[Tutail Leaves A Small, Plushie Recreation Of Itself Just Inside The Door Of The Cage Before Scurrying Away While The Harpy Princess Sleeps.]
[The Doll Doll Ticks Away Quietly, Waiting To Be Played With.]
The harpy twitches in her sleep, curled over her Egg. Again. Again. Regular. Rhythmic.
Suddenly she's awake, and within a second she's careening across the cage, slamming into the bars - too late, just in time to see the swish of a dress around the corner. Damn this place and its easy comforts, lulling her into a deep sleep. A year ago she'd have been awake at the first tick. She presses herself against the bars and keens like a dying thing, low and bitter, her brain tormenting her with the lingering echo of that perfect sound. Lingering, persisting, as if-
Her head snaps to the door and she crouches, wings spreading defensively, ready to pounce. She stares silently, eyes pinning in confusion as she slowly relaxes, settling into a gentle twitch in time with the toy's quiet ticking.
A tingle starts in the base of her skull, tiny sparks threatening to ignite a frenzy, fanned by an indignation, an insult, a sense of mockery... but the embers quickly fizzle and cool. This was a gift, not a slight. And even if Tutail somehow did mean offense by offering this tiny facsimile, well, the harpy could show she could handle it with grace.
She paces over to the little doll and delicately lifts it in her talons. She pauses, then transfers it to her wings, embracing it against her chest, more to hold it securely than to show any affection. She turns back to her nest, takes a step, and pauses again.
It's not the same, that tiny ticking. It lacks the power, the potential, the horrible perfection... but, it's still quite nice. It doesn't pound her brainstem the same way, but there is a pleasant tickle, She squishes it a little tighter against herself, feeling the tiny mechanic whirring against her feathers through the toy's soft stuffing.
Her mouth hangs open, her pupils grow a little wider, her breathing gains a small hitch. She swallows and stares down at the little doll, turns it over hesitantly, nudges the skirts apart with the wrist of one wing. Could it have a... no, of course not. Featureless, like Tutail used to be. She stares at the flat spot between the plushie's legs for a few seconds, then lowers her head and gives it a little lick. Again and again, soft fabric growing damp under her tongue, tiny ticking worming its way deeper into her brain until she's moaning, shoving her mouth desperately between the doll's legs.
Fabric brushes her teeth and she contemplates. She could make her own hole, force her own way in... she shudders in anticipation at the thought, clenches her jaw, squeezes her eyes shut, and dismisses the idea. She can't risk it. Better to stop now, prove she can control herself. She turns the doll upright again to stare at it, stare into its soft plush eyes, and with another tick brings it to her face to kiss.
Slowly at first, quickly building in passion, tongue darting against the little doll's little stitched mouth. Her kisses trail down, across its cheek, to its neck, her tongue flicking teasingly under the collar of the pretty dress. She moans, shivering, reveling in the tiny ticking, and slowly lowers the doll towards her groin.
It's difficult to maneuver it with wings, but when its face bumps up against her stiff prick, she gasps and quivers, She awkwardly cradles it beneath herself, the doll's little arms half-wrapped around her glistening cock, its face staring up at her from alongside the tip, just as expressionless as the real Tutail, reminding her of their first encounter, the open gearworks, the thought of falling into it...
She can sense the minute tickings of the clockwork within it against her sensitive member, and she helplessly humps her hips forward, grinding herself along the doll. She moans, high and desperate, and within moments she's thrusting uncontrollably, spellbound, enraptured.
Her legs shake, nearly buckling at times, and her wings tremble so strongly she nearly drops the doll every few thrusts - every time it shifts position it rubs a new part of her, and she gasps and moans anew.
Part of her feels foolish, like a child, grinding against every conveniently-shaped tree branch, but the rest of her is trapped by the tiny ticking and the ghost of desperate memory.
She manages just enough self-control to hump past the doll's face as she cums, shivering and gasping as her seed spatters on the ground before her, avoiding soiling the delicate fabric too badly, although it is still smeared with traces of her slick.
Gingerly she pulls the doll up her body, keeping it free of her dripping cock, and clutches it to her chest as she staggers back towards her nest in a daze. The sight of her Egg rouses her senses somewhat, and she shakes her head, then the rest of her body, ruffling and resettling her feathers.
She glances about her nest for a suitable spot, and her eyes fall back to the Egg, as if there was any other choice. She carefully tucks the Tiny Tutail in place next to the Egg, takes a deep breath, then nestles herself back down, listening as the growing heartbeat in the Egg beneath slowly syncs its beating to match that of hers and the ticking toy beside it.
