Welcome to Capricious by Julie Cox, a Texan tale of love and magic. NSFW.
A new chapter appears every Tuesday. This week is Chapter Seven. Listen to the audio version at Nobilis Erotica here!
Luke picked Sootie up from Sally’s, which amounted to the front door of the house opening, Sootie running out, and the door slamming shut. He frowned at that, and his assurance that Sally really did want him, and not August, wilted. He turned from the asphalt highway to the concrete road running up the mountain, to the gravel street he lived on, to the deeply rutted dirt drive of his house, to his usual parking spot under the soapberry. Bone-weary, he climbed the steps to the porch.
He sat in a sagging folding chair made of crisscrossing vinyl, reminding himself to try to fix the few straps that were broken. Duct tape ought to do it. He pulled over the sand-filled coffee can that served as an ashtray and lit a cigarette. It hurt to think. He was sweaty and filthy from the construction site, angry and frustrated with Sally. He wondered why, exactly, he was so possessive all of a sudden. It wasn’t like he had any kind of a stake on her, but he had begun to think of her as his. He dropped his head into his hands and growled. Sally never dated; she wasn’t into anyone, that he could remember. Somehow he’d always assumed that if she had the inclination to be with anyone, why, he was a natural choice. For the first time he had to admit that she may have already considered the option carefully and dismissed it. His self-assurance from before evaporated.
Why? That was the question. Luke was vain enough to consider himself good looking, in a good ol’ boy sort of way. He had the lean, ropy muscles that hard labor gave a man. Sally liked his horns. She even claimed to like his hooves. He wasn’t as clean as Cormick or August, but that was because he worked all the time. A woman ought to like a man who was sweaty and dirty because he’d worked his ass off all day. It wasn’t like he didn’t bathe when he had the chance.
He looked around his little piece of property. It was a peaceful evening, one of those quiet times of day when the light caught just right in the wind chimes and the hummingbird feeders to make the whole place feel more magical than it was. And with Luke around, things were magical. He smiled at the cottonwood seeds floating like tiny fairies across the lawn. They might make him sneeze, but they were lovely. The chickens were in the front along with the two dairy goats and their kids. Saul, the big white dog that watched over the livestock, dozed in the shade until Sootie ran over and started climbing on him. He tried to maintain an aura of peace and dignity but finally gave in and rolled her over to wrestle.
Yup, it was a good place, Luke reaffirmed to himself. Some folks had tried to buy it several years back. He’d given them an unqualified no. The trees were tall and thick, and the livestock and vegetables flourished. At the moment the half-acre vegetable garden overflowed with tomatoes, cucumbers, and okra. In the fall there would be lettuce, pumpkins, and peas. With the vegetables, milk, eggs, kids, and chicks, he hardly ever had to buy more than basic staples like flour and sugar at the store. And the extra was good money. Not a lot, but well earned. He was proud to be self-sufficient. And he was proud that it wasn’t just the spring a little higher up the mountain that made his little patch of land productive. It was Luke, too–that satyr core that embodied ripeness, lush forests, fertility. Drunk on the fruit of the earth. Of course, he had to throw some pretty wild parties to keep up the magical energy he sank into the place, soak up the lust-energy from others, but that was a hell of a lot of fun, too.
Satisfied that his home, his life, and his own self ought to be sufficient for any lucky girl, Luke and his ego settled deeper into his chair. He hooked his horns over the back, crossed his hooves, and closed his eyes, listening to the drone of the cicadas and the happy clucks of the chickens. Let Sally have her stupid fancy city guy with his soft hands and luxurious hair. She was the one missing out. He wriggled in frustration. If it had been Friday, he would have driven down to Del Rio–hell, maybe even as far as San Antonio–gotten drunk, and found himself some obliging young thing all too eager to take him to bed. In fact, that’s what he’d do this weekend, chupacabra or no. If Sally didn’t want him, he’d find someone who did, even if it was just for a night. But as he drifted off, he couldn’t help thinking about her still.
His dream would have highly offended Sally. He found her by the spring, barefoot in a thin, sleeveless white shirt and boxers, much like she’d worn the night Luke kept watch over the goats. Her nipples stood out against the soft cotton, and the strap of her shirt fell from her shoulder. Her toes trailed in the cool water. Luke knelt next to her. She smiled at him and lay back, stretching, and the loose boxers clung to the curve between her legs. Luke felt blood rush to his cock, and he moved to cover her. But she giggled, leaped up, and danced away from him. He followed.
She slid down the embankment to the clear water of the pond. His logical mind–what there was of it–tried to argue that wild pond water wouldn’t be clear, but he pushed that thought away when she stood up in her wet shirt. Her breasts stood out plainly now, and her expression urged him to action. He kicked off his boots and slid down into the water with her, jeans and all. He touched his hands to her waist, slid them up her sides to her breasts. He bent his head to suck her nipples through her shirt, first one, then the other, and she writhed in the water, knotting her fingers through his hair. Lifting her shirt, he played his tongue over her nipples, feeling her breasts with both hands. He took her shirt off the rest of the way and cast it aside to float in the water.
When he moved to kiss her mouth, she slid away from him with a coy smile and lifted herself up out of the water. Her boxers slid off behind her. Her bottom was round and smooth, and she looked over her shoulder to watch him. He ran his hand up the back of her thigh and cupped her ass as he had her breasts. He was rock hard now, his cock straining against the zippered front of his jeans. He reached a hand between her legs, and she moved away from him yet again, up the bank to a flat, mossy rock. She stretched out, luxuriously, almost feline. The sun broke through above them and shone on her bronze skin. Luke thought he could almost see an aura of feathers.
Determined not to let her move away this time, he caught her by the ankles. She jumped and pulled, laughing, but he didn’t let her go. He moved up between her legs. By dream logic, he had lost his usual jeans, that human attire, and was now simply a satyr, the wild creature he really was, hooves, horns, and all. He pinned Sally against the stone and began stroking against her clit with his cock.
Any play at resistance was gone now. Sally arched her back and wrapped her legs around Luke, moving in rhythm to rub herself against him. She felt so good, so hot and wet, up and down his shaft. She pressed against him with great fervor, almost feverish, with pressure he wasn’t sure he could stand. Then, suddenly, she let go and flipped onto all fours. She raised her hips and pressed against him, clearly intending to envelope him. He put a hand on her back and laid his legs against hers. His other hand slipped down to her clit and began rubbing her in circles and strokes. He slid the head of his cock into her, just barely–then out, then barely in, then out. She cried out, her body bucking, asking for him.
“Do you want me?” he asked, rolling his hips to dip in and out of her rapidly.
“Yes! Oh God yes, Luke, fuck me!”
He’d thought to tease her, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. He pushed his cock inside of her, the whole length in, feeling a sudden enveloping warmth and tightness. She yelled for more. He began thrusting, giving her all he could, as hard and as fast as he could. She was so wet, so slick, and the dream seemed to go on and on. She came and then came again, her body clenching upon him in bliss.
She rose up and turned, pushing him onto the stone. She was rough, and his head rang for a moment as she mounted him. Then Sally was riding up and down on him, taking in his whole length with each thrust, pressing her hand against her clit as she fucked him, her breasts bouncing. At last he came, deep inside her, and she shimmered again in the sunlight, going in and out of focus. There again was that impression of feathers. No, not just an impression. Plumage blossomed on her skin and talons on her hands. A scream–no, that was his scream, as her talons landed on his chest–
He woke and realized it wasn’t him screaming. Something out in the yard screamed for him.
* * *
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About the author: Julie Cox is the author of Chasing Tail and numerous short stories in Circlet Press erotica anthologies. She lives in Texas with her husband, children, and ever-expanding menagerie of animals on their farm. She runs a small online yarn business and teaches yarn spinning. She has numerous stories published with Circlet Press and elsewhere.
Welcome to Fox Pass, Texas, a small community where the mythical creatures aren’t so mythical after all. Satyr Luke’s comfortable routine is thrown into disarray when he becomes the target of enemies who won’t hesitate to hurt his friends to get to him. Struggling to save his town—and to sort out his feelings for his friend Sally—Luke faces the adventure of a lifetime in Julie Cox’s Capricious.
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