New Orleans was a throbbing, steamy city, decadent and seedy as an
aged whore. Now, for Mardi Gras, she was dressed in her finest,
decked out in gilt, rhinestones and sateen, dancing and cavorting
like a nymph. On every street corner music wailed, her siren song
calling still more to her broad avenues to spin and worship in
sweaty ecstasy.
James eased his way through the crowded streets, scanning the
swaying raucous crowds for the masks of his friends. The Pied
Piper, Harlequin, and the Queen of Sheba were lost in the tidal
wave of a mammoth parade. His Satyr costume had drawn admirers to
him and he'd been kissed and pawed by Nymphs, Princesses, and an
occasional Grendel. His hairy chest was covered with a
kaleidoscope of beaded largess and his long dark hair and beard
were tousled. With the realistic furred leggings, hooves and tail
he was the complete picture of Bacchanal excess.
Another scrawny Nymph whirled his way and he backed into an alley
to avoid her drunken kisses. She screeched a high piercing laugh
and staggered away. Relieved he leaned against the cool dark stone
building. The light had fled suddenly and streetlights flickered
to life. In the quick brightness, a white form appeared before
him. James raised one hand to shade his eyes.
His breath caught as he stared at the vision before him. She stood
poised like a startled doe, her green eyes wide. A sudden breeze
blew her long ashen hair from her face and the white and purple
gauze of her dress wrapped tight around her tensed body.
In a heart beat his senses captured her beauty, burning it in his
mind and branding him with a heat he had never before experienced.
She was tall, at least five foot nine and richly curved. The white
silk snapped about round, strong calves and her thighs were each
the size of an ordinary woman's waist, yet more appealing for their
supple plumpness. A sash of purple cut between those rich legs
hinting at deeper shadows, then curved out and out in a great arc,
a globe of perfect femininity, fat and tempting his arms to capture
and sink into the rapture of sweet flesh. The purple curved in a
sash around her bountiful waist, then crossed between her lavish
breasts.
He ached to touch her, to undo the cloth that bound such beauty.
Unknowingly, he stepped forward, his hooves clattering on the
cobblestones. Her eyes widened and she turned and leaped away, her
sweet posterior bouncing lasciviously.
Without thought, his will bent, following the purpose of the form
he wore, James followed. The sound of his hooves softened as he
tracked her into the park, beating a muffled tattoo on the new
spring grass. His awkwardness in the costume was gone, as if it
had fused to his skin. He no longer wore it, it wore him. His tail
lashed in the rising wind and he felt the excitement of its
movement in his buttocks and groin. An ivory figure moved
through the dark grove of trees, then disappeared. Cautious now,
he slipped amongst the branches. The wood moaned and new leaves
whispered as the heady scent of lilacs freshened the air. A
reflecting pond glittered in the center of the grove. The moon
broke through gray clouds sending glittering prisms of light into
the gloom.
She knelt on the mossy shore, brushing one hand over the water,
then lifting it to watch the droplets catch and drip back in tiny
moonlets. He exhaled heavily and she looked up into his eyes. Her
cheeks flushed, then she smiled.
No words would describe the wash of sensation that clutched him
drawing him from the woods into her outspread arms. His hurry and
animal lust gentled as she lay back and his body came to rest on
her cushioning belly and breasts. Her broad thighs spread and
engulfed him, holding him tightly to her. Slowly, he raised his
hand to her soft cheek and she turned slightly, running the tip of
her tongue on the inside of his palm. He lowered his mouth to hers
and thought ceased as he tasted her. Beneath him, she began to
move and her flesh took up a quivering rhythm that pulsed into his
veins.
Roughly, he ripped at the cloth that kept him from touching her and
she threw back her head and laughed as the cloth parted. A quick
pull and his shirt and the tawdry beads were gone and again he bent
to kiss her while her nipples rose and hardened against the fur of
his chest. He slid his great hand beneath her, kneading one ripe
buttock, then moving it up and up until he cupped a large handful
of sweet, fat belly.
Her hands became serious, exploring his body with fever, touching
him in ways he had never been touched before. Her flesh quaked
beneath him as she shifted in readiness, straining against him.
He cupped her breasts and bent his lips to them, licking and
sucking the splendid mounds. She moaned deeply and then yipped as
he nipped her gently. In the distance, the Mardi Gras congregation
raised voice in celebration and he joined them baying his desire
across the deep pool.
Her strong calves spasmed and he plunged into her purple depths.
It was her turn at capture and caught within her on the verge of
delirium he could only follow as she arched her back and rolled
until he lay on the moss and she straddled him.
She grinned with delight and slowly, oh so slowly, rocked forward.
Her belly spread and jiggled against him and he cupped her flanks,
pulling her down and down as her deep internal muscle fought to
hold him. With a wild whoop, she broke his grip and leaned back,
her breasts bobbing. She began to bounce.
If eyes could orgasm, his would have at the sight of her flesh
rocking and swaying. It was as seductive as the feel of her erotic
motion. His hooves drummed the earth and she curled over him, her
hair engulfing them both as the first waves of ecstasy swept over
them. Again and again they climaxed, slipping over the moss until
they lay half in the cool water. Every filament of his body burned
bright from her lovemaking and she shone like a star in his arms.
At last, the moon slipped behind a cloud and they coiled together,
silent, exalting in the echos still ringing in their flesh. He
felt nothing but her softness and warmth as he dropped into sleep.
He woke to soggy wetness and the deep ache of pummeled flesh. He
lay alone at the bank of the pond. Groggily, he sat up and groped
for memory. Not real, he thought. A product of the excesses of
Mardi Gras. Slowly he stood, swaying on his mangled hooves a toe
peeking here and there through the beaten leather. Something heavy
dragged at his rear as he turned to go, he reached back and
snatched his bedraggled tail. Tied to its end was a long, silken
purple sash.
by Taylor D.