9 comments/ 9959 views/ 17 favorites A Caged Songbird Ch. 01 By: KuraiKusai Hey Readers! Please comment. I appreciate everything from personal issues with the plot, to simple syntax/grammar errors. This first chapter contains no sex, it is merely an introductory section to allow for character exposition. This is a fantasy story, so it is set in a world pre-condom. Ergo, any sex in this series is unprotected. But don't get any ideas, we have access to sexual protection so use it. Really. All characters are over 18. There will be a chapter after this one, most likely. -KuraiKusai I took a deep breath in through my nose. I held it, and released it through my cupid's bow lips, puffing out my cheeks as I did so. I rolled my weight onto my back foot, my long, white (and decidedly shapeless) shift brushing my ankles. I waited for the perfect moment, that exhilarating rush of adrenaline as the trapeze swung towards its highest point. Then in a motion like the striking of a snake, I jumped forward into the empty air. For a heart-stopping second I simply fell, before the smooth bar of the trapeze swung under my outstretched hands and I instinctually gripped it with a strength belied by my small stature. I swung with the trapeze as it reached the other high point of its arc. As the trapeze touched its zenith, I continued with my momentum, releasing my clenched fingers and swinging my legs forwards and over my head in a mid-air backwards somersault which left the audience gasping in sympathetic fear. My body straightened into a perfect vertical plane, my feet pointing to the heavens as my nose indicated the direction of my dive: right down to the hard, packed dirt of the circus ring. I plunged down through the air which whipped my midnight hair across my face. The crowd screamed and shouted, convinced that this performer was to meet her doom. At the last possible instant I spread my arms, and the shift was ripped along my back as two vast snowy wings burst through the material and opened in synchronicity with my extended arms. The air gathered beneath my powerful appendages and I pulled out of my dive to soar up into the top of the tent. I flipped and flicked my body through the air with a careless abandon in sharp contradiction to the careful routine of before. The air was my home, my friend, my lover. It lifted me, excited me, caressed my skin and my heart with electric licks of adrenaline and a building glow of joy. The tight black leotard, (low at the back, to allow for my wings) which had been hidden beneath the boring shift, clung to my body, showing the strength of my slight physique while still allowing the aero-dynamicity I needed to efficiently cut through the air like an arrow. The crowd was silent as I finally landed; falling forward into a roll to protect my joints and bones after my feet touched the floor. I straightened, and the crowd went from dead silence to roaring applause, foot stamping, and exuberant whooping and cheering. I grinned, bowed, and retreated out of the ring into a smaller tent along the side of the larger one. As soon as I was out of sight, the large guard hired by the ringmaster leapt forward to clap a thick hand around my shoulder. With a small sigh of regret, I concentrated and my wings shrunk to miniatures of themselves, tiny wings that while unable to carry my weight, were easier to conceal under baggy clothing. Still clutching me, the guard tugged impatiently and lead me out the back. 'Superb! My dear, what a lovely sight you were. And what lovely coins you bring rolling in!' crowed Ringmaster Yeful as I exited the tent. He was short, although still taller than I, as I was as petite as a pixie, in both height and figure. Where I was small he was not; the ringmaster was squat and round like a ball, which endeared him to the crowds but not to me, as I was incapable of affection for the cruel creature that was my master. He had bought me four years before from my own father, a drunkard who had sold me at the first sight of another pretty coin to feed his habits. Had he known about my abilities, he might have demanded more, but luckily for Ringmaster Yeful my father couldn't even remember my eye colour, let alone notice that his weird, pale daughter had sprouted wings and was suddenly very valuable indeed. At first, while outraged at my newfound value and newly lost freedom, I thought that my new master looked rather funny and rather reasonable, as far as owners went. However, when I had first questioned his ownership of me, he had simply smiled at me before tying me up and tossing me in a crate for the entirety of their journey to the next town, a few days away. When he had finally released me, I was near insane from dehydration and the humiliation of having lived in my own faeces and urine. Needless to say, I stopped questioning, and eventually stopped speaking at all, requiring only vague gestures of "yes" or "no" to answer my master's questions, as an excess of information or opinion was rewarded only with darkness and tight spaces. I nodded to my master, and then stared pointedly at my caravan until he chuckled and waved a hand. My guard walked me over to it, left me inside and closed the door behind him. I peeled off the leotard and threw myself onto the nest of blankets and pillows which was my bed. I found an actual bed too restrictive. Rolling onto my stomach, I let my wings grow and unfold before wrapping them around myself. Once in my own embrace, I relaxed and allowed myself to rest, knowing that the next performance would give me some time to rest before I went back on for my other act. The next performer was a woman by the name of Reeda, a sword-swallower. Reeda was tall and shapely, and I knew that many of the male performers would often stare openly at her, or more accurately, the mountainous breasts which heaved and jiggled as she swallowed blade after blade. I felt my own modest bust and thanked whatever gods there were that my tiny mounds, barely a handful each, were not enough to attract the attention of the men around me, for I was a slave, and often heard the lewd sounds of Reeda swallowing a different kind of sword, namely that of our mutual master Yeful. But while I did not envy Reeda's body, I was not entirely without jealously. I wished dearly for Reeda's eyes, which were as blue as the ocean. My own were a peculiar shade of grey, similar to that of storm clouds. In addition to that, I kept my black hair in a chin-length bob which followed the curve of my jaw, unusually short for a woman. With my hair, eyes, and wings, I was certainly a strange-looking individual. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * I was woken by a loud knocking on the door to my caravan, signalling that my act would start soon. I stood up and went through a series of stretches to warm up my body once more, before donning the outfit of my next act. Anyone looking at it would simply think it to a rather long ivory scarf, but I twisted it around myself until it formed a tight, sleeveless covering long enough to conceal my modesty but short enough to allow for easy movement of my legs, crisscrossing over my back to make room for my minor wings. After dressing, I left my caravan and made my way to the tent, accompanied by my constant guard. 'Hush! Hush!' I heard Ringmaster Yeful coo to the audience. 'This next act is a real treat. Our angel will be returning to the ring once more to show you an ancient dance, taught to her as a child by the now extinct order of the Genuvi'aan Priestesses!' Bullshit, I thought, I made it up one sunny afternoon almost four years ago so that my master wouldn't punish me. 'Here it comes, folks . . . the Dance of the Caged Songbird!' I entered the ring as Yeful left it, taking my place in the centre before assuming my opening pose. The okar player on the edge of the ring began to strum his instrument gently, and I allowed the music to carry me through the choreography of my act. As I danced, I sung the story of the dance in the outlandish language that I had known from birth, but had never been taught. The strange tongue had come to me in flits and flickers, like a long-forgotten memory, but by the age of ten I was more fluent in it than in Common, the lingua franca of my country. The dancer is a caged songbird, who sings sweetly as she flits around in her cage. But in time she begins to hate her captivity, and throws herself at her cage until she falls to the floor, battered and exhausted. The human lord who owns her, thinking her dead, tosses her out of the window. The songbird sings out in joy, lifting herself up and spreading her wings to her first taste of freedom. My flexible body flowed through the movements with a grace that was only partially due to training, and partially due to natural ability. My voice was high and sweet, and when I reached the crescendo of the performance as the songbird spread her wings to freedom, so too did my own wings grow and unfurl out behind me in a show of power and beauty, each feather stretched out as if to take the songbird's freedom for itself. With my performance over, I bowed and left the tent to thunderous applause. My guard led me back to my caravan, and this time he locked me inside. I would not perform again tonight, and so now I could sleep uninterrupted until morning. Unravelling the white scarf encasing me, I felt the familiar sting of tears. I curled up in my nest, my wings cocooning and hiding me from the world. The Dance of the Caged Songbird held my deepest desire, freedom, and performing it while still in captivity broke my heart every time. But I would not stop dancing. The Dance was my greatest treasure and my sharpest tormentor, and I couldn't be rid of one without losing the other. I sang the song of the Caged Songbird to myself softly, until the haunting words blurred into murmurs and I was pulled under a blanket of sleep. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Rough hands shook me out of slumber, and I looked up to see my guard bent over me. With a bloodcurdling shriek I instinctively rolled out of the embrace of my wings and spread them out behind me, in a motion so quick that the guard had barely registered I was awake before the heavy impact of my snowy limbs shattered his nose and sent him flying across the caravan. 'Stupid bitch!' he howled, clutching his bleeding and broken nose. Panting heavily to contain his anger, he managed to spit out, 'Ringmaster Yeful calls for you. He says wear the one with the bells. You have five minutes before I drag you to him, clothed or not.' He cursed strongly as he kicked open the door and trudged out of my caravan. After a few deep breaths, I calmed the primal terror I had felt at my awakening, and did as instructed. "The one with the bells" was a simple translucent fabric edged in tiny bells, which I wrapped around my hips to fall to my ankles. While the cloth was transparent, it was layered enough to hide me. I grabbed another strip of the fabric to tie snuggle around my chest, leaving my arms and midriff bare. Wait, I thought with sudden panic, why would he want me at this hour? It is far into the night now, and I have already performed. My heart skipped a beat as I considered my situation in a new light. Why would any master call his slave to him in the middle of the night, dressed in a cloth too flimsy for any kind of activity? 'Oh gods,' I moaned aloud, distraught. 'I can't do that, not with him. But I can't run either. They would box me up again.' I worried my lower lip as I thought, before finding a wave of disgust and with it, conviction. 'No, I will not flee. I will go to him, and if he wishes to bed me, I will fight.' Having made up my mind, I set my shoulders, and strode out. The hardest part of a decision was making it. Carrying it out was the easy part, even if you failed. I walked over to the caravan of Yeful, pausing as I heard his drunken laughter echoing through the camp. 'O, my friend, you will not be disappointed! I am so glad we could come to an agreement,' came the slimy voice of Yeful as he gushed over a guest I could not hear. I resolutely entered the caravan, before folding onto my knees and bowing my head respectfully. 'Ah, my lovely, you've come. Here, have a look at my new friend,' he giggled and slurred, and I obediently raised my head to look at the man sitting cross-legged opposite Yeful. He was thin and rangy, with a strong jaw, a crop of shoulder-length blonde hair and brown eyes like the molten chocolate Yeful so often indulged in. And despite his non-aggressive stance, he looked every inch the sleek, deadly predator. His eyes locked on mine as soon as I looked up, and I felt a shiver of primitive fear along my spine as something within me whispered that he had been watching from the moment I entered the tent. I met his intense stare, my own eyes wide, and his face broke into a smile which hinted slightly of madness. 'Don't be shy, my lovely. This here is Da'aramus Kol. He just bought you from me, so I guess he's your new master.' A slight widening of my already large eyes was the only indication of the deep shock I felt. A new master? No. Impossible. Yeful needed me; I was the main attraction of his bloody travelling circus. Only an obscene price could have pushed him to sell me. That meant the man staring at me as if I were game, was affluent. Disgustingly wealthy, or maybe not anymore, now that he had paid for me. Yeful appeared to become very bored with the silence of his company, and so he belched before grunting out: 'Alright alright, a trade has been made. Go ahead and take her.' After snorting loudly, he leaned out of the caravan and screeched to his guards, 'Hey! More mead! And bring me Reeda!' Da'aramus Kol gracefully rose from the wooden floor. He slid his hands under my arms, and proceeded to lift and carry me out. I swallowed down panic, not wanting to anger this strange man. He continued to grin at me as he walked towards a large bay horse which grazed peacefully on the hard yellow grass on the side of the road. My new master dropped me onto its back, and then vaulted up to settle in behind me. He wrapped his cloak snugly around us both, shielding my mostly bare flesh from the night's chill. I felt a shock as, for the first time in all my nineteen years, the touch of another human being brought with it a flush of heat to my abdomen. My nipples made hard points through the material of my wrapping, and it was only partially from the cold. My face flooded with colour and heat as I reacted to my arousal with instant embarrassment and confusion. 'What is your name, little bird?' I almost didn't hear him. Despite his intimidating build and crazed smiles, his voice was soft, and it vibrated in his chest behind my diminutive wings. I was silent. Nearly four years of perfect muteness filled my mind, and my heart ached softly in recognition of the lifelong isolation I had endured. Shunned by my community, abandoned by my mother. Ignored and sold by my father, caged by Yeful. My life had taught me one thing: separate yourself from others before they do it for you. I was a drunkard's daughter, a motherless child, a pariah and a slave. The things that stood me apart from others were both a gift and a burden. And this man, this Da'aramus Kol, what did he want with me? I was not attractive as Reeda was. Maybe he was one of those men I had heard of as a child, the ones who took perverse pleasure in the violation of children. With my slight stature and innocent appearance, he might have mistaken me for a child. Or maybe he wanted to keep me to explore my wings, ripping them from me and slicing me open to reveal the secrets of my body. Maybe he merely wanted something to torture and lock up in small spaces. There was no way of knowing what horrors this man might have in store for me. Actually, no. There was one way to find out. 'Mari. I am Mari.' * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * A Caged Songbird Ch. 02 'Sup So here is the second chapter. I've posted this either because the first got a lot of support, or because it didn't and I decided to submit it anyway. I felt a bit more comfortable while writing this chapter, so don't be confused if the writing style changes slightly. You know the drill. Please comment, be wise and condomise, all characters are over 18, etc. -KuraiKusai ***** Da'aramus Kol and I rode away from the circus camp, turning off of the road and riding for a short while before coming to a smaller camp in the woods of about ten to fifteen men gathered around a fire. One of them came forward as my new master dismounted. 'I trust all went well, Da'aramus-saa?' the stocky man inquired, the "-saa" honorific indicating my master was the youngest son of the family Da'aramus. I stored this information away, despite that I could neither see a situation where it came in handy nor did I know the family Da'aramus, though it was clearly a well-off one, from the looks of the man approaching us. He was dressed as all the others were, more soldiers than the troop of rangers or hunters she had assumed them to be. The cloth making up their leggings and tunics was simple but of good quality, and the flexible leather armour they wore balanced protection with mobility. While he was short and stocky, every move he made was performed with a sharp and unconscious efficiency, something that could only be developed through years of intense training under a skilled teacher. The more I see of this new master and those around him, the more I learn, I thought to myself, and the more I learn, the more intrigued I become. 'A real bargain, this one was, Filriel,' said Da'aramus with a grin, fetching me from atop the mount, 'The poor fool who had her barely understood the rarity and value of such a creature.' The man, Filriel, examined me with a single, long look, and the only display of his disbelief as he saw my wings was a slight widening in his eyes and a minute clench in the left side of his jaw. 'I see. My congratulations. There is stew in a pot by the fire, and your tent was readied for you while you were absent, Da'aramus-saa.' Filriel attempted a smile, and his tone was affectionate despite the formality of the words. But the smile didn't reach his eyes, and I detected the slightest hint of fear. I felt a familiar rush of bitterness, remembering how the adults of my village had feared me as well, poisoning their innocent children with it and then disguising it as hatred. 'Thanks,' came the easy reply of Da'aramus. Gods, is this man as oblivious as he appears to be? No, I decided as he turned back to me, he sees very well. While he doesn't possess my bird-like eyesight, nor my natural ability to analyse the motions of the face and body, he has known this Filriel for a long time, and can sense his worry. 'So, Mari, are you hungry?' I shook my head. 'Let me rephrase that,' he continued, 'When did you last eat?' I was surprised as my mouth immediately opened to answer. After my first words in almost four years, am I really so eager to speak again? I shut my mouth again, and just looked at him. He frowned slightly in response. But I do not want to speak to the other man, Filriel. I started slightly as Da'aramus brazenly gripped my hand in his and led me over to the fire in the centre of the camp. Da'aramus Kol, who are you to pull words from my lips so easily? The stew he gave me was rich and delicious. It had cooled, but I savoured it all the same. Da'aramus, however, ate his own portion with both speed and fervour, and watched me until I finished. I found herself sneaking discreet glances of him, noting his stillness in both face and body. Reading this man is a challenge, I thought to myself as I finished the stew. How can he look like a maniac the one minute, a kind man the next, and then go to this blank slate? Blank was the only word I could apply to him in that moment. His face was smooth and his body neutral, devoid of any posturing that might hint his thoughts to me. I scrubbed my bowl with sand as he had, then turned to face him head on. I perfectly mimicked his body positioning and facial expression, but allowed some of my curiosity and amusement to be communicated by my eyes. His face broke into a grin, and he leapt to his feet, offering his hand as I did the same. He led me over to his tent. He entered and indicated I should follow, and I did. He stripped down to his underclothes, and crawled into the furs which made up his sleeping pallet, his back to me. I remained where I was, unsure of what he required of me. Where am I to sleep? The floor? The furs? After a long few minutes, he eventually rolled over to regard me with sleepy eyes. 'You'll freeze there, little idiot. Undress and come here.' Controlling my expression, I began to undress. He stared until I had almost completely removed my torso covering, and then he turned his back to me again. Once he had looked away, I stripped quickly and crawled into the furs, orientating myself until I was back to back with him. 'Goodnight, Mari.' 'Goodnight, Master.' He paused. 'Kol. Please call me Kol.' I took a few moments to calm the sudden rush of emotion, before falling into the arms of sleep once more. ***** When the hushed voices outside the tent finally tugged me out of the comfort of slumber, my groggy mind noticed three things simultaneously. Firstly, judging by the energy and patterns of the birdsong, it was morning. Secondly, I had awoken to uncharacteristic warmth due to the fact my master, Kol, appeared to have rolled over in his sleep and was now cradling me into the curve of his body. Thirdly, my master was very healthy man, as proven by the hard, hot erection pressed into my rear. I went stiff with shock, and then forcibly relaxed so as not to awaken my master. At first I felt a wave of panic, before he shifted slightly in his sleep, his arms pulling me even closer, my small wings pressed comfortably between my back and his chest. The hint of arousal I had first felt when riding with my master returned in full force, even stronger due to the weakness of my sleep-addled brain. The hot cock positioned at my ass caused slow warmth to fill my bones, and I felt an urge to rub against the hard member. I want it, I realised. I want to be claimed by this thing, I want to be held so tight I can't breathe and I want this man, my master. I want him to be the one to do it. Pride kept me from pushing against the stiff member of my sleeping master, but desperate lust kept me from moving away. Kol's arms tightened again, and his light snore tickled the back of my neck. I moaned softly. Once more I was torn between my modesty and my desire, but fortunately for me the decision was taken out of my hands as my moan lifted my master out of sleep. The arms encircling me abruptly untangled themselves from me and withdrew. I rolled over to look at Kol as he yawned. 'Sorry, Mari. I must've grabbed you in my sleep,' he mumbled as he sat up. Too late I realised that the furs moved with him, baring me to his eyes. My breath hitched as I saw his eyes widen, and I rolled onto my stomach, wrapping my arms around my nudity. 'It matters not, Master . . . Kol.' I waited for him to dress, leave, anything. Anything that would indicate I could get up and clothe myself. I waited. Then, as if out of nowhere, I felt rough fingertips stroking the skin of my lower back. A wave of lust buffeted me, and I gave in, melting into the soft fur beneath me. Where's your fighting spirit now, coward? jeered a voice in my head. Is acting like a common whore acceptable because it's Da'aramus, and not Yeful? Is it appropriate because he's younger, handsome? Because he hasn't had a chance to beat you yet? To lock you up, to chain and rape you? Not that it could classify as rape, what with you moaning and writhing like any streetwalker. I froze. I knew next to nothing about him. And he had already seen me naked. Luckily, (unfortunately) his hand withdrew. It was replaced by folds of material, and I turned my head to see the simple leggings and tunic he had dropped there. "Get dressed. We eat, we pack, we mount, and we leave. Understood?" my master's voice filled the silence. I did as instructed, dressing with my back to him. I finished to find him waiting, already fully clothed. I ate, folded my outfit from last night, and tucked it into one of his saddlebags on the packhorse. He helped me to pack the furs and tent, quietly instructing me if I got confused. It was an hour or so before he lifted onto a horse again, before mounting his own. Interesting. Last night we rode double. Today, separate. Maybe he doesn't want to wear his horse out. I glanced at the saddlebags, and the camp area with its carefully sand-covered fire site. Perhaps they travelled far. Are they are a roving band? They are equipped too well to be wanderers. The master's family and lands must a long way away. Far enough to warrant a fully trained escort with many packhorses. I looked to my new master. Da'aramus Kol. Master. Stranger. Who are you? ***** We had ridden days, and fallen into dog-tired sleep as the sun drew the blanket of night over its face. The monotonous journey caused my interaction with my master to deteriorate to simple exchanges and silent cuddling. Despite myself, I felt a growing affection for the gentle touches, patient and undemanding. My master taught me about the land we traversed to his home, speaking softly to me as we rode. He showed me plants and herbs, he recited the histories of tiny hole-in the-road towns and villages. He knew the land, and he loved it in the same way I knew and loved the sky. One evening, he had refused to sleep until he had taught me a game he had learned as a child; a complex monstrosity of pieces and points by the name "jurem." At first I resented anything that kept me from blissful unconsciousness, but my natural curiosity glued my eyes to the board. I had never been competitive. Any games I had played in my early life were solitary, and I learned to enjoy my natural introversion. But as I tried my first game, and lost, I saw Kol's normally even expression stretch into an impossible wide grin. It was completely natural, and absolutely divine. That his ever-present self-control broke for a moment, because of me, sent liquid joy through my veins. My eyes ate up that smile, claimed it as if it had only ever existed for me. My eyelids drooped, my body ached, but my mind was alive as I challenged him over and over again. I lost every time But after the fourth or fifth game, he looked right into my eyes, and laughed. His laughter filled the almost-silence of night with childlike enjoyment, echoing and rebounding through the forest. Before I could catch myself, my own face broke into a smile. I hated that smile. I hated it with every fibre of pride and self-preservation in my being. It stank of hope; hope that the first shreds of honestly affectionate attention I ever remembered receiving would continue. I hated it even more when it caused his laughter to stop, and his own grin to disappear. Then he leaned over the jurem board and pressed his lips to mine. They were thin and chapped, but his breath was hot and his tongue was firm and slick as it eventually reached into my mouth to stoke my desire into something warm and wonderful. His hand came down between us to support himself, as the other rose up to run rough fingertips over my jaw, my neck. He pulled back to stare at my face. Please, please, don't look away. Look at me. Look only at me. He turned, and began packing up the jurem pieces. Irrationally, impossibly, tears filled my eyes. Can I not hold a man's attention for more than a few minutes? Am I really that worthless? He finished packing, and turned back to me. He stared impassively at the stupid saltwater in my eyes, before reaching out to me. His arms encircled and lifted me like they had the night he bought me. I buried my face in his jerkin to stifle my crying as he moved over to the tent we shared. Laying me down in the furs, he stripped me quickly before removing his own clothes. The kiss he pressed into my mouth was lubricated by my tears, and more than once he licked his way up salty tracks to close my eyes with more kisses. "Mari." He said my name as a statement. A word with no question attached to it, no demand or request hidden in the tilt of its syllables. I opened my eyes to see him pulling back. "Say it." I stared at him in confusion. His face gave nothing away. "Mari. You have something to say. Say it." Ages seemed to pass as I looked up at him. Those words, those deadly, desperate, desirable words welled up and battered at my inner walls. "Kol." The word fought its way past my lips. "Kol. Look at me." "Which part of you?" came his soft reply. "All of me." His eyes bored into mine, and his hands played over my body. They traced my collarbone, stroked my breasts, caressed my stomach. He stopped and lifted my legs up and apart, focusing on the glistening pink flesh at the juncture of my thighs. "I suppose here is as good a place as any to start." Then he bent his head, and I felt his tongue trace my lower lips, before pushing into my centre, lapping up the hot moisture that flowed from my cunt. I gasped, tears forgotten. It felt so much better than when I touched myself, so much hotter, so foreign. I felt delicious pressure on my clitoris, and my wide eyes drank in the sight of his thumb circling and caressing the little bud, while his tongue and lips devoured me. My hands threaded through his hair, tugging gently as I moaned and writhed beneath him. But as I reached the brink of orgasm, he pulled hand and mouth away from me completely. I stared up at him in shock as his eyes locked onto mine, ignoring my weeping pussy, desperate for one last touch. Without looking away, he lowered his head, moving his mouth to my inner thigh, not quite touching me where I most needed it. And then he bit down. I gasped. I could feel my flesh bruising slightly under his strong teeth, but it was not not hard enough to break the skin. It was so unexpected, so feral, so delicious to have him show domination over my flesh, that I came. My pussy spasmed wildly, clutching at a tongue and fingers that weren't there, and my body involuntarily pulled me upright, freeing my wings as they exploded into their full size, every feather trembling like the tortured flesh of my cunt. I rode my orgasm like that, unable to make a sound other than the twisted whimpers which tore themselves from my lips as the skin of the tent stretched to accommodate my wingspan. Finally, it ended. My whole body relaxed as I fell back onto my back, my wings cushioning the impact. I let out a long sigh, before looking down at my master, between my legs. Kol looked back at me with huge eyes, his mouth slightly open. I blushed. "Thank you, Master Kol," I said into the silence of the tent. He sat up, and I was able to survey his body. His skin smoothed over his lean, muscular build, and dark blonde hair decorated his arms, legs, and chest. As I watched, one hand moved down between his front, to grasp at the member which now commanded my attention. I had seen boys' penises before. When I was a child, there was a communal hot springs for the whole village, and while I soaked I caught glimpses of the naked boys, their mothers pulling them out of the hot water to hurry them home, away from the feathered freak. But my master was not a boy. He was a man, and his cock reflected that. It was long, and thick, and beautiful. I don't know how a cock can be beautiful. It looks so odd, sticking out from the body as if glued on, not really fitting in with the rest of the view. But my master's cock was beautiful. It was hard, and proudly jutted out from his groin. My mouth went dry, and then inexplicably filled with saliva. "Mari," he said. I forced my eyes up to his. Strands of blonde hair stuck to his face, and his warm brown eyes were harsh and excited. His hand began to slowly jerk his cock, and I stared at it, transfixed. He moved closer, but I never took my eyes off of his hand, stroking the shaft of flesh. I felt his free hand snaked around to the back of my neck, cupping it. I almost whined with pleasure. The back of my neck is a highly erogenous zone for me. With his grip on my neck, he slowly forced my head down until I was a hand's length away from his cock. I breathed in deeply, devouring the scent of his sweat. I allowed him to move me across the distance between us, his cock now but a centimetre from my lips. I stuck out my tongue, and tentatively licked the head. Looking up to see the triumphant grin splitting his face, and the heat in his eyes, I lost all inhibition, and his hand tightened on the back of my neck, moving me until the head of his cock pushed my lips apart. His hand flew up and down his cock as my tongue to circle the head. Once, twice, thrice, and then I thrust my tongue forward to stroke the underside of the head. He groaned, and pulled me down further. I gagged as his cock hit the back of my throat, and he held me there as his hand continued to stroke the remaining length. Then he began to pull out, and trust back in until I gagged, and then a little bit further. He did it again and again, slowly gaining ground until finally, I had it all. His entire cock was in my mouth and down my throat. My eyes did not leave his. His other hand joined the one behind my neck, and they both moved to hold my head. He pulled out, and pushed back in, increasing in speed and force, using my mouth for his pleasure. But he wasn't the only one enjoying himself. I felt so dirty, so used, and my slick cunt was weeping again. Freed by my debasement, I shamelessly slipped a hand between my legs and frantically rubbed my clit. His eyes displayed his approval as I pleasured myself, moaning on his cock like a whore. Suddenly, he shoved all the way in, and he groaned. I felt his cock spurting inside my throat. His cum . . . inside me. I rubbed faster and harder, and hit my orgasm, shuddering through waves of pleasure as his cock fed me his cum. He pulled out slightly, his cockhead resting on my tongue, allowing me to savour the last few spurts of seed in my mouth. When we both finished, he pulled out. I swallowed and, on impulse, licked him clean as well. He brushed my hair behind my ear, and then kissed me. I forced my wings into their common, compact form. We settled into the furs together, and he pulled my back into his chest. Together, exhausted, we slipped into dreamless sleep. *****