By The River

Published: Jan 1st, 2012
Last Edit: Apr 28th, 2015


Multiple flat tires strand a man in the rural farmland, no cell phone service, he almost steps on a cursed satyr fellow hiding in the weeds as troubles begin...


permanent goat sheep stream horny witch bridge herd-sire Niggeress satyr Photographer breeding erie-lackawwanna
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Railroad enthusiast, driving along the abandoned right-o-way once belonging to the Erie Lackawanna railroad, traversing a very rural, sandy road rather than the more usual type gravel road, what should happen but the feel of a tire going suddenly flat.

John sighed; he pressed the emergency “On-Star” button on the dashboard only to hear nothing. “Nothing,” John said as questioning why he had no signal between his vehicle and the highest as nearby cell phone tower. Another sigh and John opened the door of his vehicle and stepped out onto the sandy smooth road.

“I guess it is time I learn to change a tire!” John muttering to himself, disgruntled at the prospect of having to deal with this problem, rather than owing it to someone else.

As he stood there looking around, he was in a hollow, a gulley with high hills on both sides, and trees overgrown where he was making a cavern of branches, and leaves.

It was so very quiet, John stood and let the sense of peace envelope his work-a-day wearied mind. Enjoying the greater quiet of the hollow, he then heard a whistling sound. John recognized the sound he heard, and walking around his car, he discovered he did not have a flat tire; he had three tires punctured and going flat.

“Three,” John then yelled loudly, stunned by the reality, and disgruntled, he having but one spare tire, to try to drive further on two flats could damage more than just the tires.

Quickly he decided it was time to begin to hike along the road, look then for a farm or house with a working landline phone and call then some wrecker truck to come and tow away his car for repairs.

John sighed again, feeling the resolve in him to get past this trouble and move on. He looked up at the high mound of the old railroad earthen embankment and thought to climb it for a look-see around. John with his camera slug over his arm, he took a deep inhaled breath and began the hiking up the steep embankment.

The railroad had gone out of business some thirty years hence, and the embankment became an overgrown mass of bushes, brambles, and vines. John pushed his way through the underbrush and was about halfway to the peak of the hill, when he stepped past a row of bushes, to find a path trampled along the embankment.

 “A deer path,” John thought to himself, “It must be a trail they make as one follows the other, marking the trail with scent for the next time they should come that way.”

Trudging then was easier, although the deep path meandered along the embankment, as in places going higher, and other places heading back toward the road. As after walking the path for a half mile, John looked back, was unable to see his vehicle, and felt the need to leave the path and strike out through the bushes again.

John did just that, he turned and began pushing aside the bushes, stomping then higher up toward the top of the embankment. As he thrashed through the thick brush and over an old discarded railroad tie thrown down the embankment, he heard what he thought was a squeaky yelp.

John stopped his trudging up the steep hill, he stood there and listened, not hearing even the wind in the trees, as all was exceedingly quiet.

Then he heard the sound of someone possibly in pain, John stood there and listened intently.

A squeaky small voice John heard again, he strained to listen, heard then, “Damn humans, damn you, get that fat foot from off me or I will…, oh damn!”

John standing his tall six foot, six inches of bulk manliness, he pressed aside the bushes to look where he had stepped, wondering as well, of what he heard. Careful not to move his feet, standing where he stood, John looked down into the darker realm of what lay below all the bushes, brush, and tangle foot.

“Huh,” said John, he seeing the sight of a small head peering from under the sole of his hiking boot. John then withdrew his much bigger foot from off what he saw, as knelt down on his left knee, as for to examine better what he saw.

Peering down, John looking saw a small form of a somewhat human creature, it then standing, stood two inches tall. As John looked down, the small thing looked up.

“And who the Hell are you to be walking aimlessly through this hallowed dell?” Yelled there then the small form, as John listened, he looking at it, as reminded of the mythology he read and of what stood, there was a small satyr!

“Holy shit, a satyr, a very small satyr!” John exclaiming said, he staring at the small creature, seeing it as the thing stood facing John and abruptly began to urinate a glistening yellow stream.

“You and yours kind do really piss me off, bad enough to need live as I must but to get stepped on, if not by the deer, then by one of my own kind.” The little satyr said to John, as he shook his fist and the wiggle made his goat sheath to spew the flowing urine in a broader range.

“Your kind, nobody or nothing I ever saw was anything like you or of kind!” John said as a rebuttal to the satyr saying they were of the same kind.

“Ha,” the satyr gave a laugh, “Ha, ha and believe me, as I was not born a satyr, and I was not so long ago almost as tall as are you. I am as I am because of what resides here in this fairy hollow. There is much for a human to fear in this place.

Indeed, I like you, did happen upon entering this far as wide grotto where all times ceases. In my situation, I walked the sandy road and met there what I thought was a pretty girl swimming naked in the creek water. She looked lovely, her bodily form something any a true man would for seeing should fall to kneeling and wish to worship such a beauty.

I stood as one stunned when she smiled, did stand and climb out of the water, coming to stand before me, a Niggeress!”

“Niggeress…?” John said, questioning the word as if being a demeaning term some terse people used to describe an African American woman.

“Sorry, the word or term of her being a Niggeress is a word left from my era when born and reared to think that all black colored people were inferior. I use the word still to say she was, is black, her silky skin, lovely to look upon, alluring, but beware, she is centuries old and knowledgeable as how to degrade a bold man.

I was then such a bold man, when first I arrived here. I was a railroad worker, working for the Erie railroad as our work gang was building the tracks westward toward Chicago.

Ah…, that was more than a century ago, and I like so many others am here still, never aging, living the life and of form as she, the Niggeress wished of us.

Yes, I was a man like you, we of a kind. As yes, I met her, and acting bold, remembering that she was inferior, I took liberties a courteous man would never do to a naked beauty.

In a swift move and moment, I had her lying on her back there along the road. She laid there wide-eyed and with an alluring smile that antagonized my brash white male self.

When I had out my maleness and was an inch from pushing it past her…, as I remember then, her as winking labia lips, I saw a twinkling spark jump from her eyes to mine. When hit by that spark I fell from off her, me then lying on my back in the roadway, as she worked at undressing me, stripping me naked.

It is so vivid in my mind still, remembering as she then slowly knelt to sit on my chest, her slender legs astraddle my shoulders. She reached out her left arm and with a snapping of her fingers, her purse leaped from the bush where it hung to her waiting hand.

I laid there still stunned by her mind-spark, watching as she fumbled through what she had in her purse. Finally, she withdrew from the purse a small bottle of some brown colored liquid. She held it with both hands skyward, as said something I to this day do not understand, and pouring a long as thick steam from the bottle, the liquid she poured inside my mouth.

She the cursed me, she said, “Niggeress, indeed, impertinence, just like would a Billy buck goat when feeling the rut…, acting as such, you should look the part!”

Stunned, then poisoned, the liquid went into my open mouth, had the taste of what grass smells like after just cut. It was in me and my torso began to convulse, as she seated on my chest rode me, as would a cowboy on a wild bronco. As I bucked, she slid her sensuous dark lips of her hellhole closer, until its scent entered my nose and the fragrance began to drive me to worse distractions.

A driving want, the worst aching lusting urge I ever knew to then, I would know thereafter, especially when enticed by a musky scented vagina.

I struggled to get away from her, knowing as I laid there, seeing my body and how it felt strange, what I could see was becoming different. My skin changed color, becoming a muddled brown of varied tones. As the brown fur sprouted, and grew into a pelt covering me from head to toes. Thrashing then more, I dug my fingers into the sandy road, feeling them stiffen. My legs I kicked and toes I dug at the road surface, feeling how what where human piggies became my cloven hooves.

I struggled to no avail, ceasing my rampage when both nose and mouth grew to form a goat muzzle. That was when she slid off from sitting on me, allowing me to stand up, as standing then on four legs. As from her changing did to me, I felt my anger fade and replaced then by a rude want to dominate females, to breed with them, fill them with my seed.

My voice, I did try to scream but heard then the bleated cry of a young male goat, I had become a goat, knew I was a goat, and stood there waiting on every word she said of how I should learn to live my life, me being a buck-goat.

Huh, I remember then how she dressed as I stood watching, she beckoning me to step forward and sniff as I gave a lick to her dark labia lips. I felt it was as homage due her, she being to me as someone not so as inferior as was I!

She finished dressing, and asked me to walk with her, she walking me to where she lived with her mother, they both being witches.

I knew I had become a goat and felt a sense of delight from being an agile beast. I did as told, she instructing me with details of goat mating, things I as a man never dreamed happened as they did happen. I became a herd sire, mating, breeding, sexualizing with doe goats. My sexuality and the feelings I felt from sexual acts became my one reason for living.

Sixteen…, no it was twenty-two years I did as required and bred doe goats.

One day as I was sheath deep and thrusting with a sexual panic, she came to me and did, as made of me to be a satyr, though then as tall as be you!

My duties remained much the same with one wonderful exception, she would like to lie with me one night each month, we in her soft bed, and she on top of my sixteen inches of male goat sex.

Wonderful was our relations, or until her mother discovered her with me. The old woman, her mother did spell-cursed me to begin shrinking. As I shrank, she, my monthly lover had me come and we would frolic from sundown to sunup once each week. After some months I became so small, my penis length as if a pin in girth and length of what it was, she would insert all of my being inside her vagina.

Such is a hot, humid, hellish place that the scent percolates my all in all, unknowingly it was a help to make me shrink faster, becoming as you see me here and now.”

“Wow,” said John, “That is some story, and from hearing it I think it is urgent I leave here lest captured as were you. If you would wish to, I would take you with me, we could become as friends.”

“Are you a queer?” The small satyr asked John.

“Queer, ah oh, you mean as am I gay, no I am a straight guy, a married man, with three children at home, all girls!” John said, and when he made mention of the three girls he wondered if taking a small size satyr home was such a good idea.

“Quick, kneel down, I hear the Niggeress, ah witch, ah she is coming, if she sees you, it is a fair bet I shall see another man entering a life of living a bestial existence.” The satyr said, and John crouched low, trying to stay unnoticed while wishing to notice she, the lovely witch come there to bathe.

John scrunched down to lying prostate, he nose to satyr there in the bushes.

They there listened as she sang a sweet song of love about wanting a real man to cherish and share his love. All went well, as an hour of time passed and the beauty swam in the cold watery creek. Everything might have gone as wished for by John and his satyr friend had not two things happened. Firstly, John being nose to satyr sniffed the scent of a satyr and began to feel a sense of arousal. Secondly, was what gave his position away, that of five deer, one stag and his harem, they trotting along the worn pathway, when coming to John, they did step on his legs with sharp hooves!

“Ouch,” John said too loudly, his voice carrying there in the otherwise peaceful hallow.

“What, who is there, come out and be seen, come out I say, come out…, a coward, cowards are sheepish, any man or woman hiding in this hollow, be as much the sheep as is a sheep!” She said, she the black young still beautiful woman, standing wet, naked, and indignant.

The sudden wave of devilish power spread through the hollow, striking John as it passed, causing a burned sensation, he jerked, flipped face up and thought to say another ouch, he did instead cry a loud, “Baa!” Hearing his own utterance, John then moaned as he felt sheepish, knowing and becoming, his fuzzed hands touching ears, the skin on face, neck, shoulders, arms were sprouting curls of wool.

What he felt at the first being fear changed in John, his very being became a man distraught and angered. Remarking of his degrading self, John grumbling, began to rise, as planned to stand up and face she his accuser. As he pushed off and began to rise above the underbrush, the exertion produced out of him short bleats. The small satyr begged John to lie down, remain and be reasonable, to accept what he felt as could see his personal happening. John stood up on his paining feet. A step and then another, his wavering stride stepping as John walked down the embankment, he baaing more times, expressing his sensed demeaning feelings.

She stood upon the sandy road, the smile of satisfaction for what she saw as having begun fading to a fearing scowl as John came closer to her.

Suddenly she raised her arms above her head, as with hands poised to cast a nearer and more degrading of John a spell. The otherwise quiet hollow there became a din of small voices, and animalistic sounds of those previously given their dooms.

“Baa, bee, bup, bup, baa, bup,” John said, the anger in his mind expressed with baaing, the shorter bupping sounds coming out from his mouth when he felt the strange sensations of his walking on toes, feet, and legs that were changing.

Angry, John would speak his thoughts if his face, mouth, lips, and tongue could annunciate words instead of dull toned cries as do sheep. His clothing began to show signs of his damning feelings, as he came down the steep hill, the brambles tore, ripped and removed all of what on his body were made of cloth.

When with the changes happening to his feet had progressed along the expected deforming ways, John, his feet slid out of size fourteen hiking boots to have him walking on cloven hooves and sheepish hind-like legs. As human stance became the precarious upright manner of walking a sheep would never otherwise do, John strode longer strides as he came very close to the base of the railroad embankment.

John then stepped past the last row of bushes and brambles to being as would a naked sheep. The last stride steps of his changed outward self-felt, and plainly apparent to all there, saw the then sway given what of John, he having a much-enlarged scrotum. Black big balls hung with weighty heft, giving what was a man the sensation of a newer as very different masculinity.

Walking out onto the sandy smooth road the sensation of John having hoofs to bare his weight, offering him a bettered agility, he feeling them, brought a sneered sheepish grin to a face bearing no human resemblance.

She there standing poised to defend her person, saw the smirk, knew the reaction some men so changed feel and gain an appreciation for their bodies. A witch and the maker of men forced to feel humbled. She delighted to see her creation as relishing his different reality.

“Behold the coward, feels a sense of change as offering delight, what was a male human stands presently a brute Ram.” She said as to John and for all there watching, she lowering her arms, did take a step closer to the standing unsteady large sheep. John engrossed with an accounting what he felt, his changed form, she reaching forward a hand, did pat, caress, and arouse the woolen covered sheath on John.

“Baa…,” John bleated as with a groaning tone, her touch to his changed penis, the wool covered sheath of he a sheep, a Ram, his maleness felt aroused. John stood with his legs a half-stride apart, as balancing well then, gained accustom to his stance, he cocked his head and eyed downward. Looking as to what he felt extending, John marveled at seeing what was human his maleness, slide out from the bestial sheath, a penis, dark red, morbid of form, his religious circumcision gone, replaced by a blunted end to a heightened sensual male tool.

As his Ram shaped penis rose out into the light of day, John bleating, swooned enjoying the sensation, felt a want for a ewe.

“Good, good, I want you to express your feelings, to be all you can as a Ram, a herd sire, the real beast that lurks inside every man!” She said to John, as he as much ignored her speaking, he his mind filled with sensations, was a man enthralled with delight at the aspect of his becoming a Ram.

“Come, walk beside me, you are something special, I wish to show my dear mother a man fervently enjoying his becoming a sheep. Some would be wailing their fears, begging for the return of their humanity. A few as like are you, discover their changed selves as an adventure. Whichever, what I like is a human willing to try at life with different perspectives, making what is a new reality the personal thrill in a lifetime.

As much you feel the present sensualities, know and I deem you to remember your past self, living your days with balance between acting bestial and of rational thinking.

Understand what for you I changed, you with your herd shall reside in corral or pastured. The testosterone level being many times that of when human shall keep your mind focused on sensual living. Gone for you are the human trappings, no television, games, hobbies, or the drudgery of employment, your penis is the prime reason for you to live and find joy.” She said to John, explaining some of what he could expect from how he and his life had changed of purpose.

Less than a mile of walking and John leaned forward, he falling to stand a stance more normal for being a sheep. He walking on all fours found it as comfortable, his larger scrotum given to swaying with every stride stepping. As with a short tail wiggling, balls swaying, cloven hoofs touching the ground, John walked into a future oblivion of living life, as would a stout Ram. Two-hundred and seventy pounds his weight when human, John as a Ram kept his bulk, what was fatty tissue becoming muscle.

Time passed, as the changed John settled into his daily rituals, and sensualities, given to sniffing the rumps of ewes and mounting those who offered a muskier scenting. The car with three flat tires was moved, hauled by a draft horse reminded of when he once, as long-hence could get inside and drive such a vehicle, he helped tote as pull, letting the vehicle slide into the stream, floating and sinking to the creek bottom.

All signs of John the man being where he met his fated new future seemed erased.

It was of the frantic worries felt by the wife to John, she asked a friend to try to locate her husband. That job fell into my hands, me a railroad fan too, new the favored haunts of my friend. Time and selective deduction, finally I found the sandy road leading to an old iron and stone railroad bridge. A picturesque depression in the surrounding set precariously out of sight from the main road, a grotto with a stream. What of that quiet place where a person feels worlds away from the hustle and bustle of modern day living, walking along the road, skipping stones in the babbling creek, I saw sunken his vehicle.

A cell phone call, a tow truck, the local and state police arriving, the first evidence as to the whereabouts of my friend led me to discovering a peaceful farm, a herd of sheep and a large black Ram. It was with seeing the Ram getting his sexual delights that sheepish eyes and mine met, and a memory in John, he knew, pulled free from his ewe, and did run headlong as wildly to greet, meet, and bleat at a friend.

The first I did not understand the significance of my meeting that large Ram, but and after John scratched in the sand his name and mine, he gave realization as to what happened. He and I sat for hours the first day and several daytimes after, as he wrote his story, informing me as how and by whom he became a horny, happy, herd sire.

I had then a wholly unholy as unbelievable a story to tell his wife, the simple as sad truth I let the police suggest, as John lost control of his vehicle and drove into the stream. They said John likely drowned, the stream flow carrying away the body, my friend, her husband, gone forever!

The knowing of a different outcome to a story told by a horny sheep, seemed a useless endeavor to tell anyone, maybe by writing a fantasy short story my conscience will ease and life shall return to normal.




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