"I am going to MURDER that priest," Tulio declared, scraping what felt like the seven-hundredth layer of Altivo's contribution from her hair. "Slowly. With tiny obsidian knives. One... toe... at... a time."

The bathing chamber echoed with splashing as she ducked beneath the steaming water for the fifth time, emerging with a gasp that sent droplets flying. Around her, wide-eyed attendants hovered with scented oils and bristle brushes, having long since given up asking why the "divine vessel" had arrived covered in a substance that had dried to the consistency of plaster and smelled like a stable floor after mating season.

"More soap," she demanded, holding out her palm as a timid girl approached with a cake of something that smelled of honey and vanilla. "And maybe some lye. Or acid. Anything stronger than whatever THIS is."

Miguel poked his head through the doorway, eyes covered with one hand. "Is it safe to come in? Are you decent?"

"No, I'm furious," Tulio snapped, scrubbing her arms with manic vigor. "And covered in... in... YOU KNOW WHAT."

"That's why I brought reinforcements," Miguel announced cheerfully, stepping aside to reveal Chel lounging in Tulio's lanky frame, chewing what appeared to be some sort of tropical fruit with casual disregard for the crisis at hand.

"YOU!" Tulio hurled the soap, which Chel caught one-handed without missing a beat. "This is YOUR fault!"

"My fault?" Chel raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the one who decided to take the scenic route through the underworld. I found the emergency exit in like, five minutes."

"There was an emergency exit?!" Tulio nearly levitated from the water in outrage.

"Of course there was an emergency exit," Chel rolled her eyes, tossing the fruit pit to an attendant without looking. "It's an initiation labyrinth, not actually Xibalba. The priests need a way out when they're done terrorizing initiates."

"And you didn't think to MENTION this before we got separated?!"

"You two were making such heroic faces about facing certain doom," Chel grinned lazily, stretching Tulio's gangly limbs in ways that made the real Tulio wince. "I didn't want to spoil the moment."

"I hate you," Tulio declared, sinking deeper into the water. "So much."

"I like what you've done with my hair, though." Chel gestured to the tangled, stiff mess that was currently being attacked by three determined attendants. "Very avant-garde. Like you styled it with paste and left it to set for a week."

"Oh, it was PASTE alright," Tulio muttered darkly.

Miguel cleared his throat. "Not to interrupt this charming reunion, but we have more pressing issues. Like the fact that Tzekel-Kan is currently telling everyone how your miraculous escape from Xibalba proves you're the chosen vessel for some kind of... what was it again?"

"Divine Conjunction," Chel supplied, suddenly serious. "It's a once-in-a-generation ceremony where the vessel channels the gods' power directly into the bloodline of El Dorado." She paused meaningfully. "Through the Chief."

The bathwater suddenly felt much colder. "Through the... you mean..."

"Yup," Chel popped the 'p' with obvious relish. "Tonight's supposed to be the night he knocks you up with the future ruler of El Dorado. Mazel tov."

Tulio submerged completely, releasing a stream of bubbles that the attendants politely pretended not to notice were actually muffled screams.

"The good news," Miguel continued when she surfaced, sputtering, "is that the Chief seems genuinely thrilled. Tzekel-Kan's little murder attempt has backfired spectacularly. Everyone's calling it a miracle, saying you were tested by Xibalba itself and found worthy."

"The bad news," Chel added, "is that now there's no getting out of tonight's festivities. The whole city is already celebrating your divine... compatibility."

"Compatibility?!" Tulio yelped as an attendant attacked a particularly stubborn spot on her shoulder with a brush. "There's nothing compatible about any of this! I'm a MAN! With a man's... sensibilities! And parts! Or... former parts!"

"Former being the operative word," Chel smirked. "And from what I heard about your night with the Chief earlier, those new feminine 'sensibilities' were working just fine."

"That was different!" Tulio hissed, face burning. "That was... survival!"

"Well, consider tonight more surviving," Chel replied, her tone softening slightly. "Look, I get it. This body comes with a lot of... expectations. Why do you think I was so eager to trade up?" She gestured to herself—or rather, Tulio's former self. "Every feast, every ceremony, every time some noble got drunk enough to grab my ass or 'accidentally' brush against my tits, all while I smiled and danced and played along."

For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across Chel's borrowed features—a genuine bitterness that even the body-swap couldn't disguise.

"Y- yeah," Tulio said quietly. "That's tough."

Chel shrugged, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. "El Dorado sees what it wants to see. Which is why tonight is going to work out just fine."

"How exactly is getting impregnated by the Chief going to 'work out just fine'?!" Tulio demanded, earning concerned glances from the attendants, who she hoped for the sake of the plot didn't understand what she was saying.

"Because," Chel leaned in, lowering her voice, "you're NOT going to get pregnant. You're going to get the Chief absolutely hammered on the ceremonial wine, let him think he's planted his royal seed, and then sleep it off while we plan our next move."

"And what exactly is our next move?" Tulio asked suspiciously.

"Getting out of El Dorado, obviously. With a boat full of gold."

"And switching our bodies back," Tulio insisted.

Something flickered across Chel's face—or rather, across Tulio's stolen face. "Of course. The Mirror of Xibalba. Full moon cycle. Just like I promised."

"Speaking of," Tulio climbed from the bath, water sluicing off her borrowed curves as attendants rushed forward with plush drying cloths. "What happens if I CANNOT EMPHASIZE THIS ENOUGH end up pregnant in your body? Will that make the swap... impossible?"

Chel's hesitation was brief but noticeable. "I... don't know for sure. The legends aren't specific about that part."

"Great. Fantastic. Brilliant." Tulio allowed himself to be wrapped in soft linen. "So not only am I at risk of being permanently trapped as a woman, I might also end up carrying the next ruler of El Dorado. Just... perfect."

"That's why you need to master the thigh trick," Chel said pragmatically.

Tulio paused mid-toweling. "The thigh trick?"

Chel made an obscene gesture that caused Miguel to choke on air. "Let him fuck you at first to seal the deal, but when he's drunk and getting close, shift just enough that he's rutting between your thighs instead of inside you. Clench those thick legs together like they're a pussy. He'll be too far gone to know the difference."

"That's..." Miguel looked torn between horror and admiration. "That's diabolical."

"That's survival," Chel corrected. "And it works. Like eighty-five percent of the time."

"Eighty-five?!" Tulio's voice hit a pitch only dogs could hear.

"Relax! The Chief will be absolutely plastered by the time you get to the bedroom."

"Why does that not reassure me?"

"Because you're being a pessimist," Chel said briskly. "Now come on, get your gorgeous ass out of that water. We've got a feast to prepare for, and these ladies need to transform you into the most fuckable divine vessel El Dorado has ever seen."

As if on cue, a group of women appeared bearing what looked like wisps of gold-embroidered fabric and pots of shimmering paint. Their expressions ranged from reverent to envious to openly curious as they surrounded Tulio.

"Oh no," she protested, backing up. "That is NOT clothing. That is... that is a sneeze away from..."

"That," Chel corrected, "is the traditional attire of the Divine Vessel during the Conjunction ceremony. Specifically designed to showcase your fertility."

The garments—if they could be called that—consisted of a strapless bandeau that was designed to push Tulio's already generous breasts into even more prominence, creating a pillowy expanse of cleavage framed by gold-dusted skin. The bottom was even more scandalous—a tiny loincloth that dipped low in front, the fabric so thin it left nothing to the imagination, adorned with beads and tiny golden bells that chimed with every movement.

"We're meant to hear the gods' approval," one attendant explained earnestly as she fastened the jangling bells at Tulio's hips. "When the Chief fills you with his blessing, the music of your joining will please the heavens."

"Th-that's..."

"Thoughtful?" Miguel suggested, earning a glare from Tulio that could have curdled milk.

The outfit was completed with a sheer golden wrap that draped over one shoulder, providing the illusion of modesty while actually drawing more attention to what it pretended to conceal. Gold dust was brushed across Tulio's décolletage and shoulders, while her hair was styled into an elaborate cascade of curls adorned with tiny golden flowers.

When the attendants stepped back, Tulio caught her reflection in a polished silver mirror—and barely recognized herself. The woman staring back was a fertility goddess made flesh—lush curves accentuated by the strategic placement of gold and fabric, skin glowing with honeyed warmth, hips made even more prominent by the placement of delicate chains and tinkling bells.

"Holy..." Miguel breathed, staring openly.

"Stunning," Chel agreed, looking smug. "I knew I had a great body, but damn, you're working it."

"I look like a... a..."

"Like a woman about to get very thoroughly fucked by a very enthusiastic Chief?" Chel supplied helpfully. "Because that's the general idea."

"I can't go out like this!" Tulio protested, her hands flying to cover her exposed midriff. "Everyone will see... everything!"

"Yeah, that's the point," Chel examined her nails casually. "The whole city knows what's happening tonight. This is just... advertising the main event."

"Advertising?"

"Fertility symbol. Divine vessel. Future mother of El Dorado's next ruler," Chel explained patiently. "People need to SEE the gods have blessed you with... everything necessary for the job."

"This is a nightmare..." Tulio whispered.

"This is politics," Chel corrected. "And right now, you're at the center of a power struggle between Tzekel-Kan and the Chief. The priest tried to kill you to expose us as frauds. He failed. Now the Chief sees your survival as proof of divine favor. If you reject him tonight, Tzekel-Kan will use it to prove you're not what you claim to be."

"She's right," Miguel admitted reluctantly. "We need the Chief on our side. Especially with Tzekel-Kan gunning for us."

"So I just... what? Let him do whatever he wants to me? Again?!" Tulio's voice rose in panic.

"No," Chel said firmly. "You follow the plan. Get him drunk. Use the thigh trick. Make him think he's planted the divine seed, and by the time he realizes you're not knocked up, we'll be long gone with more gold than we can carry."

Tulio took a shaky breath, looking down at her borrowed body draped in gold and gauzy fabric. The bells at her hips jingled mockingly.

"Fine," she said finally. "But I want it on record that I hate every single part of this plan."

"Noted," Chel grinned. "Now let's go give El Dorado the show they're expecting."

---

The feast that awaited them made all previous celebrations look like tavern meals. The great plaza had been transformed into a wonderland of flowers and torchlight, with tables groaning under the weight of exotic dishes and golden goblets. The entire city had turned out, their finest clothes a riot of color against the ancient stones.

But it was the offerings that truly took Tulio's breath away. Gold—mountains of it, piled high before the raised dais where Miguel and Chel were already lounging like particularly self-satisfied cats. Golden statues taller than a man, delicate filigree work that must have taken lifetimes to create, jewelry and platters and artifacts beyond imagining.

"Look at all this GOLD," Miguel crowed as Tulio approached, his hands already adorned with several new rings. "They just... GAVE it to us!"

"Divine tribute," Chel explained smugly from her cushioned throne. "The more evidence of your 'miracle,' the more they give to appease the gods."

Tulio opened her mouth to respond, but the words died in her throat as a massive hand settled possessively on her lower back. She turned to find the Chief standing beside her, resplendent in ceremonial robes, his broad face alight with pride.

"My vessel," he murmured, his hand sliding lower to cup the curve of her ass in a gesture that would have earned anyone else a swift kick to the groin. "You honor me with your divine presence."

"Oh! Um, yes. Very... very honoring. All around." Tulio tried not to flinch as those thick fingers squeezed appreciatively.

"When I heard of your trials in the underworld," the Chief continued, guiding her toward the dais with that hand still firmly attached to her posterior, "my heart nearly stopped. To think Tzekel-Kan would subject you to such dangers!" His grip tightened possessively. "He has forgotten his place."

Indeed, the high priest was conspicuously absent from his usual position of honor. Instead, he lurked at the edge of the celebration, his skull-painted face unreadable as he watched their procession.

"Yes! Terrible!" Tulio chirped, hyper-aware of how each step caused the bells at her hips to chime suggestively, drawing every eye to the sway of her curves.

"But you prevailed," the Chief continued, his voice dropping to a rumble that she felt more than heard. "Proving beyond doubt that you are blessed by the gods themselves." His fingers traced idle patterns on the small of her back. "Blessed... and chosen for me."

Tulio swallowed hard as they reached the dais. The Chief guided her to a cushioned seat beside his own, his hand never leaving her body. As she sat, he leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear.

"Tonight," he murmured, "we create a miracle together."

The feast began in earnest, an explosion of music and dancing and food that seemed to overwhelm all senses at once. Tulio tried to focus on the plate before her, but found it impossible with the Chief's constant touches—a hand on her thigh, fingers playing with her hair, a thumb tracing circles on her bare shoulder.

Across the table, Miguel and Chel were reveling in their divine status. Miguel had a giggling attendant perched on each knee as he regaled them with increasingly improbable stories of the gods' adventures. Chel, meanwhile, was demonstrating exactly how thoroughly she'd embraced Tulio's male form, her arm draped around a lovely girl whose top seemed to have mysteriously disappeared.

"Drink," the Chief urged, pressing a golden goblet into Tulio's hands. "The sacred wine will prepare your body for our joining."

Tulio eyed the steaming liquid suspiciously, remembering Tzekel-Kan's drugged concoction. But the Chief took a deep swallow from his own identical cup, his eyes never leaving hers. Seemingly safe, then.

She sipped cautiously. Sweetness exploded across her tongue, followed by a warmth that spread through her chest and settled low in her belly. The taste was intoxicating—honey and spice and something deeper, earthier.

"Fertility wine," the Chief explained, watching with satisfaction as she drank. "Made from the rarest fruits of the jungle, fermented with sacred herbs." His hand returned to her thigh, higher this time. "It ensures a fruitful coupling."

"Delicious," Tulio managed, already feeling its effects warming her blood. She glanced at Chel, who mimed drinking deeply, then subtly pointed at the Chief's cup.

Right. The plan. Get him drunk. Thigh trick. No creampies.

She raised her goblet in a toast. "To... fertility?"

The Chief laughed, a booming sound that vibrated through his massive frame. "To new beginnings!" He drained his cup in one impressive swallow.

Tulio stealthily poured more wine into his freshly emptied goblet, letting her curtain of hair hide the movement. "New beginnings," she echoed, pretending to sip while mentally calculating how much alcohol it would take to incapacitate a man built like a small mountain.

The festivities grew more raucous as night deepened. Dancers whirled through the plaza, their movements increasingly abandoned as the wine flowed. Musicians played wildly, their rhythms infectious. The torchlight caught the gold dust on Tulio's skin, making her glow like a living flame.

Through it all, Tzekel-Kan lurked at the edges, his skeletal face rigid with barely contained fury. Occasionally his gaze would lock with Tulio's, and she would feel a chill despite the warm night. He was planning something. She was sure of it.

"Look at him," the Chief murmured, following her gaze. "Like a serpent waiting to strike."

"He tried to kill me," Tulio replied, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

The Chief's expression darkened. "I know." His hand closed possessively over hers.

As if on cue, Tzekel-Kan stepped forward, raising his arms for silence. The music died away, conversations trailing off as all eyes turned to the high priest.

"People of El Dorado," he intoned, his voice carrying across the hushed plaza. "We celebrate tonight a... miracle." The way he caressed that word made it sound like an accusation. "The vessel's survival of Xibalba's trials."

The crowd murmured approvingly. Tzekel-Kan's smile tightened.

"Yet I ask myself," he continued, "what kind of gods would subject their chosen vessel to such dangers?" His gaze slid to Miguel and Chel, who suddenly looked much more alert. "What divine purpose is served by sending a fragile mortal into the underworld?"

A ripple of uncertainty moved through the crowd. Tulio felt the Chief tense beside her.

"Perhaps," Tzekel-Kan's voice dropped to a theatrical whisper that somehow carried to every ear, "there is more to this 'miracle' than meets the eye."

"Do enlighten us, Tzekel-Kan," the Chief's voice cut through the growing murmurs. "What explanation do you offer for the vessel's triumphant return? What power but the gods' could have guided her through Xibalba?"

The priest faltered, clearly caught off-guard by the direct challenge. "I merely suggest—"

"You suggest doubt," the Chief rose to his full, impressive height. "You suggest questions where there should be faith. You suggest looking gift gods in the mouth!" He turned to address the crowd. "Has Tzekel-Kan not preached for years that the gods would one day walk among us? That their vessel would be chosen from our people? And now that his prophecies are fulfilled, he questions their divinity!"

The crowd's mood was shifting, confusion giving way to indignation as they considered this perspective. Tzekel-Kan sensed the change, his skeletal features tightening.

"I question nothing," he backpedaled. "I merely seek to understand the gods' will."

"Their will seems clear enough," the Chief gestured broadly at the piles of gold, the feast, the celebrating city. "They bring prosperity, joy, life! While you, Tzekel-Kan, have brought us only blood and fear."

The priest bristled visibly. "The Age of the Jaguar requires sacrifice!"

"The Age of the Jaguar is over," the Chief declared. He turned to Miguel and Chel, who were watching with increasingly delighted expressions. "If the gods permit?"

Miguel exchanged a quick look with Chel, then rose dramatically, striking a pose that managed to be both ridiculous and strangely impressive.

"The Chief speaks truth!" he proclaimed in his best divine voice. "Tzekel-Kan's vision of blood and sacrifice displeases us!" He fumbled for the right words, then seemed to find inspiration. "We're kinda over the whole jaguar thing. Very last century."

"Extremely passé," Chel added, lounging with exaggerated casualness in Tulio's stolen body.

"The priest has lost his way," Miguel continued, warming to his theme. "And frankly, his fashion sense! What's with the skull thing? So gloomy!"

A ripple of nervous laughter ran through the crowd. Tzekel-Kan's face contorted with rage.

"You dare to mock—"

"Oh, I dare!" Miguel interrupted, suddenly grabbing a lute from a nearby musician. "I am a god, after all."

He struck a dramatic chord, then began to play a jaunty tune that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"*Tzekel-Kan, oh Tzekel-Kan,*" he sang, his voice carrying across the plaza. "*The grumpiest priest in all the land!*"

The crowd gasped at his audacity, then began to laugh as Miguel leapt onto the table, his movements comically exaggerated.

"*He likes his altars stained with red,*" Miguel continued, his fingers flying across the strings. "*But we gods prefer GOLD instead!*"

He punctuated this with a spin that nearly sent him toppling into a platter of fruit, recovered with surprising grace, and continued:

"*Oh, Tzekel-Kan thinks he's so tough,*
*With skulls and bones and gory stuff!*
*But the Age of the Jaguar's now passé,*
*So pack your bags and go away!*"

As he launched into the chorus, Miguel began dancing across the tables, narrowly avoiding cups and plates with a series of increasingly dramatic leaps. The crowd was fully engaged now, some even starting to clap along.

"*Hey-ho, Tzekel-Kan, your time is through!*
*Hey-ho, Tzekel-Kan, we're done with you!*"

By the third verse, the entire plaza was singing along, their voices rising in a jubilant rejection of the priest's dark vision. Miguel was in his element, sliding on his knees across a table to deliver the final verse directly to Tzekel-Kan's livid face:

"*So farewell Tzekel, don't cry, don't frown,*
*It's time for you to leave our town!*
*The gods have spoken, the Chief agrees,*
*Stop pestering true deities!*"

He finished with a flourish, one arm raised triumphantly as the crowd roared their approval. Tzekel-Kan stood frozen, his face a mask of humiliation and fury.

The Chief stepped forward, his expression solemn despite the laughter still rippling through the crowd.

"The gods have spoken," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of final judgment. "Tzekel-Kan, you are banished from El Dorado. Your vision of blood and death has no place in our future."

"You cannot—" the priest began, but fell silent as armed guards stepped forward.

"I can. I do." The Chief's voice was implacable. "Leave now, with your dignity intact, or be removed by force. Your choice."

For a moment, it seemed Tzekel-Kan might explode with rage. His eyes swept the crowd, searching for supporters, but found only wary faces. Finally, with a hiss like an angry serpent, he drew himself up.

"This is not over," he promised, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "The true gods will return, and when they do, your blood will flow like rivers!"

With that melodramatic exit line, he turned and stalked from the plaza, the guards following at a respectful distance to ensure his departure.

A cheer erupted as he vanished from sight, the tension breaking like a summer storm. Music resumed, louder and more joyous than before. Miguel took an exaggerated bow, basking in the adulation.

"That was..." Tulio struggled to find words.

"Inspired," the Chief finished for her, satisfaction evident in his voice. "The gods have excellent timing." His hand returned to Tulio's lower back, sliding lower to cup her ass possessively. "Now, where were we?"

Before she could answer, the Chief's other hand rose to cup her face, turning it toward him. His eyes, warm with wine and desire, held hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"I have waited long enough," he murmured, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "It is time to create our future."

With surprising grace for a man his size, he stood and scooped Tulio into his arms in one fluid motion. Her borrowed body felt weightless against his massive chest, her breasts pressed against him, legs dangling over his arm in a way that made the bells at her hips chime suggestively.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, catcalls and suggestive comments flying from all directions. Women tossed flowers that caught in Tulio's hair, while men raised their cups in salutes that left little doubt about what they were celebrating.

"Behold!" the Chief called out, raising Tulio higher in his arms. "The vessel of the gods! The future of El Dorado!"

"Bless her womb!" someone shouted, causing a wave of laughter and enthusiastic agreement.

"Fill her with your seed!" called another, this time a woman whose voice was thick with wine and envy.

"Plant a strong son in that divine garden!" an elderly man urged, his cackle cutting through the general din.

Tulio felt her face burning as she was displayed like a prized conquest, the Chief's arms flexing beneath her, showing her off to the crowd. The gauzy fabric of her outfit had ridden up, exposing more of her thighs than she was comfortable with, while the bandeau strained against her considerable assets.

She caught sight of Miguel and Chel, both raising their cups in mock salutes, their expressions a maddening mixture of amusement and encouragement.

"Good luck!" Miguel called, his grin impossibly wide.

"Remember what I told you!" Chel added with a wink, then returned her attention to the half-naked attendant still perched on her lap.

Some friends they were.

The Chief carried her through the cheering crowd, her body shifting with each stride, breasts bouncing despite the tight bandeau, ass jiggling with each step. Hands reached out to touch her as they passed—women brushing her hair for luck, men's fingers grazing her exposed skin with barely disguised hunger.

By the time they reached the royal quarters, Tulio was a mess of conflicting emotions—embarrassment, fear, and a troubling undercurrent of arousal that she blamed entirely on the wine and her disloyal borrowed anatomy.

The Chief's chambers had been transformed for the occasion. Gone were the martial decorations of their previous encounter, replaced by a lush, almost garden-like setting. Fresh flowers covered every surface, their sweet scent mixing with burning copal. The massive bed was draped in silks dyed in rich earth tones, while strategically placed braziers cast a warm, golden glow over everything.

It looked less like a bedroom and more like a fertility temple—which, Tulio realized with growing alarm, was exactly the point.

The Chief set her down with surprising gentleness, his hands lingering at her waist. "Beautiful," he murmured, eyes traveling over her with open appreciation. "The gods chose well."

"Thank you," Tulio managed, acutely aware of how small she felt beside his massive frame. "It's very... um... romantic."

He laughed, the sound warm with genuine pleasure. "I am not always a warrior, Chel. Tonight, I am simply a man." His hand rose to cup her cheek again. "A man who would plant his seed in the most perfect vessel El Dorado has ever known."

Before she could respond to that particularly direct statement, a discreet cough from the doorway announced they weren't alone. A priest—not Tzekel-Kan, thankfully, but one of his acolytes—stood there with an expectant expression.

"My lord," he began, "I am here to observe the sacred coupling, as tradition demands."

The Chief's expression hardened. "No."

The priest blinked, clearly taken aback. "But the ritual requires—"

"The ritual requires that I place my seed in the chosen vessel," the Chief cut him off. "It does not require an audience."

"But how will we know if the gods—"

"The gods," the Chief interrupted again, his tone brooking no argument, "have chosen her. They have tested her in Xibalba itself. They require no further validation." His hand slid possessively around Tulio's waist. "Leave us."

The priest looked like he wanted to argue further, but a glance at the Chief's expression changed his mind. With a stiff bow, he backed out of the doorway.

"Ensure our privacy," the Chief called after him. "Anyone who disturbs us answers to me directly."

The massive doors closed with a decisive thunk, leaving them alone. Tulio swallowed hard, her heart racing as she realized the moment was finally here. Now it was just her, the Chief, and the plan that suddenly seemed far too flimsy for comfort.

"Wine?" she suggested, spotting a decanter by the bed. "To... to celebrate our union?"

The Chief's smile returned, indulgent and warm. "Excellent idea." He settled onto the edge of the massive bed, the frame creaking slightly under his weight.

Tulio moved to the decanter, grateful for a moment to collect herself. She poured two cups, making sure the Chief's was considerably fuller than her own. As she turned back to him, she tried to channel what she thought Chel would do in this situation—seductive, confident, in control.

She swayed her hips deliberately as she approached, feeling the bells at her waist chime with each movement. The Chief's eyes dropped to follow the sound, his gaze hot on the swell of her hips, the curve of her ass.

"For you," she offered the cup, trying to make her voice sultry instead of terrified. "To... new beginnings."

He took it with a nod of thanks, his fingers brushing hers in a way that sent an involuntary shiver up her spine. "To the future of El Dorado," he countered, taking a deep swallow.

Tulio pretended to sip her own wine, watching with satisfaction as he drained half his cup in one go. Good. Get him drunk. Very drunk.

"You know," the Chief said suddenly, his voice thoughtful as he set his cup aside, "I am not a fool, Chel."

Tulio nearly dropped her wine. "W-what do you mean?"

"Your gods. They are not gods at all, are they?" The Chief's voice was gentle, knowing, his eyes studying her with unexpected kindness.

Tulio felt the blood drain from her face. Her mouth opened, ready to spin another desperate lie, then closed again as she met his steady gaze. His expression held no anger, no betrayal—just patient understanding that somehow made deception impossible.

"They..." she began, then faltered. The Chief waited, his massive hand still enveloping hers, his thumb tracing slow circles on her palm. The gesture was oddly comforting, grounding her in the surreal moment.

A fragile trust hung between them. She could feel it, delicate as a spider's web but potentially just as strong if not broken. After everything—the near-death in Xibalba, the feast, the shared wine—continuing the charade seemed suddenly exhausting.

"No," she admitted finally, the word barely audible. "They're not gods."

The Chief nodded, as if she'd merely confirmed what he'd long suspected. "Men," he said simply. "Clever men, certainly. Unusual men, without doubt. But men nonetheless."

Tulio braced herself for anger, for accusations, for guards to be summoned. Instead, the Chief refilled their cups, handing hers back with the same respect as before.

"It doesn't matter," he continued, surprising her once more. "Not really." He patted the space beside him, inviting her to sit. "Come. Let us speak plainly for once."

On wooden legs, Tulio moved to sit beside him, the bed dipping under their combined weight. The Chief took another deep drink before continuing.

"I have ruled El Dorado for fifteen years," he said conversationally. "In that time, I have watched Tzekel-Kan's influence grow like a cancer. His vision of the 'Age of the Jaguar'—an age of blood sacrifice and cruelty." He shook his head. "That is not the El Dorado I wish to build."

"What... what kind of El Dorado do you wish to build?" Tulio asked, genuinely curious despite the bizarre circumstances.

The Chief's expression softened. "One where our children grow strong and free. Where our gold serves our people, not distant gods who never answer our prayers. Where we build, create, explore." His hand found hers, engulfing it completely. "A golden age, not of blood, but of prosperity."

Tulio found herself oddly moved by the sincerity in his voice. "That sounds... beautiful."

"It can be," he agreed, squeezing her hand gently. "With the right foundation." His gaze traveled over her again, lingering on the curves barely contained by her ceremonial attire. "With the right woman to help me guide our people."

A massive hand settled on her thigh, warm and heavy.

"I know you planned to leave with them," he said softly. "With your 'gods.' But I am asking you to stay. To rule at my side. To be the mother not just of my children, but of a new El Dorado."

Tulio's mind raced. This was not at all how she had expected this conversation to go. "I... I don't know what to say."

"Say yes," he urged, his hand sliding higher on her thigh, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. "Stay. Be my queen."

Tulio looked out the window at the lights of the city spread below, the sounds of celebration still drifting up from the plaza where Miguel and Chel were no doubt continuing to enjoy themselves at her expense.

"Where are they really from?" the Chief asked, following her gaze. "These men who call themselves gods?"

"A place called Spain," Tulio answered without thinking. "Across the great eastern sea."

The Chief nodded thoughtfully. "And what is this Spain like? Do they have cities like El Dorado?"

Grateful for the momentary distraction, Tulio found herself describing her homeland—the crowded, filthy streets of Seville, the overwhelming power of the Church, the strange customs that suddenly seemed bizarre when explained to someone from a completely different world.

"You mean they believe there is only ONE god?" the Chief asked, incredulous. "What a limited imagination!"

"And they execute people for suggesting otherwise," Tulio added.

The Chief's laughter boomed through the chamber. "How primitive! And you say they douse themselves in scented water instead of bathing properly?!"

"Every day!" Tulio confirmed, trying not to notice how his massive hand had inched further up her thigh during her description of European hygiene habits. "And they think bathing causes illness!"

"Savages," he chuckled, draining his cup again.

Tulio quickly refilled it, pleased to note a slight glassiness in his eyes. The wine was working. Another cup or two and he'd be drunk enough for the thigh trick to work. All she had to do was keep him talking and drinking.

But the Chief had other ideas.

His cup clattered to the floor as he seized Tulio with predatory intent, meaty fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips. "No more talk," he growled, his voice a rumbling bass that vibrated through her bones. "Let me show you why El Dorado's women fight for my attention."

Without warning, his massive palm *SLAPPED* against her right ass cheek, the impact sending ripples through the plush meat. Tulio yelped, her fat tits bouncing from the sudden movement.

"Fuck!" she gasped, the crude word slipping out before she could stop it.

The Chief grinned wolishly. "Such a filthy mouth on such a divine vessel." His hand squeezed the reddening flesh he'd just struck. "I'm going to fill that mouth later, but first..."

His fingers found the edge of her flimsy bandeau and *RIPPED*, the delicate fabric tearing away like tissue. Tulio's massive udders spilled free, jiggling obscenely in the torchlight, her nipples instantly hardening in the cool night air.

"LOOK at these fucking milkers," the Chief growled appreciatively, his huge hands barely containing the wobbling flesh as he roughly kneaded them. "Fat fucking cow tits, perfect for feeding the brats I'm going to pump into you."

Tulio's face burned with humiliation, but a treacherous heat was blooming between her legs. The Chief pinched her nipples HARD, twisting the sensitive nubs until she squealed.

"You like that, slut?" he rumbled, clearly noticing the way her thighs clenched together. "Your tits are more sensitive than last time. Already preparing for motherhood."

He shoved her backwards onto the bed, the impact making her breasts bounce and slap against each other. Tulio felt utterly powerless, her borrowed body sprawled beneath his looming bulk, golden bells jingling mockingly at her hips.

"These," he growled, hooking thick fingers into her loincloth, "won't be necessary."

With a vicious YANK, he tore the fabric clean off, exposing her most intimate place to his hungry gaze. Tulio instinctively tried to close her legs, but the Chief's massive hands caught her thick thighs, forcing them wide with humiliating ease.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he observed, one finger tracing her slit, collecting the embarrassing evidence of her body's betrayal. "Your cunt's already drooling for my seed."

He held up his finger, glistening with her juices. "Taste yourself, vessel. Taste how ready you are to be bred."

Before she could protest, he shoved the digit past her plump lips, forcing her to suckle her own tangy essence from his skin. Tulio whimpered around his finger, eyes wide with shock at the degradation.

"That's it," he coaxed, his other hand roughly spreading her pussy lips, exposing her pink, twitching hole to the cool air. "Get my finger nice and wet. You'll need all the spit you can make for what's coming."

He withdrew his finger with a lewd *POP*, leaving a trail of saliva connecting it to her parted lips. Then, with deliberate slowness, he unwrapped his loincloth, revealing his monstrous cock.

"Holy FUCK," Tulio breathed, her eyes widening in genuine horror.

The Chief's member hung between his legs like some primordial battering ram, veiny and throbbing, the flared head already leaking a steady stream of pre-cum. It was even bigger than she remembered—as thick around as her wrist, with a prominent vein running along the underside that pulsed visibly with each beat of his heart. Below hung testicles like small melons, tight and full, visibly churning with potent seed.

"This," he announced proudly, wrapping a meaty fist around his shaft, "is going to reshape your fucking womb."

He climbed onto the bed, his weight making the frame creak ominously. Tulio was trapped beneath him, her plush thighs forced wider by his bulk, her fat ass sinking into the mattress. He loomed over her, a mountain of flesh intent on conquering her most intimate territory.

Without ceremony, he slapped his enormous cock down onto her belly, the heavy meat landing with an audible *THWACK* against her soft skin. The contrast was obscene—her dainty bronze form dwarfed by his throbbing manhood, which stretched from her mound nearly to her navel.

"Look at that," he rumbled, grinding the underside of his shaft against her belly, smearing pre-cum across her skin. "Barely fits on your stomach. Imagine how it's going to split this tight little pussy."

He lifted his hips slightly, letting his heavy balls rest directly on her mound, their weight shocking—like small cannonballs settling against her most sensitive area.

"Feel how fucking FULL they are," he growled, rolling his hips to make his scrotum drag across her clit. "Loaded with enough cum to knock you up ten times over. And it's ALL going inside you tonight."

Tulio's breath came in shallow pants, her mind clouded by wine and unwilling arousal. Each movement of his balls against her sensitive bud sent electric jolts through her nervous system. Her pussy clenched on nothing, shamefully empty and—gods help her—increasingly needy.

"P-please," she whimpered, not sure herself what she was begging for.

The Chief's grin turned predatory. "Listen to you," he mocked gently, sliding his cock lower until the massive head nestled between her pussy lips. "Already begging for it. Your body knows what it needs, even if you're fighting it."

He reached down, using two thick fingers to spread her labia obscenely wide, exposing her dripping entrance to his cock. "Look at this slutty hole," he rumbled. "Fucking *weeping* for dick. For *my* dick."

Tulio couldn't tear her eyes away from the grotesque scene—her plump pussy lips stretched around the bulbous head of his cock, which looked impossibly large against her smaller frame. Her entrance twitched and clenched, a fresh gush of wetness betraying her body's eagerness even as her mind reeled with panic.

"I'm going to breed you so fucking deep," the Chief promised, his voice dropping to a guttural growl. "Going to pump this little belly full of royal seed until it swells with my heir."

He began to press forward, the bloated head of his cock forcing her entrance to stretch wider, wider, impossibly wider. Tulio gasped, the pressure immense, her body struggling to accommodate his girth.

"FUCK!" she cried out as the flared crown finally popped past her entrance, her pussy lips stretched taut around the thick invader.

"That's it," the Chief encouraged, his massive hands gripping her wide hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Take it, breeding bitch. Take your fucking destiny."

Tulio's back arched off the bed, her fat tits bouncing wildly as the Chief fed another inch of his massive cock into her straining hole. Her inner walls clenched desperately around the intrusion, trying to adjust to the overwhelming fullness.

"So fucking tight," he hissed, sweat beading on his brow from the effort of restraint. "Your greedy cunt is strangling my dick."

He withdrew slightly, then pushed forward again, forcing another inch inside. Tulio wailed, her hands flying to his massive forearms, nails digging into the flesh as she was split open on his battering ram.

"Please! It's—it's too big!" she gasped, her eyes rolling back as he continued his relentless advance.

"No such thing," the Chief growled, his hips jerking forward to shove another thick inch inside. "This hole was MADE for breeding. And tonight—" *THRUST* "—I'm going to fucking—" *THRUST* "—FLOOD it with cum!"

With each word, he drove deeper, his cock reshaping her inner passage, claiming territory no man had touched before. Tulio's thighs trembled uncontrollably, her toes curling as overwhelming sensation flooded her system.

He was only halfway in when he hit her cervix, the sensitive barrier sending a jolt of pain-pleasure so intense that Tulio's vision briefly whited out. A strangled scream tore from her throat, her body jerking beneath his massive bulk.

"Found it," the Chief grinned triumphantly. "The gate to your womb. The entrance to your fertility." He ground his hips in slow circles, his cockhead battering against that tender spot. "I'm going to breach this tight little door and paint your baby-maker white."

Tulio could barely process his words through the overwhelming fullness. Her cunt stretched obscenely around his shaft, her slick juices making lewd squelching noises with each minute adjustment. The cool night breeze from the window felt like ice against her overheated skin, her body trapped between freezing air and the furnace-hot intrusion splitting her in two.

"Look at how your pussy's gripping me," the Chief murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Like a fucking vise. Like it never wants to let go."

He withdrew until just the head remained lodged inside, giving Tulio a moment of desperately needed relief. But before she could adjust, he SLAMMED forward, forcing his way past her cervix in one brutal thrust.

Tulio SCREAMED, her world exploding into stars as the massive cockhead punched into her womb, claiming her most sacred space. Her legs kicked uselessly in the air, toes pointing, back arched in a perfect bow.

"THERE it is," the Chief groaned triumphantly, fully hilted at last, his heavy balls slapping against her ass. "Balls-deep in divine pussy. Cock kissing your fucking womb."

He paused, letting her feel every throbbing inch, every pulsing vein. Tulio gasped for breath, her mind struggling to process the sensation of being so completely, utterly FILLED. She could swear she felt him in her throat, so deep was the invasion.

"Now," he growled, slowly withdrawing, the drag of his massive cock against her sensitive walls making her whimper pathetically, "I'm going to fuck a baby into you."

The Chief pulled back until just the flared head remained caught in her entrance, her pussy lips stretched obscenely around the throbbing crown. Then, with a primal grunt, he SLAMMED forward, the brutal force lifting Tulio's ass clean off the bed.

*SLAP* His heavy balls smacked against her as he bottomed out, the impact sending shock waves through her soft flesh.

"FUCKKKKK!" Tulio wailed, eyes rolling back as that massive rod impaled her completely.

The Chief didn't wait for her to adjust. He immediately established a ruthless rhythm, his hips pistoning with mechanical precision, each thrust bottoming out against her cervix with a meaty *THWACK*.

*CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP* The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the chamber, punctuated by the squelching *SCHLORP* *SCHLORP* of her sopping pussy being churned into froth around his invading shaft.

"Listen to that," the Chief rumbled, his massive hands squeezing her tits like ripe fruit. "Your slutty cunt is singing for me. Making music with my cock."

Tulio could barely form coherent thoughts. Each hammering thrust scattered her mind like leaves in a hurricane. Her fat tits bounced violently with each impact, slapping against each other, then her chin, her nipples so sensitive that even the air rushing past them felt like electric shocks.

"Hnngh! Guuh! AAH-AH-AHHH!" Incoherent noises spilled from her lips, her voice pitching higher with each brutal penetration.

The Chief leaned down, his massive bulk completely covering her smaller frame, making her feel utterly possessed, completely vulnerable. His beard scratched against her neck as he growled into her ear:

"Forget those so-called gods," he rumbled, punctuating each word with a savage thrust. "Forget Spain. This—" *THRUST* "—is where—" *THRUST* "—you fucking—" *THRUST* "—BELONG!"

The new angle allowed his cock to batter directly against a spot inside Tulio that sent white-hot lightning coursing through her nervous system. Her thighs began to quiver uncontrollably, inner walls clamping down on his invading shaft with mounting desperation.

"N-no, I can't—" Tulio gasped, recognizing the building pressure, that same telltale tightening she'd felt during their first encounter, but stronger, deeper, more consuming. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna—HNNNNGAAAHHH!"

The orgasm crashed through her without warning, a tidal wave of sensation that obliterated all thought. Her back arched off the bed, eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream as her cunt convulsed wildly around the Chief's still-pistoning cock.

"That's it," he encouraged, not slowing his relentless pace. "Cream all over my fucking dick. Let your body show you what it really wants."

The pressure inside her built impossibly higher until something seemed to snap. Suddenly Tulio was GUSHING around his shaft, female ejaculate spraying from around his cock in obscene arcs, soaking the sheets, their thighs, even splattering against the Chief's barrel chest.

*SPLRRRRT* The sound was unmistakable and utterly mortifying.

"HOLY FUCK!" Tulio shrieked, her voice barely recognizable even to herself, high and feminine and desperate.

The Chief's eyes widened in delighted surprise. "The gods blessed you well," he growled appreciatively, slowing his thrusts to feel her pussy spasming around him. "A proper squirter. Your womb is BEGGING for my seed."

Tulio's vision swam, her identity feeling increasingly distant. Who was Tulio? Some faint memory, a dream perhaps? All that existed now was this body, this moment, this overwhelming FULLNESS as the Chief's cock rearranged her insides.

"I-I can't... please..." she babbled, not even sure what she was asking for.

"You can and you will," the Chief growled, resuming his brutal pace. He hooked his arms under her knees, pushing them back toward her shoulders, folding her in half. "Now I'm going to make you cum again. Prove to you what your body was made for."

The new position allowed him impossibly deeper access, his cockhead battering directly against her womb with each savage thrust. The wet *SQUELCH* *SQUELCH* of her drenched pussy grew louder, more obscene, her inner muscles gripping him like a desperate fist.

"N-no, I c-can't again, it's t-too muchhhhNNGGHH!" Tulio's protest dissolved into a gasping keen as the Chief's thumb found her swollen clit, rubbing harsh circles on the sensitive nub while he continued jackhammering into her folded form.

"You're not leaving with them," he grunted, his massive hips smacking against the underside of her thighs with brutal force. "You're staying here—" *THRUST* "—taking my cock—" *THRUST* "—bearing my children—" *THRUST* "—FOREVER!"

The dual stimulation of his cock battering her womb and his thumb assaulting her clit was too much. A second, more violent orgasm built within Tulio's core, a writhing ball of pressure that expanded outward until her entire body felt like a single, throbbing nerve.

"Guh! Hnnngh! Fu-fu-FUCKKKKK!" she wailed, her voice spiraling up in pitch until it cracked.

"THAT'S IT!" the Chief roared triumphantly as her back arched, pussy clamping down on his invading shaft with vice-like force. "SQUIRT FOR ME AGAIN, VESSEL!"

The orgasm detonated like a bomb, more violent than the first, obliterating any remaining sense of self. Tulio's entire body convulsed as a second, more powerful gush of fluid erupted from around the Chief's pumping cock, spraying in an obscene fountain that splattered against his chest, his face, soaking the sheets beneath them.

*SPLOOOOORRRRCH* The sound was pornographic, animalistic, accompanied by Tulio's broken sobbing as pleasure tore through her like a hurricane.

In that moment of pure, mindless ecstasy, Tulio's former identity seemed like a distant memory, a story about someone else. All that existed was this body, these sensations, this primal connection between vessel and breeder.

"W-wha... happening to meeeee?" she slurred, dizzy with pleasure, her mind struggling to reassemble itself through the haze.

"You're becoming what you were always meant to be," the Chief growled, his pace becoming more erratic, more desperate. "My queen. My breeder. The mother of El Dorado's future!"

He released her legs, allowing them to wrap around his massive waist as he braced himself on his forearms, caging her completely beneath his bulk. The new position brought their faces close, his hot breath washing over her as he stared directly into her eyes.

"One more," he commanded, his voice rough with exertion and lust. "Give me one more and I'll fill you so fucking deep you'll taste it."

"N-no, I can't, please," Tulio begged, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, overwhelmed by sensation. "It's too much, I can't take anothOHHHHHHH!"

The Chief captured her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her protests as his hips pounded with renewed vigor. The bed frame creaked ominously beneath them, the headboard slamming against the stone wall with each brutal thrust.

*THWACK* *THWACK* *THWACK* The sound of his hips colliding with her soft thighs echoed through the chamber, accompanied by the wet *SQUELCH* *SCHLORP* *SQUELCH* of her flooded pussy taking his massive shaft.

Through the haze of overwhelming pleasure, a distant alarm bell rang in Tulio's mind. The thigh trick! She had to implement the thigh trick before it was too late!

But her body was betraying her, responding to the Chief's expert manipulation like an instrument to his skilled hands. A third orgasm was building deep in her core, more powerful than the previous two combined, a tsunami of pleasure that threatened to wash away any remaining resistance.

"F-fuck me," she heard herself babbling, the words spilling from her lips unbidden. "Fuck me fuck me FUCK ME!"

"That's it," the Chief growled, his thrusts becoming more savage, less controlled. "Let go. Show me who you really are."

The pressure built to unbearable heights, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around his pistoning shaft, squeezing, milking, begging for release.

The plan! Remember the plan! Tulio thought desperately through the fog of pleasure.

With the last shred of conscious control, she waited for the Chief to withdraw for another thrust. The moment his massive cock slid back, she twisted her hips just enough to make him slip out completely.

Before he could react, she clamped her thick thighs together, creating a slick channel between them for his cock to slide between. The new position still allowed his shaft to rub against her soaking pussy lips and swollen clit, maintaining the illusion while keeping his seed from finding its target.

"Don't stop!" she cried, hoping to distract him from the switch. "Please don't stop!"

The Chief grunted, seemingly not noticing the subtle change as he resumed thrusting between her squeezed thighs, his cock sliding through the slippery flesh, still stimulating her external folds and engorged clit.

But just as Tulio began to think the plan was working, the Chief's rhythm faltered. His eyes, previously half-closed with pleasure, snapped open, locking onto hers with dangerous intensity.

"Clever girl," he rumbled, his voice dropping to a terrifying register. "But not clever enough."

Before Tulio could respond, the Chief hooked his massive hands under her knees, forcing her legs up and wide apart, exposing her glistening pussy completely. With unerring accuracy, he lined his throbbing cockhead up with her entrance and SLAMMED forward with brutal force.

"NGYAAAAAAAHHHH!" Tulio screamed as he speared directly into her womb in one devastating thrust, the sudden fullness triggering her third orgasm like a lightning strike.

Her entire body convulsed, back arching off the bed, toes curling, eyes rolling back as the most violent climax yet tore through her system. A third fountain of girl-cum erupted around the Chief's buried cock, hosing his lower belly and thighs with her release.

*SPLURRRRRRRRRT* The sound was obscene, animal, accompanied by Tulio's broken wailing as pleasure obliterated all thought, all identity, all resistance.

"MINE!" the Chief roared, his massive cock swelling impossibly larger inside her. "FUCKING MINE!"

Tulio felt it then—the first warning sign of her absolute defeat. Deep inside, where his monstrous cockhead sealed perfectly against her cervix, she felt the subtle twitch of his urethra. A pulsation so small yet so catastrophic in its implications that time itself seemed to slow around them.

The Chief's hulking frame went rigid above her, his fat belly pressing her down into the mattress as his hips locked tight against her upturned ass. His balls—those heavy, seed-filled orbs—contracted visibly, drawing up tight against the base of his shaft, preparing to empty their potent cargo.

"No, wait—" Tulio gasped, a sudden clarity piercing through her pleasure-hazed mind. But it was too late. Far, far too late.

She felt it all with terrifying precision—his cockhead expanding within her, the microscopic opening at its tip dilating against her cervix, creating a perfect seal between his breeding tool and her fertile depths. A direct pipeline for his genetic material to flood her womb.

The first pulse traveled the length of his shaft like a visible wave, a rippling contraction that carried his essence from balls to tip in one unstoppable surge.

"UNNNNGGGHHHHHHHH!" The Chief's guttural roar vibrated through her very bones as the first rope erupted.

*SPLOOOOOOOOORT!*

The sound was obscene—wet, viscous, primal—as his first load blasted directly through her cervix, painting her womb white. The sensation was unlike anything Tulio had ever experienced—hot, invasive, horrifyingly intimate. Not just wetness, but PRESSURE as her most sacred space was forcibly flooded with thick, potent seed.

A memory flashed behind her eyes—winning at dice in a Spanish tavern, her male hands expertly manipulating the cubes—then *SPLURCH* it dissolved, drowned in sticky white as another pulse of semen jetted into her depths.

"I can feel it," she whimpered, eyes wide with shock. "Oh god, I can FEEL you cumming inside me!"

The Chief only grunted in response, his face twisted in primal satisfaction, hips grinding against her splayed thighs to ensure not a single drop escaped. His massive frame pinned her completely, her legs folded beside her head in the ultimate breeding position, leaving her utterly exposed, utterly vulnerable to his genetic assault.

Another memory—swinging from a ship's rigging, the wind in her short male hair—*SPLRRRRT* washed away by another thick rope of ball-sludge pumping into her conquered depths.

"Taking it all," the Chief growled against her ear, his voice strained as he continued emptying his massive nuts. "Every. Last. Fucking. Drop."

*GLORP* Another pulse, stronger than the last, the sound wet and glutinous as her womb continued filling with his sticky offering. Tulio could feel each individual spurt, each hot, heavy jet as it splashed against her innermost walls. Not thin or watery, but thick and clumpy, like warm pudding being poured into her very core.

Miguel's face flickered through her mind—her best friend, her partner, her constant companion—then *SPLURCH* his features blurred, obscured by another load of potent nut-paste flooding her egg tunnel.

"Breeding you," the Chief groaned, his cock flexing rhythmically inside her. "Seeding you. Making you MINE."

Each word was punctuated by another heavy pulse, another sticky deposit deep inside her clutching pussy. Tulio's mind fragmented further with each load, pieces of her former self dissolving in the potent genetic tide. Who was Tulio? Some distant shadow, fading with each throbbing delivery of the Chief's sludgy ball-batter.

*GLURK* *SPLORT* *SPLURCH*

The sounds were disgusting, humiliating—the wet, sticky noises of her womb being packed with virile seed. Her mind struggled to process the sheer vulnerability of the moment—her body splayed open, legs folded back, utterly powerless beneath the Chief's massive frame as he continued unleashing his genetic payload deep within her.

Time dissolved as the Chief's enormous balls emptied themselves. Pump after pump, spurt after spurt of thick reproductive material flooded her innermost sanctum. His heavy frame collapsed fully atop her, pinning her completely to the mattress as his hips made small, involuntary thrusts with each new pulse of seed.

"Mine," he mumbled against her neck, his voice slurred with satisfaction as his cock continued to twitch and spasm inside her. "All mine now."

Tulio lay beneath him in a daze, acutely aware of how their bodies fit together—his massive bulk covering her smaller frame completely, her soft curves molding to his hard angles, her spread thighs cradling his hips. There was something terrifyingly primal about it, something older than civilization itself.

Male and female. Conqueror and conquered. Breeder and bred.

The Chief made no move to withdraw, seemingly content to keep his softening cock buried inside her, plugging his seed deep where it belonged. His weight should have been crushing, yet somehow it felt... right. Protective. His massive body surrounding her, his breath hot against her neck, his heart thundering against her breast.

"Can feel it," he murmured drowsily, one meaty hand sliding to cup her ass possessively. "Feel you taking it all. Made for this."

And gods help her, in that moment, with her feminine body still humming with aftershocks of pleasure, Tulio could almost believe it. Made for this—for being filled, claimed, seeded. The heat of his massive load radiated through her lower belly, a warm, heavy fullness that spoke to something primitive and female in her borrowed brain.

This was what it meant to be a woman. To be the vessel. To receive a man's pleasure and carry the consequences within your very flesh.

Minutes stretched into eternity as they lay joined, both drifting in the hazy afterglow. The Chief's breathing deepened, his massive body relaxing further atop her smaller frame. His cock remained inside her, occasionally twitching as it softened, each small movement sending echoes of sensation through her oversensitive nerves.

Tulio's mind wandered to the inevitable. In nine months, would her—Chel's—belly swell with the evidence of this night? Would her breasts grow heavier, leak milk? Would she feel a life moving within her—half her, half him, yet entirely separate?

The concept was so alien, so fundamentally female, that her male mind could barely grasp it. Yet her female body seemed to understand perfectly, her inner walls still gently clenching around the Chief's softening member, coaxing every last drop from him.

When he finally shifted his weight and slid free of her body, the obscene sound was like a seal breaking. *GLORRRP*. Immediately, a thick flood of his seed oozed from her well-used entrance, pooling beneath her on the silken sheets. The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever experienced—warm, sticky, intimate in a way that transcended embarrassment.

"Beautiful," the Chief murmured drowsily, propping himself on one elbow to watch his essence leaking from her. His free hand moved to her inner thigh, fingers trailing through the viscous fluid before sliding up to her gaping entrance. "Look at you. Dripping with me."

Two thick fingers pushed some of the escaping seed back inside her, making Tulio gasp at the unexpected intrusion. The possessive gesture was humiliating yet strangely touching—his desire to keep his essence within her, to ensure its purpose.

"Stay like this," he commanded softly, arranging her legs higher than her hips, clearly intending to let gravity help his seed pool where it might find its target. "Let it work its magic."

Tulio complied, too exhausted and overwhelmed to resist. The Chief settled beside her, one massive arm draped across her waist, his hand splayed possessively over her lower belly. The weight was comforting, anchoring her to reality as her mind continued to reel.

"Do you feel it?" he asked, his voice thick with pride and satisfaction. "The beginning of something new?"

Tulio couldn't answer. What could she say? That she felt utterly transformed, not just by the magic of the Mirror, but by this act? That some fundamental part of her identity had shifted, cracked open like an egg to reveal something raw and new? That for the first time, she understood the power of femininity—not weakness, but a different kind of strength?

"Sleep," the Chief murmured, seeming to sense her tumultuous thoughts. "Your body knows what to do now."

And that was the terrifying truth, wasn't it? Her body did know. Even as her mind struggled with the implications, her feminine form was already busy with its ancient purpose. She imagined the microscopic drama playing out in her deepest recesses—millions of tiny swimmers seeking their prize, the ultimate biological union that would seal her fate in this form forever.

Four orgasms now. Only one more before the change became permanent. And that was assuming his potent seed hadn't already done its work, finding her egg, creating the life that would make any thought of returning to her former self moot.

For a horrifying moment, she considered the possibility—staying in El Dorado, becoming the Chief's queen, bearing his children, watching her former identity dissolve completely into this new role.

The strangest part was... it didn't seem entirely terrible. The thought brought a peculiar warmth, a strange rightness that terrified her even more than the breeding itself had.

The Chief's breathing deepened beside her, his massive hand still protectively covering her potentially fertilized womb. Tulio stared at the ceiling, feeling the sticky wetness between her thighs, the pleasant soreness of well-used muscles, the lingering fullness deep inside where his seed remained.

How easily a man spent himself, she thought drowsily. A few moments of pleasure, a few spurts of seed, and then sleep. While she... she would carry the consequences. In her body. For months. Perhaps forever.

The profound inequality of it struck her then—not with anger, but with a strange, resigned wonder. This was what it meant to be female. To be the vessel, the garden, the soil in which life took root. To transform a moment's pleasure into months of creation.

Dimly, through her haze of confused emotions and physical exhaustion, Tulio became aware of a commotion outside—raised voices, running feet, the distant sound of... thunder?

Then came the pounding on the chamber door, urgent and demanding.

"Go away!" the Chief growled without opening his eyes, his arm tightening around Tulio's waist. "I said we were not to be disturbed!"

"My lord!" came the panicked voice of a guard. "Forgive me, but it cannot wait! It's—"

"I don't care if the sky is falling!" the Chief roared, finally sitting up, his massive frame blocking the torchlight. "Leave us!"

"Please, my lord! Strangers have entered the city! Men on four-legged beasts, carrying weapons that spit fire and thunder! The exiled priest leads them—he claims they are the TRUE gods!"

The words cut through Tulio's post-coital haze like a knife. She sat up abruptly, seed gushing from her in a humiliating rush as she moved.

"Tzekel-Kan," she whispered, her blood running cold. "He's brought..."

The Chief turned to her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Brought what? Who are these strangers?"

From outside came a sound Tulio knew all too well—the crack of an arquebus firing, followed by screams.

"Cortez," she breathed, the name falling from her lips like a death sentence.