The morning sun crested the eastern horizon, painting the plains in golden hues as the Navajo hunters gathered at the edge of the camp. Taniel stood tall among them, his bronzed skin glistening with a light sheen of dew, loincloth tied snug around his hips. His bow slung over one shoulder, quiver full of arrows fletched with eagle feathers, he exuded the quiet power of a stallion ready to charge. Maria lingered nearby, her fiery curls catching the light like flames, emerald eyes fixed on him with a mix of reluctance and pride. She wore a simple shift dress borrowed from the tribe, the hem brushing her bare calves, toes digging into the cool grass.
As the group prepared to depart, Taniel pulled her into his arms, crushing her petite frame against his 6-foot-3-inch build. His hands splayed across her back, one sliding down to cup her ass briefly through the fabric, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. He tilted her chin up and claimed her mouth in a deep kiss, tongue sweeping in to tangle with hers, tasting the sweetness of last night's lingering dreams. The hunting party erupted in cheers and good-natured ribbing in their native tongue—'Look at Thunderhoof, snared by the girl with the song voice and fiery mane!' one called, while another hooted, 'She's got you whipped like a colt, brother!'
Taniel broke the kiss with a grin, not releasing her fully. 'What can I say? I've found my intended mare,' he shot back in Navajo, voice laced with playful boast, waving off their laughter as he stepped away. Maria stood there, cheeks blooming red, toes curling tightly into the earth, a shy smile curving her lips as she watched him mount his horse and ride out with the others, their whoops fading into the distance.
With Taniel gone, Maria sought out her mother and Mohova, finding them near the construction site amid the scent of fresh-sawn wood and drying mud. Clara wiped sweat from her brow, her curves accentuated by the labor, while Mohova, a sturdy woman with silver-streaked braids and knowing eyes, directed a group of women in mixing adobe. Maria approached hesitantly, her voice low as she recounted the night's events—the foot rub escalating to thigh massages, the kisses turning to toe-sucking, and finally Taniel's tongue delving impossibly deep into her pussy, making her squirt in ecstasy.
Clara's eyes widened with impressed approval, a hand pressing to her chest. 'He showed such control, Maria. The temptation to mount you right there, to fill you with his seed... but he held back, preserving your chastity while giving you all that pleasure. That's a man who honors the rites.'
Mohova nodded, her expression proud. 'I raised my son right. In our ways, courting pairs can explore everything—caress, fondle, suck, lick—but full mating, the joining that brings children, waits until you're bonded as husband and wife. You've started strong; the spirits smile on such restraint.'
Maria blushed, heat flooding her freckled cheeks, but the surrounding women—young maidens and elder wives alike—gathered closer, eager to share wisdom. They formed a circle amid the half-raised walls, voices a murmur of guidance. 'Use your feet to stroke his cock,' one advised, demonstrating with her hands how to wrap toes around a shaft, sliding up and down with teasing pressure. 'Tease the head with your big toe, make him beg.' Another spoke of hands—'Grip firm at the base, twist your wrist as you pump, milk him slow then fast.' Mouth tips followed: 'Take him deep, relax your throat like swallowing sweet corn mush; swirl your tongue under the ridge.' For her breasts, they suggested pressing them together around his length, letting him thrust between the soft mounds while she licked the tip.
Mohova watched with a chuckle, then leaned in solemnly. 'But beware, girl—he's hung like his father, Chief Many Horses. Thick and long, enough to stretch you wide when the time comes.' Maria's eyes went wide, her pussy clenching involuntarily, a fresh trickle of moisture wetting her thighs. 'How... how hung?' she stammered, voice breathy.
Mohova hummed thoughtfully, then reached for a nearby tool—a sturdy branch crusher used for grinding nuts, its handle carved smooth and thick. She held it up, the 9-inch length gleaming, girth a solid 4 inches around, veined like wood grain. Maria and Clara gaped, eyes bulging, while the native women chuckled and cheered, slapping their thighs. 'Like this, but hotter, harder, and pulsing with life,' Mohova said, waggling it playfully.
Maria gulped, her pussy lips swelling with arousal, toes spreading wide in the dirt from a mix of eagerness and nerves, imagining that size splitting her open. She fanned herself, shift clinging to her dampening folds. 'We'll... manage,' she whispered, though her body betrayed her excitement.
Mohova laughed warmly, setting the tool aside. 'Don't fret—we have tools for practice, carved from soft wood or shaped gourds, oiled with rendered fat. And remedies: yucca root paste to ease the stretch, sage tea to heighten pleasure. You'll take him like a true Navajo bride.' The women delved deeper, sharing secrets of animal parts—deer antler lubricants, rabbit fur for teasing nipples, snake oil for slick entry—blending practical tips with tribal lore as they returned to work. Hammers rang, adzes shaved planks, and laughter wove through the labor, strengthening the bonds.
By day's end, the structure stood proud: a spacious building divided neatly. One wing housed the family quarters—a cozy kitchen with a stone hearth for Clara's cooking, a living room floored in packed earth and woven rugs for gatherings, bedrooms partitioned with carved screens. The other wing sprawled as a grand workshop, benches lined for multiple crafters, tools hung on pegs, space for Elias to teach. A handful of tribesfolk gathered there already—women and men with old injuries, limbs twisted from hunts or raids, eyes bright with determination. Elias demonstrated a lathe turn, his callused hands guiding a limping warrior's grip, voices rising in shared purpose.
As the sun dipped low, the hunters returned, horses laden with fresh kills—antelope haunches, rabbit skins, a brace of quail. The air filled with the sizzle of fires kindling, spices grinding for the evening meal. Taniel dismounted first, his muscles pumped from the chase, sweat tracing rivulets down his 8-pack abs and V-cut hips. Spotting Maria, he strode to her, pulling her into a fierce hug that lifted her 5-foot-4-inch frame off the ground. Her legs dangled, wrapping instinctively around his waist as he crushed her against him, their kiss deep and hungry—lips parting, tongues dueling, her hands threading into his dark hair.
She hugged him back just as tightly, breasts pressing into his chest, nipples hardening through her shift. He set her down reluctantly, hands lingering on her hips. 'Missed you, songbird,' he murmured, nuzzling her neck, inhaling her scent mixed with sawdust and earth.
'And I you, my stallion,' she replied, toes curling in the grass again, pussy throbbing from the day's teasing thoughts. 'Tonight... my turn in the rites. I'll make you ache like you did me.'
His cock twitched visibly under the loincloth, thickening at her words. 'Can't wait. But first, feast with the tribe—the meat's fresh, and stories will flow.'
Around them, the camp buzzed: women skewering haunches over flames, men drumming low rhythms, children chasing fireflies. Elias clapped Taniel on the shoulder, Clara stirred a pot of stewed roots, and Mohova oversaw the preparations with a nod to the budding pair. The night promised more than food—intimacy simmered, ready to unfold under the stars.