Accept the game and try to finish feeding while resisting their touches

Harpy Aviary, Building Four, Paradise Breeding Farm, Rural Montana, at 12:09 PM on Monday April 3rd, 2024 (Day 1 of 7)

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I swallow hard and nod, my voice coming out steadier than I feel. "Fine. I accept. I'll finish feeding while you... do what you want."

Skye's amber eyes light up with predatory delight. "Oh, this is going to be fun. Hear that, Zephyr? She thinks she can resist us."

"Let's see how long that lasts," Zephyr murmurs from behind me, her taloned hands settling on my hips.

I force myself to move toward the fourth feeding trough, scoop gripped tight in my trembling hand. Just finish the job. Four more troughs. I can do this.

Skye steps aside to let me pass, but her hand trails across my stomach as I move, fingers tracing the dried cum streaks on my shirt. "You're already soaked," she observes, her voice low and amused. "This fabric is practically painted on you."

I dump the protein blend into the fourth trough, trying to focus on the scraping sound of the scoop, the mechanical motion of the task. Behind me, Zephyr's hands slide up my sides, her touch maddeningly light.

"Let's get rid of this wet shirt," Skye says conversationally. "It's really just in the way at this point."

Before I can respond, both harpies move with practiced coordination. Their talons—sharp but controlled—hook into the neckline of my transparent shirt. One swift coordinated pull and the fabric tears with a wet ripping sound, peeling away from my breasts.

Cool air hits my bare chest immediately. My nipples, already hard from the earlier encounters, stand out prominently. The torn shirt hangs in tatters around my waist.

"There we go," Zephyr says appreciatively, her hands immediately cupping my breasts from behind, thumbs brushing over my sensitive nipples. "Much better view."

From the perches above, I hear excited chirping and calls from the watching harpies. Someone whistles appreciatively.

"Look at those tits," Skye says, circling around to my front. Her grey-and-white wings rustle as she reaches out, pinching my left nipple between her thumb and forefinger, rolling it deliberately. "Fuck, they're perfect. All pink and hard already."

I gasp at the sensation, my knees weakening slightly. My pussy clenches involuntarily, a fresh wave of wetness soaking my already-damp panties. The humiliation of being stripped topless in front of eight harpies wars with the undeniable arousal flooding through my body.

"Fifth trough," I manage to say, my voice shaking. I move toward the next feeding station, but both futas stay pressed against me—Zephyr's hands never leaving my breasts, Skye's fingers now trailing down my stomach toward the waistband of my jeans.

"Keep going," Skye encourages, her cock pressing against my hip through my jeans, leaving a smear of pre-cum on the denim. "You're doing so well. Only three more to go."

Zephyr's thumbs continue their maddening circles over my nipples while I try to scoop the feed with trembling hands. The combination of sensations—the weight of their hands, the heat of their cocks against my body, the knowledge that I'm topless and on display—is overwhelming.

"She's shaking," Zephyr observes, her breath hot against my ear. "I can feel how much she wants this."

I pour the feed into the fifth trough, sloshing some over the edge in my distraction.