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!"
The murmur that rippled through the crowd was like the rustle of leaves in a storm—curious, skeptical, watchful. Heads lifted, eyes locked onto me, some narrow with assessment, others wide with intrigue.
The weight of their gazes pressed against my skin, but I stood tall, my pulse steady, my expression calm. This was my moment. My introduction. My opportunity.
Hina's voice cut through the silence like a blade, firm and commanding, leaving no room for doubt. "He is under our protection now." Her dark eyes swept over the crowd, her tone leaving no space for argument.
"Under my protection." She turned to me then, her expression softening just enough to make it clear—this wasn't just words. This was a vow.
"Dexter, from this moment on, you are family." Her voice dropped, lower now, just for me, but still carrying the weight of her authority. "And in this tribe, family takes care of each other."
I nodded, my throat tight with something that wasn't quite gratitude and wasn't quite triumph—but something close.
Then Kerry stepped forward, her hand finding my shoulder, her voice warm but carrying across the firelit clearing. "Hina... I forgot to tell you..." She glanced at me, her dark eyes glinting with something knowing—something proud.
"My Dexter... he's also a healer." The words hung in the air, and a ripple of surprise passed through the crowd. "His grandfather was a healer. He taught him all his skills..."
Hina's head snapped toward me, her eyes wide with excitement—with hope. "That's great..." Her voice was breathless, almost disbelieving, as if she'd just been handed a gift she hadn't dared to wish for. "Now we also have a healer in our tribe!"
I hesitated—just for a second—before I shrugged, my expression false with modesty. "But... Aunt Hina..." I let my voice drop, just enough to make sure everyone was listening.
"I only learned how to heal women's diseases..." I paused, letting the implication sink in. "Before my grandfather could teach me about men's diseases... he passed away."
The crowd stilled. A beat of silence. Then—
Hina laughed. Not in disappointment, but in delight. "That's also fine, Dexter..." Her voice was warm, assuring, her hand clapping my shoulder with approving strength.
"I am happy that we have you..." She turned to the tribe, her voice ringing out, proud and commanding. "Now... we will become a stronger tribe!" Her gaze swept over the gathered faces, her tone leaving no room for doubt.
"And you heard now—we also have a healer!" She raised her voice, her words carrying over the crackle of the fire. "If any woman... has any sickness, she can come to Dexter!"
A murmur rose again—this time, different. Excited. Hopeful. Hungry.
I smirked inwardly.
Oh, they'd come.
And when they did?
I'd heal them all right.
In ways they hadn't even dreamed of.
The words still hummed in my mind, a dark promise lingering beneath the surface of my thoughts. Hina's voice cut through the haze, pulling me back to the present.
She reached into the pile of roasted meat near the fire, her calloused fingers selecting the largest piece before turning to me. The firelight danced across her face, casting shadows that made her sharp features look even more imposing.
"Here you go, Dexter." She pressed the meat into my hands, her grip firm, her tone maternal but laced with something else—pride, maybe, or the satisfaction of having secured a healer for her people. "You should eat a lot. As you're growing up."
I took the meat, the warmth of it seeping into my palms, the scent of charred flesh and smoke filling my nose. But I didn't bring it to my lips. Not yet.
My gaze flicked over the meat—dark, glistening with fat, the edges blackened from the fire. There was no salt, no seasoning, nothing to mask the raw, primitive taste of it. And worse—hygiene. Had they washed it? Cleaned it? Or had they simply butchered the animal and thrown it over the flames, blood and dirt still clinging to the flesh?
My stomach twisted.
I glanced at Hina, her dark eyes watching me expectantly, waiting for me to take a bite. The tribe around us was already eating, tearing into their meat with teeth and hands, juices dripping down their chins, their laughter mingling with the crackle of the fire. They didn't care. They didn't know any better. This was life here—raw, unfiltered, survival in its most basic form.
But I knew.
And the thought of biting into something that might still be tainted—something that might rot in my gut—made my throat tighten.
I forced a smile, my fingers tightening around the warm, greasy meat on the bone—still steaming, the scent of spices and roasted fat clinging to my skin. "Thank you, Aunt Hina," I said, my voice smooth, practiced, dripping with false gratitude.
My stomach twisted, but not from hunger. I didn't eat. Not yet. Instead, I turned the meat over in my hands, pretending to inspect it, my thumb brushing against the charred edges as if judging its perfection. The juices glistened under the flickering torchlight, but my mind was elsewhere—calculating, stalling, buying myself just a few more seconds.
Then Kina's voice cut through the hum of conversation like a blade.
"Dexter... come." Her fingers curled around my wrist before I could react, her grip firm, possessive. "I'll take you to meet the others."
I glanced back—just once. Kerry's eyes were on me, dark and unreadable, her lips parted as she took a slow, deliberate bite of her own meal. Hina laughed at something, her voice bright, oblivious, but Kerry's gaze lingered, heavy with something unsaid.
The firelight danced across the faces of the women gathered around, their laughter and chatter weaving through the crackling flames. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and sweat, the warmth of the fire pressing against my skin. Kina's hand was still clasped in mine, her fingers warm and possessive as she pulled me toward the group.
"Dexter," she said, her voice bright with excitement, "meet Ruth."
Ruth looked up, her white hair catching the firelight like spun silver, her blue eyes sharp and assessing. She was young—around Kina's age—but there was something otherworldly about her, something that made my pulse quicken. Her skin was pale, almost luminous in the flickering light, a stark contrast to the bronze tones of the other women.
The hide wrap she wore clung to her body, the material stretched tight over her full, round tits, the nipples—pink, perky—peeking through the gaps in the leaves.
My gaze dropped lower, to the white bush between her thighs, the curls soft and inviting, a stark contrast to the darker hair of the other women. The thought of spreading her thighs, of seeing that pale, soft flesh up close, made my cock twitch in anticipation.
"Hello," Ruth said, her voice soft but not shy. Her eyes lingered on me, curious and assessing, as if she could see right through me.
I replied, " Hello, Sister Ruth... "The way her hide wrap hugged her hips, the way her ass swung slightly as she shifted her weight—it was maddening. I could already imagine my hands gripping those hips, pulling her onto my cock, feeling her tight, wet heat clench around me.
Kina grinned, pulling me along to the next woman. "And this is Aunt Vera."
Vera was older, her body mature and voluptuous, her blonde hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Her bronze skin gleamed in the firelight, the hide wrap she wore barely containing her large, heavy tits, the nipples dark and hard beneath the leaf.
My gaze dropped to her bush—thick, golden, curly—peeking out from beneath the edge of her wrap. The way her hips flared, the way her ass filled out the hide skirt, made my fingers itch to grab her, to squeeze that flesh as I fucked her from behind.
"Welcome to the tribe, little brother," Vera purred, her voice low and husky. "You're going to fit in just fine."
I smirked, my voice dropping to a teasing tone. "I hope so, Aunt Vera."
She laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Oh, I know so."
Suddenly, A woman stepped into the clearing, her long, white hair catching the firelight like silver.
"Mother!" Ruth called, standing up.
Kina tugged my hand again, leading me toward the last woman. "And this is Aunt Ada—Ruth's mother."
Ada stepped into the firelight, her long white hair cascading down her back like a river of silver. She was older—fifties, maybe—but fuck, she was built. Her body was full, voluptuous, her tits large and heavy, straining against the hide wrap that barely contained them.
The leaves skirt clung to her wide hips, her ass round and firm, filling out the skirt in a way that made my cock throb. Her skin was pale like Ruth's, but marked with years—lines around her eyes, scars on her arms—evidence of a life lived hard and well. Her blue eyes were sharp, knowing, as if she could see straight through me.
"Aunt Ada," Kina said, pulling me closer as the woman approached. "This is Dexter..." She grinned. "He's my brother now."
"Hello, Dexter," Ada said, her voice deep and smooth, like warm honey. "Call me Aunt Ada, just like your sister."
"Aunt Ada," I repeated, my voice respectful, but my mind was already racing with filthy thoughts.
The way her hide wrap hugged her thick waist, the way her tits swelled above the leaf, the way her bush—white, like Ruth's, but thicker, wilder—peeked out from beneath her skirt. I could already imagine kneeling between her thighs, burying my face in that soft, curly bush, licking her until she screamed.
Kina beamed up at me, her eyes shining with pride. "Dexter, you're amazing..." She squeezed my hand. "A healer at such a young age..."
I shrugged, pretending modesty, though my gaze kept flicking between the women—Ruth's slim, pale body, Vera's mature curves, Ada's full, voluptuous figure. "It's nothing amazing, sister..." I glanced at Ada, then back at Kina. "My grandfather taught me everything..."
Kina turned to Vera, her voice excited. "Aunt Vera, hasn't your waist been hurting these days?" She grinned. "Why don't you let Dexter see it?"
Vera's gaze snapped to me, her eyes darkening with something hungry. "If Dexter thinks it'll help..." Her voice was low, suggestive, as if she already knew exactly what kind of help I had in mind.
I let my gaze linger on her waist—thick, soft, perfect for gripping—before meeting her eyes. "Sister..." I said, my voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. "I have to take a closer look... at Aunt's waist..." My fingers itched to touch her, to trace the curves of her body. "Examine it properly..."
Kina nodded eagerly. "You have to help Aunt Vera, Dexter..."
"Don't worry, sister..." I murmured, my voice a promise. "I'll definitely help Aunt Vera..."
Ruth spoke up, her voice concerned but laced with curiosity. " But, Dexter... but do you need any herbs?"
I pretended to think, my eyes still locked on Vera's full, inviting body. "First, I have to see Aunt's waist clearly..." I let my voice drop, suggestive, filthy. "See where she's hurting..." My gaze flickered to Kina. "It's best if she's lying down... so I can examine her properly..."
Kina grinned, "Don't worry, if Aunt Vera needs herbs. I'll ask my father to get the herbs Dexter needs to heal Aunt Vera..."
Suddenly, as Kina was talking, I spotted the familiar faces of the guards I'd met earlier with Mitt. They were heading straight toward me, their expressions friendly yet purposeful.
One of them—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a confident stride—stepped forward and said, "Hey, Dexter! Once you're done eating, come with us. We'd love to show you around the place." His voice was warm, almost inviting, as if they'd been waiting for this moment.
Without hesitation, they began introducing themselves. The first, a man with sharp features and a quick smile, extended his hand and said, "I'm Patt." Next was Eric, who had a calm, measured demeanor, nodding as he spoke his name.
Then came Luke, the most talkative of the group, already launching into a story about something that had happened earlier in the day. Finally, Joe, the quietest of them all, simply gave a firm handshake and a nod, his presence steady and reassuring.
I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere—on Ada, on Kerry, on the way this tribe was unfolding before me like a feast of flesh and desire. The women's bodies—Ruth's pale, tight curves, Vera's mature, voluptuous figure, Ada's full, soft flesh—burned in my mind, each one a promise of pleasure waiting to be claimed.
Then Vera's voice cut through the chatter, her tone playful but sharp. "Kina... when is your man coming back?"
Kina glanced up, smiling. "Tusk? He should be back soon..." She shrugged, her voice light. "The sun is going down. He'll be here with father and Uncle Ryan..."
Tusk.
The name triggered a memory—the young hunter I'd met with Ryan and Mitt. The one Ryan had introduced as the tribe's youngest hunter. The one whose woman—Kina—was now standing beside me, her hand still clasped in mine.
I smirked internally, my gaze lingering on Kina's curves, the way her hide skirt clung to her ass, the way her tits swelled beneath the leaves.
Sorry, Tusk.
Your woman is mine now.
And I'll mold her into my shape.
The meat was still clutched in my hand, untouched, the juices glistening under the flickering firelight as the tribe feasted around me. Their teeth tore into the flesh, their lips smeared with grease, their laughter mingling with the crackle of the flames.
I pretended to take a bite, my jaw moving slowly, chewing nothing, swallowing air. The taste—raw, gamey, unseasoned—lingered in my imagination, making my stomach twist with disgust.
Then—
An idea struck me.
Why not?
I bit into the meat—hard—my teeth sinking into the charred flesh. But before it could touch my tongue, before the flavor could register, I sent it straight to the System Storage.
The moment it vanished, I took another bite—and another—and another—chewing nothing, swallowing nothing, but keeping up the act perfectly. The others didn't notice. They were too busy eating, too busy laughing, too busy living in this raw, unfiltered world.
Within minutes, the entire roasted piece was "gone"—not eaten, but stored, discarded, forgotten.
Eric clapped me on the back, his voice a rough growl. "Dexter, let's go..." His grinning face was smeared with grease, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I'll show you around... our tribe."
Kina turned her head, her dark eyes locking onto me. "Don't go into the forest," she warned, her voice firm but concerned. "And come back quickly... before it gets really dark..."
I nodded, grinning back at her. "I will, sister."
The night air was cool, crisp, the scent of earth and smoke clinging to the breeze as Eric, Patt, Luke, and Joe led me through the tribe. The huts were scattered in a rough circle, the fire at the center casting long, dancing shadows across the ground.
The men pointed out everything—the hunting racks, the storage pits, the areas where the women prepared food.
"Winter's coming soon," Patt grunted, his voice a low rumble. "That's when the other tribes start attacking..." His fingers tightened around the haft of his spear, his knuckles whitening. "Food gets scarce... and men get desperate."
Eric nodded, his expression darkening. "We guard the front hard..." He gestured toward the dense tree line that marked the edge of the tribe's territory. "No one gets through without us knowing."
Luke spat into the dirt, his voice dry. "Last year, the Blackfang tribe tried..." His lips curled into a snarl. "We sent them back with fewer men than they came with."
Joe grinned, flexing his arms. "And this year? " His eyes gleamed with bloodlust. "We'll do the same... worse."
I listened, nodding along, my mind racing. Winter meant war. War meant chaos. And chaos? That was an opportunity.
Then they took me to Ryan's hut.
Fuck.
It was massive—far larger than any of the others, built from thick, heavy logs lashed together with animal sinew. The roof was thatched with layers of dried grass and hides, sloping steeply to shed rain and snow. But the real defense was behind it—
A sheer, towering mountain face, jagged and unclimbable, rising straight up from the ground like a natural fortress. No one could sneak up from behind. No one could attack from that side. The only way in was from the front—and that meant going through the entire tribe first.
"Ryan's the chief," Eric muttered, his voice low, respectful. "His hut is the safest... strongest..." He gestured toward the mountain looming behind it, its dark shadow swallowing the hut in protection. "No one gets past that without dying first."
I studied the layout—the distance between Ryan's hut and the others (fifty, maybe eighty meters), the way it overlooked the entire tribe from its elevated position.
The chief could see everything from here. Control everything. The hut was isolated—no other huts nearby—just open space and the impenetrable mountain at its back. It was strategic. Smart. Untouchable.
Perfect.
We circled back to the center, the fire still roaring, the tribe still feasting. My eyes flickered to the kids—the teenagers, clean-shaven, their bodies slim and unmarked by years of labor. Some of them were girls—not my taste yet, but their mothers?
Oh, I'd be attacking them soon enough.
I decided to integrate into their group. Kids were easy—trusting, curious. They'd ask questions. They'd talk. They'd help me understand this world without raising suspicion.
And besides—
If I got close to the kids?
I got close to their mothers.
Eric and the others returned to guard the tribe, resuming their patrols. I suppressed a smirk as I approached the group, my voice warm and disarming.
"Mind if I join you?" I asked, already settling onto the ground beside them. My gaze flicked across their faces—young, trusting, oblivious to the chaos I was about to unleash. The hunt had only just begun.
I struck up a conversation, probing gently. They revealed that the boys—Liam, Adam, Paul, and Noah—had started learning hunting and tracking from the tribe's seasoned hunters.
The girls, Clara and Edith, were being taught cooking and chores like weaving clothing from leaves. I listened, nodding thoughtfully, filing away every detail.
They had no idea what was coming.
The firelight danced across the faces of the kids as they huddled together, their voices brimming with youthful excitement.
They spoke with the kind of unfiltered honesty that only children possess, their words painting a vivid picture of the tribe's hierarchy—one that I was quickly learning to navigate. I found that Males are given priority and seen as Alpha.
"Hunters get the best food in winter," Noah said, his eyes shining with determination. He was a scrawny kid, but there was a fierceness in his voice that betrayed his ambition.
"Even when food is scarce, they eat first. Because if they don't survive, who will hunt for the tribe?" His small fists clenched as if he were already gripping a spear. "And the girls... they all want hunters to be their man. Because hunters never go hungry."
I leaned in slightly, my voice casual but probing. "So hunters are like... the most important people here?"
"Yeah!" Liam, another boy with a mop of unruly hair, chimed in eagerly. "Then come the guards, like Eric and Patt. They protect us, so they get food next. Then the rest of us."
I nodded slowly, letting the words settle like stones in my mind.
So that's the order. Hunters first. Guards second. Everyone else—an afterthought.
My thoughts raced ahead, weighing the implications. If I wanted to climb in this tribe, I'd have to become a hunter. Or at least convince them I was one.
But the idea rankled. A healer should outrank them all—what good were hunters if their wounds festered? If their bones are set wrong? Yet here, strength was measured in blood spilled, not lives saved.
Fine. If they wanted a hunter, I'd give them one. But when the time came, they'd learn the truth: the hand that heals holds more power than the spear that strikes.
Even if I am not a doctor, I can offer remedies from my Supermarket Store—medicine for fevers, painkillers for aches. To them, it may well be a miracle.
Noah grinned at me, his teeth flashing in the firelight. "You should become a hunter, Dexter. Then you'll never go hungry, and all the girls will like you."
I chuckled, shaking my head as if the idea were too grand for me. "Maybe I will."
Noah's excitement was palpable. "Meet me tomorrow morning. We can play together. I'll show you where the hunters practice with their spears!"
I nodded, my smile genuine. "Sure, little brother."
The moment was interrupted by a sudden commotion at the edge of the clearing. The tribe's chatter turned to cheers as Mitt, Ryan, Tusk, and the other hunters emerged from the forest, their shoulders burdened with a massive animal tied to a frame of sticks.
The creature was unlike anything I'd seen before—a cross between a deer and a moose, its body muscular and powerful, with huge, branching antlers that looked like they could gore a man with ease. The hunters carried it with pride, their faces smeared with dirt and sweat, their chests heaving from the effort of the hunt.
The tribe erupted in cheers, rushing forward to greet them. I followed, my eyes locked on the animal—fresh meat, fresh opportunity. The hunters lowered the beast to the ground, and the women immediately began preparing it, their stone knives flashing in the firelight as they started to butcher the carcass.
Kina dashed toward Tusk, her face lighting up as she threw her arms around him. He laughed, lifting her off the ground in a playful spin before setting her down. Kerry and Hina were already deep in conversation with Ryan and Mitt, their voices mingling with the excited chatter of the tribe.
Mitt's gaze landed on me, and he grinned, his teeth white against his dirt-streaked face. "Dexter!" he called, his voice booming over the noise. "How are you doing? Is everything okay?"
I met his eyes, my voice steady and respectful. "I'm fine, Elder Ryan, Elder Mitt." I glanced at Kerry, my tone warm. "Aunt Kerry and Aunt Hina—and everyone—have taken good care of me."
Kina pouted, her hands planting on her hips as she turned to me. "Brat... did you forget about your sister so soon?" There was a playful edge to her voice, but I could see the genuine affection in her eyes.
I laughed, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "Never, sister."
Ryan clapped me on the shoulder, his grip firm and approving. "Good to hear. You're one of us now, Dexter. And in this tribe, we look out for each other."
I nodded, my gaze flickering from the moose-like animal to the hunters, then to the women—Ruth, Vera, Ada—their bodies glowing in the firelight, their laughter mingling with the crackle of the flames.
Ruth was sitting with the other women, her pale skin almost luminous in the flickering light, her white hair catching the glow like silver.
Vera was leaning back against a stone, her blonde hair loose and wild, her bronze skin gleaming with sweat. And Ada—she was helping with the butchering, her strong arms working efficiently, her white hair tied back in a braid, her body moving with the confidence of a woman who knew her worth.
This was my tribe now.
And I was just getting started.
As the hunters began to recount their tale, their voices filled with the thrill of the chase, I let my gaze wander over the gathering. The women were already dividing the meat, their hands skilled and sure.
The firelight cast long, shifting shadows across the faces of the children as they watched the hunters with wide, adoring eyes.
The boys—lean, muscular even in their youth, their chests puffed with the dream of one day wielding spears like Mitt and Ryan—clenched their small fists, imagining the weight of a weapon in their hands, the thrill of the hunt.
Their eyes gleamed with hero-worship, their voices buzzing with excitement as they whispered about the glory of bringing down a beast, of being the ones the tribe relied on.
The girls—young, their bodies just beginning to curve into womanhood—sat close together, their giggles soft, their gazes flickering toward the strongest of the hunters.
They whispered among themselves, already dreaming of being chosen by one of them, of being claimed by a man who could keep them fed, keep them safe. Their cheeks were flushed with the heat of the fire and the thrill of possibility, their fingers twisting in the hides they wore, imagining the day a hunter would look at them the way Mitt looked at Kerry.
I watched them all, my mind racing.
The hierarchy was crystal clear now—the unspoken rules, the desires, the power dynamics that governed this place. The hunters were at the top, revered, feared, desired.
The guards came next—respected for their strength, their ability to protect. And everyone else? They followed, hoping for scraps of attention, scraps of food, scraps of security.
I smirked internally, my fingers flexing at my sides.
I knew exactly how to play this game.
I would become indispensable.
I would become a hunter—not just in name, but in power, in influence, in control.
And then?
I would take everything I wanted.
Mitt, Tusk, and the others who had just returned from the hunt were now gathered around the fire, their faces smeared with dirt and blood, their laughter rough and unfiltered as they tore into the roasted meat.
The scent of charred flesh and sweat filled the air, mingling with the earthy smoke of the fire. I sat back in the shadows, watching them, my mind churning with plans, with strategies, with the knowledge that I was already ahead of them all.
The first thing I needed was privacy.
I couldn't risk being caught with food or drinks from the Supermarket Store—things that didn't belong in this world. If they saw me with something fancy, something packaged, something unrecognizable—fear would turn to suspicion. Suspicion would turn to violence.
I couldn't let that happen.
My fingers twitched, and I pulled up the World Map function in the System. The screen flashed to life, a sea of red dots scattered across the digital terrain—each one representing a person, a location, a point of interest. I tapped one experimentally, and a small, transparent cursor appeared, hovering over the dot like a beacon.
Fuck.
I could name them.
I grinned, my fingers moving with precision. I clicked the dot hovering over Kerry's location, and a text box popped up, blinking expectantly. I typed—
Kerry.
The name materialized above the dot, floating in bold, red letters. It was satisfying—like claiming her, like marking her as mine before I'd even touched her.
I glanced around the gathering, my eyes sweeping over the faces I recognized—Kina, her dark hair catching the firelight as she laughed with the other girls.
Vera, her blonde hair wild and tangled, her bronze skin gleaming as she leaned against a stone, her hide wrap clinging to her curves.
Ada, her white hair braided tightly, her strong arms working as she helped butcher the meat, her body moving with the confidence of a woman who knew her worth.
One by one, I named them.
Kina.
Vera.
Ada.
Ruth.
Hina.
Mitt.
Patt.
Tusk.
Eric.
Noah.
Adam.
Liam.
Each name appeared above their dots, glowing like beacons in the darkness. I even named the kids—the teenagers who sat together, laughing, eating, their faces alight with youthful excitement. I named everyone whose name I remembered. I watched as their dots pulsed on the map, tracking their movements, their locations, their every step.
This changed everything.
Now, I could keep tabs on everyone—know exactly where they were, exactly when the coast was clear. I could slip away unnoticed, disappear into the forest or the mountains, summon food and drinks from the System, and return before anyone even knew I was gone.
I leaned back against the rough bark of a nearby tree, a slow, satisfied smirk spreading across my lips.
The hunt had just gotten easier.
And sooner or later?
I'd have them all.
The moon hung low and full in the sky, its silver light spilling across the tribe like a ghostly veil. I hadn't realized moonlight could be this bright—this intense—but then again, out here, there were no streetlights, no neon signs, no glow of modern civilization to drown it out.
The darkness was absolute, pure, and the moon burned like a cold flame, casting sharp shadows and turning the world into a monochrome dream. It was enough—more than enough—to see by, to move by, to watch the tribe as they slowly dispersed, their figures melting into the huts like ghosts retreating into the night.
The fire in the center of the clearing still roared, defiant against the darkness. A few of the older men—Patt, Eric, Mitt—tossed fresh logs onto the flames, their muscles ripping beneath their skin as they worked.
The crackle of the wood snapped through the silence, the embers spitting sparks into the air. I realized then—this fire wouldn't die. Not tonight. Not ever, if I had to guess. It was a beacon, a ward against the dark, against the cold, against the things that lurked beyond the light. It was safety. It was life.
Kerry approached me, her hide skirt rustling softly as she moved. The moonlight caught the curves of her body, the swell of her hips, the shadow of her breasts beneath the loose fabric. Her face was soft in the silver glow, her dark eyes warm but tired.
"Dexter..."
Her voice wrapped around my name like a worn blanket—gentle, motherly—but beneath it, something prickled.
A thread of unease, a remnant of whatever had passed between us earlier, still humming in the air like the last vibration of a plucked string. "Let's all go back inside... It's time to sleep."
Mitt fell into step beside me, his broad frame moving with quiet purpose, while Kina trailed just behind, her presence as light as the rustle of reeds in the wind.
Tusk lumbered along, his massive silhouette blocking out the faint glow of the dying fire. Together, we made our way back to the huts, the earth cool and uneven beneath our feet. Kina's hut stood next to Kerry's, the two structures leaning into each other like old friends sharing secrets in the dark.
Then Mitt's voice cut through the quiet, low but carrying the weight of something unsaid. "Dexter... you are amazing." His words caught me off guard, and I turned to look at him, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face.
"You have skills as a hunter—everyone knows that. But it's more than that. I've heard from Kerry, from others... they talk about you being a healer." He paused, his gaze steady. "And don't belittle yourself just because you think you only know about women's diseases."
"You know how it is," Mitt continued, his voice rough with something like frustration. "When a woman is pregnant, we have to send someone out, beg another village for help. We trade what little we have just to make sure she survives, that the child survives. But now..." His eyes flickered toward me, "Now, we don't have to."
A bitter laugh almost escaped me. Women's diseases. As if the pain of childbirth, the terror of complications, the desperate bargains made with other villages for a healer—trading food, supplies, sometimes even favors—were trivial.
The weight of Mitt's words settled over me like a cloak, heavy with unspoken expectations. It all made sense now—why the healer was treated with reverence, why the tribe's eyes lingered on me differently, as if I carried something precious in my hands.
"I'm happy to help Uncle Mitt, Aunt Kerry, and the whole tribe," I replied modestly.
I may not be the kind of healer who can assist with childbirth, but I believe I can still make a difference—especially with the Supermarket Store. I need to earn more pervert points to make it happen.
Kina, who had been walking beside us, suddenly skipped a step ahead, turning to face me with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She tilted her head, her braid swinging lightly over her shoulder.
"Brother," she said, her voice playful but laced with something sincere, "you've been holding out on us, haven't you?"
She nudged my arm lightly, her laughter bubbling up like a spring. "First, you're the hunter. Now, you're the healer who can keep our women safe? What else are you hiding?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off with a wave of her hand, her grin widening. "No, no, don't tell me. Let me guess—maybe you can talk to the spirits too? Or perhaps you're secretly a storyteller who's been keeping all the best tales to yourself?"
Her teasing hit something in me, and I felt my cheeks warm. Before I could answer, she sobered slightly, her expression softening. "But really, Dexter... you have to help your sister when the time comes." Her voice dropped to something quieter, almost vulnerable.
"I don't want to be one of those women who has to beg another village for help. I don't want to trade our food, our supplies, just so my child can be born safely."
Kina reached out, her fingers brushing my sleeve. "I want to know that when the time comes, you'll be there. That we won't have to be afraid."
A jolt ran through me—unexpected, sharp. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, heat flaring where it shouldn't. No, no—this isn't right.
My thoughts scrambled. It felt like she was asking for something else, something forbidden, but I knew she wasn't. This was about survival, about trust, about the fragile line between life and death that every woman in this tribe had to walk alone—until now.
I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Don't worry, sister. I'll make sure you and your child are safe."
Kina's laughter rang out again, bright and unburdened, as if she'd been holding her breath and could finally exhale. "Yeah, I know you will," she said, nudging me again.
"You're the best, Dexter. Even if you are a terrible liar when it comes to hiding your skills." She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Just promise me one thing—when I'm screaming at you during the birth, you won't hold it against me later."
I couldn't help but laugh, the tension in my chest melting away. "I'll try not to take it personally," I said, shaking my head.
Kerry and Mitt chuckled beside us, their laughter warm and understanding. Mitt gave my back a firm, friendly clap and said to Kina, "Then you've got to take good care of Dexter, Kina—it's your duty as his sister."
Kina grinned, falling into step beside me again, her shoulder brushing lightly against mine. "Obviously. I'm his sister. It's literally my job."
Around us, the tribe settled into the quiet of the night. Shadows shifted as people slipped into their huts, their voices fading from murmurs to whispers, then to silence.
The clearing emptied, leaving only the soft hum of the night—crickets weaving their endless song, leaves rustling in the dark, and the occasional crackle of a dying ember in the firepit.
I noticed one more thing that no one drank after eating. No one rinsed their hands or mouths.
They simply ate, then slept, as if the act of eating was enough to sustain them until the next meal. It was primitive, but it made sense in a way. Out here, every drop of water was precious, every resource carefully conserved.
And then there were the utensils—or rather, the lack of them. No plates, no cups, no bowls. Just hands, teeth, and the raw, unfiltered act of eating. It was efficient, but it also meant no barriers, no safety nets. Just survival in its purest form.
The absence of oil for cooking, of lanterns to push back the crushing dark inside the huts—it wasn't just a lack of comfort. It was a silent, ever-present threat. Even if they had them, I thought it would be dangerous.
The huts were fragile things, stitched together from dried grass and straw, their walls nothing more than brittle reeds lashed with animal hides. A single flame, a stray spark from a careless hand, and the whole structure would ignite like tinder.
There would be no time to run, no way to stop it. The fire would spread faster than a scream, swallowing everything—mats, tools, the few precious belongings tucked into the corners—leaving behind only ash and the ghost of heat.
One spark, one ember rolling free, and the entire hut would go up in flames. They weren't foolish. They knew the risks. The fire stayed outside—always. The huts stayed dark—safe, but blind.
I glanced at Kerry, then at the huts—small, cramped, thick with the scent of damp earth and sweat. No light. No comfort. Just survival.
The moment Kina and Tusk disappeared into their huts, the night seemed to press in closer, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and smoldering embers.
Kerry, Mitt, and I were left standing in front of ours, the flickering glow from the firepit casting long, wavering shadows across the ground.
My pulse thrummed in my throat, my mind still replaying the way Kerry's body had moved earlier—how her breath had hitched when I'd touched her, how her lips had parted when I'd spilled myself into her mouth.
I shouldn't have been thinking about it. Not now. Not with Mitt right beside us.
But the hunger was still there, gnawing at me.
We stepped inside, and the darkness swallowed us whole. For a heartbeat, I was blind, my fingers twitching at my sides as my eyes struggled to adjust.
Then, slowly, the faint silver glow of moonlight seeped through the gaps in the door flap, painting the interior in ghostly hues. The air was warm, thick with the musk of bodies and the earthy scent of the stone bed carved into the ground.
I stole a glance at Kerry. Even in the dim light, I could make out the curve of her hips, the way her leaf skirt clung to her thighs. My cock twitched, already hard just from the memory of her—her leaking pussy, her swollen nipples, the way she'd moaned when I'd—
"Aunt Kerry," I murmured, my voice rough, "Let me check if I can heal your hard nipples... and your pussy."
The words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate.
Mitt's head whipped toward us, his voice sharp with concern—and something darker. "Kerry? Are you sick? Is your pussy leaking? Did it get rubbed against something?"
His suspicion was clear, though not for the reasons I might have expected. He didn't seem to suspect me of taking advantage of his wife—just worried. I chuckled to myself, imagining how much more interesting things could get.
Kerry didn't flinch. She didn't mention how I'd grabbed her tits earlier, how I'd forced her to her knees and filled her mouth with my seed. Instead, she exhaled, slow and controlled, as if she'd been expecting this. "Well... they must have accidentally gotten rubbed."
Mitt turned to me, his expression unreadable in the dark. "Dexter. Can you heal her?"
I nodded, my throat dry. "Yeah, Uncle Mitt. But I'll need to take a closer look at Aunt's pussy... and her nipples."
A beat of silence.
Kerry shifted, her bare feet rustling against the stone. "Dexter, it's dark now. Let's wait until morning so you can see clearly in daylight."
Mitt grunted in agreement. "Yeah. No point straining your eyes."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to fuck her right then and there, to pin her down and bury myself inside her until she screamed. A blowjob wasn't enough—not after a whole day of these women teasing me, flashing their pubic hair, their nipples, their knowing smirks. My cock ached, throbbing against the confines of my leaf skirt, desperate for release.
But I had no choice.
I nodded, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
Still, this wasn't over.
I'd make her beg for it.
The hunger in my gut twisted, sharp and insistent. My cock was iron-hard, pressing painfully against the rough leaves of my skirt, and my stomach growled, empty.
I hadn't eaten since... when? Earlier? It didn't matter. I needed something—food, release, anything—or I'd lose my mind.
I cleared my throat. "Aunt... I'm going to pee."
Kerry's brows furrowed. "Dexter, do you want me to come with you?"
I shook my head. "No, I know the way."
She hesitated, then relented. "Don't wander. Come back quickly."
I slipped out before she could argue.
The night air hit me like a slap, cool and damp against my heated skin. I moved swiftly, putting distance between myself and the hut before slowing to a stop near the tree line.
Pulling up the World Map, I scanned for movement—red dots clustered in the huts, a few others labeled Eric, Patt, patrolling the perimeter. No one was near.
Good.
I opened the Supermarket interface, my fingers twitching with impatience. I spent 20 Pervert Points, four burgers, and a cold drink materialized in my system storage.
The food appeared in my hands a second later, the scent of grease and salt making my mouth water. I devoured the first burger in three bites, the cold drink fizzing down my throat, but it did little to sate the deeper hunger.
With a thought, I activated the Magical Tool, watching as my leaf skirt dissolved and reformed into a recliner.
The second it shifted, I was naked, my cock jutting out, angry and demanding. I ignored it, sinking into the makeshift chair and pulling up the supermarket again.
Leaf skirts—10Pervert Points. I bought one, my total dropping to 768. The rest of the items were out of reach, the skills and abilities locked behind point thresholds I hadn't met yet.
I devoured the last of the burger, my fingers glistening with salt and grease, and wiped them absently on my thigh before tossing the empty bottle and wrappers into the storage—no trace left behind. The leaf skirt rustled as I stepped into it, the coarse fibers brushing against my skin.
I glanced down at my cock—fully peeled back—and pinched the loose fold of foreskin between my thumb and forefinger. With deliberate care, I rolled it forward, the skin stretching thin as it glided over the sensitive ridge of my cockhead. It settled just barely over the tip, clinging like a second skin.
After that, I checked the System Storage and tossed out all the roasted meat pieces I'd stashed there.
The tension held it in place—a fragile disguise, barely enough to pass as uncut. To anyone glancing my way, it would look the same as theirs: a natural drape of skin, nothing out of the ordinary.
I carefully returned the Magical tool to the system storage before stepping out. With a sense of purpose, I made my way back toward the huts.
The moment I emerged from the trees, Kerry was already there, planted outside the hut like a sentinel. Her arms were locked across her chest, her jaw set, and her dark eyes flickered with something between annoyance and genuine worry. The air between us felt charged, thick with the kind of tension that only comes when someone has been waiting too long.
"Dexter," she snapped, her voice a sharp whisper, as if she didn't want to draw attention but couldn't keep the frustration from bleeding through.
"Where the hell have you been? I was two seconds from dragging half the camp out to find you. I thought you'd wandered off and gotten yourself eaten by something."
Shit. I'd taken too long.
I scrambled for an excuse, forcing a sheepish grin. "I got lost, actually. These huts all look identical from the outside—like some kind of jungle maze."
She exhaled sharply, her shoulders dropping just a fraction, though her grip on my hand when she pulled me forward was firm. "Come on. Mitt's been waiting." Her tone left no room for argument, but the squeeze of her fingers betrayed something softer—relief, maybe. Or just impatience.
Inside, the air was warmer, heavier. Mitt was awake, sitting up on the stone bed, his broad frame completely bare. No leaf skirt. Nothing. Just skin and muscle, the moonlight tracing the ridges of his chest.
Kerry didn't bother with modesty. She peeled off her own skirt, letting it drop to the ground. The shadows hid the details, but I could see enough—the dark triangle of her pubic hair, the swell of her breasts, the way her nipples tightened in the cool air.
"Dexter," she said, her voice low, "put your clothes there."
My cock jerked at the words. Fuck.
I stripped off my skirt, adding it to the pile, my pulse roaring in my ears. The cold air hit my skin, but it did nothing to dampen the heat coiling in my gut. Kerry's eyes flicked over me—just for a second—but in the dark, she couldn't see how hard I was, how desperate.
Mitt gestured to the bed. "Dexter, you can sleep in the corner. That way, you won't fall off in your sleep."
I climbed onto the stone slab, the cold surface biting into my back. The bed was wide enough for all three of us, but there were no sheets, no mattress—just hard, unyielding rock. Kerry lay down first, her body a dark silhouette beside me, then Mitt settled on the other side.
The second I was horizontal, my cock throbbed, saluting the ceiling like a fucking flagpole.
I clenched my jaw, the muscles tightening until my teeth ached. This was going to be a long night. The air in the hut was thick with the kind of silence that made every small movement feel deliberate, every breath too loud.
Kerry lay stiff on her side, her back rigid, as if she were trying to will herself into stillness. I shifted onto my side to face her, and my cock, rock-hard from the warmth and the proximity of her, pressed forward, the tip brushing against her side.
Her body went utterly still.
I could feel her surprise in the way her breath hitched, the way her muscles tensed beneath my accidental touch. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Then, slowly, she turned her head just enough to shoot me a look—something between irritation and dark amusement, her eyes flickering down before meeting mine again.
The air in the hut was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, musky tang of sweat—ours, mingled together in the oppressive heat. Kerry's voice slithered into my ear like a secret, her breath warm against my skin.
"Dexter... is your cock hurting again?" Her fingers twitched near my thigh, just close enough to tease, to make my pulse spike. My mind raced.
If I played this right—if I let the lie sit on my tongue just so—she'd drop to her knees, her lips parting, her tongue swirling over the head of my cock, using her saliva as an excuse to "heal" me. But that wasn't what I wanted. Not this time.
I wanted her pussy. I wanted to feel her clench around me, wet and desperate, her nails digging into my back as I fucked her raw. The thought alone made my cock twitch, pressing against the flimsy leaf skirt, the stretched foreskin illusion threatening to betray me.
Before I could answer, Mitt's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Dexter." His tone was calm, measured, but it sent a jolt of pure panic through my veins. "What happened to your cock?"
I stiffened, my breath catching in my throat. "N-no, it's not hurting—it's just..." I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "It's hard. Uncomfortable." The admission hung in the air, heavy and awkward, like a confession I hadn't meant to make.
Mitt let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Ah. Dexter, you have to take good care of your cock." His voice was warm, almost amused, like this was some rite of passage he'd been expecting. "It's precious. Used in giving birth, after all. You'll need it in good condition when the time comes."
He shifted and turned to the side. "Looks like you're growing up. Soon, you'll need a woman of your own. Once your hair has grown in, we'll find you one. You'll be ready then."
I nodded, my throat tight. "I know, Uncle."
Mitt's gaze turned distant, his voice softening with nostalgia. "Don't worry, boy. It'll settle after a few breaths. Just like when I was your age—happened all the time."
He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I had hair on my face and around my cock already, so the next day, my parents spoke to Kerry's, and that's how we came to be together."
My cock throbbed at his words, the image of Kerry spread beneath me flashing through my mind. The leaf skirt did little to hide the way it pulsed, the head pressing insistently against the fabric.
Then Kerry's voice, sweet and infuriatingly bold, cut through the tension like a knife. "Should I use my saliva... again to calm you?"
Fuck.
My heart pounded so violently against my ribs that I was certain the entire hut could hear it. Kerry didn't even flinch at the idea of Mitt being here, of him listening to every word, every breathy confession.
My throat tightened, my mind racing for a way to shut her up, to deflect, to anything—but Mitt didn't seem angry. He was just... curious. His dark eyes flicked between us, not with suspicion, but with the quiet, measured interest of someone who had seen it all before.
"Does using saliva calm down... a hard cock?" he asked, tilting his head just slightly, like this was some fascinating new piece of knowledge he was filing away.
My stomach twisted. I scrambled for an answer, my thoughts tangling like vines. If Mitt was calm, maybe it wasn't a big deal. Maybe I could make this work. "Yeah," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I.... I tested it before. With my aunt, during the day. When it got hard, I asked her to use her saliva, and it worked. Helped me calm down."
Mitt nodded slowly, stroking his chin as if considering the merits of this newfound healing technique. "That's good," he said, his voice warm with approval.
"It's a good thing you're a healer and know how to take care of yourself." His gaze flicked to Kerry, then back to me, lingering just a second too long. "And if you need help, ask your aunt. But remember—don't waste your seed. It's sacred."
His words sent a fresh, throbbing surge of blood to my cock, which twitched violently, pressing insistently into Kerry's stomach. She let out a soft, startled "Ah—!"—barely more than a breath, but it cut through the silence like a blade.
Mitt's brow furrowed. "Kerry? Are you alright?"
She didn't pull away. Didn't even flinch. "It's nothing," she murmured, her voice just a little too high, a little too quick. "It's just... Dexter's cock. It's hard, and it's poking at me. Surprised me, that's all."
My blood turned to ice. She told the truth. Every instinct in me screamed to run, to bolt out of the hut and vanish into the jungle, to never show my face again. But Mitt's next words pinned me in place like a spear through the chest.
"Dexter," he said, his voice still calm, still knowing. "Is it still hard?" He paused, then added, "If you have a way to ease it, you should ask your aunt Kerry to help you. If you think her saliva can help you."
The words hung in the air between us, thick and heavy. My cock pulsed, aching, the idea of Mitt encouraging this—of him not even considering the possibility that I wanted more than just her mouth—making my head spin. Did he really think I'd settle for that? Or did he just not care?
Kerry shifted beside me, her breath hitching just slightly. The air in the hut was suffocating, charged with something raw and dangerous. Mitt didn't seem to notice—or if he did, he didn't let on. He just stood there, watching, waiting, like this was some kind of test.
And then, slowly, Kerry turned her body facing me and looked at me. Her dark eyes were wide, her lips parted just enough to let a soft, warm breath escape. "So," she whispered, her voice dripping with something dark and hungry. "Do you need help, Dexter?"
The thought burned through me like wildfire—I wanted to fuck Kerry right there, in front of Mitt.
I wanted him to hear her gasp, her moans, the wet sounds of her pussy taking me in, her body trembling as I claimed her. The idea of it, the sheer audacity, made my cock throb painfully against the flimsy leaf skirt.
I swallowed hard, my voice rough with desire. "Aunt Kerry... why don't I put my cock in your pussy?"
Kerry's breath hitched, her eyes widening. "No," she said sharply, her voice firm, but her fingers twitched against her thigh, betraying her.
Then Mitt's laughter boomed through the hut, deep and mocking. "HA! HAHA—Dexter!" He wiped at his eyes, his shoulders shaking. "HAHA—you want to put your cock in a dirty woman?!" His laughter echoed, filling the space between us.
"HAHAHA! If Ryan, Tusk, and the others heard this, they'd laugh until they died!" He doubled over, gasping for air. "This is the first time I've ever heard of someone wanting a dirty woman—!"
Kerry's face flushed, her voice tight with warning. "Mitt. You can't tell anyone." Her fingers dug into her palms, her knuckles whitening. "He's just a kid. He doesn't know better. If the others find out, they'll despise Dexter—or worse, they'll distance themselves from him."
Mitt wiped his tears, still chuckling, his grin wide and unrepentant. "HA—Dexter, don't joke about things like that!" He shook his head, his amusement lingering.
Mitt's laughter boomed through the hut, his words cutting deep into my pride. "But it is funny—a kid like you, interested in dirty women... and ones so much older than yourself!" His amusement was a storm, filling the space, leaving me burning with humiliation.
But beneath that shame, something darker coiled in my gut—something raw and vengeful.
I swore to myself that one day, Mitt would watch his woman writhe beneath me, her moans filling the air as she begged for more, her body trembling with every thrust.
Kerry had turned to face me, our bodies close, the heat between us impossible to ignore. My cock pressed against her stomach, hard and demanding, as if it had a mind of its own. I met Mitt's mocking gaze, my voice steady despite the fire in my veins.
"Uncle Mitt... I was just thinking, if I can't waste my seed, why not put it inside Aunt Kerry's pussy? Then my cock would be relieved... and become normal again."
Mitt's laughter exploded, louder than before, his body shaking as he gasped for air. "HAHAHAHA! Your aunt is older, boy! Her pussy has stopped dripping blood—she can't give birth anymore! Your seed would be wasted inside her!" He wiped tears from his eyes, his voice barely coherent between gasps. "HAHAHA—Dexter, you're hilarious!"
The second Mitt's words sank in—menopause—my brain short-circuited. No babies. No consequences. Just Kerry's used, stretched, experienced cunt, waiting to be filled with my seed, my cock, my fucking dominance.
The thought alone made my dick twitch violently, the head already leaking pre-cum, soaking through the flimsy leaf skirt like I was some kind of fucking animal. I could breed her raw. I could ruin her. I could pump her full of my cum and walk away without a single fucking worry.
And then there she was—Kerry—her voice full of concern. "Dexter, my pussy is not an option. It's for your own good—for your future." Her fingers hovered near my thigh, close enough that I could smell her—musky, warm, the faintest hint of sweat and woman. Her breath hitched, her lips parting just enough that I could see the glisten of spit on her tongue. "Should I... use my saliva like before? To help you calm down?"
Fuck that. Fuck her saliva. I wanted her cunt.
I shook my head, my voice rough, my cock throbbing like a fucking heartbeat. "Aunt... back in the day, my cock was hurting, so yeah, I needed your saliva to soothe it." I let my gaze drag down her body, slow, deliberate, like I was already stripping her bare.
"But right now?" A smirk curled my lips, my fingers twitching with the need to grab her, to own her. "It's not hurting. It's just fucking hard." My dick pulsed again, pressing against her stomach. I could feel her breath catch, her body betraying her before her mind could even protest.
Kerry's voice dropped to a whisper, her breath warm, her body tense. "So... what should we do, Dexter?"
That's when I did it. I activated my Pervert Eyes—and what I saw nearly made me come on the spot.
Her body was lit up like a fucking treasure map with those shiny red translucent dots. 200 points on each of her tits—double what they were before. Her nipples? 400 fucking points each
, hard and begging to be sucked, bitten, tormented. Her lips? 200 points, swollen and parted, just begging to be stuffed with my cock.
Even her armpits—100 points each—were glowing, the scent of her sweat making my mouth water. And her navel? 100 points, a little fucking dimple just asking for my tongue, my fingers, my cum.
I couldn't see her pussy or her asshole yet, but if the pattern held? 800 for that used, sloppy cunt and 1000 for her tight, stretched asshole.
Double.
Double the points. Double the fucking pleasure.
My mind reeled. This wasn't just the system refreshing. No, because I hadn't even touched her armpits or her navel before, and yet they had doubled too. There was only one thing that had changed.
Mitt.
That, oblivious fuck right beside us.
My gaze flicked to the system's name—Pervert Debauchery System—and the pieces fell into place with a clarity that made my head spin.
Double points when I touch her in front of her man. The system wasn't just rewarding me for touching Kerry—it was rewarding me for defiling her in his presence, for turning his woman into a source of pleasure and profit right under his nose. The realization sent a fresh surge of arousal through me, my cock throbbing so hard it was almost painful.
As if to confirm my theory, my cock twitched, brushing against Kerry's navel. 100 points. A soft, surprised moan escaped her lips—"Hmm... Dexter..."—and I could feel the creases of her navel against the tip of my cock, the warmth of her skin, the way her body reacted to the contact. The system's notification flashed in my vision, confirming the points, and I nearly groaned at the thrill of it.
The real thrill wasn't just the points—it was the corruption, the theft, the sheer filth of taking what wasn't mine right under Mitt's nose.
The system wasn't just about touching—it was about defilement, about claiming her in front of the man who thought he owned her. The thought alone made my cock throb painfully, pre-cum leaking, as I imagined all the ways I could ruin her.
But I needed to be sure. I needed to test it. To play with her. To make her ache for it.
I needed to wait until morning to confirm if the points vanished when Mitt was no longer watching.
But for now?
I had a game to play.
My voice was low, dripping with false innocence, my breath hot against her ear. "Aunt Kerry... why don't you put it between your thighs?" I let the words sink in, watching her reaction, the way her breath hitched, her fingers twitching near my cock. "Maybe if I feel your softness... my cock would relax."
But the real reason was darker. I wanted to make her ache. I wanted to make her so fucking desperate that she'd be the one to beg for my cock inside her. I wanted her to need it.
Kerry hesitated for only a second before her hand wrapped around my cock, her fingers warm and trembling as she guided my cock between her thighs.
The moment my cock brushed against her pussy lips, a shudder ran through her, a soft, needy "Aaaahhh..." escaping her lips. Her thighs pressed together, trapping my cock in the heat between them, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
"Dexter... does this feel comfortable...? Hmmm..." Her voice was thick with desire, her body already betraying her.
800 points.
Fuck yes.
I groaned, my voice rough with lust. "Yeah... it feels so much better." And then, because I knew she wouldn't resist, I pushed further. "Aunt... why don't you move a bit closer? I want to hug my aunt as I sleep."
Kerry let out a breathy chuckle, her voice warm but strained. "You kid..."
Her thighs clamped around me like a vice, the heat of her pussy searing against my cock as she shifted again, her pubic hairs brushing against my skin in a way that sent electric shocks straight to my balls.
"Aaaahhh... Hmmm... Dexter..." she breathed, her voice trembling, her body trembling with her. "Your cock is so hot... it's burning me..." Her thighs were slick with her own arousal, the wetness coating my shaft, making every movement obscene, every breath she took a desperate gasp.
Then her tits crushed against my face, heavy and soft, suffocating me in the best possible way. I inhaled deeply, her musky, warm scent filling my lungs, driving me wild.
My face moved on its own, hunting for her nipples like a starving man. The moment my face pressed between her tits, 2 notifications of 200 points each flashed in my vision. My nose brushed against one of her nipples, hard and erect, and another 400 points followed.
I turned my head, my cheeks brushing against her other nipple—400 points flashing in my vision like a reward for the contact. My cock throbbed violently between her thighs, my breath hot and ragged against her skin as I yanked her closer, burying my face in the soft weight of her tits. The warmth of her body, the scent of her skin—it was intoxicating.
Slowly, I raised my hand to her face, my fingers tracing the curve of her lips. The moment they made contact, another 200 points lit up, sending a jolt of satisfaction through me. She was responsive, pliant—every touch a calculated move, every reaction a victory.
Kerry moaned, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her voice trembling. "Aaahhh... Dexter... don't move your hips... Aunt's pussy... it's itching..." Her body tensed, her thighs pressing tighter around my cock, her breath coming in short, needy gasps. "Make sure your cock doesn't go inside by mistake..."
But we both knew the truth.
There was no mistake.
This was intentional.
And if I played my cards right?
She'd be the one begging for it.
I could feel it—the way her body reacted, the way her breath hitched every time my cock twitched between her thighs, the way her hips rolled just slightly, as if she couldn't help herself. The air was thick with the scent of her arousal, the wet, slick sounds of her pussy rubbing against my shaft driving me wild.
"Aaaahhh... Dexter..." she moaned again, her voice thick with need, her body trembling against mine. "You're making it worse..."
But I knew the truth.
She wanted it.
And I was going to make sure she begged for it.
I smirked against her skin, my breath hot and teasing. "Aunt... is your pussy dripping water?" My hips shifted just enough to make her gasp, my cock sliding through her slick folds.
"Why do I feel it getting wetter...? And your nipples..." I let my lips brush against one, my voice dropping to a growl. "They're poking my face... so hard..."
Kerry's fingers tangled in my hair, her hands roaming over my head, her voice trembling with false innocence. "S-Sorry, Dexter... if my nipples are hurting you..."
Oh my god. She was so innocent.
And I was going to corrupt her.
I grinned, my voice dripping with false concern. "Aunt... let me see if my saliva can heal your hard nipple..."
Before she could react, I grabbed her tits, squeezing them together, my mouth crashing down on one nipple. I sucked it hard, my tongue swirling, teasing, tasting the salt of her sweat. Kerry let out a broken moan, "Aaaah... Dexter... it feels strange... hmm..."
I didn't stop. My other hand grabbed her remaining tit, my fingers pinching and rolling her nipple, pressing it deeper into her flesh. "Aaaah... Dexter... you're such a naughty child..." she whimpered, but her back arched, pushing her tits further into my face, her breath coming in short, needy gasps.
I couldn't help myself.
My hips rolled, the wet, slick noise of her pussy rubbing against my cock filling the air. She was soaking me, her juices coating my cock, making every movement obscene.
And then I felt it—Kerry's hips started moving on their own, her body grinding against me, rubbing my cock against her pussy in slow, desperate circles.
I chuckled, my voice dark with amusement. "Aunt Kerry..." I murmured, my lips still wrapped around her nipple. "Are you rubbing my cock against your pussy... all by yourself?"
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."