Chapter 5 - The Satyr Bound

Dohn's burial and wake had been an unbearable experience for Julet. Not because of her grief or that she found it especially onerous to take her place at her mother's side and accept the condolences from the rest of the village but because Landory, who, as her twin, was always going to presented with her in this sort of occasion, was constantly shuffling, whispering  and fidgeting by her side. His dislike for social occasions in competition with his excitement to see the Satyr. The latter, at least, Julet could sympathise with, and also for her part she was uncomfortable with the presence of Nelly beside her mother and the nasty little foreign woman standing nearby.

So, as soon as Mama had finished talking to Perita and the esteemed old woman had given Julet a small handshake and allowed her to curtsey, Julet gave her mother's sleeve a tug. Her mother inclined her head and, without even bothering to enquire, hissed, "OK, just go now" and, thus, Julet and Landory were free to slip away.

At the edge of the crowd Julet grasped Landory's elbow and turned him towards old widow Ligia who was at one of the tables laden with foods. "Go get her now," she hissed, "but not that girl, make sure she doesn't come," meaning the widow's elfin granddaughter.

"But I thought you would talk to her," protested her brother. 

Julet rolled her eyes: "No, you have to do it. She knows you and she taught you about... woodland things. I don't really talk to her. You do it. Now go!" And she gave Landory a shove to propel him towards old woman. "I'll wait at the glade," she called after him.

She watched him making his way past the knots of mourners to the old lady and her granddaughter then made her own way past the smithy. 

Lounging against the wall of he stables was a young man she had spied earlier, Gallen, one of Hann's sons.

"Hello," she said, smiling sweetly. He was tall and quite handsome, she though. Not her favourite boy in the village, but interesting.

He frowned at her but murmured "Hullo" back as she turned to stand next to him, putting her own back against he wall.

They watched the wake in silence for a few minutes but, when it became obvious that he was not going to say anything she ventured: "Sad, isn't it? He was my brother."

Gallen nodded disinterestedly. Julet got the sudden impression that he was watching Nelly, who was still receiving condolences across the square. 

"You were there?" she asked. "You went with them, yes?"

His breath caught and for a moment he dropped his eyes. "No. Not me. My brother... my brothers."

Julet now remembered that one of Hann's sons had been killed as well and suddenly she felt embarrassed. But before she could turn that feeling into sympathy Gallen's head snapped around. A girl was approaching from around the back of the stables. For a moment Julet thought it was Nelly's cousin, Meg, due to the cascade of blonde curls. But the girl was not limping with a club foot, like Meg did. 

Gallen pushed himself away from the wall and straightened up. The newcomer cast a brief, questioning glance at Julet before turning her attention to the tall young man greeting her. Julet recognised her now. One of the riversiders... she could not recall her name... but she knew her big sister, Chelly. They had played, rivalled and fought when they were younger. Chelly's little sister had her sibling's milky white skin, soft, rounded features and dark eyes, although they were not as darting and calculating as Chelly's. Julet remembered her as quiet, not very bright girl, always in her sister's shadow, and her small voice had a notable lisp, which Julet had made mockery of, which had led to a vicious attack from Chelly, from which Julet was saved after Landory went running to fetch Dohn. The memory of that beating made her wince.

Since she had last seen her, the girl had grown taller and more willowy and obviously some effort had been put into the billowing hair which helped cover and distract from her plainer features. As she linked arms with Gallen, Julet felt a surge of jealousy. Obviously the liaison had been agreed and that left Julet as an embarrassed interloper. Gallen gave her a cursory nod as the couple passed her, arm in arm, on the path down to the glade and Julet, who had told Landory to meet her there, reluctantly followed.



Landory made his way down to the glade via the path by the ponds. He was on his own. He had no luck recruiting the widow Ligia for her help. In the brief opportunities he had to ask her he was tongue-tied and there were others in earshot, so he hadn't even managed to brooch the subject of the Satyr. And, to make things even more awkward, the widow's granddaughter, Imia, kept trying to talk to him. She was a nice girl, he thought, but he always had problems thinking of what to say to strangers, especially girls. Eventually he had given up.

The big pond was now, in the height of the summer,  less than half full and choked with reeds with the seamstress's cottage on its dry banks below. Sitting by the path overlooking it was a youth staring absently into the trees opposite.

Landory recognised him as he passed and stopped. This was Yemat, One of Hann's middle sons. And Landory was sure that he overheard his father and mother mention that Yemat had gone to hunt with Dohn and Nelly. Yemat did not seem to notice him, he just kept starting into the trees.

After a moment Landory worked up courage to sidle over and say: "Hello." It seemed like the best way to start a conversation.

Yemat looked up briefly but didn't answer. Landory had never had any direct contact with Yemat, he remembered him as just another one of Hann's family, the gang of them were troublesome and prone to bully and start fights when they were younger and Landory avoided them, and ignored any of their taunts, as best he could. But now this youth, now, seemed utterly preoccupied. He sat down.

"You went on the hunt yesterday?" he asked. 

Yemat's eyes flicked up and he grunted. 

Landory pressed on: "You saw it... you saw the Satyr?"

Yemat looked at him, sharply, his eyes widening, and he repeated: "... the Satyr.

"Yes, the Satyr... like a goat, and a man. It cavorts with nymphs. You saw it?"

"... cavort..." the youth repeated. Landory saw his eyes lose focus. "The White Goat... it... it... took me..."

"White Goat..? It took you... where..?" asked Landory confused. But Yemat was suddenly on his feet and, barging past him.

Landory got up and followed, his curiosity and fascination overwhelming his shyness. He caught Yemat's elbow and the youth paused, turning to him.

"Took you where..?" he repeated.

But Yemat looked back, blinking in incomprehension and said : "It made me..." he swallowed "... it made me into its nymph. The White Goat made me..." Then he pulled his arm away and hurried of back down the path.

Landory was left standing dumbfounded behind. Yemat looked nothing like a nymph. He didn't think the other youth would not even know what a nymph was. But somehow he had a suspicion that he knew what Yemat meant. Knew what had happened in his encounter with the White Goat.

After gathering his scattered wits he continued down the path to his destination, the same way Yemat had gone. 

The glade as a roughly circular clearing amongst the trees set on the slope of the hill leading down to the valley. On the side of the village, above, there was a rough, stony embankment where the water from several springs bubbled out and formed winding streams across the clearing's floor, forming gullies on the slope at the trees on the far side side to feed the ponds and irrigation ditches in the stepped orchards below. 
A great stone stood in the centre, overhung by an ancient gnarled tree. The Stone was a great slab, white, but for the moss and lichen that grew on its sides and crept onto its smooth surface. It was oblong and flat on top one as wide as one and a half men were tall and as long as two and it was about waist high. The gnarled roots of the great old tree embraces it on three sides, bursting out of the fertile soil. The canopy of chaotic branches that hung over it bore clusters of cherries amongst its leaves, but at other times other fruit also budded on the same chimeric branches, apricots, plums and later small sour apples and quinces. Landory saw that amongst the fruit new blossoms had appeared overnight.

The Stone in the glade was used as a makeshift stage in festivals and hosting the entertainments of  occasional travelling troupes, with canopies, curtains and backdrops hung from the tree during shows. Around the perimeter of the clearing large rocks had been arranged for seating or to support benches. 

It was also the favourite meeting place for friends during the day and lovers after dark. Landory spent many evenings among the bushes on the embankment spying on the nocturnal comings and goings. Hidden from sight from the village buildings, its flat surface was oft used as a makeshift bed. On full moons the surface of the Stone almost seemed to glow with reflected light and the overhanging canopy of twisted branches made it feel removed from the world about it, so it seemed to those who coupled on its cool surface.

But today, in the daylight, it was the subject of scrutiny for a group of strangers all dressed a bit oddly, like travellers. One of them was an old man the other three were younger. Two women and one man. 

Yemat was there too and another familiar girl, Chelly from Riverside. It looked like Hann's son had been accosted by her as he fled and she was now questioning him, earnestly. Yemat looked upset still and this seemed to be annoying Chelly. Landory moved over to them, still curious about Yemat but also interested in what was going on with the strangers. 

Chelly looked up and nodded when he approached. He knew that Julet hated the girl... but Julet seemed to hate everyone, really... but he got on quite well with the riversider, or at least quite politely. She was always blunt, forceful and determined and he pitied Yemat who was on the receiving end of her sharp tongue.

"You must have seen her?" she was hissing at Yemat. The youth shook his head, glancing guiltily at Landory. "I know she was heading up to your place..."

Ignoring Chelly's interrogation of Yemat, Landory edged around to the opposite side of the Stone from where the strangers were congregated, close enough to overhear what the old man was saying.

"... not the moonstone that we seek of course, not those celestial rocks which have fallen from skies, the fragments of sundered Selene, but much older terrestrial stone that was much coveted by the ancients. Named due to its unusual reflective properties, most evident under the glow of moonlight. And, for that reason, even though it is in truth separate from its celestial counterpart, it has for aeons been associated with the worship of the moon, here in the world. From ancient tribes to sinister cults: vows, declarations, rituals and sacrifices have been carried out in the reflected glow of monuments like this."

Landory was fascinated. This was the kind of language, of learned wisdom, that he loved to read in books. The kind that Julet despised and, for that matter, he never encountered anywhere else in the limited bounds of the village. The old man was obviously a wizard, or a scholar. And the younger ones were his students. 

... and, oh how Landory wished he was one of them...

"See", the old man bent and ran his hand over the uneven sides of the Stone, "symbols and glyphs have been carved into the verticals, the pattern interrupted by the sudden sharp angle of the surface. This is merely the base of what was one a much taller monument, perhaps an obelisk. Shaped and carved. Then sheared cleanly in some act of vandalism, and its bulk fallen and shattered, perhaps. We can still see some smaller fragments on the ground and some of the large white stones in the circle around us, I dare say, were also fragments of this monument. And, if you were observing as we came through the village, many pieces of this same stone, of all shapes and sizes have been incorporated into the houses and the walls and the paths of this settlement.

"Once this," he patted the flat surface of the Stone, "must have been the centre of some primitive worship. Hundreds or thousands of years ago. Before the sundering, I would guess."

He stopped looking up at the tree as if wondering what it and its curious mix of buds and flowers could contribute to his tale, then shrugged.

Landory was wide mouthed. For nearly twenty summers he had lived in the village. He was familiar with the houses and the walls and the paths and the stones. He ran his hand over the top of the Stone, feeling it familiar smoothness. This was the very stone against which Falltrick had taught him what it meant when soldiers took their turn in the role of women on cold winter nights (Landory would have made a good soldier, apparently). He knew of the regular shapes around its walls that could so easily be pictures or symbols. He had squatted beside them when Falltrick taught him how to use his mouth and his thighs and knees had brushed them while Falltrick's great comforting weight had pressed him against its surface. But he had never thought about it deeply, it was just a part of the village. How had this wise man, a stranger, merely cast his gaze upon these things and understood what they were...

He realised he was staring agape at the young man in the party and the young man was staring back at him. He closed his mouth with a slap. He was the same height as Landory but looked well built and Landory imagined that he had strong arms under the travelling clothes. His eyes were clear and hazel and his lips full. And he smiled, and Landory felt his face flush.

The old man had started talking again about whether the symbols were words or pictures but Landory's focus was broken when Chelly, standing forgotten behind him, suddenly shouted "Oi!"

Landory snapped his head around and saw that another couple had entered the clearing from the path on the opposite side. A tall young man, one of Yemat's brothers, and a blonde girl who was cowering as Chelly set out towards her at a furious march. Landory barely got a chance to recognise her as Chelly's little sister, Loohey, when the young man with her caught sight of his brother, Yemat, beside Landory, and gave his own cry.

Chelly and Gallen marched passed each other without even a nod as they bore down on their respective younger siblings.

As Chelly roughly caught Loohey's elbow and began frog-marching her back up the path to the village, Julet had also just appeared, stepping aside to let her rival pass. Meanwhile Gallen had collared Yemat beside where he stood, hissing at him: "What yer doin'? Pa said yer to keep indoors 'til Petyr comes back with the witch!"

Landory stepped back as Gallen hauled his young brother after him back up the path following Chelly and Loohey. Julet, now heading straight for Landory, gave them a wide berth well.

"What was that?" she asked as she met him.

Landory could only shrug. In the presence of his domineering twin sister he could feel all of his awkwardness returning.

She frowned at him, then asked: "Ligia?"

"She wouldn't come, I don't think she understood me," remembering that he had been tasked to bring the widow. He didn't meet her gaze.

"Did you even talk to her?"

"Yes, but there were lots of people around, I didn't know what to say..." he lifted his eyes. "... you're looking pretty," he added, hoping to placate her.

Julet stood and straightened her skirt, flattery was not going to work on her, just now. She cast a glance over to the four scholars around the rock, who had briefly stopped to stare at the villagers abrupt comings and goings. 

Julet rolled her eyes at the sight of more strangers. 
"We'll just go by ourselves to see it... him, then," she whispered. "Maybe if he can tell us something himself then we can help. Let's just hope he can understand proper words! But lets hurry"

She grabbed his arm and began pulling him hastily towards the path that ran past the ponds and up to Nelly's cottage and barn. They were now the third pair of village siblings in the last minute to leave the clearing in haste with elder tugging on younger. Landory was too embarrassed to look around to see what the young man's reaction was. He could not imagine what impression they must have left with the scholars.  



They stopped outside the Nelly's barn door. There was no sign of anyone else following them up the path. After exchanging nervous glances Julet pressed her eyes against door trying to make out the interior though the gaps in the wooden planks. 

"You can see better over there" said Landory nodding further down the wall, but Julet didn't any point in just peeking when they had already resolved to confront the prisoner. 

The door was barred and secured with a knotted length of rope, proof only against the most opportunistic of livestock rustlers. Nevertheless it took the twins several minutes, with angry whispered disagreement and a couple of broken nails before they eventually managed to loosen the knot. The door creaked unevenly open and, with great trepidation, they stepped inside, Julet leading. After the bright, hot daylight the interior was dim and cool but there was still enough light shining through the planks of the walls in bright horizontal lines for them to see clearly. Julet reached past Landory and pulled the door shut behind him so that it not be too immediately obvious that they were intruding.

The Satyr was a dark, horned shape tied up against a pillar at the far end of the barn, sitting on something. It was awake and alert, watching them with quiet intensity and she could hear its heavy breathing. The barn reeked of heavy animal odour. The twins again exchanged glances. Julet felt she should say something but nothing came to mind that wouldn't sound stupid. What would a character in one of Landory's books say in this circumstance? In truth the prisoner would either be good or evil, kind or cruel, brave or fearful, learned or crude and that would inform the words of the heroine. But, actually, she realised she didn't know what nature of creature was tied up there in front of her. 

In any case huddling in awkward silence in the doorway with her twin brother was not a good introduction in any story so, pulling herself away from Landory she edged her way slowly along the wall at their end. There was a pig and a couple of goats penned up on the other side of a partition and, seeing an opportunity, she moved forward quietly and began to pet the pig, feigning disinterest in the prisoner, before moving up to give the goats, who bleated in greeting, some attention and get a closer look at him from the corner of her eye across the partition fence.

The satyrs in the books always had human faces with straight horns. Often, in the wood block prints, they were portrayed as being slightly overweight and the general impression was that they were quite small as befitting their relationship with elves and nymphs; certainly small in comparison with other woodland creatures represented such as minotaurs and centaurs. 

In contrast the creature bound could only be described as hulking. Although its chest was bound with coils of rope she could see no sign of excess fat, its shoulders were massive and muscled and its neck was thick and covered in coarse hair that rose from its chest to its head. The face itself was much more that of a goat, with a long snout and animal ears, than the face of a man; except for the wary intelligence she could see in its slanted horizontally pupilled eyes and the set of its jaw. The horns that sprouted from its temples were curved spirals, like a ram's, not the straight vertical horns of the goat she was currently petting absently. Its legs were shaped like a goat, that much was correct, but they too were strong and muscular, under the coarse pelt, to look like it would be any good at dancing with sylphs or fey. She wondered if Landory's assertion that it was a satyr was, in fact, true but she could see no sign of corruption or mutation that would identify it as something more sinister. She could see the wounds on its shoulder and, from here the smell of it was strong enough to make her nose wrinkle, although she did not find it repugnant.

She left the animals and made her way around the partition, back towards the door. Landory had not moved but he was making big eyes at her and indicating with her head. He leaned forward conspiratorially when she approached.

"Have you seen it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course." How did he think she could have missed the creature?

"No... between its legs!"

She followed his gaze. In the shadow between the captive's legs she could see a curve of dark flesh. Not surprising, she thought, after all he is naked and a male... and a Satyr. It would be stranger if there wasn't anything there. From her current position the creatures endowment looked large if not exceptionally noticeable but Landory had an unhealthy obsession with man bits. 

She wasn't going to let the fact it was a naked male, or her brother, put her off. She straightened her shoulder, took a deep breath and stepped towards the bound creature.

"We're friends," she announced. "Julet," she placed a hand on her heart, "and my brother, Landory."

There was no answer. 

"Do you talk?"

The silence lengthened. Landory shuffled. She bit her lip.

"You are hurt... it was the people who captured you... we are here to help... we aren't with them.. we are friends."

There was no answer but the prisoner licked its lips, a black tongue briefly emerging.

Julet was happy to interpret that as a response. "Are you thirsty?" she looked around. There was a water in a bucket and some rags against the wall but when she went over she could not see any cup or bowl. Instead she drew some of the tepid water in her cupped hands and brought it over to the prisoner, holding it out under his face. He looked at the proffered gift and gave a small snort as if in disdain, but prideful or not he bent his snout and his tongue lapped the water, tickling her hand. She drew a second then a third cupped handful before he refused more with an ill-tempered grunt.

Close up she could see his fur was matted and skin soiled although his wounds seemed to have been dressed. Between his legs the sandy ground seemed damp and she guessed he might have relieved himself there but she would not draw attention to it, she thought. She supposed she could not blame him, restrained as he was. The animal odour rising from his heavy pelt was almost visible in the beams of sunlight penetrating the barn silhouetting the dark form. It seemed that in the deprivations of its captivity he had been reduced from a free sylvan spirit to little more than a lowly beast.

She had the bucket and the rags and the next course of action was obvious. She hurried over to Landory who had not budged from the doorway. 

"I'm going to clean him up, gain his trust and try to get him to talk to me. But it will take time, you need to keep watch let me know if someone is coming up the path. Can you do that?"

"I can help," protested Landory craning his neck to see the prisoner over her shoulder as she had blocked his view, "I will be good at it."

"No, you won't," she said  a little exasperated. "It's a woman's work, they don't like men."

"But I can still..." Landory looked offended at being cut out, his brow furrowing as he worked towards some counter.

She felt her face flushing in annoyance and cut him off,  "No you can't, it's a woman's job! You're not a woman." She looked him up and down in a pointed way and gave a little shake of her head. 

He opened his mouth to protest again and she got a sudden sense that there was bigger conversation to be had but by now her temper was rising. 

"No!" she snapped.

His mouth closed with a snap and he looked crestfallen.

"Listen, just keep an eye on the path, alright. I'll call you in when he starts talking, I promise."

He nodded forlornly.

"Make your fox sound if he comes."

Landory made a couple of high barking noises.

"Yes, good, but louder."

Landory nodded. She took him by the arm and turned him around pushing the door open and propelling him out into the sunlight. He looked back at her and she shooed him on towards the path and closed the door behind him.

Now she was alone with the Satyr. She crossed the barn and carried the bucket over next to him.

"I'm sorry about my brother, he's very immature," she said as she tied her hair back and rinsed the rags in the water. Now that Landory was out of the room she felt her confidence rising. She felt she could act a lot more like a mature woman. She lifted the sodden rag and began to wash his face working her way down from the crown, unmatting and straightening the fur as she went.

"You are very handsome" she said. A little flattery would not go amiss. "And you have such interesting eyes." She had finished his brows and was cleaning crusted tears from around them. She wasn't lying, his irises were a dark yellowy orange and the horizontal pupil that fixed her with its intense stare was disconcerting in its alienness.

She teased the hair around his jaw into a straight beard, longer at the chin, then began to work on the down his neck using copious amounts of water to rinse and untangle the thick hair. She avoided the obvious wound on his shoulder, worried that she might cause him pain but noticed as she cleaned his other shoulder and chest that his dark was scarred with older wounds and scratches and bulging musculature and she wondered what kind of hardships he must have endured in finding his way so far from his arboreal home. She allowed her fingers to trace the thick black veins under his skin and blushed a little when she caught his eye.

She was now frustrated by the coils of thick rope that crossed his arms, lower chest and abdomen and made bathing those areas impossible. She stepped back.

"We didn't do this to you. We're not with those people. If we can talk we can get help and free you. But you have to talk to us... tell us where you came from and all the people who did this to you... just to be safe. We'll try to help, we really will." She gave a small, hopefully earnest, smile. 

He remained impassive but at least, she thought, he had shown no overt hostility, he must understand then that she was not a threat... not one of his captors.

"We're on your side... we want you to be free, to do your thing." She looked down at his lower body, the goats legs. She had already committed to cleaning him,restoring him to his wild magnificence, so she could hardly stop with the little she had done. 

She hitched up her dress and petticoat so she was not kneeling on it and lowered herself to her haunches before its feet. At some point she was going to have to tackle its thighs and groin but she thought she would start again at the bottom and work her way up first. 

It occurred to her that the Satyr could easily kick her with those heavy hooves, then she realised that his legs had been tied, a length of rope bound around the ankles and looped around the pillar behind, also trapping the milking stool that she could see he was seated on.

She went to work bathing the long, thick fur of the shanks above the hocked heel bone and the shorter coarse hairs of the long foot below. Thicker hair sprouted at the base of the foot and she cleaned that before washing and cleaning the hooves underneath. 

They were crusted with dirt that musty have been accumulating for years but she diligently worked at breaking off the crusts and washing and polishing them until they were clean and shone dull black, with not a speck on them. She smiled up at him, pleased with her handiwork and to show him how clean they were she lifted one and bending down pressed her lips briefly against it before repeating the kiss with the other.  
Looking up again she met his eyes and saw him tilt his head, the second real response she had had since he accepted water. Suddenly she was embarrassed. Kissing a Satyr's hooves! How wanton she must seem? She felt her face flush and averted her gaze.

She raised herself to her feet, putting her hands on his knees to push herself up, and began to wash his upper legs starting on the outside and avoiding meeting his eyes. The thick hair required a lot of water and the bucket was running low now. Soaking, rinsing and straightening the thick tangles only served to enhance his physique, revealing his strong thigh muscles and wide, powerful hips.

She was still flushed when she reached his inner thighs, working up to his crotch and she gave him a few bashful glances and saw that he seemed relaxed, himself watching both her face and her actions between his legs. She could hear his deep breathing and saw the wide nostrils of his snout flaring. She then cleaned above his groin below the coiled ropes where his powerful abdominal muscles met the thick dark thatch of his groin.

There was still a couple more inches of water left in the bucket, and no more to do but his most private parts. She paused momentarily but did not want to see too hesitant knowing that this was probably the part most in need of attention. Swallowing she reached down with the sodden cloth and began tentatively wiping the flesh of it. She lifted it slightly with the cloth under it so she could clean its girth. The water lifted a layer of grime leaving the rough skin shining like dull, dark leather but she could also see the hairy mass of its large orbs hanging beneath; and she supposed she should also attend to the cleanliness of them. Gently she lifted its cock in her free hand, it was heavy and the flesh was hot, and with the newly soaked cloth she began to mop down the tangled hair of the pendulous balls beneath all the while feeling her face burning.

The heavy organ stirred in her hand and she looked up at its face, which was very close, but saw no hostility. She hadn't caused it discomfort. 

"Do you like that sir?" she said, blushing deeper. 

Another twitch and she suppressed a little giggle... then suddenly she felt the mass shifting in her grip. She stepped back with a little cry, releasing her grip on its genitals as its organ rose from its groin. She watched mouth agape as in the space of a couple of seconds it grew into full hardness, a fat dark column of flesh maybe three hands widths in length, wrapped in veins like black ivy around an obsidian pillar, the thick flesh of its foreskin pushed apart by the emergence of the smooth taut flesh of its blunt cockhead. And its rising had now fully exposed the heavy testicles that hung below.

"Oh, sir," she exclaimed, her voice a squeak. "I am still a maiden sir!" 

She looked at him for some reaction but his expression remained impassive. She bent down  to retrieve the washing rag from where she had dropped it. She rinsed it again the bucket.

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to..." She wasn't sure what. With the cloth held in front of her like a shield she edged closer again. The newly peeled flesh of the foreskin and the exposed head of its knob were still dark with accumulated grime. She tentatively gave it a brush with the cloth then not getting a reaction she swaddled the head of its organ in the cloth and pulled back the foreskin freeing the glans for her to cleanse. 

It twitched again as she massaged away the dirt and she met his eyes again looking bashfully through her lashes and said, winsomely,  "It's very big, sir." 

She looked down again at the organ as she moved it through her hands. It was much bigger than Falltrick's cock in both length and width. She had heard from older village girls that Hann had a bigger one yet, but she doubted that it was even this big. The head was blunt and she was reminded that this organ did not belong to a human man, the hole in the tip was much wider than a man's would be she thought. A flush had spread to her chest and she felt a hardness in her nipples and warmth in her loin at the intimacy of her situation. She looked up at his impassive face and then down again at the organ in her hand then she said, quietly: 

"Would you like me to pleasure you sir?"

She glanced up again. There was no change in his expression except that his gaze seemed to have intensified into something darker. She swallowed and bit her lower lip, averting her gaze again. She was being stupid, she thought after all, even if he didn't understand her words the question was obvious in her action and the firmness of his erection was a clear answer.

She stood and, gesturing with the palm of her hand that he should wait, she hurried over to the door.

Outside Landory was loitering at the corner of the shed but before she could say anything he said: "You smell." 

She was taken aback and offended even though it may have been a fair observation after her ablutions of the Satyr. But a moment later she rallied. "What are you doing? You can't even see the path from here."

Landory stood his ground: "Is he talking yet? What did he say?" 

"No, I'm still... gaining his trust."

"I should try."

"No, it has to be a woman-"

"But..."

"No 'buts', you watch the path. I will talk to him."

Landory didn't look like he was going to move. She felt her anger rising.

"Go! go now! Watch the path! I'll deal with him, not you! Now stop being silly and go!" She saw him waver in the face of her fury. "I'll let you know when he talks but it is going to be a while. You watch the path, that's your job!"

She grabbed his elbow and turning him around propelled him towards the top of the path.

"Stand under the tree, and don't forget the warning sign, if you see someone coming. But stay there. Don't move. Seriously!"

Landory slunk towards his lookout position glancing over his shoulder to see her still glaring at him. She waited until she was sure he had reached his post then, with an exasperated sigh, she went back to the barn. At the door she stopped. Her anger was abating to be replaced with a flutter of nervousness in her stomach. What was she doing? But this would undoubtedly be one of the biggest moments in her life. How could she not let it play out. And what would be the risk with the Satyr bound but obviously willing?

She untied her hair and shook it over her shoulder, then pushed the door open. There could see no bar on the inside to secure it but the door was a tight fit in the frame so she pushed it firmly shut behind her. Then she casually untied the laces at the front of her dress, loosening it across her bust and opening her front collar and, with an attempt at a confident gait crossed over to the prisoner. 

His penis was still jutting from his groin, a testament to his virility and she imagined a sense of expectancy in his burning, expectant gaze. Licking her lips in nervous anticipation she moved in between his legs and then delicately lowered herself to sit on one of his knees, taking care not to place too much weight on it. When he gave no sense of discomfort at the arrangement she reached for his organ and then began to caress it. 

"I have a lot of experience sir... even though I still have my maidenhood," she smiled. Which was true, Falltrick had been teaching her how to use her hands and mouth to please a man and while she was fully aware that he was doing so for his own pleasure, she was not as naive as he probably thought she was. With her immature brother, lazy father and straight laced mother she was grateful to have another, even the bullying old soldier, appreciative of her budding womanhood. And now she had an opportunity to use her carnal knowledge.

With one hand she worked the heavy foreskin over the bulging cockhead in a slow rhythm while the other was free to roam the length of the shaft her fingertips tracing the thick veins beneath the rough leather. The flared head and the girth at the centre of the shaft were thick enough that she could barely wrap fingers around.  She reached down to cup the heavy sacs of the testicles. They were much bigger than Falltrick's. The old man had taught her that, as a woman, she  should take his his issue into her so that there would be little mess and she had learnt to to swallow the bitter sticky saltiness without gagging too much when he came in her mouth. But the Satyr's swollen orbs were huge in comparison and the slit at his cockhead was as wide as her thumb. Imagining the scale of his ejaculation sent a shiver of forbidden excitement down her spine.

A clear liquid was now seeping from the tip of his organ and she let her fingers spread it, lubricating the thick foreskin and making the taut flesh of the glans glisten.

She took a deep breath and met the Satyr's burning gaze. His bestial visage left her harbouring no room for delusion that he was a human male. She could never have imagined that she would really have met such a creature, let alone put herself in such a position as to be willingly pleasuring him. But the gulf between her innocent fantasies of being in the arms of some noble, heroic but vague stranger and the reality of intimacy with this muscled, powerful and masculine creature filled her with fear and anticipation. She wondered again if they had not made some terrible mistake and misidentified this species. Her brother's books portrayed Satyrs as half human but her paramour seemed more than half bestial. But, it was also not difficult to imagine how nymphs and elves, or anyone, could be attracted to their raw, feral masculinity.

"Have you ever lain with a human woman, sir?" This time she did not wait for the him to deny her a response. Her hands reached around to he back and began pulling at the laces at the back of her dress. These would be more difficult to tie again, but she would worry about that later. With the laces untied her dress was loose enough for her to pull down the front releasing her breasts from their confinement. 

She lifted them in her hands, raising them for his attention. "They're getting very big, sir," she said. She was proud of them, they were almost as large as her mothers and she thought they still had some growing to do. They filled her hands now and were heavy enough that without support they would swing pendulously. Falltrick was always complimenting her on them and taking any opportunity to grope or suckle them. She kneaded and squeezed them making the large nipples swell, then lifting one, she licked her lips and bent to close her mouth over it, her pink lips suckling her own teats, leaving the swollen areola glistening and the nipple proud. Then she repeated the trick with the other breast. She looked at him through hooded eyes, biting her lip and was sure she could now discern his lust rising to overwhelm his former aloofness as she squeezed her breasts together wantonly and giggled

On impulse she leant forward, one of her hands settling on his bound chest and closing her eyes she pressed her lips against his. She could smell the heavy odour of him, despite her ablutions, and she opened her mouth and inhaled deeply of it, keeping her lips pressed against his. Opening her eyes she found herself gazing into its yellow orange eyes, the horizontal pupil unsettlingly bestial. Her hand had strayed to brush the hard member that rose between them and her bottom was moving in gentle circles against his knee.

She pulled away, gasping for breath dizzy with emotion. "If you would but talk, sir" she gasped quietly. But now was not the time to talk. Composing herself she slid off his knee and, hitching her dress and petticoat again she knelt down between his legs, her knees settling on the dampened soil between his legs, but she did not mind. 

Before her face his phallus rose like a dark pillar and she closed both her hands around its girth and began to move them up and down looking up into his smouldering eyes as she did so. Then she leant forward and placed her lips briefly against the shaft before lifting her breasts and pressing them, around the shaft. She moved them up and down squeezing and kneading them as she did so while the dark meat of his cock slid between the smooth pink flushed orbs of her mammaries and she marvelled at the contrast of sight and sensation of the rough inhuman flesh against her delicate pink skin. She bent her mouth to her breasts again and her tongue teased her nipples lathing them with saliva that spread to coat and lubricate the shaft as it moved between them. She could feel his own hips were now moving slightly, despite the constraints, adding to her rhythm. Her nipples brushed against  the rough hair of his crotch and she could feel his swollen testicles pressing against her sternum.

The head of the organ rose was inches form her face and she could smell the heavy musk rising from it. She bent and kissed it gently then releasing her breasts but. continuing to massage the firm flesh gently. Then she planted a series of kisses descending the shaft until she reached the root where the thick hair of its balls tickled her chin. She glanced up to see it, like an ancient king on its throne, looking down on its faithful concubine, its head crowned with horns, its eyes burning with possessive lust and its teeth now bared slightly with passion. With one hand working the foreskin over the taut head while the other cupped its heavy sacs she moved her open mouth up back its shaft, exploring its girth, her soft lips brushing the rough leather and feeling the contours of the thick veins keeping eye contact with the savage lord she was serving. Her tongue moved to trace their path, leaving trails of saliva back to the base of the head and then down and around again using her tongue more liberally to leave the flesh glistening.

Her mouth returned to the cockhead and she trailed her tongue around the bulging foreskin covering the rim of the head. Then she pressed her lips against the taut head of the exposed glans once more her tongue tracing a circuit around the head, savouring the bitter sweet of the precum. Pulling the foreskin back she let the tip of her tongue trace the ridge from the frenulum at the base of the head up to the wide slit, ending with the rim of it resting on her lower lip as she smiled up at him before closing her upper lip over it in a wide kiss. Then opening her mouth wider she allowed the swollen head of its organ to slip inside her, her soft lips engulfing it as her tongue stoked the rigid flesh of the exposed glans.

Looking up she saw the horned head above her, a manifestation of urgent, primal fertility, its eyes narrowing on her as she invited its phallus within her. She felt a flush run through her, her nipples hardened and her free hand slipped under her skirts to find the hot wet folds of her own sex. Her fingers stoked her distended lips and the hardening bud of her clitoris as she suckled the head of its cock and her tongue lapped at it. 

With a moan she pulled it from her mouth and looked in wonder at the glistening dark  inhuman flesh she had taken within her. She pressed her lips against it kissing it again, this time for the love she was feeling swelling in her breast. Then she moved her mouth down the slickened shaft again to its scrotum and began to kiss it too, first with her lips then with her open mouth her tongue testing and teasing the thick skin of the ball-sacks and the heavy swelling of the testes, leaving the coarse hair slick and sodden with her saliva. Her lips parted and she took one, then the other inside her mouth, her jaw aching at accommodating the size of them as her tongue measured their weight and she wondered at the volume of seed seething in those great orbs. One hand was continuing to massage the head of its phallus while the other was now stroking her own lower lips, wet with her flowing juices as she suckled his testicles.

The heavy odour from its body filled her lungs, she could feel, smell and taste its primal need to breed. Sitting back she she looked up at it again her hands returning to stroking it together, her wet fingers mixing her own juices with the saliva and precum to the glistening slickness that coated it. Then she drew the head towards her and took it again into her mouth.

Her lips pressed around the shaft caressing it as it slid within her mouth and she began moving  her head against its own constrained thrusts while her hands worked the exposed shaft kneading it with firm strokes from his scrotum to her lips. Her tongue stroked the head and teased the folds of skin around the flared base keeping it wet with her saliva mixed with its precum. She could hear him grunting, deeply and her own soft moans were stifled by the mass sliding within her mouth. 

The tip of her tongue again teased the wide distended slit, and she wondered what she would do at its climax. The swollen mass of its sacs and the size of the aperture suggested a mass of seed that she did not think could possibly manage to take in her mouth; not like she could with Falltrick's cumming. But a part of her still thrilled at the thought of feeling such an eruption of primal fertility inside her as her tongue once again moved around the turgid head.

She allowed it to move deeper within her mouth. Because of the bindings the Satyr could only manage to to thrust his hips a couple of inches forward but she matched that with her own head's movement. The thick head brushed the back of her throat and she gagged and had to pull it out of her mouth, leaving wet strings of sticky saliva that dripped onto her bare breasts. She looked up her lover, blinking, tears pooling in her eyes then, after a moment's composure, she took the cock back into her mouth and began to work on it again. 

Falltrick had been trying to encourage her to take his own cock into her throat - that is what real woman do, apparently. But she had never managed Falltrick's human penis in her gullet and she could not imagine that she could accommodate the even bigger blunt cockhead of the Satyr that was currently pushing urgently in her mouth. Nevertheless she allowed it to push one more against her tonsils. This time she managed to control the gagging and focussed on breathing through her nose as the tip of the cock bumped against the back of her throat on each thrust. Because of its constraints she had a lot of control over its movements and she let this continue, proud of herself that she had overcome the gagging, before allowing the firm tip to press all the way in so that it was now jabbing against the back of her throat. It jammed there for a few thrusts then, suddenly, she felt the blunt tip push into her oesophagus. She was, at once, surprised that he throat had managed to take that girth of firm flesh, but also pleased and excited by her accomplishment. Maybe she had tried harder than she did with Falltrick. She had to remember that the Satyr was supposedly a creature of magical fertility. Perhaps she was more responsive to it. Or, perhaps, its magical nature allowed its phallus to penetrate better than that of mundane humans, despite its size. 

Her head was moving with its thrusts with its cockhead wedged in the entrance of her throat. She thought she could expel it but she could feel it straining to push deeper so she braced herself, inhaling deeply through her nose and tried to relax her throat. She could feel each thrust pushing the head a little deeper and felt the strain on her throat muscles building as the wide flange began to push in. She was breathing heavily, and a sweat had broken out across her body but she could feel the flush of excitement,her nipples remained hard and she could feel her wetness running down her thighs at the sensation of taking the creature inside her. Now the head was fully inside her throat and being pushed further down, the strain on her muscles seemed to be easing as she learned to accommodate it. Her tongue was pressed against the base of her mouth by the column of leathery flesh in her wet mouth, awash with her saliva that in turn dribbled out from the tight gap between her suckling lips and the intruding cock and down her chin.

Inch by inch she felt the Satyr force its penis into her throat and with each thrust she felt it was becoming easier as she forced her muscles to relax and accept the intruder while her heavy saliva and its own emissions lubricated it. Then it was slowly beginning to move back and forward, each thrust still pushing a bit deeper than before but she could feel the thick head sliding within her, distending her throat as the movement becoming freer. She began to move her head against it amplifying the movement of each thrust, feeling the rough veined skin slide past her lips at each stroke, her escaping saliva still flooding from her mouth.

With her head down she had to peer up from under her brows to meet his burning eyes. The horizontal slits of his pupils were not human and she did not see empathy there, only possessive lust. His sharp yellow teeth were bared and his grunts were increasing in intensity and frequency. Again she wondered of Landory was correct about his species. He did not now seem noble or gentle at all but bestial and brutal in his thrusts. She could feel his virility but it seemed based more on primal fertility of a dark and corrupt nature. 

His thrusting increased both in depth and tempo and she could tell his arousal was building to climax. The penis was so deep now that his rough pubes, speckled with the spray of her saliva, brushed her nose on each thrust. She knew that in order to bear a child a man would have to spill his seed in a woman's womb. But this was no man who was fucking her face. This was something non-human and unnaturally fertile. And suddenly she knew the truth that its seed would find purchase wherever it was planted within her, even her belly. 

Peering up at it through teary bloodshot eyes she realised that even though she was free and he was still bound it may as well have been the other way around. He was fucking her and, by some raw primal power, she could not pull herself from him, deny his will. She had submitted and he was going to have his release within her. Her hands moved from the thrusting shaft to roam and his powerful thighs and grasp his strong hips as each thrust was more frantic, her throat aching as it pistoned within her. She sensed the swelling flesh of the glans, the opening now fully distended ready for discharge and her stomach was a yearning void, hungry for its seed. 

With a final thrust, pressing its groin firmly against her nose, he came. She felt the great orbs pressing against her chin pulse, the column of hard flesh in her mouth spasmed and bucked and, deep within her throat, she felt the blast of hot liquid blast from the head and surge into her stomach. A great convulsion wracked her body and her knees left the floor as her back involuntarily straightened. She tasted none of it in her mouth, so tightly plugged was her throat but could feel it surging and broiling inside her. As she sank again its cock shuddered with another ejaculation, causing her another convulsion and she felt more of the hot liquid pulsing into her. She could feel the stuff seething in her stomach, bubbling with life, grasping and finding purchase to fester and grow. And another ejaculation and her stomach spasmed as more of its seed was pumped into her greedy stomach.

Her head swimming with lack of air, she began to slide the giant cock out of her mouth, feeling it still pulsing as it moved. As the flared head exited her throat there was a sudden torrent of foul liquid filling her mouth, sticky, salty and bitter, and she choked, blindly pulling the penis free, dousing her with a gout of hot stickiness, as the stuff sprayed from her nostrils and her mouth. Her heart hammering she struggled swallowing and retching the sticky mass until she managed to clear her windpipe and draw in deep breaths again. Dizzy, blinking away the film covering her face she regarded the still rigid organ that was still in her hand in front of her, lathed with her saliva and with a stream of thick yellow grey cum dripping in slow from the wide opening at its head. She could see movement seething within the medium, like thousands of small dark tadpoles swarming. She was both horrified and fascinated at the sight of the creature's perverse seed as it dribbled over her fingers. 

Then the meat shuddered in her grip and a burst of the spouted from the head and without thought or hesitation she bent her head back to it, closing her greedy lips over the erupting head to gulp down more of the foul stuff to join the mass in her hungry belly, welcoming its corruption, her tongue lapping at it as her hand kneaded the heavy pulsing mass of its balls.

Once the flood had abated she released the cock again. She stood up, shakily to stand swaying before the beast that had dominated and impregnated her despite its constraints. 

Its inhuman eyes regarded her with possessive lust and its lips curled in a a sneering smile, its yellow teeth bared and she could smell the rising stench of its exertions. She had no more sweet words for it. Now she realised Landory was a fool! They had both been fools. The creature that had claimed and bespoiled her  was no Satyr, no gentle creature of the woodlands or consort of the fey. It was a monster of corruption... a demon... 
... the stealer of her purity...

... the father of her children...

... her lover...

... her husband...

... her lover...

Open mouthed she took her bare breasts and began to knead them, rubbing in the spilt seed, feeling the painful hardness of her nipples. Then she hitched her skirt and petticoat lifting them to expose her naked groin to her bestial husband. The pink, swollen lips of her sex glistened eagerly beneath the tight curls of her pubes. She lifted one leg then the other over the beastman's powerful legs, straddling it, the rough hair tickling the soft flesh of her thighs. Then, taking its still rigid and slick cock in her hand, she guided the head against her folds and lowered herself down onto it. She felt pressure as the wide head jammed at the entrance to her passage, and the shaft bowed against the pressure. Then, with her weight pressing down and its own groin thrusting up she felt her maidenhead give way and her lips surrendered, parting, as the head of its organ pushed inside her, and she gave it her virginity.

She forced herself down on the column of flesh, gasping as her tight passage was distended by the thickness of it, her muscles of aching with the alien intrusion despite the copious lubrication of cum, saliva and her own juices. She rocked her hips as the beastman continued its short thrusts helping force it deeper and deeper until at last she felt it could no further into her unfallowed depths making her a woman... no... more than a woman; how many women would experience a phallus of such size driven by such compelling bestial strength. She began to raise and lower her hips against its thrusts, rotating them as she did so, and felt the walls of her vagina tugging at the flesh within her at first and then, as her passage began to accept the impalement and loosen its grip, it began to slide within her, the pain dulling. 

They moved together, her hips rising and falling as her bestial master thrust up into her in ever faster tempo and she felt the flared head moving within her forcing her muscles into a rhythm of acceptance while the rough skin and thick veins of its turgid member rubbed her silken flesh, heating it and sending pulses of dark pleasure through her. Her breasts bounced freely below her flushed chest, the nipples proud peaks on her swollen areola brushing the rough rope that coiled around the monster's chest. Fluids sprayed with wet noises from her stretched labia lips as the beast's organ pistoned in and out of her. Her quickening breaths were becoming cries of increasing volume as the pace of its thrusts exceeded her movements and its own deep animal grunts rose in volume with them. The pig and the goats behind the partition oinked and bleated in confusion and fear, and outside a fox barked. 

Their movements became faster and faster and she arched her back, now screaming as she felt her passage quiver and clutch at the cockmeat as a wave of small spams of pleasure rippled through her, unleashing a new torrent of wetness over the plunging shaft driven by her engorged clitoris which had emerged from its hood to rub against the thick meat that slid in and out of her entrance. Her hands clasped its horns and she howled into its face as her hips bucked in desperate need to consummate their bond driving her crotch against his organ and pressing her buttocks against the swollen orbs of its testicles as they swung up against her. She could feel her climax building like a great wave and sensed in its grunts its own release approaching and she whimpered and moaned as outside the fox continued its panicked barks.

The thrusts reached a crescendo and she felt the mighty organ quiver within quim as it thrust hard into her, straining at its bonds. As it did so her own orgasm broke and she felt the sudden surge of its seed erupting from its organ. She had felt the force of the creature's issue pumping into her stomach, now she felt the same force of its foul churning congealment blast into her womanly depths. She threw her head back and howled in ecstasy, giving her life and soul to the dark monster which had claimed her and the foul offspring of their union that now festered within her belly and womb. The entire barn seemed to shake with the force of their climax and she heard the door crash behind her and the penned animals bleating and chuffing in fright as someone behind her gasped. 

Then as a second surge erupted into her she heard rushing feet, felt strong arms from behind grasp her around the waist and suddenly she was hauled violently off her paramour's lap, the giant organ vacating her with a pop as she fell backwards legs thrashing, landing on top of her assailant, eliciting a pained oomph, while before her a fountain of thick cum shot vertically from the beastman's erect pillar.
