AnonxSammy4

"Uuuuuugggggghhhhhhh," Sammy groans as he trudges inside, heavily laden with groceries. "Aaaaannnnnnooooooonnnnnnnnnn...." he wails dramatically.

 

You glare at him, since you're carrying more weight than him, and on only two feet. He's got half the amount of groceries you have, and still, he's spread them out over four legs. Nevertheless, he collapses to the floor as soon as he gets into the kitchen. You slip off your shoes and deposit your groceries on the counter.

 

"Come on, Sammy, stop being such a drama queen," you chide.

 

"But I'm tiiiiiiired," he whines, smiling up at you mischeviously. You give him a little love tap on the beak with your foot. He groans in feigned agony, rolling onto his side between the bags of food to either side. You stoop down to pick them both up at once, and lift them up to the counter. The big griffon continues to write in mock pain. You walk back over to him, standing over him. His fur tickles one foot, while his feathers tickle your other.

 

"Come on, Sammy, we weren't even at the supermarket for that long!" you fuss as he rolls onto his back to look up at you. His wings try to flare, but your ankles are in the way, so the flex uselessly by his sides.

 

"It was like, five hours!" he exclaims, grabbing your shins, one in each claw.

 

"Oh, it was not," you retort, taking a look at the clock. Much to your surprise, he's right; you'd been shopping for the greater part of the day.

 

"Oh yeah?" he says, having figured out the mental math quicker than you.

 

"Oh, all right," you sigh. "It *was* five hours, but I still don't see why you-" you begin to say before you're cut off by Sammy pulling your legs out from under you. In a sudden blur, you land on Sammy's chest. If he's hurt by the impact, he doesn't show it. You, however, aren't so hardy, and got the wind knocked out of you. You look accusingly at Sammy as you struggle to catch your breath. His face looks concerned, but still somewhat mischievous.

 

"Sorry, Anon," he says, genuinely apologetic. "I keep forgetting your kind aren't as tough as griffons are."

 

"Damn right, and don't forget it" you choke out. You give him a punch to the side of the chest, but he doesn't even notice. You push yourself off him, lifting yourself by the arms off the floor. He gives you a gentle nudge down towards his lower body. He looks at you expectantly.

 

"Come on, man, you know that's not until later," you say, sounding for all the world like a parent scolding a child.

 

"No no no," he says quickly, before you can retort. "I mean *these*!" Somehow he slides himself up away from you, leaving you staring at his hind paws. You look from his feet to his face, incredulous, but he simply smiles and makes puppy-dog eyes at you. You pull yourself up to sit indian-style with his paws in your lap. He really *has* earned it. He's not used to walking around so much, and he absolutely *hates* shopping, especially for anything that isn't a video game or alcohol. He's such a *guy.*

 

You give him a look of absolute consternation.

 

"Only because you were such a good boy in the liquor aisle, okay?" you say, giving him a hard look. He wilts under your glare, but you let up. He had been a better shopping mate than prior trips.... This time he'd even waited until you paid for the booze until he took a taste.

 

You look back down at his paws. Despite traipsing around a store all day, his paws look immaculately clean and pink. You decide to start with the right paw. You give a wide, sweeping knead of his pad, and you can feel his leg completely relax.

 

"Ahhhhh," he sighs contentedly, his tail flicking lazily at your legs as he splays himself out further. You take both thumbs and press deeply into the center of his paw, radiating pressure outwards with circular kneading.

 

"You should really do this..." he manages to groan. "Instead of working for the applefuckers."

 

"Apples," you correct him. "And it's Apple*bucking*."

 

"Whatever," he sighs as you intertwine his toes and your fingers, applying pressure with your palm to his paw. "Geez, that feels good."

 

As you switched to his other paw, which you repeat the whole process on, you do start thinking... Maybe having hands in Equestria is more of a boon than just being able to do farm work with Big Mac and Applejack. You might be able to start a masseur's...

 

Once you've finished giving the big griffon his paw massage, you crawl back up to his chest, hoping to get at least a kiss for your efforts. You close your eyes, hoping he'll take the hint, but instead, you feel a strange warm wetness on your cheek; far too warm and wet for a kiss... You open your eyes to find Sammy painting your face with his tongue. In a moment of shock and revulsion, you pull away from him, only to find his claws holding you to his chest. You push away from him, but Sam is much stronger than you.

 

"C'mere and give us a kiss, peekon," he said in a faux-sultry voice.

 

"Nooo!" you shriek in half-laughter, half-horror. He continues to lap at your face for a few seconds until he finally releases you. You arise to your feet, laughing.

 

"You taste like apples, Anon!" Sammy chuckles from the floor. That'll probably be all the apples you've eaten as a result of your work at Sweet Apple Acres.

 

"I'd taste you back," you say, coming around and giggling a bit as you wash your face. "But first I'd have to pluck you!"

 

Sammy rises to all fours in mock horror. "You wouldn't," he says.

 

"I would," you say, grinning evilly. The grin drops from your face when you remember the groceries. "Sammy, quick, put the ice-cream away while I make a marinade!"

 

"Geez, back to the grind already, I see," he groans. Oh, the grind would come later.

 

In just a few minutes you'd put together a marinade of teriyaki, chili sauce, and garlic paste. The mere smell had Sammy salivating (and you hoped it wouldn't give him any more drooly ideas). You tenderly lay two steaks in the marinating dish, one big, one not so big. While they soaked in the delicious blend of sauces, you set about dividing up the jobs. Sammy wasn't much good in the kitchen, so you had him chopping vegetables for a salad. Meanwhile, you worked on a nice side dish of pasta. You'd both been fasting all day so you could make such a big meal, which had somewhat contributed to Sammy's lethargy, but you felt fine.

 

You set about shucking the scallops and cracking the crabs, pulling the meat out of their hard shells. You stole a glance at Sammy's station on the other side of the kitchen. He was trying to dice tomatoes, but was managing to make something that resembled V8. You giggle at your adorable oaf, and continued to extract the meat from your shellfish.

 

"Sod it!" you hear him his under his breath as an oversized olive escapes his knife and rolls out of the kitchen down the hallway. You take the chance to quickly dice his tomatoes, and retreat to the sink where you're rinsing the scallops. He returns, decides that he's a better chef than he thought, and dumps the tomatoes into the salad bowl. You stifle a chuckle at your big old catbird.

 

You take a moment to drain the scallops and pull the crab meat into nice, stringy strands, and before you can move from the sink to the oven, you feel Sammy's damp, cold claws on your shoulders, leaning on you as he extends up to his full height.

 

"Salad's done," he says in your ear in the sexiest tone he can muster. You feel a little tightness in your crotch, but that might just be your boxer-briefs bunching up from all this standing and shuffling. "What are *you* doing?" he asks, nipping your ear with his beak.

 

"Close your eyes," you instruct, feeling his wonderfully soft feathers brushing against your neck. You take half a stick of butter and let it melt in the pan you've prepared at medium heat, letting the butter brown a bit. You dump the scallops and crab meat onto the butter, and immediately a wet sizzle fills the air. Moments later, it's followed by the buttery, salty smell of sauteing seafood. You feel Sammy shudder with anticipation, pawing at your calf with his hind paw as if trying to climb up on you.

 

"Delicious..." he murmurs. "My little sparrow can cook," he says definitively, opening his eyes.

 

"Oh, indeed he can," you reply. You gesture towards the marinating dish. "Get the steaks."

 

He needs no second bidding, and in a flash returns with two steaks... In his claws. You grimace, but he doesn't notice. You show him how to gingerly rub salt, pepper, and olive oil on the steaks, putting your hands over his claws as he rubs them. When they're done you have him place them in the hot cast-iron griddle you've prepared at medium heat. They sizzle away happily as you stir the scallops and crab and Sammy washes his claws."Fill up a pot of water for the pasta," you say. He returns with a pot much sooner than you expected.

 

"Planning~" he intones. Maybe he wasn't as bad a chef as you made him out to be. You set the pot to boil as you continue to sautee the seafood, adding more butter, more garlic, pecorino-romano and parmigiano-reggiano cheeses. Sammy puts his claws on your hips as the sauce begins to take shape. He presses his crotch into the seat of your pants, holding your hips while swaying from side to side. You begin to lose yourself in the motion....

 

"Turn the steaks!" you bark, and he snaps to obey immediately. He quickly turns the steaks from one side to another.

 

"Spread a quarter of a stick of butter on each," you say, and he does. A nutty smell fills the air, and you drop the pasta into the boiling pot of water. A quick stir of the seafood alfredo.... And you're free. For the moment. You later a kiss on Sammy's beak, and he returns your affection with verve. He drops to all fours and pulls you down to the floor with him in one swift, gentle motion. He looks you in the eyes and smiles.

 

"How long?" he asks. You do some mental math. The steaks had the shortest fuse, and would have to be taken off in five or six minutes.

 

"Six or seven minutes," you say. "If you like your steak well-done."

 

"More than enough time, babe," he says, and instantly sets about pulling your pants off. It takes him a moment to undo the button (he's getting better at it), and he nearly tears off your underwear with how fast he is at removing them.

 

You feel his cool, sharp claws teasing your member with their points. You giggle naughtily and pat his flank so he'll move around and give you access to *his* anatomy. He obliges, coming to stand over you, and continues to tease you until you're as hard as you can get. He's already hard, so you didn't need to tease him very much at all. You give him a lick, and he nearly jumps at the sensation. Your time is short, so you take him into your mouth all at once. His rump gives a little jump, but lowers back down over you. You work hist shaft over until he's quivering with pleasure and anticipation, all the while he's stroking you as sweetly and tenderly as he can.

 

You take a quick whiff of the air. The steaks are nearing completion, which means the pasta can't be far behind. You run the underside of your tongue over his foreskin, and he bucks a little, pushing himself deeper into your throat. You oblige him with a big lap of his whole length. His clawjob speeds up a bit, and your hips being to move a big involuntarily. The soft skin of his balls are in your eyes, they're warm, soft, and they twitch every now and again when you give a particularly pleasurable lick. You tickle his shaft with your teeth, and give a final suck, and Sammy begins to cum. He jerks his arm in response to the sudden wave of pleasure, which kicks off your own orgasm. You do your best to wrap your tongue around Sammy's throbbing shaft, pressing your forehead into his perineum, partially to increase his pleasure, partially because you can't control yours.

 

You feel his cool seed squirt into your throat, and you swallow every last drop; the motion squeezes his shaft more, and you are rewarded with a moan from your lover.

 

"Anooon," he moans, finally finishing stroking you, tracing lines on your stomach with his sharp talons with your own cum. As you feel the last pulse of his moment fade, you retreat from his nethers and race to take the steaks off the heat. A quick cut tells you that they were grilled to medium-rare perfection. You dump the pasta into the strainer, letting it drain for a few moments before putting it on a serving plate and dumping the sautee over top of it. You quickly put together two plates; a steak, a portion of seafood scampi, and a side of salad adorn both. You put the plate with the bigger steak in from of Sammy, who's still on the floor, absentlymindedly enjoying the afterglow and playing with a string of your cum between two talons.

 

"Here you go, my Kingfisher," you say lovingly, bending down to give his half-erect chubby cock a loving kiss before sitting down indian-style in front of him. He eyes the food greedily, and rests his head on your knee.

 

"This Kingfisher caught the greatest fish to ever swim," he said, squeezing your thigh and giving your knee a nip.

 

"Hush and eat your food before it gets cold," you scold him. He looks up at you with sad eyes. You're not quite sure what they mean, but they go away when you pick up a piece of steak on your fork and put it in his beak for him.

 

"I love you, Anon," he says through a mouthful of surf and turf. You reach out a hand and caress his soft headfeathers. You bend down and kiss him on the cheek.

 

"And I you, my sparrowhawk."

 

FIN