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The Wafooru Tribe

May 2025 Flavor of the Month: Pimm’s Cup!

Sneak Peek

Deep in the uncharted jungle where birds of paradise flocked and rain poured every hour on the hour, a single dirt trail was barely visible amongst the brush. It was the only trail allowed in and out of the depths of the forest, or at least the only part that could be traversed without the threat of traps or being hunted as sport.

Rory was huffing along the trail, sweat matting the raccoon’s brow as his thick backpack of supplies made the trip more than a little daunting, but how does one prepare to be with an indigenous tribe for nearly half a year? He paused, took a drink form his canteen, and then pulled out the map. The trail appeared to fork off into several directions and he needed guidance. Not that the map would give him any. He sighed, the thing was sopping wet. He hadn’t properly secured the strap of his backpack when the rain hit him half way down. Now the ink on the cheap paper was all smeared and the directions nearly indistinguishable.

Rory balled up the map, water welling up between his fingers as he did so, and shoved it in his pocket. He wasn’t supposed to leave anything besides footprints behind. His initial supplies should get him through the first month, and his team would send in runners once a month to resupply him.

“Well, what do we know about the Wafooru tribe?” Rory pulled up his backpack straps and took a deep, humid breath before putting his thinking cap on. Well, he had an explorer’s cap on now, most of his clothing made of kaki or denim. His denim shirt was open, exposing his toned chest, and his kaki shorts hugged his hips and thighs, plump from exploring, spelunking, and hiking his way around these forests for the better part of two years.

He glanced over the trails, each one as unassuming as the last. Rory pursed his lips, his dark eyes glinting as he bent down to grab a stick and toss it down one trail. The sudden sound of strings snapping and pulleys whirling filled the air as spikes rained down form a tree just barely within sight.

“Yeah, not that way,” Rory nodded before turning to the other two trails. He took a moment before realizing some of the plants had an oily sheen to them. A poisonous plant with an irritant oil. Surely the indigenous people would have cleared that out of their path.

With a confident smile, Rory turned on his heel and took a proud step forward onto the only other path.

A twig snapped and Rory felt a rope snag his leg.

“Oh shit,” the little coon’s eyes went wide as his world was turned upside down. The trap yanked him into the trees, hanging nearly twenty feet above the forest floor by his ankle. His backpack came undone and clattered to the ground with his supplies, his hat soon fluttering afterwards.

“Son of a bitch,” Rory cursed as he hung there. He could untie the knot, but he would plummet twenty feet onto the now exposed metal of his canned food and supplies. He wanted to struggle, but he ran the risk of hurting himself if he did. No, he needed to stay calm.

“Don’t worry Rory,” the coon grunted, his face glowing red from the wound to his pride and the blood rushing to it. “This is a live trap. They’ll come for you eventually. Not like they’re going to use you for target practice.”

A sudden whistle and prick in Rory’s stomach made the coon’s eyes go wide. He looked to see a dart with colorful feathers had lodged itself deep in his guts. He quickly tried to pull it out, but his vision was already swimming. The last thing he remembered before everything went dark was slowly descending down and seeing several sets of eyes and glinting teeth. Like he was being lowered into a lion’s pit.

It was, reasonably, a bad time to remember than the Wafooru were known to cannibalize intruders.

Rory sat up with a start, the dreamless oblivion falling away like a blanket being tossed off him as he came to. He was surrounded by furs, the tent surprisingly airy and cool despite the oppressive humidity. The coon quickly took assessment of his body. He was naked apart from his kakis and some bandages wrapped around his abdomen. At first he was relieved that he wasn’t in some prison, elated he wasn’t cannibalized, and then deeply confused about how he got where he was.

“Ah, the deep sleeper is finally awake,” a voice boomed. Rory turned to see a shadow eclipsing the sunlight from the tent’s entryway. “Hope you slept well.”

Rory was about to say something when the man dipped into the tent. He had never seen a man move so much bulk with so much grace. A black panther, his hair a wild mane of braids and beads, his body rife with muscle, and his fur covered in intricate tattoos. They almost looked like body paint, but as Rory’s eyes adjusted, he noticed the intricacies of the patters. The way they rolled over his massive pecs, the way the ink danced down his abdominals, the way it framed his powerful arms with artwork…and his COCK!

“H-huge…” Rory’s eyes went wide as he tried to scoot away. The panther’s package was monstrous, especially for a four foot raccoon. That cock had to be well over a foot long soft and flopping, the barbs at rest, the heavy sack of oranges hanging beneath that python had tattoos scrawled across them like a duo of suns with their flames rolling up into his neatly trimmed bush.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” the man rumbled, his voice deep and powerful. His massive feet planted on the ground before he squatted to get a better look at the coon. His cock kissing the furs beneath him, that thick head rubbing over the fibers gently like a sexy grandfather clock pendulum. Despite not wearing any clothes, the man had plenty of adornments, his neck clad in beads, his wrists and ankles having bracelets, and his toes having rings on the index toes.

“Sorry the scouts got you in the gut,” the man poked Rory’s bandages, his stomach burning a bit. “The salve will deal with the pain, but you’re going to have to leave the bandages on.”

“Wait…are you Ajani? The tribe leader?” Rory asked.

The panther’s golden eyes looked deeply into the coon’s, a smile playing across his muzzle. “I get that a lot, but it’s because I am the chieftain, yes. Good eye on you, little one.”

“Wait, you speak English?” Rory’s eyes went wide. “I had no idea you were bilingual. I need my notebooks.”

“Calm down little one,” the panther’s powerful hand came to the side of Rory’s face, cupping his muzzle. The coon froze, his heart beating, his face flushing, his palms sweating, his mouth dry, and spine tingling. But then Ajani pulled at something on his ear that stung a bit. “We got you an earring so you can understand us.”

“A what?” Rory blinked as Ajani took his hand away, the panther crossing his arms, satisfied with the answer he gave. “An earring?”

“One of Wafoorah’s many blessings,” Ajani nodded. “The gift of understanding is a very good gift indeed.”

“Gift? You mean…oh god, it’s true. Magic does exist in your tribe.”

“Yes, yes,” Ajani said standing up and glaring down at the coon, a dark gleam in his eye. “And now that you know, you can never leave.”

Rory froze, a dark grin splitting Ajani’s muzzle, his fangs almost predatory as he leered at him. Something deep in the coon’s guts stirred, his thighs quivering. But then Ajani’s face snapped into a beaming grin.

“Just kidding, little one,” Ajani spun, his long tail just barely nicking the coon’s nose, his powerful ass cheeks flexing as he swaggered. “Come,” he gestured with his hand. “Your legs are not broken, yes? Let us move. You come to observe? You observe, yes?”

Rory was still floored by the fact magic existed, but he was first and foremost a professional. He was here to observe, and damn it, he was going to observe! The raccoon quickly got up and padded after the titan of a man and exiting the tent. The immediate warmth of leaving the shelter hit the coon like a ton of bricks. Somehow they managed to keep their homes nice and cool despite the sweltering heat outside. Once Rory’s eyes adjusted his jaw hit the floor.

Men, dozens and dozens of men were working together, all of them beasts and working the land. They had built into the mountainside an irrigation system that fed their crops, their buildings were made of proper stone and wood, just not exactly what Rory was expecting. They were all black panthers, their fur dark as night, their eyes different shades of gold and topaz. They were all covered in varying amount of tattoos. The larger the man, the more tatted up they were it seemed. It didn’t take long for Rory to pick out what some of the tats were for. They were their uniforms.

The men with the most tats typically were builders and laborers, the fewer the tats, the smaller the men were, but not like they were really small. They just looked tinny because everyone was a muscled beast. Rory thought the smallest of them looked like Olympic gymnasts. They weren’t as stacked, sure, but they were nimble, a group of them coming down from trees holding bows, spears bloodied with the day’s hunt, and baskets of fruits, herbs, and roots.

“My god, what do they put in the water here,” Rory asked. Ajani gave a deep chuckle.

“It’s not the water, it’s Wafoorah’s many blessings,” Ajani answered. “He teaches us many things. How to farm the land, how to properly mark our homes for cooling.”

“Mark your homes?”

“Yes, look here,” Ajani pulled the door flap out to show that the leather making the tent had markings all over it. They were white and almost powdery. “It’s with his blessings we are able to do miracles.”

“Oh my, how intricate,” Rory looked over the markings, getting lost in the designs.

“Even the stone homes are lined with leather to allow for better cooling.” Ajani nodded. “All that matters is that the ink is put on flesh. It matters not if it’s living or dead.”

“Oh my…and…I guess you don’t wear clothing because it’s so hot out.”

“What? We’re not beasts,” Ajani put his hands on his hips and pushed forward, his junk swaying slightly. “We wear shoes.”

“Oh, I meant no offence,” Rory’s face burned. “I-I-I’m just ah…”

“That was a joke, little one,” Ajani smirked. “They do have jokes where you come from, right?”

“Oh, of course!” Rory chuckled. “I knew that, I was just testing you.”

Ajani’s face grew dark as he glared and bore his fangs at Rory.

“You test the Chief? You wish to fight for Chiefdom? Is trail by combat, to the death.”

“Oh god no!” Rory put his hands up.

“I’m joking,” Ajani relaxed his stance, his rage and dark foreboding snarl vanishing in a snap. “Outsiders are so easy to trick.”

“Oh goodness,” Rory gasped, putting his hand over his beating chest. “Please, no more jokes. I don’t think I can take it.”

“Jokes are an integral part of our culture, you’re not trying to say jokes cannot be culture,” Ajani’s eyes narrowed.

“No, jokes are fine, I just…oh…” Rory took a deep breath. “Good one, you got me.”

“See, you’re catching on,” Ajani nodded.

“So, I see many of the men of your tribe, but I don’t see any women,” Rory put his fingers together. “Where do they typically stay? What do they do in your tribe?”

“Women?” Ajani chuckled and lifted his hand and shouted out at one of the larger builders. “Hey! Stati! He wants’ to know where we keep our women.”

“Our women?” The big panther turned, his powerful core sculpting the thick, healthy layer of fat on his gut. “Is he joking?”

“Not joking, just doesn’t understand yet,” Ajani chuckled.

All the men in the construction site looked at Rory and laughed and chuckled, a couple of them snickering at each other.

“Did…Did I say something funny?” Rory asked Ajani.

“It’s what you people call an inside joke,” Ajani shrugged. “You’ll get it eventually.”

“Huh, okay,” Rory looked back at the men and noticed some of them were hard, their eyes trained on him with a bestial hunger that clearly said “prey.” It sent a shudder down the coon’s spine.

“Come, we have a ceremony for you,” Ajani motioned him forward and Rory quickly followed.

They came to another large tent, larger than the one he awoke in. It was filled with low dining tables and cushions for them to sit on. Rory had no idea where they got the materials to make such soft pillows, but he also wasn’t complaining. Ajani smacked a symbol on the leather of his pillow and a soft, inviting ring echoed through the tent. It wafted over the village, everyone’s earrings trembling in resonance of the call. People started flocking into the tent, the cool air getting thick with the smell of musk and sweat, the smell of men who worked in the sun and the radiating heat.

It didn’t take long for drinks to be served, some sort of fermented something that was sweet and tangy that the men were all enjoying. When Rory tried to sample some, Ajani put his hand over his cup.

“It’s much too strong for a little one like you,” he warned. “Keep your mind strong. You’ll need it to…observe.”

The way he said that last part gave Rory pause, but he put the drink down and opted for water. Ajani put his hand on the coon’s back in reassurance. Instantly Rory’s face flushed red. That touch was almost electric! Rory gave a little murr, his ears twitching and his leg kicking once or twice until Ajani removed his hand.

Soon enough the place was full of drunk men of varying sizes, all muscled black panthers ready to party. A massive beast was roasting on a bonfire outside the tent and various trays of root vegetables and fruit were being brought to the table. Rory did notice something odd though, most of the men were given meat, but he was given mostly vegetables and fruit. He was giving small portions of meat if he asked, but for the most part it was reserved for the men who were drinking.

“Ajani, why is it that I’m primarily the one eating fruit and roots?”

“Do you not like them?” Ajani cocked a brow.

“No, I think they are quite nice, but I noticed the meat was mainly going to the other men while I was given this. Don’t get me wrong, I just want to make a note for my research.”

Ajani had a long pause before a shallow smile formed on his lips.

“I guess they want to make sure you have your strength,” Ajani shrugged. “Or maybe they wish to be your mate. You are quite an attractive outsider. The traditional gift for a mate would be fruit. It’s rare this time of year.”

“Oh my,” Rory blushed, putting a hand over his muzzle. “Should I have refused? I’m only supposed to observe. I’m fairly sure I’ve broken a few rules already.”

“Not to worry,” Ajani smirked. “If you want to stay here to observe our culture, you’re going to participate. That’s the agreement we made with your chieftain.”

“Oh, well, I’ll try to keep my influence on your culture to a minimum.”

“I doubt that will be a problem,” Ajani nodded.

The sun started to dip in the sky, the blue skies turning to golden ambers. Drums were being played and droning melodies that rolled up Roary’s spine and made him tingle all over. He felt the power of those drums well inside him and make his head fuzzy. Had he actually been drinking?

The men moved the tables out of the center and around the edges of the tent. They sat down at the tables, looking into the circle they had formed. The larger men were strangely sitting on the floor, closer to the circle. Rory was confused. The Wafooru were known for their celebratory dances. He half expected the men to get up and start dancing, but Rory didn’t see any of the men getting up. They actually looked eager, their mouths slightly parted, panting, their eyes fixed on the opening to the tent.

Rory wasn’t sure what to expect, but someone walked in, their fur a dazzling spotted coat of golds and blacks. He was a panther, his hands looked like they were henna dipped with how many tattoos were on them, rolling up his arms and fading into softer lines. His foot paws were much the same, the white ink trailing up them and then lost in his fur. The rest of his body was fairly unmarked except on his shallow abdomen. Mixed in with his creamy under coat was a symmetrical tattoo, the white ink a bit faded, but Rory swore he could see the thing pulsing with the drums.

“Wait,” Rory managed to push out of the haze thrumming through his ears just long enough to question what was happening. “I…I thought I was the only outsider here?”

“They are not outsiders,” Ajani put a hand on Rory’s back, rubbing it gently. The coon shuddered, his fur standing on end at that touch. “You wanted to know where our women were, yes?”

Rory was purring like a kitten, chirping like a little schoolboy with sugar! He gave himself a little slap on the face to try and clear his head, but it only sent shockwaves down his spine. He gave a high pitched moan before biting his lip to silence himself. The embarrassment was enough to lurch him back into his head. He looked forward and saw that various other men had come into the tent, all different species and all with the same tattoos as the first.

Rory spotted a rabbit, wolf, fox, zebra, buck, and even a dragon! They all slinked into the circle and gently came to a man on the ring and offered their hand. None of them were refused as the largest of the men got up and started dancing with the various species. Each of them, even the dragon, were smaller compared to the men that they danced with, their bodies slinking around each other, feeling each other up. The panther’s cocks were already rock hard, exceeding the one foot mark easily as they grinded, swayed, and ran their hands over their respective partner. Rory was surprised that the smaller dancers weren’t erect as well, that was until the man grinding his cock between the tiger’s thighs slipped his hand down to their loins and spread their petals.

Rory’s eyes went wide as he saw the tiger’s knees buckle, the panther beast flexing his cock and using it to keep the tiger from turning into a puddle on the floor as he showed off the pink sexy silk between the tiger’s legs to the men. Some cheered and congratulated him, but others told him to stop showing off. Rory was so shocked, or maybe so intrigued, he managed to keep his wits about him to look observe the other “men.” They all had nice, tight, puffy peaches where their cocks should have been.

Rory had heard of cuntmen before, but they were rare. There had to be a dozen different species dancing around the circle, their bodies slinking against the men dancing with the drums. How could such a large concentration of cuntment exist in such a remote location?

“A-Ajani,” Rory looked up at the chief only for his eyes to go wide. The chief was leaning back, his two foot cock throbbing, oozing precum as he watched the display, nodding to the men as they danced with their respective partners. Rory shook his head, despite the cock being the hottest thing, his hunger for answers was stronger.

“Ajani,” Rory started again. “How are there so many cuntmen in your tribe? And how are they all outsiders?”

“Isn’t it obvious, little observer?” Ajani smirked. “This is the fate of all the people who trespass in our lands. Even you.”

“M-Me?” Rory gulped hard, a sudden fear blooming in his gut.

“Yes, that is our way, that is our culture. And if you want to stay,” Ajani’s claw came to the bottom of Rory’s bandages, running up them and sheering them off. “You will participate, or be eaten.”

The rags they had put over his stomach fell away to reveal the same symmetrical tattoo. The lines were swirling and elegant, nothing like the other tattoos the panthers bore.

“Your body accepted the ink well,” Ajani licked his lips, his hand coming to rub over Rory’s belly. The coon gasped and gave a shuddering breath. The tattoo was sensitive, each line the panther chief rolled his fingers over was like him licking his neck or tweaking a nipple. He ran his claw gently across the lines, like a musician playing against his instrument, Rory gave a rising moan with each line he strummed across. “You’re lucky. If you hadn’t, you would have been eaten. The fact you saw another day at all was only given by the grace of Wafoorah.”

“What did you do to me?” Rory shuddered.

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