Light, color, sound.

Bright sunset orange decorated with dancing and swaying figures of the deepest black, each one a case study in motion and celebration. A hundred voices singing and laughing, oblivious to the world outside the firelight while a strange, drifting music competed with the volume of the crowd, all the while unfamiliar and familiar scents of cooking food painted the scene.

A hundred figures swinging and jumping to rhythms only they understood while an uncountable more watched from the shadows about great caravans. A hundred figures in the night, and not one of them human.

Anon crouched in the bushes nearly twenty meters from the farthest caravan, staring in cautious awe at the celebration before him. He had heard the stories, everyone in the village had, about the travelling caravans of talking goats, peddling mysticism and abducting young men and women into the night, but as he hid in the bush the description of ‘talking goats’ felt like a crude simplification meant for a fairy tale.

Each one of the alien figures at the fireside was a study, a fusion of beast and man in a way that left Anon both curious and intimidated. Long, shapely legs that terminated in hooves, elbows and ankles decorated with tufts of fur, wide hips and fantastically decorated coats and jackets, most alien of all however was the head. Not quite perfectly a goat, nor a decorated human head either. A short muzzle, floppy ears, proud horns demanded immediate attention, but closer inspection yielded more. Like an artist that adored both species and wanted the best of both represented, features flowed and complemented instead of competing or contrasting.

The strain in his legs from crouching so long brought Anon back to the moment. Shifting his weight in the soft loam, he gave a hushed sigh. This was as close as he would get, curiosity was a dangerous thing, everyone in the village knew, and he had entertained such desires for long enough. He crawled out from under the bush, taking his time as to not disturb any dry leaves or sticks that might be hiding in the underbrush. Once clear he rose only to a stooped half-stand, not daring to rise to his full height, and began to creep away from the caravan.

As he skulked away from the bushes, a twig snapped in the nearby darkness and Anon froze. The sound of the party was still too close he realized, and wild animals wouldn't stray towards it. The possibility of one of the Gypsies, or worse, a member of the village having found him was a terrible possibility. His eyes strained to pierce the darkness of the night trying his best to limit his movements and resisting the urge to wildly turn about. He couldn’t see anything aside from the swirling mist that sulked at the forest floor, but that did little to help his quickening heartbeat.

Without ceremony he broke into a low run, which soon broke into a sprint. Desperate to cover more ground in case it was one of the goatmen he had forgotten a lesson from the village elders. Speed enables fear.

Caution has been forgotten, his lungs choked on fine night mists while his legs strained for every step, a mad, thought-breaking panic had taken him and he fled through the night with all the grace of a madman. He was sure he heard them, laughing just behind him desperate to pull him down into the undergrowth and do something horrific to him and he was sure he heard voices from the village, calling him to safety, that if he just reached the treeline he would be safe, that the goats wouldn't cross it, superstition would be his savior.

A low, wobbling sound was soon competing with his fevered thoughts, quickly developing into a proper note, a harsh, high-pitched thing that pushed higher than it should have been able too. Just as he turned to see what was making the noise, the sound broke like a branch under tension and a force of pure sound took him off his feet and tumbling over the roots of the forest floor, tumbling again past the boundary of the treeline.

There he lay, face first in the dirt, dazed and gasping for air. He took a moment there in the dirt to compose himself, swallowing his panic then raised his head to see that not even a stone-throws away there was the short stone-wall of the villages fields, and beyond that the dim lights from windows and door frames of the village proper. He had made it, even now sprawled out in the mist and the dirt they wouldn't dare cross the boundary of the forest's edge, they were afraid of proper civilization. Everyone in the village knew that, he told himself.

He chuckled to no one, and stretched out an arm to prop himself up when a single hoof stomped down in the scant space between his arm and his head. He froze. His breath caught in his throat. And his gaze traveled up the hoof, along the shapely leg it was attached too and past the wide, womanly hips that perched oh-so-perfectly upon the legs. Before he could act in any way, the hoof pivoted in the dirt, and it's twin stomped down opposite the first past his head, before the figure crouched down, replacing his view of the village with two furry thighs and a skirt that asked for the dark of the night to give its wearer any modesty at all.

“Curious little thing aren't you?” the figure attached to the hips cooed, the womanly voice unbearably close to his ears. He couldn’t respond, fear had stolen the strength from his body.

“Thought you could ogle at the caravan without us noticing?-” she stood up before placing a hoof at his side, and again, before he could act, she flipped him onto his back.

“-Without getting caught?” she purred, a giggle trying it's best to sneak out alongside her taunting as she straddled his chest. Now, looking up at her from his back he couldn’t help but examine her, her amber eyes featuring the sideways pupils of the beast that inspired her form but with a lively cunning and life within them flashing dangerously in the night. Her ears perked off the side of her head and bounced lively as she spoke. Her horns curved back from her skull, ending in subtle points, at contrast with the ornate decoration of trinkets, coins, and beads held up by a net of string that webbed back and forth between her horns.

His examination was interrupted when she placed a lightly-furred hand on his face.

“Do you like what you see?”

Before he could respond, she slid her weight down his body, resting her hips atop his and placing a finger over his mouth to hush his startled gasp.

“No sound lover, not when we’re so close to town.” a note of serious intent underneath her breathy voice. Her hand left his face, and still he didn't protest. His sheltered, structured life in the village had barely taught him the differences between a man and a woman, and certainly not what to do when a goat woman assaults and then pins you down to the dirt. He simply stammered, that too ending when she shot him a look, both her hands busy with something.

He wondered innocently what she was doing when her skirt, and a notable lack of undergarments, fell across his face, too stunned to protest the gypsy pressed her advantage and with an expert hand, fished his cock out of his trousers. He yelped and bucked but she wasn't in the least bit concerned, casually pushing her discarded skirt into his mouth and pinning his arms to his body with her legs.

She leaned in closely, both hands resting on his shoulders now as she sandwiched his rapidly stiffening prick between her thighs, he grunted and squirmed, his inexperienced body already overstimulated as she panted openly into his face, her perfumed breath making his head spin. “I love watching boys like you squirm. So unsure, so conflicted…” she trailed off with a sigh, squeezing his now erect member between her shapely legs.

He moaned into the cloth stuffed into his mouth, no real response was possible for his sensation-flooded brain.

“What did they in the village tell you, hmm?” Anon found it hard to remember any words of warning, tales or anecdotes that would answer her question. She began to lift her hips and drop against him, humping at his cock with her thighs.

“That we would eat you? Sacrifice you to pagan gods?” Anon couldn’t recall, but became dimly aware of a growing wetness between her legs as she brought her muzzle close to his ear.

“Or did they tell you we would seduce you into a life of sin and vice?” he groaned, mind sputtering as she picked up the pace.

“That one was always my favorite.” she giggled as she tore the cloth from his mouth and pulled her mouth against his, openly grinding her sopping cunt against his prick, any restraint abandoned as she humped at him wantonly. Thought had left Anon, and sensation and desire ruled his every movement, he thrusted openly at her, grunted and moaned into her mouth as her wide, alien tongue taught him sensation and experiences long denied to him by the culture he once championed.

 Distant memories of shaming those we wanted more from life than farming and taxes, of openly mocking the curious, of shunning those who ignored the virtue of chastity, all of it undone and reduced to rubble by the animal desires of some forest gypsy. 

Her humping grew more and more impatient against him, and he tore his arms free to embrace her. The strength of his arms around her leaving her squealing in delight as her body warmed against his, steam coming off of them in the cool night air as they both rushed towards climax, the soft, slight fur of her wooly thighs sliding up and down his every inch adding a delicious friction while the warm flesh of her thighs wrapped around him perfectly.

At the lowest point of her thrusts his cockhead was left in the chilly night air before being swallowed up by the mass of her thighs again and again, the disparate sensations of hot and cold driving him mad for release even as he silently begged to feel more of this woman. She shifted her weight pushing her soaked pussy against his member and grinding against it the wetness and the heat of her cunt lips putting a torch to his stamina. He gasped openly and held on to the gypsy for dear life as his thrusts grew ever more shallow and manic.

His inexperience was obvious and he heedlessly rushed forward towards orgasm, painting his lovers thighs with his precum, eyes screwed shut as he fucked the gypsies thighs with everything he had, and just as the moment came for him to cum, she deftly leapt out of his grasp, expertly landing between his outspread legs, leaving him pumping shots of creamy pre into the lonely air where her perfect thighs had been moments before.

As she stood there, with a coy smile and a hand hovering above her flower swaying her hips back and forth he looked up at her like a kicked puppy. Betrayal hung off his every feature and his mouth agape as he wondered why.

“Why did-”

“Hush now lover.” she interrupted.

“You can't waste your cum on my thighs, not out here in the cold at least…” she trailed off shooting a meaningful glance back towards the Gypsy camp.

“But if you came me back to the caravan... I have an idea where you could put all that pent-up cum...” every word dripped with lust, and the hand covering her womanhood deftly spread her lips apart, her warm insides almost steaming in the cold breeze.

He sat there transfixed by her soaked, pink folds, cock achingly hard, every breath he took causing a twitch in his overstimulated member. He watched wordlessly as her slick fluids pooled before a fat drop of her girlcum dripped on to the forest floor. He took one  cautious look back to the village behind him, so impossibly close to his home, to all things calm and familiar about his life not even spitting distance away.

And then looked back into the amber eyes of the mysterious forest gypsy, her eyes burning with lust and a sinister smile etched on to her features. He stood up making no effort in covering himself, and grabbing his discarded trousers and undergarments before striding towards the horned seductress. Her smile grew wider, before breaking into a fit of excited laughter.

She closed the distance between them before locking him in another kiss, her hand finding his slick prick and immediately started stroking and squeezing it. They stood there for a moment as her hand expertly whipped his desires back up before she broke the kiss, and with her hand still on his cock, began to walk back into the woods.

Being led by his cock, Anons mind was stumbling over what was happening. He was really doing this, wasn't he? He was giving up his home, his meagre earnings and titles for the lust he felt towards this strange and foreign woman, but with the facts laid bare he couldn’t find fault with any facet of his actions. Admittedly, he groaned in pleasure, she wasn't letting him think very clearly. Her fingers slid up and down his prick, squeezing the head then while maintaining the pressure, slowed her pace a tad, letting him naturally catch up to her and naturally thrusting up through her grip.

Even through the surreal haze of pleasure and the gravity of his choice to follow the Gypsy, he notices that the walk back to the caravan feels much, much shorter than before. Landmarks passing by at a leisurely pace as the distant sounds of the party drew ever closer.

A stick cracked in the distance, and Anons head snapped towards the sound, and saw a pair of figures walking towards the caravan. Beyond them another pair. He heard shuffling behind him as well and as he looked he saw an additional couple striding towards the party. It was then he and the Gypsy strode right past the outer caravan, and into the centre of the crowd. Anon froze in place, his cock still twitching in his lovers hand. All around him were goat-people of every shape and decoration. Some looked at him with curiosity, others with coy smiles, but none with surprise. In fact there were many in the crowd who paid him no heed at all, as if someone being led by their prick wasn’t anything worth getting excited over.

In but a moment he realized why as the couples and pairs he saw in the woods slipped into the crowd, some heading straight for the wagons that circled the fire, others to the food stores, and others into the crowd. Men who could barely keep their hands off of the goats who had brought them here, Women fawning over the goatmen who literally carried them through the crowd over the shoulder or bridal-carried towards their mysterious destination. All gypsies with villagers in towe. 

And he recognized each and every one of them. Each was a pillar of the community, of the values the elders preached. Here now, nude and exposed, drinking and whooping and, in their minds, free from the watchful eyes of their fellow villagers, they were animals. Uninhibited and perverse in the firelight.

A tug at his groin pulled his attention back to his particular gypsy. She didn’t say a word, and pulled again as they started walking away from the epicenter of the celebration and towards a humble, worn wagon out on the fringes of the train. The went up the rickety steps and inside without comment, standing before a wide, well-cushioned bed in the warm walls of what could only be her wagon. She pushed him gently on to the overstuffed blankets, straddling him as she fixed his eyes in her gaze, hand still stroking him.

“Last chance loverboy. Last chance to get up and walk back home. Because when I get your cock inside of me I am not stopping until you leave me swollen with your child.”

For a single moment he hesitated, before stealing a glance at her nethers. Before he could have examined her with an almost clinical detachment, but now his eyes hooked on to every feature, reluctantly moving on from one illustrious detail only to find even more pleasure on the next feature they fixated on. From her well-kept fur to the athletic build. Lean muscle there, a soft curve there, the motherly swell of her hips and bust, her plush behind, all of it was a visual feast without equal. And the thought of leaving it, leaving her, to go back to his life before tonight was a thought he couldn’t stand. The passing thought like ice in his veins.

He placed both hands on those incredible hips, lined himself up with the steaming heat of her box, gazed deeply into her eyes…

And brought her hips down with a force to humble a battering ram. A wordless cry escaped her mouth in the moment before his mouth pushed against it, both moaning their approval as he groped her hips and drove himself to the hilt again and again. No sensation he had ever felt was comparable, the memory of what slight carnal relations he had secretly enjoyed before tonight actually dragged a laugh out of him for the comparison, lost as it was in his gypsies mouth.

Her walls gripped at him with a perverse need, strong muscles that existed only to encourage a lovers advances massaged his every inch, her pressure and heat like an organic furnace as her fluids seeped out and down whatever length wasn't inside of her, despite her cunts best efforts to keep it all inside. She broke the kiss, her head moving to rest beside his as she humped against him, wanton need denying any attempts at restraint on her part.

“Oh fuck, you are such a-nngh” her walls gave a particularly intense contraction.

“Such a good find. O-oh I want your babies so baaad...” her voice trailed off in a moan as she bit her lip. He couldn’t respond, panting as he was, he felt no strain or discomfort even as he fucked her harder then he had performed any act before in his life. Her pussy was all that mattered. The tight, quivering piece of heaven that had reduced all his reality to sensation, sound, and desire. He didn't want this to end, he couldn’t let this end.

But nor could he stop either.
She pushed up from his chest fingers idly tracing his muscles as she worked her hips in patterns only she knew, dragging his prick up one side of her pussy before assaulting the other side as she violently pushed down, pausing only to grind her clit against his groin before animal instinct had her lift her tail high before again dropping it against the bucking, grunting man beneath her. His pace grew uneven, his breaths erratic, and she knew he was close.

But as much as she wanted his cum, she didn't want this to end. She shifted herself, nearly pulling off his cock and resting her breasts across his face. Without encouragement he greedily began to suck on her engorged tit, a hand raising from her hips to grope the other breast. She herself pushed her hips down, restraining his motion and forcing him to slow his pace. Short, shallow thrusts was all she allowed, even then the sensation of his girthy prick shifting inside of her was almost narcotic. Looking down at what little could she see of her lovers face, she could scarcely believe that this was the same ‘Prudish village boy’ she had stalked through the woods only hours before.

They continued like this for a while, both his hands wondering her body, exploring every facet of her form as he sucked at her breast and continued to hump contentedly into her, and she wiggled and shifted her hips, using him like a toy to push every button she had as she fantasized about how bigger her tits would be, how much more sensitive they would be once her belly was full of his perfect, healthy offspring, the fantasy pushing more girlcum out of her abused cunt.

They were both close now, and each had spent enough time fawning over the others body as to recognize the signs. He pulled his mouth off of her breast, panting for breath and stared deeply into her eyes. She smiled a glowing smile before diving into a truly passionate kiss, lifting her hips high once again before driving them down his throbbing length, repeating the process even as her hips shuddered and quaked. They moaned into each others mouths like a perverse duet, each aware of their lovers pleasure but too dazed and aroused to do anything but extract their own. He pulled back when she rose up, and thrust his every inch when she dropped. Her body was shaking like a branch in a storm, adorable grunts and needy gasps her only vocalization, before he slipped a hand down to her juicy snatch and fixed his thumb firmly against her clit.

She almost screamed out, and she came against his cock with a spurt of her fluids rushing down his prick, her arms wrapped around his torso, her legs on his hips, holding on to him as if some force was going to steal her away. He alone was thrusting now, his balls pulled tight against the base of his cock as he fucked the gypsy with everything he had, his hips were shaking now, and he was losing control, he lost an inch everytime he pulled out, unable to bring himself any farther out of the woman he was quickly falling in love with, he felt his cum surging up his cock, burning out any reason from his brain aside from the intoxicating idea of breeding this strange forest Goat-woman. 

He came, his mind shuttering as he managed the herculean task of pulling out just to the tip of his cockhead before burying himself to the hilt, only the erratic twitching of both lovers prodding them with overstimulation as he pumped shot after shot of cum inside of her, his cockhead pushed as far as it could possibly be inside of her, her strange anatomy seemingly swallowing his seed inside of her deepest parts. She was getting bred, and he was breeding her was the last thought through either of their heads that night.

No sound, no intentional motion. Only the reek of sex and sweat and both lovers still cumming on and into each other, the afterglow their only reality as they drooled into the pillows, before slipping away into sleep.




The next morning, the Villagers noticed many of their own missing, and marched out into the woods to burn the caravan down and free the prisoners the Goat-devils had so clearly abducted.

When they arrived, they simply found the fire-pit the Wagon train had left, and a hastily-erected signpost saying
“Thanks for the children”
Curious as it was, no infants or youngsters were missing.