I was with my sisters at the woodland pool we frequented when a strange sound came to my ear. It was the sound of a pan flute, skipping gently along mingled with the sounds of the woods as though a singular yet confident part in a much greater symphony. I bade my sisters to hush their giggles and gossips and when they had the lot of us sat trembling with wonder and fear at this new sound. The music grew louder and my sisters began to whisper and fret with one another, I bid them again still their tongues, but they did not hear me, their anxiety having built to a fervor. Then, in ones and twos, then in a great rush my sisters fled into the woods, leaving me where I sat, ears straining to catch each note.
So enchanting was the sound I could not help but drift to my feet and step into the clearing which was awash in golden sunlight and swelling with the hum of honey bees and the careless flight of butterflies. I swayed and wove, sending my delicate feet to drift above the grass as the leaves which gathered about me swirled and waved. I danced as the sound grew louder, soon overtaking the other noises of the forest. It was as though the forest itself was hushed to listen to those lithe and merry notes. My eyes were shut as I danced, my body felt as though it were being joyfully pulled about by the power of what I was hearing. When suddenly the music stopped.
Mid twirl I came to a halt and I trembled. my balance was weakened by the dancing and my shut eyes. I fell like a leaf, softly to the ground. I recall how my heart was pounding and my limbs shivered, but when I saw him I felt myself still. It was a satyr. One of the wicked creatures of the wood, scoundrels and heathens all. Or so I had been told. But this figure looked nothing like a heathen, though there may have been a touch of scoundrel in his glittering eyes and tousled black locks. He held a well used pan flute an inch from his lips which smiled in a crooked and disarming way. He was tall, his goats legs were clothed in black fur, I could see his triangle of a tail rising at his back, just below where the sun tanned flesh of his skin began. He wore nothing but a woven grass belt over one shoulder and a silver chain wrapped about one of his spiral black horns. Yes, I was certain he was a satyr, like the ones I had been warned of. But I did not fear him.
On cloven hooves he stepped silently into the clearing, I could only stare as he came closer and the sunlight covered his muscled torso. My eyes traced the curling black hair upon his chest, down to his belly, and then lower. It was then that I gasped, for I could see, for the first time the majestic gentle curve of his cock. The base of him was buried within the thick black hair upon his pelvis. His shaft rose thick and veined to a gentle curve ending in the glistening black head. He stepped closer to me, his pelvis level with my face. I lay there on the ground, helpless and transfixed. With a smile my satyr offered a hand. He was close enough that I could see a single bead of moisture trembling at the tip of his cock, rising like a crystal jewel from the line at his cap. My mouth grew wet with desire for that bead, my lips parted further, my chin tilting up to drag my sight away from his erection, I struggled to focus on his face. I accepted his hand without thinking and he pulled me to my feet.
Realizing I had been holding my breath I filled my lungs with the afternoon air. He smelled like sweet tree bark and the emerald green of a shadowed glen. His scent flooded over me like a thick incense smelled from far away. I could feel the softness of the black hair which thinly covered the back of his hand. I was surprised to find no claws, instead musicians' calluses and strong smooth skin. I was so close I could count the spiraling lines on his magnificent horns. He looked at me expectantly, I gaped, saying nothing.
"Is this how you Dryads say your thanks?" His voice was low and soft, I could hear the smirk on his lips tucked away behind each of his words. I could feel myself melting, yearning to touch him, and there, between us, his cock stood, hard and direct, inches from my body.
"No sir" I stammered, "I mean to say yes, when we find ourselves so shocked by a creature such as you, our thanks must be acceptable in the form of stunned silence."
"So you have met one such as me, sweet creature?"
"Nay, never."
"But you know what I am?"
"I have heard the stories but I find that you standing before me..." My eyes darted downward, that crystal orb had grown larger, barely holding on, the surface tension felt a manifestation of the tension within my own body. Seeing my glance the satyr smirked more broadly and shifted his muscled animal legs further apart. I could now see the sway of his balls, heavy and covered in the same black fur. My fingertips twitched as I imagined cradling their warm firm weight in my hand. "Being next to you" I continued haltingly, "puts all the stories to shame."
"How marvelous that must be." He stepped forward the tiniest step, I imagined I could feel the warmth of him radiating to my skin, like a summer sun nourishing branches of green. I realized my hand still lay within his, I could feel him tracing gentle lines along my fingers, each sensation threatened to overthrow the last of my restraint. I trembled.
"Yes, marvelous." I whispered, the force pulling me towards him was building to unbearable levels. The leaves around me swirled and fell as an unruly wind danced about our feet, I could feel the spiral of leaves tightening, as though straining to push our two forms together. Was this my magic? Or something else?
"Do you like it?" he asked
"Oh my, Oh very much." I responded with an eager moan, leaning forward with my parted lips.
He leaned back from me, I started surprised and looked up at his face. My satyr raised an eyebrow, holding up his flute.
"Yes, the flute, of course." I gasped, my voice higher in pitch as I recognized my mistake. My cheeks flared pink beneath the plant green shade of my skin.
"Of course." he said with a touch of indulgence.
