Feathers

"Lie back," he instructed, and I did, leaving my highly excited cock standing upright, barely even lolling to one side. He leapt onto the bed and straddled me, facing towards me, one feathered knee either side of my chest, his buttocks hovering a few inches above the tip of my penis.

"Oh," I said a little weakly, grinning, "I see."

For a while he just held himself there, his emerald eyes beaming down affectionately on me out of his striking flame of a face. Then he offered me the lubricant. "Would you like to do the honours?"

I lifted my shaking middle finger and swirled it through the viscous liquid. Lifting it out, the finger remained glossed and shining with it, slowly dripping from the end. Fabien put the jar to the side and spread his legs slightly wider, proffering himself to me.

I reached out my dry hand, curling my fingers through the fluffy white feathers of his crotch, stroking the back of his testes. My other hand too I brought into the space between us, nudging my own cock to one side to make room. A drop of lubricant fell onto my groin, an electric splash of cold. I worked the dry hand back slightly, pushing aside the feathers to either side of his anus, clearing a path. Above, Fabien breathed sharply and heavily in anticipation. He shrieked in pleasure as I brought my finger into contact with his hole, pushing upwards, and moaned as I felt the resistance give and it slid inside him to its full length. I twisted it, moved it in and out, flexed it, working him, rewarded by his gasps and cries of delight.

I pulled out, feeling his slippery sphincter close elastically after me. He bent down to kiss me, briefly but enthusiastically, our cocks rubbing against one another, and then he was back upright, positioning himself to drop down onto me.

He had both hands below him, one to hold my cock in place, one to hold himself open, pushing white and orange feathers aside. I rested my own hands on his hips, finding easy purchase amongst the long feathers, as though to guide him down. He descended tantalisingly slowly, I watched the space between us narrow, his feathery frame dropping to engulf me, but then I glanced up and saw his face, smiling, beautiful, looking back fondly at mine. I saw it twitch, almost imperceptibly, as my tip first touched him, then as I penetrated his sphincter he gulped, his eyes bulging slightly, and as I slid fully inside him he closed his eyes and exhaled, his burning head lolling gently to one side in bliss. There was a faint crackle of feathers as his crotch came to a rest on my groin.

For a long minute he stayed perfectly still, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Savouring the moment, perhaps just relishing the feeling of me inside him. I was restless, excited beyond patience by the tight grip of him around me, anxious to piston and pound into him, to reach a climax. But in this position the initiative was all Fabien's and I had to wait. Fabien did things slowly. Savouring his seconds.

At last he opened his eyes, and beamed down at me. He didn't say anything, but he took my left hand in his own, and squeezed it. I nodded, understanding. And he began. Slowly he rose, his long legs pushing him up a couple of inches, and then he let himself drop back down at the same slow speed. I cried out slightly as he came back down, sliding over me in a wave of slow pleasure. And he did it again, and again, and again, keeping up the slow, ever so slow rhythm, each downward crawl sending a shiver of sumptuous sensation up my spine. After a few ups and downs he dropped his free hand to his own penis to work it, but I intercepted him and began palpating it myself, determined to do my small share of the work. I tried to massage it slowly back and forth, in rhythm with his own actions, the tortuous speed I knew he liked, but my excited hands couldn't maintain it, and I soon found myself pumping at him furiously.

Fabien increased his own pace, perhaps a result of the rapid stimulation I was giving him, or perhaps because his excitement had breached even his own impressive limits of endurance. Either way, he was now thrusting himself lithely upwards and letting gravity drop him back down onto me, up and down, up and down, faster but still restrained, drawing out the pleasure, making me whoop and scream as he rose and fell. I watched the rhythmic motion pass up his body in a wave; from the thrusts of his orange legs either side of me, through his energetic groin riding me up and down, its white pubic feathers flashing, up his long mottled chest in perfect rhythm with his gasping breath, and up to the flame-rimmed face, mouth open, eyes staring in ecstasy.

He kept up the new rhythm inexorably as we neared the climax, our cries getting louder, my legs writhing, undulating; his hand gripping mine harder and harder. Fabien came first, sending a spurt of white seed shooting in an impressive arc, striking me across the chin and cheek.

My tongue whipped out to sample the salty liquid strewn across my face. I was almost there, I could feel the orgasm building in my groin, a potent wave of pleasure ready to sweep over me. But Fabien was slowing, stopping, slumping in the orgasmic aftermath with a smile on his face. The wave of pleasure was still struggling in my groin, tremendous yet trapped, not quite able to be released. I gripped him hard and insistently, to send him a message: more.

He responded, resuming his up and down motion but, freed from the pressures of his own sexual urgency, at his original, tortuously slow speed. I screamed as he ground up and down my hypersensitive shaft at an almost unbearable rate, maintained on the brink of an orgasm that could never quite escape but built itself up higher and higher, the pleasure multiplying mercilessly.

And suddenly, it broke out. I felt myself spurt violently inside him, and the wave of pleasure, held back so long, became an uncontrollable tsunami, flooding my whole body with tidal waves of glorious, unbearable ecstasy, again and again as I pumped my love into him, ebbing away, finally falling flat and leaving me panting with serene satisfaction.

Fabien lifted off and slumped exhausted besides me, one trembling feathered arm resting over my sweating chest. We lay there for some time as we recovered our breath, and then for longer still, as we stared upwards, immensely satisfied; sated. Eventually, he turned his head to look at me and laughed.

"Sam! Just look at you! Hold still." And there he was in front of me, his gorgeous feathered face frowning in concentration, his hand moving rhythmically and delicately against my chin and cheek, mopping up the semen which still clung there. And tickling me, making me laugh and wriggle, making the whole process much harder than it should have been.

"There," he said as he finally finished the clean-up, "pretty as a postcard," and he pinched my cheek affectionately. But he kept on looking at me with a new glint in his eye, as if measuring me up by some entirely new scale.

"Sam?" he said cautiously.

"Mmm?"

"You'd look fabulous in feathers."

I laughed. "I'll think about it. Let's get to sleep."

And we snuggled up to each other, arms looped over shoulders, feathered legs and bare ones intertwined, and slept.