This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.
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I took a deep breath, looking down at the bird-slave who already had my cock in her beak. In the summer, her plumage was more yellow than orange, though I did so love the gorgeous, orange hue of my slave’s feathers too. They were even more glorious when she was on display at an event I was holding at the compound, where others with a liking for fine slaves, like the ones that I had for personal use and, of course, on offer too, could gather and meet. Some of my slaves would even be sold that day.
But not Talra, though there was always that possibility in the air, if the right price and the right buyer came my way.
She crooned, nuzzling into my crotch, lapping down the length of my cock like a dog, the avian quivering before me.
“Master… Please…” She breathed, broken in her sweetening submission. “Let me serve you.”
No longer did she require a chain on her ankle or any kind of bondage, though I trussed her up in it frequently. At that very moment, she was wearing a leather harness with glossy, black-painted O-rings for fixings, framing her breasts and drawing the eye temptingly down her body to her crotch, the lines of leather pointing down to it. Of course, it was only one part of her body that could be used, that was there for such use.
I knew people were watching, but casual nudity was no issue in such a location and compound, showing off what my slaves were there to do, others milling about, though Talra had my attention. Maybe she was captivating, in a way, in just how she pressed that light curve of her beak up into my balls, tenderly handling them as if she was pleasing me like a lover rather than a slave. The willingness in her made it all the better, her heart well and truly in her submission, wings fluttering — or at least attempting to, for those I had locked behind her in a leather binder, simply to keep the ensemble in tune.
Well, it did not do to leave any slave entirely free when their bodies could be used for decoration.
When she tried to swallow down my length again, I pushed her away, hitching her up with a squall to her feet, though she scrambled. That was just because she had not been expecting it, of course, the hall where other slaves were displayed in bondage poses, unable to move, set up with a long buffet table too. Other slaves milled about, dispersing washcloths and bowls of water for fingers and hands, but I had drawn a crowd and I was proud to show off one of my best.
Talra whimpered as she was pressed down over the edge of a side table, the wood creaking under the pressure I put on it, but holding. I knew it would hold, as I had fucked many slaves over it already, though her tail flicking up, showing off the plumpness of her folds, tucked within a lighter hue of feathers, would draw me in either way.
“Look how beautifully she submits.”
“She was born to be a master’s whore.”
“What stock does he have for sale?”
My heart pounded, on show and plunging into her, the bird-slave under me gasping as I plunged deep, though I didn’t want to hear her cries, not that time. My cock sank home into her tight pussy, which somehow remained tight and wanton despite all the use it got, slamming in, not caring for her pleasure. The slut came every time I fucked her anyway.
Just another thing that made Talra one of my very best slaves.
The table rocked under me as I sank into her pussy, again and again, feathers tickling my crotch. The best, the absolute best, though the best slave was still far, far below a master, even the servants in my employ too. It was her place in the world, the best position for her to be in, her pussy rippling and contracting around me as her training kicked in, striving and straining to please me, the only master and only other that mattered in her life.
If she pleased me, all was right with the world, her world. Thus, that was all she did.
“Yes… Oh!”
Talra gave in to it under me as she always did. Any early shyness had long, long ago been swept away, the demure little thing teased away where I neither had any place nor use for a slave like that. Where she might have been shy, her obedience was absolute — and that was what I really needed from a slave. There was pleasure to be had in the training, but more so to be had when she spread her legs as wide as she could for me, her tail as high as it could go, tail feathers tickling up against my stomach and chest. She exposed herself as if there could be no other option in her mind, pushing eagerly into it, and I swore she ground back at me, wanting more.
I thrust and thrust, though there could only be one end and completion for me, the table rocking and jumping, knocking back into the wall. Thrust after thrust brought me there, the slick sweetness of her heady, tight pussy driving me on. No less than raw, feral need coursed through me as I let out a ragged snarl that seemed more and more natural coming from my lips, grinding in one last time, sending my load deep into her.
Spurt after spurt filled the quivering slave, pinned under my hands, which held tight to her shoulders, holding her down. She would have stayed there anyway, but some things were simply enjoyable to do. I groaned deep in the back of my throat as I rocked my hips, letting the final spurts pour into her.
Of course, my slaves were fed a special mix of herbs in their diets so that they did not become pregnant. That, however, was still possible if a master who owned them decided that they should bear offspring, though it was rarely from the seed of a master, not without due need.
Her pussy seemed to suckle and pull around my cock even as I drew out of her and she groaned, staying in place, her hands braced under her on the table, wings quivering in their binder. I left her there, tugging my trousers back into place, belt sliding home, the clasp created by a fine metalsmith nearby. A lock and key were engraved into the elaborate buckle — but they represented, of course, what I held the power in, to keep my slaves under lock and key. There could be no concerns in that for a master.
I enjoyed my time at the gathering, admiring the slaves on display, even though I saw them most days, graciously accepting compliments. Liquor flowed, my guards manned the doors, protecting us where there was no need. But there were always those looking to steal slaves for the coin that they garnered, even if our safety would not truly ever conflict.
I’d forgotten all about Talra, but the bird crept in while my attention was elsewhere, a glass of mead in my hand, enjoying good drink, good company and like-minded ones at that. But the first I knew of her was the nudge of her beak at my crotch, an almost embarrassed chirp, the bird down on her knees with my seed leaking from her pussy.
I raised an eyebrow. No more needed to be said.
“Master…”
She quivered and I knew what she wanted, warming with pleasure, my shaft rising with a soft flush of blood within my trousers again. I had not realised quite the depths of her submission, yet it was all as I wanted it to be, always as I wanted it to be.
“You are in need, aren’t you, slave?”
I said it casually, not conveying to her how hard my heart was pumping, the sight of her sprawled out, crawling, whimpering, begging for it, sending my desire into overdrive. Those around, respectfully, backed off a little, only to allow me enough room. She nodded faintly, though kept her eyes downcast, not looking up at me. Good.
“How much do you want me to fuck you, slave?”
She blushed and chirped, rubbing her beak submissively against my boot.
“So much, master…” It must have been hard for her to get the words out, feathers shivering with the tremor of her body. “I need it… I can’t ask for it…not really… But your slave wishes to please, if you would allow it. I’ll do anything you wish for, always… Oh…”
Her words ran out, panting breathlessly, crooning, rubbing her beak on my boot, devolving to non-verbal gestures of submission, wanting me to know. And there was nothing that someone like me could do but to take her, though it was not the heat of her pussy that I would claim that time.
I pinned her down on all fours, my shirt open at the front where the laces tying it had been loosened, my body covering hers, cock questing for her. She was so small against me, but my cock was not aiming for the hunger of her cunt as I thrust and jabbed, letting them all see just what she would take from me, how beautiful her cries could truly be. And they were indeed as I shoved my cock into her arse, crudely and roughly, in front of everyone, letting her shrill and trill out her lust to anyone there that cared to listen.
She had no words to give me in that moment, only her submission, and I lusted for her all the more for that, the devoutness of her slavery before me. She knew her place and met it well, my cock plunging into her tight backside, shoving her tail feathers up and out of the way with every stroke of my cock. Our need was in perfect synchronisation as I fucked her, hard, rough, exactly the way I liked it, taking more liberties than I did with any other slave. To say that I was not fair to Talra would have been a lie, but our relationship most certainly was not something that could ever be had between a master and a lover of equal status.
It was never meant to be like that. And it was so as I broke into a heady gasp, thrusts speeding up, closer and closer, despite only having filled the bird what felt like mere moments ago. Something about her got my blood up and pumping, the glow of her feathers luring me on and in, grunting deep in the back of my throat, heart hammering. It did not matter that I was being watched, only that she was there, under me, fluttering her tail feathers in sweet submission, her backside tight around my cock.
Stroke after stroke ploughed into her, though there was no climax to be had from my slave, only submission, the way it was supposed to be, even as her juices and my first load trickled down the lips of her pussy, marking the feathers of her inner thighs. I wouldn’t have her bathed that night, after the gathering, so that the remnants of my carnal ownership over her would remain, staining her hide.
Talra whispered my name as I filled her, growling through climax, my fingers hooked around her metal collar, pulling it a little more tightly against the front of her throat. I might not have done it if she did not quiver so deliciously.
That was why I kept coming back to one of my best slaves, reinforcing her place, her training, the sweet submission that kept her squeezing around my cock even through my orgasm. Thick spurts of cum filled her arse and my head swam as I pushed in a little harder, grinding into her rump.
“The slaves here are of the finest quality.”
And Talra was mine.