Sex stories

Erotic fiction and short sex stories




A Feathered Fetish Ch. 01

Fay's stiletto heels stepped out of the garage elevator and clicked across the perfectly polished terrazzo floors of the lobby. It was exactly 7AM. The security guards, including those off duty since 6:30AM, had waited to watch Fay as her long legs, designer high heels, and perfectly tailored business dress parade by the front desk. Every weekday morning they gathered in the lobby to gawk as the long wavy haired brunette passed the entry point, pressed her ID card on the glass of the electronic turn style, and proceeded to sashay her stunningly beautiful body around the corner to the main bank of elevators.

That morning one of three guards pursed his lips when she was safely out of hearing range. "Ooo, honey."

A newbie looked back-and-forth between his co-workers. "Well, who was that?"

"Miss Fay Pinna. I think she's of hot Italian descent," said the third guard gently sniffing the air for her perfume.

The newbie looked confused. "What was she wearing in the back though?"

"Her skirts normally look like that. Odd, huh?" said the first guard still thinking of her.

A supervisor joined the group and interrupted. "She's high maintenance and way above all of you bums' pay grades, so back to work or get on with go'in home."

*****

Fay exited the elevator on the top floor. She was punctual, efficient, and professional -- the perfect analyst who reported directly to the CEO. Despite rumors started by jealous board members who she had given a cold shoulder, there was nothing sexual or improper. Many guys called her the 'Ice Princess.' She didn't care. She once told a secretary, who had warned about the 'Ice Princess' name being bantered about amongst the guys, that 'Ice Queen' was preferred.

Walking down a long empty hallway, she enjoyed the quiet early mornings. The silky inner lining of her skirt rustled against her smokey colored nylon clad legs. Her snug skirt's hemline hung above her knees finding a balance between conservative and provocative. Her little suit jacket cinched at her waist. Her hair was pulled back and clipped with a slight lift, but her trusses of considerable length still hung far down her back.

Any man noticing how the front of her skirt hugged her thighs would always discretely turn to see how the snug skirt surely hugged the undoubtedly perfect derriere. The urge to ogle hurt all the men trying to resist it. Their faces betrayed their thoughts of caressing, spanking, and sliding the skirt's material slowly up; but then during their attempts at secretly leering back to see her walking away, they would undoubtedly look confused at her skirt's bustle obscuring the view.

Her outfits were perfectly tailored to match today's modern styles except for the extra material that at the waist projected out a few inches and then dropped down to a sudden hemline as if a wedding dress train had been cut off. It was more than a simple flourish of a peplum. Women talked about the design being an homage to a Victorian theme updated to use a short skirt. During a company cocktail party, men joked about setting a drink on the bustle like it was a table. They laughed wanting to know if a wine glass would stand steady in place as she swanned her way through the crowd.

Fay ignored the murmurs surrounding her at work. She always arrived early morning before anyone else, not to hide from the odd gazes of curious people, but to get work done. This morning was no different. She sat at her desk. Her customized chair had a space opened in the back for her skirt's bump to nestle into. In a conference room meeting, she would sit more on a seat's edge. In her office though, she could relax. She leaned comfortably back, lifted her legs onto her desk, rested her ankles on the corner, and began to unwind while reading her mail on an iPad.

"Hi, Fay," said Andy knocking at her open door. She looked over the top of her tablet at the newest in-house council. She was surprised seeing anyone else so early. She continued to look dismissive to avoid signals men interpreted as flirting, but for Andy, she thought how his over six-foot height and athletic build was a cool tall glass a water she wanted to sip. She hid an internal cringe. Why was that the metaphor that popped into her mind?

She set her long legs down, rotating her chair forward. "Yes Andy."

"I'll need to see what marketing had actually said that got everyone upset last week." He walked to the side of her large desk.

"Sure. I have the file right here." She stood and leaned forward to reach a stack of papers. It was obvious that Andy was watching her. Her skirt angled up slightly in the back especially with the bustle adding some extra leverage to reveal more of her legs. She glanced to her side. Andy, like most guys, stayed silent on the bustle topic, but his face betrayed his curiosity while he took in the view. Everyone knew the CEO trusted her work and ignored the whole bustle subject matter. The Ice Princess's bump was clearly a topic off limits.

"Here you go," she said handing over a folder. "You know," added Fay as Andy was heading out to the hallway. He quickly stopped at hearing her voice. Fay liked how he looked at her, she continued her original thought: "I'd like to go over it in more detail. Could you do a dinner tonight? Let's call it a working dinner." She had never been so forward. A burning need had taken hold of her -- a need demanding some relief.

Andy looked back. He couldn't help but wonder if a date with the Ice Princess was wise. He liked her straight forward confident nature. He also loved looking at her. "I can do that. There's a couple places across the street that aren't too noisy or too quiet."

"Sounds good," she replied. "Stop by at seven."

Andy swore her voice had a little purr in it. He carried the files down the hallway pretending to read them, but he was solely focused on imagining her legs. But why the bump over her butt? He then switched to inventorying what he had in his office. Yep, he was covered -- he had a shaver and a fresh shirt. He reflected for a moment. A fling with Fay could be dangerous. He liked that.

*****

While Andy was meeting Fay for the first time that morning, a new intern from the same firm was across town desperately trying to comprehend some new pursuits of her own.

"Oh god," said Becky. "Please stop my Mistress." She took a breath almost in a panic as a tall athletic woman adjusted their Kama Sutra options by taking a strong male position over her. "Please," pleaded Becky as her leg was raised and used a lever to turn her body over with a wide swing around her mistress. Now face up and her leg placed back down on the mattress, Becky sucked in more air and continued her appeal. "Ashleigh," she exhaled, blowing air between her lush pursed lips with an accidental whistle.

"We're not done yet," said Ashleigh. "Not till you climax again. Looks like you need a little more oil though."

"Please no!"

"No? As in no stopping? Or no oil?"

"I, I, I don't know. Tell me what to say."

Ashleigh smiled, shaking her head in pity. "Always say yes to lube baby." Moving her hips back, she withdrew a long dildo that was buried inside Becky and had been so when the girl had been flipped over. The dildo now swayed across the intern's stomach as the woman on top reached out for a tiny bottle sitting on a nightstand.

Becky's eyes looked over her bare breasts at the large sex toy looming over her. She glanced at her partner. It was frightening to look up at her latex covered mistress. A shiny liquid blackness covered every curve. At least the gas mask had been removed. Lying naked and looking up at a domme woman's eyes hidden behind two tiny glass windows and hearing a voice muffled by a breather was certainly freaky sex right there.

Four orgasms from the night before had worn Becky out. For some reason her mistress seemed displeased. Somehow more was needed to be satisfied. Becky wasn't sure why. She watched the long sex toy protruding from between Ashleigh's legs. It bounced about and then her mistress's gloved hand held it steady as one precious bead of oil dripped onto to the tip.

Becky wondered why Ashleigh acted so reserved with the oil. So stingy! Pour it on!

The pink silicon billy club that her dominating partner used hurt the first time in -- actually even after a few orgasms the girth of the shaft still hurt. It seemed Ashleigh took delight in administering pain. Becky's new sexual partner called it a 'Feeldoe.' Something about a patent was mentioned. Becky didn't care about the details. Her eyes locked onto the thick silicon bent tube with two ends, one still inserted inside Ashleigh. Becky thought of how the two women had been linked several times now with the curved rod, which gave Ashleigh the manly leverage to pump her latest girlfriend's brains out. There was no need for straps. Becky noticed how Ashleigh's body squeezed and held it throughout the roughest parts of their sexual romps that night. During the harsh thrusting, Becky tried to squeeze harder than her dominating lover in hopes that she could snatch control. No luck. Her hope to pinch and filch failed.

The gloved hands continued to work the bottle. The lid was being meticulously screwed back on.

The delay to fetch more oil gave Becky a chance to think. Ignoring all the effort spent on the damn bottle, Becky concentrated on the relationship. She didn't know why she went home with Ashleigh. This was not something she ever did before. It felt great -- or creepy -- or just weird -- no, it was supposed to feel great, but it made no sense. Ashleigh was attractive, but had a strong side, a sinister edge that turned off almost everyone at work. So the whole idea of being there made no sense at all. With no chemistry between them, Becky felt a barrage of questions and thoughts begin to crawl into her psyche.

A little clarity peered through the mental fog as her mind calmed. Then panic returned. Why did she agree to this? She should leave. Run! Push the horrid woman off and bolt. Come on! The thoughts screamed inside her head. Her body stayed motionless. It refused to listen.

Ashleigh finished applying a gel lubricant onto the massive tip of the Feeldoe. It was a relief to see some extra goo applied. It mixed with the tiny bead of oil. To Becky it seemed so overly cautious how her mistress returned the tiny glass bottle back onto the nightstand, whereas the tube of gel was tossed to the floor. The latex suit crinkled and squeaked with a leaning reach that became precarious but remained too conscious an effort.

Becky realized that now was her one chance to push her domme off and escape. But again her body resisted. She cursed herself as the dildo took aim. Naked and helpless, she felt so cold. Why couldn't she have a latex suit too? She whimpered as the soft tip slid along her outer folds. She stayed silent while fighting her reoccurring confusion as to how she got herself there and what to say to get out.

"Please," begged Becky, propping herself onto her elbows. "No more. I'm starting to get soar. Really." She gulped as she was pushed back down into the pillows and made to watch the Feeldoe press between her legs searching for the entry point. Once the meagerly added lube smoothed its way around and the plump end began to tap into the power of all the sensitive nerve endings, something besides the sexual sensation hit Becky's mind.

A fog flooded her thoughts. Why was she resisting? She should simply do whatever was asked of her.

"Ok, just one more time," she said with a look of shock that she, herself, asked for more. The horror switched to guilt. Remorse took hold for not sounding more enthusiastic. After all, wasn't she the one who insisted on this? Wasn't she the one who wanted to satisfy her sexual curiosity? Experiment? Or was she told to think all that?

Her thoughts were getting all muddled again. Nothing made sense. She looked up at her dominating partner, who smiled back and pressed the Feeldoe deep inside with one long continuous stroke. Becky felt filled. A wonderful internal massage tingled her nerves. More shame followed for not joining-in with at least a good loud sexual moan. She should have shown how much she enjoyed it -- or faked it if need be. She looked up, speechless. She wished her mistress ordered her to enjoy it, but that order had not been given all night. Such mandatory instructions didn't happen with this new round of morning sex either. Oddly, why did it seem so true that a simple order could change her perception?

'Just do it' were the main commands Ashleigh kept saying. But why obey? Everyone at work hated the control freak of a woman. Maybe hate was too strong -- no, hate was correct.

The pumping started again. The mental fog stole the last confusing questions from the submissive's mind.

"Climax, you stupid girl," ordered Ashleigh.

"Oh God," said Becky, thinking and praying this would stop, but she knew her body would obey the order. It would happen. She could feel herself rapidly reaching release even though she hurt inside. Maybe she should give-in and go with it. Stop fighting. She had to get to work in the next hour. Being late at a new job bothered her. She felt rougher ruder thrusting. Was there any escape?

"Do me harder this time," said Becky, switching tactics. She tried to hide her shame and disdain. But did she hide it well enough?

"That's my girl."

"More!" Becky took in some air. Her hands grabbed her lover's waist and pulled inwards. She would climax as ordered but she still hated her mistress. As Becky forced a smile, she worried that maybe she was failing to hide her contempt.

Ashleigh gave a snide almost evil smile back.

Becky moaned and looked at her domme. Maybe the fake interest worked after all. Then again the bitch probably didn't notice the revulsion. Becky quickly added some more encouragement: "Yes, harder" and "faster!" It was all sickening lies, but hopefully it would end the act sooner. She rapidly breathed in and out like she was giving birth. "Do it!" In and out slid the fiberglass rod surfaced in soft silicon. Becky's body raced helplessly towards the peek as ordered. "I'm coming. Please go faster my Mistress. I'm coming."

"Very good my pet. Concentrate. Be a good girl," said Ashleigh, thrusting her hips harder again and again.

Becky looked into the eyes. The eyes told her everything. It was clear there was no physical pleasure behind the rough jabbing. It was all psychological. It was the domination and humiliation that led to the hellcat's joy. Maybe that explained the absence of any orders to enjoy. Clearly all the fake enthusiasm from Becky's side had shown through and fed right into the domme's delight. It was what got the vixen off. The resistance and final capitulation only spurred her domme to do even harder crueler sex. Faking-it didn't hamper the sexual play. Maybe if there had been a true genuine interest, it would have all stopped sooner. It could have removed the catalyst of degradation. Then Becky might have found herself rejected and pushed out the front door as quickly as she agreed to participate. Now it was too late.

Becky's internal walls flexed. The orgasm hit hard and sucked joy and energy away. It didn't bring the expected wonderful relief. This orgasm somehow seemed dark and demonic. It still forced a violent shiver and a loud series of gasps signaling to her mistress the peak had hit.

Her mistress stopped thrusting and relaxed on top of her. It was finally quiet.

The aura surrounding the demanded orgasm quickly left Becky's body. Shame stole any remaining bits of fleeting euphoria. There was no hiding it. This wasn't right at all. Tears formed in her eyes.

"Good girl!" said Ashleigh pulling out and resting along side the crying intern, who felt the wet stick slap onto her thigh. The mistress stole a pillow to prop up her head so she could look down at Becky and grope a breast and pinch a tit. "Mmm," hummed Ashleigh adding a laugh.

Becky gazed back defeated. She felt empty and hopeless. Why wouldn't this woman stop looking at me -- evaluating me? Can't she see how embarrassing this all was? More than that: humiliating. Would everyone know or figure it all out at work? She thought how the other two interns would tell everyone that she had stayed out all last night. They saw her leave with Ashleigh. Oh no! A look of realization came across Becky's face. She was ruined. She would need to hide, switch industries -- switch schools: not because of possible rumors of being a lesbian, but because it was Ashleigh.

The bitch smiled even more as the intern's world fell apart. "My little pet. Now that was priceless. Oh my. Look at the time. We need to get ready to leave."

Becky now knew that she was being perceived as a little pathetic girl from work. She rolled to her side facing away from Ashleigh, who in-turn got-up for the bathroom. Becky thought that the bitch wouldn't be so smug if the real reason came to light for the overwhelming shame. She knew that being dommed wasn't the reason. Being a possible lesbian wasn't either. Doing it with Ashleigh, of all women on the planet -- that was the real tormenting regret. Clearly the domme loved breaking young women and destroying their self-esteem. Becky felt in her heart that finding herself to be a submissive lover or even gay would at most have been surprising. She felt no shame in either if true. Experimenting seemed a fair and good choice. Despite agreeing to be done by a dildo wielding woman, somehow she still knew she was straight. But right now she couldn't be certain. It didn't matter though.

The only thing that made Becky feel any notion of being broken was that she had been intimate with a personality like Ashleigh. The intern sobbed again, but this time loudly letting it all out.

Why did it have to be creepy Ashleigh?

The intern vowed that later, one day, she would wound the bitch's pride; call the want-to-be dominatrix a Medusa whose snakes didn't break and recondition any free spirited souls but only numbed them to stone. That was it. That was the feeling. Becky felt frozen, not broken.

From Ashleigh's smug look, the bitch clearly enjoyed the sobbing sounds of her latest conquest. "Loved it," she smirked as she unzipped her latex suit.

*****

The workday had passed. It was evening and little time remained before Fay's big date.

Sarah, a blonde wearing a Mrs. Cleaver full skirt dress from the 1950's with its dozen puffy underskirts, looked over her friend Fay's new apartment while yelling out her half of an unfruitful conversation to a closed bathroom door. Her many petticoats rustled from her nervous pacing strides back and forth.

Was Fay telling her everything? Things were just too close to give-up. She pulled out an amber glass bottle from her purse. Its lid was as wide as the bottle allowing her to peer inside praying she missed something. With the past few weeks filled with anxious desperation, she had checked many times already. There was only a smear of oil on the side. Damn it! Fay was almost a year into her treatments and now everything might be lost. Sarah put on white dress gloves that matched her overall 1950's theme. The gloves were made of vinyl to make them completely waterproof. She inserted her pinky finger into the amber bottle frantic for even a smudge of oil.

"I'm almost ready Sarah," said Fay's voice through the bathroom door.

In the bathroom, Fay stopped for a moment. She felt a sharp pain. She cringed as she felt it again. She pulled her skirt up showing a stocking top and its attached garter belts. She rested a knee on the sink to reach under her skirt with her small hands searching, searching some more, then finally pinching something under the gathered dress. She gave a tug plucking a red feather. The quill was tipped with the minutest dot of blood.
"Are you OK in there?" asked Sarah.

"Yeah, just fixing my lipstick," answered Fay as she reached under the sink and retrieved a large zip lock bag tapped beneath the basin. The bag was filled like a pillow with more of the red feathers.

Sarah was relieved to see the bathroom door finally open. Maybe they could talk. Maybe she could get her friend to move back in -- return back home.

Fay preened herself a little more. "You didn't need to come over."

"I, I, just wanted to see how things were. See how's your new place. It's, um, the bee's knees and all, but really. Come back."

"Look, I'm not gay. I mean, if I were, you would certainly would be the one. I mean even with what happened to me -- I guess I'm surprised we're even still speaking, but I guess I'm passed that now and I just need to get my life back on track. Somehow I feel like I've had some revelations about me and figured out more since I moved out. I guess I just need some time."

Sarah searched for that look she used to get. It just wasn't there anymore. A little bit of oil from the bottle, actually more like an unperceivable film, coated her gloved fingertips. She reached for Fay's cheek stroking it gently saying, "There's a smudge." The oil rubbed off and down to the side of the lips. She needed more to go across the lips. Would such a small amount work? "Please don't go out tonight."

There was a pause, but then Fay broke free of the spell. "Look I've got to hurry. I wasn't planning on stopping by home, but I like this guy. What do you think of the dress?"

"Impeccable as always. You always could stitch an outfit. Look, just give us a chance. My Grandmother left me a beautiful ranch up in Navato. Let's go this weekend. It's like staying at a B and B." Sarah's eyes widened with hope, her face flush. She thought how desperate she was being. "I probably looked as red as beetroot. Look, a friend and lover like you is as rare as hen's teeth." The clich├ęs kept piling on in her mind. She stopped to clear her throat.

Fay's eyes flinched. She fought an invisible force, maybe it was Sarah's voice or faint memories stirred up by their talk. Fay then took control again. "I like my new place. Stop coming by here -- I mean at least for a while -- while I figure things out. Let's just be professional at work."

"But you need me to guide you through this. You're still adjusting. It's a big change in your life." Sarah saw she was failing. Everything was falling apart.

Fay opened the front door. "You're not my chaperon. Some space. Please Sarah."

The two women descended the front stoop to the sidewalk.

Sarah wanted to push her friend back into the house, but anger would not be good without way more oil. Her friend smiled back and got into a roadster with its top down. A noticeable jig took place as her friend slid her bustle down and back into a custom opening in the driver's seat where the lumbar support was removed.

Fay gave a wave as she drove off.

Sarah weekly gestured back as the love of her life and her hope for the future sped away. She threw the empty bottle against the sidewalk shattering the glass.

"Damn it!" She corrected herself with a weak murmur, "darn it."

*****

Under festooning lights decorating a narrow alley of romantic restaurants near the financial district, Fay and Andy sat sharing a bottle of wine. They set their menus aside.

"Fay, can I ask," said Andy, giving a quick eye dart to her skirt.

"You want to know about my shoes right?" Fay said sticking a toe out from under the tablecloth. She tried to smile, but it was obvious that 'the talk' was about to start. "I know, I know. My dress -- the bustle."

Andy gave a quick shrug and then sipped his drink.

"Maybe I just like being different. You don't like it?" Fay said to put him on the spot.

"No, no. Just wondered. I heard you started wearing it just before the Holidays and kept with it since."

"Tell you what. You keep doing what you're doing and I'll show you more of my outfit later."

They smiled at each other.

Across the street, straining to see down the row of restaurants with their outside seating, Sarah sat in her car watching. "Shit." She bit her lower lip. "Shoot. I could spit nails."

Knocking on the passenger window startled her.

It was Ashleigh from work, a woman that most men avoided because she was just too tall. Everyone felt dwarfed by her height. Women were flat-out rendered tiny elves by her stature. Giving her a spear and a Rachael Welch cavewoman outfit from the movie "One Million Years B.C." would complete her stereotypical Amazon woman quality. Sarah remembered how the name Amazon was actually a cruel nickname kept a secret from the woman.

Sarah pressed a button and lowered the passenger window half way. "Ashleigh?" she said, uncomfortable and surprised.

"Sarah? I thought that was you! What are you doing here? I got some Thai food, you want to share?" She held-up a plastic bag with a stack of red thank you's printed on it. "My place is right around the corner. Well actually a mile a way. I took the bus."

"I was about to head off," replied Sarah starting her car. "Fat's in the fire and all that." She shrugged.

Ashleigh flinched clearly not understanding the odd remark. Then she heard the engine. "No. No," said Ashleigh reaching over the open window's glass to undo the lock followed by a quick door opening and a fast grab for the passenger seat. "Come-on. It'll be fun." Ashleigh looked at Sarah, who was visibly frustrated. "You have a smudge," added the Amazon, reaching a leather gloved hand out to Sarah's face for a quick touch. "I've missed you. It's been almost a year. Give-up on Fay." Ashleigh gave a head move towards the romantic brick alleyway that Sarah obviously spied over.

Sarah felt so much shame that someone else would know anything of what she was doing there. Had she been that transparent?

"Spend the night with me," said Ashleigh brushing Sarah's face again.

"Sorry, the bank's closed." Sarah faced her hands, grabbing the steering wheel. She squinted hard and shook her head. "Look, I know you've carried a torch for me for a while, and how, but, but. I'm all balled-up right now." A feeling of longing kicked in with an urge to follow, to be led by someone, anyone. No. Not anyone. It had to be Ashleigh. San Francisco felt so cold at night. Sarah wiped a tear from her eye and noticed what she thought was a bit of oily make-up on her face. She thought for a moment, but it was more of an empty moment staring off into space. She didn't know what to think about. She was certain that she had had an important thought a second ago -- an urgent concern. Her mind was clear now. She looked at Ashleigh sitting next to her. This woman -- albeit Amazon-sized -- was so beautiful. Sarah rubbed the oily make-up into her own skin to hide whatever blotch might be there and then she stared into Ashleigh's eyes. "I'm so tied up in knots inside."

Sarah prayed that it would be unnoticed that she quickly switched to looking at Ashleigh's nose and lips because the eyes were just too cold and creepy. She felt a gloved hand on her face again and felt the urge to love once more. The eyes suddenly looked warm and inviting. How strange her perception changed so fast.

*****

Fay gave herself one final look in her bedroom mirror needing so badly to have the rest of the night to go well. Dinner conversation with Andy had set a good tone for things to move quickly. They held hands while they walked. They kissed at the front door. There was definitely a spark, but she hid it from him to keep him a little on edge -- actually to keep herself under control. She knew she was reaching a point where anything could make her feel horny. Every thought was becoming more distracting and harder to keep hidden from Sarah's nosey nature.

Fay checked her make-up and put on some long red satin gloves. She was beyond horny now -- intensely so. Why deny it? That morning, she had even considered driving across town to go blow Sarah, but girl-on-girl action just didn't seem enough anymore. She felt frustrated. She no longer could even get-off with masturbation. She had given up on that option months ago when she spent an entire weekend finding moments away from Sarah's hounding nature to rub herself -- and rub hard -- but never reaching orgasm. She countered her thoughts for a second: maybe girl-on-girl would be good.

Her thoughts switched back to Andy, who so far made her feel a little calmer despite her nervousness. It was like her body was pushing her to mate. She felt like a wild animal in heat. She hoped what she was about to do was right.

She yelled through the door to the next room as she checked her red stockings down to her red high heeled shoes. "Andy, there's something I need to tell you."

"Yeah," replied Andy, clinging some glasses together. Sounds of him pouring wine followed.

Fay emerged from the bedroom wearing a red teddy, matching opera gloves, red stockings and garter belts. Her fetish high heels gave her an exaggerated showgirl's height.

Andy froze for a moment.

"I have a certain fetish that I can't hide from you," she said walking over to him.

His eyes lowered down to her body.

She watched as Andy studied her. She could see how he was responding to her. How his eyes stared at her stockings, moved up to the gartered tops maybe even looked at her crotch for a second. Then his eyes focused on the garter belts connecting her stocking tops to her bathing suit cut lingerie. She suspected he would notice that there was more there than some simple naughty silky teddy. Despite the dim candle lights, he would certainly notice that it wasn't silk. It was made of red feathers. That should confuse him a bit -- maybe even draw him in.

She ran her dainty hands across the feathers that hid her breasts, lowering her fingertips over the softer smaller down feathers covering her tummy while she turned her hips slightly showing a protruding bird's tail covering her behind. Turning away, she bowed slightly so Andy could see how her butt cheeks were revealed just under her feathered bustle. Her shoulders twisted allowing her to look over her tail at him while a statin gloved hand stroked the side of her body down over the feathered protrusion adding a strong twitch as her fingertips left the edges of the longest contour feathers. She had practiced the tail twitch many times. Her muscles could give the underside that extra bit of movement that showed something unnatural that her hands obviously couldn't have added with a simple tug. It was a twitch that required some extra flexing her butt cheeks couldn't have done either. It would all lure him in.

"Touch it Andy," she said softly.

Andy stepped behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing her neck.

She pressed her tail back against his pants. He would feel the extra mass of the tail now. Curiosity would make him grab the tail. Yes. He was now running his fingers over her soft down feathers underneath.

"Oh!" she cooed feeling him cup her butt cheeks. Her hips wiggled as his hands slipped under the tail giving it a little lift. He would notice the weight now. He would notice the warmth it gave off. He would wonder how it felt so alive. She twitched her muscles again. He stepped back.

"Did I surprise you?" she said looking over her shoulders at him. She gave him a sly smile showing that she knew a secret she wanted to share.

"It's so real," he said.

"Don't stop now. Touch it, silly."

He pulled her back to him, pressing her tail against the front of his paints. His hands gave her tail a squeeze. His touch felt overwhelming. She had waited months for this, in fact almost a year of keeping Sarah at bay. Week after week, Fay had lied left-and-right about the recent changes in her body. She denied it all to Sarah: how her tail got plumper, her feathers got stiffer, and her desires to mate got stronger. Somehow Sarah's wants didn't matter anymore.

Fay switched her thoughts back to Andy. He was studying her as he kissed down her back. Most likely he was going through a list of possibilities starting with the fact that the tail couldn't be just a lump of silicon. She felt him give her butt and tail a quick jiggle. She liked it. He had to be hooked now -- fascinated -- intrigued -- wanting and lusting. She did a grind against his paints.

"I'm probably the only girl you'll hear say this: I like it in the rear."

One of Andy's hands stroked the large top feathers of her tail with one hand while the other ran over the plumule feathers that covered her flesh underneath. A finger slid between the quills and pushed unintentionally into a warm slit. She could feel him pause and explore. Yes sweetie, it's warm. Yes, it's slightly wet with me thinking about you. And yes, it'll get wetter if -- oh yes -- you keep doing just that.

"Ummm, Andy," she purred, leaning forward to reach her hands out to a wall for support. She pushed her butt out and with a long glimpse over her left shoulder, her smokey colored eyes flashed pure seduction at him. She lifted a leg folding its heel to the underside of her tail like a flamingo. She then dramatically stepped that leg out to move closer to the wall, all while keeping eye contact.

Andy moved with her in a smooth dance step.

She faced the wall and pressed her chest against the surface then rubbed up and down as Andy watched silently, totally lost in the moment. He stepped forward some more to keep his paints pressed against her tail watching as her lithe body arched so that her feathered bump pushed its underside against his crotch. Her gloved hands glided up the apartment wall as she raised them above her head volunteering to be frisked. She looked back at him again in total submission. She felt his fingers sliding inside her tail. She was getting wetter now. She heard his pant belt being undone. He was going to do her. It had all worked. She had him now.

"Gently Andy. It's just as sensitive as my other vagina in front."

"You are a sick girl."

"I'm a hen, Andy. A hengirl, actually. Be my rooster and pump me. I really need this." She lowered her head between her raised arms, straightened her elbows and knees to brace for insertion. Her tail wiggled with the very tips of its long contour feathers pointing up to the ceiling.

She felt him try to direct her body to lean over more. She complied forcing her hips further away from the wall while sliding her hands down to bow even lower. "Yes, Andy. Yes," she said feeling a firm cock stroke her feathers underneath. Her rear end angled up to give better access. She felt him move his member away. He was going for the butt hole.

"No Andy, the tail. The tail." She stifled her breathing when she felt his cock plow through the soft down feathers plunging deep into the tight slit he had fingered before.

"Oh!" she gasped pushing away from the wall and leading him in an awkward dance a few steps towards the glass dining room table. She pushed her body down onto the cold glass sheet. Her arms swung out across the freezing slab knocking away napkins and placemats. While she forced the bend in her lap to press into the table's edge, she did a push-up with her arms for a tight yoga arch. She kept her tail feathers pointing to the ceiling and bent her back even more until her shoulder blades touched the tip of her tail. She could feel every detail of his shaft sliding deep inside her: its wider head, its blood vessel contours along the shaft's surface. He was probably wondering how this could be? How could this feel so warm, wet and real? He was also probably enjoying it too much to stop. He began to repeatedly lunge into her now. She felt almost certain that she owned him, but not quiet fully yet. Her tail muscles tightened around his cock. What was going to shock him even more was when -- and there it was -- her inner hen walls involuntarily throbbed. He would certainly notice that. He kept pumping. Good, he couldn't stop either.

"Fuck me hard Andy. Pump everything you got inside me. Go faster. Deeper. Be an animal with me. Oh! Ah! Ah! Yes!"

Andy leaned over pinning her hands to the table. The tips of her toes dug into her dainty shoes as her heels withdrew up from the stilettos letting a shoe fall sideways. She kicked it away and ejected the other as well.

He let go of a wrist long enough to push her back down against the table. His hands grabbed her wrists on either side and pressed them against her hips. She couldn't move even if she struggled. A strong shoulder twist tested that for a second.

She loved being held down so firmly. She loved being forced. She loved feeling herself being so vigorously nailed. And now his rod shoved its way deep inside her feathered tail and held there. She felt him pulse in sync with her body. Warmth squirted inside her. Every tick on the clock was another pulse of cum. The whole idea sent her over the edge and her hen tail instinctively squeezed harder.

She screamed out and gave her tail a good shake, enjoying the feeling of being skewered to the furniture. She felt used. She felt controlled. He held her down so wonderfully and firmly as she writhed helplessly in pleasure enjoying the way her tail repeatedly quivered inside. It all hit her so fast. When her body went limp, she rested her feathered breasts against the slippery glass tabletop. Her opera gloves had slid down to her wrists and the skin exposed at her arms, her shoulders and tops of her breasts squeaked against the steamy glass. Her heart continued to pound. It was all she could hear. The left side of her face felt the hard surface, but she was too tired to move. The grip he held on her wrists relaxed. Her toes barley touched the floor. His pumping must have slid her further across the table. She felt his deflating member slide out of her tail.

Finally, her boundless thoughts of fornication subsided offering some relief from months of frustration. Logic started to flood into her mind. Sanity cleared the weeks of intense and growing sexual fog. She breathed deeply but softly, as her body remained ravaged on the glass surface. Pulling her hands free from him, she slowed her breathing and pulled back a lock of hair from her face.

Had this been a good idea? It felt good, but now she wasn't so certain. Sex guilt -- why couldn't she just be happy? After all, the constant pangs of horniness had been too much. No one could of held those screaming urges off. She shook her head to stop the growing voices in her mind that always needed to justify things. She took one more deep breath and looked up at Andy as he leaned over and caressed her head. Maybe she could actually think clearly again. Maybe she could reason out what to do now.

She felt him stroking her smooth skin down her back and over her waist to where her feathers started. He was probably wondering what to think of her, something like: what was she exactly? She could imagine him wondering: what had he just fucked?

A pain hit her -- ruining her bliss. Her tail muscles tightened with another contraction. She had been told about this -- actually it had only been hinted at. Sarah always held back the details. Fay hated the distrust. Just tell me what I am now! No more lies! Another pang hit hard. It confirmed everything: Andy was the one.

Fay's soul, body and even animalistic hen side of her had fallen in love. The pain pinched again. She remained bent over the table as she flexed her left then right butt cheeks. She tightened the tail muscles searching for where the pain was originating. She gave all her human and non-human muscles a squeeze on both sides. With a transfer of her weight to her right leg, she gave those muscles a strong flex then focused back on the other. Her rear end squirming about must have given Andy a nice show.
The source remained vague.

"Mmm," she cringed at another twinge. It wasn't going away. She clenched her hands into fists. Damn it! She let her legs relax and dropped her stocking covered feet to the cold floor. Andy's hands let go of her now. She heard him step back and slide down against the wall. He probably hadn't noticed that she was having a momentary issue. Was he still looking at her ass? She needed to move her torso off the table. Her tail, which aimed at his face, involuntarily jostled. He must have been thinking it was all animatronics stolen from an effects movie. She felt movement inside. She had hoped it would have happened later. She had hoped Andy wouldn't see this. There was no time to run to the next room. There was no stopping it.

Sliding off the table and squatting over the wood floor, she checked behind her -- and yes -- there was in fact enough room between the table and Andy, who was now sitting on the floor probably wondering what in the world she was doing.

"Quick Andy, put your hands against my ass. Please. Don't let it hit the floor."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm laying an egg. Just grab it. There is no time to explain."

She grunted and pushed. Her butt pointed to his face as she rested her knees on the floor and straddled his legs. In case the egg slipped, hopefully it would fall safely onto his lap. She grabbed the table's edge and pushed. Her tail swatted his nose as she felt a strong contraction deep inside. She had never felt anything like it before. As unknown muscles flexed, she could visualize her extra internals as if she could anatomically point to places inside her hengirl body locating muscles that she didn't even know existed except now because of the violent spasms.

"Ah," she moaned with another push. She could feel it crowning -- the egg -- stretching a hole that Andy had just finished pumping so strongly. She squeezed her buttocks and matching tail muscles. She pushed again.

"What is this?" he asked. "You really get into this role playing thing."

She gave another loud grunt and collapsed down the length of his legs. Somehow she knew that he now held a large golden egg. She ran her gloved hand through her hair to uncover her eyes.

"It actually feels soft," he said.

"Don't hurt it. It'll harden in a second." She didn't know how she knew that too, but it had to be true.

She propped herself up and sat on his legs, feeling completely exhausted. She still had her back towards him. With a twisting move around her waist, she reached back and carefully took the egg with both hands. It really was golden, also slippery and messy. She didn't care if it stained her new red satin gloves. She dared not drop it.

"I did it," she said laughing as she cradled the oblong orb. "I wasn't sure, but I guess I really like you Andy." She turned her straddling position around 180 degrees to face him. She gave him a quick kiss -- a peck -- and sat back putting her tail weight on his thighs. Her feather covered breasts were right at his eye level.

"Don't tell me you're going to sit on it now. Keep it warm?"

"It's not that kind of egg. It only holds oil inside. A special oil that you helped me create."

Andy ignored her and with both hands stroked her feathered body down her sides till he held her waist. "Your costume is incredible. Are there motors inside?"

"It's all me Andy. Other than the stockings and gloves. I'm naked right now. I hooked the garters to my feathers. I told you: I'm a hengirl." She examined the egg. It was rigid now. The golden surface had calcified.

"Whatever you say. You're one crazy hen."

Fay resented that. She hated having spent all her life fighting to be taken seriously against men that assumed she was only there to be beautiful. Now all her hard work was ruined with this hengirl thing. She despised Sarah for that. Sarah had made her this way. Sarah would pay for it. "Take that back. I'm not crazy. OK!"

"I'm sorry." He paused. "Really. Sorry. So, what do you do now? Does that tail have another egg?"

"Ask me what the egg is for."

"Ok. What?" he said looking up at her -- of course, he did so after his eyes took in the view of her boobs.

Fay didn't mind the gawking from him. He was cute. The polite attempts to avoid gazing at her boobs were cute too.

She looked at the egg and what she needed to do with it. She felt bad for a second, but a girl has to look out for herself in this world.

"What's it for?" she said rhetorically. "This!" she answered while smashing the egg against his forehead sending a thick oil splattering over his face and bare chest staining the painted walls behind him. Some splattered back onto her, but she didn't care.

It wouldn't affect her.

feathered   fetish  

May 13, 2018 in femdom

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