Page 24 of Caveman Alien's Bride

She glances at my erect manhood. “Dat luks danjerus.”

“Yes,” I guess what she says, “we are now married and we should be Mating. But this is not a comfortable place for that. Let’s get you clean, and I will Worship you instead.”

I help take all her clothes off. I’ve seen her lower half before in its full glory, but seeing it again has my rod twitch and harden. And her chest… the breath catches in my throat when she pulls off the worn garment that almost hid it. I have had the tribe shaman repeat the lessons from many years ago, and I know that the two protrusions are called ‘breasts’.

I reach out to stroke one of the smooth, impossibly soft-looking breasts with one finger.

Bryar comes in close and puts one hand flat on my chest while I explore hers. The smoothness and softness combine to an impossibly attractive whole, and the world spins around me. Surely this is too good to be true?

“You’re amazing,” I rasp in a dry throat, letting my hands gently squeeze and stroke.

“Eyelyk datyur bein genel,”Bryar says in her purring way. “Yur so big, yucud isilee hurdmee.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I tell her, “but it sounds wonderful.”

She gives me a little smile. “Marid adlast, huh? Yu god yur wey. Nou yubeda makgud on yur promis.”

Finding that we’re both clean enough, I lift her up and carry her ashore.

“Wife,” I say, putting three fingers on her chest, then on my own. “Husband.”

“Wife Bryar,” she says. “Husband Korr'ax.”

The words sound so perfect in her voice. “Exactly. We’re married. Wife and husband.”

I kneel down and use my hands to scrape the water off her female body, and when I’m done with that, I’m so aroused I can barely see straight.

And I can’t help but notice that the smell from Bryar is very similar to the scent that filled my nose last time she was this bare and I Worshipped her.

“I want to taste you,” I tell her as I take her into my arms and lift her so her face is close to mine. “But first I want to kiss you again. Back at the altar, you tasted of dead Big.”

I place my lips on hers, and she puts one hand behind my head. Now she tastes fresh and sweet, and her scent in my nose is making me dizzy. Her little tongue and mine dance together for a short while, and I find myself wanting to invade her here, too. She’s mine, but I want to own her in every way. And this works.I feel how she’s mine and how she wants to be.

“Oh,” Bryar says when I disengage, breathing hard. “Dis kantbee yur firstym.”

I stroke her hair. “I wonder where you came from. You can’t be The Woman, but I think you’re something better.”

I get down on my knees, deeming the grassy river bank comfortable enough. Still I waste no time in arranging Bryar like last time, with the split of her legs at my mouth. She leans back comfortably against my forearms with her legs over my shoulders.

Again I feel a dizzy spell. It feels entirely unreal that this is happening, that I’m Worshipping a woman.

A woman I’mmarriedto.

I run my tongue up the side of her sex, feeling the soft hairs tickle it. The scent is strong and heady.

Bryar moans softly, letting her arms drop to her sides. The trust she’s showing is not lost on me. Imagine being such a small and soft thing, without a sword in the world, and trying to survive! That must take a strength all its own. And trusting me like this, with her immensely delicate parts… that is also a strength.

I lick her, keeping my touch light, doing the things the old shaman taught us boys many years ago. He used a wooden doll to show us how to Worship the Woman from the Prophecy if we were to meet her, and it was the most interesting lesson we ever had from him. Still I remember most of it: Keep trying different things, notice what she does, remember that those soft parts are sensitive, don’t cause pain, don’t hurry it, enjoy it yourself.

That last part is easy. She tastes wonderful, and her juices keep coming. Her female sex is immensely soft and smooth and warm, and my cock twitches and throbs.

When Bryar’s sounds tell me she’s close to the edge, I focus on the most important part, the center of her enjoyment.

Again she trembles and bucks in my arms, whimpering like a pup and kicking her legs. It goes on for a while, and I can only marvel at it.

I rearrange her and let her rest in my arms while I look around for threats. There are none, probably because many of the Bigs are on the beach, hoping to get a trok egg to eat.

Bryar opens her eyes and slowly lifts her head. “Dawuz trifik.”

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