Thalya Balworth (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=90729)<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i176.photobucket.com/albums/w172/minarou/d51733c7-212f-4bfc-ad58-a6d67e51b00c.jpg)</div><br/><br/>Thalya stayed composed, waiting for Trube to make his move on her, and so she was a bit startled when the satyr made a grab for her amble breasts, suppressing the urge to moan but a whimper escaped her lips from his sudden touch.  She should be used to this, having bedded many men, and on occasion–women, in the past, but nothing has been more exotic than this.  When she was hermit, she often wondered what it would be like doing it with the fey that inhabited the same forest she found seclusion in but her search for knowledge, and their being extremely reclusive kept the sorceress from pursuing such trysts.  Well now that opportunity has presented itself with Trube, the satyr, who was now pulling at her hardening cherry buds–causing her to moan more passionately.  She lost herself when the man-goat’s coarse face buried itself into the mounds of her bosoms, ecstatically crying out all the way while keeping herself steady on her feet.  No words could express what she was feeling at the moment, and so she let her cries and unyielding body convey her apparent approval to her ardent partner.  His huskily voice broke her out of the spell that she was under for a while however, as he indicated to her to kneel before him.  Sultry smiling, Thalya had an idea of what he wanted and obediently did what was desired of her, slowly descending to the forest ground, until her knees touched the earth, the sight of her gaze switching from the Trube’s horned and goateed face to his strong and hairy chest until her eyes rested upon his evident bulge by his trousers.