Welcome to Capricious by Julie Cox, a Texan tale of love and magic. NSFW.

A new chapter appears every Tuesday. This week is Chapter Six. Listen to the audio version at Nobilis Erotica here!

Chapter 6

 

There was little time for chupacabra hunting during the week. Luke was up before dawn, as he normally was, to feed and water the animals, gather the eggs, milk the goats, check on a broody hen, weed the vegetable garden, spray the peach trees, and make note of the thousand little chores that needed to be done. The list rattled through his head on his way to work. Fix the fence posts that were rotting off at the bottom. Get the bees out of the shed–after building a beehive for them to go into. Take down the dead bois d’arc. Get the deadwood out of the trees near the house. Trim the goats’ hooves. Treat the chickens for lice and mites. Get more diatomaceous earth to deworm the chickens. Deworm the goats. Take the dogs in for their shots. Dogs….

He looked up at the rearview mirror. There was Sootie, grinning ecstatically at him from the back of the truck.

“Son of a bitch!” he said, scowling. He considered pulling over and yelling at her, but to what end? He thought about going back, but he was almost to work. He shook his head and banged his horns against the headrest. Sootie’d just have to stay with Sally for the day. Her place was close enough to the construction site where Luke worked.

When he pulled into Sally’s drive, he was surprised to see an unfamiliar black motorcycle under the carport next to Wilson’s tractor. He took a second look at it–the bike only looked like a motorcycle to human eyes. He was actually looking at a massive black warhorse. He could guess who the animal belonged to. The horse eyed him as he passed it on his way to the house, its eyes blazing red, and he eyed the horse right back. He almost ran into a post, he was so concerned with the horse.

When Sally came to the door, she looked annoyed. August Waterford was on her couch, in crisp blue jeans that hadn’t seen the dust of a single day’s labor. His shirt was still black. He and Luke regarded each other coolly.

“Nice ride,” Luke said.

“Thanks,” August said. He motioned to Luke’s horns. “Nice rack.”

Luke smiled in spite of himself. “Thanks.”

“So that makes you a….”

“Satyr.” Luke moved around the couch so his hooves could be seen.

“Oh. That’s… Greek?”

Luke shrugged. “Mediterranean. On my mom’s side, anyway.” He suddenly remembered he wasn’t supposed to be friendly with the horseman and turned to Sally. “Sootie hitched a ride in my truck today. I wanted to see if she could stay here while I was at work.”

Sally nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll look after her.” She was still holding the door open.

Luke pretended not to notice and leaned against the wall. “Anything happen last night?”

“No. Glen, Orson, and Dad were out patrolling most of the night. I’m going to be out tonight, as well as August and Mom.”

Luke raised his eyebrows. “You be careful.”

“Thanks for that. I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Good-bye, Luke.”

Luke called Sootie inside and patted her. “You take good care of Sally here, you understand?” he told the dog, who listened with rapt attention. “Don’t let her out of your sight. Even if she tells you to go on.”

“Bye, Luke.”

“She’s already ate, but I thought I might drop by at lunch–”

“Luke!”

“Fine, fine.” He went out the door and scowled his way back to the truck, an image of Sally jumping that awful August guy forming in his head.

He couldn’t get it out of his head all day. First he pictured them on Sally’s couch, right where they had been when he left–August surprised but willing, Sally enthusiastic, brazen. She’d been wearing little cutoff jean shorts that hugged her ass and a spaghetti-strap shirt that could slide right off her shoulders. He hadn’t seen bra straps. Had she even been wearing a bra? He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing that he couldn’t remember. He’d been so taken up with worrying about August that he hadn’t gotten a good look at her breasts. Surely that was a bad sign, when he, the satyr, didn’t notice breasts, behind a bra or not.

She’d been barefoot, as usual, her hair held back from her face with little bitty clips shaped like butterflies. His mind worked against him, and he got a mental flash of Sally delicately removing one of the little clips and seizing it onto August’s nipple, eliciting a gasp from him. She’d like how he looked, his head thrown back, salon-perfect hair splayed over the couch pillows and her grandmother’s afghan. Would she have the gall to take him right there, in the same living room where Luke had comforted her over her dead cat so recently? Or would she take him elsewhere?

Which was not a helpful line of thinking, because his obsessed train of thought went spiraling out in all kinds of directions. The barn, for a literal roll in the hay, where he could fuck her from behind as she clung to the hitching post in the lazy, warm sunlight. The kitchen, where he could lift her up and lay her on the island. Her bedroom, the same room and headboard she’d had all her life, his cock in her pussy, in her mouth, and her writhing against him, asking for more….

By midday Luke was half-mad with lust, unable to exorcise the image of Sally and August from his mind. He thought about going to see Allison, but he didn’t want to fuck her when he was thinking of someone else; that would be an insult to his friend. He decided to take care of matters himself, and at lunch, he drove his truck to a secluded area, ostensibly to grab a bite to eat. Food was not what was on his mind. He’d been hard off and on for hours, and he was rock stiff as he took his cock out of his pants. He wet his hand with spit and stroked up and down, giving in to the image of August fucking his girl. Sally wanting sex, arching like a cat in heat, desire destroying her control and her poise, her pussy aching like a bruise.

That was what it was, he knew all at once as he thrust into his hand, body bucking. He wanted her to feel the same chaotic lust he felt. He wanted to bust down her reserve, make her show him that she felt it too. Because he could feel the lust in her, leaking from the seams of her carefully maintained facade. She might seem in control to everyone else, but satyrs knew lust; it had a color, a taste, that was unmistakable. As he came, moaning Sally’s name, he was sure she wanted him, followed him with her eyes, dreamed of him in the dark and in the light. That surety would not remain, would falter the longer he let it sit, but for a moment, he was sure of himself.

* * *

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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.

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