[center][b]Spirit Mother: Extended Edition[/b][/center]

[center]By Kaydrien Iceclaw[/center]



Finally. It was finally her time. After waiting and waiting and waiting, Mimya was finally going to be a woman at last, not just a tall gangling girl. The slim antelope had had her first woman’s blood a moon ago, later than her friends.

Far, far later than her friends. Unbelievably late, she felt, with even the village women’s reassurances becoming strained. It was agonizing, the way they became adults ahead of her, leaving behind childhood and its games for other pursuits. Kishi was most frustrating of all with wide hips and full breasts that made her attractive in the eyes of their people. Even her fur patterns were beautiful with the petite white ringing and drawing attention to her lovely black eyes. She was Mimya’s best friend before.

Now it was all she could do not to hate the woman. Because Kishi? Kishi had wooed Gomj. The strong, handsome, absolutely wonderful sable boy all of them had dreamed of and pined after for as long as males had held any interest at all. She seduced him with her hips and her breasts and her eyes even though she knew, [i]everyone knew[/i], that Mimya had wanted him first of all the young females. 

Mimya had done everything that custom allowed to get close to Gomj when they were children. As close to courtship as tribal rules could permit a girl-child. And he responded, as much as the same rules allowed a boy. Playing together, long conversations at the dinner fire, little gifts of the best tidbits in lieu of the more permanent gifts given to a potential mate.

Only, Kishi became a woman first. All males were easily led by the third horn, every tribeswoman knew that. Kishi led him right into her bed. Mimya couldn’t really blame Gomj for succumbing to the allure of that beauty. Gomj seemed to blame himself a little, in their few chance meetings since, but Mimya knew he’d never had a real hope: Even some of their other girl friends had fallen for Kishi in ways custom permitted by studiously ignoring. 

She could blame Kishi though. Kishi who stole what she coveted first, and well knew it. The resentment festered even if she wouldn’t let it turn to hate for respect of their old closeness. Because now she could never have Gomj, not as his first wife, and she didn’t know if she could settle for being his second. 

After tonight she would have to decide what to do about that. But at least she could decide as a woman grown, equal of any other in their society. There were other men unclaimed, a bounty not all the tribes could boast. Perhaps she could be satisfied with one of them, or perhaps not.

“Girl, are you ready?” The words brought her sharply back into the present, where she kneeled on the ritual rug of the shaman’s hut. Streaks of red and black ritual paint daubed the tan fur of her slim body. Not filled out as well as the despised Kishi, but… Mimya refused to pursue that thought further. She would only get lost again in her thoughts as an alternative to the nerves brought on by the ceremony, and then the nasal voice of the shaman would call her ‘girl’ again.

“I am ready.” Her words came out only a little shaky she thought, as she stood. The antelope peered around at the woven cloths lining the inner walls of the hut, painted with fantastic scenes and strange designs in crude, beautiful curves. She wanted to remember them, they were… calming. Not at all frightening as Sincha furtively revealed to her after her ceremony.

Sincha always did like frightening stories.

“Good. Come. Talagat is waiting.” The wrinkled old gemsbok that served as the tribe’s shaman beckoned her impatiently from the door of the hut, and Mimya realized she’d drifted off into thought again. On hooves shaky with anxiety she stepped off the rug and past the old man.

Cold night air made her shiver on the walk through the empty village. With no wrap or even loincloth she could feel every little stirring of air across her entire body, muted where the ritual paint striped her. Despite the chill she matched the shaman’s slow plodding pace, following behind him out of respect for his station.

The shaman’s hut was on the opposite side of their settlement from where her ceremony of womanhood would take place. Opposite side, and a short trek through the stand of trees and foliage that sheltered the ceremonial ground. Mimya knew that children not yet through their own ceremonies but old enough to be curious of them would be taking furtive peeks at her nude body from inside their parent’s huts. By tradition, children didn’t witness the rites of adulthood, and were not allowed into the place of ritual unsupervised if at all.

It was equally traditional that they snuck in from time to time anyway, and traded lurid stories and speculations. Adults who remembered their own youth fondly merely traded knowing winks with each other and pretended not to overhear. A few daring troublemakers even told of creeping in by stealth to watch their elders perform this rite or that, but that would be such a fearful breach of taboo that no-one could ever be quite sure if they were making it up as a boast or not.

There was no taboo at all against snatching a look at a beautiful woman-to-be in no more than her paint though. Mimya shivered as much in a mix of shame and pride as at the cold. It was weird to be so exposed to who-knew which gaggle adolescents, but she told herself it was all right. [i]Let them look. Let the boys, and girls if there are any watching, remember me and dream hot warm dreams, more even than Kishi. I will be a woman in the morning.[/i]

They stepped onto the stony path into the stand of trees and bushes. Out of sight from the village now, she trekked on behind the old man. The foliage seemed to close in around them, making a tunnel of the way forward. Two dozen paces in they passed the protective charms. Bundles of sticks and feathers and the occasional worrying bone hung from the branches, motionless in the dead air, and then past the eerie markers.

That was as far as she’d ever been before, even if some of the other children ignored the rule. Not that she hadn’t been itching with curiosity but she’d taken pride in her self-control even as she drank in the stories with greed. 

Extending for another span wider than the village itself the trail would lead them out into a wide-open area free of branches and bush. There all the adults of the village not weighed too heavily down with years would be waiting to witness her womanhood rite so that none could dispute it. 

So would the carving of Talagat.

They must have passed some subtle curve at the old shaman’s slow pace, because ahead appeared a widening sliver of light, firelight, warm and welcoming and menacing. Mimya’s hooves grew heavy with reluctance to face the exposure of the right. She was scared now, because it was suddenly real.

She couldn’t bear it. She’d turn and go back, not have to face them all judging- The clacking and swishing of the shaman’s talismans, tied by loops to horns, belt, ankles, wrists, which she hadn’t noticed for its omnipresence, startled her by sudden absence.

“Steady, girl.” He’d turned his black-and-white face toward her. Fixed in place by the weight of his clear stare that pierced the spirit, she couldn’t run back as she’d half-meant to. His voice was pitched low and sweet the way you addressed a balky herdbeast that needed calming. “I walked your mother on this path for her ceremony, and helped old Magabi totter ahead of your grandmother for hers, and if I’d been a few moons older to have my loins quicken I’d have watched your great grandmother walk through the village from my father’s hut.”

Mimya was too stunned by the lascivious wink he gave her at that last part to respond in any way. He apparently took that as encouragement enough to keep going through his gap-toothed grin.

“How young and stupid I had to be to miss [i]that[/i], eh? She was a fine one, and you take after her.” She managed a baffled nod in answer of which he took no more notice than her silence a moment ago. He tapped between her breasts with the tip of his gnarled walking stick as if to make sure she was paying attention. “But that’s the rambling of an old man. What I’m saying is I’ve been doing this more moons than you’ve lived. Be calm. Your fear is a good sign; it’s the cocky ones that make fools of themselves. Don’t let it stop you and you’ll be all right.”

“…Thank you.” The woman-to-be had never heard the old man speak that much at a stretch. Having it be for her benefit was a touching experience. “I just realized I don’t know your name.”

“Bah. Not supposed to until after this anyway.” He dismissed the issue with a wave, all his usual taciturn grouchiness returning. But now that she’d seen under it, she thought a glimmer of sardonic humor shone through as he spun to move on ahead. “Talagat’s waiting.”

Still worried but unwilling to disappoint his confidence, she followed his noisy progress out into the glade. 

It was a great uneven circle of open ground, with the ground covered in the flat curling greenery that spread vinelike over flat earth instead of up the sides of trees or rocks. Torches burned an inner ring to the trees to make it a pool of light in a black outer void. In the very center a pool of water flickered and shone gold over ink in the light of the bonfire that surged from the mound of earth it surrounded. From this a brook trickled off through the forest to the right, eventually to join the river.

And everyone was there. The ritual ground was too large to be crowded even by all the adults of their tribe; even so it was a vast concentration of people that ringed the outside of the space. Antelopes of numerous breeds and descriptions filled her gaze, fur in black and white and brown and grey clustered close near friends or spouses. Every pair of eyes bore down on shaman and girl as they stepped into their midst.

Mimya only managed to maintain her control under the weight of so many disparate gazes by looking mostly at the ground between her and the old man she followed. Everyone she knew would be looking her over, slim at the hips and dainty chest on long lean legs, and her horns- too long for a girl, she knew, no matter what her mother tried to tell her. Not at all as pretty as Kishi, or even some of her other friends.

[i]She was a fine one, and you take after her.[/i] The shaman’s words echoed back to her in her mind. Clinging to them like her life depended on them she forced herself to look up at the sea of faces and tried to shrink it to the smaller lake she knew it to really be. Dressed themselves in loincloths and some in this or that painted sign of accomplishment, they were people she knew even if her fevered mind wouldn’t let her pick out individual faces while keeping her nerve.

And along with them, she took in the main focus of those stories traded among the children. The statue of Talagat. Ancestral patron spirit of their tribe, who kept their fields fertile and their blood strong, Shadow-Hunter and Earth-Mover.

It was shaped of some amber-brown substance that gleamed in the flickering glow of the bonfire, smooth as the surface of a slow river. The face was of some predator of indeterminate species not jackal or leopard or hyena but had something of each in its shape, fiercely intent of expression. Chest lovingly shaped with every muscle sharply visible, the statue sat with legs crossed on a broad boulder facing the fire and pool. Two pairs of arms jutted from the wide shoulders with one pair of hands planted on its sides to support elbows bent in a pose of confidence and the other pair held out meditatively to the sides like the arms of a scale. And from between its legs rose a proud erection, shape indistinct from this distance.

Mimya nearly stumbled so striking was the appearance of the thing, gleaming on the opposite side of the fire. She could not take her eyes off it as she followed the shaman around the spring, to the base of the boulder between it and the water.

“Who comes before us?” The shout roused her from her reverie, strong and assured. It was the old man. He projected his voice with great force, to be heard by all of the tribes people around them.

“A child comes!” Boomed the reply from all of them in concert.

“Who comes before Talagat?” Asked the shaman again, stick raised, shouting more to the sky than the crowd.

“A girl child comes!”

At this the old man jumped, which nearly startled Mimya out of her skin. He was still for three long breaths in sudden and complete silence from all around, until he filled it with the shaking of a rattle he’d held in the hand opposite his stick (since when, she couldn’t say).

“This girl child is ready to become a woman.” It was a wail now, climbing into the dark on the clatter of the shaken instrument. “Let her drink the earthblood! Let Talagat guide her into womanhood!”

“Let her drink the earthblood!” Chorused the village.

The stick and rattle dropped from his hands as if struck from them to fall to the ground-covering greenery. With slow, deliberately separated steps he walked the two body-lengths to the pool. Not like an old man moves, but like a great herdbeast that fears to shake the earth with too-many too-fast steps, and bent. When he straightened again he brought a great bowl with him from where it had sat in the shallows.

This time moving smoothly he stepped back to Mimya. She was mesmerized by the clay bowl in his hands, behind which he seemed to trail as if it carried him and not the other way around. Her trembling hands accepted the bowl. Three handsbreadths wide and two deep it was heavy with the dark liquid within.

Only a moment of hesitation separated her taking of the bowl from raising its rim to her mouth to take one deep draft of it. The brew was thin as water but tasted strong and bitter even while it smelled richly of flowers. The antelope girl managed not to retch as she handed it back to the old man. Was he smiling? With the fire behind him she could not know.

“She has drunk the earthblood!”

“Then let Talagat pierce her and make her blood strong!” The crowd answered him in a deep rumble. This part complete, the old man turned and, gripped both edges of the bowl, threw the contents up to splash across the idol to run off and down its strange material and onto the boulder it sat on. He backed away, bowl held upside down to return any last drops clinging to it to the earth.

And now it was all up to Mimya. She couldn’t back out now, even to be a perpetual child as a very few did out of fear or as punishment for some gross misdeed. The weight of the ceremony was too much, and the watching eyes pushed her onward. Putting one hoof firmly on the gentle slope of the wide stone she climbed up.

This close, she could better see the strange shape of the tapering manhood of the statue’s crotch- pointed at the top, broadening out rapidly to perhaps two fingerwidths before thinning slightly in the middle and widening to a bulge three wide and peppered with tiny spikes. That wasn’t all, either. Below it were carved two pendulous testicles, large enough to actually hang out over the figure’s ankles in its cross-legged posture. 

The sculpture hadn’t moved, of course. All the same, the female felt as if the gaze had turned into a lustful expectant leer. Trying not to shake too obviously, Mimya couldn’t help but look around one more time.

The ceremony had pushed her past the measure of nervousness that paralyzed her ability to see individual faces in the crowd. Instead she was well past and into depths of anxiety that sharpened everything to needle-fineness instead. Out there in the back were her parents, no doubt clutching each other by the hand, and trying not to stare too obviously even though they must be almost as nervous as her. A hundred hundred blessings upon them for that even if the realization that they’d watch this, suppressed well up until right now, stabbed at her with an embarrassment so sharp as to be very like pain.

There was Sincha sitting down beside the dik-dik man who’d joined their tribe from outside ten and ten moons ago, inching closer to one another- good for her, if she wanted him. Though, Mimya would never understand taking a man that only reached up to her waist. Over there, that was her cousin Malatni. On and on through neighbors and friends and relatives, all focused on her with a crushing intensity.

And there. Right there. At the front, and off to her left, just this side of the little brook. Gomj and Kishi. Husband and wife. Him in his black fur and white-marked face, deep-chested. Strong muscles and glorious thick horns undermined by his fidgeting, slightly hunched, looking as if her momentary gaze and his guilt were as heavy as the eyes of all the rest of the village were on her, but with just slightly too much pride and strength of will to crumble and beg her forgiveness right here and now.

Well, he had it anyway, even as the strained dignity with which he held up under her regard made him a delicious unreachable treat that her body begged for with a staggering force.

His wife on the other hand… Kishi was straight as a reed, lips curled in a possessive smile as she clung to Gomj’s side. The tiniest hint of apology in her gaze only sharpened the knife of conquering triumph there, the witch.

Mimya shattered out of the endless stretched moment of taking the whole village. With one long stride she stepped up onto one of the leg of the slightly-more-than-life-size statue, placing her other hoof in the bend of its folded hip and gripping it by the shoulders with her hands as she matched her second hoofhold to the first and lowered herself down to a squat. Down and down and [i]down[/i] until her vulva hovered just over the trowel-like scooped tip of the idol’s penis.

They were all going to watch? Then fine. She was going to more than become a woman, she’d let every male watching, [i]especially[/i] Gomj, see exactly what they would be missing and despair if they were too attached to make her their first. The females too.

Earthblood burning hot in her stomach, if that wasn’t just her own fiery determination, the antelope dropped herself a handspan onto the hard erection of Kalagat all at once. The stab of pain at the swift penetration was not enough to make her regret the act, but she did pause where she was and hiss out her discomfort into the statue’s face. 

Lubricated by the watery remains of the brew splashed over it mere breaths ago, her own abrupt gush of need for the male of her desires, and now by the blood of her broken hymen, she lifted herself back up a fraction, pulling herself up by the smooth shoulders of the statue. Its material was smooth and hard like polished stone but warmer to the touch like carved wood under her hands.

Instead of pulling all the way out, as she could have now if she wished, Mimya let herself drop so that the rest of that first bulging portion slid into her, petals closing around the thinnest portion of the middle. She was full, so full, and full too fast to adjust. But the girl- the [i]woman[/i], wanted it. For herself, and to show them, and quench the fire that had spread through her loins intermittently before now in a way more thorough than her own fingers could manage.

That fire burned now with a vengeance, hot and bright, on top of any other reasons. Her body wanted a male, right now, to work out all her frustrations and tension on, and this statue was close enough. Adjusting her grip to hug around the back of the hard neck she pushed herself down further this time, dripping over every inch as she began to envelope top of the second swell. 

It hurt, oh yes, but the shaft was filling a hunger she had barely acknowledged at the same time. Was Gomj like this? She found she didn’t care just at the moment, and shoved down a little further with a sound that wasn’t quite a whimper of agony for having too much feral joy in it. This was for her right now.

[i]Strong.[/i] Mimya froze motionless, hooves now steadied against the boulder on which she and her carven lover sat. That word had reverberated through her as if spoken inside her very skull, its tone pleased with a feral edge. 

The female heard gasps and then a shriek from behind her. Even as she was starting to turn, to see what was so shocking (other, perhaps, than her viciously grinding onto a piece of statuary) she felt the cause of the alarm instead: A firm hand descended onto her back between her shoulder blades.

[i]Yes. You will do.[/i] Trying to jerk away from the statue, stand up so she could see who dared interrupt her womanhood rite, the antelope found that she couldn’t. Another strong grip had clasped onto her right shoulder, keeping her on the pillar that skewered her burning insides. [i]Ripe, ready.[/i]

“Talagat is among us!” That might have been the shaman. Then again, maybe not; Mimya was a little distracted by the way the idol’s predatory head turned a few degrees and blinked at her.

The hand, the hand on her shoulder, the hand belonging to the awakened idol, pressed her down. A sharp exhalation of shock and excitement puffed out of her as the cock squeezed into her by another inch. This time it bent and gave in her inner tightness almost but not quite like real flesh, and she felt the pulse in it.

[i]Be afraid, or not.[/i] Purring into her mind the voice of Talagat, curling through her. Its touch made her want to run and hide from the pursuit of a sharp-toothed eater of flesh. Its feel made her want to drop to hands and knees with tail raised to be rutted senseless. [i]But I do not take you for weak. I[/i] take [i]you.[/i]

Something, the second hand on the left perhaps, gripped Mimya’s horn. The hold forced her head up, directly facing the smiling maw of sharp teeth and forcing her forward to meet the lips curled aside. Hot, wet breath washed over her face. She opened her mouth to scream, and instead had the cry pushed aside by the wet tongue that forced into her mouth to press down on her own.

The hand between her shoulder-blades caressed her spine downward, sending electrifying tingles up and down to make her neck-hairs stand on end and her now soaking wet pussy clamp down on the flesh invading it. Fingers stopped at the small of her back, dug in with sharp claws that made her moan into the tongue at her other end, released, dug in again in tandem before being replaced by the opposite lower hand which massaged away at the bleeding pinpricks through the darker patch of fur on her back even as its counterpart dropped down to clutch at the curve of her backside.

At first she tried to force the wet, flexible, very alive tongue out of her open mouth. She had an impulse to smash her head against his, break his teeth out on her slightly-too-masculine horns, which she couldn’t do in their current position. But it was also a strong tongue, and anyway the hand on her horn pulled her sideways opposite the direction Talagat tilted his own to lock jaws with her, a right angle. So instead she settled for trying to bite him, his sharp teeth pushed in against her blunt ones, and he bit back to match her pressure.

The effort ached, but got her nowhere. What did she think she could do here anyway? What did she want to do, even, if this was Talagat, the guardian of their tribe, the Night Hunter? She might even be hallucinating, out of her senses on whatever was in the earthblood brew. 

And in either case, as a vindictive little piece of her argued, she’d wanted to show the whole tribe what a woman she was. The burning in her belly seconded the idea, begged for more maleness to quench it. Reason, that impartial arbiter, had no place here- but agreed that real or not, she didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.

Mimya eased up on the clench of her jaw and shoved out with her own tongue. Not against his, but to delve past it into his mouth and explore. Tracing one of his sharp fangs she curled past it and probed around the hard line of his inner jaw. She let the rest of her body relax as well, letting herself enjoy the way he squeezed at her buttock approvingly. [i]Strong. Fierce. And Clever. Yes, I chose well.[/i]

She took the flush of pride at the praise, mixed it with the remains of her fading fury- the anger wasn’t doing her any good anyway, no longer certain of its direction- and turned it into motion. Her left arm, fallen slack around the back of his neck, raised to let her grasp his pointed ear and give it a vicious little twist even as she looped the right under his armpit and pulled him close. At the same time she shoved her whole body down onto his maleness, managing to get another fraction into her against the clenching force of the hand on her rear.

His pleased laughter reverberated around her head along with her own triumph. The hand still rubbing little circles around her lower back left to join its comrade at her ass, and together they squeezed, pulled apart her cheeks to reveal the pucker between them and the base of the shaft partway buried in her sex to the entirety of the world behind her (which, she had forgotten just at the moment, included a large portion of everyone she had ever known).

Against her obstinate shoving they pulled her upward until only the spade-tip of his cock remained within her slippery folds, now shining with her juices in the firelight and red with the blood that swelled it. She either whimpered or screamed or groaned into his mouth- [i]downward[/i] into his mouth, with the change in angle- uncertain which. They were all equally appropriate.

Then with thumbs hooking over the tops of her hips, he shoved her back onto his maleness in a sharp sudden motion that speared deeper than he had gone before, only the final barbed bulge at the bottom remaining outside. Mimya definitely moaned around his tongue this time, the too-full-too-tight feeling radiating from her soaked cunt to suffuse her whole body deliciously.

This time when she pulled herself upward by the hold on his head and neck the hands at her hips obligingly helped her upward. Talagat’s tongue pulled back as well, retreating from the inside of the antelopes mouth even as she tried to wrestle it back in with hers, and he pulled her back by the horn to view her lust-dazed expression clearly.

Mimya’s breath steamed out into the night air as she heaved, lungs catching up on neglected duties after unnoticed laxity. The dark wide eyes through which she looked out into the world wouldn’t focus properly on the carnivorous visage that surveyed her from this angle and then that on his flexible neck. 

Below, her entrance caressed and clenched around the uppermost inch of his shaft. New trickles of arousal trailed down it in the half-shadow of the dancing bonfire. Not to be outdone the cock pulsed, visibly swelling out and back in a needy heartbeat. Visible, and feelable. It was enough to interrupt Mimya’s breathing again in a shuddering, wrenching, twisting first orgasm, the waterfall of her feminine fluids cascading out of her to flow over his lap and render his massive balls as shiny as the rest of him.

[i]Now we’re ready to begin.[/i] Talagat’s voice rumbled unimpeded by the way he was licking his lips, not carried by any mortal air. 

He pulled her back down.

[center]***[/center]

The rest of the glade, of course, had descended into complete chaos almost from the instant it became clear Talagat had taken up residence in his statue. Oh, things had looked orderly enough for about the first five seconds while every adult in the village was too busy trying to pick their jaws off the ground to do anything, but beyond that? To say things degraded quickly would be an understatement.

“Talagat is among us!” Shouted Jengi. That was, on the whole, a good thing. As shaman, he would have had to poison himself in shame if he hadn’t been seen to figure out their patron spirit had come for a visit ahead of everyone else. Besides which, dramatically stating the blindingly obvious was about half of any given mystic’s job, right alongside making cryptic pronouncements that could be made to fit whatever facts emerged after the fact.

It’s actually a very useful function. Sudden supernatural events tend to render the average reasonable person incapable of seeing the blindingly obvious without a little help.

After that, about half of the antelopes stayed where they were, watching the increasingly sex-soaked display with a fascination that left little room for much else (and in more than a few cases looked to be working on making small sleeping tents of their loincloths, no hands required). Another one in four also didn’t move, but only because their minds had locked up around an event they’d never expected.

The remaining quarter more than made up for that though. There was a general rush to do no-one-thing-in-particular. A handful were frantically going on tirades of a general ‘look at that he’s- and- is that really-‘ sort to stunned neighbors or relatives, which was really a more active version of the shocked silence routine than anything else. Several more had fainted, and running in circles seemed popular as well, plus a smattering of those that fell to their knees or otherwise prostrated themselves to pray and/or beg their ancestors for protection. 

There was a lot of screaming, as well.

A couple of them apparently decided that while Talagat providing protection and general vaguely defined benefits to health and prosperity was all well and good, Talagat showing up in person to make vigorous carnal advances to a woman in the middle of her adulthood ceremony (and doing who knew what else after that was over with) was something else entirely; and ran for it. Jengi took a note of those. He’d have to decide later whether to move them up the list of possible apprentices for being the most sensible, or down for being the most cowardly.

“What’s going on?” The old shaman found a middle-aged woman of rather familiar tan coloration clinging to him by the shoulder. Ah, that would be Mimya’s mother. What was her name? 

…That probably wouldn’t matter until later, he could wrack his creaky memory for it then. “The Night-Hunter has blessed your daughter’s coming into adulthood it would seem. May he hound the foul haunts of the dark between suns until the last moon has fallen.”

“I think I understand that part.” She gritted between clenched teeth, squeezing into his bony arm painfully. “Is she going to be all right?”

“The girl certainly looks to be coping well enough.” Jengi answered mildly. Up on the rock, Mimya seemed to be making a spirited attempt to take Talagat’s ear off at the root.

“IS MY BABY GOING TO BE ALL RIGHT?!?!?” The enraged woman shrieked into his face loud enough to momentarily catch the attention of a few of the stunned onlookers with its ferocity.

Well. That explained where the girl got her fire from, at least. For a moment e really didn’t know who to back if the mother went after their ancestral benefactor. “I’m not deaf, woman. Your precious child will be just fine, I’m sure. Haven’t had anything like it in my time of course, but old Magabi mentioned something of the sort a time or two… Say, shouldn’t your husband be shouting at me as well?”

The gambit worked admirably to deflect any residual homicidal impulses she might have been harboring and replace them with a blank look not unlike that worn by some of the crowd. Never let it be said that shaman Jengi didn’t pick up any tricks in his long years.

“…my Imzu fainted. He’s back there.” She finally answered, pointing vaguely at one of the men laid out flat on the ground. Unconscious or not the man was one of those starting to wake up between the legs.

“Well. That’s interesting.” Jengi mused before realizing he’d said that aloud. He’d better divert the woman again before she rattled his old bones around any more than she already had. “I think you’d better go tend to him then, make sure he doesn’t, oh, I don’t know, swallow his-“

An emphatic [i]splash[/i] was different enough from the general commotion to pull Jengi’s attention away from the to where the dik-dik (what was the fellow’s name again? Tulojib, that was it, the one who joined from outside the tribe) was standing right in front of the boulder that was the center of attention, holding the ceremonial bowl out at arms length and looking rather comical in comparison to its size. Boulder and impromptu lovers alike were dripping.

Jengi tottered over to the smaller antelope to tap on his head. He couldn’t conveniently reach the shoulder. “Did you just throw water over the Night-Hunter?”

“Huh?” Tulojib almost dropped the bowl from surprise. “Oh. I a-apologize, elder. I just- Is this supposed to happen? I thought it wasn’t, and then I thought it would be bad if he got all worked up and hurt her, [i]then[/i] I thought it might be even worse if she hurt him and he got angry, so I decided it might be good to try to calm them down.”

All of that came out in a torrent with each word stumbling over the next on the way out of the tiny ruminant’s mouth, right up until he trailed off into uncertainty toward the end. He cringed away from an  anticipated scolding for, in essence, treating the most respected object of his new tribe’s reverence and the girl his visibly throbbing cock was buried in just like he would a pair of feral dogs mating in an inconvenient place.

Jengi looked up at the recipients of the wet cool-down. If anything, neither seemed to have noticed at all. He looked back down at the dik-dik.

“Doesn’t seem to have worked. But tell me young man; have you ever considered a career in shamanism?”

[center]***[/center]

Up on the stone platform, and stepping back just a smidge in time, Mimya’s precipitous drop onto the incarnate spirit’s shaft drew another moan of absolute bliss from her as she once again came to rest just a sliver lower on that meaty pillar than she had before. Now that she was one orgasm in the doe was feeling much less ambivalent to the change in plans for the night.

The shock to her still-sensitive inner walls as they were forced open a little further made the muscles in her hips twitch in counterpoint, albeit ineffectually at this point. This didn’t change either of their plans at all, however, so Talagat hoisted her entire weight by his grasp on her buttocks, still spreading them wide for all his tribespeople to see, and dropped her down again and this time drove his hips up to meet her.

Stopped once again by the thickness of the bulbous base of his penis, her abused pussy lips fluttered once more around it. This jarred Mimya from her afterglow enough to wrap her legs around the possessed statue’s back. They were still too shaky to help her up and down, but with his next lift she pulled on his shoulders once more to urge him along.

Hot breath growing more rank in her face, sour with a thousand kills. In her present state that only aroused her further. She was being rutted by the most dangerous creature she could think of, that ate the demons stalking the darkness of cursed nights. Or possibly she was rutting him. That thought alone sent another gush of her juices down onto his titanic scrotum. 

He wasn’t Gomj. She didn’t particularly care. She might go ride him into the ground after she was done with Talagat, the way she felt now. And Kishi, that sow- Mimya might ride her into the ground too, actually. She did have nice hips.

[i]Greedy.[/i] Talagat teased, mind-voice making that a commendation. She bit him on the shoulder for that.

The did not at all notice the slosh of springwater they were doused with then. Just as well: Tulojib’s small frame wouldn’t have survived the venting of either their anger or their unslaked lust upon it.

They built up a beat, like the drumming of some unimaginably primal creation song, every sharp drop down was a single brutal heartbeat of the universe. And with each descent she took in a little more of his bulb until-

“Nng!” It wasn’t the shriek of pain that the barbs she had just reached should ordinarily have elicited, but the antelope doe was in a place where she wanted more, and it was definitely more. They scratched ecstatically at her labia as she was lifted off them again, pulling her once more toward her peak.

[i]A strong mate, a fierce mate, a clever mate, a greedy mate.[/i] Every compliment punctuated another drop onto more and more of his fat bulb, Mimya’s inner passage spread deeper and deeper ahead of the pointed head and smooth irregular shaft. Her second orgasm gushed out of her to mingle with the bowl-water at the beginning of ‘fierce’, but Talagat was driven onward in his own carnal desire by her tightening and friction around him, he gave no sign. The spirit breathed the same slow breaths into her neck as she took him right to the root. [i]A good mate to bear my seed.[/i] 

[center]***[/center]

A few more of the tribespeople had thought to leave now, after finally getting over the initial ‘Holy fuck that’s Talagat, doing holy fuck’ revelation, but it was more of a sheepish slinking out than the initial terrified and/or pragmatic batch to leave. They acted as if they felt they might be called back before they could make a proper escape, though by who was unclear.

The majority of the adults were still here though, watching the primal breeding as it took place on the stone, Talagat and Mimya going at it oblivious to any of them. He had been progressively less statue-like as they fucked, even though he maintained a definite smooth quality, but the transformation wasn’t drastic enough to root their attention, or explain the… other things now going on around the ritual ground. As to whether the sheer intensity of the pair’s sex act was enough to make up the difference, opinion was divided on the subject.

“Didn’t you say your old teacher told you about this?” Jengi’s new apprentice asked skeptically. He was more than a little distracted by the stiffness that was building somewhere around his waist. Had built to full length already, really, but the dik-dik was a little insecure about his size on multiple levels and preferred to think of the process as incomplete. “So why are you asking me? I started this apprenticeship less than an hour ago, [i]much[/i] less; you were [i]there[/i].”

“Don’t talk back to me young man.” The shaman chided. As nothing appeared to be going immediately and disastrously wrong, at least not in any way he could do much about, the old gemsbok had settled himself to sit on the ground next to one of the torches where he could have a good view of the entire clearing. He pointed at the boulder where spirit and woman were coupling enthusiastically (the same one that Tulojib was failing not to appear as if he looked back to it every few seconds). “Magabi told me about [i]that[/i], not-“

The stick in his grasp swung around to indicate the rest of the ritual grounds. “-the rest of it. And I want to see how you think about it.”

Tulojib was only marginally more comfortable with ‘the rest of it’ than what Talagat and Mimya were up to. All around them the antelopes of the tribe were in mixed states of horny daze. Some were just watching the boulder and what was taking place atop it with a blank stare, not having got past their shock but convulsively humping empty air all the same. More were masturbating openly, paying no heed whatsoever to the way anyone who cared to look away from the main event for a moment could see them doing so. 

“…I don’t think it’s just from watching, well, [i]them[/i]. Not everybody is watching.” The dik-dik reasoned. He based this on the observation that those antelope who were a little less fixated on ‘them’ were still inordinately aroused and acting on it with gusto. A few couples here and there were doing their best to emulate the spirit and his chosen breeder, bucks humping with a frenzy into their does or does rocking back and forth on their buck’s crotches. For one or two of those pairs, he was hoping that their spouses would be understanding afterward.

“Good. And what do you think about that?” Jengi was too old to get too worked up about all of this. Should have been, anyway. He felt his own stirrings and just maybe he could get up to some of the same intimate mischief he’d managed back in his youth, but didn’t really feel like paying the price in aches and pains afterward.

“Talagat is a spirit of fertility, isn’t he? I think that would explain enough.” 

Jengi sighed. The raw material was there, but Tulojib would need a lot of coaching on the arts of both the dramatic obvious and the cryptic open-ended, on top of an education in the ways of the spirit world. “He is that. And I’ll eat my stick if there isn’t a new crop of young ones next summer, including a new little brother or sister to the lucky girl our Night Hunter took a shine to.”

Mimya’s mother was bouncing up and down heavily on the erect manhood of her husband. She’d gone back to take a look at him as Jengi had suggested after her shouting fit and, caught up in the same wave of need that swept away everyone else, had ripped off his loincloth soon after. The shaman couldn’t really tell from here if he’d ever come out of his faint or not. Well, his loss for being a sound sleeper.

“So what other thing is he, that matters here?” Tulojib’s impatience was palpable, but there was some curiosity in his face as well. Jengi wondered if the dik-dik knew he’d been fondling his own manhood for the past dozen breaths.

“Look right over there. Tell me what you see.” The shaman’s stick jabbed out  toward a little cluster of preoccupied antelope, bone rattles clacking once.

“Um. Well, those two are mating and- Oh. No, that’s Ganir and Okji. They’re both male but they’re still- and I think that’s Okji’s wife watching them. Where’s Ganir’s mate though?” Sure enough, in the indicated direction, the impala was shoving repeatedly and vigorously into his oryx friend’s tailhole. Positioned like a pair of ferals every hump sent Okji’s entire body rocking forward with the impact, and if you listened you could pick out the [i]slap-slap-slap[/i] of Ganir’s balls against his. Okji’s wife looked on from about a pace away, jilling herself with such ferocity that she might shove her whole hand into her cunt any moment now. At least she was enjoying the show then.

“She ran away early. Pity she missed this, that woman needs some fun in her life. What does it tell you though?” Leaning back with eyes closed, the old man didn’t look like he had a care in the world.

“They’re both male. That’s-“ Tulojib tried to comply with the vague ‘get on with it’ gesture his new teacher swung in his direction. “-they can’t have children, obviously. And no-one standing there, ah, touching themselves is going to either. So not just fertility.”

“Talagat’s a life spirit. Old, so old. There’s a lot to life, and he’s taken it up to tear apart the things that feed on us mortals on top of that, but really life comes down to food, the hunt, and lust.”

Jengi cracked open an eyelid to see what could have caused the blasé little dik-dik to shriek in alarm at that moment, and saw him being carried off over Sincha’s shoulder, expression beseeching of either forgiveness or rescue. The shaman just waved them off. “Enjoy yourselves, you two. Ah, to be young again.”

[center]***[/center]

Now that all of Talagat’s brutish penis had been worked into the tight fit of Mimya’s snatch, he really got going. The embodied eidolon lifted her again, abused labia pulled and nicked by his spines but valiantly tautening up to squeeze gently around his narrow middle as they went, before letting gravity do the work of bringing her labia down to kiss the top of his bulb once more.

That set the tone for the next eternity of unfettered sex. The spirit toyed with his doe, not settling into any one pattern. He would haul her upward to work in sharp staccato over a two fingerwidths of his upper swell, then shove back down to slowly tortuously grind her pussy over the fat spined length of his lower bulb which pulled and needled, her sensitive skin taking in every prick and tug. Talagat might move from that to moving her slowly over the smooth lower swelling just above that to let her savor the silky gentleness of gliding over well-lubricated skin, or he might wrench her up to his summit before taking her all the way back down to the root in one heartstopping rapid jerk. The primordial beast veered from one approach to another, trading pace and depth out according to whichever unpredictable whim took him or pleasured cry escaped from the antelope in his lap.

Mimya herself wasn’t at all passive through this. She alternated between placidly allowing his latest ploy and suddenly moving to aid or hinder using her grasp on his own body for leverage. He growled approvingly into her mind for every time she brought a downward fall to a premature halt or crammed back to take another inch more than anticipated (but not more than her awakened cleft desired). She would fondle one of his many biceps, yank viciously at his ears again, pull him in close for another kiss as the mood took her. In return he would caress her back with a spare hand, pinch playfully at one of her nipples, pull at her tail to make her yelp, and once bit deeply into the base of her neck and shoulder to draw blood. That made her shudder and jerk down to his base, wanting more than just his teeth in her.

All without stopping their random, unstoppable, seemingly endless fucking. It was fucking, too. Not lovemaking as Mimya might have spent long nights before constructing in her mind’s eye from half-formed pieces of speculation and hearsay. ‘Lovemaking’ would have implied something more ethereal, and for all that one participant was a literal spirit this was far too physical and satisfyingly meaty.

Perhaps it was enough to drive even mighty Talagat over the edge, or else he succumbed to his own nature. His sour breaths into her face or directly into her mouth became a little less regular and a little more rapid. The erratic shifts in his rutting returned more and more to the full-length thrusts that buried him all the way into her womanly canal and back out to her very entrance, until finally the swift ascent and deep plunge were all that was left.

Finesse cast aside they rutted like that for a time neither long nor short, partaking of every coupling of male and female or male and male or female and female since time began. There was nothing in them now but the need to breed.

Doe reached her climax again and again, roughly every fifth thrust-thrust-thrust-thrust-[i]thrust[/i] to soak his virile balls in a mix of liquid lust, hunger, and blood- his barbs had pierced her with the force of their coupling but pain was only another pleasure here- and soaking into the fur of her own hips and thighs where she slapped to a stop against them with every glorious fall. Spirit climbed upward toward his own towering peak with every jerk, shaft and scrotum pulsing to beat of the world-drum, hips jerking off of the stone to meet her on each journey down.

He reached it. With an unearthly howl that pierced the night and made even the bonfire roar upward in a sudden answering flare, his pendulous orbs released their bounty into the willing female straining around the entirety of his length. 

Inexorable as a river in flash flood his seed pumped out of him into the antelope woman. It came in gush and geyser as, finally exhausted in his control, Talagat panted breathily into the cold of the night breeze. 

Mimya was beyond words. She reclaimed enough control of her legs, still looped around the small of his back, to pull her body into his, grinding her clit into the smooth fur of his lower body. Her upper lips parted around a groan of absolute bliss from the friction against her nub and the accompanying pulls of all the little barbs on her outer entrance, in turn still stretched well beyond the wildest dreams of yesterday, wringing every last bit of pleasure she could from this as she felt her innards stretch and fill with his release.

The volume of his orgasm was immense. Not impossibly so, but still enough glut her womb to capacity and then, aided by his unnatural nature, beyond. Shifting his grip on the woman he angled her body away from him, disregarding the halfhearted attempt of hers to keep him in her embrace, so that the spirit could watch her belly swell.

He lowered one hand down to feel as well the gentle convexity of her belly. Slowly but inexorably she was pumped with his fluid virility until the stretch of her belly resembled the aftermath of a feast. Mimya’s middle was perhaps just a bit rounder than even an epic overindulgence of food could have produced when her womb reached the limit of what it would bear even under Talagat’s supernatural influence. 

The spirit’s last few spurts were forced back out, spraying forcefully back through the seal of her labia on his base as his output struggled against her absolute limit. With a sigh he massaged the distended abdomen of his dazed mate with the two hands not taken up with keeping her from falling over backward.

[i]A good rut. Care well for our child, woman of flesh. He will care well for you.[/i] Spectral voice filled with warmth and rough affection in the afterglow of their mating, the strong arms lifted her. Mimya squealed a little unhappily at the withdrawal of the wonderful tower of virility from her abused snatch, but truthfully she could hardly have sustained any further carnal act then. The doe was totally exhausted.

Only a small gush of otherworldly semen escaped her as she was pulled from his cock, not the cascade that should have been forced from her as inner walls remembered their fleshy limitations. For whatever reason she watched herself merely ooze. 

With his pointed head still trailing a single strand of stickiness back to her entrance, Talagat gently turned her body around, lowering her to the ground in front of their seat of stone to sit back against it. [i]I go now. Your birthing is not my mystery; Sister Moon will watch over it.[/i]

“What…?” Mimya breathed weakly, confused. Her mind was too awash in the remnants of their sex to truly come to grips with more than the basics, but she addressed those as she could. “All right. Goodbye.”

And when she looked back and up, the statue was just a statue once more. Still frightening, still primal, still solid. It was only that she wanted that more now.

Her bedraggled attention was snatched back by the next great pull she felt from her lower half. This was deeper into her than Talagat had gotten; a stretching, a straining, a tingling satisfying fullness that wasn’t precisely sexual, but was certainly kin to that. Mimya looked down at her large belly and watched as it expanded and shifted a little under her gaze.

[i]Oh.[/i] She thought idly in the exhausted haze of her ecstatic breeding. [/i]I’m going to be a mother.[/i]

Mimya shrieked with the dregs of her depleted energy when that thought sunk in an instant later. She was going to be a mother, and by the looks of it, [i]soon[/i].

[center]***[/center]

The howl that Talagat let loose to herald his coming to completion echoed through the ceremonial ground, though it didn’t carry far beyond that currently half-real space into the whole-real world. Under the force of that spectral noise sensitivities flared and lust spiked. Everyone in that glade came at the same instant, with a ferocity that most had not been fortunate enough to experience before. Men and women moaned, sighed, shrieked and whooped in answering euphoria. Those standing or sitting to watch the display of sex incarnate on the boulder sprayed and gushed their sticky nectar onto the ground, setting what would be many new distance records if the village kept note of such things. Antelopes buried in their partners or variously wrapped around them shot hot seed into their lovers or drenched them at the point of contact.

Even the natural world was brought to screaming climax around them. The bonfire blazed up with such sudden ferocity that the spring-water around it boiled, the brook flowing from the pool overflowed its usual modest banks by half a pace (soaking a few nearby antelope with more than just each other’s, or their own, yield). Torches in their ring around the outside echoed the larger flame in miniature, a few guttering out because their sticky tar had been consumed all at once. The vine-y weed covering the ground burst explosively into flower and the air filled with pollen before the blooms wilted near-instantly to fecund seed-pods.

Jengi, as old as he was, wasn’t spared. Cursing at his racing heart, which hadn’t been through anything like that in a long time, he was at least glad that his loincloth and robes didn’t show any outward sign of the uncomfortable stickiness. He surveyed the wreckage of the tribal gathering.

More of the antelopes had joined those early fainters on the ground now, unconscious with the force of their abrupt release or possibly the cumulative effect of the final outpouring on top of several more natural orgasms during their mesmerized viewing, depending on individual stamina. Those already senseless were soggy about the crotch as well from vivid wet dreams, a handful woken by the experience and casting about in their effort to work out just what was going on. 

Most of them left awake were struggling to cope with the events of the last few hours through an overwhelming fog of afterglow, and thus no more clear-headed than when they’d been feverishly fucking or masturbating. Jengi figured that would pass though.

Picking his way through the mounds of spent, wild-eyed, still-twitching antelopes, he located his newly-minted apprentice. Or at least, found his sopping wet underside sticking out from between the legs of the stripy body of a much larger nyala doe. 

The tiny buck was trapped under the generous hips of Sincha, who after making him screw her a few times on her back had taken back the initiative to ride him dry afterward, then collapsed after the last mind-wrecking climax of Talagat’s howl.  

“Do you need any help, young man, or can you get out from under?” Jengi took the muffled indeterminate noise emanating from under the bulky female, coupled with the strained kicking of the small hooves, as an admission that; yes Tulojib was having a little difficulty and would the shaman be so kind as to assist?

It took a few good yanks that nearly threw out Jengi’s back, but he did manage to pull his student out from under his erstwhile partner. The dik-dik’s muzzle had actually got caught in Sincha’s cunny on the way out, nearly drowning the poor male in the results of her most recent aftershock. The shaman clapped a hand on his back to help Tulojib cough his airway clear before lifting the younger man to his shaky feet, grinning in amusement at the definitely female-scented mud his back had been coated in by her earlier efforts.

“There we are. All well? Ready to get on with the job?”

“…Can I just lay down until my hips stop hurting please?” Tulojib directed a pitiful gaze up at the old man, eyelids drooping in exhaustion.

A feminine yelp of shock rang out over the clearing. Jengi shook his head mock-sadly at the little male. “That’s duty calling, I’m afraid. Here, you can take my stick until you stop shaking on your hooves. Was it worth it, at least?”

Staggering forward with the aid of the charm-bedecked stick, Tulojib’s answer had no doubt whatsoever in it. “Definitely.”

[center]***[/center]

Mimya thought she looked at least three moons pregnant when the shaman and his assistant reached her side. No, more like five. The cum-loaded bulk her belly had started with could have passed for three moons all on its own. She felt the first kick against her inner womb just in time to greet the concerned spiritualist(s) with a pained groan. 

“There you are, gir- Mimya. You’re doing just fine.” The shaman’s tone was as it had been on their way into the ritual grounds, the one for soothing frightened animals.

“Hhhhh.” She agreed, or possibly disagreed. The kicking had stopped to make way for the child planted in her mere moments ago to grow further instead.

“Is she going to be all right?” Another voice, deep and masculine and familiar- Oh, that was Gomj, she’d know him anywhere. Even, apparently, while undergoing weeks of pregnancy cravings compressed into a few breaths. Mimya decided to take the time to find some pickled eggplant after this; that sounded as delicious as it usually did vile.

“Have you been talking to her mother, young man? Never mind. She’ll be fine.” The more typical sardonic tone was back the instant the old man was talking to someone else. “Just look up. Moon Woman blesses her pregnancy.”

The full moon above [i]was[/i] awfully bright, fighting its way down with unusual clarity against obscuring of the firelight, despite the stars being blotted out. 

“We should get the midwife.” That tiny buck Sincha had gotten close to- and when did that happen, anyway- swam into her field of view, eyes set in concern. His face around them was dripping something clear as if he’d dived into the pool. Next to him Gomj nodded agreement.

“That’s her over there, if you can get her moving.” A finger, which was attached to a wrist that the distracted Mimya decided must be attached to the shaman, pointed out into the firelit clearing. Idly the mother-to-be followed it with her eyes to a dainty gerenuk doe. Fur mussed and limbs disarrayed the woman was lying insensate in an implausibly large puddle centered beneath the fork of her legs. The fluid gleamed alluringly in the wavering light of fire and torch.

Another kick from inside her drew Mimya’s threadbare attention back to her gravid middle. Between the solicitous arrival of the others to her side and now she had progressed to easily nine moons pregnant. More specifically, she looked as if she might be nine months pregnant with a wildebeest calf by the size of her, and if anything grew a little bit more under her own eyes.

“AAAAAUH!” Her scream into the night wasn’t for the faintly ridiculous way she appeared nearly ready to pop, or really for the pain though there was a fair bit of that all of a sudden. It had more to do with the spasmodic tightening that wracked her abdominal muscles and scraped over her nerves.

“We don’t have time for that anyway.” A little worry crept into the shaman’s voice despite an overall phenomenal effort to keep his composure. He went back to the smooth reassuring tone as he addressed Mimya once more. “You’ve got a good pair of lungs on you, girl. Just keep working them, and try to bear down to help the babe out.”

“I’m. Not. A. Child.” She bit out between gasps for breath, buoyed on a wave of hormonal rage.

“My mistake. Forgive old Jengi, this spirit-talker forgets things. Just keep breathing, woman.” The old man agreed equitably. “[i]Push.[/i]”

And push she did. She didn’t really have a choice, the way her body and new passenger insisted together. Time melted again under her efforts, and while Mimya had definitely preferred the bent moments of [i]getting[/i] pregnant to the stretched heartbeats of giving birth, there was a weird satisfaction to putting every ounce of her being into it. The encouraging murmurs and comforting reassurances of her childhood crush, the mystic, and the mystic-in-training carried her on through the contractions with the moon overhead playing its beams coolly over her spherical center.

“It’s crowning, out of the way.” This instruction by Jengi- Mimya assumed, she was too preoccupied to look- preceded a sudden [i]pop[/i] and wave of relief as her womb and vaginal canal became a little less crowded. No longer stretched beyond their plausible limits her sore muscles were much better able to press against their occupant, who was now forced out bit by bit by her efforts.

Looking down in the moon and firelight, past diminishing bulge in her stomach, she could see what she birthed in the fire- and starlight. The shape was a little indistinct, shining in the blood of its birth. A head cast in a predatory mold, sharper than its father’s about the muzzle, with two nubby horns that lengthened as she watched. It’s, [i]his[/i] body (as she was suddenly sure), was built on a feral quadruped frame. Already moving, eyes opening, he kicked free of his mother’s stressed opening to stagger upright.

“…What is it?” Gomj this time, first to ask while Mimya was admiring her son’s blood-coated form from within her satisfied haze.

“His name is Galmij.” She answered dreamily. One of he hands floated up to cradle at her flattened belly, an absent smile. The other just squeezed once, softly, against Gomj where her childhood crush had taken it to hold during the labor.

“That’s a fleshborn spirit. Son of Talagat and our dear Mimya here.” Jengi explained offhandedly. He undermined his nonchalance by adding; “I never thought I’d see one born to our tribe in my time.”

Mouth lolling open in evident glee at his new name, Galmij turned his eyes away from his mother. He darted on legs too steady for a newborn of any species, hoofed hindfeet and clawed forelegs crunching against the seedpods of the ground and he leapt. The bloodsoaked form sailed through the air, light as a feather, into the heart of the bonfire.

Tulomij, Gomj, and all of the tribe who had recovered enough to witness the spectacle gasped in shock, fright, or awe. Jengi who was in practice expecting the uncanny and would have made a killing if he were introduced to the concept of ‘cards’ by some faraway traveler, didn’t. Mimya, who was absolutely confident in the perfection of her beautiful newborn son (and to her mild bemusement tracking the swing of his small but swelling nutsack and sheath with her gaze as he ran- the spirit definitely took after his father there) gave no more than a sigh.

Galmij’s form sparked and sputtered in the fire that lapped him, blood drying and sparking red as it burned away. He shook like a dog newly come out of the river, then hopped back out. Light as air he easily cleared the distance to the bank, and trotted back toward his mother with a silly grin, ash flaking off with every step off of his invisible fur-clad form, for he had no visible body without anything to smear him.

He was mostly unseen to his mother or the males around her, but she at least could feel as much as see where he was out of some maternal instinct. The spirit lapped at her face happily, tiny stub-tail waving unseen.

“People of the tribe!” Jengi had stood, staff reclaimed from his assistant and gourd rattling to emphasize his pronouncement. “Talagat has favored us! He has left his seed with us! A child has become a woman, and a woman has become a Spirit Mother!”

A Spirit Mother. One of the mysterious witch-priestesses favored by the ancestral spirits, who wielded great power through the love and loyalty of their children. They were spoken of seldom, but much revered for the boon they could be to their tribe. Spirit-Mothers took no husbands out of respect for their ethereal mates, but could have their pick of the menfolk they desired.

Mimya snickered as she realized she might ride Gomj dry after all, without ever having to be second wife to Kishi. Galmij yipped happily at her to get her attention to scratching delightfully behind his horns.

“Mimya-gat is welcomed to our number! She will have her own hut and live among us! Tomorrow, we feast!” Then, too exhausted to dredge up more drama, and in the certain knowledge that no-one would bee on top of things enough to tease him for it later, Jengi made a more heartfelt addition. “Now get some damn rest!”

Duty done, he stumbled back over to the pleased and exhausted mother, the bewildered student and tribesmen, and the hazy outline of the newly-minted spirit. Being able to see a little more than the usual came with the job.

Between Mimya’s legs her stretched cunt was gaping around nothing at all. This wouldn’t continue for long, though. Labia still scratched from Talagat’s barbs, her vulva was slowly tightening closed. It might not make it all the way back to its virginal state- really, it had damn well better not after the pounding it took; not if the universe was to pretend to making any kind of sense- but eventually it would come back to a dilation suiting the aftermath of a more normal tumble.

As it did so unnoticed, an echo of the overpowering need from earlier, like a promise that Mimya’s libido had not burned out but would return with reinforcements, prompted her to ask the old man a question.

“Will he come back? Talagat, I mean?”

Jengi eyed the unmoving statue. A flicker of light from the bonfire, dying down now, made it look as if the idol had given an enigmatic wink. “Couldn’t say. I don’t think the fathers of fleshborn spirits usually come back to sire any siblings, but there’s a first time for everything.”

[i]It’s all right, mother.[/i] This voice in Mimya’s mind was a lighter tone than what she associated with Talagat now. Galmij lapped playfully at her nose, and smiled a sharp-toothed smile. [i]I grow up fast. I will help when your tribe males are not enough.[/i]

Mimya pulled her son in to plant a kiss right between his eyes. The future was looking to taste very sweet indeed.

[center]***[/center]

That [i]witch[/i]. 

Kishi trudged back from her gathering expedition, basket full of fruit banging against her knee while she cursed under her breath. To put it mildly, the curvy doe was displeased by the last two moons since the skinny slut- no, no, the [i]revered Spirit Mother[/i] had come into adulthood and status.

Every time she looked around, what felt like every day, Mimya was taking her husband into her stretched, ruined, used cunt. In their own hut, in hers, in the fields… The sow had no shame any more. It wasn’t good enough that she could have any man she wanted, she took Gomj too and with a regularity that maddened Kishi. Her [i]own husband[/i] didn’t have enough seed left in his balls to spare her any, more often than not.

And more infuriating still, everyone accepted this! Kishi never expected any better of the males. Everyone knew they thought with their spears anyway. But the damned women were in on it too, cheerfully allowing their husbands to be taken by the whore whenever she pleased. Whenever she wasn’t monopolizing Gomj instead. She even heard rumors that Mimya amused herself with some of the wives as well.

Even the ones who hadn’t been there through all of whatever supernatural idiocy had addled most of the tribespeople were agonizingly, moronically tolerant of this foolish old tradition. Kishi didn’t understand any of it.

Kishi was a complicated kind of person, however. She thought all of those things with every bit of fury and frustration she could muster, as certain as stone underfoot, but that wasn’t [i]everything[/i] she thought about it.

With just as much certitude but less fire and more reluctance, she was also oddly happy for the girl. The woman, that is. She’d been stuck in girlhood past the point where others of their friends were happy mothers, frustrated and constrained by tradition. And now she was getting to make up for lost time with style, to a degree that Kishi secretly envied.

As far as her husband… Mimya always had wanted Gomj, of course, and Kishi could respect that as well. Kishi got to the prize first, and she didn’t regret it at all. If Mimya had won a greater prize that included him into the bargain, that was what it was and Kishi accepted it even as she raged, even taking pride in having a husband worth stealing over and over.

Gomj was not being stolen from her every day either. It only felt like it sometimes. Once or twice in any seven days, maybe three times if Kishi had missed a few. She did keep coming back to him between working through whichever men caught her fancy (to no particular pattern that Kishi could yet determine), seeming insatiable and yet able to attend to a very full schedule between her oversexed antics. 

As for the events in the grove, Kishi had run away early. From what she heard afterward, it had been an orgy of epic proportions wrapped up in a spiritual experience. So she could also understand if everyone was acting peculiar about the focus of the event. Those touched by the spirit world often came away a little strange in the head. She mildly wished that she could have a bit of that strangeness herself if it would take the sour taste from her mouth.

From rumor, her disparagement of the Spirit Mother’s abused snatch was hyperbolic at best as well. Kishi hated and coveted that in equal measure.

But one thing that irritated her wholeheartedly was how Mimya’s child seemed to have made inconveniencing her its favorite pastime. The mischievous little demon would invisibly nip at her heels at unexpected moments, steal her clothes when she bathed in the river, move small objects about so she couldn’t find them. (That last was not at all new, in truth, but Kishi was willing to blame that on Galmij along with anything else.) All while being a charming and well-behaved spirit pup when anyone else was watching, helpfully chasing vermin away from the stores better than any cat and keeping the hunters informed, through his mother, of where the best game would be.

Lost in the mixed thoughts that were usual to her, she made it well into the village where other tribespeople were going about their days, grinding meal or weaving or going about other chores, when the hard impact against her back sent her tumbling into the dirt and the purple berries in her basked spilling out all over the place.

[i]Hi, Kishi![/i] Night-hunter protect- ugh, scratch that. She knew the obnoxiously cheerful voice in her mind. Probably worthless asking for the guardian spirit to shield her from his own spoiled kid. Galmij, heavy forefeet planted on her back while his unseen back hooves tamped the dirt to either side of her hips, happily licked her behind the ear. [i]I got you.[/i]

“Get off me, brat.” That most certainly didn’t count as proper address for a young fleshborn spirit, but Kishi was fed up with her life up to her dainty horns right now. “I’ll tell your mother on you, and get Jengi to curse you for punishment.”

Light tittering laughter echoed in her skull at the (most likely futile) threat. [i]Jengi likes me! Tulojib likes me too, he rubs my belly.[/i]

He jumped his forepaws and not inconsiderable weight off of her shoulderblades, forcing her breath out with a whoosh of air. As he did he turned visible, a trick he was still proud of working out at one moon old.

Galmij had been right when he told his mother he’d grow fast. His frame, reminiscient of a long-legged, narrow-muzzled, horned and half-hoofed hyena was bigger than the largest feral dogs by now if he made no special effort to appear bigger or smaller. He outweighed most of the tribespeople. Dark amber-brown fur covered him from nose to stubby tail, spotted above the waist with a cheetah-like pattern of ochre red and black patches.

[i]And mother[/i] sent [i]me.[/i] Added the spirit, mindvoice still effervescently chipper as he stretched in the sun, then hopped back. Now standing over her legs, he shook himself off. Some of the women and men watching from where they worked on this and that chuckled at the exuberant creature.

“I spent all morning gathering those.” Kishi didn’t stand upright immediately, only propping herself up on her elbows to survey the scattered berries thrown into a wide arc as far as three body-lengths away and then some by the forceful pounce. She sighed. “What did Mimya want from meeEEEEE!“

Galmij ripped off her loincloth with his mouth, sharp teeth brushing against Kishi’s sizeable buttocks as he did so and prompting her shriek. He shook his ‘kill’ violently before tossing it high into the air to fall limply down onto the top of one of the village huts. [i]I’m all grown and mother really wanted me to do it with her, but she said she felt a little bit bad about mating uncle Gomj all the time, so you get to be first as an apology![/i]

“Oh.” Kishi said dumbly, still startled with the speed and violence with which her garment had been removed, skin stinging where the material had pulled before snapping. Then the distressingly happy pronouncement finished working its way through her mind. “[i]WHAT?!?[/i]”

Teeth were abruptly pressing into her, softly rather than painfully, two big fangs on either side of her spine and more pricking at her butt lower belly where Galmij had opened his mouth implausibly wide to slot around her entire groin area. His big slobbery tongue teased at her folds and over her tailhole. Pulling her up to all fours with his jaw, he took full advantage of the way his speech had no need of occupied tongue or maw. [i]I’m going to mate you, like father mated mother. Your tail tickles the top of my mouth.[/i]

“S-stop! Everyone can see!” Sure enough most of the other tribe members in her line of sight were watching with eyes wide or covering shocked-open mouths with their hands. She hoped that was shock, she would have to perpetrate violence if any of those hidden expressions contained laughter. A few were only blushing heartily as they tried to go about their business while the supernatural cub was cheerfully eating out a female for the first time, in broad daylight, with vigorous slurps that could be heard by all even muffled by his maw and Kishi’s soft backside.

Why, Kishi wondered in a thought that flashed by between more important things, was that her first objection? Why not the fact that he was a spirit, a demon? Or a child- did he count as a child? Maybe not, but he had been born only a fraction of a year ago for all that he was more mature physically of the village men she could name (mentally and emotionally too, for a few of the chronically childish). Or even that she had been close enough to his mother, once, to make him nearly a nephew.

Either way, a lack of interest was shockingly not one of the possible objections. This had never occurred to her at all before now, but something in the air reminded her of the ritual grounds where everyone else had stood mesmerized by sex. And the tongue that was diving recklessly into her…

[i]Yes. Is good. They can watch us feel nice.[/i] He pulled back trailing shining strings of the ectoplasmic saliva that soaked the entire area between Kishi’s legs, stepping forward over her to shove the tip of his bulbous penis- narrow at the tip and mostly large bumps that met one another at crisscrossing creases, widening out to nearly as wide as a fist where it disappeared into his sheath- into her wet and dripping vulva. [i]They got to watch mother and father, too. Tulojib told me that was fun too.[/i]

“Hnnnnng!” Kishi couldn’t talk under the assault of the bulbous penis, every one of the convexities pulling and stretching at her cunt in one smooth motion that took it all the way in until it was too wide to go further. Then, just a little further than that, pulling her wide. Galmij pulled back to start humping properly, big balls swinging away under the hybrid form’s hips.

[i]This feels very good.[/i]

Kishi’s moan of agreement sent sympathetic shivers of pleasure down the spine of every man and woman witness to Galmij’s first rut. Eventually, it felt so good that he forgot to stay visible, letting the aroused audience watch enraptured at her open cunt clutching and squeezing around what seemed empty air.

Galmij took after his father. Not as strongly. But more than him and Kishi would be dripping their orgasms onto the earth before he was done with her.

[center]***[/center]

“Mimya, I can’t-“ Gomj panted, horns digging into the dirt, supporting his head as he couldn’t support it himself, exhausted by the vigor of the female bouncing up and down on his erection.

“You can.” The spirit mother assured throatily, slamming down hard on his slim penis before going back to her more measured pace. She hadn’t had anyone go soft on her yet; Mimya felt she was still infused by an echo of Talagat’s sexual energy that would never leave her completely, leaving her loins perpetually burning at least a little even a her least aroused. Mercifully, some seemed to bleed over to her partners, letting them at least try to keep up with her. “You’ll keep me warm and wet. Keep going. I want you.”

The sable’s moan came with a buck of worn-out hips. With her riding him like this and cock refusing to soften even after the second orgasm, he had no real choice. His balls churned with need to fill her again. It was a wonderful torment.

“Mmm.” Mimya’s ear pricked back at the soft footfall. “You’re back already? You didn’t go easy on poor Kishi, I hope. It would be cruel to skimp on her apology.”

[i]She was very happy. Then she needed a nap. Hello, uncle Gomj.[/i] Invisible tongue lapped over ‘uncle’ Gomj’s balls and carried right on up the cleft of his mother’s rear. [i]I mated auntie Kishi[/i] twice [i]for you. She’s very loud when she feels good.[/i]

“Uh? Oh.” Gomj couldn’t focus very well on anything except what was going on at his crotch. He didn’t have the energy to feel at all surprised at the casual perkiness with which he’d been cuckolded. That was just as well; he didn’t have the energy to work out that turnabout was fair play, either. Both would come later, along with the decision that he didn’t really mind. “Yes. She is.”

“I’ll have to find that out myself, soon.” Purred Mimya, not stopping her attack on Gomj’s hips while her son’s tongue struggled to follow along under her tail despite her vigorous motion. “I did decide to forgive her. And you have the loveliest wife in the tribe, lucky man.”

His choked gasp likely started life as an attempt at a ‘thank you’ before overworked libido robbed it blind.

“Right now though, I’ve waited long enough for my handsome son.” A few shudders spiced her statement, rough from the effort of holding back her orgasm. “Come now, get in me.”

Invisible tail tuft wagged ridiculously through the air, Galmij wasted no time on an answer. He crouched his hoofed back legs low and planted his forepaws on either side of his mother and her lover, pressing his chest fur against Mimya’s back, and placed himself just so. The doe’s taut asshole slid down onto his tip, still slick with his and Kishi’s orgasms, and he forced himself in hard all at once with a jerk that slapped his invisible testicles against Gomj’s black ones.

The moans of the two antelope rose and mingled within the hut: Gomj pushed beyond endurance for the third time by the sudden tightness of the dual penetration. Mimya letting herself, finally, experience her first orgasm of the day, held back through force of will until she could have her bestial son inside of her. 

Her anus hurt. This was a first for her, too, saved just for her favorite little male. Not at all so little, but she knew by now that she was hard to hurt in any permanent way down below, remaining tight and sensitive even after all her enthusiastic exploits. But it was even more pleasurable, with the knowledge of who was embedded there making it even more so.

“Mmmmmh.” Mimya brushed at Gomj’s cheek, bestowing a kiss on the bridge of his nose while she enjoyed the two malenesses in her lower end. Her orgasmic discharge had come with enough force to soak both pairs of balls and spray the sleeping mat to either side of the four testicles cuddling one another. “Uncle Gomj needs a nap now too, poor man. He had to keep me busy so I could wait for you, son.”

[i]Sorry.[/i] Galmij didn’t sound sorry. He never had yet, and this probably wasn’t a worthwhile time to start.

“It’s all right… You didn’t give Kishi a cub did you?” Mimya craned her neck to look the beast she could always see with her best sharp motherly look, voice acquiring a fishhook quality to it with the question. 

[i]No.[/i] Galmij answered sheepishly, cock softening somewhat in his mother’s tight tailhole. [i]Should I?[/i]

“No dear.” The doe reached back to scratch behind her son’s ears. Her voice was soft and affectionate, tinged with humor. “I’m not ready to be a grandmother yet, and you’re not ready to be a father. Besides, I don’t think the tribe is ready for [i]that[/i.”

[i]Yeh.[/i] It was a much more basic thoughtform than the word her mind made it, but she giggled anyway.

“Why did you stop?”

[i]You finished. And uncle is sleeping.[/i] She could feel his tail wagging through his penis, making her laugh once more.

“So he is. How about you start up again, rub your penis all over his through me.” She leaned forward, pressing her front to the sable antelope’s intimately and speaking low and sweet. “I want to see if you can make him give you a sibling in his sleep that way.”

The answer turned out to be yes.



[center]The End[/center]