mk-chimera

[mk-chimera]

The third chapter of The Horned Man (the slightly more polished, 3rd-person version) is up on AO3 now ❤️

The Horned Man Chapter 3: A Bet and a Bargain

[mk-chimera]

Emma of Erley

Read on AO3

Chapter 3

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

CW: Explicit, M/F, M/M, PIV sex, oral sex, masturbation, voyeurism, incidental homophobia bc it’s the 1700s and girly didn’t know men could do that

—

There were many eyes in the forest, so Emma was careful of her expression as she walked. It was only when she bent down to take a drink from a stream that she allowed herself a quick, triumphant smile.

It was then that she heard it. In the distance there was music, so faint that she could not determine a song nor the instrument playing it. She stood and, after a moment’s hesitation, headed off towards the sound.

Following strange music into the woods was not generally a good idea. In fact, it was one of the main ways the fae captured travelers and wandering children in the stories. But Emma was true-sighted, and no glamor could hold her like other mortals— any trap set for a traveler would not catch her unawares.

She hoped so, at least.

The music grew louder as she walked, and within minutes she could see the clearing— and the shapes moving within. She slowed down and began to sneak, keeping low to the brush. She hid behind a thicket of blackberries and peered into the clearing beyond.

Around a dozen people lounged around the clearing. But they weren’t just any people— not to Emma’s eyes. These people, every single one of them, were fae.

There were men with spiky goat’s horns and cloven feet, and a woman in a gown as golden as sunlight with antlers that were woven with ivy; one woman sat in the lap of one of the goat-horned men with her arms around his neck, her bark-patterned skin striped in all the brown shades of an oak tree. Little lights danced through the air like dust motes, overpowered into insubstantiality by the bright afternoon sun.

A man with curling ram’s horns was playing the fiddle atop a tall stump adorned with oyster mushrooms and lichen of every color, forming the informal center of the group. Two nymphs arranged at his feet occasionally raised their ethereal voices in song for a few lines, before becoming distracted by something else and trailing off.

The other folk in the clearing were lounging on blankets spread in the grass and perched on smaller stumps and stones that served as seats. Some sat in groups, others in couples with their limbs intertwined.

Emma’s face grew hot when she heard a gasp and realized what the satyr and dryad couple off to the side were doing. As she did when she found a village couple tangled up among the hay bales or in a remote part of the forest, she turned her head and pretended she hadn’t seen anything.

She’d seen revelries before and watched them much as she was now; hiding in the underbrush, terrified of being seen but also not able to defy the temptation to catch a glimpse into the world of the fae. She was as envious of them as she was terrified; who wouldn’t want to live a carefree life of reveling and feasting, your entire existence a perpetual summer’s day?

One of the two people having sex moaned again, sounding more insistent. She glanced over without thinking and saw the woman straddling her male partner, her green muslin dress hiked up past her dappled thighs and her hands braced on his shoulders as he held her hips and thrust up against her.

Emma made herself look away again, her whole body warm. It wasn’t right to watch— but then, it wasn’t right to have sex in front of a group of people either, and that hadn’t stopped them, had it?

Two male satyrs sat together on a blanket in the grass, and though she could not hear what they were saying she could see their eyes watching the couple. One of the satyrs shifted back a little, and she saw he had his hand around his cock and was stroking it lazily. She should’ve looked away, but instead she found herself watching the way his hand glided up and down his swollen shaft, how the head of his cock glistened in the light.

The woman let out a moan that turned into a cry, and Emma could see her back arch and the man thrusting faster beneath her; the watching satyrs grinned and nudged each other. The woman almost sounded like she was in pain, her voice ragged, but when she relaxed against the man’s chest she was laughing. She kissed him and wrapped her hands around his horns, and they began moving together again.

Emma had given up the pretense of not staring now. She watched the man become rougher with the woman, his hands digging into her hips beneath the crumpled fabric of her dress. The woman made appreciative sounds, and the man let out a groan before slowing, giving her a few more lazy thrusts before she laid down on his chest and they both relaxed into the grass, giggling.

She glanced back at the two satyrs and saw that one of them had his head in the other’s lap, and the one she’d been watching a moment ago was arching his back against whatever the other was doing, his head falling back as he stroked the other boy’s curly auburn hair. She stared, shocked both by what he was doing and by the fact that it was two boys. Judging by the little sounds that the boy on the receiving end was making, he was greatly enjoying it.

A twig snapping behind her brought Emma back to the present.

An involuntary gasp escaped her as she spun around, fear closing a vise-like grip around her chest. There stood one of the antlered boys, his amber eyes going wide as he saw her panic.

He looked around her age, possessing the lankiness many of the boys her age still had; but she knew no mortal who was half as lovely as he was. He had soft brown skin the color of oak leaves in autumn, and the amber of his eyes turned a clear gold when the sun coming through the branches overhead dappled his face. Amid his soft brown curls were a pair of tiny, two-pronged antlers, and his ears were elongated and furred like a deer’s.

For a long moment they stared at each other, frozen. Then one of his ears flicked, and he spoke.

“Hello,” he said.

“I-I meant no harm,” she said, knowing her guilt was plain on her face. She had seen fauns before, but this was the first time one had truly acknowledged her; and the fae were unpredictable.

“You were just watching,” he said. His voice was soft, almost kind.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean— I didn’t mean to intrude or interrupt you.”

“You’re welcome to intrude,” he said. “Would you like to join us?”

He took a hesitant step forward and for the first time she registered his legs, which were the cloven-footed legs of a deer. He offered her his hand and she stared at it for a moment, her heart hammering in her ears. His nails glittered golden, as though they had been painted with sunlight.

“Um,” she said. “If— if that’s alright.”

She took his hand; it was warm and pleasantly callused.

“Of course,” he said with a dazzling smile that made her face grow hot.

He gently pulled her to her feet and darted back into the clearing, tugging her after him.

The other fae glanced at her and whispered to each other; a blonde woman sitting in the lap of a horned man gave her a little wave and flirtatious smile as the man kissed her throat. Emma looked away quickly, her whole body feeling hot.

“Don’t mind them,” the faun told her. “Everyone gets a little restless near the solstice.”

She nodded, trying not to stare.

The faun led her to an empty blanket and sat down, gesturing for her to do the same. She did so, trembling a little as the group watched.

“You have the Sight, don’t you?” The golden-eyed boy asked, leaning in just a bit closer than what was proper.

“I do,” she said.

“That seems a bit obvious a question, Sorrel,” the blonde girl said with a smirk. Her companion nipped her ear, and she giggled.

Sorrel rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind her,” he told Emma.

“You’re Sorrel?” Emma asked.

“I am,” he said with a dazzling smile that made her feel a little lightheaded. “What can I call you?”

“Emma,” she said weakly.

The blonde woman whispered something to her partner, and they both hopped to their feet. The satyr’s feet were cloven, but her’s were webbed like the feet of a duck, with a fringe of feathers around the ankle.

“Play us something to dance to,” she called to the satyr upon the stump. He immediately began to play something more lively, the kind of music that Emma could feel in her bones and her rapidly speeding heart.

“Will you dance with us?” Sorrel asked her.

She knew the fae were dangerous. She knew she should say no. But as he looked at her with that hopeful expression and those bottomless amber eyes, she knew it no longer mattered.

⤝❦⤞

[mk-chimera]

Emma of Erley

Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 3

Series: The Women of Erlensee

CW: discussion of fertility

—

Emma spent most of her days in the forest, and her family didn’t find anything strange about her being gone before the sunrise. This was lucky, because today she had business that required her staying ahead of the dawn.

By the time the sun threatened to cross the horizon she was more than a mile into the forest, standing at the edge of a clearing still damp with dew.

“I beg an audience, woodswitch,” she called, staring into the shadowed trees with her back to the clearing’s center.

Emma counted to three before turning around. There she found a small hut, where only grass and leaves had been a moment before. Smoke trickled from the chimney, and the cool air of the clearing slowly filled with the scent of woodsmoke and herbs.

This was not her first time she’d seen the woodswitch’s hut; she’d seen it on accident on occasion while roaming the woods at dawn or dusk, always in the distance and always scenting the air with sweet smoke. She’d even seen villagers enter once or twice, though she’d never strayed close enough to spy what happened inside. Black magic, the stories said; deals, bargains, and trades of all kinds.

Today she wasn’t here to observe, however. Today, she had a bargain of her own to make.

Steadying herself, Emma approached the door of the hut. She knocked three times, as was customary with the fae. To the empty morning air she asked, “May I enter?”

For several moments, the woods were silent. Even the birds ceased to sing as they awaited the woodswitch’s response.

“Enter, true seer,” came the reply in a creaking voice.

Emma’s skin prickled; that was not a human voice, her instincts told her. And whoever the voice belonged to already knew who she was.

You’d best be relieved at that, she reminded the more cowardly part of her nature. You came here to deal with the fae, not a senile old wildwoman. Now stop being a baby.

Taking a deep breath, she grasped the door handle and entered the moss-covered hut.

The air inside the hut was warm and humid, like the air of a bakery in midsummer. A fire blazed in a stone fireplace, and the walls were lined with crooked shelves and curving support beams made of what appeared to be bones longer than Emma was tall. An ancient wooden table sat in the middle of the room beneath a heavy load of bottles, baskets, and bundles of all sorts.

This place looked older than the entirety of her village; like it had grown from the forest instead of being built. She could feel its age in her lungs and beneath the bare soles of her feet.

It also appeared to be currently unoccupied. Emma took the opportunity to survey the room, keeping her arms carefully folded behind her to avoid accidentally touching or disturbing anything. She’d grown up hearing enough faerie tales to know better than to upset a fae in their own home.

She eyed the items laid out upon the old table. One basket was full of cattail roots ready for cooking; another with apples that gleamed like the sun. There were bundles of dozens of herbs that she could name— and strangely a handful that she couldn’t, all carefully dried and tied into packets. There was a stack of what she thought were rabbit pelts, carefully preserved down to the nails on the feet. She saw a jar of deer molars, a jar of fool’s gold, a jar of human baby teeth.

The sound of someone clearing their throat broke the silence. A heartbeat later, a section of the wall folded to the side— a trapdoor, cleverly hidden. A small, bent form climbed through, carrying something in its sharp-fingered hands.

The hag was short, and made shorter by a perpetual hunch; her head didn’t reach Emma’s shoulder as she peered at Emma with pale, filmy eyes. She walked with a shuffling motion, and clutched what appeared to be a ball of moss in her gnarled, black-nailed hands.

“I’m here to bargain,” Emma said politely.

The hag looked at her suspiciously. “And what interest does a true-seer have in fae bargains?”

“It’s for my brother and his wife,” Emma said. She did her best to look as vulnerable and sad as possible.

The hag’s expression did not change, but after a moment she set the item in her hands upon the table. “Say what you desire, true-seer,” the hag rasped.

“I want to make a deal for my brother and his wife to be able to have children,” she said.

“And why do you have such an interest in the family of your brother? Pure altruism?”

Emma ignored the hag’s biting tone. “Because he is my only male sibling, and if he cannot produce a child our land will be inherited by our cousins and my mother and I will lose our home when my father passes.”

“I see,” the hag said, stepping closer to peer at her face. “Financial gain, then. And if I could provide your brother and his wife with children— what would you provide me in return?”

“I would trade my own ability to have children.” Emma took a deep breath. “A portion of it, to be specific.”

The hag stared at her, then broke out in an awful sharp-toothed grin. “How interesting,” the hag said. “Is your family home so precious? Are you truly sure your brother will appreciate your sacrifice and not turn you out, barren and alone?”

“Yes,” she said firmly.

“I cannot simply undo it if you come to regret it, child.”

“Does that mean you can do it, then?” Emma challenged.

“It may,” the hag said. “What age is your brother? What age is your brother’s wife? How many years would you offer me?”

“One of mine for one of theirs,” Emma said. “I think that’s fair.”

The hag tipped her head and made a creaking sound with her mouth. “And how many would satisfy?” The hag asked. “Just one year? Five?”

“Ten,” Emma said. “They need enough time to conceive a boy.”

The hag tipped her head back the other way, her pupils dilating and contracting rapidly against poisonously green irises. “An inheritance on the line…”

“My brother is the only boy, and they need a son,” Emma said.

“Perhaps we should be dealing in headcounts rather than the trading of years, then,” said the hag. “How many years for a healthy boy? A good few, I think.”

Emma thought for a moment, then said carefully, “I think you are the best person to weigh that price, not me.”

The hag chuckled. “Clever thing. Alright, then: how old are your brother and his wife?”

Emma told her. The hag followed this question with a long procession of others, and as Emma answered the hag reached into the table and began to move small, shriveled beans from a small jar onto different sides of a scale, studying how it moved with each new addition.

The hag stopped asking questions and stared at the scale for a moment, crouched down to it level with her face just inches from it. Then she croaked, “Five years.”

“Five years for one male infant?”

The hag eyed her. “It is more than a fair price.”

Emma chewed her lip. They would need at least two.

“Ten years, then,” she said at last. “For two healthy boys who will grow to adulthood. And any other children they can conceive in those ten years,” she added.

The hag frowned, and Emma began to sweat. The hag’s emerald green eyes burned into her, and Emma suppressed a shudder as she felt something sharp brush against her mind like fingers breaking the surface of a lake.

“Many young girls think they would prefer to not worry about pregnancy and children,” said the hag. “But this world is not kind to barren women, as your sister in law well knows.”

One thing Emma knew for sure in regard to fae bargains was that the cost of the trade was important. The more it would hurt you to give something up, the more it was worth. It was of the utmost importance that the hag believed this cost was a heavy one.

Practiced tears welled in Emma’s eyes as she said, “I understand the price. I’m… I’m sure.”

The hag peered closely at her, then broke into another unpleasantly sharp smile. “It is a deal, then. Shall we shake on it?”

Emma took the storm hag’s rough, clawed hand in hers and shook in acknowledgement of their bargain. Her skin felt like dry parchment scabbed with lichen. She smelled, strangely, of hothouse flowers.

The air grew heavy and smelled of ozone, as if a storm front was moving in; her skin prickled as every hair on her body stood on end. Then the sensation lifted and the smell faded, replaced by the smell of herbs and forest earth once more.

“Until we meet again, true seer,” said the hag.

⤝❦⤞

[mk-chimera]

The Horned Man

Part 11 of….

Read on AO3

Part 10 | Part 12

Series:

CW: explicit, male satyr x female reader, bondage, premature ejaculation, overstim, edging, male multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, forced orgasm, orgasm control, ruined orgasm

—

You approach Alder and remove the automatic toy from his cock, then take his cock in your hand. “Remember,” you say. “We agreed on five.”

“I remember,” he says breathlessly, eyes wide.

You give him his first, slow stroke and kiss him as his mouth forms a little ‘o’ of pleasure. He sighs against your lips as you stroke him, letting out a nervous little giggle.

You take a couple minutes to work him towards his first ruin, stroking him leisurely and feeling him get more and more worked up against you.

“I’m coming,” he gasps, and you release him. He whimpers and come oozes slowly from his cock a moment later, his cock jumping in a futile attempt to find stimulation and finish the orgasm.

There is no break. You only wait for his cock to stop leaking and then begin stroking again, enjoying how hard his cock has stayed. You set a brisk pace with your fist, and he doesn’t shy away at all— without the orgasm there is no overstimulation for him to overcome, no relief: just endlessly building need. This time he growls when you pull back and allow him to come untouched once more.

For the third, you work the fleshlight against him as he gasps and begs. He spills quickly—and the second his climax has faded back out of reach you’re fucking him with it again. You give him a few deep strokes— then pull away as he protests.

“Not yet,” he says breathlessly. “That was too soon.”

“I don’t want it to be over too fast,” you say.

The whimper he let out at that was near hysterical. “So you’re going to edge me too?” He asked. “That’s so unfair.”

“Depends,” you say. “Does it still feel good?”

Again you give him a few deep, satisfying thrusts— then pull away again. His cock twitches, but he holds it back.

“God,” he moaned.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you point out. “If it doesn’t feel good, we can always stop for now…”

The look he gives you when you say that makes you laugh. “You don’t seem pleased by that idea,” you tease.

“I feel like if I don’t come soon I’m going to lose my mind,” he said.

“But we’re so close to done,” you say. “You just have to hold out a little longer.”

You give him a slow, twisting stroke with the fleshlight. This time, you don’t stop; you keep the pace slow and steady with the twisting motion that you know from experience rubs all the most sensitive parts of his cock. His moans sound like sobs, and you are momentarily tempted to make him come like that so you can hear his voice break for you. But you have promises to keep. You pull away.

His cock jumps for a few seconds before he comes with a frustrated groan. He gasps, out of breath and trembling.

“One more,” you say.

You put one finger on his frenulum and rub gently. He lets out a hysterical little giggle and moan, his hips twisting back and forth.

“Please,” he says.

“It’s up to you,” you tell him. “Just one more, sweetie.”

He growls and drops his head back, breathing hard.

You loop your fingers around his cock so your thumb rests on his frenulum, then give him short strokes while you circle your thumb. You kiss his chest and suck gently over one of his nipples.

“Don’t stop,” he says, his breath ragged.

You keep going until you hear his breath hitch. You pull your hand away, and he struggles on the edge for a moment before letting out a whimper. Not quite close enough, you think. You lightly rub his frenulum with a finger as he writhes and desperately tries to reach his orgasm.

You feel him tense and pull away again; he thrusts into empty air and then lets out a desperate growl.

“Please,” he pants.

“Are you sure?” You whisper in his ear. “You need to show me you want it.”

He responds by turning his head and kissing you like his life depends on it. You loop your fingers around the head of his cock again and let him thrust against your hand; he whimpers against your lips.

He’s shaking on each thrust, and you move your hand with him to give them just a little more stimulation. You could just stroke him normally— in the state, he’d come in seconds— but doing it this way is just a bit too fun to stop now.

You feel him reach the edge again and keep stroking a second longer, hearing him cry out with the pleasure of the very beginning of his orgasm before pulling away and denying him. He gasps as the last of the ruined orgasms spasms through him, his cock jumping and letting out a sad little dribble of come.

“Can I come for real now?” He asked, breathing hard. “I did what you asked, didn’t I?”

You look at his red, tortured cock skeptically. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

You know for a fact that he can come again; but he’s just so easy to rile up.

He writhes against his restraints. “Please,” he begs. “Just one. I just need one.”

You take his cock in your hand and hold it gently. “That doesn’t sound like you,” you point out. “And this looks sore. Maybe we should wait for tomorrow.”

He thrusts and gets the barest amount of friction against your palm. “I come so much harder after being ruined,” he said shakily. “Please. I need it.”

You squeeze just a little, stroking slightly in time with his thrusts. His cock still manages to spill precome, and you’re honestly impressed. He sighs, and closes his eyes.

The gasp of surprise when he feels you take his cock into your mouth is exquisite. It’s followed by a heartfelt moan.

He’s fully hard again in seconds, but you take your time. You stroke him with your hand as you work, setting a leisurely but unyielding pace. The sounds he makes are unspeakably lovely; he tries to say something but it’s unintelligible, and he gives up.

He lets out a sob as he comes. His cock spasms against your tongue, and you swallow what little he’s able to produce.

You keep circling your tongue lightly over his oversensitive cock, curious to see his reaction. He jumps and laughs, sounding delirious. His body seems confused, thrusting his hips jerkily towards her and then jumping back. He doesn’t ask you to stop, though.

You continue your movements, keeping them slow and gentle; soon he begins rocking his hips gently against you. His breath comes in soft, unsteady gasps.

The orgasm comes upon him without warning. He tenses suddenly and his body begins to tremble, his sighs becoming urgent moans. You carry him through one final release and feel him fall limp, gasping with exertion.

You release his cock and it twitches against his leg, spent for the time being. You get to your feet and stretch. You put your arms around his neck and lean against his chest with a sigh. Alder rests his head against yours and blows softly in your ear.

“How was that?” You ask.

He laughs. “Thank you,” he says sleepily.

—

[mk-chimera]

The Horned Man

Part 12 of…

Read on AO3

Part 11 | Part 13

Series: 2nd person, extra-canon stories

CW: explicit, male satyr x female reader, bondage, overstim, edging, male multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, forced orgasm, orgasm control, and a bit of lore and fluff too lol

“Motherfucker,” you mutter.

“What is it?”

It’s the fourteenth of March, one week before the Equinox. You’re standing in your garden above a half-groomed flowerbed, glaring down at a ravaged patch of tulips.

“I think the gnomes have been at the tulips again. A bunch of the bulbs have been dug up and chewed on.”

“Sounds like gnome business,” Alder agrees cheerfully.

You can’t see him, but you can hear him thanks to the greenhouse windows you’d opened to let some air in.

“Is there a Wild Hunt I can call for a gnome infestation?” You mutter as you irritably attempt to return the bulbs to the earth. “Or perhaps a kobold with good aim?”

He laughs. “You can’t call the Wild Hunt, first of all,” he says. “It’s not wild if you can call it.”

“I’ll take a mercenary crew. Elves. Trolls. Víla. Whatever it takes to chase them back to the caves they crawled out of.”

It’s not that you don’t like gardening; but an estate this size wasn’t meant to be tended to by just one person even when it was in good condition. Neglected as it was, the effort of wrangling the garden would easily consume your every waking moment if you let it.

“You can normally bargain with them,” Alder suggests. “They’re greedy when it comes to food, but not usually malicious. Maybe you could come up with a trade.”

“Or maybe I need to buy a barn cat,” you say under your breath.

Alder pretends not to hear that. “Are you the only one tending to the gardens around here?”

“Currently.”

“That seems like an awful lot of work.”

“It is,” you say. “That’s why I’m only keeping up the ones closest to the house. I’ll probably have to hire someone at some point to help with the rest— but it’s not exactly easy to do with how particular this place is.”

“Do you have any help from the folk?”

“The sprites manage the brambles and berry bushes,” you say.

He made a doubtful noise. “You’ll need more than that to manage this place.”

“So I’m learning.” You toss the gardening scissors aside with a bit more force than is strictly necessary. “I never had to do any of this until about six months ago. My mother didn’t exactly train me as her successor.”

“Judging by the state of this place, I doubt your mother did much of anything around here,” Alder says, making you snicker. You can hear in his tone that he’s doing the little wrinkle of his nose that he does when he disapproves of something.

“I assume the gardens of the Wildwoods are magnificent,” you say, dusting off your hands on your gardening apron.

“They are,” he says with a wistful sigh. “They’re absolutely breathtaking, in fact.”

His words cut off abruptly, then you hear him snicker. You walk over to the windowsill and peer inside. His head is resting back against the tree, and his honey-amber eyes are fixed on something above him.

“Maybe some of you should keep the gnomes in check,” he says to branches over his head.

Craning your neck, you can just make out the partial outlines of several small, humanoid shapes sitting amongst the leaves. Sprites.

You don’t hear their response, but Alder laughs. “Fair enough,” he tells them. “But you really should be doing more here. I’ve seen the shape some of the gardens here are in— your palace cousins would be ashamed.”

The response is shrill enough for you to catch from outside the window, and he cackles. “I’m telling the truth, and you know it. You’re just lucky that the mistress of this estate isn’t fae enough to boss you around.”

Isn’t fae enough. The question you’ve been turning around and around for weeks resurfaces, nagging at you once more. You frown.

“You have to bargain with her,” Alder insists. “I’m just a guest. No agreement with me would be binding.”

You walk to one of the windows and lean in, brushing dirt off yourself as you do so. “Did the previous owner have any bargains with you?”

You still can’t see them clearly, but you can make out several small shapes flitting around in the leaves overhead. After a moment a small, high-pitched voice (which to any other mortal might have sounded like the chirp of a bird or particularly emphatic rustling of leaves) says, “Sometimes.”

“Great,” you say. “We’ll have to work something out then.”

Whispering and muttering can be heard overhead; you and Alder share a look.

“I can’t force you of course,” you say nonchalantly. “But if you won’t help, I’m afraid I’ll have to hire human gardeners.”

There’s a gasp, and a tiny face pokes out of the leaves to stare balefully down at you.

“You can’t,” the sprite insists in its small, shrill little voice.

“Well, how else can I take care of the gardens?” You say, feigning complete innocence. “I’m responsible for the land here. You don’t want me to neglect it, do you?”

The little face disappears, and furious whispers can be heard. Alder grins at you.

The conversation overhead continues for a while, so eventually you say into the air, “I’ll be here in the greenhouse around sunset if you’d like to talk,” and get back to gardening.

You chalk the tulips up as a loss for the time being and move on to some other problem areas. Truthfully you won’t be able to do anything in the span of the afternoon that will make a big enough difference to be noticeable in the grand expanse of the property’s gardens; each day you’ve been steadfastly making what progress you can, and hoping it will eventually add up. You’ve managed to clear some of the pathways— the ones you frequently used, at least, were now walkable and largely free of fallen branches.

You know you would’ve gotten more done if you didn’t spend so much time with Alder, but you can’t bring yourself to care. He’ll be gone soon enough; and then you’ll be able to agonize over the state of your family’s garden to your heart’s content.

The impending deadline weighs on you. You haven’t mentioned it to Alder; he’s (obviously) thrilled at the thought of no longer being fused to a tree, and you don’t want to seem silly by telling him you’ll be sad to see him go. He’s a fae creature, after all; he’ll meet generations of humans over his lifetime, each as fleeting as a mayfly. He’ll probably meet your children’s children’s children.

That unsettling thought aside, you’ve had a lot of fun the last few weeks. You’ve been trying to make the most of the time you have left and not worry too deeply about what will come next.

“Tara?” You hear Alder call.

Shaking off your thoughts of the future, you make your way to the greenhouse window and stick your head inside. “Yeah?”

“Do you think you could maybe take a break from working in the garden for a bit?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure— why?”

He shifts awkwardly— as much as the tree will allow him.

“Well, you know,” he said. “It seems like you could use a break. And… it’s been a few hours.”

You laugh. “I take a couple of hours to do chores and you already need more?”

He shifts again; his cock isn’t hard yet but it’s a little swollen, clearly looking for attention once more.

“Maybe I should set you up with the machine again and just leave you here for a few hours.”

His cock twitches involuntarily at the thought of that. He’s very familiar with the things the machine could do to him, and the thought of being at its mercy was clearly not an unpleasant one.

“I want you to touch me,” he pleads. “Put the machine on me after if you want, but I want you to make me come first.”

You grin. “So needy.”

He whines.

You go around and enter the greenhouse, and pull a chair over to sit beside him. You give his cock a slow stroke and he lets out a shaky sigh.

“Poor thing,” you say.

You stroke him slowly, getting him fully hard for you. You speed up for a few strokes, then slow down again. You speed up— and then slow way, way down, giving him just a light caress.

“No, no,” he begs. “Please don’t stop. Please.”

You snicker and kiss him as he protests. You can’t help it; he’s just irresistible when he’s being edged. And since he’s told you how much he enjoys it too, you have permission to indulge.

“Tara,” he moans as you lightly caress the head of his cock with a finger.

“After this I’m going to put the machine on you while I work,” you say in his ear. “I’m gonna let it milk you dry for me.”

The only sounds escaping him were wordless gasps of desperation.

“How long should I set it for?” You ask. “And what speed? Too slow and I’m just torturing you, too fast and you’re empty and overstimulated before I turn it off.”

“Please,” he whimpers.

“Maybe I’ll leave it on its lowest setting and see what you do,” you muse. “It might be fun to hear you struggling to go over the edge while I work. But then, you are so cute when you’re overstimulated and trying to keep going.”

Without warning you take his cock fully in hand and stroke him firmly, surprising him with the speed at which he reaches orgasm. He’s not happy when you stop stroking him to set up the machine.

“I bet you could do an hour,” you say, sinking the fleshlight down onto his cock and savoring his groan of pleasure. “But how fast?”

“As fast as you want,” he says breathlessly.

You turn it on the first, slowest setting. You can immediately tell it will be torture for him; he’s almost immediately thrusting faster against it, desperate for the friction he needs.

You turn it up one. He makes a sound of approval.

“How long do you think you could stand it?” You ask.

“As long as you want,” he says.

“So if I turn it on high and leave for an hour, you’ll be fine with that?”

He shudders. “Whatever you want,” he repeats.

You turn it up one more. This speed is in the range of those that will make him come reliably without forcing him there as fast as possible. It’s probably a good choice— but you have one more thing you want to try.

You switch the pattern from regular to erratic.

He jumps in surprise as you explore the different options, before picking one that will cycle through different motions and repetitions to keep him on the edge.

“Oh, that’s cheating,” he says.

You kiss him on the nose. “So see you in an hour.”

[mk-chimera]

Hey all— it’s been a bit!

I’ve been working on some longer form fantasy projects, which have been going really well. I need a break though, so now it’s back to the shorter stories for a while :)

Chapter 12 of The Horned Man is now live on AO3.

Chapter 3 of Emma of Erley is now up on AO3.

Chapter 2 of The Satyr in the Greenhouse (3rd person version of the Horned Man) is also up on AO3!

UPDATE: added the new chapter of The Horned Man so they’re all listed together.

[mk-chimera]

Chapter 11 of The Horned Man is now live on AO3!

I’ll be wrapping this story up soon, and hopefully will be able to begin posting some of my other projects in the near future.

[mk-chimera]

Inspired by one of my WIPs, December’s Daughter 🖤

It’s been far too long since Winter last had a princess.

[mk-chimera]

A little look into one of my long-form projects and the first full length piece from the world of The Court 🖤🤍

The Land of Winter

[mk-chimera]

The Horned Man

Part 10 of…

Read on AO3

Part 9 | Part 11

Series: 2nd person, extra-canon stories

CW: explicit, male satyr x female reader, bondage, premature ejaculation, overstim, edging, male multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, forced orgasm, orgasm control, ruined orgasm

—

You take some time to think about your next move; in the meantime, you try to give him more of the uncertainty he seems to miss so much.

For example— are you really going to make him come when you start touching him on your work break, or are you just going to get him hard and walk away? What about when you start absentmindedly stroking him as you read an email, ignoring him entirely?

You acquire an accessory for the toy you bought him: a machine designed to use the fleshlight on him without you even having to lift a finger. It’s mostly just a mechanical arm on a stand with a slot for the toy to be inserted— and of course, it’s fully controlled from your phone.

He loves it, obviously— though you sometimes wouldn’t know it from the way he protests when you stop it suddenly, leaving him stranded on yet another edge of an orgasm you let fade away before starting again.

“Fuck you,” he says one morning when you stop the toy for the third time in a row, eliciting a sound that is a combination of a laugh and a growl from him.

“Like you said before,” you say. “If you come too quickly too often, you’ll get used to it. I’m only doing you a favor, Alder.”

“What a saint,” he grumbles in reply, shifting his hips back and forth restlessly against the still toy.

After a few days of fun with the machine, you decide you’ve mastered it well enough for the two of you to play a slightly more structured game. Alder agrees eagerly.

The rules are simple. You’re going to set an alarm for a period of time, and then you’re going to set the machine on him for that period of time. He cannot come before the timer goes off; if he does, his punishment will be five ruins in a row. If he can manage that, he gets to come for real at the end. If he can’t, it’s up to you when he gets another chance— and if that ends in an orgasm, a ruin, or a denial.

You set the timer: fifteen minutes. He just has to last fifteen minutes against the machine, and you’ll let him come. You’ll even keep a slow pace, to give him a fair chance.

You aren’t playing entirely fair, of course— that wouldn’t be any fun. You arrange yourself in his view with a dildo stuck to a table, wearing only a sheer dress with the top unbuttoned. You hike the gauzy skirt up around your hips as you sink down onto the toy, making sure he gets a view of every inch as it enters you. Then you pick up your vibrator, put it onto the lowest setting, and rest it against your already swollen clit with a sigh.

And then, as his eyes are locked between your legs, you turn on the machine and start the timer.

You match your movements on the dildo with the leisurely speed of the machine as it gently fucks him. You can tell he’s trying to stay focused; at this speed there is a real chance he can avoid orgasm if until the timer sounds, so long as he doesn’t let desire cloud his judgement.

Unfortunately for him, the strength of his lust has a pretty bad habit of overpowering just about every other thought.

At ten minutes, he breaks. “Please,” he says as the machine moves achingly slowly against him.

“Please what?”

“Please give me more.”

“I thought you wanted to work on your stamina,” you point out.

He groans. You smile.

“Just five more minutes,” you promise him. “Then you can come again.”

He whimpers.

“I can turn it up,” you say, “but can you hold back? Can you control yourself? You know what we agreed would happen if you can’t.”

“Just a little bit more,” he begs.

You give it to him. The machine increases its movements slightly, and he moans and lets his head fall back against the bough of the tree.

There are four minutes left now.

You turn your vibrator up a setting and begin circling it lightly over your clit with a sigh. His eyes follow, and he whines. You’re close to your own orgasm, and you know he can tell.

This setting on your vibrator isn’t enough to get you off, but it is enough to get you nice and frustrated and wanting more. You make sure to match the increased pace of the machine as well as you work yourself up and down on the dildo, each movement sending a wave of toe-curling pleasure through your body.

Alder only has eyes for the dildo between your legs. He thrusts harder against each approach of the fleshlight and you know it’s you he’s imagining burying his cock inside of.

“I picked this one because it’s so similar to you,” you tell him. “It makes it so easy to imagine it’s not a toy.”

“Fuck,” he says. “Is that what you do when you leave here?”

“Over and over again,” you tell him.

“God,” he groans.

“Not quite as good as the real thing, but it still makes me come so hard I see stars.”

“When I’m free, I’ll show you how much better the real thing is,” he said, his breathing ragged.

“I’m counting on it,” you say. You check the time and turn up the vibrator another notch, your back arching instinctively as you press the toy hard against your clit for maximum effect. A pained expression crosses Alder’s face as you moan.

“Can you turn mine up more too?” He asks, looking pitifully desperate.

“You’ll come if you’re not careful.”

“I won't, I’ll be good.”

“No,” you say, and he groans in frustration. “I want you to at least have a chance at success. Three minutes left.”

You can see his cock through the translucent sides of the toy, painfully swollen and freely leaking precome. He’s maybe ten hard strokes away from an orgasm, so you choose to be the responsible party and keep him from leaping headlong into his punishment.

“It’s only fifteen minutes, sweetie,” you say. “Surely you can manage that.”

He just frumbles.

“Just two and a half minutes and I’ll let you come again,” you say. “How about this— I’ll even let you come twice, back to back.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says.

“Just remember what happens if you fail,” you warn.

He starts looking restless. “How long now?”

You grin. “Just two more minutes.”

It’s when he stops matching the machine’s thrusts that you know he’s in trouble. You keep riding your toy, pressing your vibrator harder against your aching clit. You turn it to a more powerful throbbing setting and moan appreciatively, legs falling further open. You’re so close now.

“Fuck,” he says. He growls, his body tensing.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” he said through gritted teeth. Then, “No. No. Fuck, fuck, no no no…”

He fights the climax the machine works to extract from him, but it makes no difference. He writhes and swears and then comes hard, his body betraying him.

“Oh no,” you say with a giggle, your own pleasure buzzing in your ears. “You know what has to happen now.”

You turn off the machine and focus on yourself for a moment. His wild, hungry eyes watch you fuck your toy harder, no longer restrained by the machine’s pace. When your climax hits you cry out, head falling back and legs parting even wider to give him full view of what he’s missing. Your arms shake, struggling to hold you up.

When you catch your breath you get off the toy and fix your clothes; you take your time to make him squirm. Then you look him in the eye.

“You failed,” you tell him. “Are you ready to make it up to me?”

Eyes wide, Alder nods.

—

Read this and previous chapters on AO3

[mk-chimera]

Emilia Castañeda Martínez - Desire and the Beast

[mk-chimera]

Me: I’m just gonna write some degenerate smut as a sort of warm up to desensitize myself to posting my writing online. A few short stories will do

Also me: But what if the love interest was actually really endearing? What if he was a sweet guy and he and the protagonist were super cute together? Surely adding 5k+ to your original outline to add lore and little fluff moments is fine. And what if the characters meant to be a one-off actually fall in love and get to be together forever and this actually becomes more of a romance than a random erotica short—

Every other work I am neglecting in order to do this:

[mk-chimera]

The Horned Man

Part 9 of…

Read on AO3

Part 8 | Part 10

Series: 2nd person, extra-canon stories

CW: explicit, male satyr x female reader, sex toys, bondage, premature ejaculation, overstim, edging, male multiple orgasm

—

“Like I said, I don’t have a collection of monster sex toys at my disposal,” you say, digging through your backpack. “But I do have one thing I think you might enjoy.”

“Oh?”

You pull the box out of your bag and pry it open, feeling his eyes on you as you do so. You unpackage the fleshlight quickly and hold it up for him to see.

“I ordered it last week, and it just got here,” you tell him.

You look at him. He looks confused.

“This might be a stupid question,” he says, “But what… is it?”

You laugh. “It’s probably easiest to show you.”

You apply a little of the lubricant you’d brought, leaving the bottle on the table. His eyes follow you intently as you approach; he’s fully hard in anticipation of whatever you’re going to do.

You take his cock and trace the tip lightly around the entrance of the toy. Precome dribbles from him, and when you insert just the tip of his cock into the toy and wiggle it around he lets out a heartfelt groan.

“Here we go,” you whisper.

Watching his face as you slide his cock into the fleshlight for the first time is heavenly. It’s the first time he’s been truly inside something in months, and you can tell he’s ached for this desperately.

“God,” he says, craning his neck to watch what you’re doing.

You move it back slowly, then slowly back down onto him once more. He starts squirming under your hands.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, his voice breaking.

You repeat the motion once, twice, then three times; that’s all it takes to get him to the edge. He asks you to stop and you do immediately, withdrawing the toy from him.

“I don’t want to come that fast again,” he said with a breathless laugh, resting his head back against the tree. “It’s a bad habit to get into.”

It’s a habit you don’t think you mind in the slightest, but you just smile and give him a moment.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m good. I’ve got a little longer to go now.”

This turns out to be less true than he expects. Twenty seconds of slow strokes has him writhing and asking you to remove the toy again, visibly frustrated with himself.

“Hell,” he gasps. “That’s— that is—”

“Useful little thing, isn’t it? Much better than a hand.”

“You have no idea,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t— I don’t know that I’m going to be able to stop myself.”

“Then don’t,” you say, earning yourself a groan from him. You grin.

“I think you’re being dramatic,” you tell him, stroking his exposed hipbone with teasing fingers. “It’s not like coming too quickly stops anything for you.”

“No, but it pisses me off,” he says sheepishly. “Sometimes I want to enjoy what I’m doing for a bit without, you know, interrupting things.”

“Why don’t we let off a little of the pressure first?” You suggest. “It seems a little unfair to expect stamina when this is your first chance to come in hours.”

He closes his eyes and sighs. “Alright,” he says. “You’re probably— oh, fuck, Tara.”

While he was still speaking you had sunk his cock deep into the toy with a speed and force you had up until that moment refrained from using. You begin stroking him— still slowly, but faster and more firmly than you had before. He doesn’t even last fifteen seconds.

You don’t stop, stroking him through the climax and keeping up a slow, steady pace after. He’s on the path to another orgasm almost immediately without even a momentary softening of his cock.

“I wonder how many times I can make you come like this until you physically can’t anymore,” you muse— and that tips him right over the edge again.

The toy is rapidly filling with come; conveniently, that means you don’t have to stop to re-add lube. He doesn’t approach the edge as quickly this time, so you speed up and have him finding his third orgasm in no time. After this one he gets a little jumpy, but seems no less eager to continue.

“I cannot wait for it to be you I’m fucking,” he says, eyes fluttering closed. “Isn’t it your turn to come? I feel like we’re a bit lopsided.”

You consider it, then withdraw the toy from his cock and go back to your bag. He lets out a whine of protest.

“And here I thought it was my turn,” you admonish him teasingly.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he acquiesced.

You attach a dildo with a suction cup base to one of the side tables and move it into place in front of him. You remove your clothes, and precome drips from his cock onto the floor as he watches you take the toy inside you. You’re so turned on from pleasuring him that you don’t need any extra lube.

You raise yourself up and slide the fleshlight onto his cock as you sink back down onto your own toy. He lets out a little growl, thrusting against the toy as hard as he can in his compromised position. You match the movements of the fleshlight to your own on the dildo.

When he comes for the fourth time your muscles clench around your toy in sympathy, need throbbing within you in time with the thrusts of his hips. You rub your clit lightly; you want to enjoy this a while longer.

He lets out a hysterical laugh and moves his hips lazily against the toy, which you move in gentle strokes. “Almost done?” You tease.

He giggles. “Nowhere near. Especially when you’re being this gentle with me after each one.”

You make each thrust a little more forceful, and a smile flickers across his face as he keeps his eyes closed. “Atta girl.”

You speed up your movements at that, and he laughs again— though it morphs into a moan at the end.

This one takes longer, and you decide not to soften your strokes at all afterward.

“God, god, god,” he says as you continue to pump his spent cock.

“Do you need to stop?” You ask, unsure how far you can push him.

He gives you a quick smile and shakes his head. “It’s just sensitive,” he assures you, even as he twitches with each thrust of the toy. “Don’t take me seriously when I beg.”

You watch his body jump with each stroke of his overstimulated cock. You slow the strokes down, but don’t stop them.

“I can keep going,” he says. “Please don’t stop.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he promises you.

“Okay,” you say.

You can see his cock through the sides; he’s still mostly hard and as each thrust pushes back his foreskin you get a good look at his swollen purple cock head, overworked and yet still searching for release.

“I want to keep going until I have to stop,” he says, sounding half delirious with pleasure and exertion.

“Promise you’ll tell me when you need to stop?”

“Promise,” he says, eyes falling closed.

—

He doesn’t let you stop until he can’t stay hard anymore, come overflowing from the flashlight and dripping onto the floor. You doubt the last few orgasms produced anything at all— though perhaps you’re underestimating him.

You clean him up and just gently running a washcloth over his abused cock has him jumping, his breath catching in his throat. You kiss him lightly and his cock twitches pathetically in response.

“I can’t keep letting you get yourself so overstimulated like this,” you say. “You’ll end up getting hurt.”

“I’m fine,” he promises, his eyes wide.

“Maybe we should tone things down,” you tease, making him squirm.

“You sound like Nyx.”

He doesn’t seem all that upset about it, though he tosses his head and rolls his eyes as he says it.

He’s previously told you how Nyx would play stamina games with him— last through x and you can come, come early and I ruin it. And sometimes she’d play the other way around— let me edge you or ruin your orgasm x number of times and then I’ll let you come. He gets very worked up just talking about it every time.

It’s funny; you weren’t opposed to these sorts of kinks previously, but until now they hadn’t been your go-to. Now, though, it’s becoming something you actively look forward to, feeling more and more natural by the day.

“Do you want me to play her sort of games with you too?” You ask.

The want in his eyes is answer enough. “Yes,” he says immediately.

You nod slowly and kiss him. “I’ll think about it,” you whisper, making him shiver.

—

Read this and previous chapters on AO3.

[mk-chimera]

I want to do another one of these but it’s surprisingly hard to find old horny monster art. And it’s like 85% satyrs

Just Some Freaky Little Guys

The number of depictions of satyrs with massive erections that I have seen while doing folklore research is astounding. Have a few, on me:

The painting used to represent satyrs on their Wikipedia page. The pointedness of his penis upsets me. 6/10 for the skinny candlestick dick

Pros: multiple penises and fun motion. Cons: why are they shaped like that. 6/10

Perfect score for the girth alone, no notes. 10/10

Creating a creature with a permanent erection and no arms is a level of cruelty not even I would stoop to. 0/10, but probably 10/10 if you’re into that sort of thing

The toe point? The baseball bat sized penis? I see the vision. 8/10

9/10

Pose? Iconic. Pulling his own tail? Obscene. Penis? Wombdestroyer9000. 10/10

This one isn’t explicit, but it feels explicit you know? 8/10 for the sexual tension alone.

[mk-chimera]

Faun and Nymph. Rayner Hoff, 1924.

[mk-chimera]

The Horned Man

Part 8 of…

Read on AO3

Part 7 | Part 9

Series: 2nd person, extra-canon stories

CW: discussion of sexual content, non-explicit, male satyr x female reader

“Fuck,” you say.

“It’s dark,” Alder notes.

“Yes, a fantastic observation.”

You hear him snicker somewhere in the dark.

You let your eyes adjust until you can make out the cylindrical shape of the nearest electric lantern. When you switch it on, the sudden burst of bright light makes you both wince.

“I do not like your mortal lights,” he says, squinting.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter.

You lower the brightness and set about finding the others and turning them on, until you and Alder sit in a little circle of light.

“Let’s talk about something a little more fun,” you say. “Tell me about the Manor.”

“Sure. What about it?”

You sigh. “Oh, I don’t know— tell me something I don’t know. Something you miss.”

He chewed his lip for a moment. “I miss the way that something was always going on,” he said. “There was always something to do. And you’d see all sorts of folk there.”

“Like who?”

“Oh, the Manor attracted people from all over,” he says with a grin. “It was a magnet for people with… certain tastes. I could be with a different species every night if I wanted.”

“I can’t say that’s a sentence I’ve ever said before.”

“‘Cause you’re mortal,” he says with a suggestive smirk. “The fae have so much more variety.”

“I can’t argue there.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I like the mortal body well enough. And the Court fae body, since they’re similar— you know, they’re both…” he furrows his brow. “…elven?”

“Humanoid?” You suggest.

He shrugs, clearly giving up. “You’re both great. But sometimes you want something a little… different, you know?”

You laugh. “Considering the number of sex toys mortals have that mimic all kinds of non-human genitalia, I think a lot of us know.”

“Do they really?” He asks, seeming surprised.

You nod. “Made to mimic all sorts of shapes and mythical creatures,” you tell him. “Granted these based on the supernatural are only hypothetical, but they do the job. Fake penises, vaginas, machines that can fuck you on their own, vibrators— you name it, someone probably makes one that will let you pretend some non-human being is fucking you with it.”

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he teases. “You have all of that stuff, and I haven’t seen any of it.”

“I don’t necessarily have it here,” you point out. “It just exists.”

He turns thoughtful. “Do they make them for the naga?” He muses. “I wonder what most mortals would think of a toy with two cocks.”

“Naga have—”

“Two,” he says with an emphatic nod. “It’s very unfair.”

“If you had two, you'd never do anything else,” you say dryly. “You’d just go back and forth all day.”

He cackles. “I’m told they always come together, not independently,” he says. “Otherwise yes, I’d probably starve to death.”

“Wait,” you say. “So do their women…”

“I’m told they’re a tad more flexible,” he said. “But they only have the one passage. It’s just more, ah, capable.”

“I’m not sure if I’m disappointed by that or not.”

“I imagine it’s lucky,” he said. “Probably makes having more diverse partners easier. It would be cruel if they could only be fully satisfied by another naga— many of the naga are known for being very serious, and that has to get old.”

“Okay, you’ve got men with two penises and snake tails,” you say. “What else do you have?”

He grins. “Well, I’m sure you’re familiar with the nymphs,” he says.

“Very,” you say with a smirk.

“Well, there is a whole subtype whose entire thing is revelries and celebration,” he says. “The Maenads. Drinking, fucking, eating good food, going insane in the woods— that’s their purview. They usually follow along with Courts or satyr troupes as part of the retinue, and they give us a run for our money. I was told once that the reason there are only a few of them is because any more would destroy the world.”

You laugh. “Is that all it takes?”

“You have to understand,” he says. “They’re very attractive. And also pretty destructive. I had a pair of them once, and they wore <em> me <\em> out— and the. I watched them work their way through half the other men there. Just insatiable.”

“Jesus.”

“Then there’s the gargoyles,” he continues. “Their men are huge— and not just in the height sense. I haven’t personally experienced it, but I’ve seen them in person and— well, I get the hype. Plus they can throw you around like it’s nothing, and they get feral from what I’ve seen.”

“I’ll have to try to meet one,” you tease.

His eyes light up. “Now that I’d like to see,” he says.

Thunder shakes the windows again, and you glance outside. “What about the fae of the Air?” You ask. “Are storm fae secretly known for giving good head?”

The disgusted look on his face makes you laugh. “Hardly,” he says. “Most of those folk aren’t really interested in sex from what I’ve heard. I’m not even sure that they all have the parts in their original forms.”

“I was going to say that’s too bad,” you say, “but maybe I’m glad the fae that tend to fly overhead at high speeds don’t have cocks to play with while they do it.”

He cackles. “There are always the faeries,” he points out. “I’ve had quite a few go out of the way to show they have all the parts they need.”

You snort; you’re no stranger to stumbling upon a tiny fae orgy in your garden or waking up to a couple fucking on your windowsill. “They really are little exhibitionists.”

“Convenient when you’re, ah, unpartnered,” he says with a little smirk. “They can be good motivation.”

You snort. “Please tell me that was only an activity for teenage Alder.”

“I can tell you that, if you’d like,” he says innocently.

You chuck a pillow at him while he laughs. “No fair,” he says. “I can’t retaliate.”

“In a few weeks we’ll have a rematch,” you say. “One-v-one.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he declares. “But I’ll win regardless. And besides, you’re being unfair. I don’t always have a willing partner on hand, and they do so love to put on a show.”

He’s getting hard as he talks, but you ignore it for now. “That they do,” you agree. “What else do the fae have to offer? The full sized ones, specifically.”

He hums, thinking for a moment. “There’re the merrow,” he says. “Human on land, half fish in the sea. In their aquatic form they both have a cock and a— well, technically it’s not truly a vagina for the males, but I gotta say I couldn’t feel much of a difference.”

“So how do they…?”

“Lots of ways,” he says. “They can penetrate and be penetrated simultaneously. And there’s a bunch of fun games to play with someone whose cock is tucked away in a passage like that til you let it out.”

“Is it hidden?”

“Yeah— you wouldn’t even see the opening if they weren’t aroused and you didn’t know it was there. The cock sort of sits inside the vagina, like it’s a sheath if that makes sense.”

“Does that mean they can… you know, on their own?”

“Sort of,” he says. “Apparently as they get hard the pressure gets intense. Some like it, some don’t.”

He’s fully hard now, and his cock bobs a little as he talks.

You let out a low whistle. “Speaking of never getting anything done.”

He grins. “I know. I once saw a female merrow put on a little one-person show of it at the manor— if I knew I was capable of that I don’t know how I’d ever think of anything else.”

You nod emphatically in agreement.

“There’s the sirenes, who are all female and don’t even have a passage, just a couple of external spots they stimulate; some nature spirits that don’t have bodies the same way we do but have erogenous zones that can be very fun to find; some elementals that can choose to have or not have a physical body; and that’s not even getting into the shapeshifters…”

“Certainly sounds more interesting than this place, I’ll admit. Nearly enough to keep you satisfied.”

He laughs and gives you the boyish smile he knows works so well on you. “Nearly,” he agreed.

You return the smile and move your chair over so you are sitting beside the tree. “What does Nyx do while all her guests are fucking each other silly?”

“Whatever she wants,” he says flippantly, resting his cheek against the bough of the tree so he can look down at you. “Watch, participate, make sure rules are being followed. She’s a big stickler for the rules.”

“I could’ve guessed.”

Thunder rumbles outside, and you hear the distant cackling of storm fae flying on the wind.

“I really hope they’re not setting anything on fire,” you grumble.

He laughs. You smile up at him, then decide this is as good a time as any.

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him.

(Read this and previous chapters on AO3)

[mk-chimera]

I’ve created a version of my short story, The Horned Man, in a style closer to the one I usually use (3rd person past.)

Check it out on AO3: The Satyr in My Greenhouse