Satyr Seduction

Eryx swears quietly as he looks over the heard. As usual, one of the damn things is missing. "Hermes, guide my steps..." He mutters, adjusting his tunic and retying his boots as he sets off for the meadow they'd been grazing for the last few hours.

Thinking quickly to himself, the sandy-haired youth turns to one of his fellows, currently having a pleasant drink. "Ilus! Hecate's missing AGAIN. I'm gonna go grab her." The older shepherd raises his jug in acknowledgement before returning to his mildly besotted vigil as the boy wanders off towards the flat hilltop where the damnable she-goat likely still grazed, the greedy thing. Sure, the field was never short on greenery, that's why they CAME here, but really...

Clambering up the rocky hill, using a hefty stick like a cane, Eryx shakes his head, muttering grumpily. It wasn't even greed sometimes! Blasted thing just didn't want to leave the field. Not that he understood why. It was always windy and usually rained as often as not, not to mention how uncomfortably hot the place was in summer. Why she'd want to stay-

It's at that moment that he hears music, giving him pause. It sounds like a happy, soft flute melody, but there's no one else around for miles. Aside from a few other shepherds back home, he doesn't think anyone else has ever been to this valley before. An old secret, Ilus said. Preparing himself for creatures magic and monstrous, the boy surmounts the last boulder between him and the wide-topped meadow, he sees it.

Sitting in the field only a couple hundred feet away, is Hecate, and before her sits a man playing some manner of wind-instrument. Taking up his cudgel, he prepares to cry out towards him, striding angrily for the figure before he comes into focus. It looks like a naked, well-tanned man, with strong and supple limbs, but atop his head sits a pair of long, pointed ears in supple black, and a stringy tail flicks behind him.

Now, Eryx has never been a very educated young man, having been orphaned at the age of five and lived primarily on foraging and the kindness of strangers until joining the shepherds, but it's fairly easy to recognize what is and is not human, and what Eryx sees definitely isn't. However, before he can call out, the stranger ends his pleasant tune and beckons at the young shepherd. "Boy!" He cries, smiling cheerfully. "Come forth! Today is a time of celebration!" He raises a jug from the grass as he beckons and smiles.

Caught between the risk of offending the strange horse-man and the risks of accepting gifts from unnatural creatures, Eryx remains paralyzed for several seconds before reluctantly approaching. Accepting the gesture, the boy sits besides Hecate, noting the surly goat's calm demeanor and relaxed posture, something new to the cantankerous nanny. So this is where she's been getting to, he thinks, turning to face the goat and trying to speak before a heavy, sloshing jug is shoved into his arms.

"Friend!" Chuckles the satyr. "Have no fear! You are my guest, and the name of Gorgos the Player is well known throughout the lands as one of hospitality and peace. Take a drink, and be merry!" He resumes playing, leaving Eryx with the jug and the noticeably drunk goat as he seems to lose himself in the music. Deciding to risk it, the shepherd takes a swig, then coughs, swallowing down the searingly intense wine, before risking another, smaller swallow. Whatever it is, it hits like a truck, and he can already feel himself growing warm...

Gorgos comes to the end of his piece several swallows later, and smiles at the boy. "Sir, you seem intrigued by my instrument... would you like to learn to play?" The shepherd opens his mouth to refuse but... He's honestly always wanted to, and why not? The handsome man with the black-haired legs seems friendly enough! "Just sit in my lap, sir, and I'll guide you through it." He chuckles, helping the drunken youth over into his legs and wrapping his arms about him. "Now... Here."

Gorgos' hands move with practiced ease as the young man settles on the warm, black-coated legs of the satyr, lying drunkenly back against him as large, warm hands maneuver his fingers into position along the flute, angling it downward as he grins. "Now, boy... blow!" At this command, Eryx gives his best effort, managing a mournful toot before slumping in despair. "There, there!" Chuckles the satyr, squeezing his shoulders. "Athens wasn't built in a day! Keep going, boy, you're a natural at this."

So it goes for the next hour, occasionally broken up by a break for some more of the jug, Eryx growing steadily warmer as the satyr encourages and strokes him, until he feels a bulge at the front of his pants, straining against the linen. "What's this?" Chuckles Gorgos, reaching down to squeeze the lengthy shape as Eryx turns crimson. "Hmmm... You know, I think I know how to reward you." Something hot and hard that'd been growing against the shepherd's back over the last hour shifts, leaving a trail of moisture down his tunic as the satyr shifts. The shepherd shudders, but nods, a stream of fluid staining his trousers as the Satyr yanks down Eryx's belt.

A firm hand squeezes the shepherd's rear, and Gorgos smiles, flicking an ear as he leans in close. "We're going to have some fun~" He murmurs, pressing the round end of his shaft against Eryx's ring, slathering it in his own lubricant. "Now... Hold on." The human has barely a moment to think before that massive prick slowly but firmly begins to slide past his ring, stretching him wider than he's ever been as that hot, thick flesh presses into him. He gasps, on the verge of crying out, but is cut off by the satyr's mouth pressing into his kissing him deeply as his hips start to bounce.

It seems to stretch on forever, their passionate embrace, the satyr carefully timing his thrusts to bring Eryx to the edge of passion while the shepherd holds him tightly, returning his kiss with as much strength and enthusiasm as he can muster, filling the inhuman man's mouth with his tongue as he pushes back against him and wraps his arms tighter against his chest. Finally, after an aeon of such pleasure, the satyr gives in first, thrusting his oversized prick halfway into the boy and squeezing him tightly as his seed squirts into the shepherd's rear, filling him in long, heavy gouts of searingly hot cream even as Eryx erupts in a string of seed that spatters an indignant shrug seven feet away. Exhausted, the human slumps back against Gorgos' chest, moaning quietly as he's wrapped in the satyr's loving embrace, passing out to dream of warmth and music.