WIP birdfucking actual birdfucking

The closet could barely fit the two of us, the only light being the pale luminescence from the ship’s innerworkings. Perhaps this was some sort of banal display of superiority, or perhaps Accips simply are unaccustomed to the mores of personal space, but regardless, he did not seem to mind our cramped quarters as much as I did--in fact he seemed to relish in my discomfort. I could barely move, and our arrangement had the side of my face against his broad chest and his arm and wing enveloping me from behind.

        The close contact made me feel incredibly hot, and worry had my heart begin to race. I shuddered to think what the fiend was about to do to me where we were alone--no one would come down here, and the sounds of the ship would drown out any I would make in protest. But still, protest I must!

        “Surgere,” I said, “What in heaven do you think you are doing?”

        “Ambrus, right?” he said with that annoying confidence of his.

        “I’ll have you know, we entered into a formal agreement! I don’t care how you act amongst your own kind, but I will not stand for being toyed with and treated with disrespect!”

        I am not sure why that would shame him into behaving, given his already flippant attitude, but I was surprised when he gave no retort; instead, he simply craned his neck down, nuzzling be softly. I felt my heart skip a beat at the gesture--and came to realize, abruptly, that I had a hand laying upon his chest. I was too stunned to pull it away, and that is when he whispered to me.

        “Trust me, this is nothin’ but respect. Speak up anytime ya want.”

        I was about to ask him what he meant, but it became obvious promptly as his talon trailed down my chest, south to my nether regions. Ah, it was like some nightmarish trance, where one sees with an overpowering incredulity that prevents action! He pressed his body closer to mine as he rubbed against my crotch through my clothing. I would have spoken out against this shameful and treacherous act of molestation, but I was too stunned to utter a word--although I mentally cursed how the ship vibrated at that time as he felt and grabbed at me.

        Apparently, simply feeling my genitals through cloth wasn’t enough to satisfy the Accip’s lust. With a few deft movements, he had undid my belt and zipper, and with a few more he had reached into my undergarments and produced my erection. I felt the blood rush to my face at how easily Surgere was manipulating my body’s carnal functions, but he paid no heed to my embarrassment; perhaps he even drunk it in, as I heard him whisper approval.

        He wasted no time in taking hold of my penis and beginning to stroke. The nerve and absurdity of it all overwhelms me even now! I was a man of some importance, not some cheap brothel prostitute, yet he had no qualms playing with me so casually. Still my voice lost me, the only sounds I was able to utter being sharp intakes of breath and the occasional moan. Being unable to do anything more, I found myself involuntarily pressing closer against him. In a further mockery of me, Surgere had the gall to continue to not only nuzzle me but also pull his wing tighter and wrap his other arm around me in some sort of mockery of an embrace.

        Time escaped me. I was a slave to both this crass Accip and my own body’s baser needs, unable to concentrate on anything other than the body I was pressed against and the tight grasp he had as he began to stroke me more vigorously. I attempted to at least concentrate on past lovers I had had in the past to replace that shameful situation with something more acceptable, but it seemed impossible to focus on anything other than the present.

        My breathing became more shallow, my knees--no--my whole body felt weak in his grasp, vexingly causing me to lean on him more and more for support. In his grip, I could feel that telltale welling deep within my loins, soon to overpower me. I found some semblance of speech, and began to utter my last warning, but instead of relenting he only silenced me, and brought his other talon down to cover my other head. It was not long until I reached my breaking point, and with one last moan (I don’t know whether to bless or curse the noise that surrounded us) I came, spilling jet after jet into his spare talon as my body was overcome with orgasmic oblivion. When he had finally milked me dry, the Accip brought the talon covered in my seed to his beak, and to my surprise (although I was honestly too ennervated to be surprised) began to lick it clean. I watched him until he had consumed it all, at which point he only chuckled and said, “You don’t taste half bad.”