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Whoo, boy. It’s okay, Anthy, you got this. You are majestic. You are gorgeous, you are a queen, you are definitely not a nervous little dino. I glance at the mirror and groan as my feathers anxiously crest. I run a talon over my head to smooth them back down, and curse as my tail bumps against the bed frame. Crest flares up again — like a yellow-and-blue mohawk. Great if I was going to another punk show, terrible for a big first date. Once more, I smooth it down, take a breath, shake out my jitters. I can’t remember being this nervous about a date in a long time. Not since Aegy Spinos asked me out to that freshsaur mixer back in… Stars, over a decade ago? From what little I remember, that had been an absolute nightmare. Best not to dwell on that. It also doesn’t help that this is my first date in almost six months. Nor that it’s with that hunky utahraptor from the company picnic — friend of, uh, somebody or something; I forget. He’s been chatting me up for a couple weeks, after we exchanged phone numbers. I think I’ve been doing a good job playing it cool — the archaeopteryx who could stop a charging titanosaur with a smoldering smile. Except now that he’s due to pick me up in five minutes, I’m all nervous giggles and awkward hisses, struggling to fight my plumage. Maybe I can pull it together and be charming, and he won’t find out what a dorky dino bird I am. Or maybe he does, and likes it so much he runs his claws through my feathers until I’m a puddle begging him to fertil...ize… me... Oh damn. Uh-huh. Nope. Maybe it was a mistake to ask him out during my breeding season. Us birds have reputations for being clutch sluts — horny messes in the couple months of the year we’re in season. It’s speciesist as all get out. Regular dinos have seasons, too, but nobody accuses them of being clutch sluts. Okay, sure, I do get kinda needy during my season, but I’ve spent my whole life not rutting during those two months of the year so nobody could accuse me of clutch sluttery. However, it’s only two weeks until I’m past this, and I can wait two weeks to have sex. After all, I heard Bernisse has been angling for Rasho lately, and I wanna make sure she doesn’t snap him up in her big, dumb iguanodon chompers. I practice a couple charming smiles in the mirror. No, too much teeth... Constipated… Insane… Dorky. Hmm. I could do worse than dorky smile. Better than constipated. I hope. Worry about the smile later. Outfit? I’ve been bouncing back and forth. If I want more casual, flirty, I could go with my short saffron sundress, the one with the perfect balance of showing some leg and a deep U to show off my cleavage and sexy creamy chest feathers. Or I can go with what I have on, cute and classy — the long baby blue midi dress that matches most of the feather color on my face, arms, and legs. Mom’s favorite on me, “Befitting the graceful creature we archaeopteryxes are.” This was usually followed by how a female shouldn’t need to slut up her looks; after all, a formel should feel she’s beautiful without needing the approval of any rutting males. So, definitely the saffron. So I shrug off the midi for the fifth time in an hour and slip on the sundress. I try another smile, and it comes together better now. Somehow, what felt dorky with the blue feels natural with the yellow. Plus, it brings out the green in my eyes better; nice contrast with my face and limbs, and perfectly complements my chest feathers. How had this ever been a contest? Ugh. Stupid indecisive bird-brain. Bangles. Yes? No? Ugh, it’s so stereotypical archy — shiny things. But he did compliment them last time… I slip on a few loose silver bracelets and give them a shake to check the jingle. Such a pretty sound. Shiny. Damn, I really am such a bird. Next thing I know, I’ll be lining my sheets with tinsel. Tapping my snout, I glance back at the bed, the sheets arranged in a nest-like semi-circle. Could be pretty. Maybe some tasteful lights to reflect off the- No! Focus. I pick up my phone. Five o’clock. Last check. Smokey emerald eyeliner, check. Talons? Damn, wish I’d painted them gold instead of aquamarine; better with the sundress. Too late. Purse? Hmm… Crossbody saddlebag. The cute terracotta one. Yeah! I’m just getting it settled over my shoulder when there’s a knock on the door. I let out a startled hiss, try to smooth down my feathers as they crest again. Damn crest, always being expressive when I’m tryna play it coy. “Just a minute!” I pause, no more knocking. Stars, stars, stars, stars. Should’ve masturbated earlier; just the thought of him there is making me horny. Chill, girl. Chill. I tip-claw to the front door and take a breath to steady myself before opening it. “Heya, Rasho! Punctual, I… like…” The utahraptor’s leaning against the doorframe, wearing a sharp black vest over a collared mauve pullover, snazzy black jeans, snug — no room for imagination about the power of those thick legs. The dark brown pebbled scales of his snout give way to short, ruby feathers on his face and head, which he’s slicked back. The rest of him I can see is covered in auburn feathers. His eyes go wide as he looks down at me, easily half a meter taller; kinda forgot how big he was. And handsome, I think, looking into those soulful amber eyes. So handsome. I feel my cloaca clench a little, all tingly at the thought of what he must look like under those clothes. And he smells amazing — his own savory feather oil beneath a modest woody-spicy sandalwood cologne. Part of me doesn’t want to go to dinner. No, I want to be dinner. “...it,” I somehow manage to finish. “Uh. Hi.” “Said that already,” he says, voice all rumbly and making me just the teensiest bit wet. “S-so I did.” I clutch my bag strap with both talons and let out a soft churr. “You look nice.” “So do you, birdie.” Normally, I hate when people call me that — condescending speciesist nonsense, like we aren’t “proper saurs” — but damn if it coming out of his snout isn’t the sexiest thing I’d heard all week. Rasho hooks one of my bangles with his claw. “You wore ‘em. I was hoping you would. They suit you.” I feel my feathers threatening to crest and slap a hand over my head, feigning a scratch. “Uh. Thanks. I remember you said how much you liked them last week.” “Make you look even prettier. Gorgeous creature, you are.” Floof. Crest flares up. I flatten it immediately and let out an awkward hiss. “Hah. Me? Lil’ ol’ me?” “Little, certainly. Old? Never.” Leaning in, he takes a sniff of my neck, and it’s all I can do not to throw myself at him right there. “Love your scent.” “Y-you know us birds. Sweet as a...” My talons dig into the floor as I try not to excitedly hop. “So. Uh. Dinner. I’m starving. Where we goin’?” “Chicxulub Smokehouse. Got us a reservation and everything.” “Oh, the one in Peninsula Beach?” “The same.” “Me and the girls went there for Stegcy’s birthday a couple months ago. It’s sooo pretty. Oh, we saw a dorudon pod playing in the bay, even some babies! Aren’t mammals just the cutest?” “Cuter on a plate,” he snorts. “Uh. Heh.” I glance down and admire his sickle claws. Huge, curved things. Mine aren’t nearly as impressive. The aquamarine does look nice, though, but his… “Did you polish your claws?” I glance up in time to watch his grin vanish. A touch of embarrassment crosses his face as he fusses with a stray feather. “Promise you won’t tell nobody, okay? I just… I wanted to look nice. For you.” Crest. Smooth it down. “Really? For me?” “Well, a tiercel goin’ out with a sexy bird’s gotta look his best, don’t he? Crest, but I ignore it this time. I blink up at him, don’t even bother to hide a grin. “It’s very handsome. I think they’ll all be looking at you.” “Oh, I very much doubt that,” he says. “Come on. Shift that tail. Wouldn’t want to miss our reservation, after all.” “I thought they didn’t do reservations.” “Don’t spoil this for me.” “Sorry.” ***** Rasho was a perfect gentlesaur all dinner. I, on the other hand, was an absolute disaster; inside, at least. On the outside, I’d like to think he didn’t notice how much fumbling I did trying to make light conversation. But inside? Oh, inside was a slippery wet mess. He’d opted to sit next to me, and his thigh kept brushing against me; his tail tapped my tail, his scent overpowered the meal. I barely ate anything. Even as he walked me to my apartment door, I couldn’t remember what it was. Food. For sure food of some kind. I vaguely remember him teasing me about eating like a bird, and, of course, laughing way too hard at it. Dork. Dorkus dorkaeopteryx. We get to my door, and he smiles at me as I fish my keys from my bag. I can’t help but smile back at him, barely noticing my fingers aren’t actually searching for anything. “Having trouble?” “Hmm? No. Uh... Yep! Got ‘em.” I yank out my talon to show him and quietly die of embarrassment as they slip from my grasp and hit the floor. I snatch them up and start trying to unlock my door; upside-down first, of course, then correcting and finally managing to get the damn thing in the lock. I hear him trying not to laugh; little huffs under his breath. Opening the door, I turn to him and offer as charming a smile as I can manage in my utter mortification. “I had a great time, Rasho.” I almost add an apology, but bite it back. No need to compound this mess. Just let him go, let Bernisse chomp on him, and I can fuck myself senseless with the Tyrant while I imagine him railing me till I screech. Little buzz in my clo’c at that, feel myself getting slick — I’ll be taking care of that real soon. “I did, too,” he says. Silence. We smile at each other for several moments. My heart hammers. I dunno what to say, I’m mostly just waiting for him to leave now, too polite to do anything else. Finally, he snorts and cups my snout in his hand. He traces along my jaw with a claw, and a startled coo slips out of me. Ugh. But… that feels real good. I put my hand over his and lean into it, stroking his wrist, dragging a talon over his pebbly scales. He’s staying? Oh copro, I better say something. “Do… do you wanna come in?” I let out an excited huff, tongue playing over my snout, all but trembling. “I have a bottle of wine.” Smooth. “If you’re comfortable, Anthy.” “Yeah. No. Totally. Uh, come in.” I step aside, already missing his hand, and usher him past me. Do. Not. Fuck. Him. Even as I tell myself that, I’m not sure why I wouldn’t want to. He’s nice, but he’s hardly mate material. Sweet, but a little slow. Now that I’ve had a proper conversation with him, what little of it I remember, it’s clear he’s not nearly as interesting as I thought he was. The kinda stable guy Mom wouldn’t mind me bringing home — steady job, good earner, kind — but mentally stimulating, he is not. So why not rip off my panties and let him have me? Well, because I don’t want people to think I’m a clutch slut. Slutty bird dino who loves getting pumped full of warm, gooey, heavenly seed, reveling at the idea of being gravid with eggs, laying them, nesting, maybe blowing my mate as I brood. I want them to see me as I really am — a smart, intelligent female with a bright career ahead of her, and, and… Fuck, he smells so good; the cologne isn’t as strong now, and his natural scent is... ooph. I rub my thighs together and try to think of anything else. Career, the thing that could be derailed by clutch sluttery. Yeah. Journalist for the Cretaceous Times. Local fluff pieces and obits so far, but I feel I’m close to breaking through to the science desk, if I could just convince Mrs. Brach to give me a shot. Astronomy would be great. I know most saurs don’t care about it — “It’s just boring rocks,” they say, “nothing to do with us” — but I think it’s fascinating. But if rumor got around that I really was a clutch slut? Game over; goodbye anyone taking me seriously. Best I’d get would be covering who Cheratops was wearing at the Mez Gala, and ain’t no way I’m doing the glam section. It’s what they expect from a bird — frivolous nonsense and obsession with pretty things. I’m more than that. I’m- I realize I’m still standing by the door, and he’s standing in my living room, head cocked, staring at me. Really hope that was only a few seconds. Please let me have spaced out for just the briefest of moments, and not the nearly full minute it felt like. “So!” I close the door behind me and make a beeline for the kitchen. “Red or white?” “Whichever.” He follows me, stalking so close that my tail keeps bumping his leg. Can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose or not, but each one is like a little shock up my tailbone and into my pelvis. I pull out a Pangeatic Merlot from the fridge. It’s the nicest one I own, which isn’t saying much, but it’s better than the Laurasian Blanc that’s basically just for getting coprofaced on bad days. After I fetch a couple wine glasses, hoping he won’t notice the light amount of dust on them — usually I just drink from the bottle; classy, I know — I pour us both a healthy amount and raise my glass. “To… a good first date.” Rasho doesn’t meet my glass. “It wasn’t good.” Massive crest flare. A faint whine from my throat. “Uh…” “It was a great date.” “You jerk!” I smack his arm. “Dang near had a heart attack!” He chuckles and clinks my glass. “To a great date.” We both take a pull from our respective cups. After that scare, it’s all I can do to keep from draining mine in one go. Within seconds, the heat begins to rise under my skin. I’ve always been a lightweight, and after barely eating anything at dinner, it goes to my head real fast. A nervous giggle escapes, and I follow his lead as he finishes his glass. “Would you like some more?” Before he can answer, I’ve already poured us both another. I clink his glass. “Don’t leave a girl hanging, Rasho.” He offers a polite smile and takes a sip as I down half mine in one go. “You sure can put it away, birdie.” I freeze with the glass halfway to my snout for a second pull. Oh no. “I guess I’m just nervous,” I chuckle, well, nervously. “You’re very sex...y.” My crest, which had started to settle from a few moments before, puffs back up at the slip. I groan and set down my glass, averting my gaze. “Sorry, that’s… it just slipped out. I didn’t mean-” Rasho puts down his glass and leans against the counter beside me. He smooths down my crest with a slow pass of his claw. It of course pops back up, and he tries again to flatten it to no avail; it refuses to stay down. He laughs. “You birds are funny. Adorable, but funny.” “Yeah?” My heart flutters as he smiles at me, his hand still on my head. “Yeah.” Scooting closer, I put a hand on his chest, not daring to break from his amber stare. His claw slips to my neck, tip dragging along the skin beneath my feathers. A soft hiss slips out, my body shaking, cloaca aching; an ancient tattoo pounding deep inside. I swallow hard. I should ask him to leave. I can feel my will slipping, my hole slicking, nature rousing. I don’t want him to think I’m easy. That he can just stroke down my spine and… and… “Rasho?” I whisper. “Hmm?” “C-can we…” I grip his shirt for a second, then push off, whimpering under my breath. “I, uh, I have an early morning. Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve invited you in. Just couldn’t help but get a few more moments of handsome raptor, heh.” He winces, and it breaks my heart. “Sure. I understand, Anthy.” I offer him my brightest smile and give him a big hug. “I really had a great time. We should do it again. Next weekend work for you?” “I’ll have to check.” My turn to wince. But it’s fair, I deserve that. I played the tease, let myself indulge in a moment of weakness. If I’d just done the right thing, given him a peck on the cheek and waved him off without inviting him in, I could’ve avoided this whole mess. Now it’s A Thing. “Sure,” I say as brightly as possible, and walk him to the door. I open it and stand aside, stomach in knots over my foolheadedness. “Just let me know.” As Rasho starts to cross the threshold, I take his hand. He glances down at me. “What?” I crook a claw at him. “Bend down.” “Bend down?” “You’re too tall,” I say with a flirty giggle, hoping to assuage him a little; soothe his ego. He does as I ask, and I cup his snout in both hands and give him a soft kiss. As I stroke his scales, I lean into the kiss a bit more, tongue sneaking out to play at his lips. But almost as soon as I do, I catch myself and pull back. That way lies clutch sluttery. Yet I linger a couple inches away and feel the words asking him to stay start to crawl out of my throat. I swallow them, then release his gorgeous face. Silence. I clear my throat and offer a cheerful, “Have a nice drive home.” He chuckles, waves, and walks out. The second I close the door, I smack my head against it. “‘Have a nice drive home?’ Really? Really?!” Dorkaeopteryx, indeed. After a few moments, I skulk to my room, pulling off my sundress and tossing it in the corner, then my bra and panties. Rasho probably would’ve liked them; they’re my cute-but-practical lilac combo from Velocia’s Secret. Oh well. Time for the Tyrant. I pull out my sex toy bag from under the bed and whip out the dildo. It’s my biggest one, and I rarely use it, but tonight I need something big to half-wreck my clo'c as I think of the hunky tiercel I’d given up to preserve my reputation. My talons run over the slightly warm silicone, tracing the bumps and nodules along the underside. I’m so wet, I don’t think I’m gonna need any lube, honestly. Still, I apply some K-T Jelly, just in case. I fluff the sheets into more of a nest-like circle, making sure to get a couple pillows for head and back support. Once it’s ready, I flop onto my back and spread my legs, letting them fall to the side. Imagine if Rasho were here, watching me, so open and vulnerable, those big amber eyes feasting on me, teeth gleaming in the low light. Little bird girl ready to be his snack. Fuuuuck. I slide my hand down my tummy, over my longer body feathers, until I reach the shorter, downy vent feathers. It always tickles a bit when I play with them, sultry little giggle as I tease myself, then a whiny moan as I touch the bare skin just around my cloaca. It’s hotter than the rest, the ridges slightly swollen as I trace around the edge of my hole. Clench. Head flops to the side as my breathing grows erratic. Swallowing hard, I dip my finger into my heat. I slowly sink in, teasing myself with a light swirling motion, making my hips jerk ever so slightly. My clawtip plucks at the folds, each time a little spark. Restraint breaks, and I slip in a second finger, using both to tease the tight hole of my vagina a few centimeters in. “Mmph!” I bite my tongue to keep from screeching. Take a moment, stretch myself out a bit. This is just the warm-up. The lewd squelching in my hole as my fingers swirl hits my earholes just right. “Dirty bird,” I whisper to myself. “So wet for big raptor dick. You’d do anything he wanted, wouldn’t you? You’re just his toy.” I whimper, nod. I can’t take it anymore. I need it. Grabbing the Tyrant with my free hand, I bring it up to my snout and open to take in the tapered head. The silky silicone slides over my tongue as I worship it, while my fingers start to pump my hole. I imagine myself blowing him while I play with myself, showing him what a horny formel I am. Filthy little archaeopteryx, just for him. My eyes slip closed as I take more of the Tyrant. The toy’s just shy of half a meter, and while my snout’s pretty long, I’m normally only able to really take a little less than half before my jaw aches too much to continue. The tip bumps the back of my throat, and I open up to take it as deep as possible — ignoring the ache, my horniness driving me to delicious discomfort. My nostrils flare as I relax and start to fuck my snout; slow, at first, then faster, head bobbing, slicking up the dildo and feeling my hole clench around my fingers in anxious anticipation. I work a third and final finger into my cloaca, stroking my vent ridge with my thumb as I stretch it out, readying myself. I make love to my snout with The Tyrant, whimpering around it, drool splattering my chest feathers, tail slapping the bed, toes curling. My middle finger presses up and grinds my clit against the top of my hole. The pleasure peaks, my hips rocking against my hand as I whimper around the toy. After a few more pumps, I yank out my fingers, then the Tyrant, coughing and gulping down air. I take a minute, quick breather, then spread my vent and press the tip against my opening. A croak creaks from my throat as I start to feed it into my starved clo'c. My toes dig into the bedding, snout screwed with pleasure as it sinks in. It slides in so good, the shaft stretching me just right as the girth increases. Then, the tip butts into my vagina. Hips jump, tail slaps, crest flares. I don’t even bother trying to being quiet. I scream. A wordless, screechy hiss. Thank the stars old Mrs. Ankylo is deaf as a rock. I snap my jaw shut so tight my jaw aches. Taking a moment to calm down, huffing through my nose as my head pounds, I adjust the dildo and ease it back against my inner slit. Slowly, I relax my walls. I love this part, that first stretch as the toy penetrates my needy nest. I wriggle my hips and relax my muscles to let the Tyrant sink deeper, whining all the while. My head falls back, tongue lolling out. I love this part. It’s so sensitive, resisting at first. The stretch burns, nerves firing electric jolts into my core as my walls spasm and grip at the invader stretching my inner sanctum. I wriggle the toy in as deep as I can, my cloaca a tight wet ring around the dildo, greedily gripping its girth, studs grinding against my inner opening and sensitive flesh. I feed in more, more, until more than half of the toy is lodged inside me. Oh, I wish it was Rasho. His looming presence, his weight settling over my delicate body, that heavy, comforting pressure as his warm raptor cock nestles inside me. As I picture him, I start to pull the toy back, the depths of my nessy squeezing and clinging as it retreats. The sound is filthy, a wet squelch as I tilt my hips to catch every bump on the dildo against my inner folds. Picking up the pace, I start to fuck myself in earnest. Juices drip from my slit, trailing down onto the underside of my tail, making a mess of my downy feathers. I bring my hand to bear on my clit, so swollen it’s peeking out of my vent, a pale pink button I gently clasp and grind between two claws. My hips rock in time with my thrusts, pace stuttering as I pinch my nub and yelp. The pressure builds, core winding tight as my insides spasm around the toy. I’m right there, tossing aside any subtlety, fucking myself with my toy, tugging on my clit. Chasing, chasing, chasing, right there, right… So… The pleasure is so overwhelming it hurts now. My muscles scream as my arm flails the Tyrant into me, battering my hole until I’m begging myself to stop from the pleasure overload. But I can’t, I won’t. I’m right… fucking… Come on… Come on! “Copro!” I release the toy and my clit with a frustrated screech. My walls twitch around the toy, the orgasm I’d been chasing fizzing out with an infuriating spasm. For a few minutes, I lie there, staring at the ceiling. The dildo slowly slips from me as my muscles give the occasional spasm, until finally it pops out and settles on my tail while nectar drips from my clo’c. It’s not enough. I’m so horny I can barely think. The Tyrant’s not gonna cut it; nature demands more. I need Rasho. Rolling over, I fumble for my phone, then groan as I realize it’s in my bag, in the living room. Of course it is. Bad enough I’m giving in; now I have to walk of shame through my own damn apartment to do it. With a sigh, I roll out of bed and skulk to the living room, tail dragging behind me in defeat. I pull out my phone and start to text Rasho. Could you please come back? No, too desperate. I delete it. What about, Hey big boy I got something for you. So much worse. I needed flirty, but not- Oh, fuck it. I spread my legs and take a picture of my clo'c, juices glistening on the exposed skin, feathers matted and plastered to my body, add a quick, Waiting for you, then fire it off. Well, that’s that. ...Oh my stars, no! I start to delete the text and picture. Stupid bird. Stupid, stupid. Maybe he won’t- Be there in 10 Copro. I still delete the picture, just in case. Hopefully he didn’t save it. It’s not like anyone could identify me from it, but the thought of my crotch floating around the internet or Rasho’s phone… I’m not sure I could take that. Yet, beneath my embarrassment, my shame, the ache pounds its victory cheer. Time for the real thing. I spend the next few minutes pacing, trying to figure out if I should call him and tell him never mind. But being a cock-tease is just as bad as anything, maybe worse. Besides, he’s really handsome, and damn if I don’t need something alive inside me so freaking bad. Damn breeding instincts. Why’d they have to hit me worse than other saurs? Once I accept it, I go to the bathroom and clean myself up; wipe away the mess, pad myself dry with a fluffy washcloth. I return to my room and slip on an oversized pink tank-top and my sexy Ptaerie panties — the feather-safe satin cheekies. Made the mistake once of opening the door stark naked for a potential lover, only to find my neighbor, Mr. Dromeo, who’d come to ask if I could watch his pet juramaia for the weekend. That, uh, yeah, never want to go through that again. I unlock the door and lounge on the couch, trying to find a sexy pose. First attempt, I sit on my tail like I’m a hatchling who hasn’t figured out how to deal with furniture yet. Twist, prop up my head. Hand under the shirt? Over? On my thigh? Over the shirt, yeah — resting on my boob. Wait, cupping it? No, resting’s better, casual. Why is it so hard to pick a sexy pose when you think about it? Ugh! I settle, hopefully looking sexy, and wait. One minute. Two. I drum my claws on my chest. He should’ve been here by now. Maybe he had to stop to charge his car. Or traffic. Or changed his mind. Had I been too forward? Oh no. Smart thing would’ve been to bring my phone. With a sigh, I get up and head back to my room. I’m at my bedroom door when there’s a knock. Go figure. I rush back to the couch, and of course bang my knee on the coffee table. Cursing under my breath, I try to lay out all sexy-like again. Sit on my tail — again. Disaster. I’m a disaster. Resigning myself, I get up and open the door just as he starts knocking again. Rasho stares at me; I stare at him. Suddenly, all the nerves and uncertainty, the dour mood, the throb in my leg, all that melts away as the scent of him hits me and he cups my snout in his hand. Crest. “Changed your mind, Anthy?” he says, so smooth I almost rip off my panties right then and there. He releases me and steps inside, flicking the door closed with his tail. I try not to act impressed, because every time I try that I can barely nudge it forward. Stupid weak tail. The scent of him intensifies — musky, mineral, faint whiff of his pheromones. I lean forward slightly, wetting my nostrils just to get a stronger hit of his virility. “It’s bad, huh?” He slips an arm around my shoulder, head cocked to look me in the eye as I bashfully meet his gaze. “Breeding season, is it?” “Shut up,” I mutter. “I… It’s the wine.” “Sure it is.” “It is!” Chuckling, he nudges me back a step, then another. My pulse hammers in my head as he advances, looming over me. Suddenly, I’m feeling very much like prey, and the shot of fear sends a shameful twitch in my clo'c. My back hits the wall. I let out a startled hiss. As I start to shift to the side, he casually blocks me with a claw. Other way, other claw. He’s looming over me, bemused look on his face as he leans down. A touch of hesitation, like he’s trying to figure out what to do, what part to play. Predator, I want him to play predator, I realize. So I shrink and whimper, but with a demure smile and a quick nod. He nods back. “I could just eat… you… up, little bird.” His tongue flicks out, laps at my snout. One claw slides down the wall and tugs at my shirt. “Lemme see you.” His command does something unspeakable to my nethers; mixed with the timbre of his voice and that deep, throaty rumble. Mmm. I start to slip off my tank, but he catches my wrist with his hand. “Slowly.” “Yes, sir.” Mortification bubbles to the surface. My tail gives an embarrassed thwack against the wall. “Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to-” “‘S all right.” His voice softens. “Is that what’chu want?” Stars, is it. But I have an out. A chance to ask him to leave, to be branded a tease, sure, but not the clutch slut my body is begging me to be. I should. I really should. After all, I’m not a clutch slut. I’m a professional jour…nal... I... He… With a shaky breath, I put my hand on his wrist. “You want it slow... sir?” Rasho grins, nods. I duck under his arm and strut to the center of the room, hips swaying. My hands slide to the bottom of my tank. Slowly, I peel it up, panties peeking into view, tail flagging to give him the perfect view of my rump. I glance over my shoulder with a coy smile, watching his eyes widen as I trace the generous swell of my ass. The pungent whiff of Rasho’s maleness hits me. My feathers ruffle as a frisson of excitement bursts from my center. Brain feels like it’s fritzing. Takes every ounce of control to not screech for him to take me, especially when I notice his pants beginning to stir. I turn, lean back against the couch. Focus on his command — slow. He wants slow, he’s getting slow. The dance makes the waiting worth it, and- Let him rut you! I bite my tongue, wincing, the pain getting me back on track. Take a breath, reset. I’m not an animal, I’m a smart, intelligent formel, and I sure as copro can control myself... I hope. My tease continues as I pull the tank higher, pink fabric giving way to creamy feathers. The fabric plucks and tugs at my feathers as my narrow waist gives way to the swell of my chest. The shirt catches and pulls up on the feathers over my breasts to reveal my hard nipples for a second before they cover them once more. It takes all my effort to control my instincts and give him the show he asked for. Finally, I pull my shirt over my head, a rustle filling the otherwise silent apartment as the arm holes catch on my arms’ longer flight feathers. I give my head a sexy little shake as the top clears my snout, letting my crest flare just a bit. Or, I try to do just a bit, but it actually goes full floof — like a blue-yellow fan whooshing up. Smooth, girl, real smooth. Rasho’s eyes dart up to my display, but he doesn’t laugh. Instead, he gives an approving rumble, and his pants tent further. Damn, I’m pulling it off? I beam, wipe it off my snout. Coy, not dorkaeopteryx. Still, my tailfeathers fluff in excitement, tail swishing and bonking into the wooden couch leg. Ow. To distract him, I slip a claw down my front, over the swell of my breast with what I really hope is a sexy smolder. I watch his eyes follow my talon down, down, down my belly, giving myself birdbumps as I reach the edge of my panties. “Rasho?” I ask, voice hopefully husky and demure. “I think I might need help.” Bad porn dialogue, great. I can’t think of anything else. Well, that’s not true — raptor dick. But besides that, I can’t think of anything. I hook my thumbs into the waistband and tug it away from my feathers, and my own scent slams me in the face. Rasho’s pupils dilate, nostrils flaring, sending a rumble through the floor and up my legs and into my clo'c and soul and my goodness somebody stop me I’m already walking toward him like… like… Rut me! I try, for a second, to stop myself, but fuck, I’m so damn tired of fighting my body. I drop to my knees in front of him, literally drooling as I fumble at his pants. They really are quite nice pants, and it takes me a second to find the velcro seam to open up the legs. I unwrap one, the other, then slide up to the waist, not so subtly bumping his growing erection as I undo the magnetic buckle and let his pants fall to the floor. I unstrap his underkilt, and finally, my prize is in view. It’s so beautiful I almost cry. Creamy pink and tapered and jutting out from his vent like a majestic beast; no Tyrant, but I’m not holding out for length, I just need the real deal. My cloaca clenches. My panties are soaked and cling to my crotch. Seems my mouth isn’t the only one drooling. Couldn’t care less. Dick. Dick, dick, dick. I don’t even look up at him, I just marvel at his member. I wrap my hand around it. It’s already slick, the scent fusing my brain cells, my free hand torn between burying itself in my clo'c and caressing this marvel. My clawtip traces along the smooth, glistening length down to the opening of the lumen at the end — the thing that’s gonna deliver that sweet, sweet raptor juice into my needy heat. Aaaand at that thought... My hand shoots down the front of my soiled panties. I jam all three fingers into myself and start to whimper and nuzzle his cock. Sleek, wet muscle rubs against my snout scales, up to the feathers on my cheek as I coat myself in his musk. “You’re real eager, ain’chu?” I chirp — a sound I haven’t made in I can’t think how long — and give his member an appreciative lick. “Oh.” My eyes slip closed, and I lap at it again. Never has anything ever tasted so right. Salty, savory, with a metallic bite, and warm, watery viscosity that clings to my tongue. It slithers into my brain and reaches down into me, a deep pang in my hips as I jerk against my fingers. My clawtips pluck at my eager nest, walls clutching and tugging, pleading for the real thing, despairing at my paltry attempt to slake their thirst. I settle back on my heels and yank my drenched hand out of my vent. Slowly, I paint my juices on his shaft, watching it twitch, swell, and telescope out even farther as I wrap both hands around and get him nice and slippery. I look up at him, his gaze piercing, so high above me — little birdie on her knees in front of a majestic predator. Keeping his gaze, I stretch my jaw wide, tongue out, and lean in until the first bit of his cock is inside. My jaws close around him, and I feel a surge of pride as his composure slips to reveal his pleasure. Everything is as it’s meant to be. His hot meat in my snout, my tongue cradling his shaft, my brain marinating in his scent, and, my stars, I feel him growing even more! His base is so thick. Oh, this is perfection. Why had I tried fighting this? His hand settles on my head. Our eyes meet, and I nod my assent. “You sure?” I try to get out an “absolutely,” but my mouth refuses to release its prize, so I give him a thumbs-up instead. My slick-coated hand goes right back to work, coaxing as much of the beast from its hidey-hole as I slide his smooth flesh along my tongue, careful not to pull back and have my fangs rip into this most fabulous prize. So instead, I make out with the tip, teasing his lumen with my agile tongue. Swirl, swoop, caress, suckle, sigh. My hand sneaks back down to my clo'c and starts to tease my clit. I groan around him, then whimper as he starts to push my head forward ever so slowly, forcing me to take more into my mouth. A shiver rips through me at the feel of his warm flesh over my teeth as he slides deeper, deeper, until his tip bumps the back of my throat. My eyes widen, and I look up at him. His jaw’s parted, chest heaving. “You good, Anthy?” I nod, then pat his thigh. He pulls back, and I catch a breath before saying, “You can rut my snout all you want, sir.” His cock twitches, and he gives a hissy growl and a nod. It’s all I need. My jaw stretches open, and I slide him in till his tip bumps my throat again. So much sensation — the warmth and slipperiness of his cock, the taste, the friction on my tongue, rubbing against my teeth. I’ve never properly been snout-fucked before, and the thought of it finally happening makes my clo’c squeeze so tight I can hear a faint squick. I fumble for his hand and put it back on my head. Pulling back enough to speak, I shakily whisper, “Go for it, raptor boy.” “‘Raptor boy’?” Ugh. “Please shut me up…” His claws tangle in my crest. He starts slow, only enough to poke at back of my throat, tapered tip prodding the narrowing opening before withdrawing again. On the next, I relax my throat and push forward, cramming in a bit more. Just to be safe, I stretch my mouth open as much as possible, then grip his ass — oh, and what a fine ass it is — and crane my neck so he can keep going; deeper, deeper into my gullet, muscles working and squeezing him as the stretch begins to burn and his widening girth threatens to finally catch on my teeth. “Fuck, Anthy…” He pushes forward a couple centimeters. “I didn’t think such a dinky thing could throat this much meat. You’re a dirty formel, aren’t you?” My thighs clench together, tail flicking behind me as I attempt a mumbled affirmation — which comes out as a faint squeak, choking as I am on his dick. My eyes begin to water from the strain, but I’d hold him there until I passed out if he told me to. Anything for another shot of filthy praise. A few minutes ago, that thought would’ve brought mortification, but now it just makes me wetter. Rasho’s claws grip a little tighter, dull ache in my scalp as he carefully drags back. He’s pushed in so much, though, that my teeth catch briefly. “Got in there real tight, birdie.” He takes hold of my jaws and pries them open a bit more, enough that he can pull back without my fangs tearing into him. Instead of pushing back in, he pulls out all the way. Drool spills from my mouth, thick strands splattering my boobs, streamers connecting my mouth to his shaft snapping as I cough and take heaving breaths. “More,” I manage. “Please.” “You sure I won’t hurt you?” “Sir, give your dirty formel what she wants.” I’ve stopped caring how porny I sound. “Pretty please.” I hold my jaw open, looking dutifully up at him through the remnants of my tears. I don’t bother to hold back an excited trill as his tip reenters my mouth. My tongue strokes and caresses the underside as I take him deep, past my throat, not as deep as before, but back into that couched extended-neck position to give him as much room as possible to fuck my snout. Both his hands are on me now. Clawtips digging into the fragile skin on my neck, fisting my feathers with the other. He doesn’t move his hips; he uses my head like the sex toy it is. The glide is smooth, his shaft grinding against my tongue, each thrust pulling back enough for me to breathe through my nostrils as he ruts the tight sleeve of my throat. The way his taste lingers, the glide, seeing the pleasure mounting on his face, it’s like I’m flying. My moan is obscene — gurgly, hissing, creaky, muffled around his dick and mixing with the glurck, glurck, glurck of my throat. It brings me right to the edge. But I hold it off, forcing my body to wait. Rasho growls and starts to pump my head faster. I move with him, eyes slipping closed as I lose myself to the rhythm. Dirty bird getting snout-fucked. It is all I am, all I need to be. I will my mouth to open wider, till my muscles complain and ache. More than half his cock is pistoning into me now. His rhythm begins to falter, his growls becoming huffs, his claws digging in, pleasure-pain sparking my insides as I modulate the pressure on my clitty to edge myself. I want to cum so bad, but I want to be his perfect toy just a little more. “Anthy…” He grunts. “Can I…?” His ask shakes me out of it. I kinda wish he hadn’t sought permission, that he’d just use me as he saw fit. But since he has… I give a little head shake, then a thumbs down. He looks perplexed, but slows to a stop and pulls out. Once I catch my breath, I try to stand. My legs refuse to work at first. I curse them, try again, and manage, with his help, to get to my feet. “I wouldn’t want to waste such a perfect gift in my tummy, sir.” He snorts, hooks a claw in my panties. “Course. Little clutch slut needs every drop where it belongs, right?” I wince at that. Yet it also makes me wanna bend over and have him take me right there. The urge devours my shame, and I put a hand on his chest. “That’s right, sir.” There’s a quick look of uncertainty, like maybe he saw me flinch. Now I feel bad for making him feel bad. Stars, how am I making this so uncomfortable and awkward and complicated, when all I need to do is spread my legs and take his load? Oh, that idea sounds… Mmm. I start to undo the magnetic buttons on his shirt, letting out a coo as I catch the pretty crimson of his chest, a flashy pop of color amidst a frame of rust-colored feathers. With each bit of chest exposed, I rub my snout and face against the exposed feathers, peppering it with kisses. “Like what you see, little formel?” I step close and trap his cock between us, grinding it against my belly, mussing my feathers. As I finish undoing his shirt, I help him shrug it off, until he’s completely naked. A sturdy, handsome tiercel; virile, hard, and ready to give my body what it’s craving. “Rasho?” “Yeah?” My body’s shaking as I whisper, “Carry me to bed.” A blur. I yelp, hauled off my talons, cradled in his grasp. Throwing my arms around him, I start to giggle, nuzzling into his neck as my tail flicks like an excited hatchling. He takes a few steps, pauses, shifts. “Um… Anthy?” “Left, down the hall.” “That’s the kitchen.” I pull myself away from his neck. “Oops. Your other left.” “I only got the one left.” “Your right.” “I know I am.” “No, not ‘you’re right,’ ‘your right.’ ‘Your other left’ means right, not…” I sigh and stroke his muzzle. “Hall on your right, Rasho.” “Was that so hard?” I bury my snout in his neck again as he carries me to my bedroom, mostly so he doesn’t see me rolling my eyes. Definitely not the sharpest fang in the mouth, but at this point, that’s pretty far down on my list of desirable attributes right now. We cross the threshold to my room, then I feel myself soar. For a brief moment, I’m one of my ancestors, the first of my kind to take flight. Flying majestically through the air, sailing toward the horizon, an endless array of possibilities ahead of- “Ooph!” I bounce on the bed, claws scrabbling at the sheets as I yelp and slide off the other end. The light clicks on. “Sorry! Guess I threw you too hard. You okay?” Is it weird that that was so hot? Delicate little thing like me chucked by a hulking beast like him. I get up, crawl onto the bed with a laugh. “I’m fine, big boy. You’re so strong.” Rasho grins and beckons me with a claw. “C’mere.” I move forward. He grabs me by the waist and drags me to him, pinning me on my back with my legs dangling over the edge. I grab a couple pillows and prop up my back so I can see everything perfectly. I don’t wanna miss a thing. He’s got a glint in his eye, teeth flashing in the light. Dropping to his knees, he grabs my panties and, with a little help from me, pulls them off, tossing them into the corner with a faint splat. My scent fills the room. Rasho lets out a couple snorts before he dives in and huffs my cloaca. Seeing him between my legs, eyes closed, sniffing me, it sends a tremor through my body. His jaws part, hot breath hitting my soaked feathers, and I let out the most undignified squeak and fist the sheets. “You smell ripe, birdie.” Stars… “What are you gonna do about it, sir?” My voice is barely a whisper, my whole body quaking. “I’m still hungry.” My crest flares so hard I can hear it. Fwoosh. He grabs my legs, yanks me forward till my hips are off the bed, tail dangling, legs over his shoulders. Oh, he’s gonna… The thought triggers a small anticipatory orgasm. “Are you clean?” he asks, nodding toward my cloaca. Like pretty much all saurs, I always clean my cloaca before dates, just in case of magical moments like this. “Uh-huh.” “Good.” Rasho dives in and clamps his jaws on my mound. Sharp teeth bury in my feathers. The pressure of each fang digs into my skin. My clo'c in the warm cavern of his maw. I shriek. A piercing, shrill screech that makes him wince. My body’s a riot of pleasure. Hips twitch, his fangs dig in a little deeper, and I go dead still. He could chomp right through me, no problem. Why is that so hot? I’ve never been into prey play before, but the thought of him doing whatever he wants to me deepens the ache in my core. His bottom teeth press into my ass. I’m his chewtoy. Fuck, I love it. Another hot breath against my vent, then his tongue brushes against it. The tip brushes my clit, jolting me. My claws dig into the sheets as I struggle to keep still in his predatory clasp. “Mmmph! Rasho… that feels so- Ah!” He bites down a little harder, tongue swirling my clit, and his eyes, oh, his eyes. Something dangerous and primal staring me down. More beast than saur. It’s terrifying, exhilarating. I swallow hard. “You like chewing on your little bird, sir?” His nostrils flare, claws digging into my legs. His bite lessens, and he moves up a few more centimeters and takes me deeper into his jaws. With a trembling hand, I stroke his snout. “I bet you wanna eat me right up. Big tiercel like you, I’m just a snack. Am I your treat, Rasho? You could do anything you wanted to me. Anything.” His rumble vibrates through my hips, then his tongue pushes open my vent, probing in. Thick, smooth muscle slides into me, making my ankles dig into his back. I wince as his teeth dig in a little more, right on the edge of pain. Dangerous dance. More of his tongue slides in. Little stretch as it worms its way deeper, teasing at my nest. His hand slides down my leg, over my ass, down to my tail base. His claw is gentle, teasing the underside and making me shiver even as he starts to fuck me with his tongue; slow, shallow pushes, undulating, scooping at my insides. Jagged teeth, sensual tongue, gentle claw. He’s fucking good. My mouth falls open, and I make no effort to quiet my moans. “That’s it. Yeah. Right there. I’m yours. I’m your little formel. Eat me, sir… F-fuck…” His tongue pumps my clo'c. The pressure builds; shocks to my system. His slurps and my soaked walls fill my earholes. It’s filthy. Unspeakably filthy. I’m just a hissy, churring mess — undone. The pleasure winds tighter. Right on the edge. My juices and his spit drool down my vent, tickling my downy feathers. I grope my chest, pinching my stiff nipples between my claws as I watch him work me over. “Harder,” I whimper. “Bite me harder.” Rasho gives me a questioning look, but doesn’t release me. “Just a little more. Please, I’m so close.” Slowly, his teeth sink deeper. Discomfort as his fangs press in. Yes. Oh, stars, yes. “My clitty. Please.” His tongue withdraws, starts playing with my clit. My breath hitches as he flicks and swirls my button. All I can manage is a creaky groan. It’s so much. Too much. My walls spasm, squeezing my nectar into his mouth. My toes curl, sickle claws scratching at his back. Shake. Shudder. Fire in my veins. Claws fisting the sheets as I ride out my orgasm. My muscles tense, then finally relax, and I go limp in his grip. Rasho’s jaws ease off. He pulls back and starts to lick me clean. I’m so sensitive, each swipe almost brings me another orgasm. After a moment, he puts my legs back on the bed and sits beside me, wiping his face of my honey and licking his claws clean. So hot to watch. I should be exhausted, spent, content, sated. But it’s like the spark from orgasm lit an inferno. Need. Need. Ancient drumbeat. It’s not slaked. Like the Tyrant, Rasho’s tongue hadn’t been enough. There was only one thing. The cry grows until it’s a piercing scream in my head. Get rutted! The raptor strokes my head. “How ya doin’, Anthy?” “Ra-Rasho?” It’s so hard to think; the din is overwhelming. I shake my head. “I-I need… I…” The words refuse to come, so I use the only language that’ll suffice. I roll onto my hands and knees and present for him; face down, one eye watching him as I raise up my hips and move my tail out of the way to show off my weeping clo’c. Like an animal, a proper formel. Like a good little clutch slut. I’m rewarded with a tiny orgasm for that thought. Little squirt that rolls down from my clenching hole. It feels so right. The part of me fighting it is drowned out by instinct, need. “Fuck my vent, Rasho. Pump me full. Pump me so fucking full.” His eyes widen, then narrow, then grin. He scoots in behind me, nudging my legs apart, his claw on my slit, sliding through my slickness. “Needy little thing, ain’t we, Anthy?” I hate him so much for not stuffing me right then and there. But then his claw catches my clit and the growl of frustration just starting out turns into a whorish moan. Never heard that noise from me before — needy, whiny, submissive, perfect. I raise my hips even higher, tail curled up so much it’s almost touching the back of my head. “Please, sir. I need it.” “How bad?” “Rasho… Stick it in me. Now.” He snorts and pats my rump. “Or what?” The glare I give him freezes the grin on his face. He actually jerks back a bit. But only for a moment, because he quickly takes his cock in hand — half-hard, but already more sliding out of his cloaca to play — and presses it up against my hole. The contact, just the tip touching my vent, is enough to make me want to sob with relief. My hips jerk back, trying to get more, walls clutching and rippling, trying to draw him deeper even though he isn’t even in yet. I give him a needy look, accompanied by an even needier whine. I’m past embarrassment. I need to get railed. He grips my hips, claws sinking into my skin. It’s not gentle. He hauls me back, and jams his cock into my vent. Tip pierces me, into my inner sanctum — my waiting nest. My body seizes. Walls clamp on him. I wail into the sheets. My feathers poof out as I scream in the purest relief, and cum. Noises I make, pure animal. But he doesn’t stop. The pleasure, it’s blinding. My whole body shaking as he keeps sinking in, hauling my delicate frame onto his delectable dick. Tapered tip probes as his increasing girth drives into my peristaltic depths. My nessy is begging for his seed already, trying to draw it out. “Damn, tight,” he grunts. “Keep. Going.” “You sure? I don’t wanna-” “Fucking keep going!” I crane my head to look at him. “Rut me like an animal. I don’t need gentle. I need to…” The word catches for a second. “I need you to breed me.” I cum again saying it. Small one this time, clenching in my throat as I whine. Nothing has ever felt so good. Just the word, the thought, it makes me arch my hips higher, presenting more. I don’t want to be treated like a saur. I want to be a mate, his. A whimpering puddle of feathers and his seed. Spark of pleasure at that thought, blissful smile. Then he slips in his dick until the tip’s butted against my vagina. My sanctum relaxes, he pushes in, and I start crying. I’m complete. His girth increases the more he feeds into me, stretching my vent. The lewd squelch of my clo’c and nessy accompanies the feel of my juices being pushed out and slicking over my crotch. Part of me wants to tell him to hold it there, revel in the stretch. Part wants him to start rutting me. Trapped between the two, I just whine and squeeze on his shaft. He starts pulling out, slow, agonizing. My vagina clenches as his tip leaves, the rest of my cloaca trying to draw him back in. The friction is delicious. Hard, smooth muscle on my folds. I give an appreciative hiss. “You ready?” I wish he’d stop treating me like a hatchling. It’s sweet, but not what I want. “Yeah. Don’t hold back.” “Okay…” Claws digging in tighter, he crashes his hips into me. Cock’s jammed back in. The force rocks the bed, rattles my body, makes me yelp. Pulls back, slams in. Soon it’s a punishing rhythm. My upper body shakes while his iron grip keeps my hips still as he ruts me — properly. His pace picks up, faster, harder. He’s grunting; I’m babbling curses and nonsense and praise and thanks and need — everything and nothing. The fullness of his length there one second, gone the next. Back and forth, my cloaca stretching, burning, my nest constantly being speared by his narrow tip. Thicker than I thought, and fuck me, I’m the happiest archaeopteryx for it. Rasho’s hand slides from my hip, grips my tail base. He gives it a tug, and I squeak, tail shooting straight. It sends a jolt up my spine, careening into my brain to fire off a burst of sparks. Oh, I didn’t know I was a tail-tugger. “Again!” “Ya like that, birdie?” he snarls. “Yes, sir!” He tugs again. My walls clench around him so hard he almost completely stops. But he doesn’t. He grinds through it, friction dragging over every inch of my insides till my eyes roll back and my tongue flops out. I whimper as his claws dig deep into my skin, and he tugs again, my depths now milking him as he treats me exactly like I want. Not like a brittle bird, but a hole to dump his seed. It’s so dirty, so base. Animal. Mmm. Suddenly, he stops. “Rasho, what are y-” He angles my tail to the side, grabs the back of my neck, and pins me down. The roughness makes me squirt a little. His weight settles against my back. Breath hot on my neck. Oh stars, he’s gonna- Oh please. Please, please, please let him- “Little birdie,” he whispers, interrupting my desperate thoughts, “so tiny under me.” Fuuuuuuck. “You just a little clutch slut, Anthy?” Whimper. “That’s what’chu are, ain’t it?” “Yes,” I say in the tiniest voice. “Tell your big tiercel what’chu are.” I look up at him. He leers back, jaws parted in a snarl. The musk of us is shredding my brain. I can almost smell his cum, just waiting to drench my insides, fertilize me. It’s maddening. “What are you, Anthy?” he rumbles. “A-a clutch slut.” “Wrong.” Moan. “Your clutch slut, sir.” “I bet you want me to chew on you. Dirty, dirty little archy, ain’chu?” Fuckfuckfuckfuck yesssss. I nod frantically. I need teeth and claw and rut and cum and fucking everything! Somehow, I manage, “Please.” Then, “Please, sir.” “You gonna talk dirty for me, my little formel?” To be honest, I’m not good at dirty talk at the best of times. I doubt it’ll be anything other than pure porn script with my brain the way it is, but I suspect that’ll do. “Yessir.” “Good girl.” The praise hits hard. Fuck, I need more of that. His weight settles on my back, crushing me to the bed. He’s so much bigger. It’s a little hard to breathe, but the way his feathers rustle against mine feels divine and sounds like the most beautiful, primal music. His snout nuzzles my neck, his claws grip my hips, and he starts to rut me. The angle hits perfectly. I’m squished against the bed, he’s huffing in my earhole, growling, rumbling as his cock crams into my sloppy vent like I’m nothing but a toy. I feel so full — achy, stretchy, gorgeous discomfort. And the sound. Even with feathers to blunt the impact, his hips still snap against my rear with a faint crack. But it’s the slick sucking of my clo'c as he plunges into me that fills my skull. I can feel my walls tugging at him with every pull back, feel myself gripping his shaft, hips dragged back with him. With each push in, the jostle of the impact, my insides packed full, skin stretched taut. “Fuck, you’re so big! You wanna- Ooph! You wanna chew on me, don’t you, big guy?” His teeth nip at my shoulder. Fangs raking through feathers, over skin. Shifting, he angles his cock to get even deeper. Too big to fit it all, so thick it feels like I’m gonna tear. It’s amazing. Rasho hammers away at me. His shaft flicks my stiff clitty both ways. Spark in. Spark out. Flame and electricity slosh inside. I’m awash in it. Grounded and adrift in pleasure. Pretty sure I’m cross-eyed; so hard to focus. I need to…? Dirty talk! “Crawl inside me!” He snorts, jams himself in, and stays for a moment. I feel every throb, twitch, spasm — mine and his. I whine and whimper as he grooms my feathers. Tongue on my neck, making me shudder; his hot, wet breath as he huffs and sniffs. His hand slides down my hip, toward the apex of my legs. I crane my neck to look at him, all wild-eyed and frantic. When his claw brushes my clit, it’s everything not to scream. I’m quivering, clenching as he rubs and pinches it ever so lightly. “You gonna cum for me, Anthy?” Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck. “Not yet,” he says. I nod. I don’t think I’d be able to anyway. I’m too wired to cum. It’s all so much, pleasure dialed up so high it’s agonizing. “Sir, ke-eep! K-keep going… And… can you b-bite me more?” I give him an anxious look. Or needy. Or slutty. Maybe constipated. I’m not really sure. My face is spastic and out of control; crest up. Only thing I really have control over is my voice. Everything else is tense and loose and tight and twitchy. His hand slides away from my clit, moves to my shoulder. Claws dig in. Suddenly, his jaw clamps around my narrow neck. Not soft. Nearly to the point of breaking skin. He has me pinned, helpless. Small orgasm as primal fear and excitement clash. Feathers floof, and I squawk, turning to a high moan as he starts to pummel my needy clo'c again. “Yeaaahhhh! Mm!” I look at him, looking at me. His eyes are nearly feral, and my moan becomes a whimper under his gaze. Strong. Powerful. It makes me wanna… wanna… “Rasho, fertilize me!” His breath huffs hot on my neck, claws dig in. Cock gives me a rough thrust. “Pump me full.” Squawk as he presses me harder into the bed. “Seed me.” Whimper as he picks up the pace. “Knock this slutty little formel up, big boy! Fuck my egghole!” Can’t believe the words from my mouth. So wrong. Right. Perfect. Whole bed’s shaking now. Frame creaking. His breathing’s erratic. Mine’s heaving. Core winds tight. He grunts, stutters. “Do it! Please! Fertilize me! Make me your filthy little cum balloon!” Might’ve gone a bit far with that. “Rasho! Fucking breed me!” Pain in my neck as he bites harder. He jams, keeps it, fucks a couple times, then crams in like he’s wearing me, rumble building as his body shakes. My walls milk him in anticipatory glee. I’m coming undone. His cock twitches, pulses… erupts. The first spurt of hot raptor seed fills me. Indescribable pleasure — like I’m flying and falling and blown apart and finally whole. I screech my orgasm through my convulsions; a strangled wail of completion. Rasho grunts, and he pumps another load into me. My orgasm crescendos. I’m screaming. Shrieking. Wailing. Babbling for more, more, more. I want it all. To be gravid. Bloated. He gives me everything. Another, and another. Each hot gush stuffing me full, sloshing around his shaft, in my clo’c, my nest. He grinds through it all; short humps as he bites and grips his clutch slut. A clutch slut who has never, ever, ever, experienced anything so intense or perfect — and who’s apparently defaulted to third person as she has an out-of-body orgasm; elevated beyond the physical, bordering on spiritual. A mixture of our juices leaks out from my vent, thick drops sticking to my crotch feathers. I have the biggest smile on my face as I quake under him. As I start to come down, I somehow manage to reach back and stroke his snout, his jaw relaxing. I wince as his teeth ease, pressuring giving way to pain. With his tongue, he grooms and soothes my neck. Static mess of my brain starts to ease. Thoughts, reforming. Me. Anthy. Swollen with cock and seed. My muscles relax, and I let out a soft sigh. Slowly, his shaft retreats. First from my vagina, sore and stretched, then easing out of my cloaca. There’s a faint shluck as our combined juices are dragged with it, until it finally pops out. My clo'c gives a pouty clench, and squirts out a bit of his cum. Giving him a pat, I gently ask, “Can you get off me?” “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” He groans as he heaves himself off and lays down beside me. The tip of his dick is just peeking out of his vent, pearly white semen on the tip mixed with my clear nectar. I curl up at his side and clean his vent and cock, using my nimble tongue to reverently groom my breeder. The taste fills my mouth, the scent my nose. Fuuuck. I give a happy sigh as I lave his member. A giggle bubbles up as it twitches and he gives little overstimmed hisses, replaced by a churr as he strokes my head and whispers, “Good girl.” When I finish, I flop onto my back and crane my neck to see my prize, hips tilted up both to be able to better witness it and to keep as much in as possible. Oh boy, I’m way more a mess than I thought. The bare skin around my vent, my cloacal lips, the downy feathers around it, my thighs, it’s all coated with a mix of our juices. Seeing it leak out pains me on a deep, instinctual level. Waste, when it should be inside, waiting to fertilize the eggs I’ll never lay. During my season, I always take the pill that stops me from producing the hormones that would trigger me to create eggs. Not many saurs wanna walk around gravid when they aren’t planning to have a family. Otherwise, you’d just lay and toss them, or be one of those weirdos who eats them. Gross. My hands idly run over my body, down to my thighs. I scoop up some of the overflow and bring it to my snout, the happiest bird as I huff it and lick my fingers clean. Another scoop, and I’m rubbing it on my neck and boobs before I realize what I’m doing. For a second, I’m mortified, I’ve never been into scent play, but like everything else tonight, it just feels right. And you know what…? If this is what it means to be a clutch slut, I think… I think I might be okay with that. I’ve never felt anything so intense, so right. Why would I deny myself this pleasure? People already make the jokes and tease my species and the other dino birds anyway, why not embrace it, reclaim it? So I swipe my talons over more of the mess and rub it on myself, meeting Rasho’s eyes as I mark myself with him. It clumps my feathers, clings to me like a cloud, the heady aroma of our mating. My cloaca twitches at the thought — mating. Won’t get pregnant, but I feel bred all the same. The screeching feral thing in my head is quiet now as I marinade in my breeder’s scent. “That’s so hot,” Rasho says. I give him a coy smile and stroke his flank with my tail. “You were pretty hot yourself, big guy.” “I din’t hurt you, did I?” He scooches beside me and inspects my neck. “You ain’t bleedin’.” “No, it was perfect.” I fight back a hiss as he prods the bite marks. It stings, but it’s a wonderful reminder, a gift. Not as good a gift as what’s slowly cooling within me, but a damn good one all the same. I cup his face, smearing a bit of our juices onto his snout, and give him a kiss. It’s soft, tender, really about all I can manage. I’m exhausted, and I’m for sure going to be walking funny for a day or two, but it’s well-earned. One thing nags at me, though. “Rasho?” “Yeah?” “Uh, well... can we pretend I didn’t ask you to make me a cum balloon?” He snorts. “It was kinda hot.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Sweet guy. Terrible liar — he’s clearly not trying to laugh — but sweet. I feel a faint pang of guilt, feeling like I’m leading him on, like this is going anywhere, because while the instinct is quenched, it’s still whispering in the background. More. Find more mates. Now, I’ve never been one for hookups — not since early college days, anyway — but no part of me is repulsed by the idea of finding someone else. Especially if it means I get to feel like this again. I can’t bring myself to ruin the moment, though. Besides, I doubt he’ll mind too much that he got to bag a clutch slut, even if it means the relationship isn’t going anywhere. At least, that’s my hope. But that’s for future Anthy to worry about. I scoot closer to him and turn on my side. I swear I can feel his cum sloshing inside me as I do. Reaching back, I take his arm and drape it over me. He gets the hint and cuddles me to him, tiny bird in his embrace. My mind quiets, eyes flutter closed. I was a good clutch slut. I am a good clutch slut. And I sure as copro will be a good clutch slut again, very, very soon.