Its time for you Hump Day Humps!!!!
I am so behind…. So I am going to post a few humps for your enjoyment! *g* First up… a little unedited Rated R bit from my upcoming Razor’s Edge from Changeling Press… Greek Style! LOL Man, those goat boys… LOL
Part the First
So much urine…
That was the only thought that went through May’s mind as she recalled her trips to the children’s petting zoo so long ago. There were pygmy goats going into heat and there was urine everywhere.
So now as she was tied to a tree watching a field full of goat legged men dance and sing, she was both fascinated and horrified by the prospect of watching them mate.
Of course it wasn’t her fault that she was tied to this particular tree. No one ever warned her that wondering around the mountings of Cephalonia on her vacation to Greece would ever end up like this. She only wanted to see poppy fields for goodness sake. No one warned her about roving bands of fauns and satyrs and mating season.
She didn’t mean to crash their party, so to speak. She had just been taking photos and marveling at such majesty of the Island that was said to be the home of Odysseus when she stumbled upon them in their poppy field of lust.
She couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying, but a bunch of goat legged men carrying spears would be enough to grab and hold anyone’s attention. She was so stunned by this discovery that she never noticed the two … well… bucks maybe… walking up behind her until they had her roped and hog-tied like the prize attraction at a 4H show.
They began babbling at her and she began screaming at them. That didn’t help matters, she was now willing to admit, because that got her tied to the tree and gagged with cloth.
And now she sat there, watching them build up a barn fire—burning poppies and what smelled suspiciously of marijuana—and dancing around like they had no sense.
She just wanted to go home. Forget going back to the hotel, she wanted to go home. There were no goat legged men at home. There were no burning poppy fields making her feel like she was stuck in a Cheech and Chong movie. And there was defiantly no mystical creatures carrying spears standing guard over her.
It was enough to make a woman cry… if she wasn’t so damn high.
But before she could further contemplate her pitiful state, she saw one of the shorter males clip up to her. She spoke softly to the huge guards and they grunted something.
This one was one that she classified as a fawn. He, for his naked excerpt for his fur state, left that abundantly clear. About her height of five feet four inches tall, he looked to be a bit gentler than the ones she classified as satyrs. The major difference in heir classification scheme was that the ones she considered fawns had smaller branched horns, like deer antlers and cute drow type ears… the really elongated and going back elf ears that costumes seemed to love. The satyrs on the other had had massive curled ram’s horns on either side of their head. Their ears hung low like goats and the dudes were massive. They all stood at lease six feet four inches tall and were more heavily muscled than their fawn counterparts.
In fact, it was the fauns who were dancing and having a blast white the satyrs looked on protectively with their big spears, their big muscles and their big … well, hung like horse could have been hung like a goat. But no one was pissing on anyone so that was a good thing in her book.
The fawn approaching her had a head full of long curly golden brown curls that matched the matt of curls that covered his groin and legs. His cloven hooves were almost dainty when compared to the soup plates the satyrs clomped around on. His eyes were a gentle brown and he offered her a tentative smile.
“Kalós órises?”
“Mum gohn.. uuhuhang…” she tired to say she didn’t understand, but, you know, gagged.
His eyes widening in what looked like amusement to her only made her bite down on her gag and glare.
He reached out with his piano players hands and fingers and in a few seconds the gag fell away from her. She opened her mouth to let him have it but good, but a clearing throat made her look up at one of the guards who was staring down at her, his expression dark. It was then that she decided that maybe yelling at the small guy was not such a great course of action after all. Instead she glared as he repeated his question.
“Kalós órises? Pós légeste?”
“I don’t know what that means,” she muttered through her dry mouth. Who knew being gagged with cloth would day you out so. All the gags she had at home for uh, recreational purposes were latex or rubber and made her drool more than anything else.
He tilted his head to the side and against her will; she had to admit that he was quite adorable. His cuteness level dropped suddenly when he reached into a belt at his waist and produced a ground up looking weed and then stared at her intently.
“Wha—Hey!”
She tired to squirm away but the little guy was fast. Before she could blink, he was holding her head steady. He must have grown a few extra sets of arms because a hand was forcing her mouth open, shoving the thing inside, closing her mouth and rubbing her throat it seemed all at the same time.
She tired to hold her breath, but the plant thing was making her mouth water. He pinched her nose and that was all that she wrote. She swallowed the thing in one gulp.
“Oh great,” she whimpered when he released her. “High, surrounded by goat boys, and now I’ve been poisoned.”
“The Goji berry and Althaea leaves will not hurt you.”
“Fat lot you know,” she mumbled as he continued to stroke her throat. You’re a goat and…” She could understand him. I can understand you,”
She knew her eyes were wide with shock, but she didn’t really care. She could not understand what goat boy was saying and that was really disturbing her.
“That is why I gave you the herbs,” he sounded smug.
“Why am I here?”
“You have treaded on sacred ground, human,” he stared at her as if she were a few donuts shy of a dozen.
“How was I supposed to know that?” she sniffed. “Its not like I am from this stupid island. I just wanted to see the mountains and maybe a poppy field or two.”
The sun was setting at it made his golden eyes glow in an ungodly way. But then, she was talking to something that looked like a Christian’s nightmare of a pagan sexual deity.
“It has been determined that you are definitely not of the indigenous people,”
“What? My dark skin and afro give me away?” she snipped, glaring hard.
“You have the skin tone of one from the African Islands,” he noted. “Not from here.”
“Africa is a content, goat boy,” she snipped. “Not an island. Its way bigger than that.”
“But you do not speak any dialect we know. It sounds almost like Latin, but is Germanic and fixed with cadence and undertones we do not understand. That is why it was decided to give you the learning herbs. They stimulate your brain and have the ability for us to psychically input our language. This is how you can now understand our words.”
“I am American,” she sighed. “I am a Black American in Greece and I am tied to a tree. This is kidnapping and wrongful imprisonment and I don’t know what else it is, but it has to be illegal. Let me go.”
“American,” he mused his cute little ears wiggling. “I have never head of your people, but what you have done is broken the lay. This is our sacred mating rite and you have contaminated our fields.”
“I didn’t know. And… oh,” she slumped a bit. “Ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking the law.”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“But I am not exactly a citizen here.”
“And that is why you have not been put to death.”
She froze at that. “Death?”
“To interrupt the mating right is to court death. Male vitality is not to be shared among the women. You have to give back what vitality you stole.“I didn’t—“
“Your presence enough has stolen vital energies we need to reproduce. You must give it back.
“How and I supposed to do that?”
Suddenly every thing she ever read about bloody sacrifices was coming to the forefront of her brain. She paled as she stared at her cute little goat boy. Cute little goat boy was going to kill her.
“Why, sex,” he grinned. “The very thing you interrupted.”