The Dance of Summoning
Copyright© 2025 by Osa Oladapo
Chapter 10
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 10 - Nigerian enchantress summons a black unicorn in the Jungle
Caution: This Supernatural Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa Consensual Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Magic non-anthro Incest Brother Sister Father Daughter Gang Bang Group Sex Black Male Black Female Black Couple Cream Pie Pregnancy Small Breasts
The curtain of water parted without wetness, only a sigh of cool air against my skin. I stood in a chamber of living crystal, walls that pulsed with a soft, internal light. In the center, atop a dais of polished obsidian, stood a being no taller than my knee. It was humanoid, sculpted from what looked like solidified moonlight, with large, dark eyes that held galaxies of wisdom.
It tilted its head. Its voice was the sound of wind through reeds. “The vessel arrives. Swollen. Powerful. Afraid.”
I lifted my chin, my hands instinctively cradling the gentle curve of my belly. “I am Osa. I have come for the final trial.”
“The trial is not something you take,” it chimed. “It is something you become. The artifacts you carry ... they are not tools. They are parts of a whole. Your whole.” It gestured a tiny, luminous hand toward the Scepter still humming within my cunny, and the Crown on my wrist. “To prove you are the vessel, you must accept the final shape of your purpose.”
Before my eyes, the being began to change. Its form melted, flowing like liquid pearl, stretching and reshaping. The light in the room concentrated, drawing into the growing shape. Limbs fused. The torso elongated. In moments, where the tiny sage had stood, now rose a penis.
It was magnificent and utterly alien. At first, it matched the silver sentinel’s size—about thirty centimeters of smooth, flawless alabaster flesh, pulsing with a soft white light. It had no veins, no defined head, just a perfect, tapered column that ended in a rounded tip. It hovered, unsupported, above the dais.
“Mount,” the wind-voice echoed, now emanating from the shaft itself. “Accept the guardian into the sacred home. Ride until the form reveals its truth. Your worth is measured in your capacity to hold.”
My breath shallowed. This was the test. Not a battle, but a surrender. I stepped onto the dais, the crystal floor cool under my bare feet. I stood before the hovering shaft, its tip level with my navel. The Scepter inside me gave a sympathetic throb, as if in recognition.
I reached out, my fingers trembling. The surface was warm, like sun-warmed stone, and impossibly smooth. I guided it to my entrance, already slick from the labyrinth, from Adunbi, from anticipation. The rounded tip pressed against my swollen lips. I gasped at the contact—it was not just physical, but a jolt of pure, clean energy.
I have to enter. This is the door.
I bent my knees, lowering myself. The tip parted me, a smooth, insistent pressure. I sank down, taking the first several centimeters. A full, stretching pleasure radiated outward. My inner walls, still tender, fluttered in welcome. The Scepter inside me shifted, making room, its presence a second heartbeat alongside this new invasion.
I took more, sinking until I was halfway impaled, my thighs trembling. The mystical cock pulsed, a slow, deep contraction that made me cry out. It was learning me, just as the scepter had. I began to move, a tentative rock of my hips.
Then it grew.
It wasn’t sudden. It was a relentless, gradual expansion, both in length and in girth. The smooth shaft thickened under my hands, forcing my fingers wider apart. I could no longer encircle it. It pushed deeper, a centimeter, then two, and more, filling spaces that had never been touched. The stretch became an ache, a burning, glorious fullness that stole the air from my lungs.
“It’s ... too big,” I panted, my voice a thin thread.
“It is the truth,” the voice whispered inside my skull. “Can you hold it?”
I clenched my teeth, my nails biting into the now-massive shaft. I forced my hips down another fraction. The Scepter of Conception thrummed violently inside me, its magic syncing with the rhythmic pulses of the guardian-phallus. The dual sensations collided—the hard, wooden length of the scepter and the living, expanding flesh of the guardian—creating a friction that was maddening. My clit, the tiny golden stud screaming for attention, brushed against the shaft with every desperate rock of my body.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.