Story by Custos
(Original posting 16 december 2016 on https://inkbunny.net/Custos)

Please don’t repost this story, let it remain in my gallery on inkbunny!
This story contains material for adults only, do not read if you’re a minor.
The material presented is fictional and for adult fantasy only.
The author does not condone any of the depicted illegal activity in real life.

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2. Impala: A New Warchief

It had been many years since Bron had been promised to marry the daughter of a far away tribe. Since he was the firstborn of his father, the warchief of his tribe, it would unite both communities through blood and semen. When the caravan of this rival warchief arrived, Bron had been the tender age of eight summers old. He had met his future wife as she lay inside her cradle, a naked plump baby girl named Miran. The young impala boy back then didn’t know much, but he knew that the Protector who watched over their tribe had decided that he was to marry this girl when she came of age. If laws were ranked by importance, the one at the top would be that whatever the Protector’s wills, goes.

Thus we find Bron, the muscularly built impala male inside his quarters of a large structure build with huge logs and sewn together hides, awaiting the ceremony of his marriage. Though he is an impala, some have jokingly told him he might have bison blood pumping through his veins, the way he is much more brawnier and broader than the average slender male of his species. His promised wife, Miran, had her first bleed as a woman a couple of weeks ago and had arrived yesterday for her marriage to Bron. She’s now twelve summers old.

The large and fit impala male is resting within a large wooden container, filled with warm water whilst several of his little brothers help clean and bathe him. Normally he should have been married and produced offspring years ago, but the only female descendant from the rival chief was much younger than he is. At least in terms of being able to reproduce. Thus he had been forced to wait, not allowed to have sexual interactions with females until he was married. Not that the virile and often horny stag would deprive himself from some much needed sex, though!

Even now his hand rests on top of one of his little brother’s heads, the boy no older than twelve summers old just like his soon-to-be wife, and gently directs the rhythm with which the boy’s lips stroke up and down his hard shaft. He had never touched a female impala inappropriately, but anything else was game for Bron!

The boy’s mouth barely fits around the fat shaft of the already much more muscularly built impala male, the throbbing flesh sticking out of the warm water as Bron’s other brothers continue to clean and bathe him without even blinking an eye at the sexual contact. After all, they all have experienced the sometimes gentle and sometimes rough touch of their eldest brother.

At a certain point, Bron stops his younger sibling and without any effort lifts the lithe body into the wooden tub onto his abdomen. He gently squeezes the leather pouch containing his little brother’s testicles and does the same to the bare little shaft as well.

Soon the younger boy’s shaft becomes stiff as a branch and Bron scoots him up before enclosing his lips around his brother’s erect penis. He needs his own hefty balls to remain full, not having released since the rival tribe’s messenger had brought the news of his fiancee’s womanhood, but he had almost gone insane without proper sex for so long. Bron’s lips pluck around his gasping little brother’s member swiftly, his tongue sliding over all the sensitive good spots. What brings the young male over the edge, though, is when Bron’s thick digit sinks itself inside the boy’s ass, the younger sibling bleating as his cock twitches inside Bron’s mouth.

No sperm comes forth yet from the boy’s tip, as was expected, and Bron feels his little brother slump down onto him as he rides out his dry orgasm. He smiles and grimaces at the same time, happy for his sibling’s pleasure but agitated for his own inability to release yet. He cuddles his little brother for a few moments, the small horns on the boy’s head not yet of any admirable length, as Bron strokes the boy’s back whilst his other brothers finish up their tasks.

Bron raises himself up from the water, his impressively thick and long member still aggressively at attention as he steps out of the tub, the fleshy pole swaying from side to side as his brothers hurry to dry his fur. Each and every one of them adores their eldest brother’s body, slightly jealous that their slender forms will never radiate as much authority and strength. They have other qualities, skills and talents, though, and their family has made certain they know that.

Not many words were exchanged as the siblings dry and groom the older impala male, they know he is nervous but Bron’s too proud to let them on. Colourful and expensive paints are rubbed over Bron’s body in all sorts of symbols, both decorative and meaningful, as leather straps with feathers and bird skulls are fit to his strong upper arms. His hooves are cleaned and polished, as well as his broad horns, whilst Bron’s youngest brother dips his little hands in blue paint. Five summers old and not restricted yet to wearing any sort of clothes, the tyke lifts and places both hands on Bron’s hefty testicle, then the other, giving both of the older brother’s nuts two small blue painted hands as decoration. They smile at each other, the little painted hands symbolizing the desire of his future children to be born from his seed and to be held and fed by the virile male. The tyke then asks:“Brother Bron, when I can shoot the white stuff, can I have your horn to wear?”

Surprised at the question, Bron lets out a hearty chuckle and ruffles the fur on the tyke’s head:”I hope I will still be alive to witness your first seed one day, little brother. Maybe you’ll get grandpa’s horn, only the Protector knows for sure.”

When all preparations have been made, Bron is then escorted by his younger brothers towards the exit of the tent structure where the shaman is waiting for the future warchief of his tribe. The slender male reaches slightly higher than Bron but only because the length of his horns have had many more years to grow taller. Dor, as the shaman is named, is quite slender and has slightly feminine curves, his shoulder guards adorned with the feathers of birds of paradise and his body covered in symbolic paints as well. The hefty pouch under his horn covered member is plump and still very virile, the shaman not much older than Bron’s father.

The two greet each other by means of the hand, both reaching down and gently cupping each other’s balls whilst giving a squeeze, then releasing again. The shaman then wraps a fatherly arm around Bron’s shoulders and they are closely followed by the muscular impala’s younger brothers as they ascend the path up the green mountain towards the temple at the top:”Are you nervous, Bron?”
Bron grins sheepishly and somewhat meekly replies:”Eager mostly, master shaman. I’ve been waiting much longer than my peers to know the touch of a woman for the first time.”
Dor has to chuckle, squeezing his soon-to-be warchief’s shoulder:”Yes, the wait has been long but I assure you that your first taste of a female will be the sweetest thing you’ve ever experienced. The Protector has whispered to me that your first consumption will birth not only one, not only two, but three fawns!”
The muscular impala stops dead in his tracks, his eyes wide as the following of his brothers and by now other festive tribe members stops as well:”Three?! Master shaman, are you sure? That would kill my wife!”

Pulling the younger impala male to the side a bit, away from prying ears, Dor quickly hushes Bron’s concerns:”It will be difficult and painful, especially for a female only almost thirteen summers old by then, but the Protector has whispered me a good omen. I have a friend shaman from another tribe whom is renowned for his midwifery in difficult births, the Protector will summon him and he will heed the call to bring your fawns to this world safely. Your wife will survive under his guiding hands.”
Dor looks into Bron’s eyes and holds the other male’s cheeks, not allowing their gaze to wander from each other’s:”The Protector will offer this shaman your firstborn fawn to foster as his own and this shaman may or may not accept this offer, in any case the fawn will carry the Protector’s title and be of deep spiritual descend. You must make peace with this, the Protector’s will is law.”

Bron swallows a gulp as this torrent of information washes over him, making his knees tremble in a momentary lapse of weakness. The tribe’s shaman steadies the younger male by the shoulder and offers him a sympathetic smile:”This is all for the future, do not worry your mind over it now. Right now, your lovely fiancee is waiting for you, this is one of the most wonderful days of your life. Make sure you cherish it.”
The muscular impala nods and takes a few deep breaths, smiling once more and returning to the waiting crowd as they all resume their ascend to the Protector’s temple.

Once they arrive at the top, the heavy wooden gates are swung open by the temple guards, young children showering the following in a rain of flower petals from above. Dor looks up at the many little smiling faces, catching some of the petals in the palm of his hand and revelling in their sweet scent. This moment could’ve been plucked from one of the shaman’s fables.

The very top of the mountain is divided in the huge stone and wooden temple where the Protector lives, and a grassy courtyard of sorts which ends in a cliff overlooking a dizzying depth down towards the savannah below. Right at the edge of this cliff is a wooden arch set up in front of many half logs which should serve as seating for the crowd. The arch itself is decorated with yet more wildflowers and long grasses, Bron’s parents standing to one side along with the sitting huge form that is the Protector. The dark brown lion is easily the size of a large hippo, it truly dwarfs everything and anyone around him. On the other side of the arch stand the parents of Bron’s future wife, as well as his fiancee herself and their following.

Miran looks absolutely stunning, her creamy white fur decorated with the most expensive of all paints that is purple and pink. The symbols are so fine and elegant that they seem to be drawn by an artist with a most delicate brush. She wears a loincloth of white linen with dark brown leather straps, and another white linen veil is draped from her hornless head around her shoulders, leaving her face unobstructed. Her young breasts are perky and firm, her nipples a dark tone as they point directly towards the crowd. She holds a bouquet of rare pink lily flowers, Bron recognizes them from the jungles on this very mountain.

As both shaman and future warchief leave behind their following, they both step forward down the aisle between the logs towards the wooden arch. Bron smiles as his teary eyed mother embraces him, her breasts not as pert as when she was younger but they’re still very beautiful as he feels them press against his chest. She whispers to him how happy and proud she is, that Bron’s big day has finally come. Bron smiles and kisses his mother on the cheeks, they release each other and then he turns towards his father.

The older impala male looks impressive, but is by far not as brawny as his son, his form still muscular from hard work but still slender and elegant as is typical to their species. The warchief smiles and reaches out, as does Bron, to fondle each other’s hefty sacs briefly before the older male pulls his son into his embrace in a brief, proud hug:”This day is yours, my son.”
Bron can’t help but grin, knowing that not only does he gain a wife through marriage, he also gains leadership over both his old tribe and his wife’s tribe as they merge into theirs. He releases his old man and gives him a playful punch to the shoulder, the older impala chuckling before Bron turns towards the Protector.

The huge lion sits stoically next to Bron’s father, a gentle smile curling his lips as his large green-yellow eyes peer down at the bovine. Even at his ripe age of twenty summers, Bron still is intimidated by the Protector’s sheer size and he bows his head in respect, kneeling down and presenting the palms of his hands. The divine beast rises from his sitting position and steps forward next to the male until his large hefty furry sac descends comfortably in the palms of Bron’s hands. Using both hands, Bron massages the heavy sac of the divine creature, marvelling as a hint of pink starts to peep from the Protector’s furry sheath. Keeping one hand under both furry orbs, Bron gently squeezes the top of the beast’s penis with his other hand, continuing his worship for a few more seconds until the Protector pulls away.

Now it’s Bron’s turn to stand as the Protector dips down his head, giving Bron’s hefty sac a sniff and a long rough lick, careful not to smear the painted symbols. Like every touch given by the divine creature, Bron feels a blessed tingling emanate from his balls all the way up to his spine and back down to the tip of his penis, which starts to plump up and fill out the horn around it nicely. The crowd around him chuckles as they see he is eager to meet his future wife, encouraged by the gentle intelligent touches of the beast, as he now turns towards his fiancee’s following.

The mother seems warm and welcoming, giving Bron a tight embrace as her firm teats press into his chest, just like his own mother’s did. The father seems more stern and dignified, his head raised high as Bron and the other male exchange a respectful fondle of each other’s balls. The younger bovine can feel the rival warchief’s testicles draw upwards in their sac as he cups them, indicating the other male is wary of him still.

Then finally, Bron smiles down at his much younger wife. She smiles back up at him meekly, the age difference of a full eight years clearly cause for some awkwardness, but this should be no problem once the ice is broken. Bron extends his arms and she responds with a hug, her budding breasts pert and poking into his stomach above his navel as he is much larger than herself. He can feel her small hand sneak a feel of his hefty balls, the impala male chuckling at her boldness.

They then hold each other’s hand as they turn towards Dor, the shaman standing between the wooden arch and the cliff’s edge. He hums a soft tune which grows into a low voiced singing as he ties the lovebirds’ hands together with a pink dyed linen ribbon. The crowd settles down onto the wooden logs in front of the altar as both sets of parents and the Protector remain standing at the sides of the arch. Dor looks over the festive gathering and smiles as he then directs his gaze to Bron and Miran’s eyes:”Dearly beloved, family, friends and guests. We are gathered here today to unite Bron, son of Enun and Phala, and Miran, daughter of Gorn and Ni’nde, together under the loving eyes of the Protector. They will unite our tribes and strengthen our lands in its safe harbouring of anyone whom is in need of it.”

For a while, Dor gives a speech about the history of both tribes, about what values their tribe holds and about what it means to truly love not only yourself and your lover, but your family, friends and tribe as well. Eventually, Dor speaks out the words:”I now declare you husband and wife, leaders of our united tribes. May your loins produce healthy and many offspring. You may now present the gifts.”

Bron and Miran turn to face each other, one set of their hands still tied by the pink ribbon as they smile into each other’s eyes. Miran has to cock her head upwards to be able to, looking quite cute and delicate. Bron can feel his cock chub up just by looking at her, feeling a bit embarrassed as he blushes. The ribbon binding their hands is untied and instead loosely tied around their waists, the cloth long enough to allow this, as Bron receives a crown made of smoothly and very delicately carved wooden branches from his mother. He places it upon Miran’s head, brushing a few of her rebellious locks away as he speaks:”Miran, my beautiful wife, I promise to love you in this life and the next. To protect you and always hold you in my heart, for better and for worse. Please accept this crown as my gift to you, for it has been passed down to the female leaders of my tribe since many generations. It’s one of our most precious heirlooms.”

Miran is visibly moved by the gift of such deep importance to Bron and his family, touching the smooth and delicate wooden branches of the crown as she smiles and turns to her father. She gently reaches down and unstraps a bulky onyx black horn with a smooth surface and a dark leather finish from her father’s penis, revealing the older male’s impressive member as she slides it off. Leaving her father completely naked, she now turns towards her mate:”Bron, my handsome husband. I promise to love you in this life and the next. To be by your side and always hold you in my heart, for better and for worse. My gift to you is the horn of my legendary ancestor, Hu’lon, the impala warrior whom singlehandedly defeated armies of lions, gnolls and elephants whom attempted to destroy my tribe. His honour and bravery were unmatched, as I’m sure yours will be as well. May his strength and wisdom guide you.”
With trembling hands, she reaches out and undoes the straps of Bron’s horn covered penis, removing it and handing it over to Bron’s father as she then gazes upon his stiff rod. It pulses, the shaft fat and veiny, clearly Bron’s very eager to meet her. Now it’s her turn to blush as she gently takes hold of the fat shaft, her hand not able to get fully around it as she slides her father’s former horn over it, Bron shivering at the sensation of his wife holding him and the insides of the object smoothly sliding over his sensitive skin. Miran finishes her task as she binds the straps, locking the onyx black horn into place before she directs her smile back at her husband. Bron touches his new horn, placing his hand around it briefly as if he were to masturbate, bowing to his wife and family in law as he proclaims:”I’m honoured and will treasure it.”

Dor then directs both lovebirds to face the crowd, the pink ribbon still loosely hanging around their waists as the slender male loudly speaks:”Protector be praised, hail our new warchief and queen!”
Instantly the crowd cheers and throws petals of wildflowers over the two and their gathering as Bron, Miran and their parents proceed towards the front of the temple where many tents have been set up.

A large feast and celebration commences, the combined tribes now united as one with music, dance and a plethora of food. Throughout the day, Bron almost doesn’t move from his new wife’s side, getting to know her better in the few moments they have to themselves as the two instantly connect and flirt. When the sun starts touching the horizon and the sky colours all shades of purple and pink, Dor the shaman makes his over to the newly wed couple and smiles at them:”It is time.”
Bron grins, Miran blushes. The male stands up and offers his wife his hand, which she accepts, pulling her to her feet as both Bron’s and Miran’s fathers join them. Under loud cheering and more showering of flower petals, they make their way over to the temple where the Protector is waiting for them patiently. Bron, Miran, Dor, and fathers Enun and Gorn make their way inside, the final rite of marriage soon to take place in the comfort and privacy of the temple.