Kassandra is tired of her father always telling her what to do. Ever since she had turned ten, her father had kept her cloistered in his house, away from men. Now that she’s twenty, all she wants is to be sexually free.
As Nyx rules and Apollon sleeps, she sneaks out of her house, wrapped in a thick imatio.
“Gentlemen,” she nods in a low voice to the guards at the gates. They nod back.
“Be safe. It’s dangerous outside the polis gates these days.”
Of course, danger is exactly what Kassandra’s looking for.
The path from Sparta leads almost directly into the forest. Kassandra hesitates for a second. The guards were right. The forest is lethal. Yes, she may happen on the followers of Dionysos she’s looking for, but she could also happen upon one of the fearsome creatures all the heroes fought off. Kassandra breathes in. The air is cool, and freezes her fears. She runs off into the woods.
The path is overgrown and rough. Several times, her sandaled feet slip on the rocks, roots, and undergrowth. She swears that she hears the sounds of animals all around her. She can pick out one in particular… it sounds like… human laughter!
Indeed, as she pulls aside a long branch obscuring her view of a clearing, she sees a most marvelous sight:
Six naked men with horses’ tails and erect penises, dancing around a large, old, fat man. Five of the men have goblets, and the fruity wine spills onto the ground. One plays a set of Pan pipes. The fat man in the center, his tail longer and his dick harder than those of the others, has two goblets of wine in his hands. The deep red liquid drips from his laughing mouth into his beard, where it either stays or continues its journey to the ground. Some of it even lands on the throbbing obelisk between the man’s thighs.
Kassandra’s mouth curls into a smile. She has found the satyroi.
“Hello, sirs!” The satyroi’s heads all turn simultaneously. A woman’s voice is always welcome to a satyr. The large one in the center gets up, his love-thyrsos swinging as he moves.
“Well, now, Missy, what might you be doing so far from Sparta??” he asks as wine drips from his phallus.
“My name is Kassandra. I have found the strict life my father affords me not to my taste. I would like to learn about the world of men..”
The satyroi burst into laughter. “My name is Seilenos. And we certainly know about the world of men, don’t we boys?” The satyroi chuckle, greedily eying Kassandra, each pulling off her imatio in their minds. Their already stiff rods increase in hardness tenfold.
“Kassandra, why don’t you come over here and tell us exactly what it is you’d like to know?”
Kassandra confidently strides over to the satyroi, then turns so her back faces them. She casts a lusty glance over her shoulder, then rips the clasp from her imatio, letting the garment fall to the ground. The satyroi whoop with glee, as her form is much more visible under her thin khiton. Kassandra draws her left hand to her right shoulder, and plucks the brooch from it, showing her lightly tanned shoulder to the cheering satyroi. She undoes the second brooch, then blows it from her shoulder. Her khiton falls, stopping at the girdle immediately under her breasts. Cupping each of her swelling bosoms in each hand, she turns to face the ecstatic satyroi. She slowly draws her arms downward, between her legs, framing her perky tits, her hard nipples sticking out like the cocks of the satyroi. She brings her arms back above her head, and slowly turns again. She undoes her girdle, and what is left of the khiton falls to the ground. The satyroi will wake up tomorrow with damaged voice boxes, but they don’t care. They hoot and holler as Kassandra draws one slender leg up the length of the other, her round ass tightening. She falls to her hands and knees, the sensuality of nature overcoming all other motivations. She turns onto her back, her breasts flapping and her goblet open, the virgin membrane still intact and inviting as her natural wine fills the cup.
“Do what you will.”
The satyroi’s lusting gives way to raucous laughter.
“You’ll need some wine in you first!” Seilenos exclaims, pulling an amphora and a goblet from the ground.
He pours her glass after glass, and she downs them each with one gulp. Pretty soon, she feels like she is floating on the cloud of Dionysos. The god’s euphoria is granted to her, and she smiles at all the lusty man-vines waving around her face.
“More!” she shrieks.
Seilenos looks at the other satyroi, who all nod fervently.
“Put your mouth here,” Seilenos instructs Kassandra, patting the side of his engorged penis.
Kassandra smiles a lecherous smile and looks at the old satyr with salacious eyes, then puts her full, aqueous lips on his lovegiver, noticing the waters of love flowing through her lower lips.
Seilenos lifts an amphora of wine, and begins pouring it onto his chest. The water of Dionysos cascades down his chest, over his potbelly, through his lower hair, and all over his firm member. Kassandra delights in the wine, and drinks from the satyr’s staff as if from a fountain.
When she feels like she is about to faint from the joy of the wine, Kassandra falls back, eying the lusty satyroi. They stare at her virginal sekos, her open legs inviting them like an open door does to a thief.
Seilenos makes a gesture with his finger indicating that she should turn onto her stomach, and she does. One of the satyroi stands in front of her; Seilenos stands behind. Together, they grasp her midriff, lifting her to the level of their hips. They each place their mortars in the respective pestles, and move in and out, mimicking the rhythm with which a winemaker crushes grapes.
Kassandra’s nerves send mixed messages to her brain, the intense pleasure she feels at having men inside her after two decades of chastity mingling with the mild uncomfortableness of having skin where skin had never been before.
She is on her hands and knees now, and a third satyr slips underneath and begins penetrating the thin layer of virginity she has been wanting to break for so long. The sharp spike of pain gives way to unimaginable pleasure. The pleasure of sex merges with the pleasure of the wine. When she can no longer take it, she closes her eyes, and can see Dionysos and Aphrodite, guiding her up a pyramid of ecstasy as her three adytons are visited by the exploratory extensions of the hairy priests.
The other satyroi form a circle around the foursome, grasping their own spikes, rubbing vigorously. They shoot their descendants onto the satyriasis-filled group in the center. Once everyone in the outer circle has finished, they jump the satyroi on either side of Kassandra, making two long, lustful lines. Those on the end, without anyone to stimulate their chutes, stick their own fingers there, their tails flailing about in rhythm with the bouncing of Kassandra’s breasts.
At long last, they part, the satyroi having expelled gallons of the white wine of love into various amphoras, belonging to both Kassandra and to each other. As for Kassandra, she has climbed so far up the temple of euphoria that it feels like a mountain, second only to Olympos in height.
Exhausted, the former virgin and the seven manimals fall into a deep, Dionysian-induced sleep, their limbs entwining.
Apollon breaks the lascivious orgy with his piercing rays. They remind Kassandra, as all convex objects will, from now on, of the fleshy promontories that entered and exited her as actors from a stage this night.
She picks up her clothes and puts them back on, bidding the satyroi goodbye with many kisses on many lusty lips. They beg her to return sometime. She just smiles enigmatically and winks.
She grunts at the guards, different ones than those who had let her out, as Apollon begins to climb the road that leads across the sky. She sneaks back to her house and her bed. She reaches under her khiton, and is pleased to find that she can, with her own fingers, simulate the pleasure granted to her by the large trailers of the satyroi.
She lets out an ecstatic sigh as she reaches the plateau of the euphoria mountain, just as her father, Priamos, opens the door to her bedchamber. He takes the lustful expelling of air for a chaste exhalation, and smiles to himself. “Sleep, my chaste little flower. No man shall ever pluck your petals from you.” As he closes the door, Kassandra allows herself a naughty smile before drifting off to sleep again.