FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

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Besmirched and Beguiled

The satyr groaned loudly as the knocking continued. The large satyr sat splayed out on his bedding, doing his best to enjoy the peace and quiet he'd been looking forward to all day.

"Go awaaaay." The satyr grumbled, rolling over onto his side. The fey's stray hand reached down and groped at his plump sheathe, yawning as he fondled away. "I'm busy."

The knocking paused for a minute... only to pick back up again. This time, even more erratically than the last.

"Okay! Okay!" Fenn yelled back, kicking himself back up onto his hooves. "Sheesh! Give a satyr a rest, will ya?"

The satyr moved through his home sluggishly, only pausing to nibble off a few ivy-like vines that dangled from his doorway.

"Seriously." The satyr mumbled, fumbling with the aged knob of his overgrown domicile. "Who the hell uses a front door anymore?"

The satyr swung the door open, his expression already nonplussed. Fenn had neither expected nor assumed to see the mage standing in front of him for quite some time, seeing as he had... almost forgotten about him completely. The upset, freshly turned satyr, stood fuming at his doorstep, hands clenched into fists.

"Aghhh, what do you want?" Fenn groaned, squinting at the robed satyr in front of him. The mage had a name, right? "What's the big-"

Shards of a broken wand are thrown at his face, the mage obviously having intended some effort behind his throw. Instead, the light wood simply scattered about in the force of his throw. Fenn looked down at the shards before turning his attention back to the new satyr, a bit of bemusement on his face.

"You asshole!" The guest at his doorway shouted, voice half bleating amidst his temper. "You... You ruined me!"

"Well that's a new one." The satyr mumbled, rubbing his eye with one hand. The mage's pathetic shrapnel could have hit him in the eye! And then where would he be? Eyeless, or at the very least, minorly inconvenienced. "What's the matter, mage? Get in trouble for the drugs I sent back with ya?"

"Yes! ...And no! B-But that's not why I'm mad!" Grant exclaimed, pointing a finger at the furred male in from of him. "I can't use the arcane anymore! I got kicked out! Because of this!"

The mage tried to cast a spell from his palm then and there. The arcane rune is slowly sketched into the air with his index, before fizzling out into green sparks of swirling light. The green glow wafted erratically, as if upset by its caster's pitiful attempt.

"It's just this! That's all I've got!" Grant huffed. "They kicked me out because of this crap! I just failed all of my courses!"

Grant jabs a stumpy finger into Fenn's broad chest, a slight spark of green light igniting at the contact.

"Do you know how embarrassing it is? To ask someone else to make you a portal, b-because you flunked out?" The fresh satyr huffed, his already rosy cheeks turning a bright red.

"You had to ask me the first time. Didn't you?" Fenn countered, slowly taking the accusatory finger and pushing it aside. "And are you sure it was the fey magic, and not the uh... the other side of being a satyr?"

"What other side?" Grant huffed, adjusting his robes.

"The libido, dude. You're making sure to share the love, right?" Fenn grinned, gesturing to the robed man's groin. The mage's attire did well to hide the satyr nature of his lower half, but there was little Grant could do to hide his cute muzzle and nubby horns.

"The... What? I'm not some pervert." Grant spat, looking genuinely offended.

"It's not about being a pervert. It's about how long your body can last until it tries to take care of this itself." Fenn explained. "You sure you didn't drop on your knees for any frat boys? Dimensions forbid, you touch yourself during class."

"This isn't funny!" Grant stomped a hoof loudly before giving his ill-fitted robes a tug once more. "I'm out of a career because of you! My wand exploded because of you! I fucked my teacher because of you!"

"That's a stretch." Fenn snorted. "You gotta be willing to take at least a little bit of that blame, stud. And teacher? Nice catch."

"It's this stupid body!" Grant groaned, adjusting his robes once more, "It won't stop!"

"When's the last time you drank liquor?" Fenn asked, sighing as he stepped aside.

"I don't drink." The fresh satyr slowly stepped inside, furry ears folded back in distrust. "And I wasn't drunk, either."

"Well geez, uh..." Fenn began, closing the door behind his friend. He paused, searching the satyr's face for an answer. "What was your name again? Gary?"

"It's-" The mage snorted as he stomped his foot in frustration. "Did you really forget? It's Grant! It hasn't even been a week yet?"

"A week? Well no wonder, Grant! You haven't drank or fucked for a week? You must be going crazy!" Fenn scoffed, shaking his head. "If this school of yours wasn't even teaching you how to take care of yourself, then it's a good thing you got kicked out."

"A... A good thing?" Grant scoffed, watching as Fenn strutted past him. The mage couldn't help but eye the plump, creamy ass as the satyr passed. "A-A good thing? I lost my life! Because of this?!"

Fenn leaned over the counter as he slowly unwound a corked bottle from a hanging vine. He nodded slowly, making sure to pose for his guest as he fumbled with the knot.

"And now I'm in debt to, like... most dimensions, so if I want to go back I have to pay all those fees. Not to mention the shame I'll get from my family, coming back home all fey and-" Grant pauses mid rant as his wet nostrils pick up the scent of something rich and wonderful smelling. His eyes lift from the satyr's dangling nuts before focusing in on the glass bottle in Fenn's hands.

He watches the satyr in front of him take a swig, the fermented, fruity scent, wafting towards him.

Wine.

"W-What is that?" Grant asked, as if fearing his inclinations to already be true.

"It's alcohol, mage." Fenn chuckled, waving the bottle out in front of him. The sound of the liquor sloshing around inside the bottle was... Music to Grant's perked ears.

"I don't drink." The fresh satyr snorted, nose betraying him as he continued to sniff at the delightful aroma.

"Humans might choose to drink, but us satyr's drink by necessity. It's not just some tall tale. Helps make casting magic easier too." Fenn chuckled, extending his hand out even more. "Drink it. You must feel like shit."

Grant glared at the bottle before directing his leer towards Fenn. He stepped forward cautiously, before snatching the bottle out of the older satyr's hand. The mage tilted the bottle back, the intense flavor splashing against his lips.

"Damn, kid. How long's it been?" Fenn simply watched onwards, a grin slowly plastering across his face. "No wonder you're grumpy. You haven't had something to drink in-"

"I'm 'grumpy' because this stupid body got me kicked out of-!" Grant began, interrupted by a soft belch escaping his open mouth. He brought a hand to his muzzle, wiping and licking at the stray wine that dripped down his hairy chin.

"You're the one who chose to stay and drink. Besides, if you'd just listened to your urges, you probably coulda controlled your magic." Fenn explained, crossing his arms as he relaxed against the overgrown roots by his side. "Fey magic doesn't really like being picked apart in those fancy runes of yours. You've got to feel it, Grant. Follow your urges."

"I don't have any urges." Grant muttered in reply, hand freezing as he realized he was bringing the bottle to his lips once more.

"Everyone's got urges. Humans are just inclined to ignore theirs better than most." Fenn shrugged, pushing himself away from the wall and slowly strutting towards the mage. "And if you're gonna live with me, then you'll need to start learnin' real fast."

"L-Live with you?! But-" The fresh satyr stumbled, his words interrupted as Fenn guided the glass bottle back against his lips. His eyes widened as his tongue curled out of his proto-muzzle, maw eagerly wrapping around the lip of the bottle as Fenn tilted it back.

Fenn grinned as he watched the satyr swallow and slurp at the liquor, red wine splashing down his chin as he drank. A dark stain seeped into the hem of Grant's robes as he leaned into the bottle, his body fixated on draining the entire glass.

The wild satyr smirked as he slowly pulled the bottle away from Grant. A loud bleating noise escaped the mage's lips as he reached out, trying to yank the bottle out of Fenn's hands. The depraved satyr tilted it back, tongue curling, only to find a few droplets of wine collecting in his maw.

"It's empty." Fenn chuckled, stepping forward and placing a hand on Grant's stomach. "Surprised you made such a ruckus over a single bottle. Did you like it?"

"N-No. No, I don't drink." Grant huffed, his words empty in both of their ears. Red streaks of wine trailed down his neck, his breathing laboured from such an exhilarating experience. "I was just thirsty, and-"

"Bullshit." Fenn growled as he leaned in closer, interrupting the satyr as he gently pressed his muzzle against Grant's. The kiss was warmly received, Fenn's lips rubbing against the mage's wine stained maw. Whether it was the wine, or the soft kiss he'd just received, something clicked inside of Grant. A wave of passion and relief washed over him, his whole body leaning in against the saty. Grant found himself pushing back, tongue plying Fenn's lips apart as he moaned. His robes were absolutely terrible at hiding his arousal, his tented clothes now rubbing against the other satyr's exposed groin. Fenn was grinning between rough kisses, stubby tail perking as he felt the mage grab at his ass with both hands. The older satyr reached down, hand sliding between their midsections as he cupped at Grant's groin.

"Now that's more like it. Welcome to yer new home, stud." Fenn grinned, arching his back against the mage's greedy hand. "First things first. If you're living in my home, you follow my rules."

Grant gasped as he felt the older satyr's hand rub and squeeze at the head of his cock through his clothes. He gently pressed against the hand, bottom lip trembling as he felt a wave of relief wash over him. He hadn't felt this relaxed in weeks. Could relaxing really have been this easy all along?

"Lose the robes. Only loincloths here, if anything." Fenn began, tugging at the mage's robes in annoyance. "Clothes are only good at getting in the way. If yer horned up, it's best to just to take care of it without all that fabric getting between you and another dick."

"B-But... these robes cost me so much-" Grant began, only to be cut off as Fenn slipped his hand beneath the lifted robe. He grabbed at the throbbing shaft beneath, hand wrapping tightly around the arousal. A soft moan escaped Grant's lips as he leaned into the hand.

"Ain't nothin' in the Feywylds is gonna be prancing around in some tunic like that, understand? If you're gonna live here, you're going to have to learn how to act the part. Now get those robes off." Fenn explained, slowly coaxing his hand up and down. He watched as Grant's fuzzy ears twitched and swiveled in delight, flicking repeatedly at the ministrations.

"But-" Grant began, gripping at the sides of his robes. He held his tongue, cock throbbing as he slowly lifted his robes up above his head.

Fenn was delighted to see that bare skin and fur once more. His whole body seemed wider than it had been a week ago, although Fenn admittedly could only remember the human mage as some skinny frail man in his head. The satyr in front of him was a far cry from frail.

Throbbing shaft, heavy swinging balls, and thick furred hips. Grant was really shaping out to be a satyr, alright. Fenn licked his chops as he stared the mage down, hand still lazily sliding across the male's thick arousal.

"Rule number two." Fenn began, standing up tall as he slowly presses his other hand against Grant's chest. The satyr stepped forward, pushing the mage back towards the door behind him. "You get hard? You take care of it. Hand. Lips. Ass. Flora. I don't care how. You just do it."

Grant gasped as he was let go, his cock throbbing in the air in front of Fenn as the older satyr slowly turned around. That thick, furred rump arched in front of him as Fenn turned, tail raising high.

"Which brings me to rule number three." Fenn listed, hands grabbing at his own rump. His fingers gripped the soft furred cheeks and slowly spread them, angling himself backwards as his soft pucker pressed against Grant's cock. "My ass is your ass. And your ass is my ass."

Fenn pinned Grant to the door with his ass as he slowly hilted himself atop the mage. The soft entrance slid gently around the male's shaft, cock throbbing and pulsing as it bottomed out with ease. Grant was cumming in seconds, his aching shaft finally getting the release it so desperately needed. The satyr's hips bucked in wild abandon as he bleated, hands gripping at the larger satyr as his cock pumped deep inside him.

"See? Ain't too hard at all, with a little practice." Fenn chuckled, asshole clenching as he teased the newbie behind him. "Don't hesitate to just walk up to me and borrow my ass for a second. I'm not gonna mind, and I'm sure all of the wylds are gonna do the same to you."

Grant's hips continued to buck as he found a steady pace. His cock thrummed in and out of the hefty ass' depths, balls slapping loudly as he gave in to the pleasure. Fenn's rear was slick with the mage's cum, making it all the easier for Grant. The satyr knew he'd just came, and yet he wasn't ready to pull out yet. His cock throbbed hard, pulsing with that same intense need.

"That's it. Follow your instincts. Bury another load in me, mage. Yer not done with my ass yet." Fenn grunted, finally getting into it. The thrumming against his prostate was enough to get his own cock leaking, one hand idly squeezing at his shaft as he pinned the mage beneath his ass.

Grant bellowed as he felt his cock surge. Eyes wide, he arched his hips to bury deep within the satyr in front of him. A new batch of warmth flooded Fenn's rear as the mage moaned, the two basking in the male's release.

"See? Ain't too hard at all." Fenn grunted, slowly pulling himself off of the spent male. "Y'can clean my load off the ground for a start while I find you a place to lay yer head. Unless you want to just sleep with me, that is."

Grant glanced at the splattered cum on the mossy floorboards in front of him, cheeks reddening as he realized Fenn's own arousal had gone completely unnoticed. The satyr's words had been true enough, having taken care of his own need amidst the hedonism.

Is this all his life would be now? Sex, wine, and senseless rutting? A wave of nerves washed over the new satyr as he looked up at his... new roommate. Grant frowned as he looked down at his cumslick arousal, hooved feet carefully stepping over the fresh spunk.

"D-Do you have any towels?" The mage asked, voice wavering as he took his first steps into his new home.

---

Confined and Contempt

Bastrepaste - Most commonly known for its rather vitriolic properties, this paste has made its home across hundreds of dimensions as a staple in home-cleaning. From drains to glass, this acidic substance can cleanse and rinse hundreds of surfaces. When making bastrepaste, it's vital to take the appropriate cautionary steps to avoid exposing yourself to the concentrate you'll be working with. Never handle bastrepaste with your bare hands, and make sure to thoroughly rinse all instruments and vessels used when handling these regents. On the following page you will find a list of ingredients commonly procured across multiple dimensions before beginning the distillation process. If you do not see your dimension listed amongst the others, please seek reference in the back of the book for appropriate alternatives.

Grant slowly poured over the aged book as he lay spread out across the moss-carpet. His hooves slowly kicked back and forth in their air behind him as he turned the weathered page, nostrils snorting in an attempt to steer a stray mote away from his snout. The gentle breeze from the open windowsill was greatly appreciated, as Fenn's home would often trap most of the heat within its walls. The only downside to having the window opened seemed to be the softly glowing motes that drifted about in the breeze, their lights blinking off and on as they moved about without a care.

Fenn had left for the time being. The satyr often departed without as much as a single word to the mage, disappearing for many hours before popping his head in once more. Grant was still surprised by the satyr's lack of scheduling, which the male's coming and going seemed completely devoid of. When Fenn wasn't around, the home had a much more peaceful air about it. It also gave Grant an excuse to go about poking his nose into the satyr's various nooks and crannies. The book he was currently reading had been pulled from Fenn's extensive library, which had lay hidden behind a curtain of ivy in the satyr's living room. For someone who seemed to act on every compulsive desire that sprang to their head, Grant was surprised to find the collection to be rather neat and orderly. The pages were well worn, and Grant could tell that Fenn had made great use of these books in the past.

The mage gently rolled onto his stomach as he held the book up, flipping to the back pages as he searched for a good replacement for acker weed. His small tail gently twitched back and forth as he lay naked atop the soft moss, his hooves slowly rubbing against one another as he read on. In the mage's newfound free time, he'd quickly found himself falling into old habits. Grant had never been good at wasting time, and his years spent studying had been somewhat ingrained within him. The mage had no desire to actually make bastrepaste. He didn't really care to find an alternative to acker weed within the feywylds. And yet, finding out that ochre bark from a Sage Yellow tree would suffice as a replacement ingredient filled Grant with... something. Joy? Excitement. No.

Just... Purpose.

If he truly was going to be stuck in the feywylds his entire life as some sex crazed satyr, he'd need to learn as much as he could about this land as possible. Even if that meant starting with the information Fenn had here, it was as good of a start as any.

The front door rattled as it slowly pushed open, the sound of wood grazing over thick moss causing Grant's ears to swivel back towards the source of the noise. The mage let go of his breath as soon as he heard the satyr's hooves atop the floorboards, his fear of an intruder quickly dissipating. Grant had yet to find a lock on any of the doors or windows in this domicile, and Fenn only seemed to find humor in the situation whenever the mage questioned this decision.

Grant's ears flicked and swiveled as he heard the satyr set down a few bottles on the countertop in the kitchen, Fenn's voice humming a soft tune under his breath. The sound of cupboards and leaves ruffling broke whatever silence Grant had been afforded in Fenn's absence, as the loud satyr went about his business.

Grant kept his eyes trained on the book in front of him as he tried to focus on the steps to tempering wood as Fenn moved about the house.

... and as such, the moisture in the wood will naturally begin to twist and bend its shape. Tempering is all about removing this element from the process, which is why drying is integral to the process in and of itself. As a result, the wood should feel much lighter in the palm of your hand. Degrees of increased strength vary based upon the type of wood used. If you're just starting to temper for the first time, I recommend-

Grant blinked as he heard Fenn approach him, the satyr's heavy hooves having made their way across the house. The mage let out a startled gasp as he realized what the older satyr was doing, the beast's furred gut suddenly sliding up behind him. As soon as Grant had begun to lift himself up off the floor, Fenn's weight had pushed him back down. The satyr behind him snorted in his ear as he pinned Grant, the smell of alcohol on his breath.

The urge to drink suddenly rose up within the satyr, the need quickly combining with another desire flaring up from within. Grant arched his back against Fenn' his rear pressing back against the satyr's plump sheathe.

"What's this?" Fenn muttered, reaching out to lift the book up. His hips slowly ground back against Grant's, causing the younger satyr to gasp.

"I-Its... How To Build & Maintain Your Home." Grant responded, shutting his eyes as he holds back a rather pathetic bleat.

"Oh, man. You're pent." Fenn huffed, grinding back even harder as the mage squirmed beneath him. "Didn't ya take care of yerself today?"

"I... Got lost in the book." Grant whined, letting the book slip out of his hands as Fenn tosses it aside. "And... I-I wanted to wait for you."

"That's cute. Real cute. But this ain't just a matter of showing affection. Y'wanna survive out here, right? You want to be a satyr?" Fenn grunted, slowly rubbing the tip of his cock against Grant's soft pucker. "Then you've got to get in control of your needs. Jerk off. Drink. Relax. You'll never get around to learning Fey magic at this rate."

"Could you lecture me l-later?" Grant huffed. "Please? I'd really like to deal with this."

"Then deal with it." Fenn grunted, shoving back against the mage's needy pressing. "Go on."

Grant whined as he pushed back, the older satyr's cock slowly spreading his cheeks apart. The mage's ability to hold back his moans of pleasure had all but been eradicated during his time here. The satyr bleated with satisfaction as he felt Fenn's shaft slide against his prostate.

"There's nothin' wrong with rubbing one out and doin it with me when I get home. Y'can't just wait for me to pound one outta ya. When's the last time you went out, huh?"

"L-Lecture. L-Later!" Grant huffed, arching his back into the lovely member lodged deep within him. The satyr snorted loudly as he arched back against Fenn, his own hips grinding back against the male above him.

A thick hand was suddenly running through his hair, fingers curling before pushing down against him. Grant had yet to figure out why letting Fenn manhandle him like this was as arousing as it was, but he wasn't going to stop the satyr anytime soon.

Thick hips slam down against Grant's ass, balls slapping in a steady rhythm as Fenn starts to fall into pace. Each thrust sent Grant rocking forward, plump rear bouncing as his tail raised high in delight. A week ago, Fenn would've still been explaining why clothing was inconvenient to the satyr. Now? Grant was already lying on the living room floor, buck naked and ready to romp.

Fenn slowly dragged his tongue across the male's neck in long, slow motions. He held the man down and snorted as he pistoned even harder. Grant was getting good at taking his cock, and it was getting harder to hold back with the mage.

"Ohh, yes! Yes!" Grant huffed below Fenn, the older satyr almost surprised to hear Grant cumming before him. Fenn's cock pulsed proudly inside his mate as he shoved downwards, hilting the shuddering male.

Fenn moaned loudly as he too came, pressing all of his weight down against the soft body below him. Hands grabbing and squeezing, he buried his muzzle against Grant and slowly began kissing at his neck. Both stayrs were quiet as they slowly ground back and forth, basking in the afterglow of their quick fuck.

"You know... You're getting kind of good at this satyr thing." Fenn said at last, hands still rubbing at Grant's torso as he slowly began to pull out. Globs of cum clung to his shaft as it throbbed in the open air.

"I'm not-" Grant began, stopping himself as he swallowed tightly. The younger satyr blushed as he felt Fen wipe his cock off on his furred rump. The mage had just read that satyr's often mark their fucks in such a manner when they're highly impressed. Grants ears folded back as he blushed, staying still for the satyr as Fenn curled two fingers into his entrance.

"You are." Fenn says in reply, knuckles squelching as he gently rubs the satyr's prostate. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you belonged right at home in the feywilds."

"Oh. Uh. T-Thanks." Grant blushed, feeling Fen's fingers slowly smear the mess across his ass. He wanted to change the subject, but his mind was rather blank after that lovely romp. "Did you get anything nice to drink?"

---

Tutored And Taut

"Let me explain something to you, Grant. Something satyrs try to keep out of fancy textbooks and what not." Fenn began, rummaging through his kitchen area as he spoke to the mage in the other room.

"Is this... A well kept secret?" Grant asked, lounging with his legs spread on the mossy couch. The satyr licked his lips impatiently as he heard the sound of bottles clinking together.

"Kind of. Depends on who you ask. But out here, we satyrs have a little saying." Fenn continued on, brushing the nice bottles out of the way Ashe reached for the premium collection.

"And what's that?" Grant asked, cupping openly at his groin as he adjusted in his seat. The male almost pulled his hand away in embarrassment as Fenn turned the corner, only for the mage to remind himself that he'd walked in on Fenn doing much worse.

Fenn had two lovely glasses in one hand, and a rather large decanter in the other. The aroma of the wine was palpable from his spot on the couch, and Grant immediately began to salivate. The mage stared openly at Fenn's rump as the satyr turned, setting down these items on the shelf across the room.

"Well. We call it...'You are what you eat', but that really doesn't say much at all does it? No, we satyrs... We are what we drink." Fenn explained, lifting the decanter up and pouring a single glass.

Grant didn't have to be close to Fenn to tell that this was no ordinary wine. The pungent smell was wafting under his nose, collecting in the room like some sort of lovely incense. Grant fidgeted in place with anticipation, hoping that the glass Fenn was pouring would be for him.

"Yeah?" Grant asked hopefully, eyes fixated on the glass as Fenn slowly walked towards him.

Sniff sniff sniff sniff. Grant's eyes were wide as the glass was held out to him. He almost dared not touch it, wondering just how rare such a glass of this wine was.

"Yeah. Drink up, handsome." Fenn said, pressing the glass to Grant's lips. The satyr slowly tilted it back, watching as the red wine hit the mage's lips. "Slowly."

...

Grant gently opened his lips for a moment, letting the wonderful flavors explode on his tongue. He shuddered almost immediately, thighs pressing together as he swallowed the alcohol. Fenn pulled the glass away as he watched Grant blink and shudder, the mage trying his best to process the taste on his lips.

The younger satyr shook his head as has hit with an immediate sense of buzzing delight. It was different than getting tipsy, it was.... filled with something else. Licking his lips, he tried to pinpoint the lovely taste. He'd never had anything like it, though Grant had to admit his interaction with liquor was greatly limited.

Slowly, Grant's chest clenched. His pectorals gently bulging outwards. The definition forming across his abs felt more like a tightening to Grant, his hand sliding down and scratching at his groin.

Fenn's eyes were trained on the satyr's horns, watching them thicken ever so slightly. He carefully held out his hand as the satyr before him reached out, grabbing at the wine in his hand.

The older satyr let him, still firmly holding onto the glass as he helped tilt it back for Grant. The younger satyr snorted as he swallowed, muzzle widening with every gulp.

Slurp. Slurp. Gulp. Glug. The satyr's tongue curled against the class as he clung to the very last droplet of this wonderful drink. His head swam with delightful tingling, head somehow far heavier than he remembered. The satyr licked his fattened lips as he watched Fenn take the glass away, one hand groping at his hefty balls. With each second that passed, Grant could feel the hefty orbs in his hand pulse and shudder. The younger satyr looked down at his lap, almost not noticing just how large he'd become in the span of a few minutes.

He palmed at his fattened balls curiously, hefting one up with a single hand. His sheathe was plump, fatter than he'd ever seen it before. The pink of his shaft was slowly spilling out, eliciting a heavy snort from the man. Since when was his chest so... round? And firm? Grant prodded at a growing pec, his biceps bulging as he tried to curl his arm.

"You see, we actually get a lot of power out of what we drink. A crappy beer isn't going to cut it, and a hundred crappy beers is only gonna bloat you out. That's fun in its own right, but true power...."

Fenn grabbed at Grant's thickened horns as if they were handlebars, clambering up onto the growing male's lap and pressing his rear against the satyr's bulging maleness. Thick thighs were spread apart as Fenn's cheeks slid around Grant's arousal, the two shuddering at the contact.

The mage licked his lips. Snorted. And leaned in quickly. He kissed at Fenn with a hungry passion, large hand reaching out and cupping against the satyr's back. Slowly, carefully, the growing shaft spread Fenn open. They'd fucked countless times before, but Grant had never heard Fenn moan like this before. Hands clinging to his curled horns for support, Fenn slowly began to rock up and down atop the musclebound male's shaft.

As they kissed and lipped at each other's muzzles, their fervorous grunts filled the room. The moss on the couch around them seemed to push outwards with each hump, the ivy on the wall gently curling down towards the floor. Grant snorted loudly as he grabbed at Fenn's waist, lifting the male up slightly as he started pumping his hips into his mate. Sucking on each other's tongues in a greedy display of affection, their fertility radiated outwards. Flowers bloomed throughout the room as Grant started cumming, thick globs of hot seed pumping into his mate. His groans of pleasure showed no signs of subsiding as he continued to hump, his massive balls tensing over and over.

Fenn's mind fogged slightly as he felt Grant's cock surge within him. The sound of his belly sloshing was music to his ears, his whole body singing praise to the man in front of him. The fertile satyr felt his own cock start to throb as he wrapped his arms around Grant. Belly pumped full of cum, Fenn let out a moan as he felt a dam break within him. The pressure mounted as his soft furred gut began to curve, fingers digging into the fur of his mate. The room around then was quickly getting lost to the verdant growth spurred by their humping, Grant letting out a moan as he finally felt his orgasm begin to subside.

The two satyrs lay there, still shaken from their orgasms. Their hands rubbed and groped at the others curves, both muscles and sloshing gut sliding against one another.

"Now." Fenn began with a huff, only pausing to kiss his mate on the lips. "Now that you've had some drink in ya. And you damn well fucked me good. Let's see how well that paid off."

Grant blinked blearily, his massive body still foreign to his senses. The satyr atop him felt heavy in his lap, his cock still buried in that delightfully clenching rear. In truth he could still feel himself cumming, the slow and steady gush now barely a trickle. He shook his head as he tried to focus on what the cute satyr in front of him was saying, one hand cupping Fen's gut affectionately.

"What?" Grant huffed, trying to focus on the satyr in front of him. "What do you mean?"

"Magic. Let's see it. You're obviously Fey now, so let's see you call upon it." Fenn ushered, grabbing and squeezing at one of Grant's heavy pecs.

"Uh." Grant shifted in place, holding onto Fenn as he did so. He raised a hand out, and began to summon a rune. The mage quickly paused, slowly turning his hand around and extending it out. A single mote of light flickered in the air in front of him, flitting about as it drifted through the house. Grant extended his hand outwards he watched in awe, the more gently drifting towards his palm.

Light oozed out of his palm, a deep emerald green, the strange magic tingling against his palm. It was warm and inviting, like a handshake with an unseen friend. Fenn smiles atop him, nuzzling into the larger satyr's chest.

"See what a little sex and alcohol can do for a satyr?" Fenn chuckled, kissing at the mage's neck. "The Feywylds likes yew now."

"So... What does that mean for me?" Grant asked, one hand still pressed against Fenn to hold him still.

"For you?" The satyr in his lap chuckled. "It means we can start teachin' ya how to use the fey. Don't get too comfortable with those muscles either, stud. I only break out the good stuff for special occasions."

"Oh." Grant said, glancing down at his massive frame. He kind of liked having Fenn nestled against him, the mage gently resting his head down atop the satyr's. "This is kind of nice though. Right?"

"Yeah." Fenn huffed, letting himself press tightly against his mate. "It's pretty damn great."

---

To be continued?

A satyr in training, indeed! Often times, we find ourselves in strange moments of lull and displacement. During those times, our lack of direction can often be critical to our own developments. I'm sure Grant had plenty of time to ponder his own place in life, though the boredom would best even the most patient of us. Eventually, the mage will have to leave that comfortable domicile to embrace the feywylds beyond. I wonder, how else might our mage here react to a world beyond books and patient teachers?

See you next time.

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