take care of each other..."
Her fingers traced a slow, deliberate line down my arm, her nails scratching lightly against my skin, sending a shiver through me. "And don't forget..." Her voice was a purr, a filthy promise. "I still need your help..." Her hand slid down, her palm pressing against my thigh, dangerously close to my cock. "With my nipples... and my leaking pussy..."
My cock jerked violently at her words, throbbing with the need to bury itself deep inside her right fucking now. I tucked it back into my leaf skirt, the fabric clinging to my damp skin, the scent of piss and arousal lingering between us. The thought of her pussy—still dripping, still aching—made my head spin.
Kerry's voice was light, almost casual, but her eyes—dark, knowing—betrayed the filthy tension still humming between us. "Okay, let's go now..." She stepped back, her hips swaying with each movement, the hide skirt clinging to the curve of her ass, her thighs pressing together just enough to hint at the ache still throbbing between them.
The way she walked—unselfconscious, confident—made my cock twitch with frustration. She wasn't hiding it. She wasn't ashamed. She was just... owning it. Like this was normal. Like peeing in front of me, like letting me watch her, like not washing her hands afterward—like none of it was wrong.
And fuck—that made it hotter.
The air still clung to us—thick with the scent of her, the memory of her pussy dripping, the raw musk of our piss soaking into the earth beneath our feet.
My cock throbbed with unfinished need, my pulse pounding in my ears as I followed Kerry back toward the tribe. The grass beneath us was still damp, the sharp, earthy scent of our release mixing with the sweet, musky aroma of her arousal, clinging to our skin like a filthy secret.
The sun was dying now, its golden light bleeding across the sky, painting the world in fiery hues of orange and red. Shadows stretched long and hungry across the ground, the tribe's fire already crackling in the distance, its glow licking at the edges of the gathering darkness.
Soon, it would be night. Soon, the tribe would be lost in the embrace of firelight and whispers, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat and sweat and something deeper—something primal.
Kerry, on my side, didn't seem to care. She didn't flinch at the stickiness on her fingers, didn't wipe them on the grass or rinse them in the nearest stream.
To her, this was just... life. Normal. And the realization that she'd wiped my cum from her face and thighs with nothing but leaves, that she'd let her own piss drip down her skin without a second thought—it sent a jolt of dark, filthy excitement through me.
This wasn't just savagery.
This was freedom.
And I wanted to corrupt every inch of it.
We stepped back into the center of the tribe, the fire crackling in the middle of the clearing, the smell of roasted meat and smoke filling the air.
Women—some like Kerry, mature and curved, their bodies soft in places where life had touched them, others younger, fresher, like Kina, their skin smooth and unmarked—were scattered around the space.
All of them sat on the dry earth or lounged on the huge, flat stones that lay like natural benches, their laughter and chatter weaving through the crackling fire. Their bodies gleamed—sweat glistening on brown skin, dust clinging to their calves, their arms marked with the signs of labor.
Scars—thin, pale lines—traced their skin, calluses roughened their hands, and the muscles beneath their flesh spoke of women who worked, who endured, who thrived in this harsh, untamed world.
And the men—they were there too. Clustered together, shoulders brushed against their women, fingers greasy from roasted meat, laughter rumbling deep in their chests.
They were rough, strong hunters, warriors, providers—their bodies marked with the same scars and dust as the women, their voices booming as they shared stories, jokes, the spoils of the day.
Some had their arms slung around their women, fingers tracing idle patterns on bare skin, possessive in a way that spoke of ownership—but not cruelty. This was a tribe. A family. They lived, they fought, they fucked—and they did it together.
And then—
I recognized them.
The faces of the men and women I'd met when I first entered this place with Mitt—the ones who had eyed me with curiosity, with suspicion, with the quiet assessment of outsiders.
They were here now, eating, laughing, their gazes flickering over to me before sliding away—some with nods, others with lingering looks that hinted at questions they hadn't asked yet.
And then—
Her.
One woman stood out—immediately. While the others wore leaves or loose hides, she was draped in animal skin—tanned, soft, fitted to her body in a way that hugged her curves.
The hide wrapped around her waist, dipping low enough to tease the top of her thighs, and another piece was tied around her tits, covering them but barely—the cleavage deep, the swell of them pressing against the leather, the nipples just visible beneath the stitching. Her hair was long, dark, braided back from her face, and her eyes—sharp, assessing—scanned the crowd with the confidence of a queen.
Damn.
The firelight danced across the woman's face, its flickering glow carving deep shadows that sharpened her already striking features. She carried herself with an unmistakable weight—authority draped over her like a second skin, her spine unyielding, her dark eyes cutting through the dimness as they locked onto mine.
This had to be Hina, the woman Ryan had claimed, the one Kerry had warned me about.
Unlike the others, whose loose hide wraps teased glimpses of flesh beneath, Hina's attire was deliberate—neatly tied, concealing everything. No hint of her body's curves, no accidental reveal of skin. Just control.
But that didn't stop my gaze from lingering on the way the animal skin hugged her strong frame, the way her broad shoulders and scarred arms spoke of years of labor and survival.
Kerry's hand tightened around my wrist, her voice warm but firm as she pulled me forward. "Hina," she said, her tone carrying the familiarity of old friendship.
Hina looked up from the piece of roasted meat she'd been holding, her dark eyes softening as they landed on Kerry before shifting to me. "Kerry... you're finally here," she said, her voice deep and measured. Then, her gaze locked onto me, curious but guarded. "And who is this kid?"
Kerry squeezed my wrist gently, a silent signal of reassurance. "Hina, this is Dexter," she began, her voice steady as she launched into the fabricated story of the death of my parents—the tale of how Mitt and the others had found me lost in the jungle, how I'd been taken in by the tribe. Hina listened intently, her expression unreadable, but her eyes never left mine.
When Kerry finished, Hina leaned forward slightly, her gaze still locked onto me. "Dexter," she said, her voice carrying a weight that demanded attention.
"Don't be sad." Her calloused hand reached out, brushing against my shoulder with a warmth that felt almost maternal. "You are not alone anymore. We will all be your family from now on."
I nodded, my voice respectful. "Thank you, Elder Hina."
She let out a low, warm chuckle, shaking her head. "Just call me Aunt Hina," she corrected, her lips curving into a small smile. "Kerry and I are like sisters. And that makes you my nephew, too."
"Aunt Hina," I repeated, my voice firm, obedient.
She seemed to like that. Her hand closed around mine, her grip strong and possessive, as she turned to face the rest of the tribe. The firelight danced across her features, casting shadows that made her look even more formidable. She stood, pulling me with her, and raised her voice so it carried over the crackling fire and the murmurs of the crowd.
"Everyone!" she called out, her voice ringing with authority. The chatter died down instantly, all eyes turning toward us. "This is Dexter!" she announced, her grip on my hand tightening as she pulled me forward. "He is now one of us—a part of the Kronos Tribe!"