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On Brutish Waves - The Lewdz Continuez~ by Eightane

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The colour of Vermillion's rooftops sparkled cold seas. Far from that town, what aped it were reflections, sunset's orange and a pair of wings. Handsomely the bird skimmed waves, tiny as they were beyond shore's sight. Talons reached through the surface, stole a Goldeen, flipped up and scarfed. This predator had pressing matters; aimed that-a-way, he flapped to raise by northern breezes. Lifting off its right wing touched a ripple. Smoke puffed, like a struck match but ending when the heat refilled that plumage. Feathers red once more, eyes ahead. The speck at 12 o' clock he closed in on.

Below decks of the schooner lay one taxed male, and another spent less. Dirk's shell pressed bedsheets; plush, they gave under sweaty domeplate. Soon as he could roll onto them, the mass of hairy bulk jumped him frontside. Eighty's forest was a burnt-out grove drenched with all a dick could shoot, spray or leak. Yellow piss glued down chest and gut forest; white patchwork hid the creamed sites; both spritzed outlines from the stamp of one aged belly to the other. Captain pressed on guest his swarthy weight; their lips hooked, as the boatman threw wood on Dirk's fire. Rowdy fucks, mature to their finest, groaning in each other's mouth for how their cocks tingled, fresh off hosing jizz and now with rubs by full length.

Eighty freed his maw, but by little, brushing Dirk's mustache with his bristles. "You playin' it safe? "

"Natch." Eighty's bass warmed him ears-to-spine, as the King's form heated tender bits. "Every grump but you wraps it up." Thick hands felt up Eighty's hips; one rose and launched a flat-palm sock of sidecheek. Eighty growled and nosed on Dirk's ending shpiel. "Take yerr privelege."

Eighty's tongue shoved in to the root of Dirk's, lusting for that equal bear. Purple arms, their beef and follicles, ran the edge of tortoiseshell and soft, moist skin. Dirk knew what this took; he played both sides like a born switch, but when it came to the fisherman there's but one option. He leaned up into Eighty's lips and soul patch. Giving in, for Eighty to snatch him hip and tail, to swing that assmeat 'round sailward. Dirk pushed air through his choppers; a grouse, if any real fight existed. Eighty's hands pushed strong those cheeks apart. Jellied hams put east and west; the melon-shade 'O' lay sweatiest of their flesh, but won Eighty's shrewd smile. "Damned twit, you know what I see. It's took dick last when Baffin Isle grew palm trees." Dirk looked up with a subby spin on the old 'So?' face. He stretched neck. "Then grow your tree and fit it back to-"

Distractingly did Eighty slide up his dome. Pecs met its high hexagons, navel its low. Pits curtained on the blue biker's shoulders, dense with black like blower coils for odor. Ship's rocking on the waves moved air, scents scattered to permeate their space: corners, planked ceiling and the Blastoise' breathless nose. Had he not involved thoughts, his rear would instinct-purse its built knolls to Eighty, access for dropped defense. Either way, up and out they went.

The 'King rolled down; his musket of a dick swept tender sinkhole balls-first. Slight pinches only winced his eyes and swelled firmness. That low-cut bone he'd bury 'til the Water-type creamed out his goddamn shell cannons.

... Thirty, twenty yards, less each beat of blazing wings and heart. Care the bird harnessed when slowing to land; a stray ember from feathers may send it up in flames. 'Land life ', he judged to himself, 'Always floodprone or flammable.' One day they might advance... In his lifetime, though, the chance stood low. Closing in on visitors, he tuned the glow; dropped his temperature, dulled the sunlike reds and oranges. Talons set down on deck. He could walk it without fear of conflagration; it was fate's hand, though, if those he figured to be down below would fear him or hold other moods alike.

The touchdown came quiet; Eighty snarled his male desires, muscle and fat dripping their first round. Into session two, and Dirk's nose ring danced; his crow's feet cinched while the captain's meat took asscrack on a trail run. Tight 'n' sturdy; he throbbed like he hadn't released, and that colon he hadn't even grazed. "Eff your leather-lovin' hole," Eighty snickered. "Like you sat on Crossiron's handlebars."

"Fuhh-Fuck it then, 'stead o' talkin' it to death." They built an even exchange. Dirk's grin bloomed, and faded into sneer, a sore bliss. Eighty's helmet fit his tract like self-lubed glove. Pre and piss glaze wet his butch, hungry hole, and the King's first inch nosed in.

Above decks, a body had cooled, grey taking over from the warm guest's undercarriage. To him, tall and with stiff upper beak, they were guests. And not unfamiliar; when a protegè spotted him, swooped down and rest toes by the Talonflame, they stood as soldiers. Orderly and objective, minding the noisy pair below.

Talonflame verbalized. Pecs lay hard as clam's shell; barely they drew in, speech quieted. "Never changes."

"Should he?" The Braviary questioned. His crown - a cream and rust mane - affirmed the breeze velocity. The storm's pass snuffed most turbulence; that which stuck around ruffled quills all up their fatless builds and flightspans. Braviary's neck tilted, going on. "That guide either culls food or this." Chin and brow both high, he looked down toward the source of breathy bass. "One the ocean needn't heal from."

"It's too much for him to dent." Talonflame cut eyes, telling his other beefed bird that implications he mistook. "I laugh, Witschk. Whole continents they won't stick to when urges strike." His wing he lifted, its end pointing for shore. Insulated before, its fanning out shone orange threads, capillaries burning with his typed blood. "If our fish had ears, they'd feel as I do."

His friend's navy abs tossed one muffled laugh. He rolled neck, cracked its thickness to loosen. "Smile if it pleases you. They live their ways." He clasped hands low, flexing swollen arms; his pecs, maybe more impressive than a smoldering other's, made face-sized lenses, quivering their pink bald buds. It was to tease, as were his next thoughts voiced. "Intrigued, Arioc?"

Talonflame's offhand chuckle could indicate. "You spoke it, their ways. Thirty times out here not fishing, a body should notice." With how he held himself, if his wing should skirt his chin quizzically, the language wouldn't have changed.

He may've studied, his blue friend dismissed, but the blacker wing pair gliding down had other leans. To Braviary's right, boxing him in with the firebird, came a Murkrow's presence. Dark navel was with measurable cushion; pecs half-solid-but-similar, and if the men below knew they'd see a kindred build. The large red eyes set lazy, and lied; he made up the trio's energy, a male of dancing heart and loins. On the first of Eighty's groan-notes meeting him, the beak was open, tongue visible. "He's back, eh? Early as the gales... Who's lucky today?"

Talonflame's tail flit, his sarcasm tripped. "How rude of me, not inviting us in." He stared through the Braviary's noseholes; braced with gold, a ring from Iqaluit's docks, a sign he may be the only one untangled with land life. Beyond, Murkrow's childish smile softened him. Hard to judge that impulsiveness. "I do hear thin currents, gills past all the air-breathing. Someone's amphibious."

Braviary supplemented, preening one wing's branch with steady backhand. "And the bed's creaks, heavy in a fluid sense. I call it's a shell." Feathers thick in his arm's bend flew their flag. Murkrow's pupils circled; an act for his response, so soon he'd guessed it. "Turtle. Blastoise." His left wing shaded Braviary, roughed with salt spray. "Do I smarten, or do your minds dull?" A high, terse posture from Talonflame. "The centuries take a toll, yes. In ours, you may mature after all."

The Murkrow truly had, his hand lowered back to scratch rear quarters past the crack but up from full, impressive gonads. Considering, it only made sense his should swing, though Talonflame's size had its grandness as supreme. Thick, as any their wrists or ankles, seldom it awakened in recent ages. Eighty's roar touched all their ears, however. As it hiked, and a Blastoise cried low along with it, Braviary knew to look diagonally. The flame-blood avian, reserved but with the least knack for fleecing them. The five-inch softie of a bay sentry did something more than hang. His crowned aide felt too the signal in his longer, skinny maleness.

Murkrow's just-plain reached for the painted eve sky. "This time we vote. Come to call, or stay inactive, wet blankets."

Warm and on the bed, quilts curled under Dirk's blonde trail. He knew the mariner like himself, unweakened by a first spatter. Twinkles in black windows, Nido's eyes studying his sturdy neck's sweatring. It would soak further by the time he filled that ass. Three dips now in the burly slut's hole, three soothed moans from a long invasion for his mangash. Deceptively the Blastoise could coo, deep while delicate, as Eighty hid cut-scar in the pert pillows. Stubby blue tail ran his bush as a windshield wiper, coating with musked gloss. Heavy in no time, and eked down cracks in weathered skin to the site, where Eighty got going. The push expired in favour of a crush. Dirk whimpered as only a man could, his dominator shedding patience. In and out of that elastic ring, dick fat enough to pull the bum a horn's length, as that on Eighty's warm, seasoned head.

"Rrrrrhhh... RRrrgghh!..." Dirk let grunts be his output; no words would temper Eighty, or convince the 'King he wanted tame dick.

"Fuck yerr blue ass," Eighty drawled, tail curling behind his thrusts. Ragging on the biker was indulgent. "Build your hog a... Cus-tom seat... My shape... You love it, ride my DICK on the highway!! "

"RNN-NHHH YEAH-" Dirk fed the mocking, tortured by sheets rubbing hard wet head. His hat slipped; next to him it fell. Eighty took an impulse, bent in and licked his bald scalp. Air tingled him, cool straight down his spine despite a warm gut's draping, pushing. Subby as hell, he sat on Eighty's pecker like gravity went sideways. "Or-rrRRrrr I sell the b-bar... Move up hhhhere and you ffffff, you... FFFFFUCK me ALL DAMN DAY!! "

Eighty gave a luxe roar, rich as how Dirk felt around his hard screw. It said the fondness for suggestion; lengths of his delight, and length he dunked up in the fuckbuddy, the grizzled turtle, trembly and accepting...

... The air warmed instantly. Too well to explain. His ears pricked, and odd steps alerted them. His eyes sought behind him, and of all things he'd list to see out here, other bipeds were a low entry. Sure unexpected. "... The hell can I do for you!? "

Arioc leaned to his right, mumbling to the Murkrow. "Not unusual for his line, I'd say." As outside, they made a three-strong line; Eighty's body shielded their view quite well, but their looks set too curious. His heat stooped from lust to wrath; his gut said he could take all of them, no matter the brick-deep sinew on their feathered fronts.

Witschk jumped on this, sensing unrest. "We ask you forgive the disturbance. The idea wasn't mine." In silence, wing raised to the bird past fiery chest, the one dark and huskular. Murkrow's beak formed regret. "Big of you, friend. Count me grateful."

Talonflame stepped forth maybe two inches; any more he feared would make a painful day in their immortal coil. "Call me Arioc. We know much more of you than I may put in few words."

Dirk, his face purple in red-over-blue, pulled in a pillow. Face hidden, twice over by retreating in shell, it fell to Eighty that he deal with this. So he turned and stood; air had the Blastoise shiver as their host came to his feet, facing beaked trespassers. Theirs was to be stunned more than he'd been; a mostly-hard unit swept the wind, wet as outside waves lapping. Murkrow's head moved identically, tracing the pendulum. Captain cocked his hat. "Then start talking. You'll get less words than you think."

Talonflame's beak-chin swiveled; eyes grew just a wee bit tiny. "We... Seldom leave these waters. Watching over here we've had times to watch you." His ground he stood, claws in cracks on the floorboards. His stomach glowed orange, butterflies upon it. "... Speck in our lifetimes that you are."

Questions turned down his irritation... Still miffed, but willing to listen. He lifted finger, it drifted to each in turn. "You're old."

Braviary sniggered, whipping back his crownfeathers. "Five hundred years for Arioc, less by just two for myself. Witschk." He bowed; on avian legs it came half-near a curtsy. "And our impetuous third..." He knew enough land-life gestures to elbow the Murkrow's ribs. "Is a tenth of that." He saw along with Eighty the young bird's eyes, how they'd come alive by grizzled nudity. His throat cleared, finishing out. "Fifty at the next winter's ice on these holdings."

Eighty's mouth had since turned up a slight corner; moisture crossed his beak at the bottom, from a heavy jaw. Eyes wiggled, his head shook and he was snapped back to the present. "G-good to meet at last, I'm... Jankl..." It wasn't all distraction, his vocal breaks; a name he never took to, Y-sound 'J' partly to blame. Eighty mattered, though, and his snake of a hammer down through forests of jet.

Dirk's head came slowly out its cover; pillow moved, and nose poked out from rock-hard collar. Nido saw the birds, none hostile, one favoring plenty on him... The others seemed open enough. He spoke plainly the truth. "Higher beings, eh? You must know you're visible, then." He swung a glance to the portholes. "Even if I missed you on deck, there's windows. Nice when you soar against the sun, though. Picturesque."

Arioc and Witschk could be knocked over with their own feathers. Jankl, though, dug into states of mind; he wouldn't leave his urgings, growing well out from his loinquills. "As are you... Two miles up, I see acutely, and your..." He gulped; throat was nothing close to dry. "... Well, more than only your pecker..." Ended with a flair; Jankl's was barely shirt of rigid, sights on Eighty's, minding that tool and colour up his core. "... Land males, your testosterone..." Feathers moved aside, pushed by rising dick. Spindly knees were weak from thoughts of men; the Blastoise leaning up, hands covering himself, the Nidoking addressing them, their hair. Thick, to him exotic. Velvety, he guessed.

Arioc pried on, himself wobbly, not immune to the view. "... He's brazen, but we... Flock together. And ask if your boat here, that is to say, if welcome..." His eyes trailed low, the glimmer spreading from breast to arms. The manhood Eighty hardened, Murkrow's and his own, and the blue bird's hose; the cabin he steamed, wings out and lit. Blastoise broke in, feeling none of this. "It's a private party. Ethereal or not, you're outsiders."

And now the Talonflame's true thoughts he lipped, with a beak. "Justified. Yet, if you were to be outsiders... Self-sent from your ground, well, there's domain." He stepped forward; Witschk, on his wavelength, bent neck to a lean of idle threat. "And there's eminence..."

Breath even, Eighty saw what this amounted to. Jankl may've stayed back, but wore the look of a mutual intent. The hesitance he'd seen before; here the Nido would start, verbally. "Fine day to encroach on fine gentlemen, right?... Ah, sure. Like we're gentle." Arioc's foot tread light as a cat hunting. Witschk's crown wisped in the heat given off; Eighty's unit claimed the Murkrow's eyes; they danced in trance, his package in the blood-rich radius waving bird in. Youth's bashful streak was no match, as neither were the elder, dazzling birds with muscle like Eighty's, only worn without the husky wrap. They'd focus on that daddystick, clearly warm to welcome.

Rearward, in place to see the Nido's tail swish thickly, Dirk himself shed more and more aversion. Maybe they helped by approach, and the outlook of what would come; or maybe the King's ass revealed pink button at the apex of swinging appendage... With two white spheres that stored white now in the best of dangles. His blue lips he tongued; he, too, would pick a bird, in his case the one also blue. Witschk somehow knew when spoken to. "Come this far, don't try and wuss out." He darted up, faster than the crowned bird assumed from a plump shellbearer. His chub reached up from blonde bush. "Be ruffians."

If Arioc was regal, this dissolved at the touch of Eighty; his hand's rough grope on a bicep, pulling in that hotheart. Eyes wide from a Talonflame who felt tables turned; 'King domineered him, and not in five long centuries did his eyes more lazily submit. Putty in the purple man's grip, but so swift had he been taken, Witschk's wing had time to come up as if to swat and protect their senior. Jankl stopped him by speaking, richly; stomach's weight drew in, his hand rolling down around the average prick, but moving giant balls on the first tugs. "They control. Use. It's their way."

The choice of term struck Braviary. Tamed, with eyes on Jankl and Dirk's sights on him. Smoothly the turtle took his back in a hug, pulled in, rubbed feathers with yellow fuzz. Transition from alert to aroused; Dirk teased him a smidgen, but fondly. "Skinflute. Bring it in, feel my girth on it." In no time, bird's tool was a hard, ribbed pencil up on biker's dick and foreskin, Seven-and-a-hair to his eight.

Murkrow's nip turned by his thumb and finger; moobs like Eighty's were jelly in his own hot abuse, tweaking hard and stroking six-rigid. His friends were head-to-talon muscle; Arioc's trembled with a hairy captain, his beak deeply Frenched, eight-point-five red cock with a purple hand molesting it. Witschk blushed through his facequills, a Blastoise hand fast to round his asscheek and feel out the crack. Jankl's mouth let the slowest 'Caww ' from male hunger... Not at all reluctant, but out with every thought his lust joined. "Take 'em guys. We barged in on you, we deserve... If you pound us... Up our back porches..." Dirk's teth exhibited in smile; the younger bird's manner was less-than-stuffy. It would function well.

In Eighty's grasp the Talonflame went colour shifting; orange-to-grey-to-rust, down from his nape, auxillary goosebumps. Salty tongue with a rum-and-tea spice explored his inner beak; bergamot's subtleties worked down his throat. DIck seemed to compete with the Nido's, who could stand hardest and longest. He won the first count, that bearish cur on the second, narrow margins for both. His poked Eighty by the innie; nothing ever felt so hot on that be-fuzzed divet. Nothing much surprised the 'King, but in his interest he pretended. "Birds leak it, eh? " He shoved nose atop black beak; the Talonflame flung whore-moans, receding in surrender. "You''ll take that big arm and spread it. Up my chest, guardian." He ended teasing, and the bird quivered. Obedient fingers sloughed a fist of goo from his thickness; up the Nido he pressed it, middling the chest. How it felt as his wet palm smashed manforest; nothing like he'd known in his many years. Suddenly his balls felt heavier than he could stand.

Dirk massaged Witschk from the inside of crack, grazing a round lip. Not an accident, where time after time he felt the blue abs cave, reacting. In a split-second it whisked the hole and buried ring-finger... The bird's yell was a siren, devolving to low relent. Strong he looked, but delicate he sounded; Dirk's 'top' streak was awake, mussing that proud crown as he fingerbanged his godly toy.

Feet of a Murkrow closed in, slower by leaps and bounds than his hand's manipulation. On his length it slid; clear drips from the slithole fell lost into a puddle at his feet, cum and piss from something he wished he'd seen. It lay still warm on his branched foot; so fresh, its scent reached him like the skin and pits of their rough suitors. Dirk's hands worked the Braviary, one in ass and one on pec, pinching bud, but his head swiveled. Neck's fat rippled shallow as he cut eyes to the blackbird. "Not so much a fighter, is he. Or your other padre, in his hands..." As he mentioned, Arioc's plumage twinkled, tongue in Eighty's mouth, frotting harder than the captain had with turtle.

Burly captain manhandled Talonflame, and pulled mouth off to confirm his buddy. "Be honest, whaddo they protect. Took just two horny hellions and they're ready to kneel, or bend over." His hips shoved in, fucking bird's dick above the seam on red sack. Invariably it glowed the brightest, those two golf balls in skin with short feathers. Eighty cooed more derision. "They've had a taste of landstuds. Their heads'll swim," He planted one feral kiss on the breathless bird, "When our loads swim inside 'em!! "

So captive was Arioc's mindset, he went ragdoll when Eighty reached to pick him from the ground, high and close. Snail-trail of black hair wound through his pubefeathers. Head bobbed in time with the 'King's gait, headed quick for the bed. Bird was tumbled in midair, front slammed to the mattress; no teeth he owned to bite his tongue as he could've. Eighty's left toes curled over a wooden ball, the bedpost; his other held the floor, sweaty but sturdy. He hiked that tail up, and with the firebird still reeling, a harsh invasion struck him. Dick felt big as a streetlight, opening him up. Tailfeathers fanned Eighty, flapping with a scream and bird's deflowerment.

Eighty's groan rolled with the elastic heat, taking male's anal purity. Purple mouth pursed for a note of bliss. "Ooooh, goddamn..." Jankl jerked so hard as to be heard behind him. He fed the viewing. "N-nngh this proud thing's a fag alright, I'm SHOWIN' him that. Fffff-" His teeth went over one lip, nibbling. As warm as it could be, that avian ride, without burning. The one dominant headfeather wagged, Arioc's eyes clenched shut, whining musically. He and Eighty knew alike that the youngest wings watched him lose that virginity and loved it. By the speed of fist jerking dark meat, more and more.

Dirk flowed within his sack, as he turned the blue bird and screwed him up a looser hole with fat biker digits, now up to ring AND middle finger. But somewhere else flowed as well. He laid into Braviary, neck-to-nape, chest fat to feathered lats. "Guess who drank his fill earlier, and has to recycle." He licked the edge of shining crown. Jankl's scrote slapped his own taint, moved by hard jacking, tongue on a face growing slyer by the second. A push in his mind - a new instinct - bloomed, while Dirk described recycling. "You're gonna touch those toes. You're a friend of water, you won't mind gettin' bathed. On that ass. By warm brine."

If beaks could form a typical 'O' of wanting, Witschk AND Jankl raised that bar. Braviary didn't really know where this went; the curiosity alone could make him bend down; wings and arms both dropped to the floorplanks. He pressed fingers behind his talons. For three seconds, nothing new... The timespan for the Blastoise to get it past his hardon, aim that beercan-tool and seep the first yellow. Dick stood half an inch from the bird's button, where feathers petered out to bare, pink access... Trickles hit them at the moment bird's spine drew down in curve, crowing high and light as a lisping fag. Dirk would swear his mark was well-conditioned, as the spray grew strong and warm on asshole.

No defense survived this feeling; the onslaught of wizz, relief on Braviary's access, took him from all control. "Rrrgh-rroooohhh! MMMMnnnhhrrr!~" Jankl watched the body jostle, almost swagger, muscle fluid. His engorged mass he couldn't stroke any harder; Witschk poured out the avian song in whimpers, not a reservation left. Dirk pushed closer; for five seconds where he punched into that ass, the 'brine' warmed bird from inside. Feathered slut submitted like he had for the king in the room.

Ex-tea ran down the drumsticks, warmest at the bald connection. Half went in that hole, half hosed down its anal lips. Ringed ankles steamed off the flood, hot as Braviary went for the turtle 'going' on and in him. Eighty cheered his partner, when he looked behind him twice, and not ahead like the rest of his time spent breaking in the firebird. Hot air was a fine luxury, blown from glowing quills on Arioc's rear. The guardian yelled on, susceptible for raw, butch oppression.

One hairy leg on the floor, one on his bed, Eighty rough-loved the clenched bird. Spicy nothings he mumbled in the bird's ear. "You lead them, eh? You stand strongest, when all it takes is a hard mass like mine to rut you? " Sliding in the male's ass, feeling every virgin divet he robbed of pomp and virtue. Thoughts so sweet in his mind the charm drooled onto the bird's cheek, running down as Eighty's ran his devilish mouth. "I don't see posture! I see a poor bitch!! " Nine inches of royalty rallied up the birdcave; for a fresh-popped cherry, it sure knew when to clench and how firm. Arioc's face dipped; any harder dropping and the beak would punch through bedsheets. Tonal screams were quieted. All was warm around the Nidobear-dicked-bird. Pre leaked down taintfeathers.

Jankl's leaked down his wrist, dripped to seasoned planks. He'd cut his teeth on mansex; ensnared by this, he stepped to Dirk and Witschk, the Blastoise fitting in blue bird for the last time. The last third of his bladder's load came to bulge out navy stomach. Witschk could barely slit his eyes and bend neck to see the shadow on his left flank. Murkrow's dong was close enough to tongue; the sack swept air like the breeze from Arioc to his top.

Dirk sighed, hips forward, chest leaned back, with hands on silver nip rings. They were pulled and twisted. "Ahhh-HHHhhh-" Pitch rose when he fracked Witschk with pissing dong. Eyes went lazy and lustful to Jankl. "That's right, tease him. He'll need a lick." Fast to coach the blackbird and his glimmer of 'own' streak, no less thinking of the load in giant nuts. Jizz like a titan's, the youngest bird standing up to Braviary. Dirk thrusted smooth and coached the new ally. "Show him what that clamdigger's for."

Jankl nodded; grim-looking eyes lied, so hot behind them. "Open up..." He told like Witschk failed, not beaking it already. A louder scorn rolled. "Pronto." It slipped faint, manipulating. Balls slapped a blue cheek and the lowest 'bang' crownfeather. Braviary went for it like a fat worm... Closed his hard gob gently... Tongue flicked and did the work.

Murkrow's eyes rolled halfway back. A room over, Arioc's muscle flinched and quivered like his equal pal. Dirk screwed pro as the fisherman.

Piss ran out of fuel, down to trickling in thick ass. The cock it left from throttled, reaching depths the bird thought he didn't have. Jankl filled his mouth; a sweat-funk down his throat by trails of slobber, while tortoise taught an apprentice. "Push it on down... Boss that throat, it's there for you... Yeeah-hh-hhh..." The end split by his husky bounce, each time he did for Witschk ass what the Murkrow did for mouth.

Arioc squealed his song, by now hoarse and paralyzed with ache. All the pain from Eighty, up a hole that waited eons for plundering... Steam filled the bedroom, sweat baking off his rosy coat. Eighty roared, twice as pleasured as the bottom; Dirk's hole wasn't half as strong as this one, and years of taking a king's nine were the culprit. Talonflame's tongue wriggled like a grub itself; cut, massive dong dug past his gizzard, buried to the bush, ad infinitum. The man in cap and jacket owned with mettle, spitting-hot from purple chops. "BUCK into me!! Noisy-fuckin'-slave, slide up the MASTER!! "

Arioc's eyes looked halfway-round, troubled as the sweat ran their sides. He knew what creatures heard, those he looked after. For miles around, the would hear; fish, birds, down to the 'mons on deep sand, all would know the male as dethroned. Water left his eyes, joining salty paths that soon evaporated. The boat was a sauna, rocking in its white cloud. Eighty fucked the hothole like his whole weight went into it, and what a weight it was. Arioc's scream faltered. Vocal cords were taxed like the flesh in his seat; their output was a wheeze as subby as the D' was long. His neared shooting; so close to firing, pressed on bedsheets, where the cum would just pool astride his dong and simmer. Steam even rose from the inches; and if not for body temp, Eighty's could demonstrate by force. There were jackhammers whose bits didn't slam rock like his butted and split that avian.

Jankl's hips kissed the blue one's gob; at first a peck, now a 'smooch'. And growing. He talked, as Braviary coughed on flesh harder than beak. "Suck it, man... Suck, you antique... Ohyeah, take it like a snake! " His comfort level, acclimation, stabilized and grew. He could feel in Witschk's tongue the response. A hearty one.

"Attaboy, junior!! ... RRRrghh~..." Blastoise galvanized; seeing more command from goth-looking lewdness, and rousing it, though hysterical with want himself. Braviary's ass gave so well, with piss inside to a slick degree. Thinner than his pre, some squirting each time he tested depth in the crowned legend. Cavern tight, but not indelibly... This fuck might just be the one experienced in the trio. Jankl's hand pawed through crownfeathers, the Braviary's pride mussed as pre escaped his beak; Dirk's large fist went high, encouraging a budded top.

Witschk slid back for air, and plunged back on it, coughing less. He couldn't gag; neither could any bird. Jankl shoved his head to black pubefeathers, wore a newfound sneer, and the 'bud' of topping blossomed. "EAT my DICK, y' fruit!! " Witsck sucked to the base, and he helped, teeth together and wet with bliss drool. "Taste a FUCKIN' MAN's candy!-YYYynngh-hhYEAHH!! " Still a trial, ordering his slut past the pleasure, such an impact in its newness. Drips hung fast on Witschk's balls, viscous, tickling. They weren't about to quit running down from his straw-cock's tip. He put a wing down to the spigot; one feather was enough to tease and indulge his tool. Branches of the highest quill massaged his petty throb.

Arioc's voice returned; if only that Eighty's dick felt like it touched every organ, hard and deep as it fucked and used that poor leader. Stomach fat brushed his tail; Eighty blasted eardrums with booms of vocal pleasure. Sweat ran as far as his foot, its creased bottom, to the wooden post it headed. Right about when crafted oak dripped - and the damp exhaust of male pores made rings around them, shook by rough ride. He collected a thought, and himself; spun halfway, and in view were Jankl's ass, Dirk's hat and part of a second bitch in vibrant 'clothing'. watching Witchsk dick bob, tapping pre to the floor, he spoke to remind Dirk. "This boat, he has rigging... Have the dark boy keep on him, you go topside. Inset by the door I keep extra ropes."

The turtle processed and questioned, more for the idea of casting off that prime blue hole, leaking what he leaked. A sneer, from spite. "Sure that typhoon wouldn't blow 'em to the Arctic? "

"I... Made th' latch myself... Nnngh-fuck-you-'til it-sca-ahhrs..." Arioc screeched into the bed, a dicksleeve of the Nido, a living rubber and stretched within to suit. Eighty - not correcting Dirk's nautical flub - capped off his assurance. "If it stands up to the rockin' I make, it's surefire."

Deep sigh from the Blastoise, and a neck swoop. Down to Braviary's ear, where one corner of lips made threats. "You stay low, you serve this blackbird, hear? Do what he wants, or I do you 'til you don't fly." He pulled out, and would leave Witschk to decide the meaning, if the bird didn't fall and hum yells from a parting of Dirk and hole. Mugs' worth of wizz splashed the floor like a bucket dropped. Jankl's length killed his yelps at the tonsils. A jet wing held his chin, and stroked it. "I'm not above reporting. Serve me like him while you wait." His green methods improved; Dirk hollered "Yeah," pleased and climbing stairs.

Outside, the chest was just where insinuated. Smiles couldn't leave him; the Talonflame's fucked squeals made it so far past the bed he was glad they floated miles to sea. One hand dipped in; the ropes were coiled, untied, squeezed in to hold shape. A thought crossed him, how many other guests of Eighty's were less in-tune with knots than a cub scout. His blonde 'stache stayed grinning; not a guess, but knowledge. Down the steps again stomped heavy shellback; above just long enough to cool his eyebrow, nose and chest jewelry, then back in the steam of horned birdmen. Jankl moved fast; now the bird sat on crest of that crown, sack weighed down anterior. Inches worth of goth-black poured down the red frontals... A tongue, so desperate to lick and taste, stuck as far over Witschk's top beakhalf as it achingly could.

Dirk held high the lanyards; thick cord, hopped on one hand with a straight stretch from the other. "I'm proud, gosling. He's your elder and you pulled the bitch out him..." Pushing in his hands, Dirk curved the tan rope and came back to stretch its segment. "... Stay there, I'll pull half this over 'red' in there, and the rest goes on your new toy..."

Eighty piped up, tail swishing and in kinks from how hard he demolished firehole. "Switch off... You two... Take this fruit... I want that crown... Fulla... MY... Jam..."

Momentarily Dirk simmered; but why resent a new pose. "You're the guru." Manful steps, throught he egress to the bedroom. Words back at a straddling Jankl. "You stay 'til he tags you. Don't ever give a cumcatcher a break." A wink, harsh-made in the crow's feet of a hard biker.

Jankl nodded well himself, as eager as they come. Just for Witschk to tease his head took his breath; Whether Dirk's work or his own, the blue stomach never wanted a thing in the ages like the sweet musk of meat. Tongue made a corkscrew, serving its mass, up each side of red-skinned circle. Looking up to Jankl's face, the alms in his weak groan, a shockwave of goosebumps wrought the Braviary spinemuscle. He wanted just the same taste through all his mouth, sliding down his stomach. The taste he had before, once... What Dirk identified as history, correctly. The bird's length pushed down his gullet. Windpipe was glanced over, harmless yet invigorating. Jankl showed his way to top, and it regarded only him. His want alone. Braviary's crown despoiled, worked by Murkrow's fingers to a high drape. "Beautiful slut." Jankl got his uke's eyes up to him. Hammy, the crow's words to some extent, but useful. Teaching through insult. Witschk pressed the floor, dick hid by sweaty pecs. In the next room, Eighty's hands pulled rope in coils over glowing arms, and pulled hard to tense them for tying off. The bird of red got his voice back; in words, he both feared and throbbed for Eighty, drowned in the need and hormones of new release.

"... Ohhh-hdon't... Please, I... We won't last..." Decade after decade built him, and rushed out on just looking at this landlubber's dicks flap as they stepped around, ignoring all but the knots. 'A squarehead ought to keep them leashed,' Eighty thought. Arioc cried on, his dulcit moansong in the same heat as his dick. "Don't... Ohhh, please first... Let me stroke and ejaculate... No more can I... Bear this..."

"Good. That's when it gets animal." The last of knots Dirk cinched in the brown cord around Arioc. Bird spasm'ed and leaked pre more from simply verb-ing that end word as turtle had. Wings were strapped to back, back would up chest with the arms in, and its coils to the shoulderbone then down from there. He kneeled on the bed, abs and wet loins facing Eighty... 'Til the Nidoking held arm high, gave one shove at the chest and down the bird rolled, prone on the bed, secured. Immobile for anything; Eighty watched Dirk as he set a path for Jankl and Witschk... A fast-working water-type, if the leather fan already climbed up and on that legend. Last Eighty saw before the bedroom's departure: a thick ass, Dirk's jiggling to loosen hips, for work ahead and the warm-front, hot-dick-and-ass bird. 'Must be like a screw in a jacuzzi,' Dirk mused, chin tight. '... FUCK yeah..."

A last chuckle, and pre dripping the floor chasing his walk, for that Talonflame. Something he then thought had value; he forced it to be known. "He'll cum, he's in for that. Question is, how hard it sprays out him while my 'camp brother' digs that hole." Closer to Jankl now, and Braviary, all four heard all. Eighty reached crow's shoulder, as Witschk swallowed a thick round of dick-spit. Bluebird's cock weeped its own clear primer. All three beak-owners' manhoods lay close to peak... Dirk fucked the living hell straight past Arioc's prostate, cum boiling in the bird's bag. Jankl's dick stood far, sucked and swallowed by his elder. The crown of Witschk stayed high, when Eighty tagged crow on the husky tailbone; with the bird pulling out - slow so it wouldn't fire - Eighty's fat nine claimed the pedestal of rich feathers. Dick drooled all down his far cheek; liquid made it to his beak, and soon was half its moisture.

On his chest, a reached-around hand, purple. On his head, a rocked-up penis, pulse worthy of its user like the size. Eighty muttered. "Let's get down to brass tacks..." He started. Jankl had announced himself to Arioc, by jumping up to his face. Eighty leaned down, gut and chest in ripples, truly selling how the bird lay under nude, big man. Witschk's dong cried, each tear a want exposed and expressed, while Eighty's did the same down him. What rope not used on Arioc found its other target. Coils went over and under Braviary; he groaned loud as Eighty spoke, that turned on for a man that brash, a war of attrition. "... You're dirt that flies. I'm daddy. You sit low 'til I call you." Witschk had sweat a puddle from his own tool and muscle; Eighty tied him, as both heard the howl of the hottest. Arioc's hole took two dicks. Neither thin, nor easy, up the sizzler. Eighty's lungs poured out his mastery. "You starve 'til I feed you. You hurt in that ass for a dick until mine goes in! And birdbrain, THAT'S pain!! "

Witschk blinked fear, but with desire and impulse on a gravy train. Eighty roped him tighter than Arioc, since he begged for dick at every turn. Marks from double-thread would be on him next morning. Veins the size of inkpens put a part in Braviary's 'hair'. Wet and slimy did that comb push... In time did Eighty's mouth do justice... Putting dark blue, beefy bird balls on the edge of shooting, by the captain's navigation. "You heard of pacock feathers, 'legend'? Oh, it ain't robust colours to we walking men..." Witschk stooped with many breaths, pouring sweat down his sinew, lines and corners of his abs. A pencil-dick throbbed as straight and hard as any porn-star stud wielded. Speaking of their assets, Eighty did just that. "... It's a male too full of himself. Bulldog tongue and a puppy-dog ass..." He laid his fat, floppy daddiness on beak; as it slipped down half-cold shellmouth, pulses had its largest state exposed.

Arioc sang whimpers - so sore from Eighty's dicking him and now with Dirk - Jankl had aligned himself, right-hip to Dirk's left, and gone in. A flash of heat filled the cabin. It was truly a sauna, all since Talonflame's taking it, all the formal airs just bashed right out his hole by horned-up dicks. Eighty picked up his own; let go, over and over. On Witschk's beak, dropped five times to fall, the longest musky penis. Bird's arms stung, so tensed did he have them just to hold off his handsfree orgasm. Nido-bear stuck a hand in his pit, lifted and went into a double-play: smooth and slow in manhandling the crowned bird, but speaking like each word was meant for ears of the poor legend's dick. "I opened up your red friend for two guys. Me. So if Dirk warmed that sinkhole on you, he opened for guess-fuckin'-who." Witschk's body had been steered like the captain would manoever a pronged wheel; the feathered spine curved onto fisher's gut. Hairy, chubby, muscled; in every way the king. Eighty hit this button, the usurping, while dick held up to Witschk filled his crack and chafed it, pushed so hard. "Can you squeeze, manbitch? "

"... I... Oh yes, I do anything... I obey you, just... Stick me!..." Witschk thrusted back on the dick that pushed up him; any more and the rocket's head wouldn't look up through crackskin.

"GONNA!! " Eighty returned. A simple way, and Witschk's ass couldn't take it. Hunger inside for the captain's meat, an itch so in need of scratching. And then, when Eighty dipped back, hit the knot-end and fucked it open, he couldn't take it.

Arioc's yell stopped on a vocal dime. A louder one buried the needle on a pleasure meter. A snake was into blue-ringed asswalls, striking inner flesh, pivot, schlick, pivot, schlick. Eighty's mouth dove and closed on Witschk's neck. Eighty's want, the crowned one's need, the pace of cockcharge, all went only up. A hickey rose through neckskin. Schilck, schlick, schlick...

... Witschk crowed and hemmed and hawwed like Arioc hadn't, more pre down his legs than perspiration. "-OO-OHHHH!! OH-IT-HUURTS!! OHHHHH-HEELP!! " The last he cried out like genuine pleas, begging anyone to save him from the sailor who held him roped, wet and fucked. It turned him on to do this; to know all those around were also men, accomplices, five studs in with hot gay sex. Eighty's mind - a bit more nuanced from active years - fucked with steel stake of a dick, horned by knowing how helpless this showboat he dug, and the tone of begs, a subtext in bird's cries. That bird wanted so bad to cum. Years and years untouched, and the first real testing of that hole had him buck reverse, sidle up his back to the top who smelled of whiskey, wizz and manhood. 'Chasing' Eighty's chest and stomach chased his climax.

Boy, did Jankl have ideas. Contributions, swaggering, while his dick slid with Dirk's, unbelievably sync'ed. Arioc, screamer that he was, still drowned maybe a third of it. "Hide it, jack. Say hi to your new life. Three square meals of cock a day, up in there..." Dirk heard enough to smile wider; the green cuss had some talent peekin' out, more than just the inches of a crow's low shaft, aired out in rear slides. Tortoise tool filled with hot half-drunk blood, not all that far from going off. Jankl, panting as he was, couldn't last. Soon to be losing his white, and he had to say it. With Dirk tuned it to him, he HAD to slip it by his new, weak control. "... When we jizz... He will... Two dicks relieved, they make another..."

Dirk, seconds from going, pushed shoulder-to-shoulder with a promising henchman. Glad, giddy and hot were the tableaux on his butch face. "Gay rocks, eh? Nothin' better... You can... Be, cousin! " It's not a stretch to say he felt a link, born aquatic in spite of himself, sharing with an ocean dweller. Either way it flashed through him, tamped down by priorities. His dick swelled; mature, ripened veins filled with adrenaline. It had started. He leaned back, slapped an arm around Jankl, and with the flamebird writhing blissful and the crow fucking hard as him, he squeezed his partner and the knees locked.

All in the hips, while it shot through his dick like liquid laser. "OH-OHHYEEAHH SHOOT WITH ME KID!!! OHHHH!! " His throat flapped tidily, shallow flaps giving thunder. Jankl's groans rose to yell with his. Arioc's had been there and higher; things didn't exactly change when two hoses dumped their loads in heat, in boiling asshole, thick jets and gobs from two men in the same hour he'd been cherry-broken. At the same fucking time.

He didn't have the chance to know its coming. Threaded sperm just fired out his organ. One moment from the first Dirk-and-Jankl spurts, and his swolen stick made Jankl a prophet. It had to when they did. He skipped two breaths; held in, and screamed out white smoke. Every line up the bedsheets, up his torso, felt... God, if they did likewise, just for having him... It all just fed itself. A room over, Eighty's rasp increased. Jankl's crown fell like spoiled souffle. Nothing was held high, save for his rigid, compact bone. Above his knees, it leaked a pearl drop. Then a trickle. And steadily, the first shot stored up, built and sent his unborn through the doorway. Dirk's hat, slogged by a twenty-foot trajectory.

It wouldn't sit alone. Two ticks of a clock later, spurt two ran its course out Witschk's pea shooter. Dirk howled a laugh in the buckled breath of orgasm; a blue bird's bunk soaked his hat and shell, bursts of goo. Juiced love, thick and plentiful as his and Jankl's fucked into their hothouse. Witschk shook ardently, slave to his own dick's bounce and fire. Dirk's biker dong smashed Arioc, and pools he left inside churned with Jankl's aid, the crow's spring-chickenism. Talonflame jizz came like steamy orange creme, a mess on him and bed. Eighty - in the stratosphere - had more to say, and more lengths of time to ram his up the pretty stud.

Witschk heard things he wished not to, spurts flying off his pointed glans. "Damn, are you king? " Eighty teased, at his most dubious, running claw through the wrecked feathers on a blue scalp. "And here all along I thought to be the big boss... Fuckin' bitch-after-deep-bitch like you..."

The Braviary squeaked. Throat had tensed reactively, whistling his breath out. It held, he kept right on shooting. Dick simply wouldn't stop, and Eighty's sank right in, a spoon in stew. No slower, much harder.

"You wanna rule these waves? " Contrast to the voice level, each word came with shove. Witschk's peak relented but the dig in his tail went bullish. Eighty spoke down to him with the quietest bass; flicked his rim each pull, so empowered, blinding the bird's ego by curtains of his own. Pestering. "About that: You'd have to beat me, and I'm fuckin' you. Y'hear, swallow? " He talked, pushed AND felt harder. Flinches now beguiled the bird's ring and cheeks. He loved that this happened; a second layer of sugar hit the Nido's charms. "I'm up your den... Lost your claim for you... I'm it, where I go!-"

Like himself, Witschk played into his throb. Bell's end bruised the reach far in, where sun and sea breeze nary went. Eighty lunged in, probed his tunnel with dick. Witschk moaned and dribbled white; The purple top rode him, mind and body. "A book's takin' place here... Moby Dick! It's en-route to snag you, old man! " Ageplay for their difference, such did Eighty love the thought. Pioneering first that bird's submission, and owning him; soon to blaze the path of basting that butt. King's eyes squinted, not leagues away from goal. "Got... A wet rub, for that... Whale of a tail... Get it, pretender, get it all in!! "

Already the climb they could place. Arioc - one room away and claws hooked on mattress, a drizzle leaving cock as so much had just before it - moped from his very voice, done by a friend and a turtle. They stayed in, seesawed and messed around, played with their bottom's feedback. He squirmed, danced and injected food for thought as they'd done literal to him. "The... White... Hat, he's... He's royalty... Witschk, my ally, he's... Shown you... I... Served him... And his sperm, his... Molten beads... Take for me..." Jankl pulled out, marring 'Flame's levelness. "... Ta-ahhke his loads for me, store them!..."

"Ohhhhh-"

Witschk crooned, placing the desire from Arioc. Eighty screwed a crowned sub, and the noble-tongued flame bird begged for Witschk to see the Nido's peak he hadn't. Birdman in blue swept his back and ass the closest to a hairy fucker yet... Arioc longed to hear, and maybe see, Eighty douse that male corral. Only right that he'd have interest. Eighty broke him in, and now the warmup had his dick snot outed. And warmer... Warmer, as the captain musked up cabin steam, and belly jiggled, and round pink nips were hula dancers by the white hide and black chest curls...

... Eighty's neck dripped. His cap shaded hungry fever. Hips fed his mass in the bird's hole, faster. "Good boy, bowed for this... Your ass knows... It's pliable... Obeys me... God-DAMN you're hot..." Control of humping Witschk ended control of his mouth; the Nido found grace in Witschk straddling him, backing on and down, but just as much had the fisherman self-worshipped. The bell, the shaft, the scar where cut, all went out of sight in the bird, buried, pulled clear and reburied. From the fist-large head, inches pried the Braviary, stopped only at the clump of shining black, the welcome-mat pubes which a manly joe they measured. Zero else fought this, the urge to watch his own huge dick bring its daddy-assets on. Fucking, turning out a new man.

Sweaty rings and hoops patted 'round the bird's lair. They'd grown, it almost felt like, as too Eighty's dick felt stallion-large. Turgid with a load's prep. The start - a swarthy climax - pushed his hardness so far it made a bowl, the anus trying all to creep up Braviary's cheeks. It couldn't, but the bird himself could simper. Dirk and Jankl turned together to watch; Eighty squinted with open grin, workin' hard straight into blowing cream. Witschk taught his fiery pal through sound some true wailed bargaining.

"AHHH-C'WWW-P-lea-se... Send it OVER, ohhhhh!!! "

Dirk and Jankl catcalled the bird, whose hip cage wrung down the captain, legs wet from oncoming spray. Buffing that hammer like washing it drove a hard argument. Eighty's pekish grin narrowed. HE pulled out, and up the back, dead-center of Witschk wingroots, the blast of hot cum from growling royalty. Witschk wished to tug his spent pencil, just for more. Nothing like the landsmen he else knew.

"Attajerk, use 'n' lose it! Bob-Ross the bitch! " Dirk held himself in-hand, with tugs forward on spent cock, rolling out the milk.

"Shoot 'til he's a statue!! " Jankl upped the gradient, cryptically. "-Who eats his way out! " Eighty's cap drooped, angled; even on the top of two buns, his power and speed chapped the bird's bits. Jankl reached down to his balls, from behind, to tug; stooped and blushing, for Dirk a curiosity. They'd in no way be done, as a hand on his shoulder started to tell, and that switching to elbow's pit picked it up from. Dirk's eyes landed plotfully... His hand did anything but quit stroking.

As white rivers down Braviary, words from his frenzied fortuity. "Kkaaww-yy-yyywwKiing-ofme-sir!! Sh-hhhoot and thrust, ss-SIII-Iiiirr!! " Eighty peeled his undertail with push, sweat, push more. Despite it, the blue bottom heard clarity, the captain's voice. "Your fire buddy-... Sh'd'always be close... It's a hot tub in here, so tropical..."

Steam left the boat in scattered 'smokestacks', walling the invading chill of the sun's low angle. Its commonality with them: none of the above would be dropping soon. Witschk received his king's blessing, gasping and in love as it gathered on him, wings and biceps gossamer. Liquids from all source on two male, swarthy travelers had stuck to him. Protein at last seeped more than shot up his spine. Fiber on both sides of it weighed beneath the cream's layer.

Steam from the crownspoiled bird as well, his beak breaths. "He... If you want... Yeah, all three..."

Jankl yelled. "Believe it, busters!! " Dirk chuckled, fist up to cover his mouth. He wondered what contemporary culture the bird knew, from which decade mostly. Witschk, under his breath: "Blanketofcum... Holy... Gods..."

Eighty's loads had been expatriated. Webs of it wove his thicket bottoming the pulse-gun. He held Witschk's thighs like hands were lobster claws. "Welcome to the confines of Gravity, guys."

Its sound beams and inner, cum-filled heat source would anchor them. Dusk breezes nudged their vessel, its drying hull, moving it less than some barely rested back-at-it hips. Inside was a snowfall of manbutter. And supplies for maybe tea, if the pot were reassembled. They had viable glue.

-The End-