---Lilith’s perspective---
I wake up.
My heart is racing.
My breathing is shallow.
Adrenaline courses through my veins.
My midbrain is screaming at me that there is an intruder in my room, even though I know there’s not.
I don’t try to move any of my limbs, I know I won’t be able to and I know trying will only make me panic.
I see the lights rapidly flicking on and off, even though I can recognise through the hallucination that my room is, actually, only lit by the starlight coming through the window.
The panel clicks are also coming from over my head, on the wall, where there is no panel in this room but where the control panel was in the room I grew up in.
Then, by the far wall from the foot of my bed, a being coalesces…
He seems to be far taller in my mind than the space I know he has to stand in, though he is not ducking or stooping.
His body seems to be composed of half solid shadow smoke… except for his eyes… his enormous, glowing eyes throw out beams of red light onto my bed.
His head is horned, though, unlike my horns, these are composed of feathers and not solid keratin.
I know what I’m seeing is nothing more than a byproduct of a brain that never quite figured out how to sleep properly but, nevertheless, I feel my conscious mind waver in its conviction about that as I experience the burning malice coming off of this monstrous parody of my friend and colleague.
He spreads his black, strigine wings, throwing off thinner clouds of the same shadowstuff that makes up his form.
I’m terrified and, as my mind starts contemplating the horrible things this being of condensed malice might want to do to me if he were actually there, I hear the voice of Blaise Pascal telling me that even though what I’m seeing is almost certainly not there, the consequences of being wrong about that are, potentially, infinitely bad!
I just have to grit my teeth and detach. Not as if I could do anything by panicking.
After what seems like an eternity (but which was probably, actually less than a minute) the gigantic Hulix Demon melts into nonexistence, my breathing and heartrate slow and I try moving my left arm.
It’s sluggish… but I’m able to lift it.
I sit up and swing my feet off the bed, tingling with the adrenaline come-down.
“Lights on.” I say, followed by the room illuminating.
A weight falls on my lap and I look down.
A pair of orange, slit pupiled eyes stare up at me.
“Night bad not moving?” asks my cat.
“Yeah, buddy… sleep paralysis.” I answer, stroking his back.
“Sorry being, Lilith.” he says, sympathetically.
“Thanks Pluto.” I smile, scooping him up and walking over to an armchair.
I sit and put him back down on my lap.
He kneads my stomach through my pyjamas with his paws as I look out of the window at the multicoloured stars.
“People silly being.” he eventually observes, his tone haughty.
I grin and ask “Oh yeah? How’d you figure?”
“Always working, doing… not knowing how relaxing!”
I chuckle “Maybe next time you’re hungry, I’ll relax for a bit before I refill your bowl, hmmm(?)”
“Injustice! Wickedness! Jail for Lilith for one thousand years!!!” he protests.
“I’m joking! I’m joking!… Don’t call Animal Welfare on me(!)” I giggle.
I scritch under his chin and we sit in silence for a while.
Eventually, he speaks “Lilith…?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“…Why not mating birdman?”
If I had a mouthful of liquid, that out of nowhere question would have made me do a full on spit take!
As it is, I just splutter for a few seconds.
“Whuh… what are you talking about, Pluto!?”
“Liking birdman, why not mating?”
“Sure… I like Strik… but I don’t like him… like that!” I protest.
“Lying.” he almost shrugs “Smelling liking.”
“You can smell that I’m attracted to him?” I ask, sceptically.
“Smelling.” he confirms.
“I… don’t suppose you can smell whether he likes me back, can you buddy?”
He curls his tail and says “Birdman strange smelling… not knowing.”
I consider that.
I mean… I definitely like Strik…
He’s fun, he’s charming, he’s intelligent… there’s really only one problem…
When he’s not appearing as an enormous, menacing, sleep paralysis Demon… he’s such a dweeb!
Sure, there are times where he reminds me of an illustration of Prince Stolas that was in my parents’ physical copy of the Ars Goetia for a moment or two but, most of the time, he seems more like he ought to be wearing glasses and getting stuffed into a locker by letterman jacket clad handegg players in a 20th Century Stateser high school!
I’ve got nothing against dweebs! I consider myself to be a dweeb!
It’s just… dweebs aren’t to my personal taste… sexually!
I like Demons… I like beings who look like they’re powerful enough to destroy me on the spot if I don’t do everything they want (whether or not they actually could(!))
Spelvuk women, Onigran men, all three genders of Janvlanar… they all do it for me…
A studious little Hulix who tells me his greatest aspiration is to one day have his own museum to curate…? No power, no menace, no thrill…
Now… if my sleep paralysis Demon Strik wanted to tone down the raw, naked, concentrated malice and ask for my holocom, then…it might be a different story(!)
“Birdman waking.” observes Pluto, his tone suggesting a guess rather than knowledge.
Hulix are nocturnal…
“I think I might go and see him… just to chat…”
“And mating.”
I laugh “No mating will be involved, buddy!”
---Strik’s perspective---
I look at the nude Terran woman flanked by Earth animals, called [owls], that look remarkably like Hulix!
Her hands are held up, approximately level with her shoulders, and have strange icons either in them or behind them.
On her head sits a short, conical headdress.
On her back is a pair of large [owl] wings.
Her lower legs are, likewise, morphed into a set of raptorial talons that rest upon a pair of [lions].
I read the description:
‘The Queen of the Night (formerly called the Burney Relief) is a Mesopotamian terracotta high relief, dating between to 1800-1750BTC. Standing at [49.5cm] tall, [37cm] wide and [4.8cm] thick…”
Hmmm, it’s much smaller than I was imagining!
I rather pictured it looming monolithically over me(!) [7] or [8m] tall, at least!
This thing would scarcely come up to my thigh… The projection of it on the far side of my desk is roughly life sized.
I keep reading:
‘…the Queen of the Night is thought to depict either the Goddess Ishtar, the Goddess Ereshkigal or the Goddess Lilitu…”
Lilitu?
Against my better judgement, I open the link to that Goddess’s article, wary of getting trapped in a Galactopedia thicket!
What opens is a page not titled ‘Lilitu’ but, rather, titled ‘Lilith’ with the first sentence explaining that ‘Lilitu’ is just a variation on the spelling of her name.
I return to the previous article, thankful that the Lord of the Underbrush allowed me to escape so quickly from the thicket(!)
I raise a foot from my study perch and scratch my chin, thoughtfully, as I look at the Terran woman, imagined with distinctly Hulixoid body parts.
This may well be a depiction of the Goddess that Lilith tells me she was named for.
I wonder if she knows about it?
I’m sure she will! It’s her own culture and her own namesake, afterall!
Still… I might as well mention it to her the next time we’re awake together…
Need to be careful I don’t embarrass her about the statue’s nudeness, though! Terran's get weird about their nudeness!
Something makes me happy about the possibility of my friend’s Goddess having an [owl] association… I can’t quite think why…
Here, I realise I’m quite thirsty and hop from my perch to walk to Elysium’s Commonroom for some weak, Terran tea.
My door opens and I find myself confronted by a pair of forward facing eyes, their sclera black, their irides yellow, their pupils round, [centimetres] from mine and attached to a creature a head taller.
Instantly, my antipredator instincts activate and I flap my wings forward, forcefully but near silently, to throw myself several metres backward.
Upon landing, my torso tilts forward, my head tilts up, my wings fan out, more than doubling my apparent size, my beak chatters aggressively and my voice rasps a harsh, guttural warning.
The stark white skinned woman’s eyes are wide beneath her black horns as she stands in my doorway, uncertainly.
Through force of will, I control myself, straighten up and say “I sincerely apologise, Lilith… I was just quite startled by seeing you.”
“No… it’s… it’s fine… I just… What was that?” she asks, seemingly still a bit bewildered.
“My deimatic display?… It’s a bluffing instinct, meant to ward off predators and other cognizant threats…”
“Your cradle has predators that could threaten you?” she asks, smiling slightly and tilting her head in a way that her unbroken horn exaggerates.
“Not anymore… my ancestors took great pains to eradicate them… but the instincts remain.”
“And… you thought I was a predator?” she grins, baring two rows of teeth that make my insides do barrel rolls.
“I didn’t think anything… My instincts thought you were a predator, though…”
She pouts “Boooring(!)” while stabbing downward in front of her with her thumb extended from a balled, left fist.
Then she looks past me.
“Hey… is that the Queen of the Night?” she smiles, pointing to the image still displaying over my desk, then she turns to me and asks “You creeping on me, dude(?)”
“No!” I protest, mortified “I didn’t even know that might be a depiction of Lilith until I read the article!… I was going to tell you about it, what with the interesting [owl] connection!”
I can’t quite decipher the expression she makes at that.
The translator is flagging mild disappointment but… well, that can’t be right! It’s not as if she might have wanted me to be ‘creeping on her’, is it!
I compose myself and, dignified, ask “Lilith… I was just about to go and make myself some tea… would you like to join me?”
---later---
The Terran woman sits on an empty patch of the bed which I use as a junk table, having a perch to sleep on.
My collection of artifacts too fragile to be set on the soft bed stands on shelves and sides around my room, looking down on the pair of us with our hot beverages in our respective manipulators (hers in her hand, mine in my wingclaws).
“So… how have you been feeling since the funeral, Lilith?”
The general mood among the Terrans has been… not exactly dour… but a lot more restrained in the month since we received the news about their Representative’s murder than it was prior.
The slender woman makes some kind of gesture and says “Oh… you know… better, I guess…” then takes a sip of her undiluted tea.
“You are?”
She pauses for a long time before answering “Well… not really, no… I just woke up with sleep paralysis so, obviously, however I’m feeling consciously, I must just be pushing the stress down for my subconscious to deal with(!)” with a resigned smile.
“I’m sorry… you woke up with what…?” I ask, swiveling my head 90° down and right, curiously.
“Sleep paralysis?… Shit. Do you not know what that is?” she answers, smiling at my tilted head.
“The word ‘sleep’ is translating perfectly well… The translation of the word [paralysis] is quite alarming… but you don’t appear to suffer from it… Is there something about the colocation of those words which changes their meaning?”
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“Yeah… kinda… So, first, it’s temporary… Usually lasts… maybe 30 seconds to a minute? For me at least…” she says, taking a gulp of her strong, hot beverage.
“And… that’s [30 seconds] to a [minute] where you can’t move?”
She bobs her horned head up and down.
“But… isn’t it normal to not move when you’re asleep?”
“No, no… you wake up and can’t move… Well, most of you wakes up… Your body still thinks you’re asleep and, even though you’re conscious, your mind can still show you dreams… or, more accurately, nightmares…”
“You have to consciously endure your psyche torturing you while unable to move?” I ask, aghast.
“Yuh-huh… Often, I just have the certainty that there’s someone or something hiding in the room with me and they have bad intentions… sometimes I hear things… occasionally, I see things…”
“And… this happens to all Terrans?”
She grins and wags her face from side to side “Nah… I’m just lucky, I guess(!) About 7% of Humans will have it at least once in their lives… Don’t know exactly how many of those get it as much as I do…”
“How often does it happen to you?” I ask, concerned.
“Oh… not super often… but it’s not predictable… Like, I might go a year or more without one, then have three inside of a month…” she shrugs her shoulders “…stress and disturbed sleep patterns definitely make it more likely. So does sleeping on my back… actually don’t think it’s ever happened to me when I wasn’t on my back.”
“Why do you sleep on your back, then?” I query.
“Usually I don’t… sometimes it’s just the most comfy position and it’s been long enough since my last one that I’m not thinking about it. I guess I might end up on my back by tossing in my sleep, too…” she says, casually.
“What… urm… what kinds of thing do you see?” I ask, swivelling my head left.
“Oh… well… sometimes it’s just something indistinct in the shadows… sometimes it’s more concrete and clearly defined… dead looking people standing there staring at me, monstrous creatures… sometimes it’s things like the lights turning on and off or my room warping its shape…” she says, as if discussing the weather.
“Did you… see anything this time?”
She doesn’t answer right away, instead frowning and gulping down the last of her fully concentrated tea.
She stands and places the empty cup down on a nearby surface.
“Actually… I did…” she says, looking down and not meeting my eye.
“Really?” I ask, placing my own weak tea down on the desk behind me “What did you see?”
“I… actually… saw you…” she says with a joyless smile and a puff of air.
Mortified, I protest “I’ve been here, the whole night! I couldn’t have…!”
“Relax, dude! It was just a hallucination!” she interrupts, her tone reassuring “Even if I didn’t know I hallucinated, the you I saw was nothing like you!”
Confused, I ask “If… If it was nothing like me, Lilith… what makes you say it was me?”
“Oh… well… he was, like… clearly based on a Hulix… owllike head and wings, feathers etc., and you’re the only Hulix I know… but, it was more like my brain just sort of… labelled him as you, you know? Like, my ‘Strik pathway’ was activated(!)”
“I see…” I lie “…so how was this Strik unlike me?”
“Oh, well… first… he was big! It’s like a little less than 5m to the ceilings, right?” she asks, looking up to appraise “And his head was, like, 50cm from it, with him standing straight up… so what I was seeing was maybe around 4.5m-ish tall… but he felt taller… like… way taller!”
As she describes the phantasmic version of me, she begins walking forward.
“He was made of, like, this… black smoke… like, his body didn’t have any clear boundary between it and the air but I could tell there was some solidity in the cloud…”
My internal organs feel as if they’re swirling worse than they do in high manoeuvre flight as I picture the apparition.
Lilith is still walking toward me, her one and a half horns bobbing as she explains the monster with, I would say, an inappropriate level of enthusiasm!
“…His eyes were like red searchlights and he had none of your kindness, none of your intelligence, none of your warmth…”
I feel my body tense, autonomically, with an acute stress reaction to her words as she draws to less than a [metre] from my perch.
“…instead, you could just feel this burning malice, radiating out from him and-Gaaaah!”
My left foot shoots out, entirely against my will, enclosing the Terran woman’s head in its (thankfully blunted) talons.
At the same time, both of my legs straighten and leverage themselves to push her over backwards, also without consulting me on that decision.
I’m dragged off of my perch and land on top of Lilith as she hits my floor with a resounding *boom*!
---Lilith’s perspective---
I feel the surprising strength behind the talons wrapped around my head as I lie on my back, speechless, panting for breath and with my insides feeling like I’m on a rollercoaster!
Sure, I think I could probably pull the digits off of me (if this is as tight as he can grip) but I’d need to use both hands to do it!
Strik is standing his entire weight on me and it feels like about 10kg for the foot enclosing my head, with its foretalon curled around the base of my broken right horn, and about the same for the one on my stomach!
How is he so strong!?
He looks about as shocked by the fact that he just, straight up, tackled me to the ground and pinned me as I am!
“I’m… I’m so sorry! I…!” he stammers, slackening his grip and beginning to pull his foot off of my head.
My hands shoot up to grasp the outside of his talons, holding them against my skull.
The strength he had clenching his toes is absolutely not present extending them and I’m able to hold his foot in place easily!
His owl head spins back to me like it’s on an axel.
Confused and alarmed, he asks “Whuh… what are you doing?!”
“I… err… I seem to be holding your foot…”
“I’m sorry I attacked you! I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to, I didn’t decide to! Please let go of my foot!” he panics.
I release him and he steps back a few paces.
“That… I wasn’t… It was nice…” I say, sheepishly, up at him from the floor.
“What was? Me attacking you?!” he shrieks, disbelieving.
“I… You’re strong… It… felt good to have you pinning me down like that…”
“If I didn’t file the points off of my talons I could have really injured you! Are you seriously telling me you enjoyed that?!”
I know he won’t see it through the thick, modded, white pigment in my skin but I feel the heat of a heavy blush as I nod.
“I… Strik… I like you…” I admit, realising the truth of the words as I say them.
---Pluto’s perspective---
Lilith hurries back into our room and to my big bed, which she sleeps on and calls ‘her’ bed.
Lazily, I look up from my little bed and ask “Mating birdman?”
“Nope.” she says truthfully, at the same time as her scent reaches my nose, confirming it.
“Mating birdman, now?”
“Nope.” she lies.
“Lying.”
“How’d you know that?” she asks, distractedly rummaging through all the junk she keeps under my big bed.
“Looking mating box.” I observe.
She stops rummaging to stare directly at me for a few moments before saying “I really hate how smart you are, buddy(!)” as she shows me her teeth.
“There being.” I say, looking toward my tall sleeping box where she hangs her covers.
She gets up and goes to where I indicated.
She opens the doors and pushes aside the hanging things she puts on her body to cover her furlessness.
She finds what she was searching for and turns to me to say “Thanks!”
“Good luck mating.” I wish her from my little bed as she disappears back through the doors.
People really don’t relax, do they(!)
---Strik’s perspective---
I finished clearing the stacks of stuff from my bed, dimmed the lights to substantially less than a quarter of a Terran’s typical preference (though much closer to mine) and took position on a perch by the window just in time.
The door slides open and I extend my wings slightly, to increase the apparent bulk of the silhouette I cast against the stars outside.
Lilith carries the box she told me she went to fetch.
When she explained to me her… shall we call them ‘preferences’ I have to say I was alarmed and not a little confused!
What she seemed to describe arousing her seemed, to me, to be exactly the tyranny that is her main complaint about her religion’s evil creator deity!
She explained that fantasy and reality are, to her, two realms that do not intersect.
She is capable of recognising tyranny and oppression as real world evils while still finding the fantasy of being possessed and [dominated] by her lover to be thrilling.
I… must confess myself to have been intrigued…
And, here I am… my heart racing as I perform my part in her little play(!)
“Lock the door.” I order, doing my best to keep my voice calm, cool and deep.
She puts down the box and turns to the door panel, locking it and putting up the privacy field as well.
She turns back to face me, smiling and noticeably breathing more rapidly than usual.
“Why don’t you undress?” I suggest, doing an admirable job of keeping my voice from cracking from the thrill of the final word.
“I don’t know… Why don’t I(?)” she defies, smiling.
She did warn me she might want to do that if I wasn’t assertive enough.
Thankfully, she also told me how she would want me to respond.
I lift my right foot from the perch that’s giving me the height to look down on her, and present it past the primary feathers of my right wing, facing ceilingward, to cut a silhouette against the starfield behind me, as I say “Do not mistake me, girl! Though I may have phrased it such, that was not a suggestion… Take. off. your. clothes!”
Her black and yellow eyes flash with excitement as she seems to visibly shrink.
Without further defiance, she reaches to her clavicle and begins unfastening her top, down the front.
I’m quite pleased with the way I managed to correct, there!
Her stark white skin shines like a beacon in the dimly lit room as she bares her upper half.
Her figure is, interestingly, much slenderer than that depicted in the Queen of the Night relief.
Though, her [breasts] are just as large and round!
She explained to me, a while ago, that her epithet, ‘Unicorn’, has a double meaning, relating to her chest:
One of the meanings is the obvious anecdote of her breaking one of her modded, black horns, as soon as she got them because she forgot they were there, leaving her only one still in tact until she could save enough for a repair session, by which time she had grown into the aesthetic and opted to keep them the way they were.
The other meaning is that, apparently, one of her university dormmates commented that finding a ‘big titty goth gf’, in this day and age, was like finding a unicorn… That is, it’s rare!
By rights, I oughtn’t to find her [titties] attractive… My species aren’t mammals, afterall!
Somehow, though… they are very appealing!
Maybe my sex drive is mistaking them for powerful pectoral muscles? Good for flying?
The fact that she lacks wings should give away that she can’t fly, even to the most primitive parts of my brain, but… well… attraction isn’t rational!
Her lowers hit the floor and she steps out of them, the white pigment of her skin making her positively glow in the starlight and dim room light.
I swish a wing, silently and dramatically, through the air to point to her feet, not with my wingclaws but with my leading flight feather.
“Open the box, girl… Show me what you have brought into my abode…” I command, doing my best to sound imperious.
No defiance comes as she bends down to remove the lid from the container.
Her slender, elegant, pale hand dives down and pulls back with a hinged circle of metal, a little more than [30cm] in circumference.
“What is it, girl?” I ask, coolly, trying to sound like I already know but want to hear her say, rather than having no clue!
“It’s… a collar, Sir… they’re worn by pets… and slaves… This one locks…” she explains, her high, course voice quivering as she does.
“How very fitting… put it on.” I instruct.
She hesitates a moment, looking like she wants to protest, but then opens the circlet and closes it around her neck with a loud *click* of it latching shut.
“Good girl!… Now, what else is in the box?” I ask, gesturing with my silhouetted talons.
She reaches down and pulls some more metal circles, smaller, thicker and lined with some sort of fabric. These ones have metal chains hanging off of them.
“Manacles, Sir… worn on the wrists and ankles of prisoners and slaves… they’re meant to either attach limbs together or to something that won’t move, to keep them where they are…” she explains without me needing to ask.
“How many sets of [manacles] are there, girl?”
“Four, Sir.”
“Then… what say you attach one set to each wrist and one set to each ankle?”
The defiance returns as she answers “Why don’t you make me!”
I shrug my wings and answer “That can be arranged… if your compliance is not forthcoming.”
I think I managed my tone to be perfectly nonchalant and aloof there!
I can see her calculating whether she wants to comply or make me make her comply.
Fortunately for my wavering selfassurance, she picks up one of the sets of [manacles] and claps one of the cuffs to her wrist.
I did not have confidence in my ability to fulfil the bluff I just made and, I think, her realisation of the same is likely why she chose not to push the issue… The illusion of my power over her is maintained!
My insides swoop as I watch the beautiful deathworlder attach one of the chain sets to each of her limbs.
They fit her perfectly, as I’m certain she made sure they would when she printed them.
“Is there anything else in that little box of yours that you would like to show me, girl?”
Wordlessly, she bends down and retrieves a small belt with a large red ball in the middle.
“A ballgag, Sir… worn by anyone you don’t wish to allow the opportunity to speak, spit or bite…” she explains, visibly restraining the urge to equip it immediately.
I decide to tease her.
“I see… Do you think you can promise to be a good enough little pet for me that I don’t need to make you wear that?”
Looking slightly annoyed, she answers “No, Sir… I can’t promise that.”
“Oh… come now! Surely, I can trust you to not try to bite me, spit at me or defy me without needing to be [ballgagged]!” I tease further.
“You can’t.” she insists with a flat tone that tells me to get on with it and just order her to put it on all ready(!)
I shrug my wings and say “Oh well(!) Put it on then…”
Trying not to appear too desperate, she opens her mouth, places the rubber ball between her teeth and bites down to hold it in place, bringing the straps to the back of her head and fastening them there, the chains jingling at her wrists as she does.
I gesture to the cleared bed and say “Now that you are properly… prepared for me, why don’t you get onto the bed?”
She doesn’t move.
“Get. onto. the. bed. girl…” I rephrase, affecting anger.
She cowers slightly and does as I instructed, climbing onto the soft surface that I’m now very glad I didn’t insist be removed to create space in my room!
“Good girl… Now, [shackle] your ankles to the footboard…” I instruct, hoping I didn’t misuse or mispronounce the Terran word I learned by reading it.
She sits up and leans forward, demonstrating remarkable flexibility as she brings one of the cuffs to the vertical post at the lower left corner of the bed and locks it there, between the horizontal bars, then splays her legs and extends her hands past the bottom of her fully extended foot to reach the post on the other side.
“Well done…” I praise “…Now, are you able to reach the headboard to secure your hands?”
She tries… but to no avail.
It’s just too far.
“No matter… I shall remedy that for you, shall I?”
---Lilith’s perspective---
It’s so dark in this room that I basically had to chain myself up by feel alone!
The overhead lights are bright enough that I can see they’re there but seem to be projecting no light to see anything but vague shapes (helped by the starlight from outside).
Actually, that’s not true… There’s something else they’re showing me… Over by the window, in a menacing looking silhouette, they show me the shimmering tapeta lucida at the back of the Hulix’s eyes.
Not quite the burning, lucent spotlights he had as my sleep paralysis Demon but, still, they glisten like they’re reflecting some proportion more than 100% of the light that’s falling on them, in that way that nocturnal animals’ eyes always do in halflight.
The amusing thought suddenly occurs to me that I’m in the middle of voluntarily recreating the awful bout of sleep paralysis I had earlier; unable to move with a powerful owl man looming over me(!)
“…I shall remedy that for you, shall I?” he asks, his voice dripping with a delicious amount of cold distain! Like he thinks I’m an insect, only worthy of his time at all because I mildly amuse him!
He spreads his wings, completely shocking me with just how wide they are!
Each one is significantly longer than he is tall!
His suddenly very imposing silhouette makes my heart pound!
A single, silent, downward flap gives him all the height he needs to swoop the distance to me.
He lands on the bed, his weight enough to depress the mattress, and walks toward the headboard.
A thick towed, dinosaur foot snatches the chain attached to my right arm and stretches it out to it’s maximum extent before locking the other end to the headboard.
He gracefully hops over my ¾ spreadeagle body and grabs the chain attached to my dominant, left arm.
“Mmmmmmph…” I moan in protest, weakly, through my gag, as my last limb is stretched out to its maximum extent and shackled in place.
A clawed foot is planted, long toes splayed, at the left of my torso as the other is lifted, toes flexed, and dangled above my naval.
The lethal looking talons glide through the air, slowly and silently, between my breasts to my throat.
I see the bronze, iridescent flash as his alien claws seize my lower jaw and enclose the sides of my head.
A sharp, curved, predatory, bronze beak looms down from the darkness beneath two, enormous, forward facing eyes with irides almost the exact same shade of yellow that I chose to have mine modded to, inches above mine.
There is something decidedly otherworldly about the quantity of shimmering reflection I can see in his pupils!
“There now…” he says, turning my head this way and that with his strong talon, examining me “…unable to move… like your mind and body both know you ought to be… Sleep [paralysis]? Sounds like you know, on some level, that you’re meant to be a toy… a plaything for one superior to you, doesn’t it?”
I. did. not feed him that line!
He, fucking, ad libbed that!
Dude’s a natural!
He was so uncertain, when I explained the premise, that I was sure there’d be a learning curve on his path to Domhood!
Seems like, every bit as much as I’m meant to be a sub, he’s born to be a Dom!
I never would have expected it!
I suppose… it is often a surprise… the number of soft spoken library chicks who like to put on leathers and wield a whip, the number of cringeworthy ‘alpha’ bros who it turns out like to get stepped on(!)
The man, who currently has me at his mercy, opens his beak and brings its sharp tip to rest, ever so lightly, against my face.
I quiver, puffing passed my gag.
He pulls back, giving a hooting chuckle.
He takes his claws from my head and brings them to my right tit.
He closes them, tightly enough that I can feel their strength without them hurting me, and begins to knead.
I moan as he amuses himself with my flesh.
Some minutes pass this way before he takes his foot from my chest, moving it towards my crotch.
“Let’s try out how ready you are, shall we?”
A thick hallux (girthier than the fattest cock I’ve ever had) is slowly pushed into my absolutely drenched pussy.
I’m very grateful that he does such a good job of pedicuring the naturally sharp edges and points off his claws because, if he didn’t, I would be in a lot of pain right now!
He spreads out the three forward facing toes across my stomach and digs the blunt claws into my flesh.
A smirk in his voice, he says “Seems like you’re quite ready for your intended use(!)…Shall I begin?”
Not waiting for an answer (not that I could give a coherent one with my mouth gagged) he pulls his hallux halfway out of me… then plunges it fully in!
My eyes roll back in my head and I pant and moan as he proceeds with his unconventional method of giving me pleasure!
He presses his foot into me, using both his weight and wing power for maximum effect!
I’m 90% of the way there, when suddenly, his face is right above mine again, his expression intense as he reaches up to take one of my horns in each of his wing hands and says “You’re mine… You’re mine to [dominate]!… Mine to possess!… MINE to do with as I will!… You understand?”
Before he gives me the most intense orgasm of my life, I manage to nod my head.
---Strik’s perspective---
A pair of heavy hands rest at the back of my neck as I lie atop the (now un[shackled]) woman, on the bed, in a mildly unnatural and uncomfortable (but so worth it) posture for me.
“You’re kidding me!” she smiles.
“I’m not.”
“Never?!” she demands, aghast.
“Never ever.”
“How can you never have tried pancakes!? They’re the best!”
“Well… my diet is mostly carnivorous… I think that much pure carbohydrate may make me ill!”
“Tomorrow! We’re figuring out exactly how to make pancakes you can eat!”
I chuckle “Let’s!”