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He was in search of definitive evidence of a lost civilization with an unusual fixation for a condor deity. The people vanished at the height of their development with very few traces. Dr. Whittaker finds out, too late, that the bird-god and its sexual appetites are very real.\n\nThis story includes scenes of humans and animals engaged in sex so I cannot post the whole story here. [url=https://www.furaffinity.net/view/23020432/]TO READ THE WHOLE STORY, GO HERE[/url].", "description_bbcode_parsed": "In 1937, Dr. Whittaker, a renowned professor of archaeology, disappeared in the jungles of the northern Andes. He was in search of definitive evidence of a lost civilization with an unusual fixation for a condor deity. The people vanished at the height of their development with very few traces. Dr. Whittaker finds out, too late, that the bird-god and its sexual appetites are very real.

This story includes scenes of humans and animals engaged in sex so I cannot post the whole story here. TO READ THE WHOLE STORY, GO HERE.", "writing": "[b]“The Temple of Putarubu”[/b]\n\nBy M. E. Vehnt\nMarch 23, 2017\nA story commissioned by Guderian\n\n[color=#ef2929]WARNING! WARNING! WARNING![/color]\nThis is an adult story (readers 18 years and older only please) and contains acts of sexual intercourse between a human and a bird deity.\n\nFeral/human mating, reverse bestiality, non-consensual sex, male/male, oral, rimming, cloacalingus, analingus, blow job, avian scat, water sports\n\n©2017 by M. E. Vehnt\nDO NOT COPY OR POST ELSEWHERE WITHOUT EXPRESS PERMISSION\n\nRain came down in sheets and gushed down off the huge tropical leaves, ricocheted off the white trunks of the trees, poured off of the vines, and bounced up from the muddy ground. Dr. Grant Whittaker, a pale-skinned man with a shock of grey hair and blue-grey eyes, stopped hacking at the brush with his machete and tried, in vain, to wipe his rain-spattered glasses with a dripping wet handkerchief. He pulled out a plastic bag that held a map and was dismayed to find that even it was wet and becoming unreadable. The doctor looked up into the forest canopy, high overhead and shook his head.\n\nThe doctor swore out, “Goddammit!” and threw the map down in the mud. He raved out at the top of his lungs, “It’s been raining for 3 fucking weeks! When will this fucking rain stop!” Scarlet macaws squawked back raucously and a flurry of bird sounds ensued, some alarmed but most seemed to be mocking the human outburst. The doctor yelled back, “Fuck you! I know there’s ruins here someplace! You can’t hide them forever!”\n\nDoctor Whittaker turned around to see Brad, his skinny, young, fair-haired research assistant, suppressing a giggle. He shot him a look of exasperation and Brad burst out laughing through his buck teeth and prominent Adam’s apple. Then Pedro, their dark-skinned guide, also began laughing. Finally, the doctor looked down at himself, covered in mud, bugs, and soaked to the bone. He had nothing to show for the past three weeks aside from waterlogged journals, blurry photos of forest life, and chronic dysentery. He saw the map he had thrown down drift away with the trickling waters and disappear into the brush. He started to giggle too and soon all three were heartily laughing. The birds echoed back the raucous laughter. But eventually the laughter died down and they looked at one another wondering what they were going to do next. Clearly they’d rounded a bend in their sanity. They needed to give up or find some other way to continue the quest.\n\nThey had come to this Andean foothill valley because it best fit the ancient myths regarding a powerful condor-like deity and its faithful followers that had all but disappeared from local folklore. This god was associated with death and revered for its ability to find, or perhaps create, death instantly. It would come on huge wings and consume the dead and often was seen lingering even before an animal or person had died. A tribe known as Putarubu, named for their bird-god, believed that avian scavengers carried the consumed dead back to Putarubu’s secret nest where they would disgorge or excrete them back into a living form only to become their permanent property and sexual slaves for eternity. In addition, the legends described blushingly creative sexual rituals between enslaved people and the condor god, forcing them to endure sexual intercourse and produce eggs which hatched into loyal offspring. One legend even attributed the origins of all animal life to having come from this god’s insatiable and varied interspecies sexual appetites. Some humans found benefit from this association with some of the tribe’s most revered ancestors having descended from or cooperated with the condor deity and its offspring. In this regard the oral history could be corroborated with artwork depicting fragments of their history. There were also depictions of advanced tools and architecture and an understanding of planetary motions, mathematics, and a few surviving bits of a written language. However, the history that could be pieced together was woefully incomplete and seemed to stop abruptly. Also, none of their original settlements had ever been located. Some doubted that they ever really existed and that they had always only existed as legend and myth-inspired artwork. Dr. Whittaker was convinced that this tribe had existed and he had devoted the past 10 years in his capacity as a professor of archaeology, to tracing down whatever ruins still existed of the long-lost culture. It was 1939 and he, along with many of his colleagues, could see difficult times ahead for exploration and intellectual freedom. Combined with that, at 57 years old, he wasn’t sure how many more years he would have the physical ability to endure the grueling work of field archaeology.\n\nSuddenly, the rain slowed to a patter and stopped. Dr. Whittaker peered up in amazement and saw sun begin to light the tops of the trees. He removed his hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “About fucking time!”\n\nBecause of InkBunny's rules that disallow pieces, in their entirety, that include sexual interactions between humans and animals, the rest of this story cannot be viewed here. [url=https://www.furaffinity.net/view/23020432/]GO HERE FOR THE ENTIRE STORY[/url]", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "“The Temple of Putarubu”

By M. E. Vehnt
March 23, 2017
A story commissioned by Guderian

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!
This is an adult story (readers 18 years and older only please) and contains acts of sexual intercourse between a human and a bird deity.

Feral/human mating, reverse bestiality, non-consensual sex, male/male, oral, rimming, cloacalingus, analingus, blow job, avian scat, water sports

©2017 by M. E. Vehnt
DO NOT COPY OR POST ELSEWHERE WITHOUT EXPRESS PERMISSION

Rain came down in sheets and gushed down off the huge tropical leaves, ricocheted off the white trunks of the trees, poured off of the vines, and bounced up from the muddy ground. Dr. Grant Whittaker, a pale-skinned man with a shock of grey hair and blue-grey eyes, stopped hacking at the brush with his machete and tried, in vain, to wipe his rain-spattered glasses with a dripping wet handkerchief. He pulled out a plastic bag that held a map and was dismayed to find that even it was wet and becoming unreadable. The doctor looked up into the forest canopy, high overhead and shook his head.

The doctor swore out, “Goddammit!” and threw the map down in the mud. He raved out at the top of his lungs, “It’s been raining for 3 fucking weeks! When will this fucking rain stop!” Scarlet macaws squawked back raucously and a flurry of bird sounds ensued, some alarmed but most seemed to be mocking the human outburst. The doctor yelled back, “Fuck you! I know there’s ruins here someplace! You can’t hide them forever!”

Doctor Whittaker turned around to see Brad, his skinny, young, fair-haired research assistant, suppressing a giggle. He shot him a look of exasperation and Brad burst out laughing through his buck teeth and prominent Adam’s apple. Then Pedro, their dark-skinned guide, also began laughing. Finally, the doctor looked down at himself, covered in mud, bugs, and soaked to the bone. He had nothing to show for the past three weeks aside from waterlogged journals, blurry photos of forest life, and chronic dysentery. He saw the map he had thrown down drift away with the trickling waters and disappear into the brush. He started to giggle too and soon all three were heartily laughing. The birds echoed back the raucous laughter. But eventually the laughter died down and they looked at one another wondering what they were going to do next. Clearly they’d rounded a bend in their sanity. They needed to give up or find some other way to continue the quest.

They had come to this Andean foothill valley because it best fit the ancient myths regarding a powerful condor-like deity and its faithful followers that had all but disappeared from local folklore. This god was associated with death and revered for its ability to find, or perhaps create, death instantly. It would come on huge wings and consume the dead and often was seen lingering even before an animal or person had died. A tribe known as Putarubu, named for their bird-god, believed that avian scavengers carried the consumed dead back to Putarubu’s secret nest where they would disgorge or excrete them back into a living form only to become their permanent property and sexual slaves for eternity. In addition, the legends described blushingly creative sexual rituals between enslaved people and the condor god, forcing them to endure sexual intercourse and produce eggs which hatched into loyal offspring. One legend even attributed the origins of all animal life to having come from this god’s insatiable and varied interspecies sexual appetites. Some humans found benefit from this association with some of the tribe’s most revered ancestors having descended from or cooperated with the condor deity and its offspring. In this regard the oral history could be corroborated with artwork depicting fragments of their history. There were also depictions of advanced tools and architecture and an understanding of planetary motions, mathematics, and a few surviving bits of a written language. However, the history that could be pieced together was woefully incomplete and seemed to stop abruptly. Also, none of their original settlements had ever been located. Some doubted that they ever really existed and that they had always only existed as legend and myth-inspired artwork. Dr. Whittaker was convinced that this tribe had existed and he had devoted the past 10 years in his capacity as a professor of archaeology, to tracing down whatever ruins still existed of the long-lost culture. It was 1939 and he, along with many of his colleagues, could see difficult times ahead for exploration and intellectual freedom. Combined with that, at 57 years old, he wasn’t sure how many more years he would have the physical ability to endure the grueling work of field archaeology.

Suddenly, the rain slowed to a patter and stopped. Dr. Whittaker peered up in amazement and saw sun begin to light the tops of the trees. He removed his hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “About fucking time!”

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