FLYING FALCONS
An erotic short story
Margaret Scott
Published by Accent Press Ltd 2010
Copyright © Margaret Scott 2010
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Digital Edition converted and published by Andrews UK Ltd 2010
Flying Falcons
by Margaret Scott
Elizabeth took a deep breath of clean, country air, delicately perfumed with the scent of oil seed from the yellow fields nearby. Sunday, as predicted, had grown into another hot midsummer’s day, perfect weather for the sexy little pale blue dress she was wearing. Very low at the front and very high at the hem, it was made for attracting male attention and at nineteen, she had the hourglass shape to fill it. The outfit was finished off nicely with a pair of white high heels she’d only ever worn once before and a white handbag which contained little more than her car keys and a digital camera.
She rang the doorbell for a second time. The house before her was big and obviously worth a fortune. A long gravel drive swept up from the quiet main road below. Out in the country, the nearest neighbour was at least a 15-minute walk away.
The sole occupant of the house was a man called Max. He’d made his hobby of keeping birds of prey into a business. He bred the birds for sale and performed flying displays at country shows, which was where Elizabeth’s brother, Jeff, had met him. Jeff was immediately fascinated by the birds. For the past year he’d spent the majority of his free time with Max, learning how to handle and care for the birds. They would often go out on weekends to fly some of Max’s many hawks and falcons over farmland or moorland. As Jeff was unable to drive, Max would often bring him home to the house he and Elizabeth still shared with their parents, ending the day with a discussion of the day’s flying at the kitchen table.
Max was direct and to the point, confident. Easily old enough to be her father, he wasn’t the kind of man Elizabeth would normally have found attractive, but for some reason she couldn’t even have explained to herself never mind anyone else she would always find some excuse to be in the kitchen when he was present.
Despite the age difference, or maybe even because of it, she felt an almost childish desire to draw his attention, to impress him. She would supply them with their tea and biscuits while they talked and she’d enjoy but pretend not to notice Max’s eyes following her around the room.
That Saturday Elizabeth and Max had been left alone while Jeff went to answer a phone call. While Max sat slowly rolling his empty coffee cup between his thick fingers he had invited her to visit his home to see his large collection of birds of prey, quite noticeably leaving Jeff out of the equation. He promised to give her a guided tour, while his eyes enjoyed a slow, obvious jaunt of their own over the comfortable swell of her breasts.
Agreeing a little too quickly, Elizabeth had the sudden image of one of those hairy, sunburnt hands of his disappearing down behind the bow on the front of her delicate silk panties and felt herself growing damp at the thought, and embarrassed.
The chemistry between the two hadn’t gone unnoticed. Later that day Jeff had subjected her to the predictable “He’s old enough to be your father,” speech.
‘I’m only going to take some photos,’ Elizabeth had insisted innocently.
After the third ring Elizabeth decided Max was not going to answer the front door. He had promised to leave the rear gate unlocked if he was out of earshot so she headed round the back, the gravel of the drive crunching under her feet.
Max owned a massive stretch of land behind the house. There were several large aviaries containing pairs of birds of prey down one side, faced on the other by a row of single birds, which sat on perches in the centre of gravel beds, each one under a separate weathering to protect them from the elements. Various raucous calls echoed across the garden as if announcing her arrival. She couldn’t see Max anywhere so she took her camera out and began taking pictures.
In one aviary a pair of Harris hawks looked out at her. They were a deep, chocolate brown with red patches on their shoulders and long brown tails which looked as though they had been dipped in white paint. Like the other birds they sported hooked beaks and grasping talons. Further along she paused to watch a pair of Barn owls standing together high on a perch, cuddled in to one another like lovers.
A small bird hovering in the sky above a high wall of conifers at the bottom of the garden caught her attention. It was completely still in the warm air, its wings trembling as it held its position, staring intently down at the ground beneath it.
‘Kestrel,’ a familiar deep voice from behind informed her.
Elizabeth couldn’t keep the smile from her face. Typical Max. No hello, nice to see you, how are you? No bullshit. Straight and to the point. ‘One of yours?’ she asked.
His eyes quickly took in her dress, which was doing a marvellous job of emphasizing her ample breasts. ‘No, that one’s wild. There’s plenty of rough grass over there. It’ll be hunting for voles and mice.’
Max was equal in height to Elizabeth but chunky, well built. He had a strong brow and roman nose, below which he wore a moustache. On some men such facial hair would often look like an unnecessary extra, but on Max it complimented his strong features perfectly.
‘You look good.’
She smiled broadly at his comment, eager to show it pleased her.
‘Would you like to hold one?’ he asked.
‘Why not?’
Using a leather falconry glove he’d been carrying he picked up a small falcon. It wore leather straps called jesses on its legs to enable it to be carried on the fist, a necessity for flying birds. It was a smart-looking bird, with brown/grey wings, small brown splashes on a white chest and a rusty tinge to the back of its head.
‘This little gem is a Lanner falcon,’ he informed her. Using his free hand to support the end of the glove the bird was standing on he carefully slid his hand out so Elizabeth could slide hers in. He guided her arm into the correct position, out away from the body but tilted slightly upwards. ‘Where’s your camera?’
She handed it to him, unable to take her eyes from the falcon standing quietly on her fist.
Max took a few pictures of her holding the falcon, smiling brightly. ‘I’m flying him at a show next weekend. You’re more than welcome to come.’
Elizabeth grinned. ‘I wouldn’t miss it. Thanks.’
‘It needs to be exercised today, but it’ll have to be weighed first. They come back for food, so if it’s too heavy it means I fed it too much yesterday and we can’t fly it. Do you want to help me to do that?’
‘OK.’
Max carefully took the falcon back onto his own fist and led her towards an outhouse near the main house. Elizabeth found herself becoming aroused at the thought of going indoors with him. She hoped he wanted to touch her. If he really wanted her she was sure he would find it hard to keep his hands to himself in a restricted space.
Inside the outhouse there was a large freezer which Elizabeth guessed held meat the birds of prey needed to eat. There were rows of shelves covered with gloves, hoods and other falconry items. Along one wall there was a long bench with a
large set of old style weighing scales in the middle, on top of which was attached a large ‘T’ shaped perch and numerous other bits and bobs.
Max held the bird close to the perch and the falcon, obviously well used to the routine, jumped from his glove to the perch and stood quietly as he checked its weight.
Elizabeth hovered near him, keeping her body as close to his as she could without actually touching. ‘Is it OK?’ she asked.
‘Yes, it’s fine.’ He regarded her silently for a moment. ‘Would you like to hold it again?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, feeling a little disappointed that the bird was all he seemed to want her to handle.
She took the glove back from him and held her arm up just in front of the bird. It opened its wings slightly to steady itself as it stepped from the perch to her fist, then settled quickly.
Max pushed the bird’s jesses between her gloved fingers and tethered the end of the bird’s leash through the hole in the glove’s cuff. Elizabeth was totally in control of the falcon.
‘Are you OK with that?’ he asked quietly, his voice slightly husky as he stepped behind her, out of view.
‘Yes, fine,’ she said, wondering what he was doing.
His lips near her ear, he whispered, ‘Don’t let it go.’ Both of his hands cupped her buttocks. ‘You’ve got the most gorgeous arse,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘But you know that, don’t you?’ His hands slid slowly up and down.
Elizabeth felt a moment of surprise, swiftly followed by excitement. She moaned. She undulated her body, pushing her behind against the welcome pressure of his fingers.
The falcon pulled one foot up into its breast feathers and looked quite relaxed.
Elizabeth’s groin filled with warmth. She closed her eyes to enjoy the sexual pulses rippling through her body as Max massaged her behind through the thin fabric of her dress.
Max knew there was little she could do with the falcon sitting on her hand and her helplessness obviously excited him, and her. His fingers kneaded her, soft then hard, sometimes just stroking, sliding gently over the surface, then suddenly squeezing tight handfuls of her flesh, almost painfully so. The edge of one hand worked itself between her butt cheeks, up and down, pressing the material in between. He could so easily have pulled her short dress up and touched her skin, but for now it seemed he just wanted to tease her through her clothes. This is foreplay, Elizabeth thought. He isn’t rushing towards the sex just yet.
Max pulled her hips back to grind his crotch against her backside. She leaned forward slightly, adding to the pressure, enjoying it. She could feel the hard bulge under his jeans pressing against her arse and she wished she could put the bird down so she could turn around and explore it. His left hand slid upward and pulled the thin strap on her shoulder down to uncover one of the breasts he‘d admired so many times before. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He cupped his hairy fingers around the warm, exposed flesh while his other hand moved round to press the front of her dress between her legs.
Still holding the falcon Elizabeth groaned and held her free hand over his to follow his strokes, aching to lift her dress up to guide his probing fingers onto her pussy beneath. A bra wasn’t the only piece of underwear she wasn’t wearing!
The falcon shook its feathers briefly then settled down again, regarding them both with disinterest.
‘I’ll put the bird away,’ Max whispered. He quickly slipped on a spare glove and transferred the falcon back onto his fist, then disappeared outside.
Elizabeth dropped her glove onto the bench and gasped with pleasure. She had often lain in bed trying to imagine the electricity she would feel if she was ever touched by Max. Her pussy felt moist, ready. She was aching to be screwed – she wanted to feel him deep inside her. When he came back he would be; there was no doubt about that. She looked around, wondering where they would do it. Would they go into the house or was he just going to fuck her right there, bent over that cluttered bench or lying on her back on the hard floor?
Max returned quickly, but paused in the doorway. ‘Do you want some more?’
Elizabeth stood tall, trying to look strong and confident. ‘What do you think I want?’
His eyes never leaving hers he closed the door behind him and stepped in front of her, a wry smile playing on his lips.
Her mouth opened slightly, her glistening tongue just protruding. His eyes flicked down to it for a moment, as though he had plans for it.
‘I think you want a good hard fuck,’ he whispered.
‘I might let you,’ she replied, trying to sound clever.
‘It’ll need a bit of lubrication first.’ He glanced down.
She didn’t need to be told twice. She sank to her knees, her hands sliding down his chest to stop at the zipper of his jeans, now at her eye level. She undid the button quickly and pulled his zip down. His white boxers were bulging out, as if something inside was desperate to escape. She pulled the front down to release his thick cock. It wasn’t the longest she’d ever seen, but it was certainly the thickest. It was already well on the way to being fully erect. She wrapped her manicured fingers tight around it, feeling blood rushing into it under her touch.
‘Kiss it,’ Max murmured, not a request, a command.
A bead of pre-come glistened on his opening. Her tongue flicked out to collect it. She purred at the sweet taste. She licked all over his soft helmet, teasing the hole to offer up more. He wrapped his fingers through her blonde hair, holding her head close to him, making it impossible for her to move away. Not that she was going anywhere. She moved her grip slowly up and down his shaft, gently sliding the foreskin over his bell-end then back again while her tongue lapped up his leaking sticky juices. His cock stiffened immediately.
She suddenly opened her mouth wide and took him deep into her throat. Her hungry lips sucked while her tongue explored. She teased him with squeezes of her teeth. She tried to take more and more of him into her throat as the fingers of her free hand explored the thick, wiry fur round the base of his shaft and balls. As she began moving her head back and forth along his pole she squeezed his balls gently. He groaned, rocking his hips slowly back and forth in time with her motion, guiding his shaft deeper into her mouth.
Elizabeth glanced upwards as she worked. His head was tilted back slightly, his eyes closed. His lips were partly open, lost in a pleasure only sex with a relative stranger can provide.
One of her hands was resting on a lump in his pocket at the side of his groin. The fabric under her fingers suddenly began to vibrate. Seconds later, an irritating jingle from an old TV show began to play. His mobile phone.
She glanced up at him again but his eyes were still closed, he clearly wasn’t interested in answering it. Just to make sure she began working his cock harder, faster, pumping him deep into her mouth.
The irritating jingle reached its climax, then began again from the start. Max sighed heavily. His hands closed around the sides of her head as he gently pulled his penis away from her. ‘Shit! I’m sorry, I’d better answer it.’
He stepped back from her and pulled the phone from his pocket, unflipping its clam shell with an angry flick of the wrist. ‘Hello?’ he snapped sharply. ‘John? Oh, God, right. Sorry I forgot...’
Still on her knees, Elizabeth had to smile. There was nothing quite like watching a man have a conversation on his mobile while his cock protruded stiffly from an opening in his trousers like an angry red finger.
‘Yes, sorry. I’ll be there in two minutes.’
Be where in two minutes? she thought.
He snapped the phone shut and stuffed it quickly back into his pocket, then pushed his now wilting erection back inside his boxers. He stepped towards her as he pulled his fly back up. He pulled her to her feet and took her face in both his hands, planting his lips hard on hers. His whiskers tickled her-she’d never kissed a man with a m
oustache before. He kissed her passionately, surprising her. She wondered if he could taste himself on her lips.
‘There’s a lad at the front door, I told him he could come by today to pick a glove up. I forgot all about it. I’ll not be long.’
He hurried out of the outhouse, leaving her alone and aching to be satisfied. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so aroused. Her pussy felt wet and hypersensitive, she was sure when he finally touched it she would orgasm immediately. She thought for a second of pleasuring herself while he was gone but quickly dismissed the idea.
She pushed her dress strap back up onto her shoulder and studied the numerous photographs on the walls of Max at various ages holding different types of birds. Many of the pictures were of him in his younger days, when he was closer to her age. He was a handsome young lad, she thought. She was sure he would have had no trouble attracting the ladies. She wondered why he wasn’t married.
A few minutes dragged into ten, then fifteen. God, what was he doing?
Agitated and bored, she decided to walk out into the sunshine. It was such a glorious day, and the air was completely still and warm. There was no one around outside. She walked slowly down to the gate which split the row of conifers at the bottom of the garden. A large, flat expanse of grass lay on the other side. A flying area, she guessed. It was surrounded by the wild borders the kestrel had been hunting over earlier containing a mix of grass, weeds and buttercups.
She imagined herself lying naked in the middle of that perfectly flat area of grass, staring up into the sky. There was an ache in her abdomen. She needed the release of a rippling orgasm to soothe her arousal. The horniness was a desperate feeling, but it was also a pleasurable one she wanted to savour. She was sure the sex would be great when it happened, but then it would all be over. It would be like the feeling you have when you’re desperately thirsty and are finally given a glass of water, but for a moment you’re reluctant to take that first gulp because you know that enormous feeling of satisfaction you’ve longed for will be over so quickly.
Flying Falcons Page 1