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Mardi Gras
by Taylor D.

New Orleans was a throbbing, steamy city, decadent and seedy as an aged whore. Now, for Mardi Gras, she was dressed in her finest, decked out in gilt, rhinestones and sateen, dancing and cavorting like a nymph. On every street corner music wailed, her siren song calling still more to her broad avenues to spin and worship in sweaty ecstasy.

James eased his way through the crowded streets, scanning the swaying raucous crowds for the masks of his friends. The Pied Piper, Harlequin, and the Queen of Sheba were lost in the tidal wave of a mammoth parade. His Satyr costume had drawn admirers to him and he'd been kissed and pawed by Nymphs, Princesses, and an occasional Grendel. His hairy chest was covered with a kaleidoscope of beaded largess and his long dark hair and beard were tousled. With the realistic furred leggings, hooves and tail he was the complete picture of Bacchanal excess.

Another scrawny Nymph whirled his way and he backed into an alley to avoid her drunken kisses. She screeched a high piercing laugh and staggered away. Relieved he leaned against the cool dark stone building. The light had fled suddenly and streetlights flickered to life. In the quick brightness, a white form appeared before him. James raised one hand to shade his eyes.

His breath caught as he stared at the vision before him. She stood poised like a startled doe, her green eyes wide. A sudden breeze blew her long ashen hair from her face and the white and purple gauze of her dress wrapped tight around her tensed body.

In a heart beat his senses captured her beauty, burning it in his mind and branding him with a heat he had never before experienced. She was tall, at least five foot nine and richly curved. The white silk snapped about round, strong calves and her thighs were each the size of an ordinary woman's waist, yet more appealing for their supple plumpness. A sash of purple cut between those rich legs hinting at deeper shadows, then curved out and out in a great arc, a globe of perfect femininity, fat and tempting his arms to capture and sink into the rapture of sweet flesh. The purple curved in a sash around her bountiful waist, then crossed between her lavish breasts.

He ached to touch her, to undo the cloth that bound such beauty. Unknowingly, he stepped forward, his hooves clattering on the cobblestones. Her eyes widened and she turned and leaped away, her sweet posterior bouncing lasciviously.

Without thought, his will bent, following the purpose of the form he wore, James followed. The sound of his hooves softened as he tracked her into the park, beating a muffled tattoo on the new spring grass. His awkwardness in the costume was gone, as if it had fused to his skin. He no longer wore it, it wore him. His tail lashed in the rising wind and he felt the excitement of its movement in his buttocks and groin. An ivory figure moved through the dark grove of trees, then disappeared. Cautious now, he slipped amongst the branches. The wood moaned and new leaves whispered as the heady scent of lilacs freshened the air. A reflecting pond glittered in the center of the grove. The moon broke through gray clouds sending glittering prisms of light into the gloom.

She knelt on the mossy shore, brushing one hand over the water, then lifting it to watch the droplets catch and drip back in tiny moonlets. He exhaled heavily and she looked up into his eyes. Her cheeks flushed, then she smiled.

No words would describe the wash of sensation that clutched him drawing him from the woods into her outspread arms. His hurry and animal lust gentled as she lay back and his body came to rest on her cushioning belly and breasts. Her broad thighs spread and engulfed him, holding him tightly to her. Slowly, he raised his hand to her soft cheek and she turned slightly, running the tip of her tongue on the inside of his palm. He lowered his mouth to hers and thought ceased as he tasted her. Beneath him, she began to move and her flesh took up a quivering rhythm that pulsed into his veins.

Roughly, he ripped at the cloth that kept him from touching her and she threw back her head and laughed as the cloth parted. A quick pull and his shirt and the tawdry beads were gone and again he bent to kiss her while her nipples rose and hardened against the fur of his chest. He slid his great hand beneath her, kneading one ripe buttock, then moving it up and up until he cupped a large handful of sweet, fat belly.

Her hands became serious, exploring his body with fever, touching him in ways he had never been touched before. Her flesh quaked beneath him as she shifted in readiness, straining against him.

He cupped her breasts and bent his lips to them, licking and sucking the splendid mounds. She moaned deeply and then yipped as he nipped her gently. In the distance, the Mardi Gras congregation raised voice in celebration and he joined them baying his desire across the deep pool.

Her strong calves spasmed and he plunged into her purple depths. It was her turn at capture and caught within her on the verge of delirium he could only follow as she arched her back and rolled until he lay on the moss and she straddled him.

She grinned with delight and slowly, oh so slowly, rocked forward. Her belly spread and jiggled against him and he cupped her flanks, pulling her down and down as her deep internal muscle fought to hold him. With a wild whoop, she broke his grip and leaned back, her breasts bobbing. She began to bounce.

If eyes could orgasm, his would have at the sight of her flesh rocking and swaying. It was as seductive as the feel of her erotic motion. His hooves drummed the earth and she curled over him, her hair engulfing them both as the first waves of ecstasy swept over them. Again and again they climaxed, slipping over the moss until they lay half in the cool water. Every filament of his body burned bright from her lovemaking and she shone like a star in his arms. At last, the moon slipped behind a cloud and they coiled together, silent, exalting in the echos still ringing in their flesh. He felt nothing but her softness and warmth as he dropped into sleep.

He woke to soggy wetness and the deep ache of pummeled flesh. He lay alone at the bank of the pond. Groggily, he sat up and groped for memory. Not real, he thought. A product of the excesses of Mardi Gras. Slowly he stood, swaying on his mangled hooves a toe peeking here and there through the beaten leather. Something heavy dragged at his rear as he turned to go, he reached back and snatched his bedraggled tail. Tied to its end was a long, silken purple sash.