Sex with a Satyr

“Come canoodle with me?” he asked.

She grinned. “Gladly.”

He stood, and she took his outstretched hand, following him along the garden path and out the back gate.

“Where are we going?”

His grass-green eyes sparkled. “Into the forest, of course.”

“What’s in the forest?”

“A private room all our own, with thick mossy beds, and walls of trees and shrubs, and a ceiling of stars.”

She entwined her fingers through his, following behind as he led the way beneath a thick canopy. Strains of music from the party they’d left faded to nothing. The air was considerably cooler beneath the shade, but she didn’t notice, warmed as she was by the promise of what was to come.

Shards of sunlight pierced the dark, flashing over his white shirt and tight jeans.

“Is it far?” she asked.

“Not far.” He smiled back at her.

She frowned. Did he have a goatee before?

He must’ve, how silly. People didn’t just grow goatees during a short stroll in the woods.

They plunged into darkness, and she gripped his hand tighter, her gaze fixed on the glow ahead.

The path was smooth and they followed it easily, but now he was bare-chested, revealing a slim but toned frame.

“Your shirt?”

He glanced down. “Sorry. I’m shedding, it’s so hard to keep up a glamour if I don’t need to. Would you like me to put it back on?”

Her gaze roamed over his strong shoulders and the tuft of hair in the centre of his chest, and her mouth watered.

“No.”

He smiled. “I’m glad.”

They stepped into the light of the clearing, where the ground was soft and springy underfoot and trees shrubs hid them from view and above them the violet sky held a single bright star.

“First star.” He whispered, turning to pull her into a kiss. “Wish I may, wish I might. What do you wish for?” His gaze smouldered into hers, and she brought a hand up to cup his cheek.

“You.” She pressed her lips against his, dropping her hands to his waist, and further, to the rough covering of hair over his rump.

“Whoa.” She pulled back, taking him in. Those blue jeans were gone, instead a dark brown fur covered him from the waist down. He had an erection, very definitely that of a man with the faintest covering of hair on his foreskin, and his feet ended in cloven hooves. When she brought her gaze back to his face long horns spiraled over tightly curled hair.

“You’re a — ?”

“A satyr.” He bit his lip. “I should have warned you.” His voice dropped. “If you stay I promise you pleasures you could never imagine.”

Her eyes shone. “I have heard the stories,” she said. “I’ll stay.”

He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her into a kiss, his tongue seeking out hers. They stumbled together until her back was pressed against a tree, and then his hands were underneath her top grabbing at her breasts, his hard on rubbing against her hips.

She pulled at her skirt, lifting it above her waist, and pushed her knickers past her hips till they dropped, pooling around her ankles. She stepped out of them, lifting a leg to wrap around his hip and rub herself against him.

He lifted her hips, lining his cock up so the head pressed against her opening, and she spread her legs wide, her ankles interlinked behind his back.

“That feels so good.” She gasped as he thrust his way deep inside.

He lifter her higher, arching his back so somehow his tongue pressed against her clit as his cock still moved inside her, and she threw her head back, her hair tangling with the bark of the tree, as his pleasures turned her insides to jelly.

“Oh, oh, oh!” She called, gripping his horns so she didn’t fall, pressing her back against the trunk, bits of bark digging into her skin.

When she came she gushed, and he lapped at her juices, his thrusts increasing as his mouth met hers again, the sweet taste of her juices on his tongue. He came, his head thrown back, his mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he moaned his pleasure to the stars.

They sank to the soft sweet moss.

“Can I come again?” she asked, panting.

“I’ll make you come anytime.” He smirked, and she laughed.

“Good. Then I’ll be back tomorrow.”

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