Simba x Kiara

The sun had barely touched the horizon, still clumsy in its ascent, when the savannah hummed under the whisper of morning breezes and the murmurs of the hunt.

Simba, already standing among the reddish shadows of the acacias, stretched his muscles with the elegance of a predator who knows every curve of the terrain. The dew still marked his mane with drops that shimmered like dying embers.

It was his custom to go out early, not just for food, but for the peace he found in the golden silence before the pride awoke.

But that morning, the calm did not last.

A sound—something dry, violent, like branches breaking under unnatural weight—shattered the harmony. A brief, piercing scream echoed in his chest, freezing his blood. It was not the cry of a gazelle. It was a young, female roar, between rage and panic.

Kiara.

Simba did not think. He did not measure his steps. He did not roar to alert. He ran. His strides were war beats. Each step split the earth as if he wanted to tear the world apart for what he was about to see. The breeze brought strange smells: it was not family, not prey, not play. It was blood and challenge.

He tore through the bushes like a gust. And there, where the grass bent under the struggle, he saw his daughter surrounded by three males.

They were not from the savannah.

They were darker, bonier. Ancient marks covered their flanks, scars with no history in the Kingdom. One had a torn ear, another a mane barely sprouting, and the third, the largest, kept Kiara cornered with an arrogant gesture, as if he already possessed her, as if the sun itself was not worth this moment of dominance.

Kiara defended herself, roaring with a fierceness born not from experience, but from youthful fire. There were marks on her paws, a scratch on her shoulder. One of the invaders tried to get too close. She scratched his snout, making him back away with a sharp growl.

And then, Simba roared.

A sound that split the air, that made even the trees seem to tremble. It was the roar of a father, of a king, of an ancient law that would not allow the violation of his territory or his lineage.

The three lions turned, tense, one stepping back, another baring his fangs, but the largest remained firm. His gaze was black, without respect. Without fear.

Simba advanced.

He said no word. He did not growl again. He just walked, letting the earth itself know that each of his steps was a sentence.

Kiara stepped aside, panting, her skin taut, blood staining her golden fur. Her eyes sought her father, not as salvation, but as an ally. She was still ready to fight, but he was going to end it.

“Who are you?” Simba spat, his voice grave like thunder over a dry plain.

“No one that matters to you,” replied the large one, without bowing his head.

“Then you are dead,” said Simba, and he lunged.

The clash was brutal. There were no warnings or power displays. Just flesh against flesh, claws seeking eyes, teeth seeking throat.

The foreign lion was strong, but he was not king. Simba struck him with the weight of history, with every battle written in his mane.

The ground was stained with blood when his fangs found the side. The enemy growled, struggled, managed to scratch the king’s thigh, but Simba knocked him down with a headbutt that shook the earth.

The other two tried to intervene. Kiara stood in their way.

She leaped onto one, digging her claws into his back. She screamed with rage, with protection, with pride. The lesser lion did not expect that fury, that royal descent. He stumbled. He fell. Simba already had the leader on the ground, a paw on his neck.

“Get out!” he bellowed. His voice was a knife. The foreigners hesitated, looking at their chief gasping in the dust. One fled. The other backed away, growling, trembling.

The king did not kill him. Not yet.

“Take your alpha. Tell your own that Simba’s Kingdom is not taken, not touched, and not looked at. Next time, you won’t walk away.”

The exiles fled, one of them limping. Simba watched them disappear into the bushes, his chest still roaring silently.

Then he turned to Kiara.

She staggered, her body marked but upright. Proud. Alive. Their eyes met and there were no words, only a silent pact between generations. She was his daughter. And she had fought like a queen.

Simba walked towards her, brushed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a moment. The sun was already rising stronger, bathing the savannah with a red light as a warning. Both remained silent and Simba sighed.

A moment later, Simba walked with the determination of a contained storm, each step leaving a deeper imprint than the last in the warm earth.

He carried Kiara in his jaws, not with brutality, but with the firm care of a father who still felt the adrenaline of combat vibrating in his marrow.

She did not complain. Her wounded side burned, but the heat that welled up from within was deeper, more confusing, something that did not come only from pain.

The fight had left her trembling. The air tasted of blood and sap burned by the sun. And Simba… he had been a golden-maned demon. Not a king. Something more ancient. Something purer.

His body had moved with a ferocity that did not belong to the peaceful kingdom of ordinary days. That… had made her marvel in its entirety.

When they reached Pride Rock, the sky was already dressed in orange hues. Simba gently placed Kiara in a shaded nook, the stone still warm from the day’s sun. He looked at her, his breath still ragged, his mane tangled, a stain of foreign blood on one of his front paws.

“Are you alright?” he growled, his voice lower than usual.

Kiara nodded at first, but the burning in her side made her gasp slightly. Her breath escaped through her slightly open mouth. Simba narrowed his eyes, attentive.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Here…” she murmured, turning slightly to show him the wound on her flank, superficial but red, vibrant, a mark still hot.

Simba approached, lowering his head, sniffing. He licked the area slowly, cleaning the blood, the rough touch of his tongue contrasting with the sudden softness of the gesture. She trembled, the muscles of her belly contracting. He did not notice.

“Do you know why those lions came?” he finally asked, lifting his gaze. There was no judgment in his voice, only a desire to understand.

Kiara hesitated. She swallowed. Her paws contracted slightly against her body, as if she could hide within herself. But the answer could not be disguised. The scent was there, clinging to her fur, between her hind legs, floating with every movement of her tail.

“I was… in heat,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I didn’t know it was so strong. I didn’t think they would sense it from so far away.”

Simba stood still.

Kiara looked at him. Her father’s face was backlit, his tangled mane obscuring his eyes, but she could see the glint of tension in his jaw, the flutter in his nostrils. It was as if an invisible thread had suddenly tightened between them, a new vibration in the air.

The silence stretched on.

And then, slowly, deliberately, Kiara turned a little more on the rock. The movement was minimal, like a leaf yielding to the wind. Her tail moved away from her wounded thigh. She exposed her vulva: swollen, wet, the vivid pink standing out against the golden hue of her fur. A gasp escaped her, involuntary. Shame burned her cheeks, but she couldn’t stop looking at Simba.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can’t help it.”

Simba did not speak.

Kiara breathed deeply, her chest rising and falling with a rhythm that did not belong to rest. The wound on her side was superficial, yes, but each pulse in her skin vibrated with a tension deeper than pain.

Simba, standing by her side, was a living statue. Since the battle, his presence had not diminished one bit. He was still that titan of muscles stained with dried blood, his mane tousled by the wind and fury.

He had defended his daughter like a furious god defending his altar, and now she looked at him with admiration bordering on the forbidden. The images of him lunging at the intruders, roaring like an embodied storm, did not leave her mind.

She still saw them: his body dominating the enemy alpha, his jaws open over the invader’s neck, his claws dug in like decrees. He was not just her father. He was the only male of the savannah. The only one.

“I’ve caused you trouble,” murmured Kiara, her voice muffled by the hot stone where she lay. Her tail moved restlessly, revealing more than it hid.

Simba turned his head towards her. His eyes were embers. Not fire, not anger. Something older. More intimate. As if he already knew what she was about to confess.

“My heat… they sensed it,” she said, and lowered her gaze. “It’s very noticeable, isn’t it?”

Simba nodded slowly, each word heavy like the echo of a judgment:

“If this continues… others will come. And not all will be cowards.”

His voice had an unmistakable tone. The concern was not for the kingdom. It was for her. For what those lions might try. For what could happen if he was not nearby.

Kiara clenched her paws, uncomfortable. Her crotch burned, wet, a wetness that had nothing to do with wounds. She opened her legs slightly, as if seeking air. She did not think about it. Her body acted.

And Simba noticed.

His snout approached. Calmly. With something deeper than desire. As if it were duty. As if, by protecting her from the outsiders, he had assumed another kind of responsibility.

“I can help you,” he said. His voice was low. Deep. An ancient drum resonating in a sealed cave.

“How?” gasped Kiara, her eyes wide as a full moon.

Simba did not answer with words.

His tongue slid between his daughter’s hind legs, rough, wide, warm. Kiara’s vulva throbbed, wet at the contact. The first lick left her motionless, as if a lightning bolt had split her in two. Her legs extended involuntarily, her breathing became erratic.

“D-dad…!”

Simba looked at her with the brutal calm of a king who did not ask for permission, only offered solutions.

“This will calm it,” he murmured against her wet skin. “If you want.”

Kiara was panting. She was red, trembling. Shame fought with instinct. But the pleasure… that had already won.

She nodded. Barely. But it was enough.

“What if Mom finds out…?” she whispered.

Simba did not let her finish.

He brushed his snout against hers, firm, warm. He sealed it with a silent kiss, without urgency. His tongue barely touched the corner of her mouth, and it was like a decree: don’t worry about that.

Kiara closed her eyes.

And she surrendered.

The wind blew gently, enough to ruffle Simba’s mane as he loomed over Kiara, not with violence, but with a tempered hunger.

Kiara looked at him with those wide, golden eyes, barely breathing, her flanks expanding with each inhalation. Her snout was slightly open, and she did not speak: she only waited. And Simba, with feline slowness, approached until their snouts brushed, barely a breeze between warm skins.

The first kiss was that—a brush. Delicate, almost shy. Their lips barely touched, as if hesitating, as if testing the ground before venturing beyond the threshold. Simba growled softly, a chest murmur, deep and mellow.

He kissed her again, now with more firmness, his snout tilted, his tongue barely peeking out to taste the corner of her mouth. Kiara gasped, and the sound broke as it came out, as if it were torn directly from her chest.

Simba’s tongue found her, warm and wet, and explored her with a slowness almost torturous. He licked inside her mouth, gathering every drop of her breath, swallowing her moans as if they were precious sap.

Kiara raised a paw to rest on his shoulder, trembling, while her father devoured her at his pace, a slow, wise rhythm, like one who knows the art of making a flower tremble without plucking it.

Then, without breaking the kiss, he pushed her gently. His front paws guided Kiara’s body to turn, without roughness, without urgency.

When she found herself on her back, with her spine exposed, Simba barely interrupted the contact of their mouths to lick her neck, from top to bottom, slow and warm, wetting her fur with long strokes of his tongue. And then he descended, going down her spine, to the base of her tail.

Kiara moaned with her face turned towards the stone, her ears flattened back, her body tense, expectant.

PAAF!

The first spank was measured, like a caress with hidden claws. The sharp sound resonated against the stone and flesh, and Kiara let out a short howl, not of pain, but of surprise mingled with pleasure. Her hips jerked. Her tail rose instinctively, revealing the beginning of her swelling, wet, marked by heat.

“That…” growled Simba, through his teeth, licking his lips. “Like that…”

The second spank was a little stronger. Simba raised his paw and brought it down right on the fleshy spot where the thigh meets the rump.

TAF!

The skin vibrated, the fur rustled. Kiara arched her body, moaning with a high-pitched tone, and her buttocks trembled in a spasm that made her instinctively rub her vulva against the void.

“Another… please…” she gasped, her voice broken, drenched in longing.

Simba granted it to her.

This time with a double strike—PAFF–PAF!—on both cheeks at once, leaving her skin sensitive, hot, trembling.

Kiara trembled all over, and her scent invaded him, denser than ever. Each of her exhales was hot vapor loaded with pheromones, opening the floodgates of something ancient in the king’s blood.

But he was not going to mount her.

Not yet.

He leaned over her again, placed his snout next to her ear, and kissed her again. Not on the mouth this time, but on the cheek, at the base of her neck, on every spot he knew would make her shiver.

Kiara gasped with each touch, her body yielding like hot clay under her father’s lips.

And when Simba kissed her on the mouth again, this time longer, deeper, it was a kiss that no longer contained modesty, restraint, or decency. His tongue surrounded her, licked her inside, trapped her.

He dominated her without violence, with pure experience, with slow, ceremonial desire.

Kiara melted under each lick, under each low growl he released as he tasted her, while he caressed her already reddened buttocks with his barely extended claws.

The heat between her legs was a river. It dripped. It wet the rock.

And still, the kisses did not stop.

“You smell… delicious,” whispered Simba, his tongue still hanging out, wet, as he separated from her just enough to speak.

She nodded, her breath a broken song.

“I desire you, Dad… always have…”

Simba had her trembling under his breath, Kiara’s body completely offered, her back curved in a perfect line of golden submission, her tail raised like a banner of heat, trembling, waiting.

The hot air clung to her body like an invisible tongue, but nothing burned more than her father’s attention, which descended with devastating slowness, his lips barely unstuck from her skin.

Each kiss was a wet signature on her pulsating flesh. First on the nape, where the fur was shorter, and the contact more electric.

Then down the spine, vertebra by vertebra, and with each kiss, Kiara exhaled a small moan, as if kissed from within. Simba also licked, long strokes, gathering her flavor in each section of her back, and the rough tongue drew involuntary spasms from his daughter.

When he reached the base of her back, Simba stopped. He observed her. The scent of her sex was an invisible leash that pulled his snout down, intoxicating, a sweet swamp from which he never wanted to leave.

Kiara was swollen, the lips of her vulva completely inflamed by the heat, glistening, barely parted, trembling. The juice of her desire already wet the stone, running down in thin threads that stuck to her thigh.

Simba approached. Very slowly. Without touching yet, just breathing, his snout millimeters from that open spring. Kiara gasped louder.

“Dad…” she whispered, trembling, her voice so broken it seemed she was about to cry. “Please…”

And then he did it.

He stuck out his tongue and placed it very, very softly on one of the outer folds. It was not a deep or hurried lick. It was a caress of saliva, a barely tip touch, like a wet petal crossing an exposed nerve.

“Nnnhhh… aaahhh…” Kiara arched violently, her legs trembling, her muscles contracting in pure reaction. It was too much sensitivity. Too slow. Too perfect.

Simba moaned softly, his voice trembling, savoring. He opened his mouth and exhaled directly onto her vulva, as one who blows on burning embers. She trembled again.

And with ferocious tenderness, he gently parted her lips with his tongue, inserting it between the folds with a dedication that seemed religious.

He caressed her with kisses. Not rough licks. Kisses. Wet, rhythmic, splashing every corner of her sex with animal adoration. His tongue moved between the inner folds, but did not rush to the clitoris.

Not yet.

He preferred to explore.

To trace circles around it, like a predator circling a precious prey before devouring it.

With one paw, Simba caressed her softly, massaging the edge of her rump, going up and down her inner thighs. Sometimes his claw grazed the entrance, barely a phantom scratch that made Kiara scream.

“Ahhh—hh! G-god… Dad… that… more…”

Her voice was trembling, broken, between moans that could barely be distinguished from her breath. She was soaked. And Simba licked her slowly, each stroke of the tongue a line of fire in her body.

At no time did he rush the pace. He savored it, as if he wanted to memorize his daughter’s taste from within. Every juice. Every tremor. Every shudder.

And suddenly, after minutes of caresses, kisses, and small lashes of the tongue on the edges, Simba focused. He parted her lips a little more and raised his tongue to the button hidden between the folds.

He caressed her there, first with the tip, as if awakening something asleep. Kiara screamed. It was a high-pitched, desperate cry, her body shaken as if by lightning.

“AHhh—hhHHAH! Y-YESSS—sssss…”

Simba held her tighter now, his paws surrounding her thighs while his tongue focused on the clitoris.

Small circles. Soft. Rhythmic. Each one wetter than the last, each one accompanied by a low growl that vibrated directly on her vulva.

And with each second, Kiara melted more. She wet her father’s face. She dripped. She opened up. The slow rhythm was a delicious torture.

Each kiss tore a new moan from her, each caress a spasm, each touch of the tongue a stronger beat in her gut.

“I’m going to… I-I’m going to…” she tried to say, but couldn’t. She just moaned, long, high-pitched, broken.

Simba did not stop. He didn’t even look up. He had his snout buried in his daughter’s sex, his jaws open, devouring her with savage tenderness. And he made her vibrate. Slow. Painfully slow. But deep. Until he made her explode.

It was thanks to the help of a gentle lick, on the surface, from the base to the tip of her outer lips. The rough texture of his tongue made Kiara convulse, as if the sky split over her back.

She moaned, a high-pitched, trembling sound, and her tail tilted even more, offering herself completely. The vulva pulsed, the folds opening like petals soaked in nectar, and Simba licked again.

This time slower.

Wetter.

Taking his tongue from below, barely slipping between the lips, as if caressing the most delicate fruit, parting the skin to see the center. Kiara moaned, her head down, her buttocks raised, her trembling breath escaping in rapid waves while her sex was adored by her father’s tongue.

Simba exhaled directly onto her clitoris, and he saw her tremble, shudder, her vulva fluttering with spasms.

Then, with a tenderness that starkly contrasted with the carnal scene, he brought his paw closer and began to caress the folds with his curved claw, with almost religious precision.

He grazed them, traced them, opened them slightly. And as he did, his tongue focused on the most sensitive part: the small, swollen, vibrant pink button.

He gave it a circular lick. Kiara screamed.

“Aaaahh—hh… da… daddy… I’m meltingooo…!” her voice was pure gasping, broken, her pelvis pushing against his snout as if she couldn’t contain herself.

Simba responded with another lick, this time firmer. Then another. And another. Rhythmic. Each one accompanied by soft caresses from his paw, parting her lips, pressing gently, opening her so all her nectar flowed without resistance.

He licked it. He drank it. He captured it with his tongue and swallowed it like water in the desert.

His tongue went in a little further, between the lips, barely inside, just to graze the wet, warm, pulsating interior. Kiara moaned with each beat, her body surrendered, her vulva already dripping in every direction.

“You’re so… so sweet…” Simba growled, without stopping licking. “Like poisoned fruit… mmmhh…”

Kiara let out a muffled moan, tightening her thighs for a moment, and then opening them more, her pelvis trembling.

“More… please… don’t stop…”

Simba smiled against her sex, and licked her again, now with more hunger, keeping the caresses, opening his daughter’s folds with brutal tenderness, like someone carefully opening the most beautiful wound to plunge into it with their whole body.

Simba’s tongue became more insistent, more daring, like a serpent of fire finding the secret cave and claiming it. He no longer contented himself with licking his daughter’s wet surface—no.

His lips opened over hers, covering them with hunger, with longing, and his soaked tongue slipped between the hot folds, precisely seeking every inner corner, every pulsating hiding spot.

Kiara shuddered beneath him, her paws slipping on the wet rock, her sex completely open, in trembling red bloom. Drops of her juice dripped from her lips to the ground with a slow, viscous rhythm, and Simba licked that spring as if it were the only source of water in the savannah.

With a deep growl, he opened his daughter’s lips even more with his paw, parting them with his padded fingers, leaving her vulva completely exposed, swollen, dripping.

The clitoris throbbed, pink and hard, and her entrance pulsed with urgency, opening and closing like a desperate mouth. And that’s where Simba plunged his tongue.

“HHnnrrgghhh…” he growled as he did, vibrating against her flesh.

Kiara screamed, not a clean scream but one broken by spasms, a sound that trembled with the same frequency as her pussy.

“A-AaaaAAHH! G-Gods! Daddy, daddy, daddy!” she whimpered, her back arched, her muscles taut like ropes about to snap.

Simba’s tongue plunged inside his daughter. Not a graze, not a tease at the tip. It entered. As deep as his tongue could reach.

And once inside, he stirred it. He moved it in slow circles at first, pulling out and pushing in with pressure, then faster, as if savoring every drop of thick juice that Kiara released without ceasing.

Her inner walls pulsed around that intruding tongue, trapping it, squeezing it, exuding more and more liquid. It was like licking an erupting volcano, the inside of a fruit that opened only for him.

Kiara was trembling, babbling things that made no sense, lost between moans and pleading screams.

Simba pulled his tongue out and thrust it back in, each time faster. Each deep lick was accompanied by a guttural growl, as if the taste of his daughter drove him madder.

His snout was soaked, the fur around his mouth already dripping, but he did not stop. He plunged deeper. Each time deeper. His nose pressed against the clitoris, rubbing it with each tongue thrust, making Kiara writhe.

“I’m comingooo!” she screamed, and her vulva exploded.

A hot, thick jet shot out, soaking Simba’s face. She screamed, moaned, thrashed as if her soul had been ripped out, while her pussy trembled in spasms, the nectar flowing in waves.

Simba did not stop. He drank. He licked her even more intensely, plunging his tongue into the torrent, swallowing, growling, biting her clitoris with his lips so that flavor would not escape.

Kiara lay like a sacrifice, her paws extended, her belly pulsating, and her vulva… god. Swollen, slightly parted, pulsing with the rhythmic agony of heat. She had been licked to her soul, opened with the tongue until her center burned, dripped, prayed. And yet, there was no satisfaction. Only a more voracious fire.

Simba rose on his hind legs, his chest covered in his daughter’s sweet nectar, his snout shining. His eyes were embers, his breath a hot threat. And his cock—it began to show.

First as a barely hidden hint among the fur, then with a slow, fleshy thrust that broke the silhouette, lengthening centimeter by centimeter like a serpent of flesh.

“Look at me, Kiara,” he growled, his voice raspy, through his teeth.

She turned her face, her cheeks drenched in sweat, her tongue out, her gaze clouded by the haze of desire.

And then he lowered his snout again, not to lick her entrance, not to taste her again, but to kiss her clitoris.

Yes, kiss.

His lips rested on the exposed little button, gently trapped it between them, sucked it with devastating tenderness. Kiara screamed. A wild, liquid sound that broke in her throat like a taut rope torn by pressure.

“HnnnaaAAAHHH! D-Daddy, aaaahhh!!—”

And while his mouth kissed, his front paw went up between her thighs.

Not a ferocious claw, but a tempered, firm paw that caressed with the soft part, enveloping her inner lips, parting them like wet leaves. Simba pressed his pad against the entrance. Barely. Just to rub.

Her clitoris was being sucked by hot, rough lips. Her pussy was being massaged by her father’s warm paw, making slow, delicious, torturous circles.

Sometimes the feline thumb slid over the opening, capturing the juice, spreading the heat. Sometimes it grazed her just at the entrance, making Kiara convulse with each touch.

And while he worked her like this, his cock kept growing.

It came out more, red and shiny, thick, veiny, with the tip already wet with his own nectar. An imposing, fleshy rod that throbbed to the rhythm of his heart and seemed to have a will of its own.

Each time Simba felt it grow, he growled deeper, as if his body dictated what his soul still wanted to deny.

Kiara couldn’t stop looking at it. It was… immense. A weapon of flesh ready to mark her from within. Her eyes went from her father’s lips, sucking her clitoris without pause, to the cock that rose like a totem of pure lust.

“You’re going to burst me,” she whispered, almost in tears. “You’re going to split me in two…”

Simba released the clitoris with a wet kiss. Plop.

“And yet you will open for me,” he murmured, hoarse, while he caressed her with more pressure, his paw now rubbing up and down, as if tempering the pussy for the final blow.

Kiara came again.

Without warning. Without control. A total, liquid spasm. The jet shot out between her legs, soaking Simba’s paw, which did not stop. On the contrary. He rubbed more. Pushed a little inside with the pad, making the entrance open, making the juices flow more, making the sex contract in an endless orgasm.

And his cock throbbed.

Now it pointed towards her. Red, hard, shiny. The pulsating tip dripping.

Simba licked his lips. He rubbed it against Kiara’s thigh without pushing it inside yet, just to paint her with his juice. Then he slid it down her lower back, leaving a hot line of pre-cum that shone in the dying sun.

“Do you want me to put it in, Kiara?”

“Yes…” she whispered, undone, soaked.

Kiara trembles beneath him. There is no modesty in her body, only desire: her back arched, her paws open, her tail raised like a flag of surrender.

Her lips part, wet, pleading, and the tip of her father’s phallus brushes against them. Just that. A caress that does not penetrate, but ignites.

Simba lowers his body onto hers, the weight controlled, but palpable. His fur merges with hers. His chest purrs, vibrating against Kiara’s spine, and his cock slides between her lips like a hot iron branded against living flesh.

Up… down… pushing against the clitoris with each back and forth, as if wanting to tattoo that pleasure spot with the shape of his glans.

She moans. Sharp. Trembling. And then he bites.

GRAAACCH.

His fangs sink with savage sweetness into his daughter’s neck, right where the skin is thinnest, most vulnerable. He does not break. He does not bleed. But he marks. Kiara arches, her pussy throbs, and the cock slides deeper between her lips, not penetrating her yet, just gathering her whole in a slow, wet, irresistible movement.

Kiara’s tail twitches. Her butt offers itself. And Simba receives it with a firm, broad paw, which rises and—PAAFF!

A spank.

She jerks. Screams. Her ass bounces and Simba growls, raises his paw again. SLAP. Again. One cheek. Then the other. And the echo is lost in the savannah like ancient drums.

“That’s how I like it…” he growls, panting, his voice tearing the air.

It is not an order. It is a confession.

While he kisses her with his teeth, Simba raises his snout to Kiara’s cheek. She feels him coming and turns her face, her eyes glassy, her mouth open.

And there, amid the smell of sex, the heat of punishment, the cock pulsing between the lips of her pussy, they kiss.

Tongues entwined.

Saliva shared.

He bites her between kisses, she sucks his tongue desperately, moaning in his mouth, and their hips rub against each other. The glans presses right against her entrance, but does not enter. It just pushes, round, wet, dripping more.

Kiara feels it throb. She feels it grow. Simba’s cock is a beast in itself: thick, veiny, red, and hot as the sun that now hides behind the horizon. It is harder than ever, thicker, and the slow friction leaves her on the edge.

The kiss does not end. He bites her, sucks her snout, plays with her tongue as if it were the clitoris of her mouth.

Every time he swallows it, she lets out a muffled moan. Every time he bites it, her pelvis pushes against his.

And below… his cock keeps descending.

Now it aligns. Now its wet tip presses against the entrance that already drips onto the rock. It does not enter yet, no. It just rests, like a promise. And his claws grip his daughter’s hips.

The moment froze. The wind died down. The sky seemed to hold its breath. Because Simba, at last, moved his hip forward… and the tip of his cock, thick, shiny, soaked with both of their desires, began to open Kiara’s entrance with a slow, constant pressure, impossible to deny.

He did not thrust suddenly. He did not take what was his with brutality. Not yet. He did it with an iron control, animal, almost cruel in its tenderness.

The round head of his phallus pressed against his daughter’s open lips, already inflamed, wet, throbbing. Kiara gasped as if she were being suffocated.

“Aaah… aaah, daddy…” she moaned, her voice broken, trembling, her tail twitching, her paws extended, her back completely arched.

Simba growled low, deep, reverberating from his chest to Kiara’s ribs. His claws barely dug into her hips, marking her, holding her open.

Kiara’s entrance opened around the glans with difficulty—not from lack of desire, but from the sheer enormity of what was entering.

The first centimeter made its way between the hot walls of her sex, which received it with wet spasms, embracing it as if they did not want to let it go.

Shhhlop.

The glans entered completely.

Kiara screamed.

“AaAAHHhnn! It… it burns! It… mmmhh—”

Simba did not stop. He lowered his snout and licked her ear, the base of her neck, whispering with burning breath:

“Relax, little one… open your legs more… you can do it… you want me inside…”

And she did. She stretched more. She offered herself.

Simba kept pushing. Slowly. Very slowly. His cock, enormous, throbbing, entered centimeter by centimeter, opening her canal like a hot wedge.

Kiara cried and moaned at the same time, her body resisting and surrendering in the same exhale. The inner walls opened for him, wet, hot, squeezing his flesh with an embrace that was pure fire.

Half of his cock was inside. Kiara panted out of control. Her flanks trembled. Her sex throbbed and dripped, mixing her nectar with his.

“Aaahh… it’s… it’s so… deep!” she screamed.

Simba growled louder and bit her neck again, this time firmer. Not to hurt. To dominate. To mark. To remind her that she was being mounted by her father, by her king. And while he held her like that, he pushed the rest.

Fffffshhrk.

His entire cock sank in. All the way to the hilt.

Kiara howled. The rock vibrated beneath them.

“AAAAAAHHH! YOU’RE TEARING ME APART!” she screamed, her body convulsing with violent spasms. Her pussy throbbed, clenching and releasing around the flesh that filled her like no other could.

Simba stayed inside, panting, licking her back. He felt her tremble, convulse around his cock as if her body were in shock.

He was completely inside. Buried to the base. His cock, hard and thick, throbbed against the neck of her womb, and her heat enveloped him like a wet furnace.

Then he began to move.

Slowly.

He pulled out just a little. Then he pushed back in. The friction was a moan made flesh. The sound was wet, dirty, glorious: shhlk… shhlk… shhlk….

Kiara gasped with each thrust, her pussy getting even wetter each time her father’s cock slid inside her with a long, firm, deep movement.

“Yes… like that… keep going… daddy… more…” she babbled, breathless.

Simba did not speed up. Not yet. He was not young, not clumsy, not a pup blinded by urgency. He was a consummate male, a king.

He knew what he could do to Kiara without rushing a single movement, without letting his cock become just a blind hammer.

No.

He was going to destroy her slowly.

From within. With every inch, with every low growl that formed in his chest and poured hot into the base of her neck as he impaled her, slowly, savoring every centimeter of her tight flesh.

Fuuuck—how she squeezed him. Every time he pulled out a little, he felt her pussy close in an involuntary spasm, as if her body itself did not want to let him go.

And when he pushed in again, he felt the walls open with a viscous, sticky moan, so wet that each thrust left an echo against the rock: shlk, shlk, shhhhlk…

He grabbed her neck again, with his teeth. This time harder. Kiara gasped with her tongue out, her body surrendered, submissive like never before, and he roared against her skin:

“You… are… mine.”

And with that word, he accelerated.

Not a frenzied rhythm. Not brutal. But firm. Constant. Punishing.

His hips began to move with a ferocious rhythm, each thrust deeper, more loaded. Simba’s cock opened her forcefully, Kiara’s wet flesh yielding with each entry as if it were soft clay, each thrust provoking a new scream. She no longer spoke. She sobbed. She screamed. She begged between moans. And her pussy… her pussy gushed without control.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Simba’s balls slapped against her clit with each movement. The contact made Kiara shudder, her body jerking beneath him like a leaf lashed by a storm.

“Agh… daddy! Daddy, daddy, daddy, you’re breaking me!” she whimpered. “M-more, don’t stop, harder, I want all of you!”

And Simba needed no more. He raised his paw again and stamped another spank on her, just as he thrust all the way in.

PAAF! SLAM!

Kiara screamed with a shattering orgasm, her pussy clenching like a wet fist around her father’s throbbing cock, expelling a wave of warm juices that splattered Simba’s paws, the rock, everything.

Her clit throbbed. Her insides sucked him in with savage force, wanting to squeeze out his very last drop.

The sound was wet, repulsive in its obscene beauty. The slapping of bodies against the rock burned more than the sun over the savannah.

Shhlk—shhlk—shhhRRK.

Simba’s cock entered with increasing force, each thrust a lash of flesh, each withdrawal a sigh torn from Kiara’s open throat. She was soaked, undone, her pussy throbbing like a heart about to burst, and yet… she endured.

He noticed. The strength with which she squeezed his flesh. The way her paws dug into the ground. How she did not cry. Did not ask him to stop.

Quite the opposite: she opened more.

She offered herself. And that ignited in Simba something beyond desire. It was tender fury. It was passion as brutality.

“Can you take it, little one?” he growled, his snout panting over her neck.

Kiara, with her tongue out and her body shining with sweat, nodded.

“Give it to me… all of it, daddy…” she whispered.

Then Simba truly took her.

He released her neck. Pulled back slightly. And without warning, he thrust into her violently.

SLAM!

SLAM!

SLAM!

His cock entered with a more brutal, deeper thrust, so fast that Kiara’s flesh quivered and splashed juice everywhere.

A moan that was more of a high-pitched shriek escaped her throat as she felt the first impact. It was not pain, it was excess. Her pussy swallowed him with convulsive spasms, and the pressure against her womb made her breath catch.

Simba leaned over her, his chest crushing her back, his claws scratching the stone floor on either side of her body. His hips became a brutal machine, rising and falling with a bestial rhythm.

His cock throbbed inside, rubbing against every nerve, every wet fold. He felt it there, in every corner of Kiara, as if her body had been created to be filled by him and nothing else.

She screamed his name. Or moaned. Or lost herself in broken babbles.

And Simba… did not stop.

SLAP! He gave her another spank.

SMACK! And another.

Kiara’s cheeks vibrated, her ass shiny from the blows, from the sweat, from the mix of fluids that gushed uncontrollably from her completely open pussy.

Then Simba lowered his head and kissed her again. But it was not a sweet kiss. It was savage. He trapped her snout, opened her mouth with his tongue, shoved it all the way in, licked her furiously.

Their saliva mixed, spat, sucked each other’s breath like starving animals. She moaned with her mouth inside his, her clit crushed by his pelvis with each thrust.

“You are mine. You are going to end up broken. You are going to walk dripping for days…”

Kiara cried with pleasure. Literally. Tears rolled down her face. But she did not say no. She did not ask for mercy. She asked for more.

“Yes, daddy, send it harder! More! Break meeeeAAHH!”

And he obeyed.

He changed the angle. Rose higher. Dug in his back paws. And then he started fucking her with a killer rhythm: TRRRAK! TRRAK! TRRAK!

Each thrust more brutal, faster. The tip of his cock had already passed the neck of her womb, pushing it with each thrust.

Kiara arched her back, let out a high-pitched shriek, her pussy contracted suddenly, and she came.

She came big.

A clear, warm jet shot out of her like a whip, splattering her father’s base, wetting his balls, the base of his cock, his belly.

Simba roared with pleasure as he felt her contract like that, felt her throb as if she were sucking him in, as if her pussy wanted to swallow him whole.

“That’s it… let it all out…” he growled, pushing it all the way in while his daughter came in wild spasms, squeezing him so tightly that he could barely move.

But he kept going.

His balls slapped against her clit.

His cock went in to the root.

His pelvis slammed against her ass with force.

SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

Kiara bit her tongue. Her body shook like a crazed doll from the pleasure, and her father simply mounted her like a beast.

He licked her neck while fucking her, his tongue tracing the drops of sweat that ran down her fur. Then he bit her. And again. He didn’t want to mark her just on the inside.

He wanted her to smell like him for weeks.

And then, with an instinctive force, he pushed her with one of his front paws and laid her on her back.

His cock slipped out suddenly, soaked, SHLP, leaving Kiara’s pussy open, dripping, convulsing in the void.

“Spread your legs,” he growled.

And she did so without hesitation, trembling, her eyes glassy. Her pussy throbbed like a flower trembling in the wind.

Simba decided to change her position, putting her on her back, and penetrated her again.

Kiara trembled with each thrust, because each thrust was a new form of delicious agony. Her paws instinctively rose and then fell limp onto the rock.

Her breasts heaved, shaken by the slow rhythm, each thrust pushing her back millimeters, her body too small to absorb so much without trembling.

Simba watched every gesture. Each spasm of his daughter was an offering. Each moan gave him power. And he didn’t take his eyes off her. His gaze burned, fixed on her, as if each time he entered her, his soul stuck more to the walls of her pussy.

“Breathe well…” he ordered.

Kiara raised her eyes. Tears at the edges, mouth open, panting. She had her tongue out. The expression of a female destroyed by pleasure.

He pushed deeper. Slowly.

She gasped, moaning silently, her mouth trembling.

Simba sank to the root, stopped for a second inside, and pulled out almost completely. He left only the glans inside, and then pushed again… slowly… long… snaking with his thick flesh through every centimeter of her throbbing pussy.

Shhlk… fshhlk… shhrk…

The sound was pure pornography. Wet flesh, kissing from within. Kiara couldn’t take it anymore. She arched. She writhed. Her clit was so swollen that every touch made her spasm. She tried to move her hips to speed up the rhythm, but Simba held her.

“Stay still…” he murmured, with a crooked smile. “You don’t decide when this ends.”

And then he started to torture her.

His pelvis began to move with soft undulations, the muscles of his hips controlling each millimeter of advance. He entered. He exited. Without hurry. Brushing against each sensitive spot on the inner walls of Kiara. But he did not speed up.

“Daddy…~!”

And Simba growled with pleasure.

“You’re going to come when I want you to…~”

Then he started to play with her clit.

While he fucked her slowly, he slipped a padded paw between her legs, and with his thumb pressed the swollen little button. He rubbed in soft circles. Kiara let out a high-pitched moan, her body tensing like a bow.

FROT. FROT. FROT.

Simba caressed her while his cock filled her. The tip of his phallus brushed against the neck of her womb with each slow thrust. And the clit was rubbed mercilessly. Kiara screamed. Her whole body convulsed. She was on the verge.

“I’m coming! Daddy, I’m coming!”

But just as she reached the edge… Simba stopped.

He pulled out completely. Her pussy closed in the void. Throbbing. Dripping.

Simba licked his snout. He kissed her hard, with tongue, biting her.

“Because you haven’t earned it yet.”

And he left her like that. Dripping. Vibrating. With nothing inside.

Then he lifted her with one paw and turned her again. Face down. Her ass raised. Her vulva open, wet, begging.

And without preamble, he entered her again.

SLAAAM!

Kiara screamed with a cry that scratched the clouds. Her body was no longer in control. Her muscles were surrendered.

Her pussy accepted him with a desperate spasm, swallowing him to the base. Simba roared above her, his balls slapping against her clit with each thrust.

The rhythm was a storm. The sound, a sacred drum that echoed in the heart of the savannah: SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

Simba’s hips slammed against Kiara’s as if he wanted to go through her, merge with her flesh, not just possess her, but disappear inside her, erase himself as an individual and become what she dripped with each spasm: pure desire.

Kiara could no longer speak. Her voice had broken minutes ago, her throat ravaged by dry gasps, choked moans, screams that were only vibrating air. Her whole body was a tremor.

Her paws slipped on the rock, her tail quivered, and her pussy… oh gods, her pussy was a liquid volcano, dripping, begging for more, even when she could no longer take it.

Simba, above her, panted like a demon. His chest heaved with fury. His tongue hung wet, drool falling onto his daughter’s trembling back.

His claws scratched her flanks with measured softness, and his balls slapped wetly against her clit with each thrust.

He knew he was close.

The heat accumulated in his base, rose through his throbbing cock, nestled right at the root like a thick, hot, wild storm.

Each thrust was a spark. Each moan from Kiara, gasoline. And when she moaned one last time, trembling, barely audible—“Fill me…”—something broke inside him.

The roar he let out shook the birds from the trees.

His entire body tensed.

And with a final, violent, total thrust, he sank to the root.

And he came.

NNNGGRRRAAHHHHHHHRRRRRHHH!

His cock throbbed inside her, swelling even more as it filled her. Kiara screamed, a dry cry, pure trembling. And then she felt it:

The first spurt.

Hot. Thick. Like lava.

It hit her inner walls with force, making her belly shake. Another. And another. Simba came long. The spurts of semen filled every corner, pushed the air out of the canal, until there was no more space than his white, hot cum, overflowing with each shake.

SPRRRT. SPURRRT. SSHHLK.

The mixture of fluids already dripped down her thighs.

And he kept pumping.

He marked her womb with spurts.

“All…” Simba growled, panting in her ear. “All inside…”

Kiara wasn’t speaking. She was screaming. Her entire body trembled as if a lightning bolt had been emptied into her insides.

Her paws stretched out, her pussy clenched tighter than ever, seeking to squeeze out every last drop. And Simba, still roaring, continued to thrust into her gently, the last movements like animal spasms, until he stopped coming.

They both remained like that.

Connected.

His cock inside, his semen overflowing.

Kiara’s body still convulsing in waves, her sex swallowing every last drop.

And the sun dying behind the rock, red like the lust that had consumed them.

Simba, still panting, slid to one side, pulling out with a wet shhllrp, his cock soaked, still hard, still vibrating. The white flow began to pour out of her in waves, running down her open lips, staining the rock with hot, milky streams.

Kiara was trembling.

And he did not leave her alone.

He took her with his body. He lay down beside her. He embraced her with a heavy paw. He pulled her to him, pressing her against his sweaty chest. Their noses brushed. She looked at him with half-closed eyes, still lost.

Simba kissed her.

A wet kiss. Slow. Long.

Not of lust.

Of belonging.

Of consummation.

Their tongues danced again, no longer like two hungry enemies, but like bodies that knew what they had shared was more than sex.

It was fusion.

“You did it perfectly…” he murmured between kisses, licking the edge of her snout.

“You too…” she panted weakly, with a smile.

And she was still dripping.

A warm stain that did not stop.

Kiara’s body was still trembling when Simba slid out of her, his cock pulling out with a heavy, wet sound, dragging with it a milky torrent that dripped from her still-throbbing pussy. The heat was still there, the intermittent spasms of the orgasm vibrating under her skin, but the carnal intensity began to dissolve… leaving something else behind.

Silence. Agitated breathing. A charged space.

Simba looked at the mess. The rock stained with fluids, his daughter’s legs open, shiny with semen and juices. Her chest rose and fell, her face still flushed, but now with a different expression. Serene. Vulnerable.

And he… he felt something more.

Not exactly guilt. But something similar. A deep pang in the center of his chest. As if within the roar that had consumed him, the voice of the father still remained.

He did not move away. But he sat beside her, his fur wet, his tongue passing over his own lips as if seeking to erase what was already enscribed on his soul.

“Kiara…” he murmured, his voice hoarse, almost broken. “I was… too rough.”

She turned her head slightly, her eyes heavy, bright, and held his gaze without fear.

“I’m not complaining, Dad.”

Simba lowered his head.

His mane fell like a shadow around him.

“Still… it was more than I planned. I let myself go. I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear.”

She did not respond immediately. She just looked at him. Her breathing began to calm. The trembling in her paws also. Slowly she sat up, carefully sitting on the still-warm rock, her tail wrapping around her hips, her thighs stained, shiny.

Then Simba spoke, without looking at her fully.

“And it wasn’t just the moment. It wasn’t just the heat. It wasn’t because you were wet and open and… ready.”

His voice broke a little.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time. To feel your body. To have you close, not as a daughter… but as a female.”

The silence grew thick.

Simba looked up. He expected fear. Or judgment. Or rage.

What he found was tenderness.

Kiara approached him without a word, turned her face, and kissed his cheek. A simple kiss. Slow. Soft. Her nose brushing his mane. Her lips barely wet against her father’s skin. A gesture that asked for no permission. That questioned nothing.

Simba closed his eyes, his breath suspended.

And he returned the kiss. Not on the mouth, not yet. He rested his snout on her temple, slid it to her ear, and kissed her with his nose, with his lips, as if that spot—so close to thought, so close to the soul—was the exact place where his affection should be received.

She rested her head on his chest. Simba wrapped his paw around her, protecting her.

“You didn’t hurt me,” whispered Kiara, without moving. “You made me feel alive.”

The sun had set completely. The night covered the savannah like a warm velvet cloak. In the distance, the hooting of some nocturnal bird, the light steps of antelopes and jackals could be heard. But there, atop the Rock, the world was only for them.

“I didn’t want to hide it for so long,” said Simba, lowering his snout to gently lick her neck. “Sometimes I would look at you and… it would hurt. I wanted to come closer, to say it. To touch. To know if you…”

“I felt it too,” interrupted Kiara, looking at him. “For a long time. I thought it was wrong. That it was me, that it was the heat… but no.”

She lowered her gaze, and her cheeks flushed again, not from shame, but from intensity.

“I wanted you to look at me the way you looked at me today.”

Simba swallowed. He caressed her cheek with his curved paw, very gently.

Kiara lay on her side, her body still damp, her back exposed, her leg raised lazily to reveal between her thighs that vulva still open, still wet, still dripping remnants of her father.

Simba and Kiara remained lying together, enveloped in the warmth of their bodies, sweaty, marked, united by what could no longer be undone.

Simba did not speak. He just looked at her.

His paws, enormous, calloused, ran with animal slowness over Kiara’s fur, from the base of her neck to the low curve of her back, moving in circular, tempered motions down to her hip, without hurry.

As if caressing the skin he dreamed of devouring again, but still wanted to feel it alive, warm, trembling under his touch. His snout was very close to hers, their whiskers brushing, breathing the same breath.

And then he kissed her.

A slow kiss. One of those born not of hunger, but of intimacy. Their lips met naturally, without urgency, but loaded with a promise that simmered silently beneath the surface.

Their tongues intertwined like nocturnal rivers, the mixed saliva a language of its own. Simba caressed her flank while he kissed her, his fingers sliding down his daughter’s side, barely descending to her belly, then rising again.

Kiara moaned under the kiss, softly, almost like a purr. Her body no longer trembled from exhaustion, but from that second wave that began to awaken, that slow resurgence of desire, distinct from the frenzy of heat.

This was slow fire, old hunger, tenderness that turned spicy on the palate.

And then she whispered.

Barely a murmur, but clear, on the edge of her mouth:

“I’d like… a second round, Daddy…”

She turned her head and looked at him with a half-smile.

“Before Mom gets here.”

Simba fell silent.

The heat rose up his spine, not from surprise, but from the surge of pleasure those words unleashed.

His cock, which rested limp between his hind legs, began to move, to grow. The memory of Kiara’s insides, wet, tight, throbbing… ignited him again.

“Would you…?” he said, his voice hoarse.

Kiara turned completely, giving him her back again, and raised her tail with a soft, provocative sway.

Her vulva was still wet, still slightly open, with dark, sensitive lips. A line of white dried semen bordered her thigh. Her scent was more alive than ever.

“I want you to enter… slower this time.”

Simba needed no more.

He rose over her, his body covering hers, warm shadow over burning shadow. His tongue descended down her nape, licking with long strokes, to the base of her tail.

The taste of Kiara enundated him again: salty, sweet, irresistible. His cock was already rising, firm, dripping. His body trembled with desire.

“I want to savor you while we do it…” he whispered.

She nodded, moaning.

Simba placed his paws on either side of her body. His glans already pressed against the entrance. He did not thrust abruptly. He rubbed. Slowly. Up and down, sliding his cock between her lips with a sticky sway, making her gasp, her back arched.

Shhhlk… shhhlk…

“You’re still open…” he growled, licking his lips. “You can still feel me inside.”

And then he pushed.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

Fsshhhlrrrk.

His flesh slid back into her, this time without violent friction, but with a wet smoothness that made Kiara cry out in pleasure.

“Aaahhh… yes… yes… like that…”

Simba growled in her ear, not stopping, filling her completely until the base hit her buttocks. He stayed there, inside, barely moving, just throbbing, feeling how Kiara’s pussy molded itself to his thickness again.

He began to move.

Slowly.

Rhythmically.

Deeply.

Each thrust was a sigh. Each entry, a sticky whisper. There was no brutality. No rush. Just that cadence that made the body burn without exploding, that made the soul melt without breaking.

Kiara moaned with each thrust.

“More… Daddy… deeper…”

Simba kept pushing into her, slowly, deeply, with that cadence loaded with dirty tenderness that seemed to tear Kiara apart from within without breaking her.

His cock filled her to the deepest point, and his body, heavy and hot, covered hers like an embrace he did not want to release. But something—a shadow, a memory, an instinct—crossed his senses.

The savannah was not asleep.

And Nala… Nala would return soon.

Simba thought about it in the middle of a soft kiss on Kiara’s neck, without stopping the lustful rhythm that made his daughter moan against the rock. He could smell her from kilometers away if she approached. But that thought, far from extinguishing him, ignited something darker, more urgent.

He whispered in her ear, his voice dense:

“Nala won’t be long…”

A slow lick down her nape.

“We have little time…”

Kiara shuddered. Not from fear. From excitement.

The idea that her mother could appear at any moment, see them like this, find her with her pussy still dripping her father’s semen, Simba’s cock buried inside her again… it was a different fire. A sweet danger. An abyss.

Simba growled with a crooked smile, grazing her ear with his fangs.

“So…”

He slid out of her with a wet sound, shhlrp, leaving her sex open, hot, dripping.

“…you can lick whatever you want.”

She turned her head slowly, her dark eyes shining, her breath ragged.

“Really…?”

Simba lay on his side, not hiding. His cock, now completely out, was still hard, thick, gleaming, covered in their shared fluids. The base throbbed with heat. His glans dripped. And he opened his legs, relaxed, a king offering himself as a feast.

“All yours,” he said, his voice low. “Every inch.”

Kiara crawled towards him, her legs still trembling, her vulva dripping with each step. She positioned herself between his legs and looked at him for a second, as if bowing before a god.

Then she licked.

First softly, from the base. A wet, slow, ascending stroke. Her tongue gathered the remnants of her own wetness, the warm semen still stuck to his flesh. Simba exhaled deeply, his body arching slightly, his muscles tense.

“Aahhh… like that…”

She licked with devotion. Not like a slave. Like a lioness savoring the body that dominated her.

She went up to the glans, which shone, alive.

She gave it a kiss on the tip.

And then she licked it all, around it, enveloping it with her tongue as if she wanted to memorize its exact shape.

Simba growled beneath her. He watched her with half-closed eyes.

His paw rested on her head, guiding her, caressing her mane.

“You’re beautiful… like that, with my cock in your mouth…”

And Kiara took it.

Whole.

She opened her mouth and swallowed it slowly, wet, hot, letting the glans graze her palate while her tongue swirled in a spiral.

Gluck. Gluck. Shhlk.

Her head moved up and down with rhythm, sucking, drooling, her saliva dripping down the shaft to soak his testicles. Simba panted, the muscles of his abdomen vibrating.

“More… deeper…”

And she obeyed. She swallowed it to the hilt, her throat closing around it, a tense spasm that made Simba roar and his legs shake with a jolt.

Kiara moaned with the cock in her mouth. The taste she knew. Her own scent mixed with his. It was sweet. Strong. Inevitable. She did not want to let it go.

Simba did not resist. He left it all in her jaws.

“Lick my balls…” he growled, pulling her away for a second.

And she did it.

She leaned lower, her tongue still drooling, and licked his testicles, soft, heavy, throbbing. She savored them with the tip of her tongue, then took them one by one in her mouth, sucking them gently, while his cock rested on her snout.

Simba growled slowly, like a boiling pot.

His body vibrated with each lick.

“You’re… a damn goddess…” he murmured, lost in her.

And Kiara rose again. She kissed the glans. Then the base. Then she licked the main vein up to the tip.

And she took it in her mouth again.

This time with more hunger.

Slurp. Gluck. Gluck.

She wanted it all.

Simba’s head fell back.

He was on the edge.

Kiara’s tongue was soaked, her snout dripping with saliva, mixed with the musky taste of her father’s cock that throbbed against her palate with a living insistence. She had it inside her again, and she did not stop.

She moved her head up and down with an almost reverent rhythm, but the heat… the heat was unbearable. The flesh burned, trembled. The taste became denser. Saltier. More urgent.

Simba had his legs spread, his head thrown back, his fangs bared, and a low growl rising from the depths of his chest.

His muscles vibrated, his cock throbbed, and every time Kiara swallowed him deeper, a brutal spasm ran down his spine as if he were being electrocuted with pure pleasure.

“You’re going to swallow it all…” he growled, his voice completely hoarse.

She moaned with the cock in her mouth, her tongue swirling, sucking, kissing the tip with sweet moans. Every time she pulled up, she left a trail of saliva connecting her father’s head to her lip, and then she swallowed it again with a wet plop.

Slrrrp. Glck. Glck. Grrrk.

Gagging mixed with moans.

The smell was unbearable: of sex, of power, of semen about to be born.

Simba could no longer hold back.

He grabbed her by the mane.

He pushed her deeper.

She swallowed it all.

All the way down.

Until the base pressed against her snout.

Until her nose hit his balls.

Until he roared.

“AhhhRRRRHHH! A-AHHH!!”

And then he exploded.

The first spurt was a hot shot that hit the back of her throat. Kiara shuddered but did not pull away. She swallowed instantly, as if by reflex, as if she knew it beforehand. And then came the second. And the third. More. More. More.

SPUURRRRT.

SPUURT.

SPLASH.

SPLRRT.

SPUUUUUUUUUURRRRT.

Simba did not finish.

His cock trembled with each discharge.

The thick cream hit her tongue, her cheeks, her throat.

Kiara swallowed. And swallowed. But it was too much.

The semen overflowed from the corners of her mouth.

It dripped down her chin.

It slid down her neck.

It splattered on the ground.

Simba still pushed her head, roaring as if his soul were being ripped out through his cock. His belly trembled. His balls emptied in spurts. And she kept swallowing.

Her eyes filled with tears, from the intensity, from the taste, from the fire. But she did not stop. Not once.

When the stream finally ceased, she kept him in her mouth, sucking slowly, cleaning every corner, making Simba moan softly, almost weakly, his body in spasms.

She cleaned him entirely.

She licked him from base to tip, drinking every last drop.

And then she kissed him.

On the head.

As if worshipping a sacred trophy.

Her snout was covered in semen.

Her lips shone.

Her tongue peeked out, still dripping.

And she… smiled.

“You really had a lot stored up…” she panted sweetly.

Simba gave a quiet laugh. He caressed her head, her flanks, looking at her with a mix of exhausted lust and overflowing pride.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been storing that…”

She settled beside him, her body damp, her mouth open, and her pussy… dripping.

The air was still warm, vibrating with the echo of panting, of roars, of the wet sounds that still seemed to cling to the stone walls like a delicious curse.

Kiara, soaked, dirty, with her snout gleaming with semen, wiped her mouth with the back of her paw as she lay lazily on the still warm rock.

Simba rose, his cock still shiny, still marked with remnants of saliva and semen, but flaccid, sated, heavy. His gaze was not just one of possession.

There was still fire, yes, but also a strange pride, as if he had done what he should, as if the savannah approved.

And yet, he looked down at Kiara with a crooked smile.

“That’s enough for today, little one,” he growled. “Before this becomes a tale of cursed roars…”

She rolled her eyes with a stifled laugh.

“Are you scared… Daddy?”

Simba growled softly, more hoarse than fierce, and suddenly lifted his paw.

PAFF!

The slap echoed on the rock. Kiara’s flesh, still sensitive, still damp, vibrated with the impact. A sharp moan escaped her lips, not from pain, but from surprise. She turned abruptly, her cheeks red, her eyes shining.

“Hey!”

“It’s time to clean up,” Simba replied, smiling. And he added, lowering his voice, “Before your mother gets here…”

And it was at that very moment.

Just as he said it.

That he smelled her.

Not the perfume of the savannah.

Not the echo of the wind.

But her.

Nala.

Her scent.

Feminine.

Warm.

Simba turned his head.

His body tensed.

And then he saw her.

There, by the edge of the stone entrance, right in the crack between the wall and the sky, Nala stood.

She made no sound.

She said no word.

She just stood there. Watching.

Her eyes wide open.

Her cheeks… flushed.

Her paws did not move.

But they trembled.

Simba felt the air catch in his throat. The blood in his paws. His heart pounded. Not from guilt.

From something else.

Nala had been watching.

Not just arrived.

Not on the edge.

She had been there for some time.

Behind the wall.

Just out of sight.

Observing without interrupting.

She just stood there, like a fiery statue, her body still trembling, her chest rising and falling heavily. Her paws slightly apart. Her tail to the side. And between her thighs… a gleam.

Not subtle. Not ambiguous. A liquid gleam, warm, that slowly trickled, drawing a transparent line that dripped from her vulva and soaked the inner part of her hind leg.

She did not hide it.

She did not try to conceal it.

She could not.

Simba furrowed his brow, his breath suspended, watching as Nala’s right front paw withdrew slightly… and there he saw it.

The wet fur of the paw.

She had been masturbating.

The whole time.

While he mounted Kiara.

While he opened her, licked her, thrust into her until she dripped against the rock.

While he filled her mouth with hot spurts of semen and made her swallow it all with her eyes closed.

Nala had seen it.

And she had touched herself.

And she had come.

Kiara snuggled against her father.

And he wrapped his paw around her.

They said nothing.

They did not need to.

There, under the starry sky, on the rock still warm from the sun and the sex, the two rested.

Their bodies united.

Their hearts beating slowly.

And a third presence…

Just a little farther away.

With her paw still damp.

Waiting for them to fall asleep to enter silently… wishing to join them next time.