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!"
