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A cheer echoed through the countryside. A wave of people moved for the side of the cliff and she swum farther out, making room for her people to follow in her footsteps. In this ritual, her task was to lead. The jump was symbolic. She had to take the first steps, in this ritual as in life. She was responsible for the safety of her people, any risk she took was one they all took. Princess stood in her tent, candlelight flickering over her bare skin. Her dark hair fell in waves around her face, the silky mass brushing over her breasts and ending at her waist. Small braids twisted back from her temples, keeping her eyes free as she looked herself over in the polished metal of her mirror. Maids bustled throughout the tent, clearing the space and laying out the next ceremonial garb. The coronation had three parts. The first, the jump, proved her courage as a leader. The second, her connection to the land – divine favor, some called it – would see her publically bred with a man who had. Every inward thrust brought new ripples of wicked desire coursing through her ravaged body. Her breasts are crushed nearly flat beneath her, but her smooth rounded buttocks still waved high in the air, grinding upward to meet my plundering lunges with slow, delicious movements of her own. My swollen, throbbing cock feels like a baseball bat shoved up inside her stretched, tender passage, but there is no longer any searing pain -- just overwhelming waves of undiluted animal passion that swept over her in a warm surging tide. I reach under her flat, sweat-soaked pelvis, and lift her higher, slamming my hard aching cock deeper and deeper in the forbidden sanctuary of her tight, lust-moistened channel. My fleshy spear slips in and out of her clasping sheath easily, well lubricated with her juices that seep from her puckered pussy-lips and trickle down her smooth, supple thighs. I rocked my hips back, pulling my hard shaft from her clutching tunnel until only the bulbous tip remains.
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