kashshaptuuruku

[kashshaptuuruku]

Taint

In the misty morning of the Salt Key, I heard a whimper on the wind.

A coaxing, simpering little whimper. Not one of pleasure, or of pain, but of dredging sadness so thick I could taste it in the back of my throat.

I had been quick in finding the fledgling, a youthful sixteen-year-old with an array of sparrow feathers sprouting thickly between her shoulder blades. She had her had cast down, held in the palms of her talons as she cuckooed ever so slightly between her breaths.

What a pitiful sight. I had seen many a broad crack and sob, but this was just a pitiful display.

So, I cast myself down from my hiding place, a craig of blackened rocks that matched my pelt perfectly. It was daytime and I was not diurnal, but I found the strength to go on, especially with the attracting curve of her jawline and the softness of her sides.

I was not picky when it came to body types, but the softness of thicker lovers peaked mine in passions.

Sitting next to her I simply waited for a notice, stretching myself like a cat. Languid in nature, but perceivable danger beneath my toiling flesh, a fester of thoughts creeping through my headspace.

A cuckoo ended in a slippery sounding shriek, high pitched and thin, it bounced against the rocks viciously. She had seen me and she had become frightened.

“‘Ello, lovely, whatever are you crying for?”

She shuddered at my appearance. Skinny, full of angles, and glittering eyes that glowed with a mix of lust and anger. Neverending. Slavery scars catching light under thick fur.

Fuck and fight. Fuck and fight. Fuck and fight.

A drooling chat through the far reaches of my mind, bouncing around my skull like a mass of shaken bees.

“You gonna answer me, sweetheart?”

Her mouth opened and closed, the clicking of undeveloped teeth echoing and I smiled in reply.

If she was the fish, he was the bear.

Instead of answering, she ran. Fluttering away like the butterfly on the fairest of wings away from me and my person.

I couldn’t bring myself to be offended.

That night as I rested in a bed of ferns, my golden hair tangled amongst their brittle stems and my deaths surrounding my like some great bird had met its end in the brambles, there was a silent roar of approaching males, females and hermaphrodites alike. Kinsmen and folk of the young Miss Nameless I had met that morn.

I laughed and drug myself to the trees, my cruel body a slender shadow in their midst.

Monster!

Monster! They had yelled.  

I was the monster and to that, I cocked my head back and rattled off a trill. Murderous. The lot of them.

The morning rose and they left me alone. I was nothing but a scary shadow, something that hatchlings hooted about under the guardianship of their parents.

“What fickle creatures!” I chanted behind the cottonwood trees, their tears covering my blistering flesh with white specks.

Subtly I wondered if they were making noise as their seedlings latch to my feathers, but I was sourly and surly mistaken, I’ll tell you.

You see, the trees make no noise when they snivel. Yet this: this was a sound I had heard before.

A monstrous, devilish grin pulled my lips from their resting place and I felt myself cackle. The chit was back! Miserable, ludicrous creature. Sin. Sin. Sin.

When I approached again, she was easily swept up, my wiry limbs steel and my fingers iron against her maw. She rode up against me, squirming as she tried parting from my embrace, a scream locked in her throat.

I moaned in her ears as I brought her down underneath me, my lean form easily squashing her soft and malleable one. My claws pricked her lower back and she stilled her spine.

“Tell me, love, whatcha cryin’ for?” A pause.  “I won’t ask ya again, sweetheart.”

Stiffened and uneasy, she gave a wriggle and I let her go.

However, my teeth were bared, my jaws cranked open and my eyes glittering menacingly under the darkened veil of my own shadow. Distinct threats, ones that she was glorified enough to know, she sat whimpering like a child.

Patience was not a virtue of mine.

“I..I-I I, uhm, I.” She stuttered uncontrollably, pathetically. Simpering like a baby.

Somehow I stayed my words, my lips locked open yet unmoving.

“Please be civil with me, sir.” She cuckooed pathetically. “I’m merely a bullied peasant, not anything a creature like yourself should busy yourself with.”

…

“If meat could gaze upon itself, would you be the reflection Miss?”

She cowered beneath my glare, my sharp golden iris enlarging as my slanted pupils became thin slices.

“Sir, I…” She looked me in the eye and choked on her words, putting her talons over her head as if her unworked hands could fend me off. “I was just a bit ruffled by some of my fellows, sir. I’m emotional.”

My clear show of dominance slipped into a snide grin.

“Was that so hard, my dear girl?” A whispered fakely as I brushed dark feathers from my vision, my voice turning a chiding tone. “No need for your kinsfolk to batter me down, right? Just a simple nomad willing to converse with another of its kind, right my dear?”

The broad slipped to the ground, laying on her stomach as her face glimmered in some sort of guilt. I was pleased and in response, I too slipped to the ground.

We stared for a while. I wasn’t much interested anymore, bent out of shape by the slippery little lady. Ick.

“You’ve got the face of a murderer.”

I was...surprised. My brow quirked and I let out a low trill.

“I see,” I said smoothly, my lithe body curling up from the stone before I simply walked off. Back to the cottonwood trees.

…

Every day after I met the dame back in her spot. Soon her tears dried, and she became interested. Yet, her eyes never caught the way my lips twisted to far or how my eyes never seemed to glimmer in mirth and joy. Borderline sociopathic as I registered her laughs, her words.

They meant nothing to me.

Yet I sat, acting like a gentle, wounded beast. She was too young to recognize the thick red paint marring my forehead- teeth on the border of a labia, vagina dentata as the smearing markings of the male anatomy against my high cheekbones.

Of course, she didn’t know. Or when I first touched her, stroked her pale cheeks and braided her wispy platinum hair, she would have flinched and ran.

No. No, she would have alerted her family the second time she saw me.

In her innocence, she was easily groomed and in less than a week I had her bent over a fallen tree. Overstimulated, oversexed, she craved me as I craved some kind of release.

Bickering to one another like an excerpt from the Bald Soprano, I had her speaking in tongues and I...well, my tongue was rather busy.

She tasted like coffee beans and when she was wrapped around me, like a velvet vice, I couldn’t help but laugh as we fucked into the night.

I never caught her name and she never got mine, but after I left I could hear something weep behind the tree line.

#KashshaptuUruku #bearerofsin #WitchLarvaeSeries #Einlaithe #short story #storytelling

[kashshaptuuruku]

Hole

She had come to me baring her teeth and her anger.

Sharp teeth like rows and rows of bleak mountains had curled over her lower lip as she stood on stocky legs.

She barely reached my collarbone.

I cooed and stroked her boyish face as she came at me with claws and fangs, hell-bent on tearing out my throat.

And I played with her. In a very morbid sense of the word.

I twisted and moved just outside of her swiping claws and gnashing teeth, like a dance in the moonlit moors. The grass hissed my name in warning as she batted my shapeless figure through the night.

I touched her too. Ooh did I ever touch her. Patting her head, kissing her cheeks, swiping away frustrated tears when she could not touch me back.

Nothing was more erotic than this, and she knew that every time curled away from the hook cutlasses her nails made, I felt her up. Her body was supple and curved with muscle. Stiff and unwired.

And finally, our dancing and spinning had us falling.

Like a lover, I wrapped my skinny arms around her waist and buried what was left of my nose into her clavicle as we toppled down a steep cliff and into the ravine. This land had been full of these fissures, cracks on the earth’s fair face and as well fell I laughed and she cried.

Her claws didn’t cut me as she held tightly to me, scared as we hit the bottom.

….

The earth enclosed us.

Like beetles trapped in a pitch plant, we were at the bottom.

She called it hell, and I had called it heaven.

For the first two nights, I had laid on my side, feigning death in the most morose of fashions. She knew, that I knew, that she didn’t buy it one bit. Still, I laid dense, cold and breathing only when she turned around. It was my game, and I already looked the part of a shambling corpse. Why would I subtract from the experience?

The third night I got bored. In our tight quarters, I rose onto my long and angled legs and I looked at her. I wanted her to get up as well, but she sat there in a mockery as she sobbed into her talons.

Instead of playing with her further, I climbed the wall to our-no, her-prison. My body gilded easily and my claws caught hold of the edges perfectly. Like an ascending Lord, I crawled from the pit. And she remained.

Every night I would return, cast my body down where I had rested for almost three whole days. She nearly glittered ever time I saw her.

...

The sixth night I fucked her.

I had crawled down, face impassive as I took in the fact she had taken my spot on the fissure floor, legs askew as she suckled her misery.

I traced her curves with my claws and she moaned when I counted her ribs. No longer was she supple, but she had become something more akin to myself; boney and shambling all the same.

I stroked her head and kissed her as she wept, ashamed at wanting me near to her. Her tears fell onto my tongue and I drank like I was a man amongst deserts.

Her flesh sparkled and glittered gold in the dying light, and I pressed myself into her hair and feathers as if I could snort her like a drug. She did the same, curling and writhing before kneading and sucking at my flesh.

Once and a while she would bite, hunger and pain driving her mad for a few precious seconds as she lapped up my blood and nipped at the wound.

I arched her towards me, my talons teasing the small of her back as she wrapped her withering legs around my hips, bones jutting against bones.

“I envy you, Kashshaptu.” She had cooed, setting her nose against my Adams apples as she grew wetter by the second, soaking the thigh she sat astride on. Her dulled nails, chipped from her one tried at escape, combed languidly through my thick dorsal feathers and reaching my hair. She would braid bits of it, her eyes swallowing up the color and her lips setting kisses on the strands.

“Whatever for?”

She never answered me, yet I couldn’t bring myself to care as she pressed her starving hips to my own.

We danced again. It was her last and to me, another notch in a bedpost.

#KashshaptuUruku #bearerofsin #WitchLarvaeSeries #Einlaithe