Griffon-Bourne
The following story contains graphic descriptions of hot gay griffon sex, oh, and is copyright Leslie Rashana.
Griff-Borne
June 6th, 1944; In an oft-overlooked chateau somewhere south and west of Normandy France. Four Germans were having a very bad day.
Of course their day couldn't be as bad as the one their countrymen were having, they were dead.
The broad-shouldered figure standing over them with an automatic rifle remained silent during the pre-dawn hours. As the sun slowly rose his, or rather It's features became more and more clear. And what the Germans saw made them cringe inside.
Sgt. Talon re-settled his BAR in his claws, watching the prisoners while the Lt. was pouring over some captured documents with his little German-English dictionary. He and the rest of his squad were one of if not The best attempt at re-creating a creature of myth 20th century science had ever created, unless the Japs had actually succeeded in spawning a dragon like their propaganda threatened. He like the rest of his airborne platoon were Griffins, the Sarge being a Griffin among Griffins even. Seven foot even and just under allowable flight weight, all muscle he always said with pride, he was the only one of them who could handle a BAR while on the wing while the rest had to keep anything heavier than a 'grease gun' slung until they hit dirt.
'Sarge' as he was affectionately called stretched his impressive wingspan with a grunt when his relief came, stifling a chuckle at how easily intimidated the three grunts among their prisoners were by the display. "Morning Ant, " The massive griff greeted the corporal taking over his watch, secretly relieved that they ran out of Arthurian names when they got to naming him, unlike corporal Antinius.
"Morning Sarge", replied the smaller creature. Almost a foot shorter than the sergeant and much leaner he was more typical of the breed but his lithe semi-feline form still spoke of swift death. "Lance just finished rigging the fuel depot to blow in case we need to scoot and the rest are policing those machine-gun nests we bombed out on our way in here. how're the prisoners coming?"
The bird-man with the bars pulled out a cigar and popped the end in his beak, "Scared shitless looks like, 'cept for that one in the black uniform over there. He looks like he's gonna be a real hard-ass." Sarge nodded over to the black-clothed officer with the SS insignia glaring at the two of them as he lit-up and took a big puff off of his stogey.
Their lieutenant stepped in just then and tested the air with his keen nostrils, "Ugh. I thought it was getting to be that time of the morning again, why do you have to smoke those things anyway sergeant?"
The corporal patted the sizeable package between the bulkier Griffin's thighs and gave it a squeeze, "Because the brass'll have his bars if they catch him with dick in his beak?"
Sgt. Talon Squawked and batted Ant's paw away, "You secure that shit corporal or I swear..." he never got to finish that threat, he was too distracted by the taloned paws belonging to the Lt. stroking his shoulders and a beak nibble and whisper his ear.
"Relax Sarge, nobody here but us griffs. Well, except for those Germans but they don't count anyway."
The Germans, who didn't count, were flabbergasted by what they saw. Two creatures who were like sky-borne demons to them just a few hours ago were pawing at a third like two French harlots in heat. Cpl. Ant had all the encouragement he needed from his Lieutenant's words and hopped to his knees between the sergeant's. Hooking a claw-tip in the larger griff's zipper and pulling it down to reveal the hidden treasures, they took some work to free from the tight confines of the fatigues but when they finally came out to play the sergeant's feathered and furry friend gasped for joy as the fat length of Griffin meat flopped across his beak.
Talon gulped nervously at being so exposed, and in front of strangers as well. But he couldn't deny it was quite a turn-on to have his pride and joy worshipped in front of the disbelieving eyes of 4 uptight fascists. "Umm, Lt.? I don't think.."
"Shhhhh, " His commanding officer silenced him with a taloned fingertip to the end of his beak and whispered huskily, reaching down to un-button the beefy Griffin's shirt and stroke his strongly muscled chest while a tongue stroked a hefty pair of furry balls down below, "please, call me Reggie."
The big beast of myth relaxed noticeably; well, most of him did anyway. He trusted all of these griffs like brothers and in a way they were, and if his Lt. felt comfortable dropping ranks and regs here than so be it. Besides, Ant had one helluva tongue!
Lieutenant 'Reggie' absently stroked the flight-muscles bulging in his top NCO's chest, enjoying the view while the corporal went down and gave Sarge his best beak-job. Such a perfect sight it was, or would have been if it weren't for that damn SS officer.
The German in black sat in his corner spitting and shouting angry words in German, but what words in German didn't sound angry Reggie mused? He let his talons drift down to stroke through the feathers decorating his favorite corporal's head, "hurry up and get him ready to pop, I know just who needs to be in the line of fire."
Sarge was curious as to what the Lieutenant had in mind, as was the corporal. But curiosity or not Ant was eager to please, popping the bulbous cockhead in and out of his throat while stroking the meaty shaft vigorously. None of the platoon had had a decent break in quite some time during the preparations for D-day so in no time at all Reg had to wave the cock-sucking griff off before Sarge lost his load.
Reg took the veiny griff-rod in-paw and jacked it just hard and quick enough to keep his sergeant on the edge, whispering his plan in a tufted Griffin-ear. The stud-griff grinned evilly and took over for the Lt. with his own paw and got up, advancing menacingly toward the still ranting German.
The SS officer stopped in mid-harangue as he noticed the towering beast advancing upon him with a hardon some horses would envy. He began to protest but before you could say 'Geneva Convention' a large taloned paw descended upon his head and held it firmly, keeping his head still as the griff shoved his hips forward and rudely gave the German his first taste of Griffin-sausage.
Talon felt his balls tingle from the obscene act, as they began to tighten he jacked his shaft furiously sending himself over the edge, "ohh yeah.. I got yer master race right.. NNgggghh.. Here!" and with that the once proud servant of his Fuhrer became some Yankee's cum-catcher. Fat furry Griffin balls pumped what seemed like gallons of salty sticky spooge to the now hysterical German, flooding his mouth to over-flowing and spilling out across his chin. The thick Griffin-dick was too thick for it to be shoved in deep enough to force the human to swallow, yet.
Sarge pulled the tip of his cock free just in time to catch the stunned officer in the face with his last cum-shot. Feeling like taking out some Nazi oppression on this little man the griff hefted his cock by the base like a billy-club and smacked the officer in the now cum-stained black uniform across the face. The blow almost hard enough to bruise the man's delicate complexion but hurt the Griffin not one bit, if anything it made him even randier. "Yeah, take it and like it Nazi shit-head."
A rapping on the door-frame brought all eyes around to a fourth Griffin standing there now bereft of his pants with his own erection swinging in the breeze, "ooooh, so that's how it is? When the Colonels are away the griffies get to play? Shall I tell the men?"
"In a minute Lance, what do you have to report?" asked the Lieutenant while taking the opportunity to free his own erect cock. The corporal still on his knees was on it like a light and fondling a distinctive bulge in his own pants near a growing damp spot. Sarge just smirked and kept stroking his still raging hardon while waiting to hear what Lance had to say.
"Weeeeeeell," the newcomer began with a saucy smile, "I've finished setting the charges like you told me to Reg, and the rest of the boys have accounted for every weapon and every round of ammo the Germans had here. Oh, and I found a bottle of cooking oil in the kitchen. Now can I go and play? Oh please, oh please, oh please?"
Their Lieutenant stroked the head bobbing on his dick while he seemed to consider, casting a glance over the shoulder at the mortified SS man. "Alright, but let us borrow that bottle for a bit, I think we'll need it 'interrogating our prisoners."
June 6th, 1944; In an oft-overlooked chateau somewhere south and west of Normandy France. Four Germans were having a very bad day.
A very, very, Very bad day.