The Jackdaw

I once spent a night in a tent in the middle of a storm. It was a slightly scary but strangely invigorating experience, sitting bolt upright with a lantern between my knees, watching the wind and rain rattle and blast against the canvas, knowing that at any moment the next onslaught of angry air could rip every peg out of the sodden ground and my shelter would collapse with me inside it.

Standing under the stricken canopy reminded me of that. There was the same background roar of rattling canvas, the same sense of isolation from the rest of the world, and the same slightly exciting fear that the whole thing could collapse around me at any moment. And then the Jackdaw came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and suddenly it was nothing whatsoever like that dark and lonely night.

He kissed me on the back of the neck, tenderly, and his hands roved. They roved over my chest, my stomach, my hips; black-gloved hands sliding over white feathers, feeling out the man underneath.

I let myself relax, leaning back into him, enjoying being touched. A hand was pressed against my stomach; another was moving up my thigh. His beak rubbed against my cheek as he nuzzled me. I could feel his erection against my buttocks through two layers of feathers. The hand on my thigh roved up a little further and now he could feel mine.

Suddenly I didn't feel like being the passive one any longer. I spun around in his arms, so that the hand which had rested on my stomach now pushed against the small of my back, and the hand which had been feeling between my legs now closed around my bottom. I carefully positioned my own hands in an exactly symmetrical position, unable to resist a cheeky squeeze of his firm arse as I pulled him in for another kiss.

It was different to the first kiss. Less hungry, more intimate. Less urgent, more sensuous. But still just as good. His tongue slipped out to touch my lips, tracing a tender circle around my mouth, tantalising me. And as we kissed, my hips pressed forwards into his; erection rubbing against erection, white grinding relentlessly against black, black grinding insistently back against white, the rustling whisper of feather rubbing against feather just barely audible over the clatter of wind-tortured canvas.

I could have kissed him and kissed him until the day wore into night and been content, but I had even better plans for him. I let my lips depart from his and cruise down over his smooth-shaven chin, exploring the clean curves of his neck. He threw back his head and I kissed the crux of his throat, feeling the gentle throb of his pulse under my lips.

My fingers found the top button of his cloak and eased it open, letting me kiss his neck right down to where it disappeared into a plain black T-shirt. Buttons number two, three, four and five quickly followed suit and I paused to appreciate a well-toned chest pleasingly presented under a tight-fitting top. For a moment I stood hypnotised by the rhythmic swell of his breath and then two hands came to rest on my shoulders, urging me downwards. Obediently I dropped down to my knees. The final buttons came undone - six, seven and eight - and the Jackdaw's feathery coat parted to either side.

He visibly bulged from within a pair of black jeans, drawing my hungry eye, inviting me to unfasten him and delve inside. My fingers didn't resist the temptation. I felt they should be trembling as they worked loose the buckle on his belt, but they were as steady as a mountain. They unhooked the button with ravenous ease and threw down the zipper with such force that they took the whole pair of jeans straight down below his knees in one smooth jerk. Now only a black cotton pair of pants stood between me and what I wanted, and two seconds later I'd sent them to join his trousers around his ankles.

His cock shot up to greet me as soon as I'd released it from its cotton prison. It was big - not the longest I'd seen but making up for it in breadth - and it was straight and shapely and pleasing to the eye. I couldn't help but reach out a gloved hand to encircle it; it felt rigid and ready between my fingers. Carefully I peeled back the foreskin. As I gave the head a little squeeze, a drop of pre-cum emerged and trickled down onto the already-slick surface of the tip.

The Jackdaw stirred, taking a deep breath as I first touched him and letting it out as I peeled back his foreskin. I heard him take a deeper breath as I lapped the salty head softly with my tongue, and he exhaled as I kissed the tip of his cock with my lips. Then I felt a gloved hand on the back of my neck, pushing me insistently forwards, and I let my mouth slide sumptuously around his shaft.

It was a cock made for sucking - broad enough to feel massive and substantial inside my mouth, but not so long that I couldn't fit nearly all of it in one mighty mouthful. My tongue lapped eagerly against its underside, and then I began I began to suck on it in earnest like a big naughty lollipop. My lips and tongue worked in unison, my whole head easing back and forwards, my entire being focused on milking that exquisite shaft. As I sucked my hands found interesting places to hang on: one gripping a bare buttock; the other fondling his balls.

My eyes drifted upwards. The Jackdaw shifted expressively as I worked him, the beak of his mask silhouetted black against the white glow of sun-drenched canvas from my unique perspective. Whenever I suckled particularly earnestly on his cock his shoulders would twitch backwards and his buttocks would clench. His hand stroked the back of my head, encouraging me, urging me on, making sure I didn't pull away.

He was breathing heavily now, his body moving responsively with my every devotion. His hips began to twitch backwards and forwards, first subtly but then more definitely, pulsing himself in and out of my mouth. His breathing and the movement of his hips was becoming faster, deeper, more urgent, until finally both came to an abrupt stop. His buttocks clenched and his hand gripped hard on my neck, and in that same moment I felt a warm stream gush against the back of my tongue and I tasted salt. I stopped my ministrations and let him come into me, grunting softly in pleasure, spurt after spurt of cum flowing into my thirsty mouth and disappearing down my throat as I swallowed.

Moments later I was back on my feet and kissing him deeply. I wondered if he could taste the salty tang of his own seed as his lips slid tenderly over mine. Just in case he couldn't I pushed my tongue forwards, his lips parting to let me penetrate him, his mouth still and passive as I explored it, his tongue touching mine in greeting when they chanced together.

And then without warning he was pushing me backwards, hands flat against my chest, until I stood with my back pressed against one of the vertical supports for the canopy. I sensed it was my turn to receive his attentions as his hands began a downward quest across my body: flowing over my shoulders, my arms, my chest, my sides, the small of my back; fingers combing through stiff white feathers, never lingering in the same spot for longer than a single sweet moment.

He dropped to his knees as his hands glided over my bottom. They traced the contours of my hips to converge over my straining cock, but they didn't stop there; instead they carried on downwards, running down my legs until they reached the bottom of my robe where it trailed close to the floor. When they caught it they pulled it up and the Jackdaw ducked his masked head underneath.

His head and shoulders rose under my loose-fitting cloak; a surging swell in a sea of white feathers. I felt his beak rub between my thighs and hands grapple with the button of my trousers. I felt my clothing tugged down my legs and gloved hands feeling my cock and balls, touching them in all the right places.

If I was going to get a blowjob I wanted to be able to see. I wanted to watch as my manhood disappeared inch by inch into the Jackdaw's mouth, I wanted to stare into the dark eyes of that masked face as I spasmed into him. My fingers really were shaking this time as I opened the buttons on my coat one by one, top to bottom, until finally I flung it open and looked down. White T-shirt; white trousers and pants around my ankles; and a black Jackdaw hunched down in-between with his attention fixed on my needy cock.

I'd thought I was going to get a blowjob. I was wrong: he had other plans for me. In his hand he held what looked like a thick, anal-grade condom, and as I watched he slid it onto the tip of my cock, peeling the rubber back over the sensitive head. Then his mouth closed around it and he eased the condom all the way up my shaft with his lips.

I should explain something at this moment: up to this point in my life, when it came to sex I'd always been the one on the bottom. Being top was something I'd always thought wasn't for me. But right then, as soon as the Jackdaw slid that condom onto my cock, I knew not only that I could do it, not only that it felt right, but that I was desperate for it.

There was none of the usual tiresome logistics that accompanies a couple's first fuck ("How's this position for you?" "This is a bit uncomfortable." "Hang on, maybe if we just...") Everything flowed naturally and passionately, and we eased fluidly and wordlessly into a position with him kneeling over the edge of the stage, his elbows planted in front of him and me looming behind him.

I pulled up the trailing length of his robe and folded it neatly over his hips, revealing his naked arse to my ravenous eyes. As I let my gaze feast on its handsome contours he reached back to hand something to me: a small sachet of lubricant. I pulled off one glove, tore the packet open and let the liquid flow out onto my fingers, feeling chill against my skin.

Slowly I brought forward a single lube-smothered digit to rest its tip against his arsehole. I felt him tense for a split second as the cool liquid touched that sensitive spot, then he relaxed and let me slide the whole finger easily inside him. He made a slight noise - half moan, half mumble - as I slipped it in and out several times, and especially when I tried flexing my finger slightly to one side and then the other. The moaning, mumbling sound grew a little more distinct as I pushed in a second well-lubed digit alongside the first, his arsehole feeling much tighter now as I slid in and out, his rips rocking backwards and forwards in rhythm with my attentions.

Pulling my fingers free, I wiped the last of the lubricant off onto my rock-hard cock and replaced my glove. Placing my hands securely on his hips, black feathers tickling between my fingers, I positioned myself ready for a penetrating thrust, with the head of my cock nestled against the nest of his anus. I felt him relax himself, inviting me to push forwards into him, but first I paused to look him over one more time. His arms and back were still swathed in a rich coat of black feathers, but from the waist down he presented bare, vulnerable skin to me. I could see a faint tremble shivering through that skin, whether from nervousness or just arousal I couldn't tell. As I regarded him his head bent round to look back at me over his shoulder. Dark black eyes in a black beaked mask - unreadable, staring expressionless at me as he waited for me to get on with it and impale him.

I couldn't hold myself back any longer, nor did I want to. Clenching my buttocks I pushed forwards, the head of my cock nudging insistently against his hole. For a moment his sphincter seemed to resist me, then I found myself sliding easily inside, the Jackdaw moaning as I pushed my whole length inside him.

Just for a few seconds I paused, feeling the tight squeeze of him around me, feeling his firm buttocks pressed against my groin, feeling his whole body stir and shift in appreciation. Then I began to fuck him. It was a slow fuck at first, with me relishing every sumptuous slide inside him, and the Jackdaw breathing deeply in rhythm with my hips but otherwise silent. But it quickly transitioned into something more urgent, more vigorous, more animal, and even more pleasurable.

At last I settled into a steady rhythm, with my cock sinking deep inside him about once every second. Even at the pinnacle of my earlier arousal I hadn't suspected just howgoodthis was going to feel. Every penetrating push of my hips seemed to send a pulse of pure liquid pleasure straight into my veins, flushing out through my groin and flooding every part of me in warm, throbbing excitement. As I fucked him I found myself crying out, a little wordless gasp coming forth in response to every unbearably satisfying thrust. And he was making his pleasure audibly known as well: a grunting moan of a sound, in perfect time with my own vocalisations.

It was those little moans that I focused on, as much as on the waves of pleasure flooding up from my pumping cock. His noises seemed to get louder and more intense as I carried on, and I found myself actively trying to provoke them: thrusting myself into him in motions as deep, fluid and delicious as I could manage, and hearing his voice moan even louder in response.

I bent forwards over him, my forearms circling round his waist and the beak of my mask pressing between his shoulders, needing to hold him closer as I picked up my pace for the final push. Now I could really feel the urgent throb of his breath, the way his whole body twitched and flexed in response to my humping hips. I was hammering into him as fast as my body would allow; all restraint was gone now, washed away by the ever-rising tidal wave of sheer ecstasy sweeping my mind clean of everything but the all-important task of fucking this beautiful man until I came. I could feel it was mere moments away, even as I listened to his vocal protestations of pleasure: no mere grunt or moan now but a gasping, groaning scream of undiluted rapture.

My own reservoir of pleasure was rising faster than ever now, reaching levels of devastating delirium that I'd never reached before, making me shout out so loud I was almost screaming, but all the time rising, rising towards the top of the dam holding it in check, getting nearer and nearer with every desperate thrust of my hips...

The dam shattered. For one glorious, terrible moment I teetered on the knife-edge of ecstasy, and then the flood broke as I came inside him. I let myself be overwhelmed by the surge of undiluted pleasure saturating my mind and washing everything else away, feeling my cock splurge out its seed in sumptuous squirt after squirt, neither knowing nor caring what feral sounds might be escaping my lips. Gradually, inevitably, the tempest died down, the unbearable pleasure settling into still pools of satisfaction as I slumped wearily over the panting figure of the Jackdaw, who seemed every bit as tired and fulfilled as I was myself.

When we emerged, hand in hand, our costumes back in place, we received a round of enthusiastic applause from the crowd. Presumably they could easily guess what had been going on inside... or had we been so loud about it that they'd heard us even over the roaring gale?

"Excuse me, Mr Jackdaw? And Mr... um... Mr Swan?" It was Siân. "Do you mind if I...?"

In a moment, she had wedged herself between us and was holding her phone out at arm's length for a selfie. I draped a white-feathered arm over her shoulders and the Jackdaw hooked a black-feathered arm around her waist.

Click. "Neat! Thanks!" Siân dashed off back into the crowd, apparently happy with her latest photo. I looked around. People were gearing up for the parade, everyone trying to stand in the wind-shadow of everyone else.

I met the Jackdaw's eye. He took his hand in mine, and together we marched forwards, our costumes flapping behind us in the wind, to take our places at the head of the parade, our hearts full to overflowing with the very thing we were marching for: pride.