I’m not sure what pulls me from bed. I hear sounds at first… my husband’s soft breath in my ear… Our beating hearts. But… was that our hearts? Or…? A drum beat? Slipping slowly and dreamily from my loving mate’s arms, I move to the edge of the bed, listening. Yes, there it was… a soft, low beat. Like a drum beat, but a drum made of something natural, like elk hide or deer hide. Not something acrylic or modern, at all. Not at all uncommon sound in our home, but still…

I don’t bother to reach for the light tartan shawl I keep at the foot of the bed as I tip toe into the hall. No sound from the other room and none in the office or bathroom. I walk into the dimly lit living room, glancing about, listening intently, and trying to echolocate the sound. My eyes pass over the living room, the couch, table, shelves, the mantle that had become my altar, it’s edifices of the Horned God and the Goddess sitting there elegantly, regarding me silently. My other smaller statues of various other deities I paid homage to were placed reverently about them. I smirked at them and asked: “You guys see anything? Buddy?” I looked directly at my favorite version of Jesus, Buddy Christ. I’d been born and raised Catholic before I became pagan at thirteen, and Buddy was how I made a place in my current life for the faith of my upbringing and gave it its due respect; even if I wasn’t a monotheist anymore I thought the historical Jesus was a pretty awesome guy, no matter if his real mom or dad actually were divine or not. Buddy regarded me with his usual enigmatic smile, wink, pistol finger and thumbs up.

“Hrm…” I turned to head back to bed and then paused at the sound of a chime. A tiny, tinny little metallic sound. It sounded just like it was coming from outside the sliding glass door in the living room beside the altar. I paused, and turned toward the curtained glass wall. Sometime later I would look back on this and wonder why I didn’t immediately go get my husband, call the police… why I didn’t even consider being afraid. It never entered my mind for a second. I just… knew that I had to draw back the curtain.

There was a scent of something in the air I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but it smelled earthy, and rich. Somewhere between the raw amber I had once been taught to make incense with, and patchouli, which, as a rule, tended to give me terrible migraines. But this… this made me lightheaded. I couldn’t see past the screen. It was like the little balcony wasn’t even there. Like the fog had rolled in so dense that even the tiny balcony railing surrounding our first floor apartment in the hills of the Pacific Northwest was completely obscured by it.

“Sure,” I say to Buddy wryly. “If we were in San Fran. But does it really get THAT foggy here?” I’m a California girl, born and raised and no matter how many years I had lived here, saw how the weather actually worked in this sun-deprived little wetland, I was never one hundred percent certain.

Sliding the glass door open, feeling a little giggly… feeling a little high, if I was honest with myself, regarding the tingly, lightheaded giddiness. But all I could think was that it smelled incredible with the door open… and I needed to know what was calling me.

Because that had to be the answer, didn’t it? The beats and chimes only came when I was about to leave or return to bed. It’s like they were drawing my attention until I followed, calling me back when I turned away. I drew back the screen, closing both doors behind me and turning, expecting to feel the cement of the balcony under my bare feet and the chill northwestern night air on my bare arms and legs, my nightgown little more than a tiny black babydoll chemise of silk. But as soon as I took one step from the closed doors, my feet instead felt the unmistakable cool press of fresh grass. Instead of the icy kiss of night air on my bare flesh, I feel no more than a light breeze.

Turning slowly, stunned, I look into the fog, and slowly, take another step. And then another. With each forward step, the fog lessens, making vision easier. Instead of the little balcony, parking lot and hillside of the little complex, before me was instead was a moonlit valley and set within the deepest, most central cleft was a standing circle of stones around what appeared to be a stone altar. Between the standing stones were large torches, casting flickering shadows over the table-like stone structure.

“And that’s where the talking lion gets his mane cut, is killed by the white witch and then resurrected…” I muttered, absently, my usual habit of using sarcasm to battle fear and confusion running on all cylinders, clearly. I came to a grinding halt. “Holy shit, am I in NARNIA?”

The laugh nearly made me jump out of my skin. It was low, deep, masculine. I wheeled around; stunned to be caught so unaware in such a vast, empty space. And the sight of the source of said laugh was enough to dump me on my ass. I don’t know if my brain simply couldn’t process what I was looking at, or just didn’t BELIEVE what it was looking at. “No,” he said, grinning in apparently genuine delight, reaching a hand down to me to help me up. “You’re not in Narnia. And I most certainly am not Mr. Tumnus. Though, I will say that IF one of my fauns decided to appear and have a chat with C.S. Lewis when the Irishman was having his crisis of faith, I MAY have looked the other way…”

“You’re—” I stammered, half unable to articulate what I was saying, and half wondering about the physics that worked in allowing a man with goat legs to pull a woman who was no lightweight to her feet. I mean, I’m not, like… Mama June, but I am most certainly not Kate Moss, either. I’m more of a Megan Trainor or Adele… And… hello? Cloven hooves. I mean… seriously?

He gave a little yank as soon as I was on my feet propelling me into his very hairy chest and I got another flash of white teeth as the grin widened. “Yeees?” His golden brown eyes danced in amusement. I had seen eyes like those before. In fact, I’d seen a God with eyes like those before. One with a similar set of headgear, but those had just been dreams… Right? I raised my eyes up and looked up at the slightly curving goat-like horns that created very unusual parts in his hair.

“You’re…” I searched for the right thing to say and clearly what I came up with was not at all what he was expecting. “You’re not dead.”

“That’s r—oh!” He let out a bark of laughter. “Not anymore. Don’t believe everything that Plutarch wrote, either. Everyone thinks they know how it works with us.” He rolled his eyes and continued conversationally: “You know who gets it almost right? The dreamers. Gaiman. That dude is totally getting some inside info, I swear! I want to know who is spilling company secrets! Maybe he really did have a sit-down with Odin… That guy would just LOVE it if he was loved and feared in the same breath again… between that and his kid getting all those comic book nods… I mean, you guys haven’t dreamed the Gods of Twitter and Amazon into existence yet, but give it time…”

I just sat there with my mouth hanging open. He seemed to realize he was rambling, paused and looked at the expression on my face. With an indulgent smile, he reached up, and gently took one finger and gently raised my jaw back into a closed position… and then booped me on the nose. “You’re Pan!” I managed, finally.

“And you’re one of Herne’s but you’re also very, very interesting and I asked if I could borrow you.” He replied with another flash of teeth. “You’re doing some very, very interesting things and we’ve noticed.”

“We?” I squeaked, concerned about the “borrow” comment.

“The ones you’ve invoked when you’re… what did you tell that little shaman in there?” He nodded back in the direction I came from. I knew he meant my husband, who was literally a shaman. “Meditating?” His lips curved in a lascivious smile. No less than two days ago I had joked to my husband that since so much of my spells and rituals revolved around my using my sexuality and sexual energy, that when I talk about how I “meditate” it’s really just code to say I’m most likely masturbating. Gathering energy by holding myself at the edge of orgasm while focusing on whatever my purpose for gathering that energy is, invoking the deities appropriate for the working… most often of course, since I had been just re-entering this world I had left behind in my youth for more “socially acceptable” forms of worship, gods and goddess of love, sex and desire, as most of my spells had been just getting reacquainted with my craft… and myself. “Me. Your patroness, Brighid. Aphrodite. Cernnunos… isn’t your mate one of his? Oh, and of course, Venus. Isis. Eros. Bastet… she’s not all about cats, but she’s mostly about cats, you know what I mean? I mean, the pussy on that one… ehem… um… Cupid. Oshun. Freya. Ragaraja. Astarte. Pathos. Dionysus. Inanna. Freyr. Nanaya. Did you want me to keep going? I can. Haven’t even touched Asia yet, really…”

“N-no, that’s alright.” I managed in a breathy voice, uncertain if I ought to be terrified or laugh. “I don’t understand what I have done that could possibly be so interesting…”

“Well, walk with me and I’ll explain,” He said, wrapping an arm around my waist and leading me down into the valley below. His stride was remarkably smooth for someone walking on hooves rather than feet. I, in comparison, was an unsteady wreck. He was keeping me from falling over, I think, more than I cared to admit. He didn’t seem to mind nor did he remark on it. “You’ve always had a theory about Gods, right? In fact, you’re a fan of the Gaiman explanation, right?”

“Basically,” I said, fear ebbing as my brain began working. If I loved anything, it was discussing religion, theology, philosophy and metaphysics. The balance of faith and the lifespan of a god was a little of everything. “I have always personally thought it made sense that all faiths are real, all gods, but they are only as powerful as their followers allow them to be. That’s why when a religion dies, so does its gods. The followers give them no power as they no longer have faith. Otherwise, one figures a god would rise up and strike down the faithless. But that never happens. We always rationalize it – free will, divine intervention in far more subtle ways, etcetera. But few gods are TRULY dead and gone. Most gods have some believers. And some have a billion. I have always believed some version of that. That’s why Buddy is on my altar. I don’t NOT believe in God and Jesus. They just aren’t the right deities for me. Jesus was an awesome guy. But…”

“Your spirit is too wild, too pure to be caged in puritanical marble and stain glass walls?” He asked, as we came to stand on the edge of the standing stones. His tone was light, but there was a serious tone in it that said it wasn’t entirely a question, or that it was rhetorical.

“Something like that,” I said honestly. He smiled down at me, and raised a hand to caress my cheek lightly, his honey gold eyes looking into mine. I couldn’t breathe for a moment. He was good looking. I mean, I wasn’t shocked. But this wasn’t the guy you see in marble statues; short, bearded and curly haired, cute and sporting a reed pipe. This was a man. A man who managed to be taller than I, by a good hand span, with shoulder length dark brown hair, a beard, yes, but well-kept and attractive that trailed into one of the furrier masculine chests I had seen, and I had seen a few! And I wanted to run my fingers through it… to see if it felt as soft as it looked. I did so without even thinking it through, still looking at him as he continued:

“You’re putting so much lust into the world, my little one. So much energy, so much passion. Creatures like me… we notice. Many of us may be old, forgotten, or sleeping. But we notice.” His thumb caressed my lower lip. “I know you don’t always believe… not entirely. You want to. Deep down, you want to believe that your faith isn’t fruitless. And even though you will just see this as another dream or fantasy as you always do when you visit Hearne’s Grove and he takes you upon HIS altar, I still wanted to see you. To touch you. To taste you. To give to you a small gift of my own. Because while you may bow first and foremost to the gods whom you are bound to by blood, your spirit… your wild, untamable, firey, passionate spirit… that I do believe I shall claim a small portion of for myself, if you don’t mind.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what to say, so I said the only thing I could think of, the most honest thing. “That isn’t really a request for permission, is it?”

The laughter and mirth completely melted from his face and I did see something wild there. Maybe even something dangerous. But it wasn’t a frightening dangerous. Not really. Or, at least, if it was, my reaction wasn’t fear. I felt myself get wet, and a shiver run down my spine, and the breath catch in my lungs. “If you need it to be,” he said, very softly, his eyes moving to my lips, as his hand slid down the side of my neck and his thumb stroked the hollow of my throat. “I know you’ve been hurt before. But if you want honesty… no, it’s really not.” He pulled me forward, against that warm, furred chest and kissed me passionately, his tongue dipping past my lips as I gasped a little in surprise. I trembled in his arms, melting into the kiss, my head spinning. I mean, I was as weak against a powerful man as any red blooded woman… well, ones that liked men, at any rate, and I very much did. Women, too, and just about every shade in between, but that was neither here nor there…

The sudden giggle was nearly a wet spray since we were still kissing, and I clapped a hand over my mouth, eyes suddenly going wide in embarrassment. He arched a brow and his lips twisted in a wry smile. “Oh, no. Whatever caused that, you HAVE to share.”

I could feel a hot flush run up my face. “I was thinking about how any woman would be attracted to you… If they liked men. And I do! But I also like women. But I also like gender fluid people, and… really, it’s more the spirit of the person, and my sister told me that technically made me PAN-sexual, and then… you know, you were kissing me, and I was thinking how funny if I suddenly identified instead of as ‘bi’ but ‘pan-sexual’… while being SEXUAL… with Pan.”

He facepalmed. Seriously. I made a deity slap his face down into his own palm with my stupidity. Then I saw his shoulders shaking and heard the slow rumbling laugh. And then he pounced me. We tumbled back into the lush grass, with me on my back, looking up at this strange being grinning down at me. “You’re a funny little witch,” he said.

“We’re not gonna get up on the altar?” I asked, genuinely surprised. Pan shook his head still smiling down at me as he brushed strands of my flyaway red hair off my cheek.

“No. No, you… you, I just want here, in the grass. I want you as if you were one of those pretty little nymphs I like to chase. But I don’t have to chase you, do I? You want to be caught.” I bit my bottom lip, feeling my heart give a tiny leap and nodded silently. He was very correct. I didn’t want to run. I didn’t know if this was a dream or reality, and honestly, it didn’t matter. If it was a dream, by the Gods, I was gonna enjoy it! And if it was reality… I am sorry, but when a God implies he wants to fuck you, to paraphrase the Ghostbusters, “you say YES!”

My eyes finally lowered to where I hadn’t allowed them to go before… to the scrap of leather that covered him from mid-waist to the tops of his animal-furred thighs and a fleeting tremor of worry spiked through me. I tried to remember what I knew about Pan. God of the wild, animals, herds, and fertility. Very much a sex symbol over the centuries. I remembered an oddly cute but bizarre statue of Pan fucking an actual goat… But I could not remember if he was formed like a man himself in the… “man” department or not. Tentatively, I reached out and unfastened the garment at his waist, letting it fall. Not only was he very much a man in the “man” department, he was an impressive one. I had to blink for a moment, and try not to contemplate that and oral sex. Or anal sex. Oh boy…

“Shhhh,” he murmured, as if he could hear the runaway train that was my overactive brain, and he leaned down, kissing a wet path from the side of my face, down trembling shoulders, over the breastbone, which was all but vibrating with each slam of my heart against my ribcage. He nudged aside the black silk with his lips and took my right breast into his mouth, causing me to arch and moan in shock, wrapping my arms around him in reflex.

“Omigod!” I gasped, and I could feel my nipple between his teeth even as he grinned around it and slipped at hand between my thighs and moved my panties out of the way to slip a finger inside my ever-moistening depths.

“No need to call me ‘God’,” he said softly, catching the arch of my spine against his left forearm while his right hand’s fingers plunged into my core, coaxing yet more slippery wetness from me. “You may use my name. Or, for tonight, call me ‘my Lord’… I’m not picky.” He curled his fingers inside me, stroking me, watching the play of emotions across my face, as if the flickers of passion in my eyes were more arousing to him than the hardening bud of my exposed pink-tipped nipple, or the flood of slick moisture his fingers were coaxing forth from my heated pussy. His thumb found my clit and I arched against his hand, crying out: “My lord Pan!”

With a low, throaty growl, and a fierce grin, he descended between my ample thighs, spreading them, sweeping aside the scrap of my panties so quickly that it was nearly a blur. He buried his face between my thighs and gave the entire length of my cunt a long, playful lick of his tongue, then, looking up at me over the length of my body said with that same heated tone: “Yes. I like that. You may call me that, little witch. And for now, I will simply call you… MINE. My little witch. My little busty, lusty, sexy, hedonistic, wonton little minx. Your words are making people cum all over the world. Your fantasies, stories… your moans and the sounds of your climaxes. And all that lust… you can taste it, can’t you? I know we can. It’s what made us pay attention. But that wouldn’t even matter… you just like to be a little exhibitionist, don’t you?”

I felt like my brain was short circuiting. I felt like my worlds were colliding. I felt like my body was going to catch fire. I could hardly breathe. “Y-yes.” I managed to whisper. He gave the length of my pussy another long, teasing lick that did nothing to satisfy me but made me shudder in pitched desire.

“Yes… what, little witch?”

“Yes… My lord Pan.” He said nothing more, then. He merely gave me a mischievous wink and disappeared between my thighs, this warm mouth and tongue doing things to me I was certain no human man could do. I couldn’t wrap my head around the sensations I was feeling. Fingers inside of my cunt, stroking me, thrusting inside of me. A tongue on my clit and around it, warm and moist, and velvety. Amazing, intoxicating sensations. Then his mouth replaced the thrusting fingers and his tongue slid inside me… inside me in a way that made me think of either Gene Simmons or something animal. And it felt incredible. I began to shake, on the brink of orgasm. Out of instinct, I started trying to calm myself down, to keep control over it.

“No,” he almost snarled, raising his head. His eyes had changed. They were still golden, but now they were like amber… a dark, dangerous dark honey. He tore the thin nightgown from my body with a terrifying sound that should have scared the hell out of me. And honestly, should have hurt. But neither was the case. “Not this time. I don’t want you to hold back.”

At this, I did hesitate. There had always been something… something deep inside me, that I instinctively made sure never came to surface. Controlling my orgasms helped me keep a level of control to keep that “something” chained. To keep me in control even when it seemed like I had none. I always said I might let go if I was tied down, but I never had put the theory to the test. Because I was afraid. Afraid of harming someone… of what I would see in myself. “Look at me!” he ordered, his mood once again making a mercurial shifts to completely serious. I met his eyes, feeling a little ashamed that I even hesitated to do as he asked. “There’s two ways you can look at this… either this is a dream, and nothing we do here is real and thus, you cannot harm me, or else this is reality and…” he winked, and the seriousness washed away with a gentle smile. “you cannot hurt me… not really. In either case, you are perfectly safe to do as I ask. Do not fear. Now…” His eyes darkened back to that amber shade as he lowered his hand back down to my pussy, and his fingers slid back inside me, his eyes never leaving my face as he stroked me back to the precipice once more. “Cum for me.”

I shattered around his fingers, staring up into his eyes, arching into his hand, knowing my face was almost a mask of exquisite pain, when truly, it was merely wracked with wave upon wave of glorious pleasure. As I continued to cry out for him, he descended between my thighs once more, and bit gently on my thighs, then kissing the bites immediately after, causing me to writhe my hips under his mouth, whimpering, begging wordlessly. The tip of his tongue parted my folds at my entrance, lapping up the creamy evidence of my desire, and then he grabbed my hips in a firm, sudden grip, and held me in an iron grip, his mouth locking upon me and doing things to my body that made me just go rigid and start crying out non-stop, cumming and shaking, feeling like the world the spiraling up and away a bit. It felt incredible, empowering, intoxicating. I didn’t think it could feel any better.

And then he slid inside me. And my world shattered. I wasn’t immediately sure what had happened. Had I lost time cumming that hard? I had to blink for a moment. He had put my thighs together, turned me gently onto my side as he pulled my hips up, partially into his lap, and slid into me from behind. It was an odd position, but the position of my legs squeezed my pussy around his thick, hard cock, making every inch, every ridge, every vein, a textural dream to my pulsing cunt. And the angle… the angle that he entered me had him hitting the core of me in such a delicious, gloriously aggressively sexy way that my eyes flew wide and my mouth fell open, slack with passion and desire. His right arm cradled my body against him easily, as if I were light and easy to hold. It made me feel delicate and feminine to seem like I was easy to hold like that, to be completely honest, and that did something to me that while I didn’t entirely understand it, I did like it… It made me want to yield to him, to just give in… to be the divine feminine to his masculine. To be the female counterpart to his very obvious manhood. But I also knew, instinctively… feminine didn’t mean easy. It didn’t mean submissive. In fact…

I placed a hand on his chest, and raised my eyes to his, registering his amused surprise as he regarded the hand on his chest, his cock still buried to the hilt inside me. “On your back.”

“Excuse me?” he looked genuinely surprised.

“I said,” I responded, with far more confidence than I felt. “Get. On. Your. Back.” I gave a very small smile and finished with: “My lord Pan.” He looked both impressed and suspicious as he did as I asked, propping his head up on his own arms. I slithered down his body, and didn’t even think twice before taking in a breath through my nose, parting my lips, and then enveloping his cock between my lips as I exhaled, bending over him, my right hand wrapping around the base of his shaft and my left cupping the heavy, furred balls beneath. I stroked, licked, caressed and sucked on him, my eyes closed, my whole body moving with each and every ascent and descent of my mouth over his cock, still coated in the taste of me. I listened to the sounds he made, felt every twitch in the muscles of furred legs, the scrape of a cloven hoof in the grass. His hands were tangled in my hair, moving with me as he slowly fucked my mouth with his large member, his eyes watching me with a lust heavy glaze. I took him deep into my throat, satisfying in the ragged gasp of breath torn from him as I did, and how his hands fell from me, powerless in a moment of ecstasy.

I almost expected to feel him spend in my mouth then, but he didn’t. I did, however, take his moment of weakness to slither back up him and position myself so that my large pale breasts were on either side of his large cock. Meeting his eyes, I pressed my breasts together, enveloping him in the soft, warm flesh of my tits. His head fell back for a moment, and then he reached up, cradling my breasts, squeezing my pert nipples as he slowly started thrusting back and forth through the deep valley of my D-cup breasts. I leaned my face down, catching the tip of him on my tongue with each thrust upwards. And his hard, rhythmic twists on my nipples in time with the thrusts were close to making me cum again. Just as my body dissolved into orgasm over the rough handling of my breasts, I felt the warm splash against my breasts and his body arched, coating my chest, breasts, and even the bottom of my chin and down my neck in his seed.

Faster than I could process, he had me on my knees on top of him, my hips in his hands, settling me over his cock as he leaned against one of the stones for support. “Fuck me, little priestess,” he growled, guiding the movement of my hips at first, a slow, deep rocking motion that had him touching the deepest parts of me and making my eyes roll back in my head as my neck turned almost boneless for a moment. He took that opportunity to catch my left breast in his mouth and suck on the nipple mercilessly. I could feel his teeth on the nipple again and the tug made my pussy squeeze hard around the cock buried deep inside of me. “Mmmmm,” he growled appreciatively in response. He moved one hand from my hips and slid it between our bodies, finding my clit, and I nearly rose off of him entirely, so violent was my body’s electric reaction to him rubbing my delicate little pearl. A scream tore from me and my hands hooked into claws, digging into the flesh of his shoulders, puncturing just a little. The scream became a ragged, raw, throaty warning snarl of heat and I swear I saw fire blaze in his eyes. “There you are…” he murmured, his fingers flicking insistently, his eyes feeling like they were staring into my soul… and perhaps they were.

I could feel the thin reins on my control snap like so much tissue paper in the wind, and I ground my aching pussy down on his shaft, fucking myself deeply on his throbbing member, not even pausing to be amazed there was no change in his arousal despite the layer of semen across my breasts. I wrapped my arms around him, hands in his hair, mouth devouring every bit of skin I can get to, licking, kissing, biting, tasting. Kissing him like I would eat him if I could while undulating my lower body over him in a slow, smooth rhythm. I kiss a path to his ear, nip his ear lobe affectionately, breathe softly into his ear before laving the side of his neck and, biting him none too gently, rake a red trail down his back with my claws as he coaxes my hips into a harder, faster tempo over his stunningly perfect erection.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms around me and flipped us so that I was suddenly on my back and he was over me, still buried inside me. He slowly extricated himself, then, wordlessly, placed himself at my other, smaller entrance and I had a moment to have a brief flash of worry. But I was beyond dripping, at this point, and my moisture had soaked everything from thighs to my knees… all the way down the crack of my ass. And he was covered in my juices and cum. He didn’t take his eyes off my face as he pressed into me, my body yielding shockingly easily, welcoming him as though it knew it missed this act more than even I was willing to admit.

“Yes,” I manage to squeak out, the first human word I have manged in awhile, my brain having been a fog of animal lust and desire too far removed from anything civilized to speak words before. “Please…”

“You like this, don’t you, little witch?” he asked, a purely masculine delight in his tone as he moved his hips in gentle, slow motions, working his cock more deeply into me with each motion. He reached down and started playing with my flowing pussy again as he continued to slide in and out of my tight little ass.

“Mmmm… o-ohhh,,, Oh, yes! Yes, m’lord,” I managed, mouth in a wet “o” of ecstasy as his body brought me again to the brink of orgasm. I wasn’t sure I could keep diving off this edge and not break completely. His thrusts became a little harder, deeper, and I felt that coil inside the core of me winding ever tighter, my whole body arching up against him, my head back, throat and breasts bare to him, my clit the toy he played with expertly, my ass a tight, clenching sheath for his driving, hot member. His own breathing became ragged as his passion-dark amber eyes bore into mine, and I felt his fingers ignite that fuse…

“Oh… Oh! Oh, my Lord Pan! I’m going… you’re making me… oh my Gods, I’m c-c-cuuuuuuuuummmmm innnnnnggggg!!” It was a ragged, animal cry ripped from the deepest recesses of my soul, and my consciousness completely broke. The world went white and I felt like I was floating in a white, fluffy cloud of pure sexual ecstasy. I have no idea how long I hung there, in that place between life and death, light and dark, sleeping and wakefulness. All I knew was that something inside me had changed. Something had been touched that never had been before. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. And my body… My body had never felt so deliciously sensuous, so well loved and gloriously used and exhausted.

When I started coming back to myself, I didn’t open my eyes. I swear, I felt the soft warmth of my bed beneath me and felt a kiss on my forehead. “My gift, little witch…” came a soft, far away whisper. “My gift… is forthcoming. You’ll know it when it wanders into your arms. Don’t worry. I know what you need.” One more soft kiss and a chuckle was followed by: “Herne was right… you are fun! Ah, another time, little one… another time. Part of your little wild heart is mine now, you know…”

I was so tingly and content and filled with post-orgasmic afterglow, it didn’t even occur to me to respond. I just let the darkness over take me into a lovely, blissful sleep… And when I opened my eyes the next day, it was late afternoon. I was naked but I was in my own bed, completely unsure if I had had another one of my wildly realistic, amazingly detailed sexual dreams… Or if maybe… just maybe… Something really had happened. I may never know. But, if you ask me… Buddy keeps looking at me like he’s seen me naked, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that!

Ah well… I guess I’ll never know. Unless that “gift” turns out to be real, of course… with any luck, it’ll be more visits like that… or maybe one of his own followers that know how to make a girl cum like that. I think I’d be willing to believe just about anything if it includes orgasms like that! We’ll see… but I think there’s definitely going to be a new addition to the altar.

Thanks, my Lord Pan. Hope we meet again…

THE END