The Purple Parrot
by Mat Twassel
Copyright© 2025 by Mat Twassel
Fiction Sex Story: What happens at the Purple Parrot doesn't always stay at the Purple Parrot. Illustrated.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fiction Illustrated .
Jamie and Andrew managed to secure a reservation for a private room at the ultra-exclusive Purple Parrot. The establishment provided a bottle of Au-delà de l’exquis as well as a complimentary parrot, though the diminutive bird neither spoke, sang, nor squawked, and was barely if at all purple. On the plus side he didn’t poop. Later they learned that the bird was not a parrot at all but a barbet. “He’s practically weightless,” Andrew said, lifting his finger upon which the bird was perched.
“Just so he doesn’t get in my hair,” Jamie replied. “And isn’t it kind of strange that they gave us only one chair?”
“Maybe I’m supposed to sit in your lap,” Andrew said.
Jamie laughed. “And not even one glass for the liqueur. Are we supposed to drink it straight out of the bottle?”
“Maybe first test it off our fingertips,” Andrew suggested. His hand with the bird moved toward the bottle then stopped. “Maybe you should...”
“Or course,” Jamie agreed, and she dipped her forefinger into the bottle’s neck, brought it out, and tasted it.
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