Kerry's voice was breathy, laced with a lie so thin it might as well have been transparent. "I just... I want to help your cock relax..." Her words were sweet, almost maternal, but her body told a different story—her hips still rolling in slow, desperate circles against me, her thighs slick with her own arousal, her breath coming in short, needy gasps.
I couldn't resist the urge to fucking test her.
With a sharp, sudden motion, I slammed my hips forward, my stomach colliding with hers with a loud, wet slap, the sound echoing through the hut like a filthy promise. Kerry let out a broken, breathless "Aaaaha..... Dexter—!" just as Mitt stirred beside us, his sleepy voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Kerry..." he grumbled, half-asleep, his voice thick with irritation. "I have to go hunting tomorrow in the morning... I need to sleep... Don't make those disturbing noises... Let me sleep."
My pulse spiked as Mitt groaned, rolling onto his other side with a heavy sigh, his back now turned to us. Kerry's breath hitched, her voice dropping to a shaky whisper, her fingers still tangled in my hair.
"Dexter... Is your cock feeling better? We can't disturb Mitt from sleeping..." But her hips kept moving, grinding against me in slow, needy rolls, like she couldn't fucking stop herself.
I pulled my mouth from her nipple with a wet, obscene pop, the sound filthy and loud in the quiet hut. A thin string of saliva still connected my lips to her hardened peak before snapping, the cool air making her nipple pucker even more. "Hm.... Aunt..." I murmured, my voice rough with amusement, my lips glistening with her. "It's okay... now... I'm fine..."
With a smirk, I pulled my cock from between her thighs, the sudden loss of pressure making Kerry let out a whimper, her voice thick with frustration.
"Aaaah..." Her body tensed, her thighs trembling like she was fighting the urge to drag me back, to force me to keep going. The way her breath hitched, the way her hips twitched—it was all the confirmation I needed. She was aching for me, her body begging for me to slide back inside.
The air between us was thick with tension, with need, with the unspoken promise of what was coming next.
Then I felt it—Kerry's hand moved, her fingers wrapping around my cock, her voice laced with surprise. "Dexter.... your cock... is still hard... how can you relax.... you're lying to Aunt..."
I forced my voice to sound innocent, my eyes wide and guileless as I looked up at her. "I just don't want to be a burden on Aunt... and disturb Uncle Mitt's sleep..."
Kerry let out a soft, exasperated sigh, pulling me into a hug, her voice warm but firm. "You poor child..." Her fingers stroked my hair, her breath warm against my ear, but her other hand remained wrapped around my cock, her thumb brushing over the slick head. "Aunt is your family now... so you can't lie to us..."
Her words were sweet, almost maternal, but the way her hand tightened around my shaft told a different story. She was feeling me, her thumb tracing the ridge of my head, her breath hitching as she realized just how hard I still was.
Then, with deliberate slowness, I reached down and pulled the foreskin fully back, revealing the swollen, glistening head of my cock.
Kerry's breath caught, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Your cock... is so hard... and it has become even harder..." Her fingers traced the tip, her voice laced with concern and something darker, something hungry. "Does it really want a pussy...? But you're still a child... it's not time yet... to find a girl..."
She hesitated, her thumb still circling the head, her breath warm against my ear. "Does this happen before, Dexter?"
I kept my voice soft and innocent, my eyes wide and pleading as I looked up at her, my cock still throbbing in her grip. "It didn't happen before..." I let the words sink in, my voice barely above a whisper, laced with just the right amount of vulnerability.
"But I heard from my grandfather... that only a pussy can help a hard cock calm down... like you told me, Aunt... about Uncle Mitt's cock calming down after he put his seed inside you..." My voice trailed off, my gaze flickering down to where her hand still lingered on my cock, her thumb tracing slow, teasing circles over the slick head.
The air in the hut was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, musky aroma of sweat—hers, mine, the lingering heat of something unfinished. Kerry's breath hitched, her fingers twitching against my skin before she forced them still, as if the slightest movement might betray her.
For a second, her body trembled—not from the night's chill, but from something far more dangerous. Her breath, warm and uneven, feathered against my ear, sending a jolt down my spine.
I almost had her.
That hesitation—raw, trembling, alive—hung between us like a taut bowstring. I could feel the weight of her need, thick enough to drown in.
My pulse roared in my ears, my body coiled tight, ready to strike. But then she exhaled, a shaky, defeated sound, her voice wrapping around the words like a noose: "Maybe we should start looking for a girl for you, Dexter..."
Her fingers, which had been tracing lazy, maddening patterns along my length, stilled. One last stroke—slow, deliberate, cruel—before she pulled away.
The sudden absence of her touch was a physical ache, the cool air rushing in to replace her warmth making my cock throb in protest. I bit back a groan, my muscles locking as I fought the urge to drag her back, to force her to finish what she'd started.
Kerry shifted beside me, her voice dropping into something softer, almost gentle. "You must be uncomfortable... How can you possibly sleep like this?" Her words were laced with something I couldn't quite name—pity? Amusement? Or was it the faintest hint of envy?
Before I could answer, she turned sharply toward Mitt, her movement abrupt, almost violent. "Mitt," she hissed, shaking him by the shoulder. "Wake up."
Mitt groaned, rolling onto his side. His voice was thick with sleep. "W-what? What's happening, Kerry?"
She didn't hesitate. "It's Dexter. His cock isn't calming down." Her tone was clinical, but there was an undercurrent beneath it—something sharp, almost triumphant. "He needs a pussy to settle himself. We should talk to Ryan and Hina, see if there's a girl in the tribe who can follow our Dexter."
"What? His—his cock still hasn't gone down?" His voice was thick with grogginess, but the words snapped him fully awake. He bolted upright, alarm cutting through the haze.
"That's... that's bad. Really bad." He swallowed hard, already swinging his legs off the bed. "We need to go. Now. They're probably still up—we can fix this."
The air in the hut was thick, suffocating, charged with the scent of sweat and damp earth. My breath hitched as I watched Kerry and Mitt adjust the flimsy leaves covering their bodies, the fabric clinging to the curves of their hips, the shadows between their thighs.
Kerry's fingers lingered at the edge of her covering, her movements slow, deliberate—as if she were teasing me even now. Her eyes flicked back to me, dark and knowing, her lips curling into that infuriating smile that never quite reached her gaze.
"Don't worry, Dexter," she murmured, her voice a slow pour of dark honey, rich and intoxicating. "Aunt Kerry will find you a beautiful girl. One who will follow you. One who will take care of that... problem of yours."
Her words struck me like a blade twisting deep in my gut. My cock, already painfully hard, throbbed in response, the weight of it heavy against my thigh.
Panic surged through me, hot and suffocating, but beneath it, something darker, something hungrier, coiled tight in my belly. They were actually going to do it. They were going to walk out there, to Ryan and Hina, and ask for a girl—just to sate my need, to quiet the relentless, throbbing ache between my legs.
It was shameless. Desperate. Humiliating.
And yet—
My mind screamed in protest, but my body betrayed me. The thought of some faceless girl, her thighs spreading for me, her wet heat welcoming what Kerry had denied—it was maddening.
I could already imagine it: the way her lips would part in a gasp as I pushed inside, the way her body would clench around me, milking me until I spilled deep within her. The fantasy sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my cock, making it twitch, the tip already slick with pre-cum.
I hated myself for it.
Hated that I was so hard I could cut glass. Hated that my body craved release even as my heart still ached for her.
Kerry and Mitt moved toward the hut's entrance, their bare feet silent against the packed earth. Kerry glanced back one last time, her smile now edged with something almost cruel. "We'll be back soon," she called, her tone light, almost cheerful. "Try to relax, Dexter. You'll have what you need before you know it."
The flap of the hut fell back into place behind them, plunging me into near-darkness. The only sounds left were my ragged breathing and the relentless, insistent throb of my cock—each pulse a reminder of what I'd lost, and what I was about to gain.
I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms hard enough to draw blood. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Kerry was supposed to be mine. Her body, her heat, her tight, dripping cunt—it was all I'd wanted since the moment I first saw her.
But she'd denied me. Again and again. And now, instead of giving me what I truly craved, she was out there, bargaining for some other woman to take her place.
The thought made my cock throb harder, the tip leaking, the cock so swollen it ached.
I realized then, with a bitter clarity, that Kerry would never give me her pussy. Not like this. Not when she still believed the tribe would despise me for it—that they'd see me as weak, as less, for taking an older woman. She'd rather send someone else to my bed than risk my reputation.
And the worst part?
She didn't even realize how badly she needed it.
I could picture her out there in the moonlight, her thighs pressed together, her cunt dripping with the same desperate need that had me on the edge of madness. She didn't understand that her own body was betraying her, that she needed a cock inside her just as much as I needed to be inside her.
But she'd never admit it.
The frustration burned through me, hot and relentless. This was the first time a woman I wanted—truly wanted—had pushed me away so completely. And the irony? My body didn't care. My cock didn't give a damn about pride or shame. It just wanted.
A rustle at the entrance.
Then, a voice—soft, hesitant. "Dexter... are you okay?"
I looked up.
Hina stood there, framed by the moonlight, Ryan and Mitt just behind her. The flap of the hut had been pulled aside completely, and the silver glow spilled inside, illuminating every inch of the space—including my cock.
I swallowed hard, sitting up from the stone bed, my voice rough. "Aunt Hina... I'm sorry to disturb you—"
Hina didn't wait for me to finish. She stepped inside, her movements graceful, her eyes locked onto the obvious bulge between my legs.
Kerry and the others followed, but it was Hina who took control. She settled beside me, her thigh pressing against mine, her warmth seeping through the thin barrier of leaves.
"I heard from Kerry that your cock..." she began, her fingers already reaching out, brushing against the swollen cock, "Is troubling you. That it wants a woman's pussy."
My breath hitched as she stroked my cock.
"Oh," she breathed.
Her fingers wrapped around my cock, and I groaned, my hips jerking involuntarily. Hina's grip tightened, her touch more exploratory. She stroked me once, twice, her thumb brushing over the slick tip.
"It's so big," she murmured, almost to herself. "And so hot..."
Ryan and Mitt let out low, appreciative murmurs from where they stood.
"Yeah, Dexter," Ryan said, his voice rough with envy. "Bigger than any of us..."
I realized only now how bright it was inside—the door flap had been pulled away, letting them all see clearly.
Kerry's voice was softer, but there was an edge to it—something almost possessive. "I was surprised too, the first time I saw it."
I forced out the lie I'd prepared, my voice strained. "My grandfather gave me herbs... to make it stronger. So my cock could give birth to strong children."
Hina's fingers tightened around the base of my cock, her thumb swirling over the swollen head with deliberate slowness.
I could feel the heat of her palm, the way her breath hitched just slightly, like she was fighting something. Then—her hand stilled. A beat of silence. And when I dared to glance at her face, her eyes weren't on me anymore. They were locked onto Ryan.
Something dark flickered across her expression—disgust, maybe, or something worse. A kind of hollow, furious resignation. My pulse spiked. She hates him. Or at least, she hates what he isn't.
Ryan must've felt the weight of her stare because his shoulders tensed. He didn't look at her—not directly. Instead, his jaw clenched, his gaze sliding sideways like he couldn't bear to meet it.
The air in the hut turned thick, suffocating. I remembered then—Hina's children. Or the lack of them.