The Raven
“Help! Please, someone!”
The chickadee cried desperately as he struggled against the raven’s talons, his chirps and alarm calls going unanswered. Not that much could have been done at that point anyway. The raven was more than five times his size; any fellow chickadees who wanted to help couldn’t have done much, and anything large enough to take on a raven probably wouldn’t just let easy prey like him go afterwards.
“Please, someone, anyone! I’m being kidnapped! Help me, please!”
The raven landed on a branch and lifted the songbird up to his beak. From this angle the corvid was even more daunting; his beak alone was nearly as large as the little bird’s entire body. He could probably swallow him whole, if he wanted to.
As that thought entered his mind, the raven’s beak began to open. The chickadee’s heart stopped as he stared into the beast’s gaping maw, an abyss of meat and powerful muscles ready to pull him in. His mind forced him to imagine it: being trapped in complete darkness, unable to move or cry for help in his last moments, suffocating as the thick walls of the raven’s throat pulled him down, down, into the monster’s crop, surrounded on all sides by crushing pressure and heat and the stench of death, before being digested into nothing.
For a moment, he felt a strange sense of calm overtake him. Perhaps the terror was just too great for him to comprehend. He closed his eyes, feeling the evening breeze on his beak one last time, and accepted his fate.
“Would you SHUT UP!?”
The breeze was suddenly replaced by a wave of hot breath and drops of spittle. The chickadee cracked one eye open to see the enraged raven staring daggers into him.
“S.... sorry?”
“My god, you prey species just never shut up, do you? Nobody is coming to save you, understand? No-bo-dy!”
On each syllable, the raven violently shook him, sending his tiny songbird brain crashing into his skull. When his eyes could finally focus again, the corvid was huffing, still furious. After a moment of silence, the chickadee gathered himself and made his case.
“P-p-p-please don’t eat me,” he stammered weakly.
“And why exactly would I do that, especially when you just spent the past five minutes screaming my ears in?”
The songbird stared at him, paralyzed.
“Come on, say something!” The raven gave him another shake.
“B-b-because I... you won’t... I-I...”
The chicadee burst into tears.
“Please mister raven, please, I don’t want to be eaten and trapped in the dark and suffocate and die and never fly again and get turned into bird droppings and never find a mate and—”
The raven dropped his wings, almost embarrassed by the chickadee’s sudden outburst.
“Alright!” He interrupted. “Alright, quiet down. Look, maybe we can work something out.”
The chickadee looked back at him, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. The larger bird’s expression had softened somewhat.
“R...really?” He sniffled.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not even all that hungry. You were just such an easy target! Sitting there, picking seeds off the ground in broad daylight, with no tree cover, not even paying attention. I mostly caught you just to see if you were really that boneheaded. Honestly, how has a hawk not gotten to you already?”
The chickadee blushed.
“W-well, this is my first summer away from the nest.” The songbird looked up at him, concerned. “Was I really that easy?”
“Oh for sure. I mean, if it hadn’t been me, I would give you, what, maybe three months before someone else picked you up? You were a sitting duck.”
“...Isn’t that expression considered offensive these—”
“Oh shut up.”
The songbird clamped his beak shut, frozen solid with fear.
“Now, I might not be hungry, but, well... ahem...” The raven bowed his head slightly, breaking eye contact, and readjusted his wings. The songbird could even detect a hint of blushing at the edges of his beak. “I haven’t had the best of luck in the dating game, and I’m a bit pent up. So, you’re going to help me with that.”
The chickadee blinked.
“H-help you with—”
The corvid’s eyes snapped back to him, exasperated.
“Sex, idiot. I’m gonna use you to, ya know, get off.”
The chickadee imagined the raven trying to mate with him, being crushed under the weight of the enormous bird.
“I... I’m male—”
“I’m not going to mount you, obviously. I would crush you flat.”
“Th-then what are you—”
“Would you let me finish?”
The smaller bird shut his beak again.
“I thought, since you seem to like using that beak of yours so much, maybe you could put it to use on something better than whingweing all the goddamn time.”
The songbird stared at him, realization dawning on him.
“You... you want me to...”
“Mhm”
“With... with my beak?”
“Well it’s that or I eat you, so...”
The chickadee remained frozen, unable to speak. After a few seconds, the raven shrugged.
“Alright, your funeral.”
Before he even knew what was happening, the raven’s prey was dangling by his tail feathers over the corvid’s open maw. The creature’s tongue wrapped around his body, over his face and back, under his wings, getting him slick with spit. Between the oppressive heat, the lack of oxygen from the raven’s used air, and the stench of his breath, the chickadee felt like he was already suffocating. He spread his wings, frantically flapping as his feet scrambled for something, anything to hold onto, desperate to keep himself from being pulled in.
“No, no, please! I’ll do it, I’ll do it!”
The raven didn’t seem to hear him, his tongue continuing to coat him in a thick layer of sticky birdspit, pulling him closer and closer to the back of his throat, its powerful muscles dilating and contracting, eager to pull the songbird in, forever. The chickadee could feel the space narrowing, his wings finding less and less room to expand the further he slipped down the monster’s throat. His feet scrambled uselessly against the inside of the corvid’s beak, finding nothing to grip onto on the smooth, slick surface.
“Oh gods please no! I’ll do anything, I’ll stick my beak in your vent, whatever you want! Just please don’t eat me!”
The raven pulled him out again, turning his earhole towards him in an exaggerated motion.
“Hm, what’s that? Couldn’t seem to hear you.”
“I... I’ll do... the thing you wanted...” The chickadee looked down, embarrassed.
“That’s what I thought.”
The raven took off, gliding into a nearby roomy tree hollow. The inside was clean and well-kept, decorated quite lavishly for a raven. Bright blue and red bottle caps, yellow dandelions, a rainbow shoelace hanging from a splinter of wood. The raven dropped his catch unceremoniously, his fall broken by the freshly plucked leaves lining the floor. The raven flipped onto his back, landing with his vent facing his prey. The blast of wind sent a shiver down the chickadee’s spine, the cool evening air feeling icy against his spit-soaked feathers
“Well come on then. Get to it.”
He tentatively hopped up onto the corvid’s tail, making his way towards the larger bird’s vent. As he approached, the bird’s heavy musk filled his nares. He stopped.
“I don’t have all day.”
The raven pushed him up with his talon, guiding his head gently with a toe until his beak was right above the corvid’s hole. The songbird took a tentative breath, getting used to the raven’s intense smell. He looked up to see the larger bird staring down at him impatiently. Finally having worked up the courage, he opened his beak and extended his tongue, giving the bird’s cloaca a small lick with the tip of his tongue. It was already slick with fluids, bitter and filled with strange, unfamiliar flavors. Despite the circumstances, he could feel his own vent begin to stir, something about the situation triggering his mating instincts. He went for another lick, watching the larger bird’s hole gape and contract. This time he got just barely inside the vent, getting a better taste of the corvid. It still wasn’t pleasant, but not quite as bad as the first one. Maybe he would get used to it. The raven’s musk was already more bearable, though the songbird still had to breathe through his beak so as to not feel suffocated by it.
“Oh for fuck’s sake”
The corvid, his patience officially exceeded, grabbed the songbird’s head with his talons and shoved him towards his vent. The chickadee let out a surprised cheep, but was cut off as his entire beak was violently plunged into the raven’s cloaca. The bird’s smell was overwhelming, a complete shock to his senses. He could barely breathe, his body rejecting each inhalation, the smell was so pungent. He kicked his legs and flapped his wings, trying to escape the sensory onslaught, but the talon on his head, powered by the thick muscles he could feel tensing under him, kept him firmly planted inside the larger bird. His lungs burned for air, his vision started to blur, until finally he didn’t have a choice; he stopped his struggle and inhaled, his nares burning, but his lungs thanking him for the much-needed oxygen. He continued taking short, shallow breaths, just enough to keep him from passing out.
Slowly, he got used to the larger bird’s odor, his breaths getting deeper and more regular. The musk went from intolerable, to bearable, to... pleasant. He took a deep breath, letting the smell fill his nares. Without even noticing, he stopped pushing against the raven’s talons, before opening his beak and letting his tongue taste the inner folds of his captor. It wasn’t just bearable, it was... good. Another lick. More than good. He extended his tongue further, reaching as deep as he could. His beak opened wide as he pushed his head against the vent, searching for the source of the intoxicating musk, trying to collect as much of the bird’s flavor as he could.
“Thaaaaaat’s it”
The raven released his captive’s head, letting him work unencumbered. The chickadee explored the larger bird, pushing his beak in and out, attacking the vent from different angles, letting the raven’s gentle caws and contractions guide him towards his most sensitive spots, extracting more delicious slitfluid from the corvid. He could feel his own vent contract, his feathers becoming slick with his own pre. He bent forward, raising his tail high as he plunged deep into the corvid’s vent, which graciously opened far enough to let him get his entire beak in, leaving him eye-deep in cloaca.
Something cold brushed against his vent, eliciting a muffled chirp from the chickadee. He looked back to see the larger bird pulling a toe away from his rear, slick with the songbird’s fluids. With the other foot, the corvid picked him up, holding him over his vent.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” The raven smirked.
Blood rushed to the smaller bird’s beak.
“W-what? No, I-”
The chickadee was cut off as the raven tightened his grip, crushing the air out of his air sacs. He drew his face closer to the smaller bird, who could almost feel himself shrinking as the massive, terrifying beak drew near.
“Remember that I could still kill you at any moment, little bird. Do not lie to me.” The raven’s voice was icy calm, matched by the predatory gaze he gave the chickadee.
The songbird nodded frantically, desperate for air. The corvid loosened his grip, letting him fill his air sacs again.
“Okay, okay. I-I do...” The chickadee looked away, ashamed, trying to hide himself under his wings. “I do like it,” he chirped, barely a whisper.
“I can’t hear you, toy.” The raven tightened his grip.
“I enjoy it! I enjoy pleasuring you mister raven!” He crowed. He met the raven’s eyes, captivated by his gaze, the feeling of smallness and submission making his vent roil again.
“Well then, who am I to deny you?”
With that, the raven roughly shoved his prey into his vent, which opened wide enough to accommodate the smaller bird’s entire head. The slitfluids wet his feathers, staining him with the larger bird’s scent. The musk was so overwhelming now that it made the chickadee shiver, his legs pulling up into his body as another drop of pre slipped from his needy vent. Almost unconsciously, he opened his beak, greedily lapping up the corvid’s fluids. He could feel the raven tighten his grip as he moaned in pleasure. The flesh around him dilated as he was pushed even deeper, his wings now pinned against his body as the raven’s vent contracted again.
Things sounded different here. The familiar sounds of the night – crickets, the occasional hooting of owls that so terrified a bird of his size – were gone, replaced by the sounds of his captor’s body. Uncomfortably biological noises, emanating from every direction: the regular whooshing of the raven’s breathing; slick, wet sounds from the vent as it contracted and dilated; gurgles from the gizzard, currently working its way through the bird’s most recent meal. The chickadee shuddered: that could have easily been him.
The songbird was pulled out of his thoughts as he was suddenly twisted around. He let out a surprised chirp, confused for a moment, before realizing that the raven now had a full view of his needy vent, contracting and leaking. He could feel blood rush to his cheeks; despite his own, much more intimate, view of the raven’s privates, he couldn’t help but feel exposed. The raven spoke, his voice now much deeper, carried to the chickadee’s ears by the corvid’s own body; and omnipresent, like all the other sounds the raven’s body made.
“My, you’ve gotten yourself quite worked up there. Maybe I should give you some attention, hm? Why should I be the only one enjoying myself?”
The songbird realized what his captor was planning and desperately crossed his legs over his vent, but it was no use. The hard, cold talon slipped past his legs and into his vent, eliciting a long, pleasured cheep from the songbird, his body going limp, his vent hungrily contracting against the thick toe as he shivered and moaned. Suddenly, the pleasure turned to pain as the toe inside him curled, digging into the smaller bird’s insides.
“Did I tell you to stop?”
Immediately, the chickadee’s beak opened again, working desperately to please the corvid, craning his neck around, pumping his beak in and out, licking every inch of the powerful walls holding him. Slowly, the toe inside him relaxed, then started to push in and out, a slow thrusting that nearly brought the bird to a climax. With every thrust, the raven’s vent dilated, pushing him just a little bit deeper, getting him a little closer to the source of those delicious fluids. Soon, only his feet and tailfeathers were still sticking out, his toes the only part of him still feeling the cool evening breeze rather than the oppressive, wet heat of the raven’s vent.
He could hear the beating of his captor’s heart now, which quickened as he continued to push his tongue into every nook and cranny of the raven’s insides. Apparently it wasn’t enough for the corvid, as the smaller bird learned when his tail was suddenly grabbed, pulling all but the tip of his beak out of the raven’s slit. Just as quickly, the corvid shoved him back into his vent, before pulling him back out to his neck. The chickadee felt an intense combination of shame and arousal as his captor reduced him to a living dildo. The thrusts got faster and faster, the vent’s contractions more and more frequent, more and more pre filling the space, nearly faster than the chickadee could lap it up.
Finally, the chickadee’s hard work was rewarded. With one final shove, the chickadee bottomed out in his captor, nearly crushed by the contractions of the thick muscle surrounding him on every side. A torrent of birdcum poured forth, instantly filling the raven’s vent, threatening to drown the little songbird. He had no choice; he opened wide, swallowing beakfulls of bitter seed, but it wasn’t enough. The hot, sticky fluid pushed past him to escape the confines of the vent, coating his wings, his belly, every inch of his body in thick, white, pungent birdseed. As the raven came, he pushed his toe further into the chickadee, eliciting a simultaneous orgasm from the little bird. sending a trickle of seed past the raven’s talon and into the songbird’s feathers, drowned out by the sea of ravencum already covering them.
His orgasm finally over, the raven pulled the smaller bird out of his vent. He took a moment to observe the chickadee, gasping, shaking and absolutely soaked in his seed, before pushing his prey back down to his vent and barking.
“Clean.”
Below him, the raven’s vent was still oozing cum, the feathers around it messy and wet with seed. Without hesitation, the songbird opened his beak and got to work, licking as much of the raven’s cum from his vent as he could, cleaning and preening the corvid’s feathers, doing his best not to smear any of the copious amount of birdseed on himself onto the larger bird. The corners of the raven’s beak raised in a devious smile as he watched his prey work.
“You know what? I think I’m gonna keep you.”
The chickadee looked up, swallowing a beakful of his captor’s seed.
“W-what?”
The raven shot him an icy glare.
“Did I tell you to stop?”
The songbird returned to his task immediately, cleaning and preening even more vigorously. The raven smirked, satisfied.
“You clearly enjoy the work, and I could use something to keep me entertained. And it’s probably one of the only ways you’re going to survive the next summer, what with your piss-poor instincts.”
The chickadee blushed; the raven wasn’t wrong on either count. His work done, the songbird looked up hesitantly at the raven, who took a moment to check his new toy’s work before nodding, satisfied. The smaller bird felt an unexpected pride in the sign of approval, which was cut short as the raven hopped to his feet and pinned the chickadee to the ground. He could feel leaves sticking to him as his captor forcibly extended his left wing and held it by the third joint.
“Wha-what are you doing?”
“Quiet now.” The raven’s words were calm, even comforting, not accompanied by any overt threats or physical pain, but the songbird heeded them anyway. Something about the way the corvid spoke belied a subtle threat; next time, he wouldn’t be so kind.
The raven bent over and took a few of the chickadee’s primary flight feathers in his beak. He worked methodically, bending them back and forth, twisting them, weakening them. It wasn’t painful, but it did have a viscerally upsetting quality to it. It was humiliating, being pinned to the ground, having his wings mangled, of all things. His wings, his only way of getting around, of finding food, safety, mates. And being helpless to do anything about it.
Finally, the raven broke his feathers in half, dropping the pieces in front of his captive’s face as though to taunt him, before finally releasing the songbird from his grasp. The chickadee’s heart sank; it didn’t take much to make a bird’s wings too unstable to fly. If he tried to escape now, he’d spiral uncontrollably to the ground, easy food for any predators. He stared, transfixed, at the feathers, stained with the raven’s seed, the only thing separating him from freedom.
“Ahem.”
He turned to see the raven’s cum-soaked foot right at eye level. Without even thinking, he got to work, darting his tongue between the corvid’s toes, swallowing every drop of sticky birdseed. He looked up at the raven, towering over him, smirking down at him, and felt strangely... at home.
He pulled away from the raven’s foot, his job done. He looked up expectantly as the corvid took a look at his work and nodded in approval. A shiver of pride travelled down the songbird’s back.
“Well, looks like I worked up a bit of an appetite. I think I’ll go find something to eat. You know, other than you.” The raven chuckled. “You should clean yourself up, vent-slut. That’s your dinner, after all. Oh, and clean up those feathers for me. I want to keep them for decoration.”
With that, the raven took off, the resulting burst of wind sending leaves into the chickadee’s face, where they stuck to the drying birdcum. The songbird sat down, exhausted, and started preening, getting as much of it out of his feathers as he could. He managed to complete the bulk of his task before collapsing onto his back, exhausted, his belly full of the raven’s seed, his feathers soaked with his captor’s scent. He pulled some leaves over his body to protect himself from the harsh evening chill, before drifting off to sleep.