You are the legendary cock shaman. You are charged with the trying task of satisfying Mother Nature's whims, calming her rages, and taming her excesses. You have been training for years and today is the day you wade into the wilds surrounding the outermost village of your peoples' tiny corner of the world.
"I need provisions," you say. The shopkeep is a titan of a man, easily a foot taller than you and as broad across as any two other people. On a raised dais behind him, his wife sits at a desk, moving tiny baubles, gold coins, and little slips of paper with one hand as she writes in a tirelessly rebound ledger with the other.
"We got provisions here," the shopkeep says, politely enough, "you got coin you can even leave with some."
"I'm going to be heading out into the wilds. I can set up a base-camp and fend for myself, but I'll need about a month's worth of dry goods, some rope, and whatever dry wood you can spare. A yard of canvas wouldn't be bad either."
"Five gold pieces will make a deal there," he tells you, "but a man going out into the wilds needs more than provisions, he needs defenses."
"I have certain skills, master shopkeeper, but I'll need to get back to you on those five gold pieces." Five gold pieces! That's ridiculous. Just because he's the last outpost in a day's ride, he thinks he can gouge you on basic shit? The sages of the cock arts would tell you that here is where you dim the room, raise your voice, and thunderously roar the importance of your mission, calling it an honor to serve one such as you. The mistresses of your ward-house, however, would quietly intone "Flies prefer honey."
"You must be familiar with the wilds around here. How did you fair on your last ranging?" you ask.
"Look around you, adventurer. I brought home all the pelts you saw tanning outside. Those bone daggers came from a razorback so large that any other man would require a hunt-master and dogs to bring him down."
"And you took him yourself?"
"Yar, just me and my spear. I can place it anywhere I desire. Forcefully and effectively."
On the dais, his wife scoffs. Crossing her legs, she rubs her leather-covered thighs together. The bindings holding her breaches together creak as they strain to hold her supple leg flesh in place. Her breathing deepens and you find yourself watching the swell of her breasts and the light travel up and down along the wisps of black hair that's pooled into her cleavage.
"Like what you see, adventurer?" You're pulled from your appraisal of the shopkeeper's finest prize, "She's a harpy, make no mistake."
The shopkeep seems to think for a while. Then a wicked grin appears on his face. He steps close enough to you that you can smell his breath. Turning to his wife he asks you what your favorite feature of hers is.
"She has broad hips, master shopkeeper. A woman with hips like hers must be able to provide you with a legion of tiny shopkeepers. I'm sure in a few years you and her will enjoy a life of leisure."
"Fine hips," he says, "the best fuck-grips in the village, make no mistake. What else about her has your cock hardening?"
"Uh, her breasts. They're supple. They look like she'll be able to feed triplets, let alone son after son. Master shopkeeper, surely this is a distraction. If you and I can't bargain some on the price of your provisions, grant me your leave and I will find some way to meet your price."
"Hmm, I do need the money. I'm afraid five gold is the best I can do. That insatiable whore I have counting my coins is going to drive me into bankruptcy."
"It's not my fault you can't get your 'spear' hard without a trip to the apothecary!" The wife/accountant has finally found her voice, and her feet. With her hands on the table and her head sunk even with her shoulders, she looks like she could vaporize her husband, if only she could chant the right spell.
"There's my bride! Adventurer! I'll make you a deal. When I visit the apothecary," he unfastened his belt, extracting a foot of mottled horsecock from his breeches, "this cannon is brought fully through its porthole and Miss Queen of the Castle over there can't sit right for days. But it's not even a night and a day before I'm hearing about how we probably have enough for another trip to that wretched thief. If you're man enough to earn me a week's respite I'll cut the cost of your supplies in half."
His challenge is music to your ears. A cock shaman is charged with taming the beasts of the wild, but the long, voluminous, intertwined lineage of all the masters of the cock arts stems from the shaman's ability to tame the appetites of two-legged beasts as well.
"By your leave then, master shopkeeper?" He grunts. You stand in front of the dias, loosening the buckles holding your turtle shell cuirass in place while maintaining eye contact with the accountant. "What is your name, dear woman."
"I'm Havera. Everyone calls me Havie though," she says. You command her to brush her hair aside. Already, she is beginning to flush. As you set your cuirass aside, her breathing quickens.
"I see you like what I've brought to your table. Show me what I'm getting in return," you say while she gawks at you, "Undress." She brings a hand to her shirt and begins untying its laces.
"Eyes on me, Havera."
She looks into your eyes as she continues to remove her shirt. Your own eyes begin to take in her body as she loosens her shirt, pulling one breast and then the other from their confines. In the warm air of the shop, you can see that your appraisal was right. Her tits are larger than your two fists pressed together, but pert, teardrop-shaped, without a touch of sag. Each breast is topped with a gently sloping cone of a nipple. There's not a hint of strain on any part of her beautiful mammaries. Despite being deep into their third decade, this young couple has clearly not produced any offspring.
You take your eyes from her breasts long enough to see that her eyes have begun to take in your body as well. You center yourself, measure your breathing, and begin to channel your lust into your cock. You watch her eyes widen when your cock begins to jump in its reinforced leather sheathing.
"Your pants, Havera."
"Yes, sir."
"Master," you correct, "You may refer to me as 'master shaman."
Her breath quickens at the words. The reputation of your order frequently precedes you, but so much is left to rumor and innuendo that many do not know what to spot or what to expect. The bindings on your wrists should be a clear enough signal, but this far from the temple it's not unusual for shaman to blend into the population as easily as they blend into the wilderness. By the time her pants are down to her knees, she's is able to see another mark of your profession. Her breeder's hips have tightened your pants so thoroughly that your shaman's rings are straining the leather on your crotch. Her quim is lustrous with arousal. Her lips swollen. You step onto the dais and motion for her to come closer to you. You pull her eyes to your swollen bulge. Her hands shake as she fumbles with the meteorite metal belt mechanism. It makes a light ring as it comes undone. You don't have to tell her what to do next.
She fishes a hand into your pants and rubs your root until she gets to your shaman's rings. She raises an eyebrow.
"The one closest to me marks the deepest depths my cock has plumbed. The one closest to you binds the fertility of the land and the fertility of the supplicant together for their lifetime. Understand, you will come from this coupling changed."
"How?"
"Even I do not know."
She rolls your pants down your hips. Her other hand cups and weighs your balls.
"They're so warm."
"They are a source of power in my order. Energy flows through them and resides in them."
"Will I get pregnant?"
"One never knows. Sometimes the heat is too much for the more mundane aspects of the shaman to survive. There are shamans that have had their testicles or ovaries become composed entirely of roiling, luminous power. The most adept in my order are hardly more than a pair of lights bound together by distorted genitals. Others have bastards throughout our lands and in the lands and kingdoms of even the most distant nations," you settle into the spiel you share with all of your lay-partners.
She nibbles on your ear. "I want to," she whispers.
In the temple it was simpler, and yet more complicated. Couplings were frequent but rarely without consequence. It went without saying that you and your fellow aspirants always kept score, but the masters of the temple found a way to keep a tally too. Who came first, who came most often, who lasted longest, who was lost in their lusts, who was overly attached to whom; all of these subjects were up for review, privately or publicly amongst the trainees and their instructors. When Zayaira and you had fucked five times a day for five days, the two of you were the last to be informed that the couplings would only continue in common areas, though that the professors would be participating as well came as a surprise to no one. When Zayaira was sent away, the two of you had become so detached that your thoughts weren't of her gravid belly or the tricks you'd taught each-other, but of her soft mahogany cheeks and her seemingly bottomless asshole.
"Turn around then," you growl, "I'll breed you right here in front of your husband."
She faces the desk and spreads her legs. Your cock easily fits into the space beneath her cunt. You pull her close to you, her butt cheeks brushing your rings. One of your hands cups her breast, taking her nipple gently between your thumb and forefinger. Your cock swells and the wide root begins to part the lips into her moist core. Long ago, you would have begun to unconsciously hunch into the warm trap of her plush thighs and warm cunny, but you training has taught you a slow back and forth pacing that pops each ring passed her center before slowly rebuilding the pressure and thrusting back through her legs. Her arms flail about as she lubricates your shaft with her juices. She attempts to finger herself but finds she can't get past your other hand. In a fit of frustration, she wraps both of her hands around your shaft, jerking the part of your cock that she can reach while she rides its base to a shrieking orgasm.
Her legs clamp down on your shaft and, with her ass-cheeks pressed into your pelvic bone, you offer her a minute's rest will your cock gently flexes beneath her. Her hands desperately race up and down your length, her nimble fingers extracting dollops of precum from the tip. The urgent motions cover your head, her thighs, the ledger, and the desk in front of you in a thin skin of lubrication.
"Please. Please. I need more."
You're happy to oblige her, but you can never have her running hot enough. You're looking at a long sojourn into the wilds and this might be the last opportunity to fill your reserves. You pull your fat cockhead back to her labia. Her arousal is warm on your tip and already you can feel her lips opening to you. You breach slowly at first, just thrusting your glans in and out, filling the shop with squelching sounds. She rests her hips and hands on the desk when you shove the first few inches of your shaft in, and her pussy violently spasms on your head when your piss hole grinds along the patch of rough cuntflesh hiding inside. You know you've penetrated her fully when you feel your cock slide past her cervix and into her fornix and you know your power will be at its height when Havie screams in pleasure as your first ring forces its way past her lips,stretching them around it with each thrust.
"Can you feel me throbbing inside you?" you ask, "that's the feeling of your lust flowing into my cock."
Havera screams her confirmation while you plunge into her. When she can't stand any longer, you grab her by the thighs and lay her across the desk, railing into her all the while. You feel your balls begin to churn beneath you, readying a salvo of cum. A silently cast absorption spell turns her cervix into an aggressively sucking sphincter that shlurps torrent after torrent of ball batter out of your cockhead as you thrust deep into the accountant. Havera whips her head around, shooting you a side-eyed "What is happening inside me?" glare. You climb onto the desk and place your lips to hers in a deep, tongue-filled kiss, burying as much of your cock into her as her new depths will accept.
"So full. So full. So full," she repeats as your second ring strives to gain access to her vagina. Prone on the table, it brushes up and down the lengths of her thighs, just inches ahead of your raging testicles. She shrieks incoherently as you reach her innermost depths. Her legs seize up behind you, futilely flailing against your ass cheeks. You cup her breast from behind and settle into a rapid hunch, nibbling on her neck as she writhes beneath you.
Your balls leap on the table as they continuously dump loads of goopy sperm inside her. Your latest eruptions cause her calves to clamp onto your thighs, forcing you in as deep as you'll go. She thrusts her ass back at you but she only succeeds in swirling her labia on your shaft. You desperately wish you could fill the shop with the sound of your balls slapping off of her supple asscheeks. Instead you set your sights on the "fuckgrips" the shopkeep spoke of, pulling her onto her knees before extracting your cock from her womb-mouth and taking aim at her untouched butthole.
With your cock head up against her sphincter, you are able to grab onto her hips and apply the slightest bit of pressure, widening her anus and lubricating her chute with your spasming cumslit. You slowly pull her towards you. Your cockhead disappears into her asshole up until the crown begins to breach the constricting ring of muscle. Havera spasms beneath you, but the hipbones the shopkeep recommended to you are extremely handy. When she leaves her knees you are able to hold her suspended on her hands as the head of your cock finally breaches fully into her colon. Gyrating your hips in tiny circles, you feel her asshole adjust to your spasming invader.
"No one's ever fucked my ass before."
"I can tell."
You penetrate deeper into her asshole, her belly bulging lewdly under the deluge of cum you deposited inside her. When you've finally shoved your first ring inside, you cast a virility spell and beckon the shopkeep to the dais.
"I'm going to shove my cock back into your wife's cunt now. I want you to eat my sperm from her asshole when I do so," you can read the rage on his face, "Doing so will solve your potency problem, master shopkeeper. You'll have an erection before I leave."
You stand on the desk and seize the woman's legs in your arms. Her labia has blossomed fully beneath you and you eagerly spread her petals with your cockhead. You stop when you've slid in deep enough to feel her cervix still desperately slurping, kissing the tip with each eager motion. Behind you, her husband has slid what feels like a disproportionately thick tongue into her butthole. Despite your recent invasion, her ass still forms around his tongue like a greasy glove and it holds onto it until finally releasing with a wet smack. When you begin to plumb the depths past her cervix, you feel you balls come to rest on his forehead. You prepare for him to freak out, but he is so engrossed in your potency, his wife's asshole, and furiously stroking his own cock that he doesn't seem to notice. You begin to piston up and down on top of her. Your outer ring bounces up and down on her clitoris as she moans beneath you. You lean forward until your face is just inches from hers. You're not close enough to kiss her but you watch her oscillate between focusing on you and focusing on some invisible rapture behind her. Your balls begin to spasm as you unleash a new load inside her.
Consumed by your orgasm, you lurch forward, lifting the accountant into the air. Bouncing her on your cock with all the fury of a hurricane, you feel the shopkeep dive across the desk, desperate to continue lapping at her asshole. The accountant's screams are muffled as her teeth latch on to your shoulder, caught somewhere between writhing in pain and wallowing in rapture. Your deep thrusts make it difficult for her husband to keep pace, but he seems to be making an impressive effort. The mass of his tongue flits along the underside of your shaft as you barrel into her overstuffed pelvis.
By the time your orgasm subsides, the accountant has drifted away into incoherent, babbling bliss. You pull your cock from her behind a deluge of your intermingled fluids and lay her across the desk. Across from you, you see that the shopkeep has brought his own considerable member to erection. You encourage him to fuck his wife and complete the ritual before his arousal fades, which he does with haste. With nothing left to do, you languidly walk to the other side of the desk, where the accountant quietly mutters her delight.
When offered, the shopkeeper's wife happily puts your cockhead to her lips. Her tongue swirls around your slit as she lubes you up. In a language of her own device, she begs you to fuck her throat. You ease yourself deeper and deeper into her mouth and then her throat while she shapes the passage around your throbbing staff. Pulling you into her, she caresses your testicles with her hands. Unable to restrain yourself any longer, you take a fistful of onyx hair into each hand and begin to fuck her throat in earnest. Stopping short of her teeth, your rings sing through the air as you work your magic. The shopkeep ruts into her like a bull in heat. The accountant writhes between you, struggling to keep her hands on your balls, on her heaving breasts, and on her clitoris that has engorged passed the size of a small fish.
When you feel you latest orgasm grip you, you extract your cock from her throat, opting instead to fill a nearby wastebasket with your ejaculate. The shopkeep continues to ram into the accountant, who in turn barely spends a moment glancing about in confusion as to where the cock that was in her mouth has gone. As you fill the bucket, you watch her giant breasts flop back and forth across her chest. When it will hold no more, you cast the last ropes of jism across her torso, covering her tits and tummy in opalescent strands of potent seed.
The shopkeeper roars his orgasm and buries himself balls deep into his wife. When you finish ringing the last droplets of sperm from the dip of your dick onto the rising and falling breasts of the accountant, you tell him to skim the film from the top of the waste basket every day.
"Eating the dried portions from the top of this bucket daily should cure your ailment permanently. I'll leave two gold pieces on the counter, I trust that will be enough," you say. The shopkeep grunts his consent.
"I'll be back tomorrow to pick it up. Thanks again for being so flexible!"
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3hof94/the_legendary_cockshaman_mmffanstasyanaloral
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