Date: Mon, 21 Mar 2016 22:22:13 -0400
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: Broken Wing

                           BROKEN WING
                      By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                  WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     The long time of snows was over, and now came the rains, which were,
in their way, even worse. The snow at least was white and clean, it lay
upon the ground and trees and if it fell upon you, you could brush it from
your shoulders and legs like so much dust. But rain, it fell and it landed
on you and soaked in and became a part of you whether you wanted it or not,
and the rain was as cold as the snow and hurt worse when it fell upon you
for it did not float, it pelted you mercilessly. I reminded myself at such
times as that early morning that my fields needed this rain, without it,
the ground would dry and crack into a hundred small squares of dried
topsoil and from there the winds would blow it away. I did not wish such a
thing, so I bore up under the rain as well as I could as I moved upon my
farm, seeing to my cows, four of them, my greatest treasure, for they gave
me milk to drink and young calves to sell or to butcher for my winter
meat. I told myself as I mused upon their pregnant bodies that this year, I
would only keep but one of the calves for my table and the other three, I
would sell and use the money from them to buy other foods for my larder,
and seed to plant in my garden the following year so that I could
thenceforward raise my own delights for my table....
     And it was then that I saw him. A white form flickering just above the
dead, yellowed grass in the rain that raised a fog that obscured all but
the form itself. But it was not a usual thing and I knew my farm the way I
knew the fingers on my hand, and so I went closer and then I saw that it
was more than a white form, the white were the wings, and the wings were
upon an angel.
     I knew of the angels, of course, though only as small flickering
sights high in the skies. They lived in the mountains on either side of our
large, broad valley and eschewed all contact with humankind. I'd been told
they were human in all ways save for the broad white wings they had on
their backs. And that was about all I knew about them, until this moment,
when I saw this injured angel on my land.
     He lay upon the wet grass, insensible, the wings were not folded up
against his body but rather lay at odd angles, one of them upright (which
was what I had seen), the other stretched out upon the ground, and I saw
that at one point, the wing had been badly fractured, feathers were missing
from the spread and the part between was red with blood that oozed despite
the rain washing it onto the feathers, and onto the ground.
     I thought at first he was dead, but then he moved his head slightly,
perhaps hearing me, and he moaned and then I was by his side in a
flash. "Careful, friend angel, you are injured. My home is near, I shall
take you there and tend to your wounds."
     His eyes opened and he shied away from me at first but his pain was
too great and he acquiesced, and I bent my broad strong back and I managed
to put one arm under his thighs and one under his shoulders beneath the
wings and I lifted him in my arms and turned to walk toward my home over
five hundred yards away.
     Had I been one whit less as strong and able, by dint of my long hours
of labor upon my farm, I would have sagged under his weight, for it is not
true that angels are as light as the feathers they wear upon their
wings. He weighed not as much as myself, but as much as a young man without
my years of labor would have and I was breathing hard as I made it to my
home, opened my latch and kicked open my door, bore him inside and laid him
upon my rough mattress of cloth stuffed with straw. I paused only to light
my oil lamp so that I could see him better in the dim light inside my home
and then I put some water in a pot over the fireplace, then built up the
fire. I would need warm, clean water to cleanse his wounds. Then I turned
to the angel.
     He must have been struck by something large and sharp to be wounded
such, for the slash cut through his feathers and into his skin, and the
bones of the wing had been fractured so badly that the bone poked through
at one place, a jagged, uneven break. But one does not manage a farm with a
weak stomach, I steeled myself and used my household shears to cut away the
damaged feathers (I dared not pluck them out, but did cut them as close to
the flesh as I dared, until I had a clean section around the wound, and
then I cleansed it of the dirt and mud it had picked up and then I took my
fishing needle and a length of catgut and I began to stitch the wound
closed. The part of the bones was last and I put the bones back in place as
best I could and then stitched the flesh over them. My white shirt I wore
for church was sacrificed to give me a long enough bandage, and I wrapped
the entire thing liberally and was pleased to see that very little blood
stained the cloth. I had stitched it well.
     The angel was unconscious, and had never done more than moaned lightly
as I had done my work, with the wound clean and closed, he fell into a deep
sleep and I used this time to wash his face and body of the worst of its
grime. This let me look at him.
     If it had not been for the wings, those large, white, beautiful wings
much like that of a swan's, he would have been quite human. All of his
muscles save for some about his shoulders and ribs which powered his wings,
were the same as those that adorned my own body. His form was slenderer
than mine as I have said, but on his smaller frame, he wore muscles that
were on a par with mine once you discounted that they were smaller to fit
his form. He had hair on his head the same as mine, but where mine was a
dark, dull brown-black, his was the fairest of blond, and his skin was much
paler than mine, even where my clothing warded the sun's rays from browning
it darker. He wore only a wrap about his loins, the rest of him was open to
the air and the sky. The only hair he bore (outside of the loins, which I
had not seen) was on his head; the rest of him was smooth and sleek and
soft to the touch. My fingers, work-roughened and coarse, felt the velvet
of his body and delighted in the warmth of him.
     He moaned in his sleep and I realized that I was fondling an ill man
and came to myself. I lifted up my blanket, covered him with it and set
about to brewing him some healing food, a good, healthy soup filled with
vegetables and well-cured meat.
     He slept through the day, and I stayed by him (the rain prevented me
from doing more than feeding my animals and seeing that they were dry and
safe), and when he awoke, I was there with a bowl of soup for him to sup
down. He looked at me warily, but then at his wing and saw I had been his
benefactor and so he smiled at me timidly, took the bowl of food and lifted
it to his lips; first he tasted it, then began to gulp it. I took a bowl
for myself but mostly I watched him eat. When his bowl was empty, I
gestured if he wanted more, but he demurred, I realized that the small meal
had been a little too much for his frail body to handle. He laid back and I
adjusted the covers and after he fell back asleep, I made shift to sleep
myself on the floor next to the fire.
     He was alert the next day but still weak, I helped him from the bed
but only to the stool by the fire, and he sat there, his wings furled on
his back, the injured one not folding entirely. He was still feeble, but he
warmed himself and I fed him as much of the soup as he would eat and gave
him water and some of my home-brewed wine. By the end of the day, he gave
me the honor of knowing his name. He was Cebrin, and I gave him my own
name...Harld.
     From there, he grew better by slow stages. He had lost a lot of blood,
and as he came to trust me, also said that without his wing feathers, he
could not fly, they would have to grow back before he could rejoin his
family. That would be when his current feathers molted in about a month's
time, his replacement feathers would then grow in fairly quickly. By the
time the spring planting was done, he'd be fully feathered again, and
healed of his wound as well, and he could then leave.
     He helped me on little things about the farm, though his people were
not farmers, and the company he gave me was worth more than his labor,
anyhow. He talked of his days in the air, and this conversation was
typical.
     "My favorite time is in the mornings, and I come over the mountains
and the valley is covered with fog in places and the mountains are pale
blue around me, it's like there's clouds above and clouds below and I am in
the middle of them, flying between skies and all is white and clean and
soft."
     "What about Garrobin?" I mentioned the large town I knew lay about
fifty leagues north of me. "Have you seen it?" I dreamed of seeing the
town, a real town, I had never been further away than the towns just north
and west of my farm. I sold my calves at one and bought my supplies at the
other. Beyond that, there was the farm, and nothing else.
     "Many times." He agreed. "The towns of your people are extraordinary,
the roofs are like little mountains all arranged in squares and rectangles
and other shapes, all of them inside a confined area, surrounded by your
walls."
     "But what of the crowds and people?"
     "I see them, like so many small blobs moving around and the horses are
long blobs in front of the square of the wagons, and they're moving around
like...like these ants!"
     Ants. We were ants to this angel. He flew all his life well above
ground and never (until he'd been injured) had he deigned to come down and
see us living below. His people hunted the flying animals and never those
on the ground, they came alight only in the high reaches of the mountains
of the west and east and we were nothing and more than nothing to
them. While he never attempted to sneer or denigrate Men, the feelings
underlay his words just the same.
     This sort of thing went on and finally, one day, I said, "Cebrin, have
you ever seen a festival?"
     "None such as your people have, except from above. I watch the way
your people boil about in the streets and it's very colorful and
chaotic. And sometimes you form lines all dressed alike and that's funny to
watch from above." Like I said, under his words was a scorn for all things
earthbound.
     "It looks different from the ground." I told him. "Come with me to the
festival this weekend and you will see."
     We covered his wings, which were beginning to molt already, with a
cloak and went with others on a wagon to the town to the north where the
festival was. There was drink and laughter and jokes and stories on the
wagonride, which pleased Cebrin greatly, and then we made it to the
festival itself. It was a carnival and everyone in the town was in festive
dress, colors and costumes and there were games and races and
entertainments. Cebrin took it all in wide-eyed, amazed at the differences
and colors and imagination of the earthbound dwellers upon whom he had
always felt nothing but scorn. He never gave himself away as an angel and
the costumes of the others helped him to blend in, many who couldn't afford
a full costume had donned cloaks and masks or such.
     We partied through the night and the next morning, the wagon took us
back to the farm. We arrived near noon, I fed the animals hastily and then
went back to the house intending to sleep until nightfall. When I got back
to my room, I saw Cebrin had crawled into my bed. My new bed, that is, for
he had never left the bed in which I had placed him that first day, injured
and afraid, I had created a second one for my own use.
     I went to my old bed and undressed, started to climb into it when
Cebrin said, "Hold, Harld."
     "You're in my bed." I pointed out. "I was going to leave you be."
     "I chose your bed." Cebrin said. "And I do not wish to be left be."
     It was then that I saw that the loincloth, which he had never taken
off in my presence, was lying on the ground beside my feet. Looked over at
Cebrin and he proved his nakedness by lifting back the coverlet and his
wings flexed outwards. Feathers fell from them from his molt, and they
looked less than glorious...but this was the first time I had seen him flex
them out fully. He gave a slow, leisurely beat and that lifted him bodily
up and he was then on his knees. His manhood was thrusting out proudly,
long and curving upwards, the head was longer and pointed more at the end
than any man's organ I had ever seen. But those were the only variances
between this angel's cock and a human tool and I knew instantly how he
intended to reward me for my kindnesses to him and the joys I had shown him
on this day.
     Gulping hard, I stepped toward him and into the bed. Kneeling beside
him on the bed, I reached for his organ as he reached for mine and our
hands closed upon each other. Cebrin immediately began to pull upon my dong
and I nearly swooned at the adept servicing he was giving me. I shook
myself and began to return the favor.
     I did not know how far my angel would deign to join with me in this
pleasure, and did not wish to presume. As a result, I let him set the pace
for our lovemaking. Perhaps Cebrin was used to this, or expected to be the
dominant lover, for he leaned forward and we kissed as we continued to pull
upon each other's dongs. When he finished the kiss, over which he took his
time, he let go of me and grasped me by my shoulders and lowered me onto
the bed on my back. I wondered at this, then I realized; his wings would
hinder him in most positions of lovemaking. He would have to be on top of
me, whatever he chose to do. So I waited to see what he would do.
     He bent over me, his head diving toward my dong and I marveled again,
as he suckled on my manhood, how experienced and pleasurable this was. How
could an angel that had never come to Earth before know how to please a
man? Were we really that similar? No matter, his motions were everything I
needed to feel pleasure, his lips were smooth and moist and slid back and
forth with the speed and grip that makes an oral servicing the delight it
is to any hard-working man who gets to just lie there and enjoy it!
     I kept waiting for him to take mastery of me, to lift my legs so he
could drive his dong into my ass, and I had determined to let him do just
that. After all, he considered us lesser beings than his own, why would he
condescend to do anything but....
     Yes, he was letting go. A moment of delight before he chose to use me
for his own desires.  I looked at him, he was rising again with his wings
beating, again the feathers flew as more detached from his plumage. His
wings truly looked rather frowzy now, but no feathered being looks regal
when molting, the feathers must be replaced from time to time, and the
short time of being flightless (or hindered in flight, I should say, I had
no reason to believe he had lost the power of flight to anything but his
injury) is worth it to have a fresh set of feathers to give maximum lift
and power to the flying bird or angel.
     In my bemusement, I scarely noticed that he had risen enough to
straddle my waist with his feet on the bed, and then he lowered himself
onto his knees in the same location and then he was sitting nearly upon my
abdomen and I still did not know what he intended.
     It was only when his hand reached behind him and grasped my wet prong
did I understand.  He guided my dong to his anus and as the warm sphincter
kissed my glans I moaned. "You don't have to do this, Cebrin, I don't
require you to...."
     "I require it." he said to me. "I require it well."
     So I acquiesced, my guilt abated, and he pressed against me and my
cock slowly spread the sphincter muscles and I entered him with all glory
and delight.
     Once I was fully inside him, my glans inserted, he gave a gasp and
thrust himself downwards, driving me into his body fully at one
extraordinary motion. I moaned and my hands found purchase on his thighs,
and I gripped him. He moaned himself, and began to bounce up and down upon
me.
     His wings were flexing, beating about us, the feathers were flying as
he did, but the power and lift they gave his body caused him to rise fully
upwards on my cock and then when he lowered his wings with power, he was
driven back down to the base once again. His wings beat faster, and his
body moved up and down on me, he was milking my dong in a way that I had
never experienced before.
     I wanted to show him some return for his efforts, some appreciation. I
did the only thing I could in this position, I grabbed his cock and began
to pump him as fast I could. He groaned and his wings pounded harder,
moving him up and down upon me faster. His body was beautiful and sleek and
shone with a light coating of sweat, this was a hard exertion for him after
a day and night of revelry, and he was panting with his exertions and his
joy, and my own body was wrenched, for I, too, had expended so much of my
energy in the day's festivities.
     When my climax arrived, it was a relief, and I did not try to hold
back, I simply gasped out, "I am finishing, I am finishing!" to warn him if
he wished to pull away from me rather than take my seed within him.
     He did not pull off from me, but continued to milk at my prick with
every thrust upwards and downwards and I groaned, louder and louder, and
then I exclaimed, "I am done!" and my cock ejaculated upwards into him,
hard and fast and heavy was the flow of my sperm, and I shook with my joy
and I clung to his thighs with my hands, squeezing his flexing muscles
hard, and his wings beat, beat, beat the air about me.
     And as I writhed in my ecstasy, he crooned a queer cry I'd never heard
before and then his own spunk was spraying over my body, he jetted his jizz
in a way that it easily reached my lower face and neck with each wad, and I
felt the salty packets of jism dribble down my chin and neck onto the
bed. Only the final squirt lacked any power and landed upon my stomach,
directly under the glans of his prick, and with it globbed on me there, he
was done and he lay himself down upon me and we kissed again, two lovers,
joined in our joy and combined in our coitus and we lay there and I fell
soundly asleep like that.
     It was the first of many such joinings. Cebrin was constantly seeking
opportunities to lie with me, whether it was in the bed at night, at first
morning's light, or in the fields at midday. And each time, we mated in
that manner, with him above me, his wings powering his lovemaking to a
level beyond that of mere humans.
     He finished his molt and his new feathers came in and grew to full
glory in the space of less than ten days' time. The spring planting had
been a great joy to me, planting my seed in the ground and then my seed in
his willing ass.
     And then the morning came when I opened my eyes and he was standing
before me, but his loincloth was back in place and he was looking at me
with sadness. "I must go." He said. "My people will wonder if I have
survived. I must return and prove myself worthy of rejoining their flights
once again."
     "You have to prove yourself to them?" I wondered at that.
     "They saw me fall. A weak warrior is a danger to all, not just
himself. But I feel I can pass their tests, thanks to you."
     "To me?"
     "Our joinings were an excellent way for me to restore my wings to
their full functionality."  he told me. "I could not fly, but I could make
sure the muscles remained strong as I healed and molted and grew a new set
of feathers."
     "I...I see." I said. I had thought he had been having sex with me out
of gratitude or kindness or love. "I am glad you are well." I managed to
get out.
     "I shall never forget you." he said to me and with no further
farewell, he walked out the door and with a beat of his wings, he climbed
into the sky. By the time I made it outside, he was only a small flicker of
wings in the air, flying back to the mountains that were his home.
     I could be sad or angry, or any other such emotion as I remember
Cebrin. But there was a happy thought that came to me before I could feel
that way.
     He gave me several weeks of sexual joy...that was his way of paying me
in full for the healing of his broken wing.

                             THE END
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