Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions-Chapter 366: El Cabana [18+]

[ • #nudist #culture #train #titjob #ass #roleplay • ]

". . .CALYPSO! CALYPSO! CALYPSO! Calypso." The people went chanting on. Drums thundered the red sands. The heavens a mural of wisteria vines.

Nothing could pry Eotigan from fastening his immortal gaze on the delicious young woman depicted into the role of their goddess. Her naked flesh and glistening curves fed the crowd.

She had been well anointed with jasmine oils so that when she walked amongst the folk, her bronze complexion shone vibrantly in the fall weather. Winds of the tropics and settling dew caressed her enticing flesh. Crackling firepits cast orange luminescence on her form, mixing desire with the paranormal in the hearts of all who beheld her.

The whirling burnt-cane tattoos on her skin commanded all eyes to look and never once turn away, her ink resembling exquisite metal armor. Some of the villagers on the festival grounds had not blinked once since she stepped out into the throng. Despite her alluring, right-in-your-face nudity, everybody stared. At this point the whole festival was guilty of lechery. Or not.

The girl didn't look like she'd been forced into it. The only covering of any sort she had on was her jewels.

A lace of fat gold tears on her neck—its sharktooth tip dropping into the moist valley between her perky, swaying breasts.

Beads of the finest [chaka] cowries tingling on her tiny bellydancer waist.

A loop of sapphire stones; the anklet marking her feet.

All fingers of her delicate hands bore rings of El Cabana gold. And that was saying something.

With people whispering the river deity's name and reaching for her, the maiden herself didn't seem to mind all the hands. All the attention—wanted and unwanted. Her precious little body enjoying the festivities as much as those feeling her up.

Girls. Boys. Oldies. It didn't matter. No one looked twice at the grandfather that petted her lean torso. Or the chica that kissed her feet.

She soon came by Eotigan's way in her walk through the crowd, and the heavyset man beside him—with nothing but a tribal swaddler on that really did nothing for his dick—hastily grabbed for the young woman. Breathing hard, like he'd run all the path through the light forest for this, the fat mandingo put his beefy hands on the maiden, groping and grasping away at her nubile goodness. His beady eyes were total black on her generously ample assets.

He was too excited. Eotigan peered down at the sweating man and thought he just might faint.

As for this islandic daughter of earth and ivory, she just stood there, allowing the fat man—and others—their 'pound' of her hot flesh.

Some seconds passed and she moved forward, continuing past Eotigan on her way.

The big-bellied man in yellow wrappers found his hands empty but his fingers still twitching at the overwhelming feeling of such youthful ripeness. The man fell to his knees upon the sands, wailing the loudest as his forehead hit the dirt in adoration. "CALYPSO! AY MÍ NYMPHA!!!"

The girl's back was to Eotigan. Her flood of hair hid out her ass-crack but the spread was still there. The golden-dyed waves slithered behind her through the dark soil as she went her way.

Eotigan heard a soft voice say beside him. "She's an offering, dat gyal."

He turned, and found Kambili, slipping out of the shadows casted by numerous fire tongues. He smiled at her darkness. Of all his girls, Kambili had the darkest personality. She could eat a pig's heart he had no doubt. Her being possessed by the nine-tailed fox devil, Suratanï' drew them yet closer. Like species and all.

"How long have you being lurking there?"

Kambili gleaned from Eotigan's sweet golden eyes amusement. "Long enough," she put back in a slow smile. Her eyes proceeded to rake him head to toe, brightening over the peculiar swarthy lustre of his clothes—the tunic clinging to the mould of his body. A satanic specimen.

Kambili gulped.

"What?" Eotigan rumbled low. It was a question but didn't sound like one. His baritone tumbled over ukulele music and leaping flames.

"We're ready." She said. A bare whisper.

"Aye." Eotigan's voice changed, slimming to a purr. "Gather your sisters. The South huts, three minutes."

In that moment, Kambili flushed so bad she looked pale. She was near floating on her feet. She knew his serious voice and sex voice by now. This was both. "Your will, my body, my Lord." She went low in a waist-dip and vanished into the same shadows that had vomited her. She was off to get Thyra and Inaia. Kambili's body was tingling. And particular sections of her was lotioning and swelling with damp need. Her body had begun taking the shine; her fox whimpering in heat.

Oh, it was going down.

Meanwhile, Eotigan was making his way through the sway of beautiful bodies to a quartet of red huts uniquely demarcated from the festival grounds by white gardens. He was impressed to find those immaculate roses sprouting off the clayey humus. El Cabana was something.

But to the matter at hand he was more committed. Eotigan located a suitable cabin to serve his lustful purposes and entered with only one thing crossing his mind: a large bed.

Or... a cot would do nicely too.

Hell! A wall would do at this point. From the glaze he saw in Kambili's eyes earlier he figured she would say zilch to being held against a door, or squatting and grabbing a frame.

He found a bed.

—neatly laid in Cheshire fur. Warm and inviting. Another miracle of El Cabana.

Eotigan busied himself with testing the springing of the bed. He was nefariously practicing lean pumps against the mattress, working his narrow hips when the curtains spread, cool air rushing in. Thrya walked in first, her face red and her silver bangs in her eyes; she halted in the doorway, breathing hard, her skin shimmering firelight. The blonde had run the path from the festival. Her curves threatened the strings of her dress even as she stood. She usually wore big silks and fur to keep her luscious peaks and valleys for Eotigan's eyes only, but with the naughty winds on El Cabana, there was scarcely a garment that could hide her kind of cleavage.

Her large breasts filled the bearskin top to a swell that was both robust and plain rude. Landing the way she did from her jog up to the hut, her arguably more massive behind bounced, sinfully, the cleft of her impossible cheeks gulping in loads of her skirt material; she stood there flushed pink, and struggling to pull her damn pleats out her ass.

"Get your lil' fat ass in here." Eotigan grinned beside the fur bed. His little brother did a slow rise into a broad banana curve for her. Thyra wet her lips and promptly stepped in. She revealed yet another carnal provocation at her heel: Inaia.

Kambili was the last one in.

The curtains of the hut swished back across the entry but never fully shut out the night. Nor its drums. Noises of dancing and glee offered a surreal seductive ambiance as Eotigan beckoned to the women with open arms. One word he said,

"Come."

His voice scratched deeply in the moot air of the hut like that of a timber wolf. Thyra was lost in him. She just about floated into his aura—and the bed.

Inaia began to say, her liquid stare dropping briefly from the dark angel that was her [Host] to the gold flagon in her hand, "I brought wine, My Lord. The richest brew of the village, ser." She pulled the cap, "shall we indulge?"

Eotigan's baritone sank even deeper, to abysmal levels of seduction, when he wrapped his one arm firmly around Thyra's small waist, pulling the blonde in and giving her rotund behind a fast smack; he drew Inaia in too, by her hand, studying her slimthick bod—all that belonged to him.

"A commendable gesture, but you mistake intent, woman. I have no need for the richest ales of the tropics..." His yellow pupils consumed her uncovered thighs in infernal lust; he gave a groan, finishing, "mhmm. Not when I already have so coveted a taste in sight–" His hand dropped from her trembling one to bunch up and drag her tight calico. She was thick; her upper thighs resisted his forceful shove. Eotigan hissed in her ear, eyeing her plump chest, and Inaia shuddered, "after all," he whispered, "are you not my fine wine? You are all the indulgence I desire, Subserviená.

Now, do your Lord Host a solid, and shimmy out of this fuckin' dress."

Pah!

He landed a smooth palm on her behind.

Inaia jumped, biting back a sweet moan. The flagon dropped to the rug. She put her hands to the hem of her dress and began to pull above her head. "Torturous. You are pure torture, little slave."

Eotigan encouraged her with tiny kisses to the slivers of skin she exposed and caresses upon her that Inaia felt she might die from. She wanted to rip her cloth from the seam. "Ohh...godd." she quaked in his hands. Eotigan's darkened vision lifted to Kambili; she stood less than three feet away from them. Watching—like a lynx cat. He commanded of her in no gentle rasp, "how about you, fair warrior? Do you require incentive to passion? To thirst?"

Kambili was already saying, "no, Dominus—"

But he cut her off with, "because I've got a pretty BIG incentive right here!"

And Eotigan put his hand in his charcoal denim, right down the fly, fleshing out from the tight constraints, his huge, swollen and cumbrous, meaty cock.

Kambili gulped, subconsciously agreeing, 'even if I wasn't already a fucking goner for this sexy demon, THAT right there is a pretty HARD sell.'

"KNEEL, FAIR WARRIOR." Eotigan decided he would punish Kambili—just because. He of course knew she didn't mean to tease him, but any foreplay at this point—looking at his manhood—was brutal. His fingers expanded into claws, just for the second, and he tore off her leopard-print.

Kambili had crawled to him, visibly much aroused with her ripe papaya titties heavy for a suckle, but Eotigan was not satisfied. He wanted her humming. "Douse her." He growled for the golden flagon of wine. Inaia bent forward to pick it up, and as she did, he stuck a palm inside her moist cheeks. She jerked at his hand finding her slick entrance, at just how wet she was. "Uuuum, yes, yeah." Moaning, she spread for him as his thumb began rubbing—not her pussy hole.

Nah! . .instead, he rubbed in circles the hungrier, tighter, clenching sister.

Eotigan licked his thumb and put it back in the heat. This time he pushed the fat finger inside of the unspeakable roundness. Inaia spasmed: "aaahhn—"

As the sun-tan brunette was having her climax upon his wicked thumb—with her long dreads a halo over her bent form, obscuring out her red face and rolled eyes, Kambili naughtily began to seek out Eotigan's cock for a taste. He was busy with his hand in Inaia's bubble butt; just when she would lock in for a deep sucking that would sooner have him changing his mind about her punishment, Eotigan moved his hips away. He escaped her sloppy, devious mouth by a breath.

"No. None for you yet, mulatta."

Kambili begged with her eyes—totally black with pure vulpine heat.

Eotigan turned his attention—and dick to Thyra. He oiled himself up well and good in the sweat of her cleavage; she made him broader and heavier, lubricating him against her generous boob. She held both her breasts and let him dip in, and out. In, and out. And—fifty seconds later, when Eotigan's gbola wanted to burst all over her damn melons, he grabbed for her, manhandling the voluptuous Goldilocks into a 'bitch in heat' position over the fur bed, and pile-drove her godamn booty several times. He rammed and piped. And beat that fat ass of hers till Thyra had doused him all over—and not in wine.

"Your turn, witch."

Eotigan grabbed Kambili next. He'd pulled out from Thyra in her fourth climax, leaving her in a state of sexual delirium, leaking on the cot. "Mouth!" He pronounced.

Kambili complied with an excited whimper. He began easing his gleaming, girthy penis through her open lips and down her throat, and it was then Inaia finally came to from her ass-cumming fever, locating and lifting the golden Corynthian flagon.

Rich, crimson wine poured into Eotigan's tufts of flame hair, washing down his solid pecs and sprinkling his lean waist.

Kambili drank straight from his dick.

And before the last of the festive drums beat that idolatrous night, she drank way more than honeyed wine from his mighty, meaty member. This one, her most favorite swallow.