Well, how would you?

Her two friends are, needless to say, shocked at the events that transpire before them.

The two women watch, unblinking, as Vanessa’s breasts swell and firm to truly luscious mounds of satyr proportion. My charge fingers her pussy eagerly, tugging her right nipple to her mouth for several sumptuous self-suckings.

I can understand their palpable fear, as the women back away toward the head of Vanessa’s bed. I’ve seen this many, many times before. Sometimes the fearful come around to become my worshippers and children, sometimes not. It is always their choice.

“You fear. Why? I will not harm either of you.”

The human girls ease only slightly, though they still shake visibly. Vanessa calls out my name (and theirs!) as she cums with satyr ferocity, drenching her thighs with sweet stickiness.

As much as I ache to take her, to transform her right now, I **** the urges back. I’ve waited for millennia; I can wait a bit more. The last thing I want is to frighten possible friends, or recruits.

“Would you like to talk for a while?” I ask them as evenly as possible. Vanessa’s arms curl around my waist, making my will waver again.

Brooke blinks in confusion. “Talk? You mean...just talk?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Of course. I imagine you have much curiosity about me, and about the gift I have given Vanessa.”

Michelle clears her throat nervously. “Um, yeah. Much.”

“Then let’s talk, and drink!” I present my flagon of wine, working my power to diminish its potency. They will become only as drunk as they wish to be, and will keep their reason.

Brooke and Michelle present me with many questions and queries they’ve built up and just pondered. They ask me about Zeus and the other gods, about satyrs and their ways, which mythologies are genuine, even about my sexual preference (which, for the record, is yes).

I take equal opportunity to get to know them. I find out that Michelle was meant to be an Olympic athlete, a distance runner, until a car accident shattered her knee. While it was repaired enough for her to walk with a slight limp, her career was nullified. She did not let it crush her, however, and pursued her second love of art. She has made only a few paintings (though one took second prize at a college art show), and is currently majoring in art history. Her favorite period is the
Renaissance, though she appreciates the Greek sculptors and relief carvers. I do as well.

Brooke’s path was much different. A child of a sexually abusive father and an alcoholic mother, an aunt took her in at age ten. She saved throughout her formative years to earn her tuition. She plays guitar and piano very well, and has a fledgling hard rock band called The Bleak. Her actual field of study is in the English language, which she hopes will aid her in her songwriting. I sense so much pain and conflict within her; my heart aches to heal hers.

I would dearly love to help them both, and perhaps their friends as well, but I must allow them to make the request unprovoked. As we while the night away, they grow fully at ease with my presence, even drawing close and touching my fur and horns.

In the waning hours of the night, with much wine drunk and many wonderful moments shared, one of my three dear mortal friends asks one more question...