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Of all the things to find in a box, Luca found a boy. He had thought himself ready for anything, after the last several boxes had been full of smutty drawings, illicit publications, smeared ledgers, and a great deal of rope in various fine weaves. Of course, the boy was curled up holding a pot that appeared to have more smutty depictions on it, so it did fit the theme somewhat.

Mrs. Cellini's attitude toward the last of the Great Maestro's possessions had started to make sense. Luca had been helping her pack up her belongings for her move into the city after her husband's death, and while she had urged much care with many of the crates they loaded onto the carts, this particular pile, wedged away in a corner, had been left for the very last. When the others had finished and driven off with the rest of it, Luca had asked what to do with these last few crates.

The elderly rabbit had given a great huff, visibly forcing herself to consider the pile one more time. "I don't care. Sell it, throw it in the river. So long as I never have to see any of it again." Her expression was dark, but she brightened suddenly when she turned to him. "Thank you for your help, Luca. Did the boys pay you enough? I can..." She produced a small purse and started to fish in it for coins, but the jay had managed to fend her off, assuring her he'd been paid well.

Not that it would hurt to make a little profit off of whatever was in those crates, of course. So he'd loaded them all up on his own cart and hauled it back to his little hovel at the edge of town. The results had been somewhat disappointing up until he'd opened the largest, heaviest crate of the lot. Now, he wasn't sure what to think.

The boy's chest didn't move under the avian's palm. No breath, no beat. He cringed a moment, leaning in to sniff, but there was no smell of rot. This box had been sealed all day, and in the heat of summer, there was no way... And it wasn't a mannequin-- its fur was soft, the hide and flesh underneath yielding and real. There was only... one thing that this could be.

The Great Maestro was considered by some to be Italy's greatest treasure. By others, her greatest embarrassment, but that was a matter of taste. Benvenuto Cellini had invented the Amante Senz'anima: the soulless lover. Dolls, perfectly crafted to replicate real women in all the most sensual ways, though limited in size. They looked just like real people, but they had the stature of children. And they were sustained on the seed of men-- the collection of it was their purpose in life. They had created a sexual revolution among the wealthy and influential across all of Europe, and on his death, the Great Maestro had probably left Mrs. Cellini one of the wealthiest women in modern history.

So to think that, somewhere among his many innovations and revisions and prototypes, the Great Maestro had created a doll that was not a woman... but a boy... There was no mistaking it-- every doll he had ever seen leave the Great Maestro's workshops had been a woman, full of breast and hip, but this was not merely a man of small stature. This was a boy, still delicately rounded with baby fat. A boy... sex doll?

Luca stumbled back from the crate suddenly. It... wasn't unheard of for some men to lust after boys. Especially artists, and men of power and self-indulgence. Maestro Cellini had been all of these, of course. To think, that at some point, rather than taking a model from some of the most beautiful and desired women in the world, the Great Maestro had hired a mere boy to be modeled into this thing... Luca rubbed over his head, flustered. Of all the things to find! It was almost certainly unique, and-- and among collectors of the Great Maestro's work, it may well be coveted as an incredible rarity. He could make a fortune if he handled this right. And if... it was real.

He faltered a moment. He didn't know for certain that it was real-- that he was right, that it was a fully functional Amante Senz'anima. He couldn't very well try to sell off an inanimate model or a... a body... claiming it was the world's rarest Cellini. But... there was only one way to see if it was real. If it... worked.

Sitting in the far corner, back turned to the crate, Luca made quick work of himself, cheeks flushed. He glanced over his shoulder every few moments, as if afraid it would turn out to be a real boy after all, and he'd be caught playing with himself. A low grunt and a pant, and he had a smattering of doll fuel smeared between his fingers. He considered it a moment with a soft sigh before cinching up his pants and rising.

The boy hadn't moved. Luca stooped over the crate, carefully holding his hand up at an awkward angle lest he drip anywhere. He considered the boy a moment --he really did look like he was just sleeping, snuggled up with that obscene pot-- before gingerly reaching to smear a little of that goop across the boy's bottom lip. After a moment with no response, Luca fidgeted, swallowed, and pressed the boy's mouth open, sliding one slickened finger past his lips. It was cool, eerily cool, but a little moist. He felt teeth, and a tongue.

The boy's eyes fluttered. Luca yelped softly, jerking back, but he'd hardly pulled his finger from the boy's mouth before two little paws rose to gently catch the retreating hand. Hunger was obvious on the boy's face as he licked over the bird's fingers, drawing each digit into his mouth to slowly suckle clean. Luca shuddered softly, his cheeks coloring as he squirmed a little. The boy licked his palm clean before finally releasing that hand with a smile.

"Thank you." His voice was small, barely audible. "Is the maestro around? I'm still so hungry..."

Feathers bristled up Luca's back in a chill. There was no doubt, then. He was a doll-- and he was the Great Maestro's personal... companion. "Ah... no, I'm afraid not. Maestro Cellini is... gone." He faltered a hint for his own disbelief that that artistic titan had passed on. He'd been something of an inspiration to Luca as a child. Not that he dared tell anyone.

"Oh." He was a raccoon pup, with big, blue eyes. They barely registered solemnity for a moment before he smiled. "Would you like to play, then? You're tasty, signore." He shifted to rise, setting down the pot in the bottom of the crate as he got to his feet. He was perhaps three and a half feet, no taller. A little tot, smiling and asking for Luca's seed.

The bird shivered, rising and stepping back. "Um. Maybe later." Somehow, he wasn't surprised the doll hadn't dwelled on the Great Maestro's passing. None of the dolls were very emotionally complicated-- most people liked them that way. Simple and obedient. Or maybe it just seemed to fit, like a child that didn't understand death. Either way, it was still eerie, and Luca was decidedly uncomfortable. "You, eh, make yourself at home. I have work to do."

The rest of the crates were thankfully surprise-free. The doll sat quietly on Luca's cot, swinging his legs and looking around the flat. Luca busied himself sorting out the crates, speculating on what he could sell, and what he could sell without damaging his reputation irreparably. Living almost solely on odd jobs, Luca's reputation was all he could secure his future with. Which made him wonder just how he was going to manage this little rare sex doll matter. Thinking on that made him queasy, however, and it was high time for dinner, so he put it from his mind.

"Are you sure?" Luca offered half a loaf of bread to the boy, brow furrowed uncertainly. The doll just smiled and shook his head again. He wouldn't get out of it that easily, it seemed. Luca was left chewing and thinking, occasionally glancing the doll's way with growing unease. Maybe he could just let it wind down. It... wouldn't really be like starving a child...

It wasn't that he wanted to kill the little one, or let it die, or stop, or whatever, but he just... The very idea of engaging with a doll in the form of a little boy was... obscene. That wasn't the worst of it, though-- not the prospect of merely looking like he was doing something so perverse. It was just a doll, after all. No matter how lifelike he looked, smiling softly, naked little toes swinging over the edge of the bed. What troubled him was... h-how the idea of doing such a thing made him feel, when he thought about it. Just touching on that concept in his mind stirred something in his loins, and his cheeks pinkened before he buried it again. He had no reason to feel so!

But then again, it was simply a doll. Not a real boy, nothing that would grow into a man like him. He... he'd fantasized about playing with a real doll. He had cavorted with a couple women in his life, and enjoyed their pleasures, but the doll was a creation of magic and pure sexual intention-- something that craved sex constantly, and was inevitably skilled in the execution. He had fantasized of having just one night with an Amante Senz'anima... and now... one was sitting on his bed, impatient to drink of him.

Luca set down his crust. No more foolish concerns with form. He would... do what had to be done, and what he so desired. He rose quietly, wrapped up the last of his food and put it away, and stifled his lamp. The warm light filling the room fluttered into cool, pale moonlight, barely creating silhouettes. The jay, doffing his clothes. The little raccoon, perking up, eyes twinkling in the light before he shifted back onto the bed, making room as the avian joined him.

Little paws found him, patting gently down his sides and in, and they closed around his most tender piece. Luca lay back in the dark, sighing slowly as those fingerpads caressed his shaft. His eyes slipped shut. A doll... Finally, a doll... lips brushed his tip, and spread, and sweet warmth captured him. It-- it was so small. He didn't consider himself that well-endowed, but he could feel those lips stretch to their widest just to engulf him, and he filled that muzzle in an instant. He shivered, and leaned up, pressing into that tiny mouth. A tongue swirled over him, teasing and tantalizing until suddenly, he was sinking deeper. His eyes snapped open, staring at nothing, as he slid down that tight little neck.

Drawing deep breaths and not quite squelching his moans, the avian clutched at the bed, forgetting everything but the wondrous sensations of that mouth consuming him, inch after inch, to the very hilt. His hips quivered and thrust, and the doll took it readily, bobbing to stroke him with that tight, firmly swallowing neck. He could swear he could feel flesh stretching dangerously around his girth-- but the little one just went to it all the faster. Color swam in his sight, liquid fireworks inside his eyes as he stared avidly at the darkness, hips pumping until he was spilling his essence, balls aching with the force of each sincere pumping.

He collapsed at last as that mouth slithered off of him, though the doll took entirely too long about licking him clean of every last drop. Luca panted hoarsely, staring still at the great, warm darkness of the summer night creeping in his window. The doll was a warm body, small and snuggly, pressed into his side. Luca's breathing hardly evened before deepening with slumber.

The next morning was a jarring contrast from the night past. There was no miniature sex demon cuddling up to his side when Luca woke-- there was a boy puttering about the flat, singing at barely more than a whisper as he cleaned and straightened. The avian blinked hazily in the sparse yellow light of morning, the air cool and stinging gently on his faintly aching muscles. The widow Cellini had had a great deal of things to haul. His gaze followed the boy sluggishly.

He was healthily plump, no doubt a well fed child. He moved with a whimsical grace despite his shorter arms and legs, a great, poofed tail of gray and black stripes flowing behind him as he toddled from one side of the room to the other, chasing dust bunnies. His nudity was so matter-of-fact, it was hard to see fault in it, though the raccoon's little white pouch and flopping sheath bounced about with his movement, giving every motion a certain strange tinge in Luca's mind. His eyes were bright blue, all the brighter for being framed by the raccoon's trademark swipe of black across the bridge of his nose. When the boy noticed Luca's open eyes, his singing faded smoothly into "ahhh, good morning, signore." He smiled brightly, apparently full of youthful energy. "It's a beautiful new day. Did you sleep well?"

Smiling a bit incredulously, Luca sat up with a low grunt. It was hard to feel achy and grouchy, as was his morning ritual, with such a cheerful creature bidding him good morn. "I... yes. I did." He blinked at the raccoon, and gave a rueful smile. "Let's see about getting you some clothes, eh?"

Of course, the doll was in no state to be running about in the open-- even if Luca had planned on letting anyone see him at all. So he left on his own, pausing at the door to promise the pouting child that he would be back shortly, and to instruct him not to get up to any mischief or let anyone see him. Walking the winding road into the town proper, Luca had plenty of time to take in the fresh morning air and think.

And worry. He still had no idea what to do with the doll-- who could he sell it to? Was it a bad idea to use it if he was going to sell it? A couple children ran by, apparently racing into town, laughing and shouting after each other. His eyes flickered over them as they passed, and his throat seized shut a moment. He'd-- n-no, the doll wasn't a child. But he found himself summoning the image of what the doll must have looked like last night: that round, innocent face, big, blue eyes sparkling up at him as his little chin dropped low to let that dick slide into his throat. He shivered-- and again, at the stirring he'd just sparked between his legs. Don't think about that. It's just a doll, and you can use it like a doll. He swallowed and nodded, hurrying down into town, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him.

"Well, of course, we've plenty of old clothes packed away, but they're a little worn, dear." Mrs. Russo smiled apologetically, the cow nearly filling her doorway altogether, putting one udder to work for the infant in her arms. "I could make up something new for you in a couple days if you've the time." She was one of his most common clients-- her husband was in the military, and she often needed work done that her sons couldn't handle. He charged her little, as she had a hard time feeding her family as it was, but she always welcomed him to their table when he was in town.

"You don't have to do that, really." Luca folded his hands politely, as he found he tended to do with her. He supposed she reminded him an awful lot of his own mother. "Any old thing you have would be fine. There's an urchin that's settled down near my home, and he's hardly wearing rags. He could do with good clothes, but I'm afraid he'll wander off again if we wait a few days." He didn't much like lying to her, but it was much better than the alternative... "If it wouldn't be too much to ask..."

"Oh, hush, it's no problem. Just let me see what I have. Here." The bird stammered and tried to make an excuse, but he was promptly holding a bundled up calf, staring up at him with big, black eyes, still trying to suckle at a teat that wasn't there. "I'll be back in a spell!" The cow called from somewhere in the house.

He couldn't hold back a sigh. Turning to glance around, he supposed there was one bit of good news-- looking down at the mewling calf, he didn't find himself worried in the slightest about... untoward thoughts. His creeping depravity did seem to have its limits, at least. He nodded, a bit chagrined, to passersby as they went about their business, some sharing an amused smile with him at his little predicament. He must have looked pretty obviously uncomfortable.

A familiar face earned a slightly wider smile-- before one thought sparked off another. "Marcone!" He called the mouse over. Marcone was a very resourceful individual, and made a decent living in a variety of ways that weren't entirely legal. Luca didn't like to spend too much time with him if he could help it, but he was the perfect man for the job-- or the very nearest he knew, anyway. "Listen, I was helping out Mrs. Cellini yesterday..." He was working his way up to the issue itself when Mrs. Russo returned.

"Agh! Shoo, shoo!" The cow waved Marcone off with both hands, frowning. "Luca can talk to you later, when you aren't on my doorstep! Off with you!" She frowned the young man right off her side of the street, and Marcone wandered off with a shrug. "Honestly. You shouldn't talk with men like him, dear. I've seen them all before. He'll be lucky to spend more than half his life on the streets, and not in the gutter or behind bars." She shook her head, taking up the calf again. "And you should know better than to expose poor little Benni to that kind of fellow!"

Luca didn't think that a criminal attitude could rub off on a child of less than a year, but he apologized all the same, and he managed to procure his clothes without too much more fuss-- although she insisted she take along some drawing paper and charcoal. "All children love to draw, you know. If you need some food for him, just come ask, I'll be happy to..." She rambled on, and Luca nodded, half-bowing and thanking her over and over as he politely backed away-- until she finally shouted her last, apparently tiring of projecting halfway across the street, and waved goodbye. Luca gave a quick wave and darted off to find Marcone again.

The mouse said he didn't have any experience directly with this sort of thing, but he knew a guy, or that guy knew someone, or some extension thereof. He could ask around about it. He was astounded at the news though-- "yer sure it's a boy? I mean, did you check?"

"Why do you think I need these? It's pretty hard to miss, Marc." Luca waved the parcel impatiently. "How long will it take?"

"Well, these things take time, and I mean, it's a lot of work, negotiating and getting word around and greasing the wheels, you know?" He folded his arms. "What's my cut?"

Luca wasn't very good at negotiating, but they settled on fifteen percent, and the rodent supposed he'd have at least an idea of a price in a couple days, maybe a buyer, if they were lucky. Before they parted, Marcone assured him: "we're gonna make a cartload on this, Luca. Just don't tell anyone about it, alright? We're gonna be rich!" He grinned, and slapped the avian on the back before disappearing down the road. Luca didn't quite smile back.

At the house, the doll took a little convincing to actually get dressed. He liked running around naked-- and he said clothes "get in the way." Swallowing, Luca insisted all the more. The doll did like Mrs. Russo's gift, though; the bird was rather surprised with the doll's interest in drawing. And he was grateful for the stillness it brought the doll while he tried to get some work done. That night, in the dark, he panted heavily into his pillow, grasping tight at a head buried between his legs. Just-- a hot, warm hole, in the dark.

He slept in. The room was warm, full sunlight shining in the window, when he finally dragged himself up, hissing softly and stretching out the last of the ache in his muscles. Blinking at the brightly lit room, he realized it was empty. For a moment, he crumpled under the obvious reality-- it had been some odd, perverted dream. He hadn't really found an amazing sex doll stashed away in a box, and he wasn't going to be ludicrously rich. But... there was a mess of parchment on the floor, covered with scribbles. Reality seemed to phase through dreamland a moment-- and it hit him. He wasn't going to be rich-- because he HAD had a doll, and he'd been stupid enough to tell that miserable thief about it! And-- and he couldn't even tell anyone! He couldn't go to the guard about this! He lurched to his feet, naked, stumbling about like he was drunk, but he managed to find his clothes. No. No. No, no, no no no...

Dragging his pants up and fastening them as he kicked on his shoes, he hustled to the door. Outside, it was entirely too bright, and he was already getting a headache, but he stormed down the road toward town. He was going to gut that rat-- he was really a rat at heart, Marcone was, a filthy rat, and Luca would-- children rushed by, and he nearly tripped, blinking and squinting after them. No... two mongrel dogs and a lizard of some sort. He sighed.

"Signore?" A tug on his pants. And there he was, big, blue eyes staring up at him uncertainly, framed by that little robber's mask. A remorseful thief, come to return his sanity.

Luca swept the boy up. "Stupido!" He hugged him tight even as he reeled with relief. "I told you not to let anyone see you!"

The boy was very apologetic once they got home, pouting and staring at the floor until the avian couldn't stand to scold him anymore. Luca didn't have much time, though-- he'd promised to help with building a home on the other side of town today, and he was late as it was. He made sure the boy was absolutely clear-- no going outside, not so much as peeking out the window. And if someone came to the door, he should hide in the closet and not go with anyone that wasn't Luca. It might have been paranoia, but he didn't want to go through any more scares today.

The work was hard, and the sun heavy on his back, but Luca found the time passed quickly. When they stopped to rest, he reclined in the shade with a cup of water, smiling softly at the pale blue reflection within. It was nice to think that the boy was waiting for him at home. His hovel had been a cold and quiet place for some time. He stirred suddenly from his reverie, glancing up and about, and slugged down his water. He'd be leaving soon, anyway. Off to a proper home with some wealthy collector, and Luca may well leave that little shack behind himself. Just a few days...

When the sun disappeared behind the church across the street, they sent the workers home. Collecting his shirt and his pay, the avian headed home with a deep breath and a long, winding sigh, smiling subtly. He ached, certainly, as he did after any day of hard labor, but it didn't seem so bad tonight. The city was still glowing below when he got home.

The doll had gone through all his drawing paper, it seemed, and he had a few gifts for the avian. "And see, this is your pene!" He smiled proudly, producing a drawing of a lumpy rod. "I haven't seen it much in the light, so it might be a little off." Luca very much hoped his equipment didn't look anything like that from any angle, but he supposed children would be just as skilled drawing penises as anything else.

"And here! This is us." He pulled another drawing out from underneath, of two stick figures in front of a rudimentary house that didn't actually look anything like Luca's. "This is me. And this is you. This is home." Luca blinked. Home...? He swallowed, and started to open his mouth. "And this is signore's magnificent pene!" He pointed out a line between the larger stick figure's legs, trailing well down past its feet. The bird's breath caught, and he fell into a startled laugh.

"Well! It's a fine rendition, little one." Not that he could show them to anyone. He supposed he could claim the one just portrayed him with a tail for some reason. "The Maestro would have been proud, to be-- sure..." He caught himself too late. But the boy didn't seem to even notice the mention of his late creator.

"You like them?" He marveled, big eyes peering up at him over a shy smile.

"Uh-- yes. Yes, I like them." Luca chuckled, and the raccoon embraced him, hugging him round the middle as tightly as those little arms could. Letting his chuckles roll against that little head bowed against him, he stroked over the boy's back. Smiling down at his odd little companion, Luca sighed. Just a few days... A whim caught him. "Hey... would you like to go see a play? I was paid well today." He smiled softly. He enjoyed plays on occasion, usually when he had a friend to go with. And right now... he had a friend that would only be in town a little while. It would be a shame not to go out.

"A play...?" The raccoon peered up at him, still leaning against his belly, and his face split in a silly grin. "Yeah!"

Luca took the time to come up with several rules as they got ready to go. No taking his clothes off. Don't talk about playing or feeding. No running away-- they would hold hands the whole time, in fact. And no talking about anybody's pene!

Walking down into town, the boy swung around on the avian's arm like a wandering dog on a leash, leaning out to look at things, falling behind when he walked, surging ahead when he skipped, occasionally trying to loop over to the other side and nearly tripping the bird up, no matter how quickly he scurried. In town, folk caroused in taverns and wandered down the street laughing and arguing. The boy swiveled his head all about, his ears flicking this way and that to try to catch every conversation and odd sound at once. Luca could only chuckle. He looked like a farm boy on his first trip to the city.

The play hall was an immense structure, curved and three stories tall. He couldn't afford an actual seat, but they could come and set on the bottom floor, where the common audience sat to watch. The view wasn't always that good, but he could hear the actors clearly.

They had come late, and the floor was already crowded. Luca picked the boy up and waded into the sea of slouching commoners, occasionally apologizing as he squeezed in close against someone's back or stepped over another's lap. He found a bit of a gap between two parties and plopped down, no more than two rows from the stage. A fine seat, though there was no room for the boy. He set him down in his lap, and the raccoon beamed up at him, snuggling back against him as he settled in. The room was a raucous of conversation, but the boy contented himself to lay against the avian until the lamps began to go out, and the lighting centered on the stage.

The chatter died to a steady murmur, and a narrator stepped onstage to explain tonight's performance. Luca had never heard of the play, but it sounded whimsical enough for a child. The narrator retreated, and the curtains began to roll open. The crowd applauded, some giving whistles or cries, and Luca clapped over the boy's head. The doll peered up and around a moment before slapping his paws together as well, and just as the applause began to die, he dared to cheer aloud-- the sound dying suddenly when he realized he was almost alone in the silence. Luca could only just make out the flush on his cheeks before he buried his face against the avian's chest. He chuckled, stroking over the boy as the play began.

The story was simple enough, and the characters charming and well-portrayed to the point that the boy soon forgot his consternation, staring at the scenes unfolding before him. At times, the crowd cheered, and the two cheered along. Sudden peals of laughter would break out, and Luca hugged the boy to his belly as it quaked with chortles, the boy grinning up at the dimly lit face smiling over him. As the scenes escalated, the crowd grew excited, and the boy shifted and bounced in his lap. Luca was enjoying himself, but he realized after a time that the boy's constant squirming had-- excited him a little. He shifted a little himself, and the boy perked, shifting in turn to fit more comfortably to the curves and swells of the avian's body.

When the first act came to a close, the stage dimmed, and a few lamps lit about the audience to allow those that needed it to leave and return before the next act started. The boy looked up at him then, smiling softly as he cuddled up close against him, his soft little rear firmly rooted against the disturbed grounds of the avian's crotch. Luca drew a deep breath, and smiled softly in return, sighing as he nuzzled over the little one's head.

In the second act, love began to blossom between the main characters. They flirted and risked a quiet moment of intimacy now and again between interruptions, and the boy shifted against Luca, back to belly, rear to rod, his head drooping a little to one side, though his eyes still only just caught the stage. Luca huffed softly, hands clasping at the boy's arms as he stirred under him. This was hardly the time for such a thing, and if he had dared to speak, he would have told the boy to wait. But the crowd had fallen silent as the story grew tender and fragile, humor only gently stitching through the gossamer fabric of newfound love.

The boy's shifting and squirming might have tipped him off earlier if Luca hadn't been pointedly trying to ignore it, but he only realized what the little one was up to when his pants came undone. His fly was opening, and the avian opened his mouth, some hushed admonition sparking in his throat, but those little fingers found him, a gentle, cool touch to his slowly pulsing, overheated flesh. The smooth contact of those little fingerpads sent a jolt up his loins, and the recoil dampened the crotch of his pants with his prefluids. His breath rushed from him in a bare rattle of his throat, and his hands tightened slowly around the boy.

That feather light touch along the side of his shaft only seemed to draw every nerve ending in that engorged shaft to a peak of sensitivity. He could feel the mingling of warmer air in his britches with the cooler air around them, the rough fabric of his pants slowly dragging away to be replaced-- by soft, tingling fur. The boy had already slid his own pants down, and two plump little cheeks were settling in snugly around the spine of his shaft-- sandwiching him to the base in that round rear. His breath leaked from him in a hiss at that warm, yielding embrace, and he found his hips shifting, his internal muscles flexing to grind subtly against that sweet push of flesh. His eyes darted around, and down-- the audience was cast in almost complete darkness, and he could hardly see anything of the boy beyond that he was there. Other people jostled shoulders with him and nudged at his back with their knees, but like this... no one could see them.

Sighing heavily, Luca felt a shudder roll up his spine as he flexed his hands around the boy's sides. If he wanted to, he could probably-- and nobody would ever know. Right in the middle of this crowd, he'd... he'd... He drew a deep breath, eyes slipping shut. He was throbbing with need, each swollen pulse subtly pushing at those cheeks, stirring the fine, gentle fur against him. He could feel the hot kiss of bare flesh partway up his length-- where the fur broke around a tender little pucker, dragging across his steaming hot flesh. His muscles ached, and shifted-- his arms seemed to be creaking, leaning forward on their own, to push the boy forward. The slide of that rear around him was a sudden, exquisite, tingling pleasure, and cloth dragged away, baring his very tip to the cool air a moment. Something soft dragged along his head-- his mind was in such a daze at the moment, it only gradually came together that it was the boy's coinpurse sitting cozily on his head as he shifted his grip for another push. When it dragged down the front, he gave a thick throb, painting the back with his arousal before his head began to drag in between those cheeks.

If his cheeks were soft, his pucker was almost fluid. It clung to the swell of his head, but with the slightest push, he began to sink in, clinging to the sides while drawing him deeper-- or perhaps that was only his instincts that seemed to insist that gravity flowed up at an angle, that it would be the most natural thing in the world to split this little raccoon cub's ass open. He twitched with boiling need, but for a moment, he held back at the gate to hell. His eyes, though having trouble tracking the world, turned downward. His breath was hot and noisy in his ears as he looked to the boy, who slowly looked up to him, his face glowing softly in the light of the stage at this angle. He was smiling eagerly, eyes full of stars. Affection. Even... even...

His fingers dug into that tender hide, and his hips surged forward, puncturing that sweet hole. The boy opened around him, swallowing every inch the jay ground in until he found he was hilted, desperately grinding to that rear, trying to push deeper still. In an instant, the pure pleasure of that hole gripping around him had drawn him to lunge for more until there was no more to take. His head bowed, a heavy puff of warm air running through the boy's hair as he throbbed thick inside him, straining that canal a little wider. This was surely the exemplary sin-- that which was wrong by every tenet of common sense, yet he could not resist-- that which consumed him when he indulged in the slightest taste, irresistible and absolute upon the landing of the first step. He was damned, and his body already burned-- his feathers bristled and ached under his tunic, and his blood ran hot in his veins.

Body against body, he dragged his hips back, chest surging forward as his arms pinned the boy tight against it, heaving him up and off a few inches before planting him solidly against the avian's hips again. From the outside, he prayed, there was little perceptible motion, but he dragged precious inches out of that tightness to shove in again, to take another sip of that cruel font of pleasure that was squeezing into the depths of that boy's tailhole. Soon enough, their bodies were rolling together, pushing rough, circular motions in counterpoint to drag away in opposite directions, come about, and smash together again in desperate union. Every move the avian made, he found the boy moving in agreement, pushing that soft little rear down to bury his manhood to the very hilt with every hushed, heated breath.

When Luca's eyes fell open again, sliding across the shadows in a haze, he found the boy's face upturned, smiling serenely, his lips occasionally parting in a little gasp or sigh. As if he felt the bird's gaze, his eyes flitted open, and his smile only sweetened, the boy leaning back into his chest as he murmured, "Signore's so big..."

Indeed, when he grasped at the boy's middle, he could feel a shifting-- his own shaft stirred about in that supple body, pushing a subtle swell up his belly as he ground about, rolling his hips in desperate shoves against those sweet, clinging insides. It crept well up past his belly button, seeming very well to fill his diminutive form. His breath rolled from him in a heavy sigh, the sweet wash of shame only seeming to inflame his pleasure, to battle with the odd feeling that this was perfect-- that the boy was sized to his body exactly, no bigger than was needed to create the ideal press of hot, grasping, wringing flesh around his pulsing, driving rod. Anything larger was exorbitant and space-consuming, when this boy fit so snugly in his lap and fulfilled his every desire.

It was this sin-drenched perfection that shielded his mind from the shallow thoughts of right and wrong as his pleasures built toward a succulent peak. He hugged the boy to him, slumped over him, resting his head atop that fluffy mess of hair and twitching ears as his strokes slowly whittled down from desperate thrusts to fervent, rolling grinds, only barely pulling from that hole before shoving his hips tight to those cheeks again, working his very last half an inch through the milking grip of that pucker as his full length pulsated dangerously deep inside that belly. He was drawing closer and closer, and he found that he didn't want it to end, that the prospect of any kind of conclusion repelled him violently. But he could not resist the quavering call of pleasure, sensation stacked upon sensation in a fitful mess of divine promises. His balls were drawing tight, and he drew a deep breath-- when the glow of lanterns began to swell around them.

Suddenly addled with lack of oxygen, the avian's eyes darted up and around. The second act was done, and the intermission was beginning. Already, others were stirring and climbing to their feet. Choking on shallow pants, the avian scrambled to pull his pants up-- to at least cover himself, and he did the same with the boy. He didn't dare even pull out fully-- the sudden stimulation could be the end of him. He had to hold back. So he clutched to the boy, arms pressed low to cover where their clothes hung open, hoping nobody examined the man and child sitting snuggled close together, waiting for the play to resume.

Every second hung, the conversation surrounding them sounding strange and foreign in his ears as he clutched to the doll, pulsing steadily inside him. That warm, slickened hole was constantly soaking his senses with pleasure, and the crushing awareness of all the eyes around them, flicking over them at any time, only seemed to magnify every infinitesimal shift between their juice-soaked flesh. He hung in a state of absolute potential, knowing that any sudden shift of any kind in this moment of hypertension could and would launch him inexorably into orgasm, screaming out his pleasure helplessly. It was this knowledge, this oath to himself, this physical inevitability of cause and effect, that allowed him to hold off. In absolute stillness, he could hold onto himself, even buried in this doll, even pressed body to body in an unspeakable union of sinful pleasure. He could wait.

When the lights finally began to dim, silent numbing clamps in his mind slowly eased. He came back to life, and he found that this delicious equilibrium was almost tragic to shatter. He wanted to hold onto it, to be connected with the boy by this most intimate, blood and flesh connection for all the night, and all the next day and beyond, but he could already feel his body faltering, muscles aching, and his nerves wearing away at the edges under the ebb and tide of that ocean of pleasure. His breath squeezed from him in a heavy huff, and his body slowly stretched and flexed in place. It was time.

The stage was growing noisy-- war was going underway, and the audience was noisy, cheering and booing as the great generals faced off. Luca's arms closed tight around the boy, constricting him into an embrace of roughly equal parts affection, greed, and readiness. His rod was slowly pulsing steel, surging a hairsbreadth deeper as his hips dug at that ass, one slow, savored grind at a time. Now that he'd found his balance, pushing himself over was proving surprisingly difficult-- he reflexively clung to it every time he started to teeter, his mouth slipping open, a silent pant or gasp wrenching from him as the boy's tight ring milked at him. His orbs ached as they slowly drew in yet again, and his head lolled slowly from side to side as his grinds slowly surged up in aggression, shoving up tight against that ass to stack yet another slippery mess of pleasure atop the pile. He pushed, and he shoved, and he clung still against himself, quickly growing infuriated at his own stubbornness.

Something brushed his beak, and his eyes fluttered open to find the boy's head upturned, lips pressing up against him. Giving a soft huff, the avian let his tongue slip free, grazing along one little lip, and the boy caught it, sucking his tongue into his muzzle. He kissed him, suckling at that tongue, twining his own around it with a breath of a moan. Warmth bloomed in the bird's loins, and he was swollen, surging against the boy's insides, grinding in a sudden, final, vicious stroke before he was plastering his insides with seed, his eyes watering as his balls seized at last, pumping and pumping to fill that tight hole with four or five half-choked loads worth of spunk. The warmth spread through every inch of him, flooding his muscles, seeping along his hide as he ground and ground around the inside of that ass, pumping him full. His arms smothered the boy in against him, burying him under panting beak and quivering arms as he bored away at his insides with jet after jet. And the raccoon only cooed his pleasure, his voice standing out singularly in the avian's ears over all the raucous cries of the playhouse.

The play was a blur of grandiose acting, making for little more than a background to the warm, sleepy snuggling of the two together, basking in their own quiet afterglow with a rather odd, leadening exhaustion. Luca simply held the boy plastered against him, occasionally giving a weak throb inside him before he finally, slowly softened. They parted down below with a shared shiver, the boy giving a little whimper, but they still sat pressed together, flesh to flesh, sharing in warmth and subtly quivering relaxation. Luca only brought himself to see to his pants when the final scene reached its climax, pulling rough fabric into place between them begrudgingly.

The trip home was quiet, though neither quite lost their quiet smiles as they trod up the dusty road to Luca's hovel. The bird didn't bother with a light-- the darkness felt comfortable, and they crawled quietly into bed together, finding slumber with the raccoon sprawled halfway across the avian's belly.

The next day, Marcone was excited. "We've hit it big, my friend!" He'd managed to catch Luca on the way to work. "Forget what you're doing, go get it. We've got a buyer in town, and he wants it NOW. And he's willing to pay out the nose to keep it hush hush and fast fast! Hurry, go get it!" He shooed the bird away despite his protests, sending him back up the road again. Luca felt as though he might fall over with every step-- the world was off-kilter. Finally, he stopped outside the door, leaning on the frame.

Resting his head on his arm, propped against the support of the frame, Luca stared at the dirt at his doorstep. The wind dragged at his clothes in little flutters, and folk passed, some talking, others nothing more than a series of soft crunches on the dirt road. His eyes flicked down along the ground to his shoes. They were second hand, and not very well made. His feet hurt every day, really, but he was just used to it. He drew a deep breath, and suddenly found himself wondering if the boy knew-- if he'd heard him walk up to the door, and stood just on the other side, staring at the wood planks, wondering why Luca hadn't come in. It took a great deal of will to finally open the door. His relief was small balm.

Marcone's buyer was an obsessive collector with a very large estate in the country. He supposedly had one of each kind of doll ever created, or near enough, which was an absurdly expensive accomplishment. Marcone claimed they all frolicked and played together all day, when they weren't spending time with the master and his guests. Luca wasn't sure how much of this was true, but it was nice to believe. When it was time for the boy to go, he looked back once, big, blue eyes peering up at him uncertainly. Luca had to look away. To save his soul.

Time passed, and the world turned, and turned into something new, as ever it would. One morning, a young man by the name of Caleb dusted his shoes and stepped into a cluttered little shop he'd noticed passing down the road. "Hello?"

"Yes." The voice was noncommittal, but Caleb followed it to the back where, sitting behind the desk, a jay of middle age hunched over a pocket watch, poking ineffectually at the gears with a scowl.

"I saw the sign in the window...?" Caleb didn't really need money just yet, he still had savings from when he was very young, but it would be nice to be able to treat himself. The request for hired help had caught his eye, and on a whim, he decided to step in. The place was messy, but somehow, it appealed to him.

"Too young. Come back in a few years," the bird grumbled, not looking up from his watch.

The younger man stepped closer, leaning over the counter to peer at the watch. "Is it wound up?"

"Of course it's wound up, you think I'd--" the avian finally whipped his head around, setting his frown on the young fellow-- but it melted suddenly, leaving the bird simply staring at him a moment, mouth open in mid-word.

Caleb shifted back a bit uncertainly. "Well, you should probably unwind it before you work on it. It'll jam up otherwise..." He smiled a bit shyly. He'd fiddled with his father's watch on several occasions, though it usually got him in trouble.

The old jay worked his mouth a moment before finally murmuring, "is that so..." He stared at the youth a while longer before finally setting down the watch. "If you've got two thoughts to rub together, you must be better off than most children I see in here these days." He pointed a finger at the young man. "Tell you what. You come back tomorrow dressed like you actually care what people think of you, and we'll see about putting you to work. The pay isn't very good, though."

Caleb grinned. "Yes, signore. Thank you."

The bird stiffened a moment, then slowly, he smiled. Just a little. "Well. You gonna buy something too, or just stand around crowding up my store?"

"Uh-- no, signore." He hopped back a step, smiling sheepishly. "Tomorrow, then!" The bird grunted, and Caleb turned, scrubbing a paw through his hair. Out on the street, the raccoon couldn't wipe that grin off his face when it re-emerged. He had a good feeling about that place. His eyes turned skyward, blue meeting blue.