My brain blanks out for a moment when I feel the tip of his other wing firm and strong first a flutter, and then more of an intentional thrust… Pushing its way into my ass.
Oh.
Fuck.
Me.
I gush.
TWENTY
HANNAH
“It needs to be wet.”Oh god. How do I even explain human anatomy to a creature who thinks in claws and hunger? “You can’t stick it in dry.”
Even as the words come out, I feel ridiculous. Am I actually instructing him on how to use his wing as a dildo? What is wrong with me? Am I eventhinkingabout letting him do this?
So wrong.
Filthy.
The wrongest of wrongs.
My hips spasm reflexively as his massive cock breaches me again. Just the tip—impossibly wide—pressing and slipping inside, and my body betrays me, responding on its own.
My hips spasm back against his huge cock breaching my pussy.
He lifts a wing, feathers splayed, and then—unbelievably—spits. The feathered surface glistens. He presses it back to the hot flesh of my ass. Moist. Warm. Exactly what I told him I needed.
“All your orifices are so hot,” he grunts, voice raw. “The feeling against my wingtip is exquisite.”
He canfeelit? He canfeelwhat his feathers do to me? Because I certainly can. It’s like some impossible toy: soft, wet, thrumming, sliding in a way that makes my whole pelvis try to leap up and swallow him.
Feathers push and needle and fuckingpress—a spine runs the length of the wing, not just downy fluff. There’s a hardness underneath, an intentional thrust. It slides, thenpushesinto my ass.
My brain shorts out as those feathers begin to flutter, inching deeper in my tight little asshole like the freakiest, most precise vibrator the world has ever seen.
I cry out. Tears streak my cheeks. I grip the furs on the bed so hard my knuckles hurt. This is wrong, and yet it is the single most unholy pleasure I’ve ever felt.
“Oh, how you gush for me,” he croons, as if the sound of my weeping is a hymn.
Another feather flicks, this time where his cock is buried in me. “Extra gush to smooth my way,” he murmurs. “Little Consort, who cannot help how her body weeps for me.”
His hand lands on my spine. “Bend and receive all the ways I fuck you.”
My back arches before I can refuse. My body betrays my defiance—flesh yielding, spreading,aching. I don’t want to obey him, but my body is making a liar of me.
The wing isn’t just feathers. The bony spine presses into me, thick and deliberate, and for a moment, I think I will break. I bite my lip against the yes that wants to slip out. I’ve given him too many confessions tonight; another would be dangerous.
“If only you could see yourself,” he pants. “The sight of my dark wing penetrating your ass cheeks.” He roars, then rips his cock free and slams back in, pinning me to the mattress.
I gush. Maybe even spurt. My body betrays me with a wet, hot sound. It feels too good. It feels impossible. I look over my shoulder and instantly know I made a mistake: his chest is glowing from within, the light reflecting gold in his eyes. For a staggered half-second, he looks like an angel—if angels had talons and horns and a filthy wing lodged up a woman’s ass.
I thrash on the furs, a helpless animal of sensation. I give in and rut back against him, feeling both the unfathomable fullness in my pussy and the dark, indescribable pressure of feathers inside my ass.
Both. All of it.
He pries my ass cheeks wider with both hands so he can sink deeper. He’s splitting me in two—too much, too deep, impossibly perfect—until I scream but not from pain; from the wild edge where pleasure and panic blur into one bright electric thing. He’s going to fuck me to death, and somehow I’m grateful. He made me whole only to unmake me.
