The Satyr

The Satyr A romantic epic in tercet verse

Warning: If you are uncomfortable with descriptions of explicit sex read no further.

Was it a scent or sound perhap
Awoke the satyr from his nap
Panpipe lies limply in his lap?
Below him by the riverside
A female mortal he espied
A golden gown lay by her side
Attired just in a silken shift
Whose myriad colours dance and drift
In dappled sunlight she does lift
Her hands up to her golden hair
And lifts a jewelled circlet there
The act is one of deep despair
That desperation so profound
Wrenched from her soul a piteous sound
As she lets the jewels fall to the ground

Was this the sound so sad to hear
That had aroused his sleeping ear?
And with that sound she shed a tear
First one and then another crept
Down her wan cheek until she wept
Releasing sorrows, she had kept
For far too long within her breast
She sinks with sobbing, heaving chest
To the ground perchance to rest
The sun now hidden by a cloud
But as he watched she speaks aloud
Of a noble vain and proud
Who’d pledged to love her and all the while
Used all his subtlety and guile
To use her in a way most vile

With gifts he wins naive affection
She’s taken thrice then cruel rejection
Behold the panpipe’s resurrection
Full grown more than another horn
Fuelled with desire this rampant fawn
On cloven hoof his lust reborn
Descends, observes and as she rises
She casts the shift that she despises
Transformed in one of his disguises
Beholds her newly naked figure
He nears her now with renewed vigour
His playful panpipe ever bigger
In guise of young girl, he appears
Scarce more than child of tender years
A helping hand to dry her tears
He leads her to the river’s pool
A stepping-stone acts as a stool
As they immerse in waters cool
A moment there relieves her stress
Scarce noticing the soft caress
A signal of his first success
A teen’s hand resting on her thigh
That moves inside, a little high
A stroke provokes a wishful sigh
She looks the girl now in the face
Surprised by her too close embrace
She feels her touch that special place
Then nimble fingers rove the slit
Parting the lips that cover it
“Please stop” but no they do not quit

And in a manner far too brave
They slip inside her moist dark cave
She feels the stirrings of a wave
Of wanton passion, so exciting
That every nerve end is delighting
She pulls the girl close, now inviting
A kiss that’s on her lips impressed
She feels one hand upon her breast
The other slipping from her nest
She grabs the hand that just had toyed
Aroused in her this aching void
That must be filled and satisfied
And now the satyr lays aside
His rank deception, no more to hide
The evidence of his true ambition
She starts, she gasps at his condition
But lost is every inhibition

With timid hand rolls back the tip
A crimson head within her grip
She strokes and brings it to her lip
The simple kiss that’s her intent
He has no need of her consent
She’s too enchanted by its scent

One taste and she is in its thrall
But finds alas her mouth too small
She tries but cannot take it all
The Satyr is a patient soul
Swift fingers reignite the hole
That really is his only goal
He hesitates against the rim
Then presses on her juicy quim
Is it too small to welcome him?
The very tip that’s all he tried
She’s wet and that now helps him slide
Most of the rosy head inside
He feels her stretch and then dilate
The better to accommodate
His girth within her pearly gate
Entry to heaven now he seeks
And grabs hold of her nether cheeks
He pulls; through half-closed eyes she peeks
Watching in wonder as bit by bit
Her cunny finds a way to fit
And welcome the whole mass of it

It’s fully in, there is no more
And penetrated to the core
She feels him stand, bring her to shore
Still sheathed, he lays her on the sward
Her trait’trous noble’s piteous sword
Ne’er such pleasures could her afford
His thrusts, she parries with her thighs
Spread wide, welcomes with ardent sighs
Undreamt sensations that arise
Stirrings that bring her to the crest
Of passion she had never guessed
Could so o’erwhelm her. Is she blessed
To know these rippling waves of bliss?
She turns his bristled mouth to kiss
Was ever pleasure such as this?
She rides the ever-cresting waves
That hollow her with all she craves
Of extasy, they are both slaves
The end is coming as it must
Her climax meets his final thrust
As he subsides with sated lust
Warm outflow of his cunning scheme
Spills from her loins in creamy stream
Her eyes roll back, perchance to dream
For pleasures such as these are rare
The Satyr too becomes aware
That this is something they might share

Enough for now, my story’s told
Of how a maiden fair and bold
Managed to melt a heart so cold
And make him take her for his queen
Was he bewitched? What could it mean?
Asked all within the forest scene
‘twas her insatiable and white-hot quim
That never ever tired of him
A growing bulge in that figure slim
Or is she simply growing fatter?
But then of cloven hooves the patter
Silences the sylvan chatter
Proof of their love, ‘mid joy and laughter
She begs his ready panpipe to shaft her
A fairy tale life with little strife
is how they’ll live as man and wife
Yes, they’ll live ‘happily ever after’

THE END
Copyright: © Dawn Ramble 2021