Chapter 1

Laurel waited at one side of the family room, wearing a one-piece bathing suit and carrying a towel. She knew better than to cross in front of her brother without permission when he was watching TV. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, subconsciously protecting her from whatever jibes her brother might send at her about her recently adolescent body.

“Go!” Hunter commanded her indignantly.

Laurel walked briskly to the back door.

“Just my sister - she’s going to play in the sprinklers or some shit,” Hunter spoke into his phone. “I don’t know - because she’s a freak,” he added in answer to his friend’s question. “No, just a freshman.”

Outside, Laurel relaxed. The grass felt good between her toes on her way to the greenhouse.

Once there she prepared her space. She laid the towel out on the brick floor to sit on and overturned a bucket to serve as a table. Then she found her mother’s secret chest, and withdrew a book she knew very well from it: an illustrated encyclopedia of sex magic.

At first, Laurel browsed, as she often had. On one page, watercolor illustrations of a couple copulating in various positions were matched with diagrams of the phases of the moon and planets, along with an analysis that was well over Laurel’s head. On another page, erect penises of all shapes and sizes were drawn in pencil, each accompanied by a paragraph describing the mystical significance of each.

Laurel casually rubbed her bathing suit between her legs. Her clitoris began to stiffen - a small hard dot hidden in her soft flesh like an iceberg in the ocean. She left one hand to stroke her sex awake while the other flipped the pages.

Several cut-away views showed vaginas filled with fingers in various positions - the beginnings of a spell to bolster milk production. Vulvae of various sorts were drawn next to the flowers after which they are named.

Laurel moved the crotch of her bathing suit aside. With slow deliberate strokes, she gathered wetness on her fingers and drew it up to her clit. Barely audibly, she gasped with every stroke.

She was ready to really start. Her fingers moved in light circles around her clit. Her mouth hung open and her breathing became heavy. She flipped the book to the page that fascinated her the most.

It was a painting, spread across both pages. A young woman with curly hair, slightly chubby but well-formed, was lying on a natural stone alter in a glade. She was open, sprawled invitingly, and casting her gaze hungrily toward the other figure in the picture.

The other figure was a beast. His body was a man’s, but he had the legs and horns of a goat. Laurel didn’t know if his cock was a goat’s, but it certainly wasn’t human. It was impossibly large - maybe the size of a person’s forearm, and the head contained numerous irregular ridges. At its base was a similarly large scrotum covered with fur.

Laurel moaned as she stroked her clitoris and consumed the details of the painting. He was there for her - Laurel could see it in both their eyes. Soon, somehow, he would fill her up with his monolithic cock. He would thrust into her and he would change her. He would make her feel things human women aren’t meant to feel. His animal breath would be on her and his strong hands would grip her tightly, and he would thrust and thrust and thrust.