Nyasha's Morning (cont.) (Patreon)

What sheets clung to her long, lithe legs slid away as she sashayed to the suite’s bathroom. The constant dribbling of milk from her nipples sent little familiar streams down the broad curves of her breasts, and each step of her feet - and bob of her boobs - dropped a little spatter of milk to the smooth wooden boards. The size and weight was unquestionably awkward, but she’d long had time to become accustomed. Like most everywhere she went, a trail of small milk splats followed her, this time from the bed across the room.

A large clawed tub sat in the center of the little washing space, centered and angled so one - or more - bathers could look out the suite, over the balcony, and across the sand and ocean. The room was certainly designed for lazy pleasure and a mild amount of voyeurism. As Nyasha settled in, legs spread, preparing to pluck, she gave the magnificent tropical sunrise only a casual glance.

By now she had seen nearly ten years of such beautiful sunrises. She didn’t find them any less lovely, but the urgency to admire them had long waned away.

Nyasha less bit and more nibbled her lower lip as fingers found the first feather. The tickling pulses of milky release, constantly throbbing her nipples and sending little warm pulses from her breasts to her core, was enough to hold her in near constant arousal all day. But if that hadn’t been enough, then the buttery release of each feather popping loose from her labia would make up for it. Nyasha never would have expected that that first wish, for a permanently hairless and pleasurable pussy, would have resulted in this.

Yeah, she had expected it to be sensitive, maybe more wet than it had been, but the genie had gotten creative. The small, raven-black feathers certainly were not the curly brown pubic hairs she’d once sported. If she left them alone her pussy plumage would form a plush heart shape over her slit and lower mons, nothing especially unattractive. But it did make other daily bodily functions  - both the biologically necessary and pleasurably optional ones - awkward and messy. And they had a habit of constantly caressing her larger and engorged clit. Between leaking nipples and tickled clit the day would be an absolutely madness of arousal if she didn’t pluck.

But every feather that released her labia with a gentle pull sent a deep momentary demand for fucking to her lower lips that she’d have to deal with before the breakfast buffet.

As her body quivered in the rhythm of removal, Nyasha also admitted to herself one thing - a mild bit of vanity that drove her to discard the feathers each morning. Part of the long tail of her encounter with the genie was the inability to talk at all about genies, wishes, or magic. She was incapable of acknowledging or sharing her supernatural experience. Any attempt to bring such words to her lips would be replaced with an orgasmic-sounding moan (and without the implied pleasure).

The enormous, full breast she’d asked for which now constantly leaked that fullness? Those she could explain away as hormones run amok. The all-inclusive resort was 21 and over only and had no problem with toplessness, a detail Nyasha was grateful the genie had chosen. She walked around all day with these enormous lust-and-envy-drawing tits on display and had no problems talking about them.

But when she had one of the many visiting men in her bed she did not enjoy muttering around the answers of the understandable questions about her feathery folds.

Her nipples weren’t the only things dripping by the time Nyasha dropped the last of the feathers into the bathroom’s bin. She stood, took a few breaths, tried not to slip in the milky puddles that had formed around her while plucking, and stepped over to her dresser. There wasn’t much to choose from amongst the drawers, mostly just silky sarongs. It was all she needed to wear. She knotted over her hip a black one with a purple flower pattern and slunk out of her room.

She needed to sate a variety of hungers.

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