The crisp night air bites softly at your feathered skin as you make your way through the heavily wooded area, trying to make way of the brush and foliage.
This is an all too familiar path you walk down, unfortunately, as you have fallen further and further into your harsh desire for a certain kind of flesh.
The flesh that is slick with temptation far before you even touch it and the softest texture that is undeniable to you.
“You can’t keep doing this.” You had thought to yourself firmly, just this morning, actually. “You have to stop now, Tweety Bird. It’s getting weird.”
Yet, here you were once again going to the perfect place for your fantasies to be quenched.
At one point this was a very regular thing but you’d been trying to cut down on it.
Now with winter just around the corner you can’t stop yourself from coming back.
For one, the worms will be dying out in the cold soon and second, they will be laying eggs.
Thankfully that means that the worms will continue on (despite the wait time) and while you don’t know exactly how the egg laying process works, it only serves to turn you on further at the thought of the eggs being inside you.
When you reach the clearing you’d found many years ago, the smell of the fresh dirt hits your senses and just the association was exhilarating.
You’d kept the area very well set up for them to become numerous and healthy.
Your worms were just under the surface of that layer of dirt.
You take a shaky breath and just decide to get on with it.
Just stripping out of your yellow feathers and damn it you’re already semi-hard.
What the fuck?
Whatever.
It’s not like you’d just settle with one round for today anyway.
You’re out a bit earlier tonight anyway but you doubt anyone would find you.
Sylvester was no where to be found, probably out with his sly cat friend Demetri for the evening.
Once you’d taken off all your yellow feathers, you lay onto the dirt and immediately can feel some of them squirm under you.
Your worms are waking at the light pressure and responding on command.
You can’t help the slightly cracked laugh you let out at the feeling.
You start to poke and prod at the surrounding dirt, fishing for them and, with your expert hand, it doesn’t take long to get them.
Their long, squirming and wet bodies take up all space in your mind and fill your senses as they make contact with your own body.
You place them on your bird chest to start, just to feel them move across your body.
You are having a hard time handling your arousal as the worms graze your skin, leaving slime in wake of every movement.
For some odd reason unrelated to the entire situation, you briefly wonder where your good friend Sylvester is again.
You quickly try to dismiss the thought though as it’s kind of a boner killer to think of him at a moment like this.
Maybe trying to hold off on this was a bad move because now you were far more turned on than you should be at this point.
You look longingly at the worms for a moment before just saying fuck it.
