This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
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The Shrouded Woods vibrated with a beauty that only the brave could bear witness too. Spanning the lower slopes of a deviously rugged mountain range, the woods took no prisoners and sometimes did not even care to release those that they ensnared, leaving them lost and wandering for year after year, kept alive by its sustenance but only barely. From the mountains, it stretched through a temperament jungle, water dripping from leaves that always seemed to be moist as the air clung with a thicker sense of humidity to each and every tree, the age-old magic of the land rising up as if from their very roots.
Those trees had seen much in their time in the world but the ones that they saw the most of, although they did not often stray all that far from their tribes, were the satyrs: a primitive people with cloven hooves, haired legs and the torso of humans. Often barely going without anything to cover them at all, they drew the attention of wild animals with their bulk and height, despite being known for, in their own way, being excellent, stealthy hunters. When they were not slipping through the forest, however, with mud and leaves pounded into a masking pulp to cover their scent and features, they did not concern themselves all that much with the affairs of the wider world. Their huts and caves sheltered them, wherever the separate tribes chose to live, and each one kept themselves mostly to themselves for they were known to clash in more ways than one when they did come across one another. They were hardly always looking to expand their territory but, sometimes, things happened that they could not account for, needing to compete for food and sustenance. And, with their formidable antlers, of course, their clashes too had the potential to be bloody and feral in nature.
And yet they were becoming far from ferals that could not think of anything else but what they needed, learning and evolving. It took a while, of course, for their bodies to catch up with things, not being as small and as malleable as the rest of the world seemed to think them to be. It was strange how that assumption had come to be, truly. Most expected satyrs to be small and quiet, although that was merely a myth and one that they did not help quell by the simple fact that they kept themselves to themselves. They had a society of sorts, growing more and more as their kind aged and learned, coming into a new sense of being with the changing of the times.
Varossion sighed, hunching down to the ground, although that small act alone did not truly serve or assist him in the slightest in making himself seem less conspicuous, standing at over two metres tall. Folding his muscled bulk down into a crouch was harder than expected, skin bulging with muscle and veins, puffing slightly from the hike he'd undertaken. As far as satyrs went in the dangerous forest, he was one of the boldest and the bravest too, one who could travel between villages without, at least, too much concern for his safety. Shifting his weight from one massive cloven hoof to the other, he groaned and scratched the back of his head, his antlers spanning out from his head, flatter cups like those of fallow deer, although they were much larger.
He was big enough to fight off near enough anyone but, well... Even a satyr like Varossion could be led astray from time to time, such was the way of things.
He listened carefully, half-closing his eyes. His dark hair spilt down the back of his head and shoulders in a thick mane, rising around to his chin in the form of a thick, voluptuous beard that he had tied off so that the ends would not get in his way. Varossion was still finding his sense of place and being in the world but even he knew that practicality really was one of those things that a satyr in a dangerous location could not be at all lax on. It was just the way of it.
And yet... He paused, keeping his breathing slow and even, ears pricked (not literally) to catch each and every sound blown his way on the breeze. Someone approached. Several 'someones', in fact. The satyr swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and he shook his head, waiting for them as calmly as if he was merely taking in a meal at the end of a hard day, body aching from gathering his tribe sustenance. It could not be bad. And maybe that self-confidence, the over confidence of one who had only come of age a couple of years back, was just what led him straight into their trap.
The bushes rustled and his eyes lifted as a woman with fiery, ginger hair stepped out from the undergrowth, her dark green eyes sparkling with a sense of mischief that not even he could miss. His shoulders relaxed just a bit but he still remained vigilant as she was swiftly followed by a brunette and a blonde who were as different from one another as he was from them, despite being all female.
Their eyes dropped and Varossion shuffled his hooves uncomfortably: of course, there could be no qualm as to just what had so captured their attention. Of course, Varossion remained bare from head to toe, the only form of covering that he had on his body the brown hair on his legs, which still left his considerably oversized cock and balls on show. The satyr stiffened slightly, blood pumping as he raked in a breath, windpipe sore and tight as if in anticipation of something, the heat of lust rising in the back of his mind, tingling through to his traitorous loins: a satyr curse or a blessing to become so easily aroused, depending on how one looked at it at any given time.
"Are you lost?"
The red-head woman smiled, baring her teeth in what could have very well have been seen as a feral grin, something wilder and more untamed than what the otherwise innocent Varossion was used to. And yet he straightened slowly, looking her over with an eye that was not wise enough to understand what was happening to him, what their ill intentions towards him were. The three women grinned, although each smile held a different nuance to it, and the male could not help but return it in kind, although his was a softer, more genuine expression, reaching his eyes in a crinkle of soft good-feeling.
"Not at all," he said with a confident intonation, tipping his chin up without any note of fear. "But it is my pleasure to see you lovely ladies on my travels."
That seemed to appease them somewhat, although they still cast their eyes over him with a near enough predatory stare that should have, perhaps, set the nerves of a smaller, less dominant satyr on edge. But just what was it that Varossion had to fear for when he towered, his bulk and might obvious to all around? The brown-haired woman was yet to make herself known but her dark eyes glittered even as she smiled, fingers twitching on her wide, motherly hips as if she wanted to do something right there and then, even though, somehow, she managed to hold herself back to.
"I am Namara," the red-head said, introducing herself with a saucy flick of her hair, not that it covered her huge breasts anyway, which seemed to bulge forward dominantly, putting themselves on display, allowing Varossion to get an eyeful and a half of her hard nipples, perked up in the cool air. "This is Kasura and Enniru. We...have a proposition for you."
