'I am going to introduce you to a new concept,' Brian said mysteriously. He lay on the bed, sleepy and satisfied, head cradled in one hand. Watching Dianne, he admired the way her body shone after their hot interlude on his bed.

'What new concept?' she asked

Brian's return from Las Palmas was electric, charged with all the expectation and sexual anticipation she had injected into the thirteen days he was away. During that time, Dianne had looked after her body, turning it over to experts to beautify.

Brian had no idea of this as he watched her. He did not know the hours she had spent undergoing depilation, so that her pubic hair was a perfect stroke of genius leading the eye perpendicularly downwards, like an arrow. He had no idea her legs had been massaged, depilated, and creamed with tautening moisturisers, and no clue of the astringents and buffs and body polishes that had made contact with her arms, back and breasts. Dianne had surrendered to the ministrations of three women and one man, who took three days to accomplish the process. She emerged from the clinic refreshed, sensual, and utterly beautiful.

It was all Brian saw. Her naked body was an immense attraction, and after not seeing her for nearly two weeks, a literal magnet to which his eyes, mouth and hands were powerfully drawn. And what was one to say of his groin? His penis rose automatically when he glimpsed her in the hotel restaurant, where they agreed to meet, looking forlorn but full of expectation. She was looking away, and he had time to study her long black hair, her delicious long eyelashes, her hands drumming impatiently on the table. He saw she was wearing a new gown, a silver creation whose metallic fabric clung to her seductively. It was no wonder everyone in the room looked at her at any available excuse.

Now, with the subdued lighting of his enormous bedroom on her, she look sylphlike, untouchable, a majestic and powerful creature into whom he had plunged, first urgently to appease his longing, then languorously, to savour her lust and mingle it with his. He had stayed too long in Las Palmas, he knew, but he was planning something important, which could not tolerate a short cut. He flew back thinking of her face and her body, and her hands and mouth on him, devouring him piecemeal, making a feast of his physicality.

Asking to meet her in a restaurant resonated with echoes their first sexual encounter. Dianne first sounded disappointed.

'You are back!' she had exclaimed on the phone. 'Come to see me... come!'

'Meet me at Alfonzo's at eight,' he invited, his voice throaty and demanding.

Rather than question this strange behest, Dianne put down the phone and prepared for the tryst, ending her ablutions by simply slipping the metallic dress over her head. No trace of lingerie or jewellery was worn - simply a dress made of tiny links of shimmering chain metal that warmed to her skin's temperature the second it clung to her form. Slipping into high-heeled mules that splayed and showed off her delicately pedicured toes, she was confident she looked good enough to eat.

And eat her he did. No sooner did he sit at the table, startling her into a joyous kind of wail, than he realised he wanted her very badly, very urgently. The hovering waiter was sent for champagne, and he grasped her ring-less hands on the table. 'Dianne!'

She had no words to utter. Her body responded, though, and she shifted in her chair. Under the chain mail, her nipples rose and made an impression.

'You look stunning. Is that... what a gown! Is that metal?'

'It is Sultre-Mesh, designed to be worn next to the skin.'

'Is it cold?' His hand reached out and touched the bodice, tentatively. He fingered the thin chain straps that held it up. 'It's warm. It's almost hot.'

Dianne smiled. 'It's warmed to my temperature - exactly.'

They sipped champagne, talking little, gazing into each other's eyes, not knowing whether the other would make the first move. The music grew louder, and Brian led her out to the floor. They moved only slightly, swaying gently to the music, and he held her in a loose clasp, as if she were made of porcelain.

'Hold me tight,' she whispered.

'If I do, it will be quite a spectacle for everyone here.'

It was true: the room was packed with people and many were watching them. Dianne's clinging dress, her provocative shoes and hooded eyes left no doubt in anyone's mind that she was as charged as a bolt of lightning ready to strike at any second. Brian's state of excitement was such that he led her back to the table after a couple of bars of music.

'They can all tell what we are about to do.'

'They can all tell you're wearing nothing but that dress,' he murmured.

'Really - is it that revealing? Can you?'

'Most definitely,' he nodded, a sexy smile on his lips.

Dianne's eyebrows lifted. 'In my mirror it...'

'Your mirror lies!'

They laughed, dispelling some of the tension, but they knew they could not sit through a whole meal. Paying the bill in haste, Brian took her immediately to his house, where the dress fell with a slight metallic tinkling to the floor of his tiled entry.

He held her at arm's length, feasting his eyes on her body for a long instant, making her blush. The hall lights were bright and unrelenting, and she was bare.

He did not kiss her. His hands started to caress and stroke her skin, going from a tender fondling to a string of demanding touches, suggestive pats and probes that had Dianne panting and closing her eyes with desire, her tongue shooting out to claim him. But he did not allow kisses. She whined, and he pulled her face to his neck, where she kissed and bit his skin, wanting his mouth.

He carried her in his arms and placed her in the middle of his turned-down bed - a massive white sumptuous platform as high as his waist - and slipped off her mules. Now she was completely naked. Not even earrings graced her. She had wanted to be as totally bare as possible, foregoing all manner of adornment. Her hair swept her shoulders, and that was all.

Eat her he did. Staying in his suit, Brian commenced his long and involved onslaught on her body. It was a full fifteen minutes before he was ready to take off his own clothes, by which time Dianne was brought to the fullness of her desire by fingers and tongue, wanting him more than ever. She was poised on the threshold of completion, gasping, wanting to reach her climax, when he backed away and started to undress. She watched him, eyes bright, delighting in the rediscovery of his body. His horizontal erection was large and bluish, the foreskin rolling back without a touch, purely from excitement and desire to reach its goal. She reached for it with both hands, lying on her stomach on the high bed. Brian hoisted his body into her reach, sitting on the white sheet and allowing her to do everything she had been frustrated out of for thirteen days.

She descended upon his cock and devoured him, taking the full length of him into her mouth and exploring the shape and strength with her tongue. It gave her a powerful feeling to be able to give such deep pleasure to this man, who sighed and groaned his feelings with abandon. He shifted, and soon his tongue was once more on her slit, seeking her clitoris while hers ran its moist course along his penis. It was an exchange of delicious favours that kept them occupied for a long time.

Passion gave in to lust, and suddenly Dianne was flipped onto her stomach. She felt her nether regions being explored, and she raised her buttocks. On all fours, her breasts dangling deliciously and brushing against the sheets, she felt Brian seek entry into her vagina from the rear. In this position, the length of him was so apparent, so tangible, she had to gasp. He slid in, the tip reaching her cervix with an almost audible suction clasp. It was heavenly, and lasted an eternity. The phallus strokes were both expert and spontaneous, both new and remembered. She held back as long as she could, then returned his thrusting with grinding of her own. Their shouts of pleasure, their perspiring bodies and crumpled sheets, the subdued lights and shimmering bodies, now one, would be a lasting palpable memory.

And they were not yet done. The feast went on until a dim suggestion of dawn's light stained the curtains. Exhausted, utterly dishevelled, they lay together like rag dolls. Then Dianne rose to repair some of the ravages of love.

“I am going to introduce you to a new concept,' Brian said again.

Dianne looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

'First,' she said, 'I would like to know a few things. Keep your news until I have said something.'

'Sure.'

She sat on her dressing table stool and looked at him.

'I... look, I've rehearsed the words a thousand times, but all I want to know is whether this relationship... whether you feel we are going anywhere.' She was as uncertain of her question as she was of his state of mind.

Brian smiled, but kept silent.

'Brian?'

He cradled his head in his hand again and said, 'What do you want, a declaration? A promise?' The words were harsh but the tone was sweet. He continued. 'I declare I am entirely taken by you. I promise I have never experienced lovemaking equal to ours.'

Dianne smiled. Was he trying to get out of a tight spot? Could this man commit to a relationship?

He went on. 'I declare I am held captive by your body, totally entranced by your capacity for passion and lust. I promise to be yours always.'

She gasped. 'Really?'

Brian laughed and threw back his head, brown curls gleaming in the lamplight. 'First you put the question, then you question the answer!'

'You said...'

'I promised.'

'You promised to always be mine.'

'Yes. Will you promise too?'

Dianne rose in her excitement. 'Yes - yes.'

'Now - will you listen to my request?'

She was chastened, having forgotten he wanted to tell her something new. 'Oh please - tell me.' But she was shaking with the impact of his declaration. Moving close to him, she let him take her in his arms. Then they shared their first kiss in fourteen days. Their mouths opened, their tongues met, and their promise - it seemed to Dianne - was sealed. The long kiss, since their ardour had been satisfied for hours on end, was more emotional than sexual, but it touched the core of her being, bringing her to a kind of arousal that felt spiritual, divine.

'Tell me,' she breathed, when her lips were bruised and swollen.

'There are other promises we must make. When I was in Las Palmas, I made arrangements for a kind of ceremony.'

Her eyes shone. 'A ceremony?' She did not dare ask more.

'Come with me.' Brian took her hand and, naked as they were, led her down the marble staircase, past the large grandfather clock, out into the hall and down a long passageway to a wrought iron back door. He let them out into a walled garden full of white flowers. Since there was no moon, only white blooms were visible in the available light from stars, the tentative dawn, and small lamps hidden in the herbaceous borders. In the centre of the garden was a tiny fountain, bubbling tunefully. Brian placed Dianne near the fountain and stood back, admiring her. Then he kissed her once more. She was fainting with curiosity and emotion.

'Brian, please tell me.'

'Hush.'

He wet his hands under the trickling water and caressed her breasts, making her nipples jut out, erect again, cold and puckered and dripping with moisture. It was at once exciting and unsettling, a feeling she loved. Again and again, he wet her, until the skin of her breasts was palpably hardened with cold. He cupped her breasts and nuzzled her like a horse, taking first one nipple and then the other into his mouth, sucking deeply.

'I am not asking you to marry me,' he said then, his mouth wiped dry on the back of his wrist. 'I don't believe in social statements of that nature. But I am asking you to be with me always, and to share my desires and predilections for sexual things.'

She thought of Boris watching their couplings, and her growing pleasure in the voyeur's eyes on her. She nodded.

'I am asking you to a ceremony in Las Palmas, where in the company of a few other people - such as Boris - we will celebrate our union. And I want to mark this moment with a gift.' From the fountain, plucking a sparkling object from the water and holding it dripping to her, he took a ring.

'Oh, Brian!'

He slipped the diamond onto her middle finger, turned her hand palm upwards and kissed it, gently.

'And to mark this moment further, I'll do that again.' His hand dipped into the fountain again, retrieving, dripping and sparkling, an identical diamond ring, which he slipped onto the middle finger of her other hand. Again, he turned her hand and kissed her palm.

Dianne could not believe her eyes. They were superb diamonds, large and bright even in this poor light. They would shoot fire sparks in a well lit room. 'I don't know what to say.'

'Say nothing,' he said. 'I have more to tell you.'

She tilted her head.

'Do you accept my proposal?'

'Oh Brian - of course. I am overwhelmed by all this.'

'Now - the novel part.'

His hands brushed her hips as they stood facing each other in the starlight. It was very early dawn, and they were both exhausted. But Brian persisted.

'From tomorrow night, we should be celibate. I want us to abstain from sex until we are joined in Las Palmas.'

'Celibate?' Dianne did not know what to think. What could Brian possibly mean? They had just experienced thirteen days of separation, which were painful and tortuous enough.

'I like to think of it as lustful celibacy... er - titillating abstinence. Do you think you can do it?'

Dianne could still not fully understand. There were a thousand questions, but none would come to her lips. They would be maddened by what he suggested. 'How long?' she asked at last.

'About three weeks.'

She whimpered. It sounded like an eternity. 'And what would we...'

He hushed her again. 'It will all reveal itself in due course. I want to hear you accept it first.' His thumbs brushed her nipples. Waiting for her answer, he delicately feathered the bulbous tips, exciting her senses, rendering her unable to think. His fingers cupped her conical breasts, and he started to pleasure her once more, pulling at her nipples gently, making her lean forward until he could place a hand under each breast and cradle it, his thumbs never stopping in the act of soft almost imperceptible stroking. Subtle as it was, the fingering felt like fire to Dianne, whose breasts swelled a little from the attention. She loved this.

'Yes,' she breathed, her eyes closed, ecstasy starting to settle her nerves and fill her to repletion. 'Yes. Don't stop, please.'

'Do you accept?'

'Yes, yes.

Brian's concept of erotic celibacy did not fully reach Dianne's understanding until the following day. They had parted lovingly, full of anticipation, but it was to be the end of full intimacy, it seemed. Dianne hoped the three weeks would fly, and they would once more be able to make love. She shook her head: the three weeks had hardly started, and already she was wishing them over. How would she ever survive? After the unrestrained lovemaking they had indulged in, and hardly having reached satisfaction after his trip to Las Palmas, it was going to be torture.

She slipped into her shower, on her return to her house, wondering whether self-stimulation was going to be enough. But what did Brian mean by erotic chastity? He had given no details, and was vague about their next meeting. Well, she would soon find out. A shopping spree would distract her. She would shop for shoes, for lingerie, for something to go under her antique velvet cloak, which the dry cleaners had repaired so successfully.

After drying her hair, using a turbo dryer and leaning over so her tresses fell forward in a beautiful tar-like mass, she made up her face dramatically, emphasising her eyes and lips almost to exaggeration. It turned her on. Then, she tried on the cloak. Her body set off the blue velvet, she was sure. In her full length mirror, she saw how perfectly it fell, just brushing the floor. The cloak was so ancient the hemline was threadbare and frayed, but its elegance still lived on. It fastened at the throat with a large silver clasp, still intact after all those years, then fell open, wider and wider until at the ankles, it was at its widest flare. Her body was framed in it, the up-turned V of the opening emphasising her breasts, her flat stomach and her vulva. When would she show herself off like this to Brian? Slipping into her bare-look high mules, she walked about the room, feeling the sensual tug of the mantle as it flared with her movement. She swayed as she walked, trying out its feel, its allure. She really desired to appear this way - simply clad in an antique cloak and nothing else - to Brian. And Boris, yes: and to the famous voyeur Boris as well.

She was summoned by telephone, and since it was Brian, she allowed the cloak to slip from her shoulders to the floor, enjoying the sensation of speaking to him while he had no idea what she was doing in her room.

'I have made a date for us at a private cinema. We are to see a very special film, Dianne.'

'When?'

Even that one word was enough to make Brian take notice. It was husky and inviting.

'What are you doing? Are you...'

She smiled, shifting so her thighs brushed each other and excited her. 'I'm trying on clothes.'

'Oh - what do you have on now?'

She made up a fantasy for him. 'A shelf bra, but I can't find the matching thong.'

'Mmm,' he groaned.

'So I'll have to look for something else. Like a crochet bikini bottom and an old soft t-shirt with a plunging neckline.'

'Plunging? So I can dip my hands in, and touch for myself?'

She laughed.

'You are getting the essence of the concept, Dianne. These three weeks will be something thrilling for us. And then - Las Palmas.'

'Yes.'

The private cinema had only a dozen seats; all vacant except for the two they chose, somewhere in the centre. Brian was in casual clothes, his well-cut jeans and shirt stressing his good physique. Dianne had agonised for an hour about what to wear, deciding finally on jeans too, topped by a brand new satin camisole, whose pearl grey colour made her tanned skin look smooth and silky. They embraced chastely and heard music in the background, just before the lights went down.

Brian waited. When the only illumination in the small auditorium came from some concealed blue lights, he reached for Dianne. Taking her by the back of the neck, he kissed her. His tongue entered between her lips immediately, demandingly, and she responded eagerly. They exchanged kiss for kiss, remembering the taste and texture of each other's mouth. Her hands held his face, then descended down his chest, feeling his form through the shirt. She was sure she would be able to feel the bulge of his excitement if her hand went further.

'No, no,' he murmured, past her lips. 'None of that.'

So they necked, like teenagers, going no further than the collarbone with their questing lips. It was exquisite, poignant, and extremely sensual. Dianne felt fired up, desirous of much more than kisses, but she tried to simmer down. She sat back, breathless, and the screen lit up.

'Watch carefully,' Brian said.

'Have you seen this before?' she whispered in the darkness.

'No, but I know the director, and he usually does some excellent work.'

Dianne's eyes widened, her pupils dilating in the darkness, but it was not only the surroundings that made her eyes stare and her mouth fall open. As the opening titles scrolled, and the initial action took place, she realised the film was an erotic adventure, filmed in a sylvan environment, a forest in which nymphs and other mythical creatures roamed. Explicit and exciting, it made her shift in her seat, arousing not only her curiosity, but her sexual interest. Medieval maidens drifted past, seductive and nominally dressed in muslin. The bare torsos of hefty foresters, bearing axes with strong arms, muscles rippling, their throaty voices suggesting masculine power, came into view. There were wild animals, nymphs clinging to their backs, and creatures she knew did not exist outside the realms of fantasy.

On the screen, a strutting creature, half man and half beast, played pan pipes, seducing a human female to his side.

'Who is he?' she asked Brian.

'A Satyr - I'll explain later.'

The Satyr, whose small horns and seductive eyes drew the woman, was powerfully attractive though almost ugly. He posed fear and wonder in Dianne, a sexual awe that made her clutch her throat many times as she watched him seduce the human female, whose naïve nature made the scenario very affecting and rousing. He played his pipes, and she approached, in her simple white frock, to listen. His piercing eyes captured hers, and she was lost. Putting down his pipes, he reached for her, and she drew near. His hooves clattered on the stony ground, cloven hooves like goats' limbs. His male torso was powerful and his muscles moved forcefully as he caught her by the upper arms and spoke to her in a language that was neither Greek nor Latin, but something guttural and earthy.

The woman half-swooned, and the Satyr quickly bared her body of its raiment, preparing her for his possession. The camera closed in on his eyes, his hairy hands with long talons, and finally, showed explicitly how his phallus was growing, inching its way up, engorging and filling with lust and life. Then the shot pulled away to show the woman's eyes, large with fright and awe. She looked at the enormous erection and touched it with a curious unknowing finger. The loud laugh that exuded from the Satyr filled the theatre and startled both Dianne and Brian.

What followed was an unambiguous coupling, a copulation scene that took Dianne's breath clean away. The satyr fondled the woman briefly, mussing her hair, tugging at her breasts with impatient claws. He nuzzled her neck like an animal and pulled her into his arms. She went willingly if fearfully, her skin brushing against the fur on his chest. He embraced her strongly, and the woman's legs parted and lifted, until her entrance was clear for the half-human creature to possess her. She wound her legs around his trunk, bucking and grinding, only to increase the leer on the creature's face. His long teeth gleamed and he threw back his head in victory. The coupling went on for a full quarter hour, silent except for some haunting music and the grunts and gasps that went with sex. The woman on the screen fainted with arousal, her legs parted wide to receive her seducer. Her joy in being taken was unmistakeable.

Leaving her limp and naked, huddled on the grass, the satyr cantered away, victorious, pipes in hand and eyes searching here and there in the forest. Was he looking for prey or predators? Surely the village men would hunt him down. Surely he would seek other female humans to attract unashamedly with his pipe music, and overcome them sexually in some other grove.

The film went on, showing other couplings that were equally titillating. Dianne was awe-struck by the half-human creature, the Satyr, whose presence was captivating. She watched him seduce a number of women, who first tried to ignore his pipe music, then fought off his attention, then succumbed to the power of his attraction, and almost willingly impaled themselves on his extraordinarily large phallus. All of them were entranced by the union: all swooned with exquisite pleasure, moving suggestively when they were joined, lengthening their climax, their faces becoming pictures of joyful ravishment.

The closing music and credits started, and the lights came up.

'Well!' exclaimed Brian. 'That was well done, indeed.' He peered at Dianne, who had not moved from her seat. 'What do you think?'

Dianne could not describe her feelings. The film elicited in her an arousal that was totally new and unexpected. The Satyr was fearful and inexplicably attractive. She envied the girls on screen. Knowing it was a fiction did nothing to appease the strength of her sensations.

'Well?' asked Brian again.

'It was fantastic,' was all she could say. 'I am so... I am so impressed.'

He took her arm. 'And aroused? Or disgusted?'

She shivered, the slight movement making the fabric of her camisole brush lightly against her nipples, and they rose in expectation. 'It turned me on,' she admitted, 'in a most unusual way. It was powerful viewing. How did they do it? Surely Satyrs are mythical things.' Secretly, she wished it were not so.

'Of course they are! It's all done with CGIs - a technology that has turned cinema on its head. Realistic, don't you think?'

'Very convincing.'

Her dry words made him look at her closely. 'You are longing for a Satyr now,' he half joked. A solemn tone in his voice suggested he had a motive on his mind. 'You are longing for an occasion for union just like the ones you saw. Quick rough intercourse in a forest glade.'

They exited into the street and she shivered again. 'Yes.' Her simple admission made him smile again.

'You will have to wait three weeks.'

'Brian, please.'

'Come here.' He took her in his arms and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, just as he had done on arriving. 'We are going to excite each other to the point of torture. It is going to be heavenly.'

'Heavenly!'

He nodded. 'The erotic nature of that film will be with us all evening. Let's eat.'

They sat in a new restaurant, where the maitre d' found them a tiny table in the centre of the room. It did not matter they wore jeans. Dianne looked around and saw famous faces whose bodies were clothed just as casually. Surprised to see so many identities she had only seen in newspapers, screen or television, she asked Brian about the place.

'It's the latest 'see and be seen' venue in town. I wanted to try it.'

The music was too loud and vulgar, but the décor was interesting. Dianne started to enjoy her meal: a tiny filet mignon on a bed of endive. It was accompanied by two crisp croquets and made a miniscule course, but she was not used to eating much more. Brian took a crumb of croquet and lifted her chin. Dianne automatically opened her lips and he placed the crumb on her hardly visible tongue. The simple action was at once familiar and erotic, reminding her of the times he had fed her in front of Boris, who found it so appealing and suggestive.

'Are you imagining you are in a forest, about to be ravaged by a Satyr, whose hooves clatter on the ground and whose penis is so long and engorged you simply have to stare at it?'

The image he created in her mind made her squirm.

'Do you long to be naked in a forest?'

'Yes.'

'Taken suddenly and uncompromisingly, half against your will?'

She paused, but nodded acceptingly.

'It won't be long.'

She nodded again, not putting forward her opinion that it was terribly long. Much too long for her.

Brian was distracted by something else. 'Do you see that woman over there?'

She turned to see the person Brian indicated. She remembered the woman's face from somewhere: a cherubic face surrounded by blonde curls. Walking towards the restrooms on her own, wearing jeans as well, she exuded an air of sultry sophistication. Her top was transparent and floated around her skin on a layer of air, clothing her only nominally. And her jeans were so low-cut it was not only her pierced navel that was on display. Her hips were bare, and the fly partly unbuttoned, by design. The plunge revealed a flat belly, a span of many inches below her navel where the tattoo of a blue swallow flew with wings expanded.

'Wow,' whispered Brian. 'Do you remember her in Sighs on Bridges? She was the daughter who ran away.'

Dianne had not seen the movie, but despite a brief flash of jealousy was impressed by the show of skin. The young woman was arrestingly beautiful.

'An unbuttoned fly, such as that, does mad things to a man's... heart.' Brian's joke was made in a serious tone. 'I would like you to unbutton your jeans for me.'

Dianne's cheeks reddened, and her hand rose to her throat. 'Not here?'

'It's sexy. And very very fashionable.'

She raised her fork to her lips for the last time, straightened her cutlery on the plate and met his gaze.

Taking the stemmed glass of red wine, Brian held it to her lips, his other hand flat on her back, above the camisole. His skin was searing, hot and demanding. 'What are you wearing underneath?' he insisted.

'A white cotton thong.'

'Low cut, like your green ones?'

The thong was too tiny to bear a long description. Dianne smiled. 'It's hardly there at all.'

Brian reached under the table and with one hand, deftly undid the metal button at the waistband of her jeans. He then grasped the zipper and tugged.

Dianne allowed him the impudence, wondering where it would lead. When she felt the fastener slide down three quarters of the way, she reached down and separated the sides of the deep opening. There were creases on her skin where the denim had pressed against her, but they were hardly visible in the restaurant light.

'Edge your chair back a bit.'

She slid back slightly, and Brian feasted his eyes on her. The camisole, which reached to just under her navel, gave way to soft skin, exposed in a flared frame of denim. Hips and waist were bare, and she looked vulnerable and newly uncovered.

'I love this fashion trend,' Brian whispered. 'It is very primitive and seductive.'

The word reminded Dianne of the Satyr in the film, and she jumped as if stung. 'Oh - this is quite tantalising. Now what do we do?'

'Now I take you to your doorstep, kiss you on the tip of your nose and leave you to your own devices.'

'Devices!' She laughed at the word, thinking of her box of sex toys that had seen so much use before she met Brian.

'Take Boris's jade phallus, for example. I will go straight to my bed and imagine it in your hand. You rub it gently over your little bud and without any delay, plunge it inside you and thrust and thrust, thinking and wishing it was me all the while.' He looked at her questioningly. 'Is my guess accurate?'

They walked to the exit. 'Very,' she smiled sadly. Needing satiation urgently, wanting to be held, she touched his arm. Her open jeans were still flared wide, exposing her flat belly. People had looked at her in the same way they had looked at Gloria Mirabue, and she had felt a flush of pride in her looks. She did want scrutiny, and did desire frequent sexual repletion. How was she going to do this for a full twenty-one days? The thought made her sigh with frustration and impatience. It was too much.

'But I want you.'

'You want me... you want sex. Is there a difference?'

'I want sex with you,' she declared truthfully.

He smiled. 'And what about that creature, half man, half goat?'

'He's a fantasy.'

'Mm.' Brian kissed her on the forehead again. 'I would imagine Boris. His eyes would widen with delight if he saw you taken by a Satyr.'

Dianne's cheeks flushed. She wanted it so much: the feeling of repletion, seduction, desire and satisfaction, in the open air, with a mythical creature, watched by a curious and lustful human. In the car, the thoughts aroused her so much she shifted in the seat.

'You're hot,' said Brian, smiling. 'Hot and ready to come.'

'Please...'

'It will be so satisfying when it happens. I'll drop you off now, and you can bring yourself off. And I'll be thinking of you. Remember that.'

She nodded.

'Think of the Satyr, and pretend he is ravishing you, all night!'

She walked reluctantly up to her bed alone. Brian was gone, it was not so late, but she was exhausted. Her clothes fell to the floor. She looked at the jade phallus on her nightstand. It gleamed invitingly, clean, green, smooth, long. Its coldness would penetrate her so efficiently. But it was not efficiency she craved. It was pure animal lust she wanted: hot and demanding. Rough and ready. Did she really have to wait three weeks?

Her fingers played with her mound, twiddling her nominal pubic hairs, tickling. Would she? Did she have the energy? The desire, any more? She lay back on the made up bed and grasped the jade ornament in one fist, her other hand preparing her slit half-heartedly. In her mind's eye, the Satyr came into the forest glade of her dreams. His hooves clattered on the ground, and a groan escaped his hairy snout. He played a few bars on his pipes and she was lost. Moisture fell in drops around her vulva. The half man, half goat mumbled something unintelligible. His hairy knuckles grazed her stomach, his teeth were almost palpable on her neck. She felt the long cold hardness of the jade ornament and transformed it mentally into the hot pumping member of the creature. It was hairy, purple-tipped and eager to impale her. She gasped as she felt it slide, push, probe and finally thrust fully into her.

'Uuugh!' she gasped. There was thrusting: fast, furious, desperate. She came so ferociously, so energetically that the bedcovers came loose, bunching around her, yet she continued the fantasy, the self-penetration. It was such a good fantasy she came near to fainting, the orgasm lasting much longer than she hoped. Sweat and sexual moisture puddled, her breath almost stopped, strangled in her throat. Her final scream was one of victory. She had won; the Satyr had won her.

She had to wait three weeks, but she had the means, and the fantasy to do it.


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