Harpy

Copyright © 2012 by Chew Toy

WARNING: The usual disclaimers and warnings apply. The characters in this story have sex; if that offends you or for some reason you are Not Allowed to read about such things, stop now. The events in this story might not be moral or even possible; the point is to give you a hot fantasy, not a blueprint for life.

Thanks to Lilith Theron for inspiration, and to Tabico for showing how it's done.

-

Sylvia was eighteen when she left to hear the harpies.

Officially they didn't exist- or, depending on which official story you listened to, they *had* existed but were gone now, eradicated by the brave steely-eyed officers of the civil defense force, armed with floodlights and shotguns and very, very good earplugs- but everyone knew where they were. It was why the city didn't have a homeless problem anymore. Which, of course, was why in reality the city officials left the last remaining ones, the tough and clever and well-hidden ones, alone.

If you were so down on your luck that huddling on a heating grate seemed like a good option, there was always a more attractive one. An evening of bliss, listening to the most beautiful music the mind could imagine conceiving... and then no troubles at all, ever again.

It was a kinder, gentler way, the more honest of the city fathers might say off the record, if you got them very drunk.

They didn't mention, of course, that while it was an option that you could choose when all else was falling apart, it was also an option that could choose you. There *were* still homeless people, a few, banded together in an enclave they called the Anti-Harpy Protection Squad. But they stayed very well hidden, so the police left them alone. And they still got picked off one by one.

Sylvia had read everything that anyone had ever said, on or off the record, about the harpies.

Her parents had thought it was a way to cope with a chldhood boogeyman. Learn all you can about it, as a way of controlling your fear. Knowlege is power, and things we know are always less scary than the unknown.

She didn't tell them it wasn't fear.

For as long as Sylvia could remember, the thought of being *controlled* by something outside herself had held an irresistible fascination, which early in puberty she had finally realized was sexual. Thinking about being controlled got her off.

When she first heard about the harpies, that desire found an object.

She couldn't remember how many times she had jilled off to the image of herself, hearing the harpies' song and being irresistibly drawn to them, too fascinated to turn back even when she saw them. By most accounts they were hideous, ugly of face and sharp of claw, with dirty shit-smeared vultures' bodies and the heads and large, sagging breasts of gap-toothed and cruel old women. Though in her fantasies there was generally something compellingly beautiful about them, and they were cleaner. She would think she should be terrified, but be unable to reach the thought, watching outside herself as she walked zombie-like into their clutches, offering herself up to them. In her fantasies, they let her suck on their nipples before tearing her apart with their huge sharp claws.

When she wasn't just making pictures in her head she was watching popular media portrayals of them- they were more popular than sharks as a cinematic way to die now, with even some soap-operas having a character wander into the bad part of town and hear the song, only to be rescued by some fortunate event.

Everybody wants to hear the harpies' song, but no-one wants to die.

There was one recording of a bit of their song that she had been able to find. They were generally restricted, classified, contraband. It wasn't nearly as compelling in a recording as in real life, she had read... but Sylvia knew that if she ever listened to it on something she could carry with her, something with headphones, she would just put it on a loop and go to them, still listening, until she could hear the real thing. She had had to eliminate all portable music players from the house (her parents didn't listen to music much anyway), after the one scare she had with that.

Thinking about buying a portable music player next time, or just going to them without even needing it, made her cum every time, when she masturbated. It was her favorite thing to listen to.

As she grew older, her fantasies grew bolder. She thought about getting a real recording of their songs, and playing it somewhere public, over the PA system, snaring everyone. At school... at a ball game...

She'd mixed the one recording she had with a pop song, and given the mix to some of her friends. They listened to it obsessively, and remarked on how they couldn't figure out what she'd done to it. Her fantasy of telling them, while they were listening, and taking them all to see the harpies, kept her running to lock her bedroom door for weeks.

But finally her obsession came to a head. She needed to seek them out, and *do* something. She needed to *serve* them. Somehow.

Probably, they would just tear her apart for their next meal. She actually came thinking about *that*, when she considered it. About how it would be their choice and not hers.

But she hoped there would be some way she could serve them even more. So she wrote a note, and taped it to her shirt, and went to see the harpies.

-

Once she got to the worst part of town, she relaxed. Not even muggers came down here. Not anymore.

It *was* possible to resist the song, when it was faint. So a few people had still used this area- some had even lived here- for a while. But over time, it got inside you. Sylvia knew that she would never be able to resist, even if she'd wanted to- she had listened to that recording so many times, had trained her body even beyond the song's effects that listening to it meant coming. She wasn't sure if all her friends had jilled off to the mixed version she'd made (she knew at least one had), but she didn't think they would ever be able to resist either.

Sylvia started listening intently, hoping to hear the song soon. But she was so keyed up, every drip of water or gust of wind sounded like those voices, to her, maddeningly hard to place until she realized it wasn't any place at all, just the normal noises of the city. Nothing she needed to follow.

Until she did. Sylvia didn't notice at first that her footsteps had acquired a rhythm and a direction; she just went in the direction that felt right. Until she rounded a corner and it came a little louder, and she realized that it *was* right: it was the voice of the recording, the voice of her dreams and fantasies. It was everything she had ever wanted, all her life, and it was promising her paradise.

She kicked up her heels and ran.

-

They were in the tunnels under the city now, but the harpy's aerie was still atop a low wall, and the creature let her climb. Which she did, happily, joyfully. Her shoes were wet from wading across the foot-deep water in front of the wall, and her breath was ragged from running, but she knew this was the only thing that had ever mattered to her, and she didn't care whether it was the perfect pure voice of the angel atop the wall that told her that or her own years of lustful fantasies. This was here, and now, and right.

The first thing she noticed, when she reached the top of the wall, was how clean the nest was. It was a broad room-like indentation which might once have been intended as a control room or machine room over the tunnel below, now empty of furniture but filled with clean, sweet-smelling dried grasses covering the floor.

The second thing she noticed was how beautiful the harpy was.

Everything she had ever heard about their appearance was a lie. Well, the harpy was clearly half woman and half vulture. But the government and the police and the scientists and explorers must all have conspired to say that they were ugly, to make following their song sound less appealing. Her feathers were clean and neat and soft-looking and colored beautiful muted tones, and her face and breasts could have been on any magazine cover.

Or porn movie. This was already better than any of her fantasies. Sylvia hastily pulled herself into the room, noticing almost as an afterthought how extremely damp her panties were as her legs rubbed together.

"Hello, pretty morsel. Will you unwrap yourself for me? Oh! You have a note," said the radiant creature.

Sylvia hastily pulled the note off her shirt and set it down in front of the harpy. She hadn't known whether it would *talk* with her before eating her, or whether she would be able to talk; so she'd wanted to make her intentions clear. Then, when it looked briefly back up at her after glancing down at the paper, she started stripping, as lustily and demonstratively as she could.

She had practiced this in the mirror at home. It was also part of her fantasies. She was pretty good at it.

The harpy eyed her with gratifying attention and hunger as she stripped, slowly making herself naked and ready for whatever it chose to do with her. Then, when she was fully undressed, it pointedly left her that way while it looked down and read what she had written.

"Dear Harpy,

All my life I have wanted to give myself to one of you. Please eat me if you choose, but if there is some other way I can serve you, please let me do that first.

Sincerely,

Sylvia"

The harpy sat back and looked at her. Sylvia, blushing deeply but full of the irresistible song and knowing more completely than she ever had before that this was right, looked at the ground and waited.

"Well," the harpy finally said. "Do you know where little harpies come from?"

Sylvia stared, not sure what she was being asked.

The harpy lay back further, her head against the wall, and opened her wings. And her thighs. Sylvia could see, between those bird legs, where the feathers parted for a genital opening more like her own than a bird's.

(She knew what vultures' private parts looked like. She had *needed* to look that up. Sometimes, in her fantasies, the harpies' looked like that too. But this... this was just like a human girl. This was like her. She wondered if it tasted like her...)

"Come here, girl, and kiss me. Everywhere. Make me like it." The creature was smiling, the most inviting smile that Sylvia had ever seen. And telling her to do what she had always longed for. Almost not believing her luck, Sylvia knelt before it, and leaned forward for a kiss.

"My name is Mary," said the harpy, and kissed her.

Sylvia had had one boyfriend, and a few shy kisses with girls... but this was nothing that could even compare. The fact that she was tenderly, passionately kissing the object of her years of fervent worship made the perfect physical sensations almost irrelevant, but her lips still tingled as the harpy- Mary- finally drew her head back with a sultry, amused smile, looked her in the eyes for a moment, and then leaned her head back, pointedly exposing her neck.

Sylvia took the cue. She planted a line of tiny, reverent kisses down that neck and just down to the erect nipple of one perfectly perky D-cup breast, getting more eager as Mary cooed (that *sound*! Sylvia forced herself to concentrate as her pussy clenched and shuddered just *feeling* that *voice*...), then across to the other nipple and then around each breast, across and between, following the angelic cries of pleasure that felt like they were inside her, finally nuzzling her hair against the soft feathers leading down the beautiful bird body and down to...

And now Sylvia was coming, openly, at the noises Mary was making as Sylvia worshipfully licked her luscious harpy cunt. Mary's talons were scratching long bleeding lines along Sylvia's arms as they thrashed in pleasure, and even the hot stinging pain of that felt good, and perfect, and right. Sylvia paused for a moment to lick two fingers, the way she herself liked, and slide them up inside Mary's opening as she put her tongue back on the top and she was *still* coming from that *sound* and it made her touch faster and harder and somehow all her fingers were inside and it was the best thing she ever did, the best thing she ever felt, but the sounds were getting even better and she didn't know what would happen if Mary

and the world

went

white

-

Sylvia woke to a kiss on her forehead. "Wha?" she said, not even sure how to begin to remember where she was.

Then Mary spoke, and Sylvia felt her whole being orient around that voice.

"If you do a good job, see, you don't have to be conscious when I eat you. The last thing you remember is perfect bliss."

After a moment Sylvia realized she *was* conscious. "Did I displease you?" she asked frantically, feeling her heart about to break.

"Oh no," Mary reassured her. But I have something even better planned for you. I misled you a little when I asked if you knew where little harpies come from. They don't come from sex with other harpies, because we're all women. And they don't come from sex with human men... though I like that a lot. They're so *grateful* now, you know?"

Sylvia tried to puzzle it out, but was distracted by realizing she couldn't move. She couldn't even look down at her body, very well- everything below her neck seemed to be packed in something, something hard that kept her from moving. She could *just* reach her chin down enough to touch a hard, smooth, rounded surface. Like a shell.

"New harpies come from human girls, Sylvia. And now, you can be with me for a *very* long time. Just the two of us. Unless you have some friends who might like to join you?"

Sylvia thought about her friends, up above in the city, listening obsessively to her music mixes... and thought she just might.