One lass leads another through a wooded valley. The first, who goes by the name Blossom, is the taller of the two. Taking long strides, she makes her way with definite purpose. She might even have some idea where they’re are going. Her shorter, curly haired companion, known to everyone as Miss Boo, isn’t so sure. Both are town lasses, and any forest folk seeing them would consider them as such and nothing more. Blossom and Boo, themselves, would both disagree. Domestic life may have tamed them – or softened them, as the satyrs might say – but they still believe they retain some affinity with the wild places beyond the walls of Wollenham.
“Darling, I think you’re turning into some kind of fanatic,” Miss Boo tells her friend. “They say monomania is a sign of astral obsession – usually demonic.”
“Does it scare you?” Blossom replies, her eyes remaining fixed on the path up ahead.
“No not all – I’m only making an observation – to tell the truth, it’s fun seeing how far you’ll go.” Boo giggles.
“So you don’t disprove at all?”
“No, not at all – how you debase yourself is entirely up to you, darling.” Outwardly, Miss Boo’s been her usual chirpy self all morning – but her mirth is beginning to hide some concern. She’s noticed Blossom doesn’t seem to care that the nettles on either side of the narrow path are brushing against her bare legs. She hardly flinches. Also, whenever they pass through a clearing, Blossom stops for a while to look intently at the empty blue sky above their heads. She’s been doing this for some time now, but won’t say why. Nor has she explained why she’s left the house without a skirt. It seems a very bold move, even for a romping lass.
The path turns sharply and opens out into a wide clearing. “Well, sweetie, here’s our glade,” says Blossom. She places her basket by the foot of the nearest tree.
Her companion steps into the open first. She turns round, taking in her surroundings. The clearing is big – easily thirty yards across – and it’s round – possibly a perfect circle. A knee-high earth embankment runs along most of the circumference, behind which stands a curtain of mighty ash trees. Everywhere the ground is thick with lush grass. “Well, blow me down!” says Boo, who thought she knew this part of the woods reasonable well. “How long has this been here?”
Blossom doesn’t reply. Instead she bends over to unfasten her sandals. After kicking them off, she says to herself “Now I’m in the right place, I shall release myself from these panties.”
“I don’t know why you had them on at all,” says Boo, “you’ve had your hand down them all the way here.”
Blossom turns round, then pulls down her blue knitted knickers, exposing the entire fullness of her lush round buttocks. Boo has often seen her friend’s nakedness, but she still finds such comeliness overwhelming. Apart from a few minor dalliances, she’s never had a lass for a lover – but if she did, she fancies she’d choose one resembling her friend.
Blossom turns round again. Now facing Boo, she slips off the matching vest, releasing her breasts – they’re no less lush and round and firm as her buttocks. Holding up her clothing, she damns both garments. Miss Boo takes them and banishes them to her sling bag. “I feel like I can be a proper slut in this place,” Blossom says. “Yes, truly free – once again.” She lifts her head and raises her arms to the blue sky. A great cohort of swifts – screeching devil birds – sweep through the air high above. “See those bird’s up there, Miss Boo? They never touch the ground – not ever. Folk say they’re feetless. Do you think that’s true? I think it must be.”
Blossom’s embrace of her new calling has been heroic. Boo’s still in awe, though her awe is becoming tempered with worry lately – if it can happen to Miss Blossom then who else? If she herself was called the same way, would she be able to resist?
“Tell me,” Boo asks her friend, “when sluts like you go naked, do they go about completely undressed like feral women, or do they keep on some kind of identifying accessory? A garter, perhaps – or maybe a girdle or anklet or even a tattoo or branding?”
“I’m not sure, darling,” says Blossom, as she takes a round pot from her basket. It’s as wide as her hand and made from translucent porcelain. It also has a tin screw-top lid. “I haven’t really thought about it,” she adds, bending over again. She places the pot on the ground before her.
“Do you think you’ll be in demand out here in the woods, my sweet?” asks Boo. “I don’t reckon there’s many folk around here today – maybe you should’ve got me to spread the word round before we left town.”
Blossom couches down. “No, darling Boo, it’s the folk of the deep forest I want,” she says. “This is the place you go to fuck satyrs, fawns and the like.”
Boo knows such creatures exist – but she has no first hand memory of them. “But don’t they always hide from us?” she asks.
“Well, Miss Boo – if you want to them to reveal themselves, you must first reveal yourself – yes, you must show them who you’re really are,” says Blossom. “And that’s what I’m now going to do.”
“If you say so, darling,” says Boo, kneeling down. “And you still want me to watch?”
“Sure, and remember what we said about tomorrow, too – at the Guildhall? Will you do that for me, darling Boo?”
“You can depend on me, missy,” says Boo, giving a mock salute.
“Of course, it depends if you can bare to watch the obscenities they’ll inflict on me, my darling,” says Blossom. “Fellows out here aren’t going to be tame townsfolk.”
Boo has already witnessed Blossom fornicate with dozens of town lads over the last few days. So far she hasn’t seen anything she hasn’t seen before – only a lot more of it. But even though Blossom teases, she’s right about the forest folk – beastmen are beastmen – and whatever they’ll do with her is going to be uncivilised. And it’s going to be done outside in the cold light of day.
Miss Blossom is visibly excited. She writhes as she runs her hands up and down her body. She pinches her swollen nipples, pulls them and twists them. She then gets down on her hands and knees.“Yes, must lubricate myself,” she says. Then resting on her elbows with her wagging backside up in the air, she takes hold of the porcelain pot and turns its lid.
“Let me do it for you, my darling” says Boo. “If I’m your assistant, then that’s my work.” Taking the pot, she scoops some of its greasy contents. She rubs the clear, almost jelly-like stuff onto Blossom’s plump labia and in between. For all the time she’s known Blossom, their friendship has never had taken such a turn. But Boo has to admit that since Blossom announced her new calling in the market place last week, she feels differently about things. But even still, Boo’s feelings still fall a little short of lust. They’re been more like a kind of impure carnal curiosity. She’s never been in the presence a slut before – not a real one – so maybe this is normal.
Blossom’s round buttocks, so luminous in the sunlight, look more lovely than ever – so lovely, Boo desires to possess them. She caresses one with her free hand, enjoying its firm curvature. The little pink dimple of an anus looks enchanting too. “It’s funny, my darling,” Boo says, “but, during all the time we’ve been friends, we’ve never made love.” She’s a little shocked by her own words after saying them. She wouldn’t have dared utter such a thing a week ago.
“Yes, but you don’t make love to a slut – you make use of her!” says Blossom. “Now grease up my arsehole!”
“Really? Is that what you want, darling?”
“Oh, yes!” cries Blossom. “After you went home last night, I had a couple of lads punish me in there – and believe me, it was the best punishment I’ve ever had.”
Though a little scandalised by her friend’s choice of words, Boo scoops more of the clear grease and puts it onto Blossom’s anus and rubs it in. There’s an unexpected delight in touching it as it opens and closes under her fingers. It’s such a sweet little thing – so tender and vulnerable – she fears the beast men will hurt it. Yes, she desires to protect it – yet she also finds herself wanting to assail it too. No, I’m a bad lass – no better than those buggers, she thinks to herself. Her finger tip is already pressing against the hole. Blossom’s body tenses, then relaxes. The hole feels tight against her finger tip, but Blossom urges her to go further. Applying more pressure, it swallows up her finger tip. Having the hole yield to her this way thrills her. More finger goes in, then more. Soon she has two fingers inside.
Blossom begs Boo to keep on wriggling her fingers, but Boo no longer needs encouragement. Blossom’s backside writhes against Boo’s hand. A little later Blossom says “Stop it now, my darling – move away so those hairy fuckers in the woods can see my arse.”
Unhanding her friend, Boo stands up, feeling first disappointed, then little embarrassed. “Do you really think there are wild men around here?” she asks.
“Yes, pick up a stick – a big heavy one – and hit a tree with it. Hit it like a drum – with a steady beat – it’ll bring them fast,” says Blossom. Still on her hands and knees, she begins shaking her buttocks, while panting deep and loud.
“Well, you are a desperate creature, Miss Blossom!” says Boo. When she finds a suitable stick in the undergrowth, she beats the nearest ash tree with it, keeping time to Blossom’s waggling rear end.
After a while, Boo quits her drumming and walks back to Blossom. The lass is still shaking her backside vigorously. “Yes, it’s worked! I feel their eyes on me,” she mutters in a half whisper when Boo reaches her. “There’s one very near – he’s in the trees behind us – been watching me for a while now.” Boo turns to look behind her. There’s nothing out of the ordinary to be seen among the trees. “I’ll have a closer look,” she says. Reaching the trees again, she looks around the undergrowth. There’s nothing other than the usual woodland greenery. But there’s a strong sweet musky scent on the air. A moment later, a pair of eyes appear – two lights glinting in the shadows. In a short while, she can make out the form of the bearded figure behind them. The fellow steps forward. For a moment Boo’s too astonished to speak. He’s a short lad – only a couple of inches taller than she is. But he’s broader – much broader – though much of his bulk is certainly only hair. Indeed, the fellow is covered all over with thick red hair. The forehead is visible, and so are the nose and cheeks – these are all pale patches on his hairy face. His hands and feet are also bare, but all else is hidden with long flowing russet locks.
His head has no horns, so she reckons he’s a woodwose – a creature far less common than satyrs or fawns, so perhaps Blossom’s lucky. The fellow steps out of the foliage into the open, cock protruding between his hairy thighs. It’s already stiff, fat and nearly upright. It rises up, as if to greet Boo, then lowers again. Then swelling more, it stands up proudly – a tall, smooth pink column against his hairy red belly.
With one hand the woodwose points at Blossom. With his other he takes his cock and points it at Boo. “That soft bint does this to me!” His lilting voice is warm, low and resonant.
“Yes, mister, she needs someone to fuck her,” say Boo, trying to act and sound bolder than she feels. “Do you want to fuck her?
The fellow takes a few cautious steps towards Blossom. In the sunlight his hairy form scintillates like burnished copper. He stops. Looks left, then right. He seems to hesitate. “Don’t fret, sir, it’s only us two,” assures Boo. “We’re quite harmless.”
“She’s a soft lass of the town – why does she come here to be fucked?” asks the woodwose, while sniffing at the air.
“She’s the town slut,” says Boo. “But there’s not enough gallant lads in town to satisfy her – and a slut has to be kept satisfied.”
The woodwose keeps still for a moment. It looks like he’s thinking. “A slut!” he then cries, and he starts heading towards Blossom’s shaking buttocks again. There’s now purpose and urgency in his stride. “Slut!” he bellows again, this time loud enough for the word to echo round the glade. A dozen birds flutter into the air. “Can I watch, mister?” asks Boo, who almost runs to keep up. The woodwose doesn’t reply.
He kneels down behind Blossom. “It’s good to hear your town has a slut once more,” he says, “and it’s good for this slut bint to have my cock in her arsehole.”
With one hand he works it into her backside. “Good arse on this lass,” he says. “A very fine arse. Today it’s good for fucking.” With his other hand, he strokes her hair and her back.
She looks over her shoulder, her hungry eyes catching his. She looks him up and down. Though she expects such a creature – she’s still astonished for a moment. “You’re going to fuck me good, aren’t you?” she says, panting hard.
“Yes, I arsefuck lasses like you good – make them bitches – make them yell out to their gods.” He’s now thrusting in and out of her, his rough hands on her hips. Big stubby fingers dig into her flesh. She cries out several times.
Boo squats down to watch. It proves quite a turn-on seeing her friend’s lithe body yoked to such a rough hulking beast of a fellow. She’s glad, though, it’s Blossom and not her – at least for now, anyway.
*By Kay Callovan, copyright 2020*
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/hukjlq/the_sluts_of_wollenham_pt1_fantasy_beastfolk_anal