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The Ring of the Giants

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The Ring of the Giants by Olivia M. Ravensworth

Life is hard in the unending wilds of 8000 BC middle Europe, but for Kalesh, child of none, friend of none, kinsman of none, it is hardest still. The unwanted foundling can only dream, despairingly, of acceptance, of happiness…and of the enigmatic black-haired girl, Mara, who, secretly and yet known to all, in the dark of night creeps about the sleeping village, and with her determined mouth performs unspeakable acts.

Once—yet only once—when Mara sees Kalesh peering from his lean-to at her midnight prowlings, before he can draw back, she scampers in and steals his seed. The young man is smitten, yet very confused. He calls her many bad names, and he scorns her and degrades her and pulls her hair—and yet after she swallows in comingled triumph and shame, before she turns to leave, he whispers helplessly, “I love you!”

Certainly after the things she has done, no man would want Mara for a wife. Yet while she is the one who is low and polluted, Kalesh alone senses that somehow the smirking wench seems to look down upon the others from some great height, disdainfully. He cannot understand it, and such notions, of course, will not change his miserable life, or hers.

One day, however, Kalesh on a lonely hill deep in the forest discovers the petrified body of an ancient giant. With the magical power of the gifts he finds there, he at last will take away his Mara, along with a wide-eyed, diminutive, yet very intimately skilled blonde junior wife named Pon.

Swaggering now with two shapely girls of his very own—his to touch and fondle, to tease and torment, to heap with any outrage that might amuse him—the long-repressed Kalesh will journey from mammoth-haunted forests, over the pirate-ravaged Sea of the South, across burning desert and through fetid jungle, and even over the Western Sea to the fabled isle of the mighty Atlans, to chase his wild passions, and his destiny.

Includes: Male Domination, Female Submission, Multiple Partners, Oral sex


Her name was Mara, and she was the youngest daughter of a very low-ranking family that already had too many offspring still living. She was slim and rather boyish, with breasts no one thought to look at. Like Kalesh, and therefore to his secret delight, she had night-black hair and dark eyes, too. Her mouth was red and saucy, and sometimes he pictured that quick, crooked-lipped smile of hers, and he shivered somewhere deep within. Her father was not a favorite of Haramop, so marrying the daughter of such a man would bring favor to none. And the girl herself seemed of very little use in any practical way either, being of no more than average skill, it appeared, at any womanly task. The old crones who oversaw the work of the village cuffed her frequently for her mistakes and always shifted the girl back and forth among themselves, each eager to be rid of her, if only for a little while. She was very quiet, and though sometimes he spied her eyes flash sullenly, she never talked back.
And yet, and yet… Why, sometimes late at night, this Mara crept out of her tent and, did things to boys! It was not a secret, and yet it was. People spoke of it in dark murmurs and said bad words, but none of the fathers ever did anything about the older women’s complaints—most likely they had their turns at her, too. Many would not have felt the touch of a thing so firm and youthful and smooth for years and years and years had it not been for this girl, and when wives began to mutter of it over-much, well, then a swollen blue-black jaw or a cut lip all puffy and raw and oozing would keep jealous tongues quieter, if not any less sulking. Lanky young Mara was debased and spurned, but in her own silent, almost aloof way there was a haughtiness about her that no one save Kalesh appeared to sense. When the wild hunger took her, she prowled the night like the great dagger-toothed cats of old, and in a way it seemed that she did the things she did not for the pleasure of men and boys but for her own. It was a strange thing to think, and it made Kalesh feel… most peculiar indeed inside.
Yes, from his lonely lean-to at the very edge of the encampment, Kalesh saw it all. Light-footed and silent and yet fearsomely eager, the raven-haired Mara might tiptoe from tent to tent to do the things that would make her feel good. She used her mouth—that is what he had heard from beyond the edges of the whispering circles now and then. She crept in, she got down on her hands and knees alongside some sleeping boy, she opened up her smirking red lips, and she just sucked and sucked and sucked until she got the thick mouthful she craved. And then, laughing inside, she swallowed with a great wet smack. Some said she touched herself, too.
If more than one boy slept there, then once he had panted and gasped and spurted at her command, she would wake the next, quietly, in the very same way, and the next and the next, until all were satisfied—until she was satisfied. Brother after brother, uncles, fathers, doddering old grandfathers who could no longer tell past from present from dream—she sucked them all when the mood struck her. Yet no matter who it was that shivered and groaned under her hungry lips, still it was all for her and her alone. No one like Haramop had to force her—and in fact she never crept in upon the one-eyed swaggerer, never, which pleased Kalesh very secretly. And no grinning brave had to ask her either. Sometimes the dark-eyed girl simply hungered for seed, and she took it. And afterward, with her eyes shining huge and her cheeks flushed and her chin dripping, she went to the next tent and did it more, ever more.
Many were the nights that Kalesh, peering excitedly from within the dark entrance of his lean-to, watched this strange girl dance in starlight or moonlight from hut to hut and tent to tent, himself helplessly stiff as he thought of the things she did. Breathless and sweaty, he rubbed his stiff penis as he imagined it all. Why did she do it? he asked himself sometimes in his desperate, wordless arousal. Was it not wicked and wrong? Was it not foul? And yet… clearly Mara hungered for cum, wanted to feel it and smell it and taste it, wanted to gorge herself upon it until her belly was swollen tight as a drum.
What must she look like? he wondered, thrilling himself. Her head would be bowed, he supposed dirtily, but not with the dread and awe in which one beseeched the gods and not with the secret sullenness with which children sometimes bore the reproach of their elders. No, he told himself, this Mara would bow her head in eagerness. Her dark eyes might flash with some fierce unnamable emotion, but then as her parted red lips found what they needed, her eyes would grow dreamy and naughtily content. With movements so purposeful and swift and sure, she would bob her head again and again and again, making her shining long hair dance and sway. Perhaps boys could gawk down her neck and see the tiny little breasts there, smooth and white and unhandled.
Ah, and what must she sound like? She was quiet, certainly, so as not to wake the women, the frowning, jealous, vengeful old women who would, if they could, drive the skinny bad-girl from their huts, then the village, perhaps even the world itself, with lashings that would strip her flesh straight down to the bone and leave it hanging red and glistening for the delight of the hawks and ravens. Yet surely there would be at least some sound—the breath snorting in her flared nostrils, the slippery slide of flesh upon flesh, the wet little slobbers of her hungry animal feeding. How that would rile a boy’s blood!
What must she smell like? As she squatted there, barefoot and bobbing on the tamped earth floor, her angular, unknown little body would carry with it the powerful liquid scent of her fierce arousal. Ah, the salty-sweet, oh-so private reek of cunt, hairy and open and fiercely excited, crackling under shameless fingers. She would touch herself there to make her feel good, and with her bony knees cast wide, anyone could smell it, anyone!
And, oh, what must she feel like…? Mm, the thought of that girl’s mouth calmly rolling back the skin to bare the sensitive purple head standing thick and swollen and already oozing, and her soft lips settling down, down, down, so smooth and sticky and warm, still slippery from the last man’s seed. And she would do things then, all the things that made a man feel good. When poor Kalesh had to do this to Haramop, it was shame beyond belief, but for Mara it was different somehow. For none of it was for the hairy creatures of sinew and sneers who reviled the likes of her and Kalesh as well. It was for her, all for her.
In daylight the strange Mara again would be spurned and ignored, or talked about behind her back. Certainly after what she had done, no man would ever want her for a wife. And yet in the secret dark of night no man could resist her then. Her mouth gave pleasure for which there were no words, and yet somehow, in a way he could not name or even understand, that smirking mouth took, too. They all thought she was dirty and wicked and unworthy, and yet really she was better than the men of this tribe, and they were below her, far, far below, and Kalesh felt he could look down on them. He could not explain it, and yet it was true.
But still he touched himself. He thought of the girl’s mouth, and the things she did, and how good all those other boys must feel. It excited him all the more that even while he pulled and pulled at his throbbing meat in the delight of his frustration, her mouth was doing all the shameful, dirty, wondrous things to the others. How he longed for the treatment himself! Yet Kalesh, of course, was beneath the notice even of one so low as the demeaned Mara.
And yet once— why, once, perhaps two winters earlier, the girl’s hunger must have gnawed at her, and though her little belly must have been absolutely full already of roiling gray goo, before she sneaked back to her own tent, she suddenly stopped. Perhaps somehow she heard the soft sound of Kalesh’s hand jerking at his rigid red flesh as he watched. Perhaps a faint gleam of moonlight seeped back far enough into the shadows under the roof of the entrance that she caught sight of the motion of his frantic struggles. Perhaps it was something else. Yet one way or another, like a dog that has caught the scent of what it hunts, she turned her head and looked his way. Those dark eyes flashed, her nostrils twitched, and her red lips curled up at the corners.
Eagerly she trotted over, and before the startled Kalesh could even think to release his manhood, let alone draw back, she had ducked inside, her huge dark eyes shining in a sort of triumph. “Give it to me, boy!” she whispered. “Give it to me! Now!" And as he could only goggle at her in disbelief, she leaned hungrily down and sucked him into the paradise of her mouth.
Oh, the joy of it! He moaned softly as the insides of those warm, wet, cum-slippery cheeks pulled smoothly against his taut-skinned naked penis, somehow both demanding and needy all at once. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. He was already dripping wet with the clear juices that seep and ooze before the sweet explosion of the red mountain of fire, but she did not stop, did not flinch, and did not shrink back. Her breath stank of the swallowed seed of ten, fifteen, twenty throbbing cocks, and her drooling gums swam with the bubbling residue, and yet still she craved to wrap her mouth around yet another strange penis and simply feast.
Happily Kalesh squirmed upon the mangy sleeping-furs that shielded him so inadequately from the hard ground beneath. For a moment, though, he forgot everything else—forgot the chill of his ill-protected toes, forgot the cramp from sitting cross-legged, forgot the half-buried stone that pushed against the side of his splayed hip. Nothing existed now but that mouth, that supple, smooth, excited young mouth traveling up and down over the pleasantly aching stiffness that the very thought of her had caused. She licked, she sucked, she gummed. She swirled her flushed face, making heavy waves of starlit sable toss and flutter about the naked skin of his exulting thighs.
Panting, he watched the bobbing top of the head of the strange girl who thirsted for seed. How beautiful it was! In her furtive, animal actions was a simple, primitive grace such as he had never known existed. From what the others had said about her, and from what the poor red-faced boy himself had had to do for the wicked Haramop, he had thought this thing of Mara’s would be a dirty thing. But it was not, he realized in wonderment. It was as natural and wild as the tumult of a waterfall, or the proud movements of the hawk grooming its broad golden wing-shoulders, eyes lordly and unblinking and fierce. This mouth, too, was fierce in a way, smooth and soft and yet fierce to show its calm, cunning power. Kalesh could not resist it. Soon, he knew, grinning tightly, very soon, he would give her what she wished. And he wished it, too, so, so much.
As he trembled there, loose-lipped and reeling, he felt Mara’s hand clutch his bare hip for support, sometimes reach inward and fondle the tight-pulled makers of his seed. Mm, it felt good. She did it not for him but for herself, with the determination of a woman rolling her fingers in the moist earth for plump grubs that wriggled beneath. He knew this, and yet he did not care. Her fingers plucked and pulled without shame, making him respond.
And yet her other hand, he knew dimly, did something else, too. He could not see it, but he could hear it, smell it. Squatting open on the cold damp earth, this girl touched herself fiercely. The fishy smell of her filled his nose, his wondering mouth, his very lungs, enough to make his member stand aching and rigid even untouched, and her bunched fingertips squelched and rasped and bubbled. Tight-curled black hairs, unseen but heard, sounded scratchy-soft, but beneath those tangled strands lay something slippery-smooth and dripping with the secret nectars of its own excitement. It stank beautifully of the way she had rubbed herself all night long, without shame, as she feasted upon man after man.
Mara was a bad, bad girl, he told himself unsteadily. No one but a bad-girl would do this. And yet scarcely even realizing that he was doing it, he raised one hand and stroked it almost gently through her long, glossy black hair. With the grateful tenderness of a boy who has never been touched, he caressed the head of this strange creature whose heart harbored such unspeakable desires. Her puckered red lips worked at his upstanding organ as mindlessly and shamelessly as a baby pulls at the thick, sweetly spurting nipple of its mother’s lolling milk-heavy breast. Yet what this dark spigot of meat would squirt, he told himself dirtily, was not milk…
As the blood surged below his belly, Kalesh bit his lip. A little self-consciously, but feeling that it must be done, he began to call the girl names. Some were bad things that Haramop said to him, but others he made up. It made him feel mean, and guilty in a way, but it made him feel big and male and strong, too. Ah, this was what it meant to have a girl! he told himself. Mm, to have her, to force her, to fill her and soil her and leave her dripping with the shame of what he had done!
“You are a whore!” he whispered fiercely as Mara’s lips nursed and smacked unheeding. “No man would want you for a wife because of what you have done!" His face burned, and his fist clenched spasmodically in the girl’s heavy hair, clenched and twitched in confusion, but though it embarrassed him somehow, he could not stop the words. “You are bad! The worms of the mud are not as low as you. So suck it, you clumsy, skinny girl no one likes! Suck it and make yourself worthy of something.”
Smiling to herself, the girl continued without complaint, her flushed eyelids happily closed as she smacked and gulped. Feverishly strove the slim hand between her own quaking thighs.
“You want my cum!” Kalesh accused gleefully. “You are a dirty cocksucker of no family, no worth, no beauty." The girl’s long lashes lay lovely and dark and dense upon cheeks so flushed and suddenly desirable that no man could resist, but he forced himself to heap more scorn upon her. “You are excited and filthy and wet. You want my seed! You want the taste of it, the feel of it, spurting, splashing, and writhing down your dirty whore-throat! Do you not? Do you not?”
Without volition, his wiry young fist suddenly yanked, sharp and demanding, making the girl’s delicate neck arch helplessly backward. Mara’s eyes snapped wide, and for a moment her still-open mouth could only work soundlessly like that of a great fish thrown up onto a dry stream-bank to struggle and gasp. Her tongue, which an instant before had worried the sensitive underside of his cockhead so devotedly, still flopped and wallowed and rolled in its need.
“Do you not?” grinned Kalesh tightly. He felt the fitful resistance of her as that mouth tried to drag itself back to what it craved. “Do you not!”
“Yes,” she cried at last, her dark eyes suddenly pleading, “yes!" Most likely in all of her other midnight trips through the village the girl had never dared even whisper a word, but now, in Kalesh’s remote and lonely abode, her voice at last could sing of its unnatural desires. “Please,” she begged, completely without dignity as she pulled against his fist and toward his fat purple cockhead, rubbing herself beneath her black-furred belly the whole while, “p-please. P-p-please…?”
Laughing, Kalesh released the struggling girl, and in an ecstasy of gratitude she lunged her soft mouth hungrily about him once more. She was smooth and soft and wet, and though she had done this to so, so many others already, right now she was just for him, all for him. Oh, the feel of that mouth, doing things he had never imagined could be done to one such as Kalesh! Her full red lips kissed him there, caressed him, cradled him snug and safe and warm, and he knew, thrilling deep within, that his swollen purple member which pulsed and dripped and shivered could do anything, anything, and that everything would be all right.
“Suck me, you wallowing, snorting cum-pig,” he whispered. He exulted in the desperation of her need, feeling those puckered red lips so wet and smooth and needy. “Show me how much you want it. If you are a good bad-girl, maybe I will give you a nice meal for your worthless little belly. Maybe." It was bad to say somehow—he did not quite know why—but oh, the joy of strutting so!
“Your family is so low,” sneered the boy with no family at all, “and your father so scorned, that you probably could not even live unless you sucked cock. Now suck or starve, you worthless skinny cocksucker! Suck or starve! Eat my filth. I have watched you all night, and now I am ready—I am ready!”
Cackling, he threw upon the slender, sweetly vulnerable girl all the frustration, all the wrath, all the badness he knew. He would not have thought he would do this, and yet now he could not help himself. And, too, the more of these terrible things he said, the more she responded. Oh, that mouth, that mouth! How it pulled and pulled and pulled, pleasuring him so that she could have her fill! “Yes, work for it,” he urged her swiftly at last, feeling something well up from deep within him. “Work for it, work for it…”
And there in Kalesh’s miserable little lean-to, the mysterious Mara at last brought forth what he needed—what she needed. The young man whimpered with the joy of it, suddenly helpless as a newborn babe, while his hips twitched, and his balls clenched and spasmed, and the bloated pillar of his manhood throbbed and jetted and glopped, and he filled her beautifully flushed cheeks to overflowing with every tangled gout of his clammy gray seed. Feeling warm and sleepy and utterly content, he poured himself into her, and his once-rough hands now clutched that generous raven-haired head gratefully to his fluttering lean-ribbed belly, clutched and hugged and stroked. On and on it went, as she snorted and shivered with what she did between her own shivering thighs. Ah, the strange feelings that roiled within him!
And when he was done, and his tired thing suddenly shrank little and wiggling so that the once-raging man now felt like a mere shamefaced boy, then gravely, almost smugly, the dark-eyed girl at last swallowed. She shook slightly, though, with the sweet exhaustion of her long night of wicked prowling, and at that sign of never-before-sensed weakness Kalesh felt a strange pang in his chest. Mara began to turn away again then, silent and cool and remote once more, her naughty cunt wet with what she had done, her belly gurgling full of the cum of so many, many, many men and boys. Just before she did, though, Kalesh, perhaps even more surprised than she, caught the soiled, spurned, reviled girl briefly by her narrow little hand and pressed his tingling lips against her soft, salty wet ones.
“I-I love you!” he whispered helplessly. And then she was gone.

Artist Credit

Cover Art © Mayer George - Shutterstock.com

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