Don’t you just love the feel of feathers? I adore feathers! I don’t own a feather boa, since I’ve never found one that goes really well with my walking boots, though feathers are waterproof, you know? Still I never miss an opportunity to stroke anything that has feathers. Sadly birds aren’t all that keen on having their feathers stroked. Our oily fingers are icky to them, apparently. Anyway, because those lovely feathers “zip” together in such a way to allow birds to catch the wind in their wings and fly, they are notoriously difficult to get close enough to for a good stroke of the feathers, rendering them relatively safe from our oily fingers.
Thinking about feathers got me thinking about kink, and kink got me thinking about the Brit Babes collection, Sexy Just Got Kinky. Yup! If you like kink, you’ll find something in these pages to suit you. I can’t recommend this juicy book enough. If you’ve not already read it, the stories are sexy, steamy and fun. And since good kinky fun is a fabulous way to round out the week, I thought I’d share a little feather kink from my own story, A Bird in the Bush.
And I’ve added the links below for instant gratification. J
Sexy Just Got Kinky Blurb:
Welcome to Sexy Just Got Kinky, the third instalment of the Brit Babes’ Sexy Just series. Tantalise your dark side with kinks to make you think. From lovers behind bars to lone ladies behind the lens—fisticuffs and feathers, lilos and lube, scissors and sticks, whips, canes and bondage, there’s sure to be a kink within these pages to whet your appetite, tickle your fancies and heat up cold nights.
A Bird in the Bush
By K D Grace
Cockerel, rooster, male chicken - whatever the hell you wanted to call him, he was enormous! Think Big Bird of the barnyard, and you get the picture. Oh my God! I wanted to bury my face in those gorgeous scarlet and emerald tail feathers while he wriggled his arse and cock-a-doodle-dooed at the top of his lungs.
Okay, let me just clarify before you get the idea that I do obscene things to animals. This was not a real cock … not the barnyard kind. I did say think Big Bird, didn’t I? This was a man strutting around Stoke Park in a fucking chicken costume! And it was a bloody brilliant one – no cheap-arsed papier-mâché, not this cock, no siree! Even from a distance - and it wasn’t much of a distance because I nearly ran into him on the sidewalk in front of the duck pond - I could tell those luscious plumes were genuine ostrich. Even the very thought had my nipples drilling through my vest.
The ginormous rooster stepped back all chivalrous-like and gave me a well-executed bow. Before I could ask what a big cock was doing parading around the duck pond in Stoke Park, he reached into a leather bag that hung over one broad avian shoulder and pulled out a lollipop, which he unwrapped. And then the cheeky cock stuck it in my mouth brushing the tip of my nose with the soft golden feathers that covered his hands. My dirty mind went crazy. I’ll admit I might have even moaned out loud and rolled my eyes. I mean it was a cherry lollipop, for godsake! The end resembled the tip of a penis all bright and hard like it was anticipating some serious in and out, and the giant rooster just sticks it right in my mouth! It’s bad enough that I moaned, but then … I slurped. Loudly. I didn’t mean to, honestly I didn’t. It’s just that I was already salivating and having something hard stuffed into my mouth when I was fantasising about a tumble behind the shrubbery with those thick, silky feathers wrapped around me, how could I not slurp? Of course I couldn’t see his eyes inside the chicken head. I couldn’t tell if he was checking out my happy nips, and I sure as hell couldn’t tell if he had a hard-on when his entire body was well decked in plumage. I couldn’t even hear if he was breathing hard because before I could manage to cheek the sweetie and politely thank him, the yummy mummies descended in a flock of excited kiddos, all grabbing and reaching – the kiddos, not the yummy mummies. Without missing a beat, my gloriously well-plumed cock offered me a flyer from his bag and then began handing out lollipops to the kiddos and flyers to the parents. I was left to slurp and watch him shake his tail feathers and flap his winged arms for his young audience. At least they thought he was doing it for them. But I knew he was doing it just for me and my perky buds, and I stood there slurping and watching shamelessly. As he bok-bok -boked and cock-a-doodle-dooed and strutted and pranced and, as his jaunty plumage shimmied and shook, I got wetter and wetter, and I found myself in need of some serious me time.
I'm an avid birder, it's true! I've happily spent days in wet muddy woodlands and in stuffy hot hides to catch a glimpse of birds in action. I don’t care if they’re common blue tits or something rare and exotic just blown in from Africa on a storm. My reasons for watching are a bit different from my fellow birdwatchers and, since there’s no way to put this delicately, I’ll just come right out and say it - I consider watching birds foreplay. I don't care if they're fucking or singing or just loafing. It doesn't matter. They turn me on, and the reason is because they all have feathers. It’s the feathers that heat me up to a sizzle. When I see a blackbird preening, fluttering and flicking its wings and running its beak through its glorious blue-black plumage, or a starling flitting about in a birdbath, chittering and flapping and dazzling, like a sequin-clad can-can dancer in Vegas, well it's spontaneous orgasms for me! Feathers will get me there every time.
I recognize most British birds by sight, sound and feather, as well as a good few from other countries, so I know my birds well enough to know that as amazing as they are, they had to give up a few anatomical bits to be able to fly. No teeth, hollow bones and, the bad news - no cocks. The good news is that the no cock thing isn’t true of all birds. Did you know that some male ducks have enormous cork screw penises? But in spite of the dearth male members among avian male members, I was quite confident that my Barnyard Big Bird was very well equipped.
On the verge of an orgasm, I watched mesmerized as the glorious rooster danced and pranced, and then turned and headed out across the formal gardens at a trot that was way more graceful than one might expect from a man in a chicken suit. When I could see him no longer, still slurping on my lollipop, I glanced down at the flyer. It read:
Gallinaceous: Chicken to Tickle Your Taste buds!
Have a quickie in our food court or enjoy chicken of the world in our fine restaurant at your leisure.
There was an address on Epson Road just up from the row of estate agents and across from the Turkish grocery store. A chicken restaurant? Seriously? My raucous rooster was strutting his stuff to advertise a chicken restaurant? Fast chicken even, and with a KFC just around the corner. That was seriously plucky. Of course KFC couldn’t boast fine dining now could they? And they sure as hell couldn’t boast a giant prancing rooster. I read the rest of the flyer.
Gallinaceous: sophisticated chicken at an affordable price
Taste the chicken of your dreams.
Would that I could, I thought to myself. Would that I could. I tucked the flyer into my bag for
As soon as that glorious big cock was out of sight, I quickly pulled the lollipop out of my mouth and tucked it in a candy wrapper that had migrated to the bottom of my bag at some point, and then I hurried home. I barely had the door shut behind me before I was stripping. I suppose it was my version of a molt, leaving a trail of clothes from the door, all the way down the hall and into my room, the butter and seashore scent of my heat getting stronger as I went.
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