Craving!

There is a fatigue induced lull shared between you and the feral, disturbed every so often by the heavy gulps of air you take. Your eyelids struggle to fight the pull of gravity causing them to fluster occasionally in an effort to keep them open. Your arms are shot, relegated to little more than wet reeds, The binding vine bestowed upon you by your opponent is likely the only thing keeping you from falling. That, and the still firm hold he has on your left leg.

A meager attempt to raise your head enough to face the lustful drone reveals him to be staring at the aforementioned leg with more than a little interest. Your mind, broken and exhausted, is not equipped to formulate any sort of resistance to what he might have planned for you now that his desire has been doused. You wince when he catches you staring, a sinister grin upturning his beaked lips. Without breaking eye contact, he takes your captured leg by the ankle, draws it in close, and drags a slimy tongue from heel to toe.

If you had the power to recoil, you might have done just that. The tickling sensation as he repeats the process is difficult to ignore, though the coolness left by the trail of saliva isn’t entirely unpleasant. He continues his tasting of your hindpaw, there being very little you can do about it. Somewhere in the back of your thoughts you find yourself hoping that this is another round of foreplay, perhaps to reawaken his passions once more. Any such notions are dispelled when a worrying grumble gurgles up from his midsection.

The pace quickens after more protests emerge from his belly, and soon your other leg, dangling just as uselessly, is held alongside its partner and both of your paws are given the same treatment. A groan escapes you as you're **** to watch this ravenous raptor basting your digits, soles, and finally, your ankles before your worst fears come to bear. With one quick chomp, your stompers disappear into the yawning beak, soon to be joined by most of your calves thanks to a large gulp.

The fear wells up within you, and instinct screams at your legs to kick, or your arms to thrash. Anything that might preserve your survival and ensure your continued existence. The drive of self-preservation, strong as it is, crashes headlong into a brick wall of cold, uncaring reality. Any strength you might have retained after the sonic **** upon your ears was subsequently shot out across your chest, and soon buried by the following tidal wave of bird jizz. There is the feeling of misery somewhere beneath it all, having so thoroughly failed in your journey north. You have trouble, however, latching onto any emotion aside from the encroaching dread spurred on by the feeling of your slender hips getting drawn into the drooling maw before you.

The owl takes his time when he reaches your nethers, apparently enjoying his own flavor intermingled with yours. His long licks and teasing suckles continue all the way up your chest until all that’s left is a Sneasels cringing face and lifeless arms. With naught but a whimper at the cruelty of it all, the first bits of moonlight are stolen from view as one more powerful gulp lodges your head in the infected’s throat. Panic claims what little sanity you have left, so much so that you scarcely feel your wrists freed from their restraints only to be sent along to join the rest of you. **** into a quivering, curled heap, it isn’t long before your already dazed perception begins to slip. The lack of fresh oxygen is the last element required to put you into a troubled, though somewhat merciful slumber.

A satisfied belch would break the tranquil evening air a few minutes later, the Decidueye having thoroughly enjoyed quenching both of his burning needs. What had begun as a rudimentary hunt through his domain had turned out to be quite the enjoyable experience. As the owl relaxed in the still serviceable bed of leaves and twigs he had appropriated from his latest meal, he would run a gentle hand across the dozing feline within. The soft pudge proceeds to offer a grateful ‘Grrrrooohhh’ in response to the tenderizing massage. The feral flyer would lie there as the moon continued its ascent to hang amongst the stars, one hind leg dangling lazily in the breeze, as the soothing sounds of his feline dinner churned away. Soon, post ingestion fatigue would take him and the owl wouldn’t resist the nap, so content was he with the first hunt of the evening.