While Merlin was busy investigating poor Nick Fargo, Freetail was having a fun night meeting Peter’s newly satyric friends. Dozens of checkboxes were getting added to his mental to-do list.
“Are you still taking new members?” He bleated eagerly at one of the frat goats.
Peter’s eyes bugged out a bit. During a lull in the conversation, he quickly dragged Freetail and Gabe into the kitchen “to refill on wine”.
“What are you doing…!?” Peter’s ears perked up in a fluster.
Freetail earnestly started to refill his glass. “We’re trying to find the head of the frat, right? I figured asking to join up would be the quickest way to meet him” His titular tail flicked up into the air, “Plus… Your friends are a lot of fun Peter.”
Peter stared at Freetail for a moment. “Baah, but they’re not supposed to be…” He exhaled, glancing out at the group they had just left on the patio, “Yeah, they are pretty fun.”
Gabe laughed, topping off his own wine. “Neither of you are thinking straight. We’re supposed to be trying to figure out how to turn everyone back to normal. Not scheming on how to join a rambunctious satyr frat.” He tipped a bottle of red wine into his glass, gently taking a large swig, “But… Freetail’s been working me up to this for a while now.” He held the freshly emptied glass in the air, “Let’s go find Victor.”
A blond (haired and furred) satyr clopped into the doorway of the kitchen, “You rang?”
Meanwhile Mark stared incredulously at Merlin. The two were some of the few remaining humans in a frat house full of satyrs and he was distracted by some rusty suit of armor. He didn’t really want to leave him, but…
“Baah, hey pledge, you made it!” A satyr called out from the next room. He looked like… Morris? But the name ‘Morehead’ drove itself like a spike into Mark’s brain the moment he saw him.
Merlin was still inspecting the silly suit of armor. He looked over his shoulder, “Go on. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“But- You sure?“ Mark started to protest.
“Baah! Come on Mark!” Morehead bleated again.
The wizard glanced over his shoulder, “Go on. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Alright, don’t take too long.” Mark gulped, quickly running off in to the frat houses’s Inner Hall.
Err, Common Room. Or uh- Mark’s head swum as he tried to keep up with the changing architecture of the frat house. This was one of the smaller chambers in the house… It was a smaller room than the vast Feast Chamber the satyrs used for holding the bulk of their parties. The chamber was dimly lit and circular. The paneling on the walls carved in baroque images of Saturnalia, a major feast day for all satyrs.
When he walked inside, Mark’s shoes squeaked softly on the marble floors. They were inlaid with various Greek deities and… Oh man, he was the only person in the room without hooves.
Around the room, the other satyrs were waiting. Victor was standing at the center. Then there was Morehead, Shankhoof, Ramsass, Swallow, Clozoff, and McKockinem. Mark recognized all of the satyrs. Their faces were familiar, but… Those names were new right? He was pretty sure people always gave Ramsass a hard time for having the same name as that TV chef. Beside the group of frat satyrs was… Oh wow. Freetail, Gabe and Petros were all wagging happily at Mark’s arrival. (Had… Petros changed his name too? The goaty satyr was… Peter, right?)
The entire group weren’t wearing anything save for a reed flute on a leather thong around their necks. Each of them were carrying empty wooden goblets. Even his friends were dressed like the other frat satyrs.
“Baah, are you ready pledge?” Victor bleated eagerly. “We thought you might not show up.
“Ready for what?” Mark blinked.
“Initation!” Freetail laughed, “We all just went through it.” He pointed to Petros and Gabe. “Come on, you’re been rushing for ages now, right? This is the final step!”
Petros nodded, “And, uh, you kinda need to make your decision soon, it’s almost Midnight.”
“Right! Uh- Initiation!” Mark nodded eagerly, “Sure, let’s do this thing…!”
Merlin was trying to turn everyone in the frat house back. If anything happened to Mark, he’d probably be fine. It was hard to shake the feeling that he wanted this too. He’d been trying to become a part of TFU. What was a little fur between friends?
McKockinem picked up a torch and started to descend a nearby staircase. Mark could hear his hooves echo down the staircase as he clopped.
The noise got louder as the group descended together. Mark’s shoes were the only “thump” sound among the clatter.
The stairway opened up into a marvelous cavern. White marble frescoes of Grecian architecture lined the cavern walls. Plants grew all around them, fireflies glowing as they frolicked among the flowers and vines. The air smelled of musk and flora and the incense whose smoke curled from the sticks set into the walls.
There was an opening in the back of the cave. Mark wasn’t completely familiar with the architecture of the campus, but this cliffside view and stunning waterfall seemed new.
Framed in the center of the opening, lit by a shaft of pale moonlight, was a golden statue of a bearded, muscular satyr. His body was embossed by dozens of intricate runes. Mark could even see the same symbols carved into the figure’s horns. Most striking of all however was the massive erection burbling wine into a low marble pool.
A rise of marble stepping-stones led up to the luscious burgundy fountain. The satyrs proceeded up the steps, hopping and clopping on their dainty hooves. Mark followed after, taking his time, enthralled with the whimsical setting.
This felt like something out of DnD.
“Baaaaah-hold, the lord of lust and excess!” McKockinem intoned, “Lord Pan!”
The other satyrs raised their flutes to their lips and blew a harmonious chord.
The trill slowly shifted into a melody.
Somehow, instead of making Mark feel happy or joyous, the sounds felt almost… lonely? They echoed around the cavern, causing the hairs on Mark’s arms stand on end. Here was this prime specimen of a satyr resting solemnly on the cliff side. The melancholic melody reverberated off the walls, making feel like Mark feel like the status was reaching out for his scattered kin. Long for them to return. Longing for him to-
“Lord Pan lived alone among the wild things, with only his hand to keep him company,” McKockinem bleated solemnly, “If he were lucky, he’d find a goat to lay with. Most nights though, he was on his own under a sea of stars.” The melody shifted slightly, “Immortal, he watched endless sunsets with none to share them with.”
Mark listened, wondering exactly where this speech was going.
The satyrs raised the flutes to their lips and blew another melody. It was a similar beat to the first, but this time, the music was more upbeat. There was new joy entering the satyr’s life, Mark realized. It didn’t feel lonely anymore.
“Then he came upon a beautiful shepherd and shared his wineskin with him.” Ramsass spoke up now, “And Lo! The shepherd became a satyr, Faunus!”
“Baah-lessed be Faunus!” The other satyrs bleated.
Ah! This was it! The initiation ritual. Mark had expected something kind of like this? Now it just had a much more satyric angle to it.
“For a thousand years, the satyrs ate, drank, and reveled where the wild things were, taking upon them their shapes.” Morehead bleated, “We carry on that tradition to this day!”
“Our founders discovered and brought the great god’s shine to this very hillside and hid it away from the world. All those who wish to be a part of our fraternity must supplicate themselves in front of Pan to join their brothers. And when our lives are well-lived, we will fade to join him in his golden meadows.”
“Baah-lessed be Pan!” The satyrs chanted.
Mark waited for more, then realized the satyrs were looking at him. Some of his friends now bore the yellow eyes and square pupils of beasts.
“Supplicate?” Mark echoed softly.
“Suck’s Pan’s dick!” Victor bleated eagerly.
“Suck that dick! Suck that dick!” the satyrs chanted.
Freetail clopped forward, leaning into his ear, “You just need to drink the wine.” He whispered, jerking his heard towards the statue.
The crowd all had goat ears. The whispering was mostly for Mark’s sense of modesty.
“He could try sitting on it!” Clozoff teased, “But boy would that be an enema!”
“Don’t sit on Pan’s cock, we drink out of that!” McKockinem said sharply.
Clozoff rolled his eyes, “We eat each other’s asses out all the time-”
“Hygiene!” Swallow bleated, “We bottle that stuff!
“Hmpf,” Clozoff’s goaotish ears lowered. “It would have been so hot…!”
“Go on Mark!” Gabe bleated, “It’s seriously the best wine I’ve ever had!”
“Did you normally drink wine?” Mark stepped forward, carefully climbing the wet marble stepping stones and staring down into the pool of wine. “Where does this drain off to?”
“It doesn’t!” Victor said proudly, “Pan has blessed us with infinite wine!”
“Infinite profit!” McKockinem whispered.
“Nevermind him, go on, pledge!” Victor ordered, “Taste of Lord Pan’s never-ending gift.” He coughed under his breath, “You don’t actually have to suck the cock.”
Mark took a breath and stepped towards the marble pool. Petros clopped up beside him, “Mark… Your clothes.” He whispered.
Mark had come this far. What was a little nudity among friends? He licked off shoes shoes and socks while Petros gently pulled his shirt off. Finally all that was left was his pesky pants. He stepped out of them into the pool of red wine.
His feet disappeared below the surface. He waded into the pool, feeling the wine tingle where it touched his skin. Normally it’s something he would have investigated further, but Mark only had eyes for the mighty god’s erect phallus. The godhood was letting loose an intoxicating never-ending stream of this wonderful smelling wine.
All he had to do was drink from the source.
He crouched in the wine. His knees disappeared below the surface. Mark tilted his head until it was at the level of the life-sized statue’s crotch. Finally he opened his mouth, maneuvering himself towards the stream of water… and…
Before he knew it, his lips were wrapped around the curiously warm tip of the gold statue as he eagerly gulped down the robust, vibrant wine. The heady flavors exploding on his tongue. Mark’s vision almost went blurry for a moment. He blinked and broke away, wine splattering across his face and down his chest. Mark had only meant to lap at the statue’s wine.
Mark felt a warm flush spread over his cheeks as he swallowed his sip. It tasted delightful and made his chest flutter. He eyed the cock hungrily. Maybe just a bit more…
Leaning forward, mouth engulfing the golden shaft. Mark’s cheeks bulged out with the wine’s pressure and he gulped it down. Behind him he could hear his friends cheer.
Flavors exploded in his mouth, his nipples instantly going hard and sensitive. He moaned, his cock perking erect out of the pool of wine. Mark eagerly lowered his head further down the extremely detailed shaft. He had to taste more, show his brothers that he was a real satyr and could take a proper cock.
Then he felt air move overhead, as though something impossibly huge were looming over him.
“Baah! Pan has descended!” Victor cheered.
“The initiate is blessed! Baaah!” Ramsass cried.
Mark tried to pull off the cock, steadily gulping the wine, but a heavy hand pressed him down further.
The shaft began to warm, the tasteless gold replaced with something wild and living, the veins throbbing in Mark’s mouth. Gold retreated back into the statue and soon he found himself being shoved into the musky, animalistic pubic fur of a living satyr.
“Grrk!” Mark choked as his head was forced down the now flesh-colored and rather veiny shaft. It struck the back of his throat and pressed insistently forward. “Gawhk!”
“Oh, thaaat’s no way to take a cock.” A deep, sexy voice bleated from above him.
Mark tried to roll his eyes up to view who was talking but could only see the shaggy abs of the now-living statue.
Another hand descended and gently stroked Mark’s neck.
The cock, which was lodged in his gullet, choking him, slipped straight down without a hitch. Mark’s throat bulged impossibly as it took in that enormous, beercan-thick girth. Another tingle shot through his neck and strange muscles began to slide against each other and massage the cockhead, easing its descent.
“This is quite the party you’ve got here,” the voice above him spoke, “I wanted to come and thank you personally.”
Mark moaned and relaxed, bobbing up and down on the mighty phallus, the hand massaging the top of his head.
The figure’s fingers teased around Mark’s temples. His hard-nailed fingers gently scratched around his skin, coaxing out a pair of fresh new horns. These weren’t some simple headband trick. These were Mark’s horns.
And he couldn’t be prouder of them.
Pan, this had to be Lord Pan, continued to stroke and message his face. The wine never ceased gushing from his cock. Mark did his best to swallow every last drop as the sex god continued to remark Mark in his image.
Mark let out a groan as his belly grew distended with wine, his head swimming, brain soaking in alcohol. This wasn’t some magical costume. This was the real thing, and there was no clever spell Merlin could pull out to help undo it. He… he didn’t care. The transforming man could see his reflection in the pool and watched as it changed with every guiding stroke of Pan’s hands.
There was a strange thrill that Mark felt as he watched himself get sculpted into the perfect satyr.
Pan’s hands were tugging at his horns, and to Mark’s delight, they gave, more bone unfurling from his head. As his horns grew, his face began to change, features growing more rugged, flatter around the nose. Each inch caused his facial hair to grow, first as mutton chops, then a chinstrap, the middle more of a goatee than anything else. He wasn’t handsome, but he was undeniably masculine.
Mark’s cock throbbed in his pants as his horns began to spiral within Pan’s grip, becoming proper handholds.
The moans and sounds he was making were lewd, and he was glad his face was buried in fluffy pubic fur so no one could see the look of rapture on his face. His belly strained and wobbled below him, the cool wine eddying over his new treasure trail. The college kid was becoming a man. He wasn’t going to be some fit soccer satyr. Mark was getting the perfect dadbod, the image conjuring the idea of a man who had a cozy life, free of worries. His only care being spreading lust and excess throughout the realm.
“That’s what I offer,” Pan murmured in his ear. He gave Mark’s ears a gentle tug, shifting them fully into a pair of lazily dangling goat ears, “A long happy life, forever with me and my herd.”
Mark drooled onto the cock, gripping the shaft, desperate for more of that erotic vintage.
He nostrils flared, growing a little wider, more animalistic, scenting Pan’s wonderful musk. He smelled of hay and wheat and wine and sex and sun-baked grass. Pan’s hand ruffled the soon-to-be satyr’s shaggy hair just as the horns curled around Mark’s happily twitching goat ears. There was a ripple of pre sliding down the length of Mark’s growing erection. The new satyr had his own fountain going at this point.
With a soft ground, Mark was lifted off the primal satyr’s mighty cock. The enormous shaft eased slowly out of his throat.
“Mhmm, I think that’s enough for that,” Pan bleated.
Mark finally had a moment to look up and behold the full figure of Lord Pan.
He was magnificent, body perfectly formed and sculpted, his legs covered in curly hair, his cloven hooves polished and gleaming in the moonlight. Pan’s face was ruggedly handsome and perfectly masculine, brilliant green eyes holding a profound depth that Mark found himself being lost in.
His body was covered in ancient, obscene runes. Mark didn’t quite know their purpose, but they covered Pan’s figure from horn to hoof. They were carved into his horns, inked onto his body, and dyed into his fur.
The god stepped off his dais and into the wine with Mark. Their erections began rubbing together. Mark realized just how inhuman his shaft was beginning to look.
Lord Pan watched Mark inspect his new gqoathood. With an amused grin, he tapped the top of Mark’s shaft. The new satyr felt a small pinch on the top of the cock and a little more weight as a stunning Prince Albert pierced it.
Mark felt the satyr god’s hands grip firmly onto his waist. He was spun around and nudged forward gently towards the pool.
“Let’s get you a bit more submerged, shall we?” Mark felt the satyr’s hands grasp his asscheeks and squeeze gently.
Then with a small push, Mark was falling headfirst into the wine. He caught himself on his hands, but not before letting out a startlingly deep bleat. Mark was surprised at how low his voice was becoming. Pan’s hands massaged Mark’s rump, the muscle and fat swelling out and wobbling. The satyr lifted them and dropped them, watching the bounce with an expression of approval. Each rub of the god’s hands encouraged the growth of a curly, scruffy coat of fur.
As the fur on his ass grew thick and dense, proper wool, the fur spread down Mark’s legs. Pan moved his hands around to get a firmer grip on the transforming frat boy. One hand gripped Mark’s tailbone while the other rubbed the transforming man’s pucker.
With a smile, Pan circled Mark’s rear entrance, then pressed deeper in.
“Baah!” Mark bleated, splashing a foot as the god’s blunt digit forced itself inside of him.
While Mark was distracted with the finger in his ass, the other hand pulled on Mark’s tailbone. Mark’s spine popped pleasantly as Pan drew forth a short, fluffy tail. The transforming frat boy barely had time to waggle it when the finger in his ass began to tug and stroke his innards.
“Nghf! Baah!” Mark cried as the finger rubbed a sensitive spot inside of him.
“That felt nice, didn’t it? Let’s make it feel better.” Pan smiled down on the shorter satyr.
Mark’s hole throbbed as the satyr pressed down on his prostate, milking it. The pressure made him moan and bleat helplessly, rising up on toes that were hardening into cloven hooves. His arches creaked as they grew longer and his stance changed.
His balls swelled and his cock strained as Pan continued massaging his sweet spot. Mark embraced the lust and touch, losing himself in the slow strokes of the satyr’s digit on his prostate. This was… this was all he cared about now. Gone from his mind was the importance of class. The pursuits of a career. The satyr now lived for these moments of pure pleasure.
Mark was leaking a steady stream of precum into the pool, each rub increasing the flow. The sex god’s teasing felt like it would never end. After what felt like an eternity, Pan twisted his finger and suddenly Mark’s hole was alive, sucking and tugging at the god’s finger. The flesh around the digit began to puff and darken. Pan pulled his finger free with an audible pop, leaving behind a soft, pliable donut.
“Baah!” the new satyr bleated, incapable of holding back any longer, and came. Potent satyr seed erupted from his shafted, splashing into the pool of red wine. It dissolved in the liquid and the wine in the pool began to softly glow.
The new satyr’s body went limp and he splashed into the pool. He would have been so content to just float in this moment forever. After a moment, however, a hand reached forward and pulled him out of the pool.
“Baah, there we go.” Lord Pan lifted him to the edge of the pool, “That feels better, doesn’t it Scruffbutt?”
Scruffbutt panted, letting the afterglow of the orgasm roll through him. His hole felt empty and his mouth thirsted for more cock and wine. Behind him, a curious sensation wagged contently. This was the best night of his life and- Wait, what did Lord Pan call him?
“Sir, I think there may have been a mix up.” Scruffbutt said modestly, “My name’s Scruffbutt.”
Lord Pan just nodded with a grin.
“I mean- It’s Scruffbutt.” He sat up straighter. “Sorry, I keep meaning to say-“
His human name escaped him. It’s as if it had run off with the wine that was trickling down his body. As his satyric figure dried, all that was left was a lusty goat of a man.
“Your name’s Scruffbutt,” Lord Pan cut off any further confusion. “For someone who’s responsible for creating over a hundred new satyrs in an evening, you’re quite the bottom.” Pan smirked.
“Sir I-“ Scruffbutt stammered.
“I know, you didn’t intend any of this. It’s your fault all the same.” He slid his hand down Scruffbutt’s back with a grin, “So thank you for all this. It’s been quite some time since the combined lust of my kind managed to summon an alter such as this.”
Pan’s fingers were tracing something on Scruffbutt’s backside. Familiar runes and etching appeared on his back, curling down towards his tail. His scruffy fur took on a striking dye as Pan’s runes copied themselves onto Scruffbutt’s eager ass, “There, you’ve formally received my blessing.” He leaned down, gently kissing the frat satyr on the forehead, “Now everyone will know the fun we had tonight.”
Scruffbutt’s eyes went wide, “Sir, I don’t know what to say.”
“I do,” Lord Pan bleated. “Come, welcome your new brother into the herd!” Pan waved his arm at the crowd of spectating satyrs.
It was like a starting gun had gone off. The group of goat men splashed into the pool. Scruffbutt quickly discovered that he and his ilk were granted stamina the likes of which he had previously only dreamed of. He paired off with what felt like each one of his new frat brothers.
Finally, the physical exhaustion of it all slowed their revelry. Scruffbutt lay on the chamber floor, gazing off into the moonlit evening. All the sex was enjoyable, but on a deeper level, he felt truly at home. His transformation into a satyr had been both exhilarating and terrifying, but now that it was over, he couldn't imagine going back to being human. This herd was where he belonged now.
As Scruffbutt started to return to his senses, he sat up, noticing the statue of Lord Pan was missing. Had Pan ascended back to some higher plane? Some part of him still felt like this were a pleasant dream he was going to wake up from. He’d pull his head off the fountain and discover that Lord Pan was still nothing more than a gold statue.
But no, there was the sex god, laying in the pile with the rest of them.
He gently brushed Ramsass’ hair and Freetail’s chest fur as Petros brushed his sheath. “Baah, you know, I gave up on trying to organize a religion ages ago. More trouble than it’s worth.” He sat up gently, “But I’d like to hear more about these fraternities of yours. This sort of brotherhood is something I could get behind.”
Scruffbutt gave Lord Pan a bashful grin, “Did we mention there’s a party upstairs my lord?” He started to wag eagerly, “I bet there’s more than a few people that would be interested in meeting you.”