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Cultural Relations

Chapter 3

©2025 Bruno Hirschkoff

For Irving

The following is a work of erotic fiction intended solely for adult audiences. It is not intended for commercial publication nor for widespread distribution without the permission of the Author. The Author asserts the exclusive right of ownership of Asantrea, and all characters, settings, concepts, locations and events described herein.

Approx 7,300 words / 35 minutes reading time

In the moments after the death of Isaeos, the Chieftain’s hut seemed once again to explode into chaos. Iseaos’ guards, of course, were the first to enter the bloody scene. Shuva still knelt beside the body of Isaeos, cradling the unconscious Arashi in his arms. Oaal lay in a crumpled heap, knocked senseless, a small, bloody obsidian blade beside him. Xanaf leaned against the wall of the hut, breathing shallowly with the Chieftain’s ceremonial dagger protruding from his shoulder.

The guards levelled their spears, but as Shuva turned to face them, they seemed unsure of who to aim their weapons at.

“What has passed here?!” snarled Saare, a grizzled warrior, addressing Shuva.

Luwam, the second guard, nudged Oaal with his hoof, and glared at Xanaf. Behind the Chieftain’s blood-soaked throne, three Lamaye women cowered. Both guards were sworn to protect the Chieftain at all costs, and here he lay, dead on their watch. Shuva saw them exchange an uncertain glance. He knew them both well. Shuva was not without his own loyalists, among the Lamaye; Luwam’s brother Tsela among them.

“Saare, lower your blade,” Shuva said mildly.

The older warrior held his ground.

“Isaeos is dead, Saare. These two attacked and killed the Chieftain,” Shuva continued, motioning to Oaal and Xanaf.

Xanaf protested unintelligibly, and Luwam cracked him across the head with the butt of his spear.

“This is clear,” Luwam said. “Shuva speaks the truth.”

Shuva forced his features not to show relief.

“Oaal attacked the Chieftain with an obsidian blade, hidden in his clothing. Xanaf took the ceremonial dagger and wounded the Chieftain mortally. But the Chieftain still had time to pull the blade free and return it to his attacker. Oaal and Arashi were struck in the altercation.”

Saare narrowed his eyes and glared at Shuva. Shuva stood his ground and forced himself to hold the older warrior’s gaze. To look away would be to show weakness, and weakness would imply he was lying. Saare had been Isaeos’ bodyguard since the two of them were juveniles. His chest was a mat of scars, both ceremonial and the trophies of war. His back, however, was entirely free of scars. Shuva knew he regarded that as a source of pride.

Saare slowly lowered his spear, but remained tense.

“Who else witnessed?” he snarled.

“Iseaos was my father, Saare.”

“You stand to inherit. You have purpose for killing. There is blood on your hands.”

“If your father were struck down, would you not rush to stem his bleeding? Try to save him?”

Saare grunted. Luwam surreptitiously moved to stand beside Shuva. It was subtle, but it was a statement. I will defend Shuva, it said. Saare stood alone in his suspicion. He shouldered past Shuva and approached Isaeos’ body.

Arashi moaned and stirred. Shuva moved to her, and held her to his chest. She mumbled and then her eyes flew open. She cried out and surged upward, and Shuva calmed her.

“Shh, shh, be still, Arashi. It is over.”

Her eyes were wild and she scanned the hut in fear, then fell against Shuva, limp with relief.

“Say nothing,” Shuva said quietly. “Isaeos is dead. Oaal and Xanaf killed him.”

She stared intently at him and seemed about to say something, but Shuva silenced her.

“Shuva speaks the truth,” Saare finally agreed. “Chieftain Isaeos is dead. His body bears two wounds. One made by a small blade, one by his own dagger. Isaeos was attacked, defended himself, and died of his wounds. Luwam, go and get the shaman.”

Luwam returned in minutes with Atatafi the shaman. She heard Sarre’s interpretation of events, stared intently at Shuva, and declared the Chieftain dead by placing a death mask of resin-infused cloth over his face.

The hut was cleared as soon as Isaeos was declared to be dead by the shamaness. She saw to it that Isaeos’ body was transferred to her own hut to receive his death rites, and sealed the Chieftain’s hut with a woven rope of mourning. Saare stood guard outside Atatafi’s door. He would stand guard over the Chieftain until his final ascent to Bezar, and would not eat, drink, or speak until then.

Shuva, as the Chieftain’s son and the presumed leader of the Lamaye, sent runners to all of the scattered villages immediately. Each village needed to send a representative to witness the ascension of the new Chieftain, as was the common law of the Lamaye passed down through countless generations. Isaeos had not observed the tradition, he had heard.

Only then, once he was alone in the privacy of his own hut, did the gravity of the situation settle on Shuva’s shoulders like a stone cloak.

His mind felt like it was full of wasps. He knew he should feel guilt, sorrow, pain, grief… but he felt nothing like it. He felt elated. Free. Isaeos had been a bully and a terrible father; violent, in every way, and full of bloodlust. Shuva’s mind returned to his childhood in the darkness, and in the darkness he found more darkness.

*

Arashi had nowhere to go. She had belonged to Isaeos, and the Chieftain had not allowed her to be far from his sight for some time. With him so suddenly dead, Arashi found herself wondering where she was to sleep. She could not impose on the shaman, and would not wish to, not with the Chieftain’s body in her hut. Most of the other structures in the village housed families, none of whom Arashi would feel comfortable to impose herself on. On the outskirts of the village, on opposite sides, were two longhouses made of mud-daubed reed mats, with roofs of thatch. The two initiates, Oaal and Xanaf, would have slept in one of them, and Arashi did not fancy herself safe enough to brave a longhouse with fifty or more juvenile Lamaye men in it. The other housed young women and children; travellers, outsiders and unmarried women. It was little better than a brothel at times, Arashi had been told.

Nonetheless, Arashi was on her way there when she passed Shuva’s hut. She paused. She was free of Isaeos. She did not need to hide her love for Shuva any longer.

When Arashi entered, she found him hugging his knees to his chest, rocking on his hips with his head in his hands.

She went to him and knelt. He froze at her touch, and she held him. Whispered to him. Sang to him. And gradually, her presence broke through his trauma, until his eyes finally rose to meet hers.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For how he must have treated you.”

“Shuva. You are not your father. You never have been. When I was brought here from my homeland, it was as a captive; a pleasure slave. He gave me to you. Then he took me back because instead of using me, you loved me. He took me only twice, this whole time. He paraded me in front of you to control you, nothing more.”

Shuva stared at her in disbelief. “He never hurt you?”

“He tried. But I am not his type. I kick and bite and spit,” she smiled.

“Not with me, you don’t,” Shuva replied, returning her smile.

Finally, he raised his hand to cup her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. Their muzzles touched, and she kissed him. It was a tentative, tender kiss at first, but it quickly turned passionate and urgent. She pushed her body against Shuva’s, and he easily fell backward onto the floor. Arashi straddled him, and felt his tongue push against her own. She parted her lips and allowed him in, and tasted him. His hands tightened around her body and she gyrated against him, and felt him rise beneath her, quickly and with clear need. She spared one hand to flip aside his loincloth and expose him, and paused in their kiss to gaze down at his organ, stiff and pulsing with his carnal need. She touched it longingly, caressing it with her fingertips, and slowly pushed back his foreskin.

“How long, since…?” Arashi asked.

“Weeks,” Shuva replied instantly. “Only once since I last held you.”

Arashi felt heat bloom in her loins, and rose up over Shuva’s body. She stripped her clothing off in moments, and displayed her body for his lustful gaze. Her pelt was so much darker than his; the lightest of her matched the darkest of his own, and her patches were the colour of ebony. His eyes made love to her even before he touched her thus, drinking in her nakedness and lingering with unbridled lust between her thighs. She pushed her hips forward, and then slowly advanced up his body, until her knees were at his armpits, and her womanhood only a hand’s breadth from his muzzle.

“Look at it, Shuva. It is yours. Taste it. Scent it. See how slick it made me, just to see and touch you.”

Shuva groaned lustfully, and she felt his hands come to rest on her taut, toned buttocks. She flagged her tail and pushed her hips forward still further, and felt his breath on her. Then his tongue. She exhaled needily, and ground onto his mouth. She could smell her own arousal and sweat, and Shuva drank her in like a man who’d spent a month alone in the desert.

Tenderly, slowly, she coached and guided his long tongue and his soft, tactile lips, until with a trembling cry of pleasure, she came on his face.

Without pause, she slid back down Shuva’s body, to kiss him once more and taste herself on his breath and his tongue. His cock slid along her inner thigh, and she cupped it in her hand. His glans was slick and wet with his excitement, and she palmed over it and felt him tremble and buck against her touch.

“Please, Arashi…” he whispered, between kisses. “I need you.”

“Then take me,” she whispered back.

She curled her hand around his cock, and pressed his head between her lips. She felt him enter her like a boy who’d never felt a woman’s heat before, so desperate was he for the sensation. He drove himself upward into her with desperate urgency, and she pushed her buttocks powerfully onto his thighs with similar need. He gripped and kneaded her buttocks, and she felt his fingertips brush along the underside of her tail. Within seconds she felt his body tense, and his breathing become hoarse.

“Let it happen…” she murmured.

He groaned in lust and drove his hips forcefully upward into her, only twice more. Then she felt him tremble and shake, heard his shaky exhalation of release, and felt his cock pulse rhythmically inside her. She clenched down on him hard, and gyrated her hips on him until she felt his body relax.

She lost count of the number of times they touched each other that night. He made love to her again and again, seemingly with no need for rest, and no inhibitions. He tasted every inch of her, left his seed inside her mouth, under her tail, and at the gates of her womb. And when he was not within her, he left streaks of his seed across her face, her chest, her buttocks and thighs, and he licked himself out of her pelt, and by the time he was done he was ready to go once again. By the time the dawn broke, they were finally exhausted.

*

The cavern of the Y’Dasz ancestors opened into a narrow ravine, through which the sacred waters flowed. Araxes, Nur-Ayya and the four Y’Dasz spear sisters walked in single file along a path of deliberately placed stones at the water’s edge. The walls of the ravine teemed with strange plants and mosses, some of which glowed softly like the fungi and slimes inside the cavern. Araxes struggled for a moment to rationalise just how different this place felt, compared to the sweaty furnace of the rainforest just to the north. Then he realised. It was cool. The air was still humid, but it was just as cool as it had been inside the cavern.

And then the ravine stopped.

The sacred waters flowed into an aperture in the rock, returning underground to some unknown place, and the six giraffes were faced with a sharp incline in the slippery rock, into which stone steps had been carved. Veyo the pathfinder led the way, followed by Nenwoh and Yattah. Then came Yt’tai the healer, then Araxes, and finally Nur-Ayya, who had not moved more than an arms’ length from Araxes since they’d entered the tunnel on the north side of the cavern. The steps were steep, and Araxes felt his ears burning once again at the shapely, firm buttocks of the healer right in front of him, at his eye level.

Distracted, he stumbled on the slippery rocks, and Nur-Ayya caught him. She laughed.

“Yt’tai’s buttocks are a pleasing view, Araxes?” She teased him.

Yt’tai heard, and laughed over her shoulder at them, flipping up the back of her sari to flash Araxes. The plump lips of her womanhood, viewed from behind, glistened with slickness.

“Take a long look at the heat that has come from the scent of your spear,” Yt’tai said in Y’Dasz.

Nur-Ayya laughed again and nudged Araxes forward until his body bumped up behind Yt’tai’s. She pressed her buttocks back against him, against his chest. Her tail curled casually around the back of his neck. His mind was awash with arousal. These women were so shameless, so sex-forward… and he still could not believe they found him so arousing as they claimed. But he could smell it. He could smell Yt’tai’s arousal, rising from between her muscled thighs, and suppressed the primal instinct to rise up behind her and…

Yt’tai pulled away, and Nur-Ayya prodded him onward up the steps, until all six of them were gathered at the top. Veyo stared open-mouthed at Araxes’ penis, which he had not realised was exposed. She rubbed herself for a moment, and he could not avoid his body’s reaction to the sight.

“Calmly, Veyo,” Nur-Ayya reminded her.

Araxes noted that Nur-Ayya’s voice was a little husky, and he could smell the arousal rising from her, as well. It was almost like all of these women were just barely holding themselves back… from what? From all mounting his rod? The thought caused him to twitch and throb and precum to drool from his half-exposed glans to string downward to the forest floor. Yt’tai exhaled through pursed lips in a frustrated way. Veyo sighed, and licked her fingers. All of them were staring, and in his arousal, he relished the attention. But, he did his best to cover himself.

Finally, once that wave of shared arousal had somewhat subsided, leaving Araxes with an uncomfortable ache in his balls and a seemingly endless string of slickness drooling from his foreskin to the mossy loam between his hooves, he was able to pay attention to his surroundings. And what he saw took his breath away.

Gone was the oppressive sweatbox of the jungle. Instead, they stood in a vast, vaulted cathedral of life, and as they moved onward, Araxes’ eye and his mind was drawn ever upwards. The impossibly giant boles of vast, ancient trees stood like great columns in a building whose roof was higher than any mortal could ever hope to reach. They were hundreds of paces tall, each of their trunks surging skyward from huge mounds of loam and soil displaced by their vast roots. Araxes had never seen trees so tall, or so numerous, in his life. The canopy was so high that it was hardly discernible, a diffuse green window to the burning azure of the equatorial sun high above. The ground under hoof was soft and wet, but it was neither loose nor muddy, except in the lowest crevasses betwees the trees; instead, it teemed with life. Mosses and lichens coated the forest floor in thick mat over the loam, which occasionally surged upward to consume a fallen tree, or to engulf the scattered boulders that had been pushed to the surface by the immense mat of roots beneath the ground. The understorey of this immense forest was surprisingly clear by the simple nature of its sheer scale—the dense jungle to the north had been a tangled mess of vines and undergrowth that was scarcely navigable. Here, by contrast, the canopy of the understorey tended to be well over their heads, which gave Araxes the sensation that they had shrunk to the size of ants. Here and there, clusters of strange orchids clung to the trees, each intricate, exotic bloom twice the size of Araxes’ whole head. Tussocks of purple ferns and green, broad-leafed forest floor plants grew to four times his height, thrusting their delicate, blue-green blooms upward on towering spires that filled the air with a strange, musty fragrance. The whole understorey was aglow with bioluminescent fungi and insects, which floated through the crisp, fresh air haphazardly on random paths between the multitude of blooms. Unfamiliar sounds filled the air, as well; strange birds called hauntingly through this primordial realm, their vociferous song echoed by others such that their conversations travelled through the forest like ripples over a pond, through the undergrowth.

It was the most spectacular thing Araxes had ever seen, and without knowing quite why, he felt a reverent compulsion to immerse himself into it utterly. Nur-Ayya was watching him, he knew, and he ran his hand over the fuzzy mosses that coated a fallen branch that must have been fifty paces long. The mosses, each of their heads shaped like a tiny star, closed briefly as his touch passed over them, and then reopened when he passed them by, each with a momentary bioluminescent flash. As he walked forward, his head bumped the bulbous nectar-sac of an orchid, and the whole flower began to quiver and tremble, before releasing a cloud of the most intense fragrance he had ever encountered, along with a cloud of pollen that clung to his pelt.

Araxes sneezed, and a swarm of glowing insects scattered from the stamens of the cluster of orchids. Veyo approached him, a grin on her face.

She spoke in Y’Dasz, but they lacked the common vocabulary and she spoke too quickly for her words to mean anything to him. So, she demonstrated. She touched another orchid, and captured its ejaculation of pollen and fragrance on her arm. Then she moved to another, and delicately touched its stamens.

The second flower’s stamens twined themselves delicately around Veyo’s hand and up her arm, like delicate tentacles, seeming to feed on the pollen from the first flower. Then the second flower also began to quiver and tremble, and also released a cloud of fragrance, subtly different from the first. Araxes sneezed again.

Nur-Ayya appeared beside him.

“Veyo is saying, the male flower has… ejected its lust onto you, Araxes, and you should offer it up to a female.”

He felt as though the significance of the moment was probably lost on him, but he complied with Veyo’s suggestion, and tentatively presented his pollen-coated head to the orchid she directed him to. The flower’s stamens moved around his head, their touch delicate and slow, and then the bloom sprayed perfume across him.

Veyo made a series of comments that Nur-Ayya laughed at and roughly translated for Araxes. She did not need to translate the exaggerated sexual noises or motions Veyo was making.

“Veyo saying… Nightglow Orchids… ahh… loving together. Pleasure…making, onto Araxes. Veyo wanting… with Araxes, right now.”

Araxes’ eyes widened and he recoiled from the flower. Veyo laughed.

“Veyo… being Orchid,” Araxes dared in Y’Dasz, supplementing his limited words by motioning to her crotch and inhaling through his nose with a pleasured expression.

Veyo’s eyes widened and she gave a throaty grunt. She grabbed him and hauled Araxes’ skinny frame against her own, to grind her crotch roughly onto his thigh. Her breath was hoarse and shaky against his ear and he felt himself rising yet again. She could have pummeled him into the forest floor and ridden him there and then and Araxes did not think he would have cared for the consequences, whatever those might have been. The scent of the Nightglow Orchid clung inside his nostrils, and he boldly offered her his hand. She gripped his wrist and roughly pushed it up between her powerful thighs. Her crotch was impossibly slick and wet, and her nectar flowed around his fingers. He fumbled with her vulva with total inexperience. It was soft and pliable, and his fingers slid easily between its finely furred lips to find hot, smooth slickness between. She moaned hoarsely, and grasped and grappled his cock in return in a furtive moment of intense eroticism which seemed to exhibit exactly the same type of inexperience as he. It suddenly occurred to Araxes that his might well be the first cock Veyo had ever touched. She certainly seemed not to quite know what to do with it. Her tongue dragged up the side of his neck, and she gyrated her hips on his hand until his two middle fingers pressed upward into her vagina. Araxes whimpered, and shoved his cock roughly into her hand. Veyo awkwardly, desperately, moved him downward until the tip of his rigid flesh pressed against her clitoris.

Nur-Ayya yanked them roughly apart with a snarl, and held them at arms’ length until the pink mist of lust had cleared.

“Veyo! Tik’tur a-lah! Aik-bata’ur! Esti tur-aqeti shaka’hakt!” Nur-Ayya snapped, gesturing to the panting Araxes. Then, to him, in halting Lamaye; “Being… calm! Tik’tur! Soon, no stopping. Soon! Araxes… not Y’Dasz. Soon!”

Yt’tai was watching this exchange with an amused expression on her face from a short distance away, subtly holding her hand over her muzzle while the other was under a fold of her sari. As Araxes, Nur-Ayya and the berated Veyo returned to the group, she took Veyo aside and the two spear sisters went somewhere out of sight. Araxes could only imagine what was happening. He wanted so deeply to follow them, to feel their bodies against his, to taste them… Veyo’s fluids were drying on his hand, and he raised it to his face to breathe her in.

“Nightglow Orchid ahh… causing this,” Nur-Ayya explained to him, motioning to his rod. “Veyo being not good… for this. Knowing, is. Causing, is. Wanting Araxes, is.”

Araxes felt that his head was indeed clearing, but not enough. Nur-Ayya frowned. Then she motioned to the other two spear sisters. Nenwoh went to find Yt’tai and Veyo, and Yattah followed Nur-Ayya and Araxes. Neither of them spoke much. A short journey through the immensity of the primordial forest saw them come to a small river snaking through the gargantuan trees. Nur-Ayya, without a second thought, stripped off her sari and stepped into the rushing water.

“Wash off the Nightglow perfume, Araxes,” Nur-Ayya said to him in Y’Dasz, supplementing her words with motions. “Your head will clear and you will feel less… urgent.”

The mere sight of her nudity caused his head to spin and his thoughts to be primal. Yattah gave him a playful shove, and he flailed his arms ineffectually before splashing into the water. Nur-Ayya laughed and swam away from him. The water was cool but not cold, and at the bottom of the shallow river Araxes could feel smooth rocks, slick with silt and vegetation. The water cleansed the pollen and the cloying perfume from his pelt almost immediately, and it was only moments until his head began to clear and the wild spike of arousal the orchid had caused began to subside. The water that flowed around him turned brown with the days of built-up dirt in his pelt.

At that moment, Veyo and Yt’tai arrived, with Nenwoh behind them. Veyo looked very flushed and breathless; she was naked, and Yt’tai looked very pleased with herself. Nur-Ayya laughed.

“Yt’tai is very good with her tongue,” she said.

Yt’tai grinned.

“Veyo, you may come in, if you promise not to try to fuck Araxes again!” Nur-Ayya called to her.

Her ears flattened with contrition, Veyo complied, although she made no attempt at any kind of physical modesty at all. Araxes was beginning to appreciate that was something he was likely to see a lot of, from these people. As the water lapped around his shoulders, he reflected on how much his world had changed in only a few short days. He’d nearly died on the Savannah under the suns’ burning heat, and now here he was in what he could only describe as paradise, with five warrior women, at least three of whom clearly found him sexually enticing to a level he’d never even thought possible. The thought passed through Araxes’ head that he might actually have died, and this was the afterlife. But what had he done to deserve such… pleasure? Was this pleasure? Or was it going to always be frustrating?

On a level, he realised, he enjoyed the frustration. The feeling of arousal, restrained and forbidden.

Araxes was snapped out of his momentary reverie by a series of whoops and splashes. Suddenly, everyone was in the river with them. Araxes let his legs sink to the bottom once again, and waded to one side to observe. Nur-Ayya noticed, and moved towards him, scrubbing at her armpits with a handful of moss.

“Sweat… outside of pelt, washing, is good,” she said slowly in Lamaye.

For Araxes this was even more true than for the spear sisters—after all, he also had the sweat, dust and grime of his last day with the Lamaye caked into his pelt.

“Lah,” he returned, then switched back to Lamaye; “Although Yt’tai and Veyo certainly did not seem to mind my smell.”

Nur-Ayya processed his words for a moment, translating in her mind, and then laughed. “Scent… tempting, yes. Scenting… man. Ayya-Yurah needing… scent Araxes, not Araxes intik,” she plucked at his penis under the water to indicate the meaning of the word.

Araxes gasped softly and flattened his ears. Despite the powerful aphrodisiac perfume of the Nightglow being washed from his pelt, he was still powerfully excited by the spear sisters’ nudity all around him. And even though they had been openly sexual toward him even in the jungle, they seemed far more relaxed here—no one complained of the heat, or the sweat, or slapped at irritating insects, or snapped irritably at her companions. Their shared nudity here was natural.

Nur-Ayya had lapsed into silence beside him, with her hand draped over his thigh under the water. Every now and then her fingers touched him. The barest shadow of a touch, a fingertip here, a soft bump there.

Boldly, Araxes took her hand and moved it over his manhood. He heard a soft gasp from her, and her fingers curled around him. He remained half-erect, and at her touch it rose easily to full erection. She did not pull away. Her thigh pressed against his under the water, and a moment later he felt it flex, firm muscle rippling against his hip. He glanced downward and through the distortions of the water’s surface, he could clearly see her other hand between her legs, quietly pleasuring herself. He clenched, flexing his manhood, and she rubbed herself quicker.

“Esti shaka’hakt,” she murmured huskily. “Forbidden!”

“I will not tell,” Araxes said conspiratorially. “No one is looking at us. Knowing that you are feeling pleasure is… very good.”

Nur-Ayya’s breath hitched in her throat and she rubbed herself more rapidly, more openly. The hand on his manhood wandered upward over its end, gently pressing back the soft hood of his foreskin with its fingertips, and then wandered back down to softly heft his heavy balls.

“Many calves… having,” she grunted. “Father, is?”

Araxes shook his head. “Never,” he said. “I have never pleasured a woman, before.”

Nur-Ayya could not stifle a groan as she suddenly climaxed beside him, and four heads suddenly turned towards them. Staring at their leader as she orgasmed. Nur-Ayya hurriedly let go of Araxes’ cock—apparently that was the bit that was forbidden, not her masturbation.

Yt’tai cheered, but Veyo looked less impressed.

Of course, Araxes thought. Nur-Ayya only just physically stopped Veyo from doing something forbidden, and now Veyo thinks Nur-Ayya has done exactly that herself.

He felt like he was beginning to understand something of the Y’Dasz, but at the same time they were distinctly alien to him, culturally.

“No shaka’hakt,” he said to Veyo, “Nur-Ayya only touched herself and did not pleasure me.”

Nur-Ayya translated into Y’Dasz for Veyo, and she visibly relaxed.

“Clever Lamaye,” Nur-Ayya murmured.

He patted her thigh under the water and gave her a smile. “I may have a weak body, but my mind is strong.”

“Strong intik, strong brains.”

It was surprisingly difficult to tell when night was falling in Ammunash’s Garden. The bioluminescence of the forest, and the relative absence of sunlight on the forest floor meant that between day and night there was little change at ground level. But the bright green canopy high above turned purple, and then black, and the sound of bird calls changed, while Araxes and the spear sisters were bathing.

High up in the trees, Araxes could occasionally see a dark shape flitting about. He presumed they were bats or nocturnal birds, heading upward to forage among the canopy.

All six giraffes were sitting on the bank of the river, allowing their pelts to slowly dry in the air. Veyo had gathered up all of their clothing to wash it in the river, and had made a point of standing with her hips thrust forward in front of the seated Araxes for a long moment, performatively sniffing the sweat-soaked remnant of his tunic. He stared openly at the soft curvature of her pubic mound and did not disguise the erection it gave him. Nur-Ayya did not chastise her, which Araxes was glad for. He did not want to be the cause of friction among the Y’Dasz women. Not that type of friction, anyway. He took advantage of that long moment of exhibitionism to examine Veyo’s vulva, with its slightly protruding inner petals that seemed to permanently be swollen and glistening with wetness.

Veyo trotted back down to the water’s edge and squatted, washing their clothing between two rocks, while Yt’tai re-dressed Araxes’ head wound, straddling his thigh as she had the last time while he sat on a convenient moss-encrusted rock. But this time, she was as naked as the other spear sisters. She used a different type of moss to make the poultice this time, and Araxes was pleased to discover that it did not burn or itch the way the last one had.

“Healing well,” she said in Y’Dasz. “Your brains will not fall out. This is good.”

“Thank you,” he replied in the same. “Touching… is good… feeling. You… and all Y’Dasz… attracting. Very.”

She chuckled. “Touching is very good. I am pleased you like the way I touch you… and it is obvious that you find us attractive…”

Her hand hovered for a moment over his manhood, and then retreated. “A-lah. Shaka’hakt.”

“Shaka’hakt…” he repeated. “Esti-ur?”

“Among the Y’Dasz,” Yt’tai began, “men are the shared possession of the women. In our society, men are the ones who build, and teach, and feed, the village. Women are warriors, healers, pathfinders, foragers, hunters. Except when they are pregnant. Then, the men also look after them until the calf is born. A man from outside our culture must be accepted by the Aethyrsage before he can dispense his duties. You have not been accepted, and so you are shaka’hakt.”

Araxes processed her words slowly.

“We are forbidden from humping you,” Yt’tai clarified, “until Ayya-Yurah sees you.”

So that was why they were holding back.

Araxes felt a moment of trepidation, but the thought of Nur-Ayya finally being able to do what she so clearly wanted to him… he was powerfully drawn to her in ways that surpassed the blatant carnality and open sexuality of the other women. She was a complex, powerful woman, a natural leader.

Yt’tai was looking around somewhat furtively. Araxes brought his focus back to her. Specifically, to her nudity. She leaned on his shoulder, her modest, perky breasts in his face, and began to masturbate. Araxes couldn’t hold back any longer. He knew now that he wasn’t going to get any relief from the persistent ache in his balls unless he brought it about himself. He stared open-mouthed at Yt’tai’s self pleasure, the way she openly exhibited it for him so close; the quiet, subtle wet sound of her fingers rubbing rapidly across her clitoris, and the scent of her arousal filled his senses. He curled his hand around his aching cock and began to pleasure himself to the display. It was intensely erotic, far more so than he’d been anticipating—and within moments they were no longer alone. Veyo was there in a heartbeat. As if she’d been waiting for exactly this. Araxes’ mind was fogged with lust but he figured these two must have conspired to make this moment occur, specifically for Veyo. And then Araxes had two Y’Dasz spear sisters openly masturbating over him.

Veyo was a full head taller than Yt’tai, and considerably heavier—closer in build to Nur-Ayya than any of the other spear sisters. She tenderly held the healer’s hips, and Yt’tai leaned back against her, sliding her free hand down between Veyo’s thighs to delicately touch her. Their tongues met in a sensual kiss that was clearly intended to be performative, and Veyo slid her hand upward along Yt’tai’s torso to cup one of her breasts and twist her nipple. Yt’tai shook and trembled, and rubbed herself furtively, until within moments, she climaxed. Her hips trembled and convulsed and she rolled her hips powerfully through her orgasm, and Araxes could clearly see the rhythmic pulses of her womanhood behind her fingers. He grit his teeth, feeling burning heat rising up along his member and threatening to erupt. He wanted to make it last a little longer.

Veyo was also keen to be watched, it seemed. She spoke to Yt’tai in rapid, breathy Y’Dasz which Araxes could not decipher. Yt’tai nodded, as if giving her approval, and Veyo stepped out from behind her to move alongside the seated Araxes. Yt’tai was still straddling his thigh, breathing heavily and watching them both—Araxes interpreted this to mean that Veyo was being chaperoned. But he could not bring himself to care. He stared openly at her, eyes fixed between her legs at what she had spent the last day or so periodically exposing to him in tantalising flashes here and there, and which he’d touched only hours before.

The way Veyo masturbated was intensely arousing to Araxes; it was candidly exhibitionist, her hips thrust forward, thighs parted, knees slightly bent, her other hand roughly kneading one of her heavy breasts. Her eyes were wide open and she was staring open-mouthed at Araxes’ cock. He leaned back a little and displayed himself more openly to her. She seemed to love that, rubbing herself harder for a moment and giving a heated groan. He rolled his foreskin back and squeezed upward along his sizeable shaft, causing a thick drool of precum to spill over his glans. Veyo shuffled closer to him. Her vulva was at chest height, barely a fetlock’s length from the end of Araxes’ muzzle. His nostrils flared and she briefly paused her rubbing and pushed her hips even further forward, parting her soft lips with her fingers to expose the erect nub of her clitoris within its tender fold of skin, pulsing visibly with her fluttering inner muscles. Delicately, Araxes allowed his free hand to caress the back of Veyo’s thigh, and then upward over her buttock. He was stroking himself very slowly, slickened by his own precum, and knew he would spill himself in a moment if he picked up his pace at all.

Veyo chuckled breathlessly. “If Yt’tai were not here and if you were not forbidden, Lamaye, that cock would never be dry ever again,” she said, very slowly so he could follow. “Ugh, I dreamed of it last night. And the night before. And tonight I shall dream of it again.”

She began to rub herself again, her body tense and hunched. Her pace was rapid and furtive, and she seemed to be edging, masturbating urgently for a moment and then slowing down. Araxes could feel the muscle of her buttock tensing and releasing with the gyrations of her hips, and he began to match the pace of his own masturbation to hers, giving himself flurries of rapid, noisily wet strokes in time with hers.

“I… coming, when coming Veyo,” Araxes said in broken Y’Dasz, hoping that she caught his meaning.

She did.

She made a strange little strangled noise, and Yt’tai hissed at her warningly. Veyo exhaled through her teeth and Araxes realised that without the healer’s presence, Veyo would likely have mounted him there and then. The thought that she was barely able to hold herself back was intensely arousing for him.

She stared longingly at his manhood, taking in its thickness and curvature, circling her middle finger slowly over her clitoris. He matched her pace, rolling his foreskin up over his tip and then pulling it downward until his frenulum pulled taut, distorting his glans. She gave herself a dozen rapid, rough strokes, and he did the same, gritting his teeth to stop himself from climaxing.

Veyo grinned at how close he got, and almost immediately gave herself another half dozen strokes, then stopped.

Araxes groaned. He made it to six, and then released his member. It throbbed hard, his body tense, and then pulsed firmly just once, releasing an opaque drool of seed that rolled down into his pelt. He squeezed her buttock in his free hand.

Veyo muttered something in Y’Dasz that was clearly an expression of intense lust, and began to rub herself urgently once more, her breath catching in her throat. Araxes squeezed her again, daring to boldly press his fingertips inward between her cheeks at the top of her thighs, until he could feel heat, wetness and bare skin. He stroked himself urgently in time with her, and ejaculated moments before Veyo reached her own climax.

Days—although truthfully, weeks—of pent-up sexuality exploded from Araxes; together with a release of the built-up tension, uncertainty and fear—thick, plentiful ropes of semen streaked up his slender torso, the first of which cleared his shoulder and sailed off into the forest behind him. Veyo gasped loudly at the sight and gave a strangled, muffled squeal as she orgasmed to the sight—Araxes could feel her tremble in his hand, and was close enough to the source to be able to feel her rhythmic muscular convulsions and contractions against his fingertips, and the flood of nectar that escaped her to run down the inside of her thighs.

Yt’tai chuckled, cupped his cheek for a moment, gave a long look to Veyo, and then moved away.

Veyo and Araxes remained where they were, panting, stunned in the afterglow of their orgasms.

Then Nur-Ayya appeared, a wide grin plastered across her face as she took in the scene that had unfolded. Araxes flattened back his ears deferentially, but Nur-Ayya was not disappointed.

“No shaka’hakt,” she said, clapping Veyo on the shoulder, to a relieved sigh from the younger spear sister.

Then she swiped up a finger-load of the Lamaye’s seed, and playfully wiped it off on Veyo’s nose. “Araxes… you have done well. This is… a lot. You will be greatly appreciated among us, if this is a sign of your fertility.”

Araxes didn’t catch her whole meaning, but he knew it was a positive statement. His mind was foggy with the afterglow of his eruption.

Nenwoh and Yattah started a small cooking fire while Araxes washed his emissions out of his pelt, and then returned to where the five spear sisters were sitting around the fire, with no regard for their modesty whatsoever. Araxes, meanwhile, still defaulted to holding his hands over his manhood, much to the amusement of Veyo.

“Esti-kah aht’bak, Araxes palu-mah?” She asked, when she came to present him with a large leaf bearing a cooked mushroom, inverted and filled with a thick, yellowish substance made from mashed tubers and various nuts and fruits.

Araxes took his meal with one hand, the other held over his crotch. He turned to Nur-Ayya, who was struggling not to laugh.

“Veyo saying… Araxes not be… ahh… hiding, knowing… not small.”

Araxes’ ears burned and he glanced up at Veyo, who was standing right in front of him expectantly. He sighed, and eventually forced himself to allow his hand to fall away. Veyo nodded approvingly, and then to Araxes’ horror, dipped a finger into herself and smeared her fluid onto his nose.

Veyo’s, and Nur-Ayya’s laughter followed, when Araxes’ body reacted with a swiftness and power even he had not anticipated. There was something about Veyo’s scent that truly was like the Nightglow Orchid, for its astonishing ability to induce such immediate and powerful arousal.

“Very… not small,” Nur-Ayya said, moving to sit beside him with her own meal in hand. “Worrying… stop. Y’Dasz shaming never. Araxes intik pleasant. Natural. Good. Eating, Araxes.”

She lifted her mushroom and scooped out its contents with her tongue, and then ate the fungus happily. Araxes did likewise, and only then realised how hungry he was… they had been travelling for three days, and had eaten little more than foraged berries and some of the spear-sisters’ rations of nuts and dried food that they carried with them. He was ravenous. He finished his mushroom in moments, and Nenwoh, to his surprise, immediately presented him with another. She had said not a word to him since he had arrived, but she spoke with her body language. He accepted the second helping gratefully, and ate that too, although much slower.

Nur-Ayya took a second mushroom as well, and then belched loudly.

“Esti-ti esh’oksi-ni? Khur-akh esok,” Nur-Ayya announced.

Nenwoh looked less than enthused. “Tur-ahluk dai’kalat,” she said, gesturing to the river.

Araxes did his best to follow the conversation. Nur-Ayya had suggested that they remain where they were, sleep here for the night, and move on in the morning. Nenwoh was worried about how close they were to the river.

“Lah, esti-sa ba’sahkt ayash-ga pa’tidak!” Veyo interjected, to laughter from Nur-Ayya and Yt’tai.

“Saying… Veyo all wet, river not mattering… ahh… if, more wet,” Nur-Ayya translated for Araxes.

Veyo winked at him, leaned back, and parted her thighs.

“Lah-lam Veyo ba’sahkt!” Araxes retorted (Veyo is always wet).

For the first time since he’d met them, all five spear-sisters erupted into laughter at once. Araxes allowed his own long, purple tongue to fall from his muzzle in a simulacrum of Veyo’s favoured tease, maintaining eye contact with her throughout and waggling his erect member at her. That only made the others laugh harder, and Nur-Ayya clapped him on the back so hard he nearly toppled into the cooking fire.

“Truth speaking! Forgiving, Veyo,” Nur-Ayya said, once she had control of herself again and had wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes. “Tempting, you being. Man. Naked. Intik always…” she mimed an up and down motion with one finger, then cleared her throat.

His induction to the Y’Dasz could not come soon enough, it seemed; for the women even more so than for him.

*