Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote unlawful activity as described in the story. By continuing to read this work, you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may portray different ages for the fictional character they are depicting, but they remain adults at all times.
Feature Writer: Dr Jim
Feature Title: PAN’S GROVE 3
Published: 18.06.2026
Story Codes: Satanic, Mystic, Magick
Synopsis: Dave King’s world was changed when he found himself the proxy king of a Midsummer Pan festival: a pansexual orgy fueled by an aphrodisiac punch. The leaders of the utopian town of Pans Grove now want to employ him to spread the word (and share the punch). But will his sexy but restrained wife in the Chicago suburbs approve?
Pan’s Grove 3
The closer I got to home, the more I was reminded that I was no longer in nature. Wide and long strips of tar surrounded by barriers and buildings, threatening heavy hunks of steel traveling at unnatural speeds and piloted by tired and angry creatures. A typical night on 294 north, headed to Naperville, Illinois. Home again, home again.
I knew I might be forced to choose. I loved Marilyn; I loved my family. But something in me had changed; a seed had been planted. It was the promise of something happier and more meaningful, something far more pleasurable.
Nothing had changed on Elm Street, ranch-style homes painted in subdued tones, a ‘nice’ neighborhood. Lawns were trimmed and edged. The evenly spaced halogen street lights buzzed, imitating electric insects. At 528 N Elm, I went to open our eggshell colored front door with its stained-glass window. The door was locked, not surprising at 10 pm in suburban Chicago, and I took out my keys. Keys to my castle or keys to my prison?
Marilyn must have heard me coming in, because she greeted me at the door with a warm embrace and a fervent kiss, probing my mouth with her tongue (a surprise). I thought of all the cocks that had been in my mouth last night. She was wearing a long, white silk nightgown. My guilt competed with euphoric recall as she took my hand and headed down the hall.
“I missed you so much,” she whispered, then added, “Be quiet, the kids are asleep.”
The television was on in the family room as we headed for our bedroom — a dozen murders on the south side this weekend.
“I got a job offer, and maybe one for you too.”
“Wonderful, honey,” she smiled, “You can tell me all about it in the morning.”
She closed the door behind us, then began unbuttoning my shirt, with much difficulty, and my heart sank. She wanted to please me, to make love to the man with the key to her heart, the man who had betrayed her with dozens of people. She noticed my change in mood.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you want to make love?”
She couldn’t hide her disappointment, either at being the giver of an unappreciated gift or of thwarted desire.
“Yes, I do, very much.”
I had to be honest now if I ever wanted her to join me. Please, Pan, let your spirit reside within me.
“I have to tell you something.”
Her face dropped; did she sense it?
“I am so, so, sorry, but I committed adultery this weekend.”
Now the tears started, and they melted my heart.
“You bastard!”
She slapped me, the profanity and blow surprising me.
Then her pain and hurt kicked in.
“Do you love her?” she asked between sobs.
“No, no, no, it was just a sex thing,” I tried to be reassuring, “You’re the one I love. I would never leave you.”
“Is she prettier than I am? Is that it?” I sensed that she felt afraid as well as heartbroken.
“No. Different though. She came on to me really strongly, though that’s no excuse,” strong was putting it mildly, “I love you dearly and completely, honey. I’m so sorry I hurt you, and I hope you can eventually forgive me, though I don’t deserve it.”
I reached out to her, and she allowed me to touch her. I felt healing energy flow from me into her. The room became warmer, melting the hard, sharp edges of her pain. Another energy was in the room as well, sensual, soft, and seductive, that was emanating from me but not of me.
“You’re the one I want, the one I want to spend my life with, that is, if you’ll have me.”
Her breathing slowed, and her flush disappeared.
“What did you do?”
She was sitting on the edge of the bed and seemed to relax a little, her head lifted up to listen. She really wanted to know the details, I thought.
“Well, she met me at the bar where she danced for me. Then she sat next to me and started caressing me down there.”
“You mean your dick? In the bar?”
She was clearly intrigued, though disgusted as well.
“Yes, then she put my hand up her dress. She wasn’t wearing panties, and she was very wet. Then she brought my hand up to my face.”
I thought I heard her gasp and sensed it was not in shock. Something was happening. Deep beneath the waves on the ocean floor, my wife’s sexual self, a soft pink creature in an iridescent shell, was slowly opening up, if just a crack, and I knew that a beautiful pearl lay inside.
“Oh, my. How did she smell?” That question really surprised me.
“Like you. Wonderful. But you smell and taste better.”
“Sure, I bet,” she said, mocking me, “What happened next, asshole?”
The profanity surprised me again, as her sorrow shifted to anger. She had completely stopped crying now, but was still sniffling.
“Out on the porch, she went down on me.”
I saw her picturing it in her mind and enjoying what she saw.
“You mean like a blow job? Did she, uh, deep-throat you?”
“Yes, she did.”
Her eyes seemed glazed, and I noticed she was pulling up her night gown with her left hand while her right was traveling up her thigh. What was happening?
“Did you shoot in her mouth, or on her face?” Her voice was husky now, colored by lust.
“Neither … I wanted to, but she stopped me, pinched my penis.”
“Poor baby,” she said sarcastically, “And then what happened, did you fuck her?”
I never dreamed I would hear her use that word. I was shocked but strangely hopeful.
“No. We went back to the motel, got undressed, and she sat on my face while sucking on me.”
Her right hand was now at her crotch, and she reached under her gown with the other to caress her breast.
“When she came, she squirted all over me, soaked me.”
Marilyn moaned softly. Her eyes closed.
“But she wouldn’t let me cum, at least not until Saturday night.”
I felt the spirit of Pan moving through us.
“The festival …” she whispered.
The gown had slipped off her shoulders, revealing her flushed chest and hard nipples. My prick was painfully stiff and dripping.
“I fucked her on a table outside while hundreds of people watched and cheered. It was a ritual. Then, they carried us to a platform by a bonfire, and the orgy began.”
Marilyn stood, and her gown fell to the floor. She grabbed my shirt and tore it open and off with a strength I didn’t know she possessed. Sinking to her knees, she unbuckled my belt, pulled down my pants and boxers, and took me in her mouth for the first time. Warm, wet, loving. She made a valiant attempt at deep throating me, but kept gagging. That didn’t matter; it was so wonderful. I caressed her head tenderly. The woman I loved was pushing me over the edge. Somehow, she sensed it and stood up and pushed me onto my back on the bed. There was a wildness in her eyes I had never seen before as she mounted me with a groan.
“How many women did you fuck?” she screamed as she rode me.
“I don’t know exactly. Dozens, I guess,” I panted, and she groaned, “And I licked them clean.”
She paused for a moment, then resumed in silence except for our mutual sighs and moans. I could tell she was close by her rapid breaths and the shivers that ran through her body.
“Did you fuck men too? Fuck their asses?” she cried.
“Yes!” I screamed. How did she know? What would she think?
“Did you let them fuck you? Take their cocks in your mouth? Swallow their cum?” she snarled.
“Yes! Yes! I did it!”
Our orgasms were an explosion that blew away our previous life together, propelling us into a different and better state of being. She came and came, perhaps it was due to the lingering effects of the punch, and I kept up with her.
“Io Pan!” I cried and passed out.
When I awoke, we were snuggling on the bed. She turned to me and, looking me in the eyes.
“What does Io Pan mean?”
“That’s the god they worship. It means ‘I Pan’,” I whispered.
She was quiet for a while.
“Baby, I’m in. I want this,” she said with conviction, “I forgive you for being unfaithful. In fact, I’m glad you were unfaithful and … honest enough to tell me.”
“I love you, honey,” I said with palpable relief as I kissed her.
A wave of warmth, of hope for a new life, washed over me.
“I love you too. Now, do you think you can do me again, or at least clean up your mess?”
“Absolutely, positively, officially, as king.”
She was soon moaning too much, my head between her legs, to ask what I meant.
The Reverend Milton Blackwell awoke from the dream in a sweat. The softly snoring body of his wife, Eve, beside him, reassured him that he was back on God’s side of reality. Dreams were often the devil’s realm, and this one had surely been of the devil. Unable to shake the strong feelings coursing through him, he got up and went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. His pajamas were tented with an almost painful erection, and he felt ashamed. He looked into the mirror, half expecting to see the leering face from the dream: the god Pan, a manifestation of Satan without doubt.
In the dream, he was hiking through the forests of Appalachia and feeling vigorous and free when he came to a pond in a meadow. As he watched intently, several young women, nymphs, naked and unashamed, arose from the water and began to dance on the grass. His own shame could not keep him from looking, and, as if in response to this, he suddenly found himself naked as well, and erect.
A young man appeared from the forest, a faun with goat legs and short horns, who bore his own huge erection proudly. The faun approached him and put his arm around his shoulders, and the nymphs began to dance around them, letting their hands slide across his and the faun’s torsos and buttocks. He could see Pan/Satan across the pond, bearded and bold, laughing at him and his arousal. The faun leaned in to kiss him, pulling him closer. He wanted it, and … he awoke.
An abomination! Lord deliver me, I pray! When prayer failed to relieve him, he stripped and got into the shower, turning the water on cold. He knew from past attempts that inflicting pain on himself would only increase his arousal. This was the only solution. He screamed as the water hit him. Soon, the evidence of his desire was gone. Why had God permitted this demonic assault on his virtue? Was there some message in this temptation? Some new mission he was being called to?
xxxxx
The next week was like a second honeymoon in paradise on steroids and cocaine, and we barely left home. I shared the punch with Marilyn along with the complete story in detail, and our passion was kicked up another notch. The first night we made love inebriated by punch, her cries were so loud I’m sure we woke the kids. Jon was thirteen, and Julie was eleven.
So, I’m sure they knew exactly what was going on, and we both felt embarrassed afterwards, though that didn’t stop us from doing it three more times. The next night, we were naked out in the backyard. It was magical. The moonlight was our blanket and caressed us as we came together, one body, one with nature. The grass, the trees, and the daffodils were witnesses to our mutual pleasure, and they approved.
Marilyn was more adventurous, more aggressive than ever.
“Fuck me in the ass!” she ordered as I slammed into her cunt from behind.
I hesitated.
“Fuck my asshole, now!”
Not wanting to disappoint, I took out my cock, slick with cum and her juices and gently placed it at her hole.
“Just fuck me!!” she cried.
She cried out as I thrust inside to my balls, but was soon moaning and pushing back against me. She finished me off in her mouth, kissing me passionately afterwards.
One night, she was licking her juices off my face after multiple orgasms with my finger and tongue, and looked in my eyes and said:
“I want to taste her.”
“What?” I was truly perplexed.
“I want to go down on Lilith. I like the way I taste and want to taste another woman. And I want you to fuck me while I do it.”
“Um, sure, I would love that.”
Our sex life was changing so rapidly that my head was spinning, and my cock always seemed to be hard.
“Would you like to watch other men fuck me?”
She asked tentatively, knowing this was a potentially explosive question.
“Yes, I would like that very much,” I replied without hesitation.
“You wouldn’t be jealous?”
“Baby, there is no sight more beautiful to me in this universe than watching you cum, and it doesn’t matter who or what helps you reach that point as long as you experience pleasure.”
She smiled and hugged me tight. How far we had come! She had a wildness in her that had been hidden for a long time.
“And …” she continued, “I want to watch you get fucked in the ass by a guy. No, a bunch of guys.”
“Yes, ma’am,” was all I could say.
Marilyn’s moans and cries were noisier than ever. One afternoon, I was fucking her ass while diddling her clit, and she came so hard and screamed so loud that the kids burst into our bedroom. We didn’t know they were already home from school.
“Mom, are you okay?” Jon asked, both kids looking very worried.
When they saw we were naked and that I was penetrating her from behind, they both blushed.
“I don’t want to see this,” said Julie, covering her eyes, “And I don’t want to talk about this.”
They both scrambled out. I heard them giggling in the hallway.
“We probably do need to talk about this with them,” said Marilyn, “I mean, what they’re learning about sex is from media and friends, nothing accurate.”
“In Pan’s Grove, they have extensive sex education starting in Kindergarten,” I said.
Everything was different after a single week. Our minds were abuzz throughout the day with ideas on how to promote ‘Pantopia,’ and our bodies were on fire every night filled with his spirit. The contract came attached to an email from the Mayor on Thursday. A hard copy will arrive in a day or two for my signature.
They were offering a two-hundred-thousand-dollar starting salary with guaranteed promotions and a six-month probationary period. Marilyn’s contract will be coming soon. To celebrate, we had a great meal out with the kids, then sent them to Marilyn’s parents’ place and rented a cottage on a lake in Wisconsin. We skinny dipped every night and made love under the pines. Surprisingly, the insects were not troublesome, and we wondered if it was Pan’s doing. As I sat on the cabin’s porch looking at the moonlight on the lake, Marilyn was sucking on me while I caressed her hair, my heart was filled with hope for all of us. I loved this woman and this brave new world.
“Do not be mistaken, Brothers and Sisters in Christ, we are under attack!”
Reverend Blackwell struck the pulpit to emphasize his point, and a few of the two hundred-odd congregants woke up. The large, stone church with its high steeple and fifteen-foot-wide stained-glass window of the lamb and cross was only half full. That was how it had been every Sunday for years. Attendance at the Naperville First United Methodist Church was on a slow spiral downward, just like almost every mainline Christian church in North America and Europe.
“Sexual sin is corrupting our culture, perverting the values we hold dear in our society, and filling the minds of our youth with filth.”
He looked at his wife in the front pew, who seemed vaguely distracted, and remembered his discovering she was not a virgin on their wedding night. Could he blame that on Satan’s work?
“And behind this assault, cleverly hidden, is Satan himself.”
And the loss of his virginity? Well, it was Donnie Bowman, his pledge brother at the TKE house, who was the proximal cause. It was he who convinced the young (how young?) townie girl in ponytails, pimply faced with bad teeth but sexually experienced, to come into his dorm room and seduce him. He had responded, and, when they were in the middle of it, Donnie had tried to join them, wanting him more than her. Even though he didn’t feel responsible for his actions, Blackwell felt deep shame over the encounter and never told a soul about it, only God.
“Let me read the list of ways in which Satan seeks to destroy us. First, the unnatural, perverse sin of homosexuality seeks to justify itself as a simple inborn ‘preference’ or ‘orientation’ when the Bible is very clear on this evil choice.”
His white robe and green stole rustled with his agitation.
Will Bradley listened intently and with a sinking spirit. He had gone to bathhouses many times in college and grad school and spent hours enjoying gay sex. But he had been married for ten years now to his high school sweetheart, Marge, and had never strayed. Sex with her was good, but she couldn’t completely satisfy his needs: she didn’t have a cock.
Last night, the cravings had been too much, and he had found himself downtown outside the Club wanting badly to go in. He had resisted, but knew next time he might not. He was bi, always had been; he was a sinner, damned to hell with little chance of changing his destiny. He couldn’t change his desires, his fantasies, his dreams. And lusting in the heart was the same as committing adultery.
“Leviticus says you shall not suffer a man who lies with a man to live. Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed because of this sin, and Paul speaks out against it many times, warning against the perverse practices of corrupt Roman society. Saying it is just a natural choice is a lie.”
Blackwell looked out on the crowd and thought of those who had left the church two years ago.
“When the International Conference voted, with the help of our African brothers in Christ, to not condone homosexuality or allow gay marriage or gay clergy, God made his will clear,” he took a deep breath, “And the Evil One has other weapons: polyamory, the hook-up culture, pornography.” He glared at the congregation, “We need to fight back. Fight against the horrible sin in our society.”
Bradley didn’t need to hear any more. He left the church and went home; his wife and the kids had driven separately. He deleted his collection of gay and bi porn on his computer and swallowed the entire bottle of his wife’s Ambien, which she had just filled. His life insurance was good; Meg and the kids would survive him and eventually get over the loss. God judged him, and there was no hope of reprieve. He couldn’t change; might as well get it over with.
THE END OF CHAPTER THREE