The Satyr

Chapter 6

The New Pact

Artur smiled as he accepted being restrained by one of Daffydd’s cousins wearing one of the all enclosing rubber suits.

“Am I already considered dangerous?” He asked. 

“No, not yet,” replied Trewellyn. He laughed. “In about six months I dare say, but this is so I can take you to Daffydd.” He paused, checking the cuffs on Artur’s arms, then asked, “What was it like? I mean … he’s huge!”

“Hurt for a moment,” Artur answered. “But then he took his time, and when he began to actually fuck … it was fantastic." Grinning he continued. “The second and third time was even better, and as for what he did to me this morning …” He heard the satyr chuckle in his thoughts, then it said, ‘You are right, Artur, and I will make each time unique and always better.’ “All I can say is that I will never want anything else.”

“We better get to the grotto,” Trewellyn laughed. “I think you need caging already. That chastity belt looks amazing. Are you already, um, developing there?”

“It’s started, it feels … different down there,” Artur said accepting assistance to walk as Trewellyn was now joined by Bryn, another cousin. “But it will be at least some weeks before it shows, I think.”

“I could give you hooves now, if you wish,” the satyr teased in his head. “And horns … at the Dark of the Moon, my control of your body allows it, but only if you agree,” the beast added quickly.

“Not yet,” Artur told him in his thoughts as he shuffled between his companions with his hobbled ankles. “Perhaps later, when I am with Daffydd?”

“It shall be, my trusting Artur.” The ‘voice’ hesitated. “I loved Rhodri. And when he rejected me, I was angry. You are teaching me to love again. I will give you hooves and horns when you wish me to … and the most beautiful penis and generous scrotum to match. You will be more fertile than any satyr in our own realm.” He chuckled. “And any male we reveal ourselves to will never again want a woman …”

“Ready, Artur?” Asked Trewellyn, before Artur could respond to the satyr. They reached Daffydd’s cage, his satyr body already fully restrained on his couch. A second, unoccupied couch, with it’s heavy cuffs, belts and metal locks stood next to him, and Mr Merthyr and another of the Merthyr relatives stood ready to secure him.

“I’m ready,” Artur responded. “May I kiss Daffydd first?”

“You may, Artur.” Mr Mertyr nodded. 

Artur shuffled to Daffydd’s side and bent to bring his mouth to his lover’s, parting his lips as they met to accept the satyr’s tongue. “I love you,” he heard Daffydd say in his head, and replied, “I love you, my darling Daffydd, and I look forward to being a satyr as gorgeous as yourself.”

Parting, he submitted to being firmly restrained on the adjoining couch as Daffydd watched, his goat-like eyes smouldering as he drank in the fastening of every heavy cuff, every metal reinforced strap and belt, and every lock. Finally, as the men left, he thought spoke, “You, Artur, accept this fate in a manner I would not be able to do …”

“Nonsense, Daffydd. If our roles were reversed, you would accept it on my behalf.” He grinned and winked. “I knew why I was here, what and who I was to be the moment you showed yourself to me at the secret pool.” Holding that smouldering gaze, he smiled. “You are beautiful as a human, as a satyr you are absolutely breathtaking. I love you in this form. Your horns are magnificent, your legs and hooves amazing and I’m still savouring your sexual prowess …”

He felt his legs and feet changing, then laughed as he felt the weight of the horns that began to sprout from his temples. “Oh! Thank you, Beast.” Aloud he asked, “What do I look like, Daffydd?” 

“Beautiful …” Daffydd gasped. “O gods, Artur, what have I done to deserve you …”

“You should rather ask what we are going to do now we are sharing our lives, beloved Daffydd.” Artur flexed in his restraints. “Tell me what I must expect to experience as I become like you, my love. Will we be able to change from human to satyr and back when we need to? Or are we compelled to be the satyr all the time?”

“Daffydd resisted having that power, Artur,” the satyr’s voice was amused. “But you can both have it now. Yes, Daffydd, you did fight it, even when you discovered you could change at will. The only period in which you will be compelled to be in satyr form is the three or four days at the Dark of the Moon.”

“Tell him about his libido when he starts to ‘become’, Beast.” Daffydd’s voice was back. “Okay, I will … Artur, as your genitals become those of a satyr, your libido will be out of control. Mine was. I spent weeks in a strait jacket and having spontaneous ejaculations every time I saw a man, or someone touched me. No one was safe from me. You will be luckier — I will be there to deal with your sexual need.”

“Yes, we will deal with your libido,” said the voice of the satyr, his tone amused. “We look forward to it.”

“One of us will deal with it … the one feeding on your sperm and hormones, the other one will be stirring it up!” Daffydd grinned. “You’ve seen my scrotum — I produce about as much sperm now as a stallion.” 

The voice of the satyr in Artur interrupted, “You give more than any stallion, Daffydd — Artur, we will give that much and more.” 

“You’ll be at least that fertile,” Daffydd laughed. “And that gorgeous cock of yours will already be starting to change.” Blowing a kiss with his mouth, he said, “You should start to notice the change in a week or so. It will soften, but not completely at first, then gradually get thicker and longer. At the same time your balls will feel heavier and your scrotum will get much bigger.” He grinned. “What a pair we’ll make working on the farm.”

“You will make it more fertile,” interjected the voice of the Beast. “We are, after all, elementals of fertility.” He paused. “But our powers for that are currently limited by the restrictions we must accept …”  

They talked long into the night, the satyr interjecting, commenting, cajoling and teasing them both. Then Artur said, “Tell us about Rhodri Chelyn? What was he like? You said you loved him?”

“Why do you wish to know?” The voice was suspicious.

“Because we have heard only that you cursed him and the family after he rejected your choosing him.” Artur explained gently. “I am wearing the chastity belt that was imposed on him when he was brought back and surrendered to you. I would like to know why he resisted — especially as you said you loved him, and had taken care to befriend him.”

There was a lengthy silence, then the beast replied, the voice from Daffydd’s mouth, tender.

“Rhodri was a beautiful youth, and I fell in love with him early. It was a time of great uncertainty. There were human conflicts all around us, and those who sought out ‘magic’ and killed and burned those they suspected of practicing it. Rhodri was afraid. For himself, and for his family. It was an age that did not accept those who preferred their own sex as partners, and he was both beautiful and artistic — displaying no interest in the things considered manly in that age.” The story unfolded slowly, how the hamlet had been visited by witch finders and demon hunters and more than one preacher of the strictest kind. The family had been forced to conceal the then satyr member, and how Rhodri had taken fright when it was his time to bed with the satyr. He’d fled the farm, but worse, believing he could protect the family, and retain the prosperity, had brought a demon hunter back with him.

It was a long, and bitter tale. In the end, the family had seized Rhodri, restrained him and given him to the satyr’s pleasure. The demon hunter was lured to a similar fate and the pair had then been bound to the service of the Satyr and the family. The family, in an effort to placate the satyr, had agreed to accept the terms that had brought them to the present, with each generation having to surrender one of their sons to the satyr, and that son becoming a satyr in form for the rest of his life, unless he could find, in the time before his full change, a lover who would share this state with him. There was a condition attached, the satyr would always live in the grotto and accept limits to his freedom of movement — and the chosen son would not be permitted to leave the farm or hamlet. The satyr enforced this by ensuring his chosen youth developed unusually large genitals from an early age. In return, the farm thrived, life in the hamlet would be undisturbed and become a haven for relatives of the family who found life ‘on the outside’ difficult.

“You are first in several generations, Artur. To have shown genuine love for the designated satyr. The first, in fact, to embrace both his destiny and your own so fully.” The beast was silent for a time, his smouldering gaze fixed on Artur’s face. “But it has meant that I am, like you, trapped in this confinement, bound for my own, and for your and your family’s safety to this grotto. I yearn for the freedom of the forest and the stream, for the open skies and the clean fresh air. I wish to share that with you, and to strike a new bargain with your family that allows me that. Will you persuade them?”

There was a longing in the voice now as Artur returned the gaze.

“Daffydd, can we do this? Can we persuade your father?”

“Perhaps if you talk to him, my love. You are better at persuasion than I could be on this.” Daffydd paused. “If you ask him to hear our plea when he comes to retrieve you in a few hours …” He smiled, and Artur sensed the hope. “You are not yet ‘become’ he will listen to you …” 

“I will try, but I think they will want guarantees that we don’t cause a problem with outsiders. People are more accepting of Gay and Lesbian people, even of those with fetish lifestyles, but there are those that regard us with suspicion.” He grimaced. “That’s why my mother and I came here — I was accused of attempting to molest another boy. I’d told him that I found being restrained sexually exciting. His mother said I was a danger to their children …”