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And we meet again, my dear audience. Here be the story to yet another erotic tale, the first of many collaborations with BassyBefuddle . The original illustration shall be uploaded shortly, and linked here:

https://www.sofurry.com/view/1985541

Enjoy.

---

Hidden for All to See

"...And have it all by next month, or I'm putting you on the streets!"

That's when Amara picked up crocheting. An easy ease off the stress, weaving her threads in the rocking chair, half-cloaked by morning's hollow square around her curtain. Not just for the property taxes she owed, but for Gael. He'd been gone for so long, it was hard not to search the sky for a shape--in a bed of ferns, her crimson, slim body flexed with impatience as the creaking palm trees beside her house wept leaves in the glorious Breezes. Those of which shaped her mind and body's path forward, helixed within a renewed spirit of hope through the ruthless passage of time, yet at night the beach never felt so empty. All these new problems, stressors and earworms making their way through her crimson head ate away when they were just trying to enjoy the relief of being alive. In Gira, the responsibility had started and ended with how to put food on the table, save for bathing and making sure each other was loved every step of the way--even if one could never be seen by anyone. That was the plight of the Windborn-who Gael was, and who he'd be forever. Nobody could ever see his wings. That's the one thing that didn't change when they reached Oanta.

She caught herself sighing. A month without the warmth of his cock. No sight of those strong wings protruding from his thick triceps, the golden sun turning his brown body to bronze. Nude constantly, his ten-pound mass gone tan between the Vitamin D and her pussy. She put the crochets down and looked at her hands. Sometimes you get so fearful of what you'd create that you take up the skill of solitude. The embers atop Gira's fading dot mirroring the stone temples displaying the Windborn falling in the Ruinlands. Flashback or not, the pain of those ashy ruins would never forge into a stable income; they shared this pain in silence in the day, and at dawn, watched it soar away with saltwater. Most nights they'd hold hands and take a romantic stroll in the nude across the beach, the security of their long trek from a burning Gira fading like the glimmering, amber sunset. Whispers caught in Breezes, tongues jostling. How was your day? How are you feeling? Do you like it like this? In the present, the heart-pumping memory in her two fingers driving a leak out her beak--she could feel him, she could taste him--yet when her eyes opened, he was gone. Before she knew it her cavity brought her back to the crafting wheel, carrying her thoughts in a sash like a tight fist, and before she knew it, there were little makeshift sleeves that enveloped her arms to look like fake wings. Her nipples perked, but no one was around to touch them. Sometimes you get so good at a skill that you fear what you might create.

She peeled open the curtain. Peace. Back outside, the flecks of sand peppered her bare chest. The smell of salt over coconuts. An aura of pumice. By the time she had hatched an idea, the underside of her skirt had gotten cold. She pulled it down to the tough, yellow skin of her feet; no underwear. Just bare hips to the Breezes, the warm lips of its aura kissing her vulva. The trifecta of Oanta's culture, rules and temperature unique rules made it easy to indulge in public nudity. She'd visited the locals by the seaside in all her glory, strolling by the watermelons and cantaloupes, curiosity from her beak to the fingertips, and of course, always conveniently needing to pick something up opposite of all the spectators. Yet in times of stillness, she felt more like a disturbance. Breezes forgive me, she muttered, looking out beyond the sea. Next thing, she found herself hunched by the wall, her legs in an M, the fingers she circled in her vaginal passage writhing and drenched, imagining the magnitude of her man ripping her apart. She bit as the juices seeped, but it was nothing in comparison to the pre he'd spurt with just a glance at his figure.

Vividly, her mind pulsed. An image of her taking him to the streets after lunchtime without any pesky clothes and showing the big crowd what she brought home each night. Jaws dropping at his tall, muscular form, look lower and-ah!-his mass swung like a grandfather clock, a couple shakes of her peach and a kiss making it swell with pride. Perhaps she'd tie a thick rope around the base of his genitals and tell him, "no covering". The sky was the limit with his shame, no pun intended. She'd find the most populated spot, turn around and grab his nuts. Kissing deep, his pre like thunder. Snug between her thighs, ahh! yeah, like that, just like that; her vulva hugging her middle and ring fingers like his big shaft would, surrounded by chatter, fruit and desire.

Her heart wasn't racing-it was sprinting. Fingers circling again and again, the fantasy: the blazing sun, the wink, the nerves, the feeling; warm throbs from brain to genitals as both became tighter and the crowds made "oohs" and "aahs", jealous 'cause all of them know who that cock belonged to, and--

FWOOSH

Amara opened her eyes. Gael was right in front of her, now. A leather jacket with its back sleeves slashed, a big hat and a black pair of Koumulian slacks paired with a big smile. She could see him tenting and immediately felt twice as naked in front of him. A pile of wrapped Koumulian delicacies were dropped atop the leather clothes she'd discarded as Gael snickered at her expectedly.

"Hey there. Did I come at a bad time?" he asked.

"No," she breathed. "The best."

She undid the zipper and let the huge cock flop out. Half hard and already as big as her wrist.

"So, how was your trip?"

He breathed in a lungful as the hot tunnel enveloped him. "Absolutely beautiful. I need to figure out a way to take you to Koumul--every time I go, I expect to be less amazed, and somehow it always catches me off guard. The view from the highest mountaintops is amazing. Look up and you'll see the strings of lights across the sky. Look out, and you'll see the whole city from there and beyond. You have better eyesight than me, so I bet if you squinted, you'd see the Havarda borderline." He chuckled. "Then, you'd have something to tell me."

Amara licked his shaft to the tip, kissed it, stroked and said, "Are you just suggesting that so I'd suck your cock on top of it?"

"Heh," he smirked, though it came out more like a breath. "Well, you're sucking my cock, now. So I don't think that'd be a problem."

She let him have that while she had a taste of some midnight chocolate. Besides the slight Koumulian accent, Gael's newfound confidence was a massive turn-on for her. Not because it was particularly amazing, but because of the change he'd done. Each day on Oanta, he held his head a little higher. Ventured out a little further at night. Didn't swear as often. On some days she felt the debt had switched, and now he was taking care of her--as constant nudity would have it, he had big things to offer.

"Did you ever solve the debt problem, honey?" Gael asked.

"No. Not yet." She gazed further at his clothes. "You know, those threads aren't gonna last in a climate like this."

"You want me to sell 'em?"

"Mmm...yeah."

Gael laughed,"Well, that's humiliating! Plus, I don't know who in Oanta would take them."

"True. Do you want to at least get out of them for me?"

"Huh...I don't know. I kind of like the dominant look."

Unable to deny it, she winced a half wink, watching the dick grow to meet her. Amara drew her tongue over his balls and stroked him with two hands-immediately, a string of pre fired out. "Either way, I hope you weren't planning on just throwing those away."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's a new festival coming up on the north side of the island."

"That's wonderful, honey. I hope you have a great time."

"I will, if you come along."

Gael was visibly taken aback; during his silence, Amara throated him. "We talked about this, though--even if I could cover up my wings, it's too dangerous. Any relationship we make could spark a bad series of lies, and we don't know where that'll end up."

Amara stroked him slower now, her tongue circling around the tip. "We've always known that. I've just been so lonely, Gael. There's so many things I'd do to you if I could. If only there was a way to get them to focus more on this..."

Amara touched his crotch with both hands and drew V-lines all the way up to his wings, standing until she was eye to eye with him.

"...while I keep all this to myself?"

She could feel the heat on his cheeks as she pulled him in, tongues overlapping, and her two, plush crimson thighs slapped around his meat. It occurred to Gael that anybody could see them like this, perhaps wolf whistle and yelp at Amara's technique pulling and curling his face like a puppet. Yet somehow, that didn't raise his concern. The shapes of shadows in the distance morphing to figures felt more appealing the longer he thought it over--Amara could feel his excitement pushing her legs apart. His beak pulled away:

"I don't know about being turned into a sex object, I..."

She smirked as she felt his cock harden to a diamond and said,

"Somehow I doubt that."

Waves pulsed and rolled. At the same time, she felt that familiar hydro-pulse on his shaft. A geyser of cum painted the underside of her booty with every pulse, every thrust, as the rest of it sprayed on the wall, spurting six, seven, eight times until the softness finally came. At that point, it was nothing but kissing, all for the buildup of both of their lifetimes.

"Come on in," she crooned. "I'll explain it more in depth."

---

A week had passed. In Gael's stomach, a warmth was spreading. A tight, fidgeting ball that shivered down his veins to his fingers. The Koumulian garments kept him toasty as he waded through the kinky fair, passing the most avin he'd ever seen in one place. All wrapped in tape, chests exposed, wearing small garments that blew in the breezes, or tight fabric between their legs. Amara was none the wiser. Her clothing was nothing but bands that accentuated her goods: the fat of her thighs, the width of her hips. Gael blushed at the sight of her huge breasts swaying in full view of the public.

He saw harnesses, whips, chains and things he immediately knew he could never unsee. But most of all, the wandering eyes around the leash around his neck to his clothes told him how many had seen the flier Amara had put up. Even she was surprised. She thought most would assume it's fake or too dumb. The truth is, it was all about the performance. And once they reached their allotted area, Gael's heart leapt to altitudes even he'd never experienced.

Before it was a circle of metal railways about forty feet wide. Nothing was inside it but them. Amara had taken the leash back and thrown it aside, closing in on his ear.

"Remember,"she whispered, "the safe word is "Plankton."

All that used to trail behind Gael were now watching with curious smiles. The show was beginning, and both greeted their audience with vigor before starting.

"I am the mighty Windborn!" Gael yelled. "And I have come to save Oanta from your clutches!"

"You'll never stop me from my conquest, you feathery fiend!"

They unsheathed their longswords, and screamed uproarious battle cries as they charged!

Filled with rage (or something), Gael swung to the right--parried!--left--parried!--kicked in the chest and recovered. Amara wielded her sword with two hands, raised it and swung down with a mighty grunt. Gael narrowly avoided it, trying to stab her between the legs, but she raised one to kick him in the face! The three-toed grip of her foot stuck to his face, and he wrestled to get it off (but not too hard). He switched hands with his sword and parried four more slashes before pushing Amara down, then aiming the blade at her neck.

"It's all over!" he stated triumphantly.

Amara gave a smirk. "That's what you think."

Grabbing his wrist with both hands, Gael's triumph turned to shock as he was "powerless" to stop his competitor from turning the blade onto himself. A knee to the abs (a bit too hard, if you'd ask him) made him fall to the ground. Then her foot pressed his head down until he was prone, eye-to-eye with Amara's sword. Amara picked it back up and waved them out in a V, and the crowd cheered and cheered at this revolutionary battle!

"I have been defeated!" Gael moaned extravagantly. "Surely you won't do any humiliating things to me instead of killing me, my Queen?!"

A fist to her chin, she thought hard. Really hard, in fact. Way too long. Until suddenly she said, "Kneel."

And he did. She kept instructing him: "Legs apart. Further. No, further. Good. Now look up at me. Actually, no. Look down in shame. Actually, wait, I was right the first time, look up at me. Good." Then she thought for some more, until evilness crossed her face.

"Stand!" Amara commanded, and Gael's knees shook in place. The crowd was beginning to grow confused. Gael was, too, at the realization her digits weren't reaching beneath the napes of his clothes. Instead, she had something different in mind:

"Strip."

Tingles down his spine.

"Are...are you serious?" he asked, but it came out quiet as a whimper.

"That's right! I told you to strip! Fold them and give them to me." She smiled devilishly. One article at a time."

Although Gael was frozen in place, he felt himself twitch down below. This wasn't a part of the plan! Was she that impressed by his actions? Or did she really want to humiliate him that badly? Either way, he felt the surge.

"Jacket first," she commanded. One button at a time. The room was getting hotter. The _world_was getting hotter. It slid off and crumpled to his feet.

"I said, fold them."

Her sudden low tone sent chills down his spine. "Plankton!"

The crowd talked amongst themselves. She approached him in a worried hurry and hushed, "Wait, I'm sorry, I wanted to surprise you!"

"Sorry! Sorry. Just...don't like surprises much."

"You can leave if you want, you know. We don't have to do this."

The word "overstimulation" was an understatement as Amara's calmness helped him catch his breath. At first he thought it was a goner, but then he thought of the failsafe she'd created. The crowd around him unblurred, and suddenly, he found opportunity. An audience waiting to be captivated. And the half-hard bulge in his pants made it hard to deny he was loving every second of this.

"It's all gonna be okay," Amara calmed him. "It's not like you're yelling to a crowd that you're a Windborn."

"Yes it is."

"Oh, right. Just take it in small steps, okay?"

He took one last deep breath. "Okay. I think I'm ready."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Let's do this."

Amara backed up and waved her arms in down motions, to the polite applause of their audience. Gael gave a thumbs up of his own, took some more deep breaths, and found his peace.

"As I was saying!" Amara called, pointing at him dramatically. "Strip down!"

It helped that Gael could tell how hard she immediately cringed at that. He was actually laughing as his hat tipped towards the ground. Folding the jacket, he shimmied his hips, descending the trousers to the base of his tail feathers. The sweater beneath it was sweltering--a two handed peel on his tight abs as the crowd "ooh'd" at it coming off, but in a thud of panic, he shucked it back down.

Not yet, he thought.

That left the hardest part. Thumbs into the nape of his pants. Amara watched, almost sympathetic as his trembling, feathered hands brought the britches from thigh to kneecap to ankle. Underwear-clad, he took deep, ballooning breaths. Being forced to strip in public made him experience a level of nudity he'd never imagined. The shame was immediate, loud, trembling-it was as though the crowd dominated him, as well. Already feeling naked, he folded his pants up and handed them over.

All eyes were on his bulge. He gulped and shivered, feeling the sweat down his face. Plankton,_his conscious said. _No, he answered. Of course I feel like this. How could I not? Exhilarating was a difficult word to define.

The sliding sssss over his bare thighs was a siren. The paper-thin fabric brushing his bare skin, the veins of his penis thudding with his heart. Aviary eyes all around him begged to see more, so he held his breath, counted to three, and shucked them down, much to the enjoyment of the kinky crowd. Amara looked impressed as she took those boxers from him.

One last part. Fists clenched on the nape of his sweater. His whole body was shaking as he lifted it up, past the glistening chest, enveloping his head, until suddenly, freedom struck with a thunderous blow: it was off!

The applause that erupted shook him to the core. Gael was now stark naked in public. Everyone could see everything: his collar, bare shoulders, toned biceps, chiseled abs, twisted navel, V-line, eye-rearing hips, muscular thighs, his dark, trembling legs, and--ah!--most embarrassingly of all, his huge penis dangling over his massive, brown balls. His back, which trembled with goosebumps, and his big, brown butt, bare for all to see, with only a rake of tail feathers for cover. But most nervously of all, his wings were in plain sight, wrapped in a bundled crochet of brown yarn that perfectly reflected his feathers. His heart raced as he waited for someone to point out how real they looked.

Except, they didn't. They were instead wowed by the practical effects. Amara had even stitched in a few white strips between the feathers to make it look like she'd made some amateur mistakes. They were happier to see him hand the sweater over than anything else.

The moment she gave her his folded boxers, it hit him. He threw both hands over his crotch. Everybody was looking. Everybody could see the hero, smited down to nothing but this!

"Good, good!" she praised over the dying roar of the crowd. "It's, uh...time for you to know your place." She was growing reluctant, which warmed Gael's mortified heart. "Stand in attention!"

Her military roots broke loose. Gael went chin up, still shaking, Amara's shackling dominance radiating. "Uncover yourself!" she squawked, and it was honeysuckle Hell when he did. "Kneel," was her final command, just like he had before--legs apart, hesitating before putting his arms behind his back. When she walked behind him, she was tying his arms together, one forearm on top of another, with a tough rope.

"Now, take your place!"

She gestured to an oak overpass above a hallway-sized maroon towel just beyond the circle. There again came the command: "Kneel." But where? There was really only one place: right on the towel. And that's when he saw a sign to the left:

_"LEGENDARY WINDBORN - _

PROS:

Legendary

Windborn

Resilient

Gorgeous

CONS:

May bite back

Have for an Hour (2,000 COINS)"

Just as he finished reading, the leash slipped around his neck. This was it. A rumble from somewhere in his stomach brought the blush on his cheeks to two times its heat. His whole body would blush, if that was even remotely possible, though to suggest such a thing for a brown body would be completely absurd. Equally absurd was the feeling in his chest as he looked to his right. The articles of his former clothing were sorted out into neat little piles, with wooden upside-down V's in crude black paint depicting their value. Last was the adventurer's sword--his sword--placed merely inches from him. The stares and comments of the sea of voyeurs was humiliating enough, but the thought that in moments he would be permanently naked in public drove him to madness.

Gael protested, "No! Not my hat! Not my clothes! I need those to wear!"

"Silence!" Amara snapped his beak shut with her foot and grew soft. "A slave doesn't speak unless permitted."

She let his beak go, and it opened in a gasp. The crowd converged and eyed the wares. Gael's heart banged, his legs shaking. He was enslaved, nude oddity, the flurry of open-beaked gawks at his huge penis hanging out in the open was a reckoning blow to his dignity. It was beyond anything he'd ever conceived. He found himself sinking into its own little world, connecting with their thrill, their excitement.

I am Gael, he thought. I was a Windborn. But now, I'm just a slave.

A familiar crimson wing-slap to the back of his head.

"Head down, Gael!" Amara commanded. "I mean, Slave!"

"'Scuse me, did you call him 'Gael'?"

"No, sorry, that was my throat sneezing."

It was a good time for him to lower his head, because it took all his willpower to not burst out laughing. But now a different problem arose-literally. The attention was winding his gears. He chanced a glance upward and saw more than a dozen wide-eyed stares--the shock of which stirred his lions, the panic indistinguishable from the thrill. In full view, Gael watched his huge mass grow full sail, as if jostled, smacked and stroked by the sea of clamoring voices, footsteps and bodies. Eyes widened and fingers jutted--Gael saw none of it, so embarrassed he couldn't bear to open his eyes. A new sensation rocked him. A single hidden feather over the open valley of his butt shocked him--she told him it'd come, just not when. His pelvis thrusted, a hiss from his beak, and a spurt of pre to woo the crowd, watching him quiver and suck in air. To them, it was nothing--just another part of the show.

Humiliation didn't even begin to describe it, but a part of him loved all the admiration for his pecs, his abs, his big dick--the same part that so desperately wanted a loincloth. Hazy with excitement, he began thrusting at nothing, beak half open, the feeling of his own penis growing to perfection finally masking the shame.

It caught Amara during a conversation. The hardon that reached midway down his thigh, a brand new show for his audience. One leg lifted, she graced a talon down his chest and crooned right in his ear:

"Mind if I help with that?"

A shaky nod. Her three-taloned grip around his cock wasn't strong, but squeezed a string of pre-cum to stain the rug. It stroked slowly, ever so slowly, like his torture--naked, exposed, and now toyed with in front of hundreds. The comments were instant:

"Ooh, he's into feet!"

"I didn't think anybody could pre that hard."

"Babe, can you do that to me? Not here, I'm not an exhibitionist."

They gasped, laughed, expressions of jealousy and intrigue galore, Gael fighting to not faint on the spot from embarrassment.

To his right, the shirt he'd adorned was snatched, the underwear, the hat, gold coins showering everywhere but on him. The more he lost, the more he gained, the pleasure hurling through his thick length, huffing, thrusting into her rugged foot. Biting hard, he peered at the rough callouses teasing the flared tip, which only got wetter and slimier with each dose of pre that fired loose.

Gael felt so naked. So utterly exposed. His nipples pricked at the sight of a buff, blue avin adorned with spiky shoulder pads, chest bare, a thong with a package that rivaled twice his. He watched him offer a fistful of coins, drop them in the peaking leather bag, and look him straight in the eye as he slid away his sword by the handle. That cocky smirk. That ardor. That...fiend! But instead of lusting for revenge, all it did was further turn him on.

Yet Amara wasn't done. She pushed him onto his knees, in a different direction. Bare ass to the sky, his cheeks burned, as she left him twice as exposed, with that foot still wrapped around his cock. She then milked him like a Jimpa in heat. His whole body was shaking, ass and balls to the sky. He couldn't believe what Amara was doing to him, but somehow, it felt perfect and right.

And as the warm stirring corrupted his pelvic area, he thrusted with force, and a great big moan. At once, it flew through him, blasting rope after rope all over the floor. White hot fluid clenching his shaft and exploding out the tip, just as his precious jacket was sold. The crowd gasped again; some even cheered! Amara, though, was laughing.

"Oh Breezes! Oh Breezes! I didn't think you would actually cum so fast!"

Gael couldn't help laughing, himself.

Amara knelt down, wheezing, "Oh Breezes, babe, did it feel good, at least?"

"Best orgasm ever!"

A teary-eyed inhale. "Okay! Okay! Okay. You're still my slave, though!"

"Yes, mistress! I'll do anything for you!"

"Actually, he's mine."

_ _ A gruff, rugged voice. Female. The figure standing tall between the valley the crowd made when they parted was like witnessing a mountain split in half. A tall, curvy, yellow avin whose expression screamed of an avin who didn't care if all of Avia saw her thick body. Nude except for a three inch slat of black tape between her legs and four translucent latex bands gripping her arms and thighs with tender fury. Tattoos of adventurous paths covered her waist down to her thighs, yet somehow not as prominent as the faded white scars that coated her beak.

"Name's Hebbeth," she said. "Heard you got a Windborn for sale?"

"Sure do!"

She glared at the empty pile of clothes. "Shoulda brought him like that. I think this'll cover it."

The leather pouch she chucked decimated the ground. Amara got to counting it immediately while Gael slithered within himself.

He said, "Wow, I didn't think anybody would do that."

Amara said, "I know! I thought for sure I had overpriced you. What's going on with all these rich Oantans?"

She made her way around to undo the ropes binding his arms.

"Beats me," Gael said. "Hope I'm not walking into anything too dangerous."

She mused highly, "Ohh, babe! Wish I knew that before I sold all your clothes and you at a slave auction."

Gael blushed furiously and rose with the new leash around his neck. The anvil dropped in his stomach when he met eye-to-eye with the dominant she-beast, immediately covering himself with both hands. Hebbeth was holding the hilt of his leash, standing at least a foot taller than him, probably more. Her arms up close were boulders that could crush him any time she wanted. A cocky smirk to top it off. when she grabbed his collar and applied the loop of her leash around his neck.

"C'mon, slave. I got a lot of work to do on you."

Amara followed, checking out his sweet ass bouncing all the way, backsack on display, tail feathers curled as if it'd ever help the shame.

---

Hebbeth was a brutal one, no doubt. She'd taken some black ink and painted "HUMILIATE ME" on his sign and affixed it to the back. He was blindfolded and told to keep his head down at all times, though the attention he'd received made that easy, at least. His cheeks were on fire, hands locked tight around his huge genitals. She liked that. The shame and misery of a Windborn being marched base-assed through crowds of bustling avin was music to her ears.

The cat calls were as degrading as they were thrilling-all those avin gawking at his bare ass, wolf whistling and giggling. Begging, no-daring him to lower his last leaflet of modesty.

Just when he thought it couldn't get more embarrassing, she turned him towards the performance streets. The crescendo of chitter-chatter made his heart run rampant. The streets were so cramped with avin that they were practically sidling through them. Feathers, leather and clothing swept through his feathers and showed how naked in public he truly was. She paraded him with thunder in her stride, a maliciously oozing, uncaring tug to his neck that barreled in weakness to his weary thighs and faltered to a final, vociferous demand:

"Uncover yourself. Now." As if on cue, a path was cleared for him. He felt his heart beat out of his chest. A drip of sweat ran over his navel to his thumb. Arms like noodles, wings useless, he waded through a canyon of "oohs" and "aahs", giving hundreds upon hundreds a free show of ass-bouncing, cock-swinging Windborn action.

Especially Amara, who not once heard the safe word. So busy looking at the hole appearing and disappearing in his bouncing cheeks that she barely noticed the massive erection teeming with fluid he'd been sporting. She craned her neck beneath him and saw the slightest, tiniest glimpse of a smile. In that moment, she never felt so much respect for him since she found him in the first place.

Hebbeth stopped unexpectedly and chuckled, and even through the blindfold, Gael realized in full what was happening. Beyond his blindness, a wooden rack stood with glimmering steel chains dangling menacingly from its overhangs. What she'd done wasn't an overstep: it was only the beginning.

"Slave! Take your place!"

Gael took slow, careful steps towards the center of it. As he approached, he found the two chains were arms length apart. As Hebbeth clipped him by the wrists, he realized the trick: his wings were shown in full, velvety grace.

"Legs apart!"

Gael thought this wasn't part of the plan, but Amara smiled back at him. Had she known the whole time?

Body in an X, he found himself unable to move, as an expectant crowd was forming. Hebbeth held her devious smile, retreating to the side (but not breaking eye contact) to retrieve the feathery, ebony whip that flowed like her tattoos.

"I've done a lot of crazy things to your kind!" she said. "But you're making it easy, aren't you?"

Gael could hardly move. The lingering aches on his thighs had taken his voice away while his butt clenched with anticipation. His fingers curled and stretched at the napes of his fake wingbands, worried they wouldn't be tight enough. Beyond the blindfold, Hebbeth was eyeing him up like prey, licking her beak as her mind flew rampant with thoughts she wouldn't dare say out loud. Amara watched on in secondhand shame, exploding to a blush when Hebbeth put her leg up on him and traveled her feathers down his chest, his abs, navel, hips.

Hebbeth smacked his dick and said, "Unless you know a way out, I think you owe these folks a show!"

A rumble of voices erupted to a cheer and left Gael shivering in embarrassment. It was his only hint at how many were getting a good, hard look at his naked, submissive body. And the full extent of his humiliation washed over him when her fury struck him on his bottom:

WHACK

Right on his left ass cheek. He winced in pain, lovely pain. A bold, brown body alive and writhing as if jostled by the sound's tender hands.

WHACK

Left cheek: less expected, but well deserved. She kept whipping between them, over and over again. Whips on his thighs, just around his butt. He was shaking when she finally gave him a break. Stroking through his long, taut arm, feeling his pec. She admired the immaculate stitches in the fabric, and made extremely careful not to slip anything down the wrist, so as to prolong the erotic deception.

Hebbeth said, "Look at you. Naked in public and still hiding yourself. Speak now, Slave. What's your secret?"

Gael stifled his breath. "I'll never tell you!"

WHACK

"Tell me!" she commanded. "Tell me all your secrets!"

"Never!"

WHACK

WHACK

The crowd wooed as Hebbeth circled him. "You sure you don't wanna start?"

With patience, he muttered: "I haven't worn clothes in months."

"Say it louder!"

"I HAVEN'T WORN CLOTHES IN MONTHS! You auctioned off my only clothes!"

As the audience wooed, Hebbeth's countenance grew rancid with deviance. She posed with her head by his chest and licked his abs, getting a cheer of amusement.

"Good!" Hebbeth bellowed. "Tell us more!"

Gael said, "I've traveled throughout all the land! I've seen every war crime!"

Hebbeth felt around his reddened ass cheeks, slipping beneath the crack. "You let war crimes go to protect yourself? That's so dirty. Tell 'em more, bird boy!"

"I live under the roof of a dominant lady! I don't do anything until she tells me! I'm her bitch!"

Hebbeth grabbed him by the jaw. "Say it for me, baby. I wanna go deeper. What's your darkest secret?! What's that thing you never want them to hear?!"

"I never liked my father!" Gael yelled. "My backstory is tragic, but not as painful as what you're doing to my ass, my mistress!"

WHACK

WHACK

WHACK

She circled him like a vulture to the hymn of a vibrant crowd. Amara could feel how she was sapping his confidence straight through his skin, and took mental notes through her own panty-soaking. And Hebbeth lunged forward, seizing his cock, a question mark of pre-cum instantly spewing out with a masculine moan.

"You want this taken care of, do you not? Speak now, Slave."

Gael's shuddering voice said, "Yes..."

And though her slow strokes made him thrust, Hebbeth's voice rang like a trumpet:

"One more secret, meat puppet! Your dirtiest of all! Scream it out loud, and I'll give you my pussy as your reward! Say it, Slave! Say it for all of Avia!"

Avia had collapsed around him. Gael felt himself again: naked, blind and beaten. Surrounded by an aether of comments, jeers and laughter. So embarrassing, so overwhelming, the thrum of exposure riling to his head, the stinging itching crawling up his through until it screeched out with every single vocal chord he had to pierce the sky:

"It's true! I'm a Windborn! I'm an avin with wings! The last of my kind! You can even see my natural wings beneath my sleeves if you look hard enough! I'm the last Windborn to ever exist! And this isn't an act! I'M A RUNAWAY RENEGADE!"

The crowd fell silent.

"Also, I'm into feet!"

The crowd erupted into uproarious applause! It was around that time when Amara stepped in, right as Hebbeth's legs were parting.

"Um...excuse me, miss, that's enough," Amara said.

Hebbeth sighed. "Right when we were getting to the good part."

Amara took back her toy and waited for the crowd to disperse. Gael sensed her by her side.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I think that was too extreme."

"Well, you're right."

Amara sighed into the ground.

Then Gael said, "That was the greatest moment of my life."

Amara's face lit up. "Really?"

"Yeah! I can't believe how much I had bottled up inside. Can you see me tearing through the blindfold?"

"I...yeah, I can, actually, wow. That's bad."

"Take it off."

"What? Really? I thought you had enough."

"No. I'm good. Turns out, I'm just sick of the ropes. But I'd really like to have more fun with you."

She took the blindfold back and watched his heart jump. Typical Gael. She watched him grow hard by the minute and got a nasty idea. Gael was sure he'd feel that leash go back around his neck. Instead, she circled back and knelt down to him, showing him a special, smaller leash. She stretched the smaller loop to maximum around his soft mass and hefty scrotum, a much longer rope leading out for at least four feet. Amara's eye was full of erotic evil, and it was then Gael realized how tight the pants she was wearing were.

"Come," she said. "We're going for a walk."

Nerves tilted Gael's head downward. He could hardly feel his legs, and the day had just begun! Over the railings, he took his first step, naked, into the infinite volley of gawkers, kinksters and voyeurs. And just when he expected the shame to once again overwhelm him, what he felt instead was...excitement!

---

Gael could hardly believe his eyes.

He'd never seen so many bright smiles. So many avin striking up conversations, complimenting him and posing with him for professional sketchers. One of them with that orange, friendly demeanor even looked like someone he should know. Hundreds, if not thousands of avin were watching a smug, crimson lady take a legendary figure of history who once dominated the skies, worshiped by all in their infinite power, and parade him ass-naked down the street by the cock as though he were a mule. Always one step away from uncovering the truth, but always blocked by the amusement of his nudity, submission, and pride. It's almost like the confidence of doing so inspired them to learn more. Most of them didn't have the guts to be completely nude like him--but it didn't matter. He was free. This is what it was like to be free!

In all other contexts, this would be Hell on Avia. No arms to cover himself. And the sheer embarrassment of spewing column after column of pre-cum after every big-titted avin's goofy guffaw was downright mortifying. Amara couldn't stop biting her lip to see his face twinge. Sometimes she stopped him and reveled in it. But in the end, he respected Amara more for it.

Gael didn't even want clothes anymore. He just loved the fun. The thrill, the social experience, and the feeling of being an avin. It was the most magical moment of his life. And though he knew coming home would bring upon anotherage of solitude, he couldn't help but revel in the present. And it hit him on the third sketch that this was what he always wanted. Peace in the present, overwhelming the flames of the past.

So they went on, and laughed, and talked, and sang, and kissed in the open. Amara had gotten a group of female avin to gawk at him, as well. Moments later, she gave him that half-eyed look once more.

"You know," she said, "there's one more thing I'd like to do."

They found an empty performance block quickly. A small crowd gathered as Amara rode his cock. Slickened by juices, their wet smacking could be heard for miles. Gael felt her tits as they bounced and thought how lucky it was to be alive. And when he came, it was in great, big geysers as white as the clouds they pierced, making out once more, bathed in the exposed sunlight.

---

The sizzling blush on his cheeks was still there even as they went into the woods. They were alone, now, and he was still naked from head to toe. A humiliating sting lingered in the form of a leather tug around his crotch, leading up to her grasp. She made him watch the bulbous sack of coins sway over her shoulder from a heavy tree branch. He was humoring it now, though: arms behind his back, sheepishly striding by her plump buttocks. The dying sun threw a silk garment down his bold, brown body that warmly sank through his bare butt and stirred in his thick length even when no one was in the room. His aching thighs made him remember the degrading position he'd been forced to make as one by one, all his clothes turned to cash for a dominant, female avin. And every memory that passed made him smile a little longer, knowing how crazy it was to be alive.

The woods themselves reminded him of their journeys together. The coniferous-touched squish of her boobs around his cock begging him to make a cataract of his own. How he would, and she'd kiss him with his head still grinding against her. Somehow, combined, he felt a different kind of vulnerability--one that would last forever in a good way.

Gael let that thought wash over him as they stopped at a fork in the road. One side pointed to a long, scenic route with beautiful beaches, but vulnerable all the same. The other pointed back into the thick of town, all nudists--yet, surrounded by Avin.

"How was it?" Amara asked.

"Amazing! It was...exciting! Embarrassing, but that's what made it fun! Breezes, even now I feel like they're still watching me. Does it feel like that for you?

"In some ways! Less between my legs to look at."

"Either way, it was exhilarating.

"Would you do it again?"

"We've gotta go back next year. I'm burnt out now, though, and I can't wait to put my clothes back on and--"

"What clothes?"

Gael felt his heart hammer. "My clothes, babe. I need something to wear."

Amara went dead silent. A finger to her beak with a long "uhhhhh" brought Gael's mind to mush.

"You mean you didn't buy anything?!" his beak chattered.

"Well, why would I need to? All you have to do is fly away!"

"Amara, it's daylight! Someone's gonna look up and see my wings!"

Amara felt duped. "Oh...wait. Right. They can do that."

"What are we gonna do now?! I can't just walk home completely naked! Our house is on the other side of the island!"

"You're not naked!" She gave a playful tug on the leash. "See?"

"AND you're gonna keep me leashed?!"

"If you want! We know how kinky the residents can be."

His cheeks flushed with the heat of a thousand suns: "Wait! Plankton. Can I say something?"

Amara grew soft and took the leash off.

Gael said, "It's not that I wouldn't like it. A lot. I just don't want to lie anymore. You and I both know the minute we go through that town, they're gonna see me for who I am, and nothing will ever be the same."

"Oh, come on, wing boy, we could-"

"Besides," he held her shoulder, "that performance was only half of you. I'd rather savor the rest of it."

He looked back to the fork in the road and let the ideas speak for themselves. For them, the quietness was nostalgic. The sky had dimmed turquoise and pricked her nipples to pins. His dick suddenly reminded her of the warmth of home, those strong hands rolling through her tits like waves. Suddenly, her clothes didn't feel sexy anymore, but obstructions. They were peeling, anyway, sweat-battered and torn. She always found a way back to this place: mind-to-mind with the Breezes, vulva sensitive as They snapped off the tape from her hip, like plucking a guitar string from its middle. Soon she would be naked whether she liked it or not, and the thought of chancing the city's glances instead of the stars felt as dishonest as a brown rose.

"You think they'd see us?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't they?" he said.

Six minutes down the trail, her wraps, leash and pouch were in the same arm.

---

A violet sky awaited. Towards the end of the winding, rocky trail dotted with henchmen bushes and corkscrew trees lie the perfect outskirts. An endless garden of sand, darkened by waves, made alien by the setting sun. They were hand-in-hand, Amara's crimson body radiating so gorgeously it brought a rare tear to his eye. Darkness slowly clothed their nudity, the chill overtaking them to shadows on a canvas. In careful giggles, they shifted, swayed and fiddled with each other. Their footprints were lost and faded to a neutral gray, which slowly became nothing but smooth like stones--eggs, perhaps. Counting down the steps before the sun was back meant nothing so long as they enjoyed the journey. Words were few and far between, useless in execution, because both knew they wouldn't--they couldn't--portray what they felt.

The jingles in her purse went quiet. The marks on his buttocks healed to full. And long after their trek was done, they'd never forget the mark they'd left.