Silence stole over the hills, their scrubby growths swaying in the breeze of night. Atop a low rise, its shaggy brow crowned with the rough carved menhirs of his tribe, Mixotle knelt, raising his clawed fingers to the silver disc that was the full moon. His fur, grey and long, ran down the lengths of his slender arms, matting upon his narrow chest to travel the flat belly to the wide hips of his kind. His furry legs were folded beneath him, his hooves, cloven and black, glittered with the bright gleam of the moonlight. Slowly, the satyr would lower his arms, his nails black and pointed, to take up the bronze bowl which sat between his knees. The basin sloshed with the dark wine colored elixir, reflecting a masked face like that of a demon. A pair of yellow eyes glinted from the carven holes in the grim visage, its mouth, forever open in a snarl of menace, would pant with the heaving breaths of the shaman as he raised the bowl to the heavens. 

“Mother Moon,” his voice rose in a sonorous chant. “Mother of us all, I pray to you on this night.”

The wind whipped through the granite stones, its song howling in the tiny holes which were drilled into each menhir, a wailing like that of ghosts as the wind sighed across the hills. Above, the stars shone on the velvet of night, the moon a vast unblinking eye, her attention turned to her supplicating child. The shaman lowered the bowl and removed the mask, revealing a face grey with a wet button of a nose that glimmered silver. His lips were black, smacking wetly as he placed the mask aside. He turned his eyes to the moon, his hands lifting once more in prayer to the mother of them all. 

“Our clan has no chief. We are without a leader. I beseech you, mother. Give us this boon. Please, may my body be your holy vessel.”

Mixotle took up the bronze bowl, bringing the basin to his lips. Tipping back the contents, he drank of the bitter elixir, feeling the burning potion pour down his throat to pool hot in his empty belly. Setting the bowl in the grass, his hands came to his belly, finding the delicate cord which bound his narrow waist. Woven of leather and strung with brightly colored pebbles, it was the sole ornament which he wore. Carefully, he unbound the knot, removing the cord from his hips.

“I shall not be needing this after tonight,” he said. 

His stomach churned, the heat blooming scarlet in his cheeks as the world began to swim before his eyes. Mixotle tumbled, his hands splaying in the cool grass as he arched his back, his thighs spread wide. His rump, fattened with age, dimpled by the ample flesh which padded his sleek thighs, split, the cheeks parting to offer just a small glimpse of the dark ring which bloomed wet and eager. His cock throbbed as the potion took hold, veins bulging to pump hot blood into the velvet tip that wept its bittersweet tears upon the dewy grass. His chest heaved, his belly lurching as he would turn his face to his goddess. The moonlight streamed down from the black void of night, the silver fading, becoming a brilliant crimson before his very eyes. Like blood, that heavenly light would dribble across the expanse of heaven, pouring as wine from a clay jug to extend down to the dark horizon. His pupils would dilate, drinking in the scarlet radiance as his lips would part, his mouth opening to taste the crimson elixir which flowed from the womb of his mother. 

His tongue slid from his mouth, tasting the air, letting the breeze dance upon his flesh like extending fingers. His eyes wide, he felt the unseen hand upon his cheek, caressing his tender skin to place a thumb upon his tongue. 

“Ungh,” the shaman groaned. 

His lips closed around that nebulous digit, feeling it slid along his tongue, exploring his fangs as he began to suckle. Slowly, that thumb slipped from his jaws, his lips opening, receiving the kiss of the moonlight as crimson poured across his ripe mouth. His belly bubbled, growing warm as he felt the lips of another upon his wanting mouth. The goddess met him with that kiss which stole his breath. His lips parted, allowing her tongue to slither between his teeth. His fur rippled as unseen fingers slid along his slender arms, embracing him fully. On his knees, he let his arms fall to his sides, his head tilting back, his eyes closing. Mixotle moaned softly through flaring nostrils, relishing the taste of the goddess upon his tongue. She explored her child’s mouth, curling back to caress his palate, while Mixotle would limply strive to twine about something, anything solid, but finding nothing. The moonlight fell like a shadow, enveloping his quivering body in a lover’s embrace. Those very lips traveled from his trembling mouth to glide along the curve of his throat, finding the empty oasis of his collarbone. 

His mouth hanging slack, Mixotle fell back, his chest thrusting forward as the love of the moon mother poured from that overflowing chalice to spill down his sternum. Her fingers plucked at the ready stems of his erect nipples, pinching, twisting, his flesh tingling as the crimson light sparkled on each glistening bud. 

“Uh, Mother,” he sighed. “Please, do not tease your child. I… I wish for this.”

Fingers like that of a whispering breeze rustled through the fur of his chest, sliding ever downward to come to the concave hollow of his clenching belly. There, the moonlight strayed across his lower belly, circling the deep well of his navel. Hands invisible clasped his wide hips, making the satyr moan as he fell onto his elbows. Crossing his arms, he laid his horned head upon his wrists, his ass thrusting to the sky. 

“Mother, give me what I ask for. I am ready to receive your gift.”

The light of the crimson moon spilled like hot wine across his flabby rump, pouring into the deep cleft of his wobbling cheeks. His fur rustled, moving as if by unseen fingers that slid down the curve of his back. Mixotle’s thighs began to quiver, his cock spurting the first glimmering string of shing precum as he felt his cheeks beginning to split. Cast in scarlet, his puckering ring offered itself to the unblinking eye which loomed in the black veil of night. Puffy flesh quaked, opening slightly to trickle its pungent nectar which ran down the satyr’s inner thigh, lost in the shaggy grey fur as Mixotle mewled. Crimson light swam across the shaggy hills that were his dimpled cheeks, coming to caress his button. A tongue slid around his puffy anus, lapping the sweet dew like that of a lover. Slowly, luxuriously, the mother of them all plunged her ethereal tongue deep, slipping into Mixotle’s wailing core. Nothing would prevent the holy light of the moon from penetrating deep, of seeing the very soul of her precious child. Her tongue curled, sliding along his quivering rectum, swirling endlessly as she came in once more. 

“M-Mother,” whimpered the shaman. “Oh, Moon. Please, I cannot last under this agonizing pleasure.” He clawed at the wet earth, sinking his head to the damp grass. “Oh, please do not torture me so.”

That radiant tongue slid back, removing itself from his glistening anus, leaving his ring gaping and ready. HIs belly heaving, Mixotle waited, his heart hammering in excitement as the spongy glans touched his petals. The moonlight throbbed, pulsating as the earth grew dark all around him. The pouring band of dribbling scarlet narrowed, flowing into the open blossom of the satyr’s offered womb. His flesh stretched, pain and exquisite pleasure erupting in his brain as the ethereal girth filled his hungering belly. To any passerby, to see such a sight would be to witness the satyr’s ring expanding of its own accord, widening to that of a saucer as the red light of the moon flowed to him. Thrusting deep, it pulled back, thousands of tiny fingers tickling his flesh as Mixotle screeched his jubilation to the heavens. 

“A-Ah, Mother, yes,” he wept. Tears streamed from his eyes, his fingers digging up clods of sodden earth as he screamed. “Oh, please. Do not stop!”

Moonlight poured deep, expanding his hungry womb, planting the holy seed of life to stir and grow. Sliding back, now forward, the moonlight swirled, bucking within him as precum spurted from the satyr’s tip. The song of elation was sung, echoing across the hills, rebounding from the silent menhirs as Mixotle fell to his side, his back arching, his belly thrusting up to the scarlet orb above him. Sweat dampened his fur, his body tingling, alive with the glorious jubilation of impending birth. His belly was already swelling, the concave indent of his stomach bloating outward as the first kicks of new life pushed against his gravid flesh. His hands gingerly fell to his growing middle, exploring the swelling flesh of his pregnant belly. 

“I feel it,” he giggled. “I feel it.” His voice rose in hysterics as agony fell away to boundless joy. 

His fingers slid up the curve of his stomach, coming to delicately cup his chest. His nipples ached, growing dark, the areolas expanding as his breasts filled with fresh milk. Tiny droplets of purest albin beaded upon those tender stems, flowing down his nipples to trickle into his fur. His cock wept, seed flowing like melting candle wax as the hands of his mother, the crimson moon, would travel along his ever swelling belly. Swaddled in scarlet, he moaned as the warmth of holy life enveloped him. Unseen lips were on his belly, spreading over his distended navel, while his glistening lips were locked in a kiss, his breasts heaving, wobbling under ghostly fingers that clutched his milky chest. 

His belly lurched, growing larger, expanding to six months, then to full term. Before his eyes, he grew to the size of twins, his flesh boiling as the life within him pushed, seeking the exit from his bloated womb. His belly dropped, claws raking at his flesh as the pangs of birth struck him. Mixotle rolled to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks as his womb would break. Blood and fluid gushed from his puffy anus, his ring expanding as the first life would slip from its cradle. His belly clenched, pain exploding in his brain, fire racing up his spine as his slick flesh shuddered. Sweat ran from his shaggy brow, mingling with the shimmering saliva that dribbled from his jaws as he sobbed. His cock erupted, spurting its ropy strands as the pressure of birth crushed his trembling prostate. 

“Mother,” he pleaded to the moon. “Mother, forgive me. I cannot do it. It is too much for me.”

Radiant crimson closed around him, embracing him as the first body slipped from his womb. Warmth suffused his limbs, his body shaking as the horned head emerged from his quivering ring. His belly sagged, fluttering with the life within him and Mixotle’s eyes opened, growing wide as he realized that another was yet to be born. A second child emerged to lie in the blood soaked grass beside its sibling. The satyr collapsed to the damp earth, his gaze turning to the moon above as the crimson glow would fade. Silver light once more streamed across the hills, making the menhirs glow with a faint luminescence as Mixotle took up the infants in his arms. Twins, both so perfect to his eyes. 

“You,” he said to the child in his left arm, “shall become a great chieftain. One who will lead us to prosperity.” To the child in his right arm, he said, “You shall grow to become a wise shaman. A leader to keep our souls upon the righteous path.”

Chubby fingers came to his swollen breasts, tiny, suckling mouths closing around his leaking nipples. 

“Yes,” he laughed as the tickling grew in his breast. “Drink deeply, my children. Grow strong, for the future is yours, my children of the moon.”