The Dance of Summoning
Copyright© 2025 by Osa Oladapo
Chapter 12
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 12 - 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 world dissolved into a pleasant, swirling darkness as my limbs gave out. Strong, gentle hands caught me before I hit the packed earth of the square. The last thing I felt was the warm, sticky trickle of combined seed between my thighs as I was lifted, cradled against a solid chest, and carried away from the torchlight and watching eyes.
I awoke to the scent of sacred herbs and the murmur of women’s voices. I was on my back on a thick pile of furs inside a spacious tent, its walls dyed a deep ochre and painted with symbols of fertility—spirals, seeds, and entwined figures. The oil from my purification still coated my skin, making me gleam in the soft light of clay oil lamps.
Nne’s wise face appeared above me, her hands, warm and slick with more oil, already moving over my shoulders. “The vessel is open, the seeds are planted. Now, we ensure the soil is rich and willing, that life takes root in joy, not just duty.”
Other women—Zara, Efua, and faces I knew from the village—knelt around me. Their hands descended, not as worshippers, but as caretakers. They massaged the oil into my skin, their skilled fingers working over my arms, my legs, the soles of my feet. Their touch was firm, purposeful, stirring my blood beneath the surface. They rolled my hips, kneading the muscles of my belly with palms soaked in oil infused with moringa and dakuala leaf, herbs whispered to call life to the womb.
Arousal, dull and thick from the earlier spent passions, began to coil again, low and insistent. My breath hitched as Zara’s fingers traced the line of my inner thigh. Efua’s mouth found the shell of my ear. “Just relax, Osa. Let us prepare you. The men are ready to give their blessing, their strength to the life within you.”
Then their touches grew more intimate. Zara’s head dipped between my legs. Her tongue, flat and warm, laved a slow stripe up my slit, gathering the mingled spend of my father and husband. I jerked, a soft cry escaping me. At the same time, Efua’s mouth closed over my right breast, her tongue flicking the amber stud, sending sharp tendrils of pleasure straight to my core. Another woman attended to my left breast, her fingers pinching and rolling the nipple while her companion traced circles over my lower belly.
I was being worshipped, prepared, awakened. Their mouths and hands were everywhere, stoking a fire that had never truly gone out. I arched into the dual attention on my breasts, my hips rising to meet Zara’s relentless tongue as it focused on my clit, circling the golden stud with exquisite precision. The climax built quickly, a sweet, rising tide. “Yes ... please...” I begged, my fingers tangling in Zara’s hair.
I came with a shudder, my nectar adding to the mess on Zara’s chin. But they didn’t stop. As the pulses faded, the tent flap opened.
The first man entered. He was older, broad-shouldered, his cock already erect—a thick, dark shaft of medium length with a pronounced, mushroom-shaped head. Without ceremony, he turned me onto my hands and knees. His hands gripped my oil-slick hips, and I felt the broad head nudge my dripping entrance. He pushed in with a single, deep stroke, seating himself fully. I gasped at the sudden, filling stretch. He moved with a steady, piston-like rhythm, his balls slapping against my flesh with each thrust, his groans loud in the tent. “Take my blessing, vessel. Mix my strength with your lords’.” He spent inside me with a guttural shout, his release a hot gush that spilled out around his softening shaft as he withdrew.
The second man was upon me before the first had left. Younger, with a longer, slightly curved cock, he laid me back and plunged into my well-used channel. His hands roamed my oiled body, cupping my breasts, thumbing my nipples as he fucked me with shallow, frantic thrusts, his own climax following quickly, adding another wave of wet heat to my overflowing womb.
Then came the third. He carried coils of soft, supple leather. With efficient, gentle hands, he bound my wrists and ankles. A rope from a central beam descended; he hooked the bonds, suspending me just above the furs, my body open and offered. He knelt beneath me, guiding his cock—a formidable, veined pillar as thick as my wrist—up into my helpless, dangling core. The penetration was a slow, stretching conquest. He fucked upward into my weight, each thrust making me swing gently, the sensation of being so utterly filled while completely vulnerable driving me to another broken, sobbing peak.
The fourth positioned me back on all fours. His cock was average in length but strikingly thick, a smooth, dark column. As he entered me from behind, gripping my hips to pull me onto him, another man knelt in front of me. His fingers found my swollen clit, rubbing in time with the thrusts behind. Pleasure detonated from both points of contact, a devastating synergy that left me screaming into the furs.
And so it continued. A relentless, sacred procession.
The fifth laid me back, entering me with a slow, reverent grind while a second man suckled at my breasts, his tongue torturing my pierced nipples.