Fire in the Cave (2 page)

He was watching her, standing above her, chest rising and falling as
he panted. His eyes were sleepy, cat-satisfied... but as she ran her
tongue over her sticky lips, she saw hunger rise in him again. She
raised her arms high, stretching, yawning with her tongue hanging
out, and then lay back on the soft earth, watching him with
amusement. His shaft, half-sunken, was rising again. Slowly,
languidly, no faster than his shaft was growing hard, she opened her
legs. She bit her lip coyly, showing him her thatch of hair and the
wetness her fingers were still stirring. His eyes devoured her pale
breasts, the curve of her stomach, the softness of her open thighs.
He grinned.

“I am no fool, witch-girl. I know to bring strength when
strength is needed.” He called back over his shoulder. Two
warriors answered. Fox and Heartwood came close, dropped pretty
gifts beside her, looking at her with naked desire. She smiled,
purring with pleasure as they closed in, their ready shafts in their
hands. She raised her hips for them, inviting, biting her tongue as
she quickly rubbed her bud.

Fox was younger, slender, eager. He fell upon her and pushed himself
into her tightness, moving quickly, like a mating dog. She closed
her eyes and threw back her head, a broad smile on her face, as his
rapid thrusts churned her cunt. It felt like it was glowing, her
cunt warm as a red-hot coal as he fucked her, a slippery, slapping
sound where they met, a look of agony on his pretty young face. She
could feel herself riding closer to her finish as his fingers sunk
into her soft hips, as the other two men leaned in, watching,
stroking themselves as she took the boy’s cock. So close, so
sweetly close, but he was already crying out and pouring his heat
into her, the new feeling delicious inside her. His head was thrown
back as he moaned, his cock was stirring her deeper in as he thrust
his hips hard against hers, pouring his seed into her as deeply as he
could.

She sighed as he pulled out, her cunt tingling. But the second
warrior shouldered him out of the way in an instant. Heartwood was
older, dark-bearded, with scars on his chest. His fingers quickly
went to work. They glided under her breasts, lifting, massaging,
gently pinching her nipples. She let out a slow breath, relaxing
into the sensation, accepting his skill. As she felt the first boy’s
come sliding slowly out of her, the first white drops of it seeping
from her hot, sticky cunt, the older man’s smooth cock-head
touched her, plugged her, pushed into her. He slid in quickly,
easily, as she stretched around him. She felt dazed, happily drunk;
she lay flat on her back with her hair tangled and spread behind her,
watching the look of confident satisfaction on his bearded face. He
was teasing her, three shallow strokes followed by a deep thrust,
over and over, and she felt the heat rising in her again. Now thumb
was on her bud, now mouth was on her breast, she bit her lip in agony
as he gave her almost what she needed, almost, he was moving faster,
stronger, she was almost there, her slippery cunt almost buzzing with
sensation, like a knot about to come undone, but he was already
coming, shooting into her thick and hot, she was almost there as he
pulled away, so close…

White-stag’s cock thrust into her, and she screamed through
clenched teeth and came. He was huge inside her as he moved in and
out, twice as big as the other two, more, his hands were on her
wrists, she was stretched tight around him, feeling every motion,
gasping with mixed relief and longing as he pulled out, her whole
body shaking as he thrust back in, deeper than her fingers could
reach, deeper than the cocks before, filling her completely, forcing
wave after wave of aching pleasure up from her belly to the top of
her head, drawing out her moment so that white heat washed away her
thoughts. He was coming, pouring his hotness into the warm, hidden
center of her, making her overflow. Distantly, she felt her body go
limp. His lips were on hers. She closed her eyes.

For a while, she rested, her mind empty. She lay there, warm and
sleepy, between the handsome, sleeping warriors who had used her so
well. A smile was on her face; a pleasant ache was between her legs.
Her head rested on White-stag’s chest, his heartbeat in her
ear. The cave was darker, now. The fire burned low. There were
sounds of more gentle lovemaking, sounds of sleep, lovers whispering
to one another.

Slowly, thought returned. There was something she should do. She
was the witch-girl. She must be clever, wise, she must fix the
problems others could not see. What was it… The hunt-leaders.
The brothers. Who they chose, who they mated with, if they were
satisfied, if they fought, these things were important. They could
bring joy or trouble to the whole Red Cave tribe.

White-stag had chosen her. She smiled, a shiver running through her
as her tender cunt remembered him moving inside her. But who had
Black-dog chosen? Had she seen? She tried to remember, tried to
recall the scene around her as she had been fucked by one man after
another.

Black-dog’s treasure had been great. He had two of the boar’s
tusks, strong and sharp, good for knives or spearheads. Trade them
for food, and a woman could eat well all winter. She remembered them
shining white in his hand as he stalked around the fire. He could
have chosen three women, if he had wanted them. Perhaps four, with
his fame and his broad shoulders, his dark eyes.

He had stopped in front of Sparrow. Thin, short, small-breasted.
Often hungry. Rarely chosen. Shy little Sparrow. The witch-girl
had gotten a glimpse of him leaning down, offering, and another of
him leading Sparrow out of the cave.

The witch-girl took a deep breath, frowning. One of the two greatest
warriors in the tribe had offered small, hungry Sparrow a gift worth
far more than she could have hoped for. She could not refuse such an
offer. She could not refuse anything he demanded of her in return.
Anything he chose to do to her, in the darkness outside, away from
the tribe.

She slipped gently out of the tangle of her lovers’ arms, and
rose to her feet. The earth was cool beneath her bare feet. Quiet
amid the gentle noises of the cave, she padded between moving and
sleeping bodies and out into the night.

Canine heads rose to watch her. The tribe’s pack of dogs
rested at the mouth of the cave, shaggy forms lying atop one another,
much like the humans inside. Ears flicked as she was recognized, the
big half-wolf beasts drifting back to sleep. She counted them
silently. Fika and Rika, the two hounds that always followed
Black-dog on his hunts, were missing.

The night was cool. A half-moon was shining on the lake. Her eyes
swept over the village, the blue and black shadows of the women’s
grass-roofed huts beside the shore. They were deserted, now; the
whole tribe was up in the cave with the men.

She closed her eyes and listened.

Faint and far-off, she heard a woman moan.

She turned, and padded silently into the woods.

The sounds grew louder. Gasping. A long, ragged moan. She dropped
to all fours, crept into a bush, her eyes open wide in their stripe
of black soot, her lips open to breathe more softly. She crept
behind a large, smooth stone, raised her head, and looked, and saw.

They were in a clearing. Black-dog and Sparrow, silver moonlight
falling on them, soft dry leaves below them, rustling as they moved.
They were sitting, Sparrow in Black-dog’s lap. He was holding
Sparrow from behind, his arms pinning hers to her sides. One of his
hands cupped a breast; the other was between her legs. She looked
small in his grasp, weak, vulnerable. His mouth was on the back of
her neck.

The witch-girl leaned closer, peering through the leaves. Sparrow’s
legs were spread wide. His hand was stroking her, running one finger
up and down her slit. His shaft was beneath her, but not in her; she
was sitting on it, straddling it. Sparrow’s wetness was
shining in the moonlight, on his fingers, on her slit, and dripping
onto the shaft below. The witch-girl bit her lip; Black-dog’s
cock was at least as big as his brother’s. Sparrow’s
hips moved weakly, trying to escape his hand but only succeeding in
sliding back and forth along the length of his shaft.

Had he still not entered her? A shining drop was dripping from his
tip as Sparrow panted, trying to catch her breath. He was whispering
to her.

“What is your name?”

Her head was hanging forward, shoulders shaking as she breathed. Her
dark hair hid her face. “S-Sparrow,” she said. Her
voice was weak. “You… you know I am Sparrow.”

“Hmmmmm.” The witch-girl bit her lip; he sounded
displeased. His mouth opened, closed on the back of her neck again,
holding her like prey. His hand began to move faster between her
legs, two fingers slipping between the lips of her slit, finding her
tender place, rubbing firmly. She threw her head back, moaning,
baring her throat to the night, body trying to twist away, helpless
in his muscle-banded arms.

She panted as he worked on her, his hand never slowing. Her body
jerked, then jerked again. Her back arched, pressing her little tits
into his grip; her feet kicked up leaves, her toes curled in the dirt
as she moaned and sobbed. Her chin was wet; she was drooling.
“Can’t…” she gasped, wetness dripping from
her cunt, her slit sliding back and forth along the top of his shaft
as she struggled. “Can’t… again… can’t
come again… c… can’t… ah…
ahhhhnnnnn!” As his right hand mercilessly pressed and rubbed
her, his left released her breast, slid down, and pushed two strong
fingers into her tight, wet hole, curling them inside her, stroking
something soft and deep. She screamed, a cry that choked off as her
body was seized by a wave of forced sensation, jerking in her
captor’s arms, heels drumming on the ground, teeth clenched,
grunting and half-sobbing as he coaxed another wave of pleasure out
of her. A spurt of wetness gushed out around his fingers, wetting
his shaft. She went limp in his arms again, breathing ragged.

The witch-girl’s eyes glittered in the shadows as she watched,
leaning forward, one hand on the ground, the other softly rubbing her
tender, sensitive bud, slipping down to her hole to gather moisture,
sliding along her lips. She saw movement in the shadows at the edge
of the clearing, and gleaming eyes. Black-dog’s hounds were
here. Watching her.

He was whispering again, his voice low. He held his prey gently.
His hands had stopped moving, save for a single finger tracing up and
down her slit. “What is your name?”

“Uh?” Her head had fallen to one side, hair hanging.
Little shivers ran through her from time to time, aftershocks. Her
mouth was hanging open, her small breasts rising and falling as she
panted. She slumped there for a while, barely conscious in his arms,
eyes open but not seeing. In a dreamy, sweet little voice, she
mumbled, “Name? Nnn...name. Sparrow. Ah ah ahhhhhhhnnnnn…”
His fingers were moving again, his arms tight, his teeth on her neck
as tears rolled down her cheeks and her eyes rolled back, her mouth
and sweet lips open as if to drink the moonlight, her body shaking as
she passed over some final threshold and lost herself, moaning, deep
animal groans shuddering out of her small body. She was thrusting
her hips, now, pushing harder against his hand, unable to escape the
pleasure and now desperately seeking it, pressing her bottom against
him, arching her back to grind her slit along his shaft. She was
drooling, eyes empty, mindlessly humping his hand, until he hooked
his fingers inside again and stroked another choking, full-body jerk
out of her.

She panted. He raised his hand, soaked and dripping with her juice,
and gently stroked her cheek.

“What is your name?” he whispered, almost tenderly.

“Uhhh.” Her eyes were half-closed as she slumped back
against him. He pinched a nipple, and she stirred.

“What is your name?” he asked again.

“Unnnn. Nnn.”

A broad smile crept across his face. His eyes were hard, hungry, the
shadows around them darker than the surrounding forest. The
witch-girl swallowed nervously in her hiding place.

He lifted the mindless girl, his shaft rising as her weight came off
it, until her wet, abused hole was just above his tip. Her face
betrayed no understanding, no awareness of what was happening. Her
eyes stared blankly.

He lowered her, her own weight pressing her down, forcing her little
cunt to open around his thick, hard cock. Her eyes opened wide with
shock, her mouth open in something almost like a grin as she sank
down onto him, his length pushing into her, her little hole painfully
full.

He tilted her forward, pushed her face down towards the leaves,
holding her hips tight against him, his shaft still fully inside her.
She was making little noises, animal things, whines and yips like a
dog in heat. He leaned close over her, grabbed a handful of her
hair. With a look of blissful relief on his face, he began fucking
her into the ground.

She looked tiny below him, too small to possibly take him, but she
whined and panted and rocked her little hips back against him, taking
his full length on every stroke, drops of her wetness spattering out
onto the leaves as his size forced them out of her. From her hiding
place, the witch-girl could see where they came together, see his
thickness pull out of her and push back in in a steady rhythm, her
lips stretched tight around him. The witch-girl’s fingers were
moving faster, moving inside, as she half-lay against the stone,
biting her red lip as she watched them fuck. He was growling,
getting close. She was groaning in pain and pleasure, lost in
mindless animal bliss as he churned her. His fingers cruelly
squeezed her little bottom, leaving marks on her skin. He was
tugging on her hair, hard, pulling her head up as she panted
open-mouthed, tongue hanging. She was whining, now, the pitch
rising, her fingers curling in the leaves and dirt, until she was
screaming out loud and he was slamming his shaft into her, once,
twice, three times. She groaned as he pumped his seed deep into her
cunt. Her body shook, helpless in his grip. Then her eyes rolled
back and she collapsed, limp, on the ground.