An orgy in the wine

You try to resist. Truly, you do. But the music is too seductive. The sight of Brigette being fucked and fed on by the satyr’s too enticing. You remove the sword and drop it to the floor. You part the veil of vines and step into the chamber.

The satyrs don’t even seem surprised to see you. The one who plays the flute smiles slightly as he continues to play. One approaches you and takes your hand, drawing you deeper into the chamber, towards the fountain. Another fills a goblet to the brim and passes it to you. You take the wooden cup in both hands and stare as if hypnotized into the scarlet waters. One of the satyrs takes the initiative and pushes it towards you. You open your mouth and drink.

Fire sets your nerves alight. You shiver with delight and moan when you feel the rough hands of the satyrs move upon your flesh, removing your robe and baring your naked form to the cool night air. A giddiness fills you, and you laugh senselessly as you are tugged into the pool of wine. You hiccup and groan as your legs are parted and the hard cock of a satyr aligns with your cunny, and then pushes inside. It is not unlike when the imp impaled you with his barb, this feeling that fills you, yet it is worlds apart. Though you feel the need, it is more a liberation than oppression. You accept the satyr willingly as he drives inside you, slow and steady, the wine around you lapping at your skin as it flushes a sympathetic red.

You rock against the satyr as he drives himself into you. Turning your head you are confronted by the cock of a second, and without a thought, you open your mouth and take him inside. Your tongue slides over his glans, your cheeks hollowing as you suck happily, tasting the thick, nutty flavour of his arousal.

Time runs into itself seamlessly. You are barely aware of the satyr within you bleating as he cums deep inside of you, replaced a moment later by another horny goat man. You rejoice in the feeling of their coarse hair rubbing against your smooth skin. The only time you are without a cock in your mouth is when they press another drink to you, which you happily down to rinse the taste of your last partner before a new one presents itself.

At some point you are flipped about. Your face wallows in the wine as you lift the heart shape of your ass into the air and wiggle it enticingly. Another satyr you cannot see accommodates you, and drives your face into the wine with every thrust. You slurp at the delicious fluid and moan wantonly as they use you.

“More,” you gasp, your hair matted with cum and wine, drops clinging to the rose in your hair like scarlet dew. “More. Please, goddess, more!”

And more you receive. You lose track, falling into a timelessness of pleasure, coming from it occasionally to find yourself beset by new partners and new positions. The wine fogs your mind and you take anything the satyrs offer you. You tongue their assholes, their nubby tails twitching over your nose. You suck their fingers and squish your breasts around enterprising dicks as they slide between, lubricated by wine and pre. You lick up as much of the cum that splashes into your face as you can. You bathe in the wine, feeling renewed in it and ready for each new partner. Hands slap your ass and pinch your thighs. You laugh and reel. It is all so good!

The last thing that you are aware of is lying next to Brigette. You are both draped by ropes of the satyr’s seed and soaked by wine. She smiles at you, a knowing look. You hiccup and giggle and cuddle against her, and she takes you by the shoulder and holds you close as wondrous dreams envelop you and take you far from the orgy you no doubt participate in for hours to come.