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Everything about him ached, but Iago couldn't stop his feathered wing from wrapping around his cock and furious working at it, the clinking and tinkling of gold beneath him like a siren song that couldn't be ignored. He groaned out in pleasure -- rolling his body back to the hot pile of coins beneath him. They'd long since been slicked with cum, and he'd long since felt his balls practically dry up from masturbating, but the knowledge that he had no fluids left meant nothing to the parrot.

The only thing that mattered was the sensation of pleasure that was still pulsing through him, an insistent demand that burned up from the very pile of riches that he laid atop of. He wasn't sure anymore how long he'd been here; the piles of fluid beneath him had dried, only to be rewet again by his next orgasm, and they were no indication.

All that there was was the sound of grunting coming deep from within his chest, and the sensation of his body rolling and writhing against the pile yet again. He turned, his tongue coming out salaciously; Iago licked and lapped at the pile beneath him, and his eyes instantly rolled back in his head. Impossibly, his cock was still hard -- the metallic smell beneath him was enough to make sure that it stayed that way forever.

He should have known better than to come here. He'd been warned -- there was a curse upon the treasure. Whoever found it would bask in their good fortune for all eternity, until the end of their days. It was spoken with spite, with malice... and he was learning just now what the true price of greed was; his cock thrust into the pile again, scraping against the rough edges of the shimmering coinage, and he let out another cry of both pleasure and pain. His dick sputtered, but it wasn't cum that dribbled out. It was blood, thick and viscous and full of something more meaty than semen. It smeared against the shimmer beneath him, during crimson and molten, a dark shimmer like lava in the low lights.

He couldn't breathe around the pounding of his heart -- the organ was thundering so rapidly that it felt like it filled his entire chest, that it felt like it was swelling through his throat and threatening to explode from his beak.

"It's mine!" He gasped the words out, his voice ragged from the shouts and screams of pleasure that had been tearing from his throat for hours. "It's all mine, and no one can take it from me!" He gathered a pile of the riches up in his wings and let it fall atop his body, writhing against it, his tongue coming out again to suck hungrily at the discs as he pooled them onto his lap to cover his withered balls and his cock. His wings came down, holding the money tight over his still throbbing, still needy length, and he began to flex and thrust his hips again.

He grunted, and he felt the hard edges scrape and tear until he was bleeding; he held tight though, and fucked it as though it was a lover that he'd been dying for all along, one wing folding around the base of his prick and squeezing tight while the other stretched between his body to fondle at his testicles; they weren't working anymore. They'd gone completely dry an hour into masturbating. Touching them was both pleasure and pain, but he gave them a fierce squeeze anyway, fondling them as though the mere motion would bring them back to life, would make this orgasm more like the first -- the first had been pure bliss. He'd picked the coins up and showered himself in them, nuzzling them and letting his tongue loll over the taste of the fresh newness of the riches. When he'd started working at his prick, it had swollen in response to the scent, to the feel of coin sliding against coin and his body surfing atop of more money than he'd ever thought to possess. He came hard that first time in a burst of fluid that spattered and stuck to his feathers, that soaked into the gold beneath him... and he'd thought he would be done. He'd thought he could simply turn his mind to getting the gold out of the room and smuggling it back to his home so that he could spend it at his own leisure.

But, then, something had tingled inside of him. His prick should have started to go down, but his erection had been stubborn and stayed instead. And even though it made him shudder from the sensitivity, he'd started to masturbate again.

It wasn't enough -- then again, it hadn't been enough the second or third time, either. It hadn't been enough the tenth time, when his prick had started to chap and his balls had heaved with the inability to produce any more fluids to release. Now, with his length slicked with blood... Iago took a shuddering breath that was a strain and turned his attentions to his lusting, overwhelming need yet again.

He turned in the pile beneath him, sticking his tail in the air as he did so. His wings working furiously for a moment as he dug a hole in the hoard beneath him. Iago could only hold off for a few moments; he couldn't catch his breath, and his vision was slowly turning to black. His tongue felt so try -- dehydration from a lack of fluids was roaring through him and making him both lightheaded and nearly effervescent in the way that he moved. He thrust down into the hole that he'd made, and his cock caressed that which he coveted most, that which he'd wanted for as long as he could remember. The words had been true; he would relish in riches beyond his wildest desires until the day he died.

He just didn't think that the day would come so soon.

The parrot bunched the gold along his cock hard and tight, like a little virgin cunt, and he began to thrust in full earnest. His hips worked, and the hardness of the money grated against his prick -- his eyes rolled back, and his heart pounded so hard that each beat was a shooting lance of pain through his body, a clinch against his lungs that fought for each breath.

When he came again, it was thick and meaty, nearly ripping his cock hole in the process of gushing out. He screamed in agony at the sensation of it, because the meat that poured from his body was something that should have stayed inside of him, and he could feel the way that it was ripping him up from the pelvis out... blood, fluid, thicker and indiscernible things that should have never come from orgasm, should have never been expelled from any creatures body. The room smelled metallic, but it wasn't just the gold anymore -- it was his innards soaked in blood in the candlelight, and Iago could do nothing but attempt to catch his next breath around the dizzying pain in his body; he was a slave to his passions, a slave to his greed... and there was no way to escape the blood price of the gold.

If he had to die, at least he would be surrounded by the thing he loved the most. Gold and Riches.