Stories about Satyrs

The warm spring sun nearly blinded Rachel as she followed her two sisters out from the shaded forest path into the meadow. They had brought a blanket and a picnic basket and Rachel had brought a book, as usual.

At twenty, Rachel was the middle sister. Her younger sister, Anne, had turned eighteen a month before, while her older sister, Isabel, was nearly twenty-six. The two younger sisters had just gotten home from school -- Rachel from university, Anne from her last year at boarding school -- and their elder sister had come home from the big city to spend a week with them.

In their spring dresses and broad-brimmed, straw hats, the girls were the picture of genteel young womanhood. They shared the same, slim build, delicate features, and curly, blond hair.

They found a level spot in the meadow, where the wild grass grew fairly low, and laid out the blanket.

"Have you heard about the satyrs?" Anne asked, as they unpacked their picnic lunch.

"What satyrs?" said Isabel.

"Here in the forest," said Anne, "Jeannie Falstaff told me a girl down in River Cross met one in the woods last month," she giggled, "Jeannie said he had his way with her," she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "and that she was not entirely unwilling."

"Don't be silly, Anne," said Isabel, "There haven't been satyrs in these woods for nearly a hundred years. They've all returned to the deep forest with the other spirits."

"They did," said Anne, "But they're coming back. Haven't you heard? All the spirits have been stirring. The riverboat captain who brought me up river from school said that the water spirits are awake again and demanding offerings."

"Honestly, Anne," said Isabel, "He was just telling stories to scare you."

"What about it, Rachel?" said Anne, "You've heard the stories, I'm sure."

Rachel hesitated. She had heard stories, many of them quite explicit.

She recalled a night at college when she and her friend, Amanda, had acquired a bottle of wine and slipped away to a secluded corner of the college gardens to drink and share secrets.

They started off with simple stories about family and friends, but as the bottle grew lighter, the stories grew heavier and more intimate.

Eventually, Amanda told her about the satyr.

She had stumbled upon him by accident: nearly colliding with him as she rounded a tree while walking in the woods on holiday.

She said that he looked like a young man, no taller than herself, completely naked, with red skin, and dark, curly hair. A pair of rams horns grew from his head, and his legs tapered at the thigh into goat legs with smooth brown fur.

She also said that he had the most enormous penis she had ever seen.

"Oh?" Rachel had said, with a laugh, "And how many naked men have you seen?"

"I've seen a few," said Amanda, "Enough to know that most of them would envy a cock like that."

She said that the satyr had been as startled as she was herself. They both leapt back and watched each other warily.

"Pardon me," she had stammered.

He said nothing, merely stared, wide eyed, as if he had never seen anything like her before.

Realizing that she needed to get past him in order to get home, she started to circle around him on the path, and he, uncertain what she intended, did the same, so that they orbited around each other as if performing a strange, awkward dance.

"Well...good day to you," she said and started to back away down the path.

The satyr said nothing. As he took in her body, his expression had become one of such profound longing that it made her heart ache. He reached out a hand to her.

His cock began to swell.

Flustered, she turned and began to walk away.

After a few steps, she stopped and glanced back. The satyr had let his hand fall back to his side. He stood, forlorn, his eyes sliding over her body with such total, unselfconscious appreciation that it made her blush. Her dress felt thin and insubstantial beneath that gaze. She was suddenly acutely aware of her naked body underneath.

She started to walk again, more slowly this time. She brushed her hair back and let the strap of her dress fall off her shoulder as she did so.

There came a soft crunch of leaves as the satyr began to follow her.

When she came to a fallen log in the path, she lifted up her dress, higher than necessary, to step over it. She walked a little further, then stopped and turned.

The satyr stood at the fallen log. She took in his muscular body, his sharp features, his strange, melancholy eyes...and his dark red cock, now stiffly erect and quivering with desire.

They watched each other for a moment. Then she let the other strap fall from her shoulder and lowered the dress, exposing her firm, young breasts.

The satyr hopped eagerly over the log and approached her then. He reached out delicate fingers and caressed her breasts: lifting their soft weight in his hands and stroking her dark areolas. Leaning forward, he kissed them and licked her nipples with his velvety tongue so that they hardened in his mouth.

Soon she found herself lying on her back in the middle of the path: her dress bunched up around her waist, her legs wrapped around his slim hips, his thick cock plunging deep inside of her, so that she cried out in pleasure and in pain.

In an effort to slow down his thrusts, she grabbed his horns and pulled his face down to kiss her. His lips had a strange, earthy taste that reminded her of the forest. He did ease up for a while, to enjoy the kiss, but soon her own arousal got the better of her and she shifted her grip to his hard buttocks. She squeezed and pushed, encouraging him to thrust harder again. He did and soon her whole body was being rocked by the force of his hard cock slamming into her soft flesh.

When he came, the sensation was like nothing she had ever felt. Being a forest spirit, his orgasm released a blast of magic as well as semen. It felt like fire exploding through her body, spreading out from her warm, wet vagina, through her torso and limbs, out to the tips of her fingers and toes. Every inch of her body tingled and burned with pleasure.

For a few minutes, they just lay there, panting, their sweat mingling against each other.

Then they heard the crunch of footsteps further up the path.

The satyr slipped out of her and leapt to his feet. Before she had quite realized what was happening, he had darted away into the forest.

She managed to clamor shakily to her feet and straighten her dress before the newcomer appeared around the bend in the path.

It turned out to be the local parson, who was quite startled to find a disheveled young woman in the middle of the forest. She told him that she had fallen down a ravine and only just managed to climb back to the path. He tried to console her as he walked her back to town, saying all the while how good it was to find a young person enjoying themselves through healthy exercise rather than the debauchery so prevalent in the city.

"Rachel!" said Anne, startling her out of her revery.

"Oh," said Rachel, collecting herself, "I've heard...things."

"About satyrs?" said Anne.

"Yes, about them," said Rachel.

Anne leaned back in triumph, giving Isabel an "I told you so" nod.

"What would you do if you met one?" she asked her sisters, "I think I'd scream and run away!"

"If there were any satyrs," said Isabel, "Which there aren't - and I did see one - which I won't, I would throw stones at it to chase it off. They are uncouth beasts and should should not be tolerated in civilized lands."

"I," said Rachel, "Would ignore it."

And, so saying, she picked up her book and proceeded to ignore her sisters as well.

After that, Anne went to pick flowers, while Isabel napped. When Anne returned, she said that she wanted to go swimming in the river. Isabel agreed, but Rachel continued reading and let them go, leaving her alone in the meadow.

She lay on her stomach with the book in front of her, her straw hat on the blanket by her side. She had kicked off her sandals and now wiggled her toes in the soft grass at the edge of the blanket.

Soon, she heard a rustling behind her, near the trees. She turned, thinking that Anne and Isabel had returned from a different direction. Instead, she saw a reddish shape dart behind a tree and then a shaggy, horned head peek out from the other side.

She turned back to her book, alarmed and uncertain. She wondered if she should call out for her sisters, but then thought that, after the earlier conversation, they would just think she was trying to play a trick on them.

She heard more rustling.

She waited a few moments, then looked again. The satyr was clearly visible now, standing by a tree near the edge of the clearing. He looked just like the one her friend had described, right down to the curving horns and prodigious manhood.

He made as if to hide behind the tree, but hesitated when she did not react.

She turned away again.

She thought about her friend's experience. She thought about her book. She reached back and slowly pulled the hem of her dress a few inches higher up her leg.

She waited.

Soon, she heard soft steps drawing closer. She didn't look around. Instead, she pulled the dress up a little higher and waited again.

After a few moments, she felt someone else lift her dress. She felt the cool air on her bare buttocks and then the warmth of the sun as he draped the dress over her back, leaving her naked below the waist.

She blushed, but still did not turn round.

Her legs were lying slightly apart, and now she felt delicate fingers slide up the smooth, softness of her inner thighs. She gasped as smooth fingertips traced across the delicate flesh of her labia, sending sparks through her body, filling her with fear and embarrassment and desire.

She felt herself growing moist.

She did not turn around.

Now, hands pressed against the inside of her thighs again, moving them gently but forcefully apart. She waited for what would come next and was startled to feel breath on the bare skin of her backside. Lips kissed the soft curves of her buttocks. Then his face nuzzled into her and a soft, moist tongue slid across her most intimate parts.

She let out a gasp. She had never considered this as a thing someone might do to her, but her tingling nerve endings did not object.

The tongue continued licking the tight, tender folds between her legs. Her unseen lover's lips caressed and pulled at her labia as if kissing her mouth.

She closed her eyes and lowered her head. She wanted to cry out with the pleasure of it but was afraid her sisters would hear.

The head drew back and she felt a shadow fall over her. The satyr was now kneeling over her, pressing the smooth, hard head of his cock against her dripping wet pussy. Soft flesh stretched and parted as he entered her. Her whole body shuddered as the thick shaft pushed deeper and deeper inside.

He lay on top of her, his head now level with her shoulder. Still, she did not turn.

He brushed her hair aside and kissed the curve of her neck.

She sighed.

His rhythmic thrusting shook her whole body. His body slammed against her soft, wet buttocks with an audible slap.

She looked down at her book, still laying open in front of her. The words swam across the page. Her brain was a roiling flood of sensations she had never dreamed of.

She felt his breath on her ear and then his tongue tracing the curve of her earlobe. Tingling pleasure ran up and down the side of her face.

She moaned.

The rhythm sped up. She could feel the hard, thick shape deep inside of her pushing against her, stretching her, sliding in and out of her.

She closed her eyes.

She heard a low groan near her ear. His voice had a rough, almost animal sound like nothing she had ever heard. That sound sent her over the edge. She moaned and fell forward as orgasmic waves rocked her body.

Her reaction must have had the same effect on him, for now he arched his back and ejaculated explosively inside her. As her friend had said, the sensation was like nothing she could have imagined. It burned her wet, exhausted vagina like fire. It filled her up and spread out across her skin and through her muscles. She could feel every hair on her body, every pore in her skin as a point of fiery pleasure. It spread further still, so that she thought she could feel the blanket and the grass and the trees as if it were part of her own body.

She fell limply against the ground. The satyr lay on top of her, his hot breath panting beside her.

After awhile, he turned and kissed her neck once again. He whispered something she did not understand in a voice that reminded her of rocks and tree roots.

She felt his penis slide out of her, and the weight of his body lifted. The cool air played across her sweaty back.

A few moments later, when she looked around, the satyr was nowhere to be seen.

She pulled her dress back down. She could feel a large wet spot forming beneath her and was trying to figure out what to do about it when her sisters returned.

"Still reading?" said Anne, as she crossed the meadow, "I swear, you are the most boring girl I've ever met!"

"Are you feeling ill?" asked Isabel, "You look flushed."

"I'm fine," Rachel said, trying to keep the panting out of her voice, "I've just been engrossed in my book."

"Have you really?" said Isabel, with a hint of suspicion.

She might have said more, but Anne interrupted.

"Come on, you two," she said, grabbing up the picnic basket, "I want to get home for dinner. Here, Isabel, take that jar and those glasses. Rachel, since you're so attached to that blanket you can carry it yourself."

Her younger sister set off across the meadow with the elder following after.

Rachel rose shakily to her feet and bundled up the blanket. She carried it in front of her, silently thanking Anne for giving her an excuse to hide the evidence of her encounter.

They passed through the forest uneventfully. When they reached the other side, Rachel paused and looked back the way they had come. For a moment, she thought she saw a red shape standing in the dappled shadows. She raised her hand and blew it a kiss. She thought, perhaps, that it raised a hand in return, but then the shadows changed and the forest was empty.

Then she turned away and followed her sisters back home.