The Dance of Summoning
Copyright© 2025 by Osa Oladapo
Chapter 9
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 9 - 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 scepter slid into me alongside my brother’s cock.
The sensation was impossible. Two foreign objects occupying the same sacred space. The smooth, cool wood and the hot, veined flesh moved in a tight, wet channel, the sceptre’s golden end nudging past my brother’s massive head, finding a deeper, more internal path. A shockwave of pleasure, so intense it bordered on pain, radiated from my core. My knees buckled. Adunbi held me up, his arms like iron bands around my waist, his own breath coming in ragged pants against my neck.
“Gods,” he choked out. The word was a prayer, a curse.
We stood locked together, a trembling statue of fused flesh and magic. Then the scepter moved. Not me, not him. It pulsed, a warm, living throb that made my inner walls clench around both intrusions. The polished amber orb at its top flared, casting our joined shadows in a golden glow against the labyrinth wall.
“Sheath the scepter in its home,” the riddle had said. It wasn’t just about insertion. It was about activation.
Vines, thin and supple as living gold, sprouted from the dark wood of the shaft. They slithered, warm and seeking, over my skin. One tendril coiled around the base of Adunbi’s cock where it disappeared into me, a possessive, tightening band. Another spiraled up my stomach, over the rounded swell, to find my aching, neglected clit. It was not a touch of flesh, but of pure, sentient magic—a perfect, coiling pressure.
I cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock. The vine around my clit pulsed, sending a bolt of electric pleasure straight to the base of my spine.
Adunbi’s hips jerked involuntarily, driving him deeper. “What is it doing?”
“Feeling,” I gasped. “Learning.”
The tendrils pulsed in time with our heartbeats, with the throbbing of his cock inside me. The scepter was no longer an object. It was a third partner, a conduit, synchronizing our rhythms into a single, pounding tune. The labyrinth around us seemed to breathe, the torches flaring brighter.
“Move,” I begged, my voice raw. “We have to move.”
We did. It was no longer a staggering walk, but a dance. Adunbi held me, my back to his front, and we swayed. Each shallow rock of his hips sent shocks through the vine on my clit. Each shift of my weight made the scepter’s length rub against a new, exquisitely sensitive place deep inside. The dual fullness was a constant, breathtaking pressure, but the living magic transformed it from an occupation into an orchestration.
We shimmied sideways along the wall, following the glow of the tiles. Our sweat-slicked skin slid together. The vine around his base tightened with each of his thrusts, a velvet-iron fist milking him, urging him deeper, harder. The sensation pulled a continuous, guttural groan from his chest.
“Sister ... it’s too much ... I can’t...”
“You can,” I moaned, arching back against him, pushing the scepter deeper. “It wants us to. Feel it.”
The vine on my clit began a rapid, insistent vibration. My vision sparked. Pleasure, sharp and coiling, built with terrifying speed. This was not the slow climb of before. This was a lightning strike gathering in my core, fed by his thickness, by the scepter’s magic, by the ancient power of the labyrinth itself.
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