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The Depths of Depravity

Part Five

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Growly

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Mack and Devon… Well… They had not always been cheetahs. That much was sure, though they were definitely female cheetahs in Kate's collection. Not on public display, Mack was bound on all fours with ropes around her legs and tight cuffs that not even the lithe cheetah could ever hope to wriggle out of.

They were kept in one of the back rooms of the laboratory, where the most treacherous, fiendish acts were committed. Of course, they were surrounded by cameras so that everything was recorded, though it was very much not a normal environment for a cheetah at all, nowhere that they would have chosen to live, whether they were cheetahs or the men that they had once been.

The female cheetah yowled, Mack's tail lashing back and forth as her brother pushed over her back, shoving her torso a couple of inches down lower to the ground. She fought back against him, her spotted tail whipping back and forth, but no manner of yowling and begging and pleading in a screaming, feline language got him to back off, his barbed cock slamming into her.

Apart from a sex chromosome, the two cheetahs were identical, every black spot in exactly the same place. The only thing that one could use to tell the two of them apart was their genitals, Devon's big, thick cock and Mack's drooling pussy. Once, they had been identical twin brothers, but those times were long past, a time that she couldn't even look back on.

Mack's breath rasped through her lungs as she tried to scramble away, though there was a screen before her, already showing a close-up shot of Devon slamming into her needy pussy. Even then, Mack could not believe how wet and how needy her body was, how much her body acted like it wanted to be bred, despite everything. She didn't want it – of course, she did not! But her body acted like she was nothing more and nothing less than a randy cheetah bitch in heat, waiting for her mate to fuck her full of a litter of cheetah cubs.

Devon hissed, his pupils dilated. There was a human mind behind it, but…yes… Yes, he knew he had to breed her. The cheetah under him was ripe and her pussy was so plump that he had to have her. Maybe she was already pregnant, he didn't care. It didn't matter to him, even though he knew, logically, that it was his brother under him.

How much had his mind been twisted and broken? He wished he knew, but it didn't look like his brother under him. Not when he was a she. Not when a cheetah's tail pushed back against his chest and underbelly, sometimes swishing back and forth, sometimes stiff. His jaws hung open as he rampantly bred her, not caring for how the barbs pulled back.

Dimly, in the back of his mind, Devon was aware of the fact that the barbs stimulated her and forced her to ovulate – well, expecting that she was not already pregnant. A cheetah in heat would have ovulated at the fact that her pussy was being pricked and stimulated and raked through like that, though the barbs were not designed to bring her pleasure.

He'd once tried to be a lot more gentle with her, knowing that they hurt, even if there had to be some kind of pleasure in it too. That's what he thought, at least, though there was little time for the two of them to talk when she was bound and he was allowed to breed her, near constantly, only taking breaks to sleep and eat.

Mack moaned, her fat, heavy teats rubbing against the ground, pushed down to the ground with the weight of his body on top of hers. That was why she had been struggling as much as she had been to try to hold her body up from the ground, the weight of him grinding her down, her teats rubbing. It was overstimulating, though the fact that they were so sensitive and forced to rub and rub and rub, though it was the kind of overstimulation that came with pain too.

Her yowls fell on deaf ears, however, her brother breeding her. Was it even breeding when he was fucking her that roughly? Her body ached and, still, in some twisted away, still wanted more.

Yet there was a sense of wetness around her teats too, leaking milk, her body shaking with the raw force of his humping. Was she leaking milk still? She did that constantly, even though she didn't think she was pregnant at that time. It was just from another one of the concoctions that Kate had given her, all to force her to be hyper-sexual, to be always ready for whatever the next twisted scene was that Kate thought up.

She glanced up at the screen, though there was no one there, not that time, to force her to keep her eyes open, to watch the huge stretch of her cunt around her brother's cock. Fuck, he was taking her so hard…

Gently!

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She yowled, claws pricking out into the ground, but the ropes had yanked her legs apart so that she couldn't pull away from him – and it was not as if he had any intention at all of being gentle with her. She'd learned that when his fucking of her needy cunt had grown rougher and rougher, always harsh in his taking of her, time after time again. He didn't talk to her as much as he used to either, which was why Mack had kept her words to herself more and more often.

If Devon was not going to listen to her or respond to her in any meaningful way, she wasn't going to waste her breath and her words on him. There was something there that she could sink into, letting sensations wash over her when her mind couldn't quite be taken away by trying to think about something else, anything else. In the middling days, she had been able to drift away to another place and another time, remembering back when she had loved surfing and could catch a wave, letting it pick her up and take her back down to the shore.

Ah. That had been a good time, a time that Mack lamented not being able to go back to. Maybe, one day, they would have an enclosure with water and she could sink into it, letting it lap up around her ears, reminding her of just how it would feel to be out in the waves, even if that would be fresh water, most likely.

As times went on, however, her body sank into the illicit, taboo nature of it, though Mack would never have quite considered it to be any kind of pleasure. It was not that, not then, definitely not then, but it was something, from the brush of her teats against the floor that was slick and wet with her milk to the raking bite of his cock ploughing through her desperate pussy.

For it would have been a lie indeed to say that she was not desperate, that her cunt did not want to be bred like that, slammed into, barbs catching, biting, pulling and raking. They sank into her as if they were trying to lock his body with hers permanently, but still stimulated her, pulling on something raw and primal deep within her body. It made her want to jerk and to twist back against him, to let out, even more, carnal, feral need – yet that was not for her, oh no. Never for her, not then, not ever, all because he was her brother.

She didn't know if she was ovulating or pregnant and it ceased to matter, her teats shaking and shaking as his hard-on rammed into her even more desperately. It was as if there was nothing more in her brother's mind, at that moment, other than breeding her.

Mack didn't know if she minded that or not. Did she? It was strange, the raking pressure giving her something to focus on, her pussy strained perfectly around him. It was something that she was familiar with, but her brother just kept on fucking her even as her body was shocked into orgasm. Her mind had not even been on climax, not right then, but it crept up on her anyway, snapping her up and taking her for the ride of her life, though it was not the kind of ride that she at all would have wanted to go on if she had been given the option to begin with.

Yet pleasure coursed through her regardless, as if her body and her feelings were not something that at all registered or mattered in a moment like that. She cried out, jaws hanging open, but not even Mack was sure what sounds she was making in a moment like that, her tongue flickering forth to rasp up against her teeth and back again. She heaved and panted, though never quite seemed to get as much air into her lungs as she needed, her tail snaking and lashing back and forth all over again.

It was not fighting him, no, not really, but she wasn't giving herself over to orgasm either, oh no. It wasn't for her, no, not even after so long of having been bred by her brother, her body aching for him, desperate for the ramming force of his cock, even though every raking thrust was harder and harder for her to bear than the last one. Maybe her pussy had grown more resistant?

It would have had to, considering how much they fucked. Mack heaved and grunted, his flanks shuddering, looking down at his brother under him, the flick of those dark ears. Oh, it was wonderful, in a horrific, broken kind of way, when her cunt flexed and pulled around him like that, and he sped up, thrusting into the wet heat of her stretched cunt with single-minded determination.

He couldn't think of anything other than fucking her, dropping further and further into sordid, sick depravity, plunging into the succulent, wet heat of her pussy, again and again. Maybe that was the result of the sheer number of times that he had fucked her, though Devon did not know and neither did he care to know. He just wanted to breed, to mate, to fuck, to breed, to mate, to fuck…

The words repeated themselves in his head as he ground in, a part of him wishing desperately that he didn't take so long to cum. Not because it would have made things easier for Mack but because he wanted that release. He needed it, craved it, licking his lips, though the rasp of his tongue went unheard over the slam and slap of his hips against her backside. There was little at all that could override something like that, after all, the fervent rock and hump and grind of his hips as he crammed every inch of his cock into her that he could.

He had to cum, he had to cum, he had to cum… That was all that Devon could repeat in his head, focusing on the words to the exclusion of all else, as if that would be enough to keep him rooted and grounded in his own moment. With the slickness of her juices around his cock, her cunt massaging and tugging at his hot length, he needed something to hold onto, though not even Devon knew how long his words would remain his own, in his own hands.

Hands… No, he didn't have hands anymore. The cheetah shuddered bodily, hunching her even more than before, panting heavily. His nostrils puckered and flared darkly, showing a touch of pink on the inside as he strove to drag in all the air that he could into his lungs: a much harder task than it had ever needed to be. His body ached and ached and ached to release heat, his toes curling, seeking to dig into something but only finding the cold, hard ground under him, even if it had warmed to the heat of his body. He tried to release that excess heat through the pads of his paws, the sweat glands, yet that was hardly something at all that he had any control over.

Just like the rest of his life.

His hind paws slipped through the mess of milk and other bodily fluids under them, though it would not have been the first time, quite honestly, that he had slipped and fallen on top of his partner. His brother. His sister. Whatever she was. She was his and his pupils dilated all over again as his mind gave over entirely to that sense of driving, intense feral need, forgetting his humanity.

It never quite happened for long, but it was always long enough for him to wonder if he was ever coming back up again.

However, the choice of whether he turned purely feral or was left with the horror of knowing and understanding everything that he was doing, the abuse that he had participated in, was out of his hands too.

Kate had made sure of that.

Mack howled, her body twisting, convulsing, yet the orgasm that ripped through her, and forced her muscles to contract in ways that she wished that they would not, was not hers to command. It claimed her and she whimpered as she tried to rock her hips away from him, to get a break, to find any kind of reprieve from the pounding of his cock. Her teats were too fat, dripping milk, and the orgasm, although powerful, did not come with any sense of pleasure, though it felt like it had been a long, long time indeed since Mack had felt any pleasure at all. Pleasure, after all, was not tainted – not like everything that she got while she was under Kate's command.

She yowled again, the pressure increasing, the force of his vicious thrusts speeding up and up and up. He could have been close or still gearing up for his high, his stamina ridiculous, too much for any normal female body, whether human or cheetah, to handle. Yet it was up to her to bear through it, the ropes taut, burning into her skin beneath her fur, grunting and heaving and panting, yet nothing brought her any sense of relief.

Not even orgasm.

Not even the brief breaks in sex.

It was all the same to her.

But the barbs were the worst as her sensitivity grew and grew and grew, her pussy strung out with pain, rippling through, though that could have been one of the main reasons why such pleasure did not flood her after all. She needed softness and lightness and sweetness – maybe even no sex at all. And that just wasn't something that she was going to get, not as he bred her and fucked her, slamming in more and more roughly as if he was trying to actively make those barbs bite her even harder.

Still, his climax, in the end, was an anti-climax for her. When Mack knew that it was coming again, sooner or later, most likely sooner rather than later, there was no sense in being glad that it was over. It was her life there, her chest and stomach bowed down to the ground, legs quivering, the ropes straining, burning around her limbs. At least until Kate chose something else to put them to, but that was not as if she was going to have a choice in the matter.

He howled, head tucking down. Inside her bare, swollen, abused cunt, he ejaculated, spending his seed, the warmth prickling and aching through her already overstimulated body, though it was never meant to make her feel better. If she was not already pregnant (she most likely was, but who was to know besides Kate?) she most certainly would be after that day was done, forced to have yet another litter of cheetah cubs, her lactation continuing throughout the pregnancy and beyond.

Above her, Devon blinked, coming slowly back to the true horror of his reality, his burning cock shoved deep into the cheetah's pussy. Yet Mack struggled faintly, energy and strength having slipped from her body, her head hanging, no longer even wanting to make the pretence of holding him off and pushing back, because it wasn't going to get her anywhere. Where they couldn't escape and couldn't live through the horror of their reality, who knew what choice the cheetahs, in the end, would see put before them?

Ultimately, however, it would all be down to how long their minds lasted, Devon rumbling a purr as he licked his lips and tried to focus on the pleasure, on the sensations flooding his body, even the scent of a ripe, fertile cheetah flooding his nostrils. That was how he got through it, easing away from his past, from the man that he had once been. A mind could get used to torture and torment, he told himself, though Devon still was not all that sure how much he believed that.

It was all he could hold onto, all that he could believe.

All as his furry balls drained every drop of cum he had in him right up into her needy pussy, splashing her innermost walls, trickling deeper and deeper and deeper, all the way up to her unprotected womb…

*

The magpies squawked and squawked, though they had not always been like that, as was the way of many within Kate's menagerie of horrors, even though Eron thought that some of the creatures there had been born there. That they had human intelligence, however, was without question, for there was no way for that level of horror to reside in the eyes of a dumb animal. It required a level of intelligence beyond that, after all, for Kate to truly draw the levels of torture from her victims that she wanted.

Eron struggled, though the magpie had not always been female, her black and white wings glistening, though she did not know what Kate had sprayed her with that morning. Most likely it was something designed to increase her arousal all over again, but she couldn't even remember a time when she had not been manically turned on, her body burning up with heat, something that a bird, surely, should never have been able to feel. And yet, for her, there were no birds around for her to ask and it was doubtful that Eron would even be able to speak their language. She had only just managed to roughly communicate with her father, though both of their beaks were more often than not stuffed full, rendering them incapable of communication anyway.

Her father… Her heart twisted and lurched, though she should have been more than familiar with the cloaca of her father more than any other.

Of course…the magpies had not always been such and they had not always been female either. Eron had once been twenty-three and her father fifty-four, but everything had changed when Kate had gotten her hands on them. Eron hadn't even known that she had existed before, the strange woman who had infiltrated their home, transformed them, tortured them. Frankly, she hadn't even heard of the sanctuary, but she'd never had all that much of an interest in animals or the natural world either, if she was honest.

Maybe that was why Kate had chosen them. Though she seemed to take any tiny slight as a reason to do the most horrendous and debased of things…

Her mind wandered – and the magpie had to concentrate to pull herself all the way back to the present, wings flapping. Even though she was not bound, she may as well have been, in a sixty-nine position with her father, the older magpie on her back before her. With the curse (some kind of infusion from Kate, of course) of near continuous egg laying, they had to help one another get the eggs out of their cloaca, or else they would be stuck and trapped there, bulging and in pain.

They might even have died, though Eron didn't think that Kate would allow her toys to die, not without her will being taken well in hand.

Harvey grunted into her son's cloaca, her beak spread wide around a huge, oversized egg. Oh, she had to do it, had to help her dear, dear son, the only family that she had left in the world. The rest of her family was not the kind of family that she would ever see again, though she had a horrible feeling that they probably had seen her flitting about the sanctuary too, as she vaguely remembered something about a donation being made there from her sister at one time.

She hadn't told Eron about that, never thinking that it was important before they had been darted and captured, and not wanting to make it look like there had been some tie between the family and Kate afterwards either. Maybe that, in the beginning, had been just how Kate had found and noticed their family, though she was only glad that it looked like her sister and the rest of them had been spared. Her wife, after all, had passed away a few years back and she would forever be grateful that Julianne had been spared the horrors that Kate, surely, would have inflicted on her too if Julianna too had been in the kitchen with them on the day of their capture.

She should never have been as familiar with her son's body as she was, however, Eron twisting and twitching, straining to push out the huge egg, though it was just the same for her. They had to bear through it, grunting, straining, doing more, always more, but the cycle of egg-laying was never-ending.

A huge egg, after all, had to be pulled out, and Harvey did all that he could to help her son through it, for it was all that she was left able to do for her. Both of them female, the transformation process gruesome, every feather prickling into place with a strain and an itch that seemed to remain for much longer than necessary after the actual transformation.

Eron's cloaca was tight and the magpie let out a strained, whimpering squawk, her beady eyes bouncing back and forth, though the bird cage that she had her father were in was small, more like one that would have been found at a pet shop rather than one designed to keep birds in happily. Instinct begged her, even then, to spread her wings widely, to fly, to work out those sore, strained muscles across her wings and her back, but she was heavy, too heavy, weighed down and fat with eggs.

Her father… Oh, she was so glad that she was able to help her, though the embarrassment over having her father's beak inside her cloaca had long since faded. There was not much she could do about it, her days and nights overcome with egg laying, sometimes getting a bit of a break and sometimes not. She didn't know how much their bodies had changed with Kate's serums and more, though it was obvious that her body, as a magpie or other, would never be the same.

She was just an object, straining around the egg, pain lancing through, even if she didn't pay all that much attention to the sharp bite of it anymore. The relief that came when an egg pressed from her cloaca, however, was short-lived as the egg dropped – but she was still not quite yet at that point.

Her father had to help her first, yes, dragging the egg out with a scrape of her hard, black beak against her cloaca. She wished that she could do more for her father too, beg her to take a break, if only for herself, but it was not all that easy as that. It was not as if she could talk with her beak full like that, though they needed to do all that they could to relax and recover between the forced egg-laying sessions, and, of course, in the moment too.

Eron groaned and her father chirped brokenly back at her. However muffled the sound was, Eron was still comforted by it, her beak a little damp, though that could have just been her mind trying to assign a sensation to something that she didn't know how to understand. A cloaca, typically, did not have to be wet, after all, which was something that she had learned quite a way back in the early days of their joint torture.

The egg pressed out, more and more, her father dragging it, trying to be as gentle as she possibly could, though it was not that easy. Not when Kate had gone to great lengths to make everything as difficult as possible, always watching, always recording everything that happened between the two magpies. Earlier on, Eron had thought that Kate was trying to push them to their limits so that they would do even crazier and more depraved things, but she had not forced the issue beyond their constant egg-laying, the cycle that their bodies were forced to perform and strain through, again and again.

The camera, of course, was set to the side of their cage, capturing everything. Once, before, they had been shown a stream of their egg laying, a close-up shot of a bulging cloaca in the middle of laying an egg. She couldn't remember, honestly, if that had been just the one session or spread out over multiple times and tortures, though it did not matter either. They were always watching, probably even more than merely Kate, but she did not want to even think about the sort of sick, twisted, depraved minds that would watch something like that, that would get off and enjoy seeing them tormented and broken in that manner. They probably didn't even think that it was real, maybe something that was sick and twisted and animated, so maybe that made it a little bit better.

If anything at all could make it better…

Pain ached through her as the egg bloomed, straining through the widest point as she forgot, however momentarily, about stretching her father's cloaca with her beak at the same time. She had to do it too, even if they were not laying an egg actively at that time, because it helped keep them loose and gaping as much as possible. She wavered in her concentration, tail feathers waggling helplessly back and forth, pushing and straining, breaking into a muffled squawk inside her father's cloaca all over again.

She grunted, straining, bearing down and, finally, managing to push out the egg. The relief, however, was short-lived and she gaped more widely into her father's cloaca, head spinning with pain, the ache pounding through her body, blistering and throbbing, like a heartbeat. A heartbeat that she had to dance to the beat of, over and over again, yet could never escape.

Harvey let out a strangled groan into her son's cloaca, relieved to have her egg out, but there was already one coming from her too. The process of egg laying was supposed to be quick, but it could be either minutes or hours for a single laying between them, her own egg pushing down, tapping against the other magpie's beak.

No… Her son's beak. She had to remember, yes, had to remember that Eron was her son, not just another magpie, despite everything. Sometimes, Harvey wondered if her mind was slipping away and if she was forgetting something that was not fit to be seen, her mind twisting, breaking…

Was she even really herself anymore? She faded, quailing in despair. Oh, how she wanted to be there for her son, always and forever, but she wasn't so sure anymore that she could be, that she could strain through it, that she could be that father figure that Eron needed her to be. Especially after Eron had lost his mother too…

Yet a broken mind was the perfect refuge for torture and torment and maybe that was exactly why, in the end, Kate had chosen them for such abuse, that they would fight and try to hold on, even as they broke. The egg was huge, straining her cloaca all over again, and she squirmed and flapped, even on her back, conscious of the bars of the cage under her.

Yet if Harvey was on the bottom, she thought to herself, she didn't have to force Eron to take her place there, with the hard, metal bars of the cage bearing into her back, leaving marks, always there, always straining. Sometimes, Eron did try to change positions or they sort of tried to do their best version of a sixty-nine on their sides, but Harvey always put herself back on the bottom.

Besides helping the eggs work their way out of her son, it was the last and only little thing that she could do for Eron. Sometimes, she could try to shield her from Kate when the horrid woman came by, but it looked like they had more or less been left to their own devices there, left to be recorded and filmed, all constantly, all as if there was no other purpose for their lives, their bodies, just to be used as tools and some kind of entertainment.

Her feather ruffled, some of them brushing back up against her body in the wrong direction, yet she stayed there, tail feathers flicking back and forth. Her beak clacked, temporarily out of the magpie's cloaca, though she would soon have to stuff it back inside, stretching Eron's cloaca with her beak all over again, helping her son to lay.

Over and over again.

Time had no meaning anymore.

But the pain did.

For it was Harvey's turn to lay, the moment dragging out and out and out as Eron struggled vehemently to help her, to get her beak around the egg. It must have been a strange shape, indeed, however, or maybe just the largest egg yet that had been laid, for she could not push it out on her own, not even a little way down her cloaca.

And yet there was neither any space for Eron to easily wedge her beak around the egg in her father's cloaca either. She knew that her father was in trouble from how she strained and cawed, almost sounding more like a crow than a magpie, though they were still in a similar family of birds. She knew what she was, however, and panic bristled in her chest, her heart pounding, leaping, fluttering far too widely in the little birdcage of her ribs for comfort. Still, Eron had to trap it there so that her heart kept on beating, harder and harder, keeping her going.

Her body, through everything, still had to work and still had to find a way to keep working through the most vicious of tortures.

Despite the physical trials that the eggs posed, it was often psychological tortures that Kate forced them through, Eron forcing herself to calm her breathing as much as she could. She had to think quickly, smoothly, all to help her father as much as possible, to make the egg-laying process smoother and easier, though there was little else that she could do for her.

If she concentrated only on what she could do, however…perhaps that would make it so she could do more, be useful, one way or the other.

It was all that Eron felt that she had to cling to, calming her breath by taking a few deep breaths through the nares on her beak, what would have been nostrils if she had been a mammal still. She could still breathe, sort of, when her beak was wedged and shoved up into her father's cloaca, but it was a lot more difficult than normal.

Unff…

All she could do was strain and strain and strain, holding down her panic. Her beak parted even further, pressing into the softness of her father's already gaping cloaca, but it had to be more, had to do more. Her brow would have furrowed in concentration if she had at all been in a position to perform the motion and expression, but it was not important. Not important at all as the heat of her father sank into her beak, straining her, making her feel closer and more connected to her, as if it was merely the warmth of Harvey's body that was sinking into her, allowing her to breathe, allowing her to help him.

Or maybe that was just a funny thing that her mind was going to in the desperation of the moment. Eron squirmed a little, trying to roll her father, but she couldn't get her over, Harvey steadfastly refusing to be repositioned in any way, though all that did was add to Eron's frustration over her, over how difficult everything was.

Why won't she help me?

_ _

She might have used old pronouns, once, for her father. The moment, however, called for female pronouns, to acknowledge the changes that had gone through her and her body, everything that had come to pass, without their consent, for the two of them.

They had changed and they were never going back.

The soft, tense heat of her father's cloaca tried to pinch her beak, though Eron strained, fighting even with the muscles that controlled her own beak. A magpie's beak, however, was not well known for its strength and she was batted back, again and again, as her father's cloaca pulsed and pushed around her, doing everything that it could to push the egg out.

Harvey squawked, her beak deep up inside Eron's cloaca, trying to tell Eron what a good job they were doing, even though words and language in a magpie's tongue were stripped from her at that time. Eron stiffened and clenched and pushed against her, though Harvey could not help but marvel, in a kind of shock, at the massive gape of her cloaca, how wide and how strained it was. If they did not lay any more eggs, perhaps it would tighten up a bit again, but it was more likely that Harvey, and Eron too, would need help to keep their bodies safe and whole for the rest of their lives.

That was for a future worry, however, not for the moment. Harvey flapped and tried to rock up against her son, though it was not for any sexual means, nor any means that would bring her a kind of pleasure. Orgasm could be stimulated from them, but they had not been forced through that since their initial capture, which was something that she could at least be a tiny bit grateful for.

Small things. Little things. Tiny things.

She had to focus on those things. They were the only things to remind her of why she kept going.

Harvey clacked her beak, straining to keep it as wide within Eron as possible, though it felt that her son had finally gotten a good grip on the egg. Oh, how clever and how resourceful she was! The magpie would never let her down and, to be fair, Harvey could not have possibly imagined a time when Eron could have done anything to let her down. No, it just was not the way of their relationship, even as Eron cawed helplessly, her body going slack as, finally, the egg passed the widest point within Harvey's cloaca.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, the room that they were in devoid of any natural light, the green light of the camera on and always recording, yes, always watching them. Yet Harvey could not find it in herself to care at that moment as a furious rush and push of relief poured over her. The egg slipped out a little more and then a little more, though the problem was not yet over. The widest point may have been reached, but her cloaca still had to ripple and pulse, easing out the rest. It looked like the egg had gone through her cloaca at a strange angle, perhaps due to how wide her vent was strained and stretched, how the muscles had changed and adapted over the… Had it been months? Years? No one knew and no one cared to know.

And yet Harvey was glad, oh so very much, for her son as he tenderly, gently eased the egg from her cloaca, setting it aside, out of the way, knowing intimately just how hard it had been for her, wanting to make it easier. Eron crooned and chattered her beak, ignoring the eggs, for they never got to see what happened to them, relaxing against the older magpie with her wings spread out.

Together, they had a chance to rest, wings spread and tails spread out, their feathers rippling and twitching, tiny little muscles all over their bodies trying to soothe their bodies. They had to take it easy, had to relax, had to allow things to come to be as they were, to take that moment of rest while it was there for them. Soon, there would be more eggs coming, straining through their aching, blistering cloaca, though Kate would ensure that they never truly broke, not beyond what their bodies could take. Right up to that line, however, was fair game for Kate, as much as she pleased…

Eron chattered her beak sadly, her head laid down against her father's wing. For the moment, she was safe. For the moment, everything was soft. Maybe that was all she had to concentrate on, even though the pain from her cloaca and her strained, sore muscles seared through, not even possessing the strength or the energy to do anything more than to lie there. Not even to move her father off to the side, so perhaps she did not have to lie on the hard cage bars forever.

She'd trade off with her father later, she vowed to herself, drifting off a little, though it was not a real sleep but a fitful one. She'd make sure that her father got a break later, even if they both very much needed a break and what they needed would be never theirs to take.

At Kate's mercy, all they were was egg-laying birds.

No more. No less.

Just always.

Continued in part six…