🌿 Field Notes from Zoravia: The Oluwa Ife Rite 🌿
Three weeks in this hidden kingdom, and King Akintunde declared me “honored emissary of distant knowledge” beneath a starlit banquet sky. Little did I know the title granted me entry to the most sacred tradition: the Oluwa Ife—the ritual sharing of the queen.
Refusal would shatter alliances and offend the ancestors. Acceptance would change everything.
At twilight, torchlight guided me to the inner sanctum. Queen Amina awaited alone on a low dais, her skin glistening with shea butter beneath a translucent gold-thread wrap that revealed more than it concealed—full curves, dark peaked nipples, the shadowed promise between her thighs.
She rose with regal grace, beads in her braids chiming softly. Without a word, she pressed my hand to her chest. “Feel the land’s pulse,” she whispered. “Tonight it beats for you.”
Then she knelt—not in submission, but in absolute command. Her mouth took me slowly, reverently, tongue tracing sacred patterns while she hummed an ancient chant that vibrated through my core. A queen worshipping a stranger, turning pleasure into prayer.
When I ached on the edge, she rose, guided me to the bed of white linens and sacred grasses, and straddled me. Her heat welcomed my fingers first—drenched, clenching, pulling me deeper. Then she sank down onto me in one breathtaking motion, tight and molten, claiming every inch.
She rode with deliberate power: slow circles building to urgent thrusts, breasts swaying, hips grinding, until her climax shattered her composure—back arched, thighs trembling, a flood of warmth and a cry in ancient Zoravi that felt like both blessing and conquest.
Her release dragged mine from me; I spilled deep inside her as the land itself seemed to drink us in.
Afterward, still joined, she traced lazy patterns on my chest. “The alliance is sealed,” she murmured. “The land drinks deeply
