The Dance of Summoning
Copyright© 2025 by Osa Oladapo
Chapter 5
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 5 - 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
A collective sigh moved through the torch-lit circle as Amadi’s seed trickled down my thigh. His place was taken instantly, but not by the next villager. Kwame’s strong arms turned me, his eyes burning with a possessive fire. But before he could claim his turn, a new figure stepped from the shadowed ring.
My brother, Adunbi.
He moved with the same easy, powerful grace I’d known since childhood, but now I saw him through a different lens. The firelight played over the heavy muscles of his chest and arms, the taper of his waist into the simple cloth tied at his hips. His face, so like mine in its strong bone structure, was set in an expression of solemn purpose. And jutting proudly from the opening of his loincloth was his cock.
Oh, ancestors.
It was a weapon of flesh. Not as long as the unicorn’s impossible shaft, but easily as thick, a pillar of dark, veined granite. It stood straight out from his body, easily twenty six centimeters of rigid muscle, but the girth ... it was the girth that stole my breath. As thick as my wrist, a pronounced, flaring crown sat atop the shaft like a broad, smooth plum, the slit already glistening. The sheer mass of him looked impossible, a challenge my well-used body quailed at even as a fresh, shameless heat flooded my core.
He didn’t speak. He simply looked at Nne, who gave a slow, approving nod. His eyes then found mine, and in them, I saw no simple lust, but a fierce, protective pride. This, too, is part of the blessing.
Kwame, behind me, understood the shift. His hands, which had been ready to push me down, changed their grip. He wrapped his arms around my upper body, locking my back against the solid wall of his chest, pinning my arms to my sides. His own hard length pressed against the small of my back.
“Steady, vessel,” Kwame murmured into my ear, his voice rough. “Take your family’s strength.”
Adunbi closed the distance. His big, work-calloused hands settled on my hips, his thumbs stroking the new, soft swell of my belly. The touch was so familiar, so brotherly, yet now charged with a potent, ritual electricity. He leaned in, his forehead touching mine, and I could smell the sun and dust on his skin.
“You carry a miracle, sister,” he breathed, the words for me alone. “Let me help it grow strong.”
My throat was too tight for words. I managed a jerky nod, my body already trembling in Kwame’s unyielding hold.
Nne’s voice rose again, a new layer woven into her chant, a deeper, more familial rhythm. It seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.
Adunbi’s hands left my hips. He took himself in one fist, and even his large hand couldn’t close all the way around that monstrous thickness. He used the other to guide himself, the broad, blunted head slick with his own fluid and the remnants of Amadi’s release that coated my thighs. He pressed against my entrance, and I felt my body, still loose and slick from the healer, instinctively tense.
The pressure was immense. Not a tip, but a wide, unyielding dome demanding entry. I whimpered, pushing back against Kwame.
“Shhh,” Kwame soothed, one hand coming up to cup my breast, his fingers toying with my pierced nipple. “Open for him. The vessel must learn to hold all kinds of strength.”
Adunbi pushed, just a steady, patient increase of force. My body resisted, the stretched ring of muscle fluttering wildly. Then, with a soft, wet pop, the crown breached me. The sensation was a bright, stretching burn that melted into a shocking, immediate fullness. He was inside, but only the very head, and already I felt stuffed.
He held there, not moving, letting my inner walls acclimatize to the invasion. I panted, my head lolling back on Kwame’s shoulder. Adunbi’s eyes were locked on where we joined, his jaw tight with restraint.
“More,” I heard myself whisper, the word a plea.
He obeyed with torturous slowness. He withdrew an inch, the thick ridge dragging exquisitely, then pushed forward again, gaining another half-inch. The stretch was profound, a slow, burning expansion that made me feel split open in the most glorious way. Each fractional advance was a victory, my body yielding millimeter by millimeter to his persistent girth. The wet, sucking sounds of our joining were obscenely loud in the ritual silence.
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