“You won’t fight?” Rork asked Kade as they strode to the clearing. Kade was the tribe’s second-best warrior and his greatest competition.
His friend glanced toward the forest he spent every spare moment exploring. His high forehead wrinkled, and his brown eyes grew hard. “There is another mate for me.” Kade thought of his huntress, Rork knew. The solitary female had evaded capture for many sunsets. “And Barb calls for you.”
The small female’s demands to see Rork rang through the forest, her fierce response pleasing him. “She will make a good mate.” She was healthy and strong and fearless. Not once had she spilled tears.
“She will,” Kade agreed. “As long as I may join with her, I will support your claim on your Barb,” he assured Rork.
“All will join with her.” Rork squashed his possessiveness. If they were on the mainland, he would claim the woman for his own and guard her like the treasure she was. But due to his actions, their hunting party had been trapped on the island. They were five males with one female, and she would have to be shared.
As her mate, he would be present at the sharing, making certain that none harmed her, and she would sleep in his hut. While the others may have her cock hole, he would have the rest of her, and he would have to be satisfied with that.
They entered the fighting clearing, and Rork’s fingers clenched around his spear, his cock twitching to attention. His loud female was tied up spread eagle to the two welcoming posts, her body naked and covered with colorful fruit stains. Her nipples were brushed with red berry, and a line of juices streaked down over her belly to her female parts, decorated with a strip of brown hair.
Her head turned in their direction. “There you are, you big ape. Untie me this fuckin’--”
Rork moved quickly, placing his fingers on her soft lips and stopping her flow of sharp words. “Do not anger the gods.” The welcoming poles, intricately carved by Scar, were a sacred place.
“Or what?” she asked as he removed his fingers. Her jaw jutted out, communicating her determination.
“Or bad things will happen.” Rork frowned, holding her stormy gaze.
Her bottom lip curled, and her sky blue eyes glittered with mutiny, but Barb calmed, muttering quiet words only he could hear, and Rork slowly backed away from her. Although he was content that she followed his directions, he did not wish to leave her side. She was his.
“Barb By The Way has been prepared,” Pag said, as he had assumed his role of spiritual leader, just as Rork had assumed the position of chief. “Gather before her, and I will begin the ceremony.” They lined up in order of fighting rank. Rork as chief and best warrior would go first.
Rork drove his spear handle into the hard ground, and he stepped forward, meeting the outraged gaze of his Barb. Her small stature made him feel powerful, like the mighty leader he must be.
“Do you swear to honor this gift from the gods, to protect Barb as you would protect the people of your own tribe, and to stand by the rules and decisions of the fighting circle?” Pag asked, using the words of their people.
The female looked between them, her clever brain attempting to translate their tribal words, while her fingers busily worked the seaweed ropes holding her. Rork gazed upon her with pride. Her intelligence and beauty combined with his size and skill at fighting would beget superior offspring.
“I give my oath.” Rork kissed her right nipple, and she jerked away from him, yelling curse words he didn’t fully understand the meaning of. He growled, signaling his displeasure, and his woman narrowed her beautiful blue eyes. He waited, not heeding the impatient shifting of the warriors behind him.
“Here.” Barb expelled air though her parted lips. “You might as well suck on the other one.” She arched her back, offering her left nipple for the same treatment.
He grinned, inclining his head slightly, and accepted her offering, skimming his tongue over her painted nipple before drawing it into his mouth for the briefest of kisses. Her breasts were small and firm, like the sweet, lush berries her skin had been smeared with, and when she was his, he would suck and nibble on them, giving her the pleasure she needed.
Rork dropped to his knees on the furs before her, humbled by her beauty. Her brown strip of hair framed the delicate pink of her female lips, its wetness glistening on her skin like dew on flower petals. He paid homage to the center of her power, swiping the fragile flesh with his tongue, tasting her cock-hardening nectar. She was flavored of ripe fruit and eager woman, and he yearned to feast upon her more, explore her softness with his tongue, but he could not and drew back from her. A ceremony for the gods was no place for such decadence.
Rork rose to his feet and grinned when she thrust her hips forward, her gaze dropping hungrily to his hard cock. His female desired him, as he desired her. They would find much pleasure on the furs together.
He stood by Barb’s side and stoically watched as each warrior, Kade included, swore his loyalty and protection to her in the same way. Rork, the man, rumbled with jealousy, wishing for none to touch her, but as the chief, he witnessed the joy his captured female brought his tribe. Five rainy seasons had passed since the cloud wall had swept them onto the island, trapping them, and the men’s spirits had been flagging. With a female, there was hope of offspring and a future.
“She is small and tight,” Kade, his friend, murmured while Yurm, the youngest, feasted upon her cock hole, unable to control his desires. Barb twisted, grinding herself on the warrior’s face, crying out her passion. “And generous with her pleasure. We will have very happy cocks this evening.”
A grimness unworthy of a great chief fell upon Rork, and he was unable to reply. He curled his fingers into fists. All would share in the joining, but he would win her, and she would sleep in his hut.
Pag dragged Yurm away from the welcoming poles, the young man’s lips wet with her juices, his eyes unfocused, and Barb shrieked her displeasure, calling them bastards, an affront the elderly adventurer had used often before he died. The men looked at Rork, and he forced a chuckle from his throat, allowing them the freedom to express their joy, their laughter reaching the sky.
After their joy had abated, Pag drew a large circle in the dirt with his spear tip. “All that wish Barb for his mate, stand within the circle.” Rork, leaving his spear stuck in the dirt, stepped inside, joined by Pag, Scar, and Yurm. “The warrior remaining within the circle will be the winner. You may fight.”
“She is mine.” Yurm ran at Rork, counting on his strength to bring him success. Rork waited and waited and waited until he was within an arm’s reach, and then he stepped to the side. The youth barreled past him, exiting the circle without even touching him.
“Yurm finished first,” Pag crowed. “As he will also tonight.” The other men chuckled.
Rork’s position as leader didn’t allow him humor at another’s expense. “You are brave and fearless, Yurm. When you couple that with patience, you will be without rival in the fighting ring.” He balanced his admonishment with praise.
Pag and the silent, serious Scar exchanged speaking looks, and Rork’s attention returned to the ring. They were inferior warriors separately, but when combined, they had the ability to defeat him. They couldn’t defeat him. He wouldn’t allow his blue-eyed female to be claimed by another.
Oh God. They were fighting over who would fuck her.
Barb watched, morbidly spellbound, as the four near-naked men spun, grabbed, and threw each other into the dirt. She didn’t need a translation of their grunts to figure out she was the evening’s entertainment.
They fought. Judging by how fiercely they fought, extreme horniness etched in every strained muscle, only one hunky Neanderthal would win the right to fuck her. When that fucking was done, they’d slay her with their daggers, sacrificing choice bits of her body to their gods. The rest of her would be eaten, and not in a sexy way.
She was so fucked.
Barb wiggled her ass, remembering how Pag, the smiling chanting man, had stuck his thick index finger up her tight twat and smeared her pussy walls with the sticky juice. Fucked and flavored to perfection
. The cuts and scrapes on her arms and legs burned with the acidic liquid.
She’d yell, but an hour of screaming at the top of her lungs earlier hadn’t achieved any results, other than make the biggest caveman, Rork, angry with her. Barb hadn’t seen a woman or child since arriving in the camp or village or whatever the collection of thatched huts was called. She hadn’t seen anyone other than the five men.
She was trapped on a tropical island in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle with five magnificent male cannibals. Dying was inevitable, but at least she’d have one more fantastic fuck before going.
. She watched the muscles in Rork’s back ripple as he flipped over the grim warrior. The chanting man Pag had referred to him as Scar during the pussy-lick ceremony. Fucking the winner might kill her, if the size of the bulge in Rork’s loincloth was any indication.
She didn’t care who the winner was. They were strangers, primitive cavemen, and one Neanderthal was much the same as another. They all had rock-hard physiques, superlong cocks, and--
Rork took a hard hit, his heels pushed dangerously close to the edge of the circle, and Barb gasped. The noise caused the chanting man Pag to draw back and the warrior Kade, who wasn’t participating, to laugh and call out words in their animal-speak.
. Who was she trying to fool? She did care.
Scar and Pag snarled their replies. Rork said nothing, his body lowering, all his energy and strength coiling with readiness. He was the biggest, the toughest, and when he touched her, her body lit on fire.
Barb held her breath until her lungs ached, and she released it with a whoosh as he sprang, moving with speed bordering on inhuman. He flipped Pag out of the ring and placed himself far away from Scar.
Scar cursed out Pag. The young one, Yurm, the warrior with a budding talent for pussy eating, threw jibes of his own.
“Do not fear, Barb By The Way. Rork is chief,” Kade shared with her. “He will win.”
“I don’t care who wins,” she lied. Her gaze didn’t leave Rork’s moving form. His face had hardened with gritty determination. His big hands were clenched into fists. He was a leader accustomed to fighting for what he wanted, as was she. She’d fought for every promotion she’d ever been given.
“When I’m to be killed, I want him to do it.” She nodded toward Rork, Voicing her choice gave her strength. It would be her final decision. “He’ll kill me quickly and painlessly. I don’t want pain.”
Kade gave her a strange look. “You cheer for Rork, thinking you die?” He chuckled. “You are fearless, worthy of mate to chief.”
They watched the two men circle, and Barb recognized the defeat in Scar’s face, the sweat trickling down his severely marked face. In the boardroom, she would have decimated him with words. In the ring, Rork would pummel him with his fists. They weren’t very different, two primal creatures relying on base instincts and natural gifts.
“You will not die, little Barb,” Kade assured her. “You are Rork’s mate. Our chief will keep you safe.”
“I’m not to die? I’m not to die.” Relief washed over Barb. Her shoulders sagged, and her legs collapsed from beneath her, her body held upright only by the ropes. “I thought...the berries...ohhh...” Her face flamed. She was to be eaten by the winner, but in a good way. Her pussy moistened. Rork had to win. She wanted that wicked tongue inside her.
Scar ran at Rork, his actions reckless and wild. Rork could have stepped aside as he had done with the youngest warrior, but instead he surged forward. Their shoulders collided, and they gripped each other’s arms.
Barb’s eyes widened as she drank in the sight of the two bare-chested men in supreme physical condition wrestling, their limbs entwining, tanned skin sliding against tanned skin, their muscles straining and stretching. Rork locked his hands around the rival warrior, bent his legs, and with a grunt, lifted him off the ground, throwing the man out of the ring.
He had won. Barb whooped with joy as the men cheered. Rork tossed back his head, his long black hair flying, and roared his triumph, his expression savage. He turned to Barb. His gaze met hers, and her pussy convulsed at the silent declaration of possession. It said he now owned her, and he would fuck her with all the passion with which he fought. He stalked toward her.