As I drew, day after day, I realized that I was drawing the
shape of something black that was blocking the curtain behind.
Then I got excited. I drew in my steadiest hand, tracing each curve,
using my magnifier, until I had the shape drawn and defined, and long
before I finished, I knew what I was drawing and I drew it anyway. I
drew it and then I looked at my paper sack and I saw that what I had
drawn was a pair of wings, black and powerful, spread out and stretching
out of the shot.
#
She curled the prehensile tips of her wings up the soles of his feet,
making him go, Yeek! and jump in the bed.
"Are you awake?" she said, twisting her head around to brush her lips
over his.
"Rapt," he said.
She giggled and her tits bounced.
"Good," she said. "'Cause this is the important part."
#
Auntie came home early that day and found me sitting at her vanity, with
the photos and the water glass and the drawings on the paper sacks
spread out before me.
Our eyes met for a moment. Her pupils shrank down to tiny dots, I
remember it, remember seeing them vanish, leaving behind rings of
yellowed hazel. One of her hands lashed out in a claw and sank into my
hair. She lifted me out of the chair by my hair before I'd even had a
chance to cry out, almost before I'd registered the fact that she was
hurting me -- she'd never so much as spanked me until then.
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