Feature Writer: Dr Jim
Feature Title: PAN
Published: 14.06.2026
Story Codes: Satanic, Ritual, Anal.
Synopsis: Dave King finds himself in a small, strange town whose customs, religion, and laws are quite different from those in suburban Chicago. He is seduced by Lilith, the queen of the festival, and his entire world is changed. What will his vanilla wife think?
Pan
“There is nothing, it plays; that is all … all is energy becoming matter (nature). All is matter (nature) becoming energy — This is the dance of Pan. All is sex. All consensual sex is sacrament. All sex is affirmation of the love of Pan and nature. Play is the highest form of prayer, meditation, and ritual. In play, one becomes Pan and nature. Thus are satyrs born. May all play.” — Aion 131, from May All Play
xxxx
CHAPTER ONE
“Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world … Keep close to Nature’s heart” — John Muir, from The Book of the Horned One
On a random impulse (or divine inspiration?), I turned off the highway in the mountains of West Virginia and decided to take the back roads. The straight Interstate gave way to endless curves around darkening hills and through wooded valleys, which felt welcoming rather than foreboding. It was eight in the evening on a balmy summer’s night, and I had been on the road away from wife and kids for five days. I was hungry and horny, and, as I passed the brightly painted wooden sign for Pan’s Grove, population five-hundred and ninety-one, I wondered if I could find some good food and … the other would have to wait. I had never indulged outside my marriage, but …
My marital fidelity wasn’t from lack of opportunity; I traveled every week and met eager women often in hotel bars. They were drawn to me as if by a powerful pheromone despite the wedding ring. The thought, ‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,’ crossed my mind as a sexy brunette looked in my eyes, licking her lips. But I would know, and I was sure the guilt would eat through me like the conquering worm. Secrets are a slow, quiet poison to a marriage.
My wife, Marilyn, was practically perfect, a good wife, a loving mother who didn’t hover, and a wonderful supervisor. Women wanted to be like her, and men wanted her, probably fantasized about her with hands on cocks while their wives slept beside them. She was also blond and beautiful and passionate and, well, frustrating.
When we made love (always in the missionary position), I would stare into her intense blue eyes and watch as she trembled and shook and screamed through her orgasm. The problem was that she wasn’t in the mood very often, maybe once every two or three weeks. And, when I brought up trying something different, different positions, toys, swinging, she wouldn’t discuss it. At least she let me go down on her, which I loved. Her taste and smell drove me crazy, but she would never reciprocate.
It was probably her conservative Christian upbringing. We were both raised on Missouri farms in the Bible Belt and were virgins when we met in college. We were agnostics now, but those feelings of guilt and shame still lingered for her. I had thrown off my sexual shame, I thought, while the weight of ‘sin’ still kept her from exploring. So, she was vanilla in small servings, no toppings, thank you, while I wanted thirty-one flavors in a punch bowl with nuts and cherries.
But when I left for this trip, after a kiss I expected to be chaste but which included tongue, she had surprised me.
“I don’t want any secrets between us. But if you need to take care of your needs, I will understand. Love you, babe.”
I had spent the last two hundred and twenty-seven miles trying to figure out exactly what she meant.
Up ahead and much to my relief, was a small motel with a bar and grill across the road, and I pulled into the motel without checking for internet ratings and hoping that wasn’t a mistake. The lobby of the Arcadia motel was filled with large house plants, more greenery than I had ever seen outside a conservatory, and the desk clerk was an attractive middle-aged woman named Beth who seemed delighted to have me staying with them. The room was clean and homey and seemed free of bedbugs, so I dropped off my bags and headed across the street.
Pan’s Paradise had a large wooden porch overhung by a great willow tree and a life-sized painted image of Pan beside the front door, complete with goat legs, horns, and a pan flute. As I started to open the door, I glanced at it again, admiring the artistry, and there was a large, erect penis on the creature! I stepped back, and it was gone. I’ve been on the road too long.
The place was almost empty for a Friday night, so I sat at the bar and ordered a medium-rare ribeye with garlic mashed potatoes from the bartender, Mick, a fifty-something, balding guy, built like a weightlifter. With a smile, he gave me a drink of his own concoction on the house. It was fruity and delicious, but a little weak. The steak was done right, and the potatoes were fantastic. Nice place. Nice town.
I was finishing my cherry pie and coffee when the goddess walked in, and I was drawn to her by an elemental force like gravity or magnetism, inescapable. She possessed a beauty that was immune to the ravages of time, and her smile told of secret knowledge and esoteric wisdom only she could bestow on those she chose. Her dark hair fell to her perfect ass, which swayed as she crossed the room, grinning at Mick. Her purple dress was low cut to reveal her cleavage and looked like it had been painted on with no sign of panty lines or bra straps. It was so short I could almost see her pubic hair at the top of her shapely olive legs.
“How’s it hanging, Mick?” she asked with a voice like a purr.
“Still nine inches, Lilith. How about you?” Something told me she was more than just a customer. My cock twitched.
“Hot and bothered. I’m not ready for tomorrow night.”
“Definitely hot, very, always. Bothered? I think that’s where everyone is tonight, getting ready for the festival. Don’t worry, I’ve got a feeling you’ll find just what you need.”
He took out a quarter and slid it over the bar to her. She picked it up and walked over to me, smiling and licking her lips. I was drowning in those big brown eyes. In them were the mysteries of creation. She stood within a foot of me, and I could feel her energy, smell her sex. I was hard and hoped she couldn’t see.
“What do you like?” she asked, holding up the quarter.
My mind was immediately swimming with thrusting, sweaty embraces, then I realized what she was talking about. “Uhm, classic rock.” She tilted her head. “Stones.”
She ambled over to the juke box and, as she leaned over to put the quarter in, her dress rode up to reveal half her ass. As ‘Honky Tonk Women’ came on, she started to dance, swaying with her eyes closed. Her hands slid across her body, squeezing her breasts and working their way up her inner thighs. Mick was as entranced as I was. Her dancing was fully sensual without being cheap and slutty. I sighed when the song ended.
“I’m Lilith,” she said, putting her arm around me and settling into the stool next to me.
“Dave King, from Chicago,” I stammered.
“King? Ironic.”
Before I could ask her what she meant, she reached down and stroked me. I groaned. She grinned as she felt my size. I was helpless to protest or resist, or so I told myself. Her caresses took me somewhere; all was pleasure and sensual, lush life. Mick was drying glasses, but I was sure he knew exactly what was going on. I felt the need to say something, anything.
“Wa … Wa … What’s this festival all about?”
“It’s the annual Midsummer festival, a celebration of the horned god, Pan. It’s a blast.”
She was still slowly caressing me.
“I’ve never heard of it,” I gasped.
“You wouldn’t have. It’s not advertised. It’s strictly for the town folk and a few select outsiders.”
She took my hand and slowly guided it between her thighs and up her dress until my fingers brushed against her wetness. Moaning, she took my hand and brought it up to my face. Oh, Lord! Her fragrance swept me away, the aroma of Lust and the sweet depths of bliss. She reached inside my slacks, squeezed precum from my engorged prick, then brought her fingers to her nose, inhaling and then licking it off, tasting.
“Yes, as I suspected,” she whispered, then grabbed me by the belt and stood up. I could not refuse and set my guilt in a dusty superego drawer.
“On my tab, Mick? His, too?”
“Of course. See you tomorrow night!” he replied.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
I started to protest about the check, but she pulled me towards the door. As soon as we were on the porch, she fell to her knees, unzipped my fly, released my throbbing cock, and started sucking it. I moaned, closing my eyes. When I opened them again, there was the painting of Pan, grinning at me, with the massive erection, red, almost glowing, pulsating. I was drawn to it, wanted to touch it, wanted to …
“Would you like to suck that cock, David?” she asked, taking my prick out of her mouth, then deep throating me again.
“Oh god!” I gasped, unable to hold back any longer.
She immediately stopped and pinched my member just below the head, preventing my orgasm. When the urge had passed, she put it back in my pants, grabbed my belt again, and pulled me across the street to the hotel. Beth was still in the lobby, and I know she saw my open fly, but all she did was smile and wink at the two of us as we walked past.
Somehow Lilith knew which room I was in and, as soon as the door closed, she undressed me faster than I could myself, then slipped out of her dress and tossed off her black heels. I was breathless as she stood before me. The dark nipples of her breasts pointed upward and were fully erect. I wanted to bury my face between the cheeks of her round, firm ass.
Her neatly trimmed pubic hair and the wet pink folds of her labia were a work of art. Juices were running down her inner thighs, and I was down on my knees, lapping them up in an instant. So good!
She pulled me up, gasping, and pushed me onto my back on the bed, then sat on my face, gyrating on my tongue, and covering me in her nectar. I was delirious as she sucked me, desperate to cum. But whenever I would come close, she would stop and pinch me again. I begged her to let me cum. Suddenly, she started shaking and screaming.
“Oh god! Io Pan! Fuck me, god!”
Without warning, a gush of warm fluid poured onto my face and into my mouth. My head, neck, and chest were soaked. She abruptly jumped up off the bed.
“I’ve got to get home right now,” she said, still panting, “I just realized something.”
My cock was pointing straight at the ceiling and throbbing painfully. She noticed my frown and bent over to kiss my prick on the head, licking up some of my copious precum.
“You have to come to the festival tomorrow. I promise I will take care of you.”
“So, I’m invited then?”
“Absolutely positively officially by me,” when I nodded my head, she added, “I’ll be by at seven. Sleep well.”
I resisted the temptation, not knowing why, of taking care of myself and slept quite well. I dreamt I was in the forest frolicking with randy nymphs in a pond while Pan played his flute.
xxxxx
CHAPTER TWO
The breakfast buffet was delicious, and the athletic young man attending it, called Joe, was very pleasant. I thought he might be gay because of his double earrings, and I caught him eyeing my crotch several times as though he knew I had something extra in there. I called Marilyn but didn’t confess to last night. I knew it was cheating even though I didn’t cum, but I wanted to discuss this face-to-face. What would be the result of my infidelity? Divorce?
I loved my wife and didn’t want to lose her, but felt like I had been catapulted into a whole new world. I needed this. I told her I had a possible business opportunity here and wanted to go to the festival. She was disappointed I wasn’t headed home, but agreed. I was excited. But it was bugging me: what was this secret festival all about?
I spent the rest of the day exploring town, trying to answer that question. There was more to downtown than expected, with a grocer, a gas station, a bookseller, a diner, and other shops. Everything was quite ordinary, quaint, friendly, and peaceful seeming. Nothing mentioned Pan or the festival, and there was nothing unusual whatsoever except for an antique shop called ‘Magick’ that sold pagan religious implements. There was nothing online about the festival either. I’m a business consultant who researches the viability of new ventures for companies. I am good at it, and I used my skills to investigate the town.
My first surprise was that Pan’s Grove was not officially the town’s name. On the map, every map and map app I checked, it was called ‘Brookville’ as well as on the website. According to the homepage, the town was founded almost two hundred years ago by Scots fleeing religious persecution by the church in their homeland. It didn’t specify why they were being persecuted.
Fergus McBod, the mayor, was a local boy with several businesses around the county. He looked way too young to have kids in college. His wife, Lizzie, was a beautiful redhead with freckles who looked just as young. ‘Festival’ was not an item in the modest town budget.
There was a small Catholic school run by Father Groper and sisters Agatha and Beatrice, who were young and pretty and had a mischievous sparkle in their eyes. I imagined them out of habit, and my cock twitched. The Methodist church looked quite ordinary as well. Pastor Dick Hardy’s sermon last week was ‘How to love your neighbor.’
When it came to health resources, however, things were a little off. Doctor Sean Johnson, the sole practitioner in town, had degrees from MIT in botany and biochemistry and went to med school at Yale. He practiced alternative medicine as well as traditional medicine and looked to be about fifty, which didn’t line up with his graduation dates.
The town counselor, Sybil Eros, a gorgeous brunette, had a PhD from Stanford. And the pharmacist, Bill Lay, who looked like he lifted weights and had an incredibly hot wife, got his degree from Cal Tech, as did the Physical Therapist, Diane Moon. They were all healthy, attractive people with educations not to be found in small towns in the hills.
The massage therapist was the best: Brit Ludder was a true Scandinavian beauty, tall, blond, and buxom. I watched some of her yoga videos just to see her in spandex. What an ass! She had studied in Switzerland and gave classes in sensual massage at the high school in the summer. I ended my research with no answers but with a warm, pleasant feeling about the town. Tonight, my questions would be answered, I thought, and I spent the rest of the day relaxing.
xxxxx
CHAPTER THREE
Lilith arrived at seven sharp, wearing a short purple robe which was cinched by a gold cord and which highlighted her long, tanned, athletic legs. I was in jeans and a button-down shirt.
She gave me a very wet kiss.
“Let’s get you dressed. Out of those clothes!” she said.
I looked confused.
“This is what everyone wears to Midsummer,” she explained.
She handed me a robe identical to hers and a cord.
“It’s warm. No need for anything else, including underwear.”
She smiled as I took mine off; I was half erect just from being near her. The robe was light, extremely comfortable, but barely covered my naughty bits. I slipped on some sandals.
“Great! Off we go!”
We drove in her black Range Rover over the back roads and up a narrow valley. I quizzed her as we went, wanting to understand her incredible sexual aura. She was a widow with four kids. Her husband had been a software developer who left them quite well off. He had been shot by a hunter from a neighboring town while hiking in the mountains.
They had both grown up in Pan’s Grove and were sweethearts in high school. She was the director of the community center and an avid artist. We arrived at a large clearing surrounded by apple and pear trees. The heavily wooded hills sloped upward on each side of the meadow, enclosing it in green. I couldn’t count the number of cars and buses; the entire town must come to the event, I thought.
“You can leave everything in the car, including your sandals.”
I looked skeptical.
“Seriously, trust me. Everything will be fine, better than fine,” she added.
I felt uncomfortable venturing out into a crowd in only a small, thin piece of cotton, but I obeyed. At least my erection had subsided. The grass was soft, bouncy, and fragrant, almost like foam but all natural. I thought. Everything was green around us, with lush ferns and vines reaching up to the very edge of the clearing. Lilith led me to the crowded end of the grove where a half dozen or so booths had been set up. People talked, laughed, and played, all wearing white robes except for some young teens in black who seemed busy at work. There were no children.
“Why are we wearing purple?” I asked.
“We’re royalty, honey. I’ll explain later,” always later.
We passed a dunking booth, and there sat the mayor, Fergus McBod, in the perilous position. He was in purple, as was his wife, Lizzie, who watched from the side. She was a gorgeous redhead, slender, with fair skin and freckles; I could see her firm nipples through her robe. When a young man hit the mark, dropping Fergus in the tank, she laughed with delight. He climbed out, soaking wet and smiling, and I noticed the fabric clinging to his member, a very nice package indeed, a size befitting his office. He made no effort to adjust the cloth but walked right up to me and gave me a firm handshake.
“Welcome to Pan’s Grove. I’m Fergus McBod, mayor, and this is my wife, Lizzie,” he was grinning.
“Dave King,” I replied, “From Chicago.”
Lizzie came up to me, looked me in the eyes with her baby blues and held my face with both hands, kissing me on the lips. She was so beautiful, so youthful, it took my breath away. I blushed. This couldn’t be the mother of six.
“It’s a pleasure,” she said softly, still holding my face.
It was intense, but if anything made me feel more relaxed.
“Come along!” said Lilith, waving goodbye to the McBods.
There was the usual bake sale booth, where everything looked delicious, especially the Mountain High brownies. People were taking things without paying; I guess it was on the honor system. We enjoyed a snow cone, but passed on the cotton candy and funnel cakes. The arts and crafts booths were the most interesting.
There were candles of all colors, stones carved with Celtic runes, amulets and necklaces, and paintings of naked nymphs (or witches in others) dancing around the bonfire, which brought back memories of my dream.
There were multiple statues of Pan in bronze, polished stone, and wood, all with horns, flute, hairy goat legs, and … massive erections! If they were life-size, their penises would have been over a foot long! Even though it was just a statue, I found myself getting aroused, which surprised me. I had never had sex with a man before (well, except for some playing around in the locker room) and no longer thought it was morally wrong, but …
“We’ve got one like that in our den,” said Lilith, noticing my interest.
Why was I not shocked?
As we ambled around, Lilith introduced me to almost everyone we met, including Doc Johnson and his beautiful wife, Ali (both in purple). The doctor explained how he got to a small town in West Virginia: a charming atmosphere, a unique faith alternative (he’d let the Reverend explain), and an herb found only in this area.
Someone called his name, and they excused themselves. For a woman well into middle age, his wife had lovely legs and a firm butt, I noted as she walked away. I was feeling less guilty as the evening progressed. The pharmacist Bill Lay (also in purple), was a rather bland man, though extremely fit and highly intelligent.
His wife, Penelope, on the other hand, was so stunning that I stammered. Deep pools of brown eyes, jet black hair, and large nipples that pointed up. I was instantly in love, or lust at least, or both. There was the sound of a flute, so subtle that I thought I had imagined it. Apparently, everyone else heard it because they started heading for the center of the grove.
About ten long tables that each seated maybe thirty were set up parallel to each other with benches on each side. Another table sat perpendicular and facing these, with benches on the far side. The table of honor, I presumed. Behind that, on the far end of the grove, a large bonfire had been constructed but not yet lit. I noticed a low padded dais of sorts on the opposite side of the fire, which struck me as odd. On the tables, there were plates, cloth napkins, and beer steins/mugs, but no utensils. Lilith guided me to the far table. She noted my surprise.
“Yes, you are an honored guest,” said Lilith.
She sat to my right, and the mayor and his wife sat next to her. (Wow, a very honored guest, I thought). Reverend Hardy, the Methodist minister and his wife, Virginia, a petite brunette who looked like she did her Pilates every day, sat next to me.
Everyone looked so healthy and youthful; they glowed. As soon as everyone was seated, the servers (the teens in black) appeared with jugs filled with a purple liquid I guessed was wine, but it was sweeter and didn’t seem to contain any alcohol. It was quite delicious, pomegranate and grape with hints of lavender, I thought.
“Have you heard about our town’s history?” asked the reverend after introducing himself.
I said I hadn’t.
“Well, it was founded by Scottish pagans, descendants of the Druids, from the pasturelands, who were being persecuted by the Anglican church in the eighteen hundreds. They brought with them their own rituals, customs, and moral codes. When the Catholic church and later the Methodists came to town, they were tolerated but couldn’t make any inroads. Eventually, they had to incorporate the pagan practices into everything, to merge religions.”
I had noticed the priest and nuns sitting further down the table in their normal robes and habits. “Don’t be misled by their dress; the Catholics have adapted as well.”
Suddenly, the food was here, and it was plentiful and delicious. Venison, duck, pheasant, wild boar and brook trout (evidently Pan was not a vegetarian). A cornucopia of fruits and vegetables.
I watched Lilith eat with her fingers, licking them, sucking on bones, and she winked at me and briefly caressed my inner thigh. Something was happening; was it the punch? Everyone kept drinking, and the servers kept pouring. I felt warm and loving, familiar with everyone like we were all the closest of friends … or lovers. I was totally relaxed, not a bit self-conscious, and … turned on.
“Pan’s punch: it’s the doctor’s concoction,” said Lilith, sensing the change in me.
I decided not to ask for a further explanation: it felt so good, I didn’t want to know. Everyone was desirable, and I thought it might be because my sense of smell was greatly enhanced, not just to food and drink, but to pheromones, the scent of sex. I could smell the wet pussies of Lilith, Mrs Hardy, and Lizzie McBod.
I could smell the crotches of all the men as well, sweaty cocks and balls, and it was all incredibly arousing. We were soon pleasantly full but had other appetites to satisfy, I thought. The servers cleared the tables, and I noticed their scent as they passed by. My robe was now a tent, and I was glad I was sitting at a table, though part of me didn’t care.
The mayor stood up.
“Citizens of Pan’s Grove, ladies, gentlemen, and those in-between, welcome to the annual celebration of Midsummer!”
There were cheers.
“We gather tonight to remember the ancient ways, to honor our god, to find His favor.”
There were more cheers and shouts.
“Hail Pan!”
“Io Pan!”
The mayor continued.
“We are children of the grove, children of Pan. Let us come together as one to worship him. Let us come together as one so that He may come among us and be within us, and we may know the true god.”
There were more cheers and shouts.
“Come together!”
“Make us One!”
“Hail Pan! May you know him tonight!” the mayor finished.
He sat down.
The bonfire was suddenly ablaze, the flames reaching up ten feet, but I could see no one in that part of the grove that could have lit it. A flute began playing again, though I couldn’t locate the flutist. Using my shoulder to steady herself, Lilith got up on the table and began to dance in front of me.
Her hands stroked her body while she maintained eye contact with me. The hundreds of people at the tables all began to sway in their seats as well, watching intently, entranced. Suddenly, her robe fell, and she was naked and unashamed before the crowd. More cheers.
A male and female server, both naked now, came up carrying a large earthen urn and proceeded to pour a glistening liquid onto her body, rubbing it in. Her skin glowed in the firelight as she resumed her dance, now parading down the table, caressing herself everywhere, her breasts, her buttocks, her vagina. My cock was aching.
“You are the proxy king!” she proclaimed, posing directly before me and staring into my eyes.
“Hail the king!” cheers rose.
“Stand up!” whispered the reverend.
I looked incredulously.
“Stand up now!” he repeated.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this, but I no longer cared. I stood up. Almost immediately, my robe was gone, and I was standing naked before an audience of maybe three hundred with my eight-inch cock proudly on display.
There were more cheers from the crowd.
Two servers appeared and poured the odorless liquid onto my body, both the girl and boy rubbing it on my prick. When I looked up, Lilith was again in front of me, squatting on the table and eyeing my erection. Her juices were flowing so freely that a small puddle had formed beneath her. She lay down on the table on her back, spreading her legs wide and beckoned to me.
I did not hesitate, plunging my cock into her with a single thrust till our pelvises slapped together.
There were cheers and cries.
“Fuck her!”
“Fuck her, King!”
I drove it in with hard, steady strokes, and soon everything else faded away. Nothing else existed but our sweaty, shiny bodies, my hard cock and her tight but giving cunt, and the smell of sex. Lilith was moaning uncontrollably.
“Fuck me! Fuck me, king!” she cried out.
I don’t know if I fucked her for two minutes or twenty or twenty years, but when I came, the universe ended and was reborn as Lilith’s screams echoed in the valley. My load was huge, far more semen than ever before.
There were more cheers and cries.
“Io Pan!”
When I finally looked up, everyone was standing naked, and the servers were anointing them with the liquid. They were swaying and rubbing each other, hands on hard pricks and fingers in pussies, groaning and giggling. I noticed I was just as hard as before our rutting, and I felt just as horny. Lilith got up and stepped down and behind me, our combined juices running down her legs.
I turned to follow her and found that a ten-foot statue of Pan stood between us and the fire. I couldn’t imagine how they could have moved it there. It was grinning obscenely and had a phallus over a foot long and at least three inches thick. Lilith scrambled up the statue and positioned herself over the marble prick, balancing herself on Pan’s goat thighs and holding on to its shoulders.
My semen seeped down on the polished glans from her pussy. In a single movement, she impaled herself on it with a scream. A great cheer rose among the revelers as she rode the giant cock.
“Fuck me, god!” she screamed.
She began shaking, moaning, and crying, nearing orgasm. This time, when she came, it was with whimpering and muttering, and I swore I felt the earth shake. She collapsed, still impaled on the sculpture.
Without warning, I was surrounded by servers, now naked and glistening, who grabbed me with firm hands and picked me up. I could feel the boy’s hard erections and the engorged nipples of the girls’ rubbing against me as they carried me toward the fire. I saw another group lift Lilith’s limp body down from the statue.
The town’s people danced, caressing each other’s bodies, sliding together, man and woman, woman and woman, and man and man, as they worked their way towards the bonfire, slowly forming a frenzied circle around it. It was as in the ancient times, the time of Pan: no talk of sexual orientation, just sex.
As we approached the blaze, the thought of myself as a sacrifice ran through my head, but the fear did nothing to dampen my arousal; in fact, it increased it. I was ready to be or make the sacrifice; I wanted to fuck no matter what the cost.
The servers laid Lilith and me down on the dais on the far side of the fire. It was cushioned and smelled of roses. Lilith was reviving and, as she sat up, we were joined by the mayor and his wife, who were naked and aroused. His cock was even larger than mine and was slick with precum; she was flushed, her nipples erect, and her breasts heaving.
The revelers were now linked together and were rhythmically circling the fire, singing and laughing. Without speaking, the mayor positioned himself between Lilith’s legs and drove into her while Lizzie squatted over my cock, then sat on it abruptly. So tight, so wet! As she rode me, a group was forming on the dais, and the sounds of pleasure and the scent of sex filled the air.
The mayor pulled out, pushed Lilith’s knees to her shoulders, then plunged into her ass. He turned to watch me with his wife, who was crying and moaning, her vagina spasming. I was being washed away; what I called myself was disappearing. I was lost in a pool of desire, one with the grove.
We came together; I filled her to overflowing with my seed. She smiled as she climbed off my still-hard cock, then, moving forward with her hand over her vulva, sat on my face! I had tasted my semen before out of curiosity, but this was quite different. It was flowing into my mouth and onto my cheeks.
I could tell I was expected to lick her clean before she would let me go, so I did and found that I loved it. The combined taste and smell of our juices was overwhelming. Meanwhile, someone else had mounted my cock. When I came again, this time with the mystery woman, Lizzie McBod finally got off my face, and I could see it was the gorgeous masseuse, Brit Ludder, who towered over me as she dismounted. To my surprise, she promptly sat on my face as well while someone else sat on my prick. When I glanced at Lilith, who was only six feet away, I saw her taking on five men, all holes filled, and her hands as well.
I lost count of the women who rode me, among them Virginia Hardy, whose strong thighs squeezed me, Beth from the hotel, a petite teenage server with green eyes, and sister Agatha, who was no stranger to the sin of lust. I looked around me. The full moon had risen, and its light intertwined with the firelight on the hundreds of writhing bodies tangled in naked piles around the bonfire.
The smells and sounds, moans and cries, cunt and cum and cock, were transforming me into an animal, no thoughts of past or future, in the body, in the now, pure sensation. There were no voices to be heard, only bestial noises, warm-blooded creatures rutting.
The vagina on my cock now was very tight, and there was a slapping against my stomach. When Sister Beatrice climbed off my face, I could see that it was Penelope Lay whose aroused state, covered in sweat and lit by firelight, made her even more stunning.
Her tits were perfect, and beneath them was a hard and thick seven-inch cock. She got off my prick and moved up, pushing it into my open mouth. I didn’t resist; I wanted this. She took my head in her hands and proceeded to fuck my face, making me gag but able to avoid choking me. When she came, there was so much cum that some leaked onto my lips, and she eagerly lapped this up with her tongue.
As she moved on, I saw Ali Johnson straddling my member while passionately kissing her husband, whose thick prick gleamed with juices. She fell onto me, impaling herself and causing us both to groan, then grabbed me by the waist and rolled over, bringing us into a missionary position.
I was happy to be in the dominant position for a change, but after only three or four strokes, I felt the tip of a cock at my anus. This was unexpected. The doctor filled my ass with a single forceful thrust, and I cried out in surprise. Ali grabbed my face, looked into my eyes, and kissed me.
I had fantasised about this but told no one; the reality was so much more. The feeling of fullness was overpowering as waves of pleasure washed over me. Eventually, I became the active one, pushing back against his cock and pushing forward into his wife until we came together.
I passed out briefly.
The rest of the night was a blur of bodies, cocks and cunts, mouths and asses, sweat and juices, and always the overpowering smell of fucking. Mick sodomized me while my face was in Lilith’s crotch, and the therapist sucked me off.
Reverend Hardy and I double penetrated Ali Johnson, then four female servers descended on me, riding my face and licking and sucking on every inch of my body.
I fucked the priest’s ass while he sucked off a server and was in the middle of a sodomy chain with five other men, including the mayor, Joe from the hotel, and Bill Lay, which ended between Lilith’s legs. And more and more women. When I finally collapsed, half the crowd was still going at it while the other half lay in heaps around the fire.
THE END?