Erotic Rituals of the Great God Pan

By Herrdoktor

David King never expected to be introduced into the ecstatic rituals of Pan worship when he decided to spend the night in the tiny town of Pan's Grove in the West Virginia mountains, nor did he expect to be seduced by a goddess or to become an ambassador for the community's utopian way of life. But what about his prudish wife, Marilyn, or the conservative crusaders who will use whatever means necessary to stop them? And can young love survive?

This book is intended for adult (18+) readers only as it contains explicit sexual content including group, bisexual, and mild bdsm encounters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Herrdoktor
• Release date: Jan 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005937904

Herrdoktor

Herrdoktor is a retired physician who grew up near Chicago but lived for many decades in the Pacific Northwest. He occupies his time painting, writing, and hiking. He has a long-standing interest in philosophy, religion, and neuroscience.

Book preview

There is Nothing, It PLAYS; THAT is ALL. . .

ALL is Energy becoming Matter (Nature).

ALL is Matter (Nature) becoming Energy—

This is the Dance of Pan.

ALL is Sex. ALL consensual Sex is Sacrament.

ALL sex is affirmation of the Love of Pan & Nature.

PLAY is the highest form of Prayer, Meditation, & Ritual.

In PLAY one becomes PAN & NATURE.

Thus are Satyrs born.

May All Play.

----- Aion 131

The Book of the Horned One

Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world. . .

Keep close to Nature’s heart. . .

---- John Muir

Chapter One

Local Goddess

On a random impulse (or divine inspiration?), I turned off the highway in the mountains of West Virginia and decided to take the back roads. The straight Interstate quickly gave way to endless curves around dark hills and through wooded valleys which felt welcoming rather than foreboding. It was 8 pm on a balmy summer’s night, and I had been on the road away from wife and kids for five days. I was hungry and horny, and, as I passed the brightly painted wooden sign for Pan’s Grove, population 591, I wondered if I could find some good food and . . . the other would have to wait, though I felt a small but growing urge to meet that need here tonight. I had never and didn’t want to start, but I was exasperated.

My marital fidelity wasn’t from lack of opportunity; I traveled every week except Christmas and Thanksgiving and frequently ended up at hotel bars for a nightcap to help me sleep. My good looks and natural friendliness, which always seems to come off as flirtatiousness despite the wedding ring, drew attractive women to me like some powerful pheromone. The thought: what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her crossed my mind many many times; but the fact is, I would know, and I was sure the guilt would eat through me like the conquering worm eventually. Even if I was without remorse, secrets are a slow quiet poison to a marriage; and I valued my marriage.

My wife, Marilyn, was practically perfect, a good wife, a loving mother who didn’t hover, an excellent employee and wonderful supervisor. She was even the president of the P.T.A for the high school/junior high. Women wanted to be like her, and men wanted her, probably fantasized about her in the shower or while their wives slept beside them. Yes, she was also blond and beautiful and passionate and, well, frustrating. When we made love (always in the missionary position), I would stare into her intense blue eyes and watch as she trembled and shook and screamed through her orgasm. The problem was that she wasn’t in the mood very often, maybe once every 2 or 3 weeks, while I was always in the mood (her irritated observation). And, when I brought up trying something different, different positions, toys, swinging, she wouldn’t discuss it. At least she let me go down on her occasionally, which I loved. Her taste and smell drove me crazy, but she would never reciprocate.

It was probably her conservative Christian upbringing. We were both raised on Missouri farms in the bible-belt and were even virgins when we met in college. We were agnostics now, and I was even looking into paganism, but those feelings of guilt and shame still lingered for her, I guess. I had thrown off my sexual shame, I thought, and was ready for adventure while the weight of sin still kept her from moving. So, she was vanilla in small servings, no toppings thank you, while I wanted 31 flavors in a punch bowl with several cherries. It had been almost a month now. I had been good so far but wanted very much to be bad.

Up ahead and much to my relief, I noticed a small motel with a bar and grill across the road and pulled into the motel without checking for internet ratings and hoping that wasn’t a mistake. The lobby of the Arcadia motel was filled with large house plants, more greenery than I had ever seen outside a conservatory, and the desk clerk was an attractive middle-aged woman named Beth who seemed delighted to have me staying with them. The room was clean and homey and seemed free of bedbugs, so I dropped off my bags and headed across the street. Pan’s Paradise had a large wooden porch overhung by a great willow tree and a life-sized painted image of Pan beside the front door complete with goat legs, horns, and a pan flute. As I started to open the door, I glanced at it again, admiring the artistry, and thought I saw a large, erect penis on the creature! I stepped back, and it was gone. I’ve been on the road too long, I thought. The place was almost empty for a Friday night, so I sat at the bar and ordered a ribeye with garlic mashed potatoes from the bartender, Mick, a 50-something, balding guy, who was built like a weightlifter. He was friendly, giving me a drink on the house of his own concoction. It was delicious but a little weak. The steak was done exactly right, and the potatoes were fantastic. Nice place. Nice town.

I was finishing my cherry pie and coffee when the goddess walked in, and I was immediately drawn to her by an elemental force like gravity or magnetism, inescapable. Her age was hard to determine. She possessed a beauty that was immune to the ravages of time, and her smile told of secret knowledge and promised wisdom only she could bestow to those she chose to be intimate with. Her dark hair reached down to her perfect behind which swayed as she crossed the room, smiling at Mick. Her purple dress was low cut to reveal her cleavage and looked like it had been painted on with no sign of panty lines or bra straps. It was so short I could almost see her pubic hair at the top of her shapely olive legs.

How’s it hanging, Mick? she asked with a voice like a purr.

Still nine inches, Lilith. How about you? I was a little shocked. Something told me she was more than just a customer.

Hot and bothered. I’m not ready for tomorrow night.

Definitely hot, very, always. Bothered? I think that’s where everyone is tonight, getting ready for the festival. Don’t worry, I’ve got a feeling you’ll find just what you need. He took out a quarter and slid it over the bar to her. She picked it up, nodding, and walked over to me smiling and licking her lips. I was drowning in those big brown eyes. She stood within a foot of me, and I could feel her energy. I swear, I could smell her sex. I was instantly hard and hoped she couldn’t see.

What do you like? she asked, holding up the quarter.

Being horny, my mind was immediately swimming with karma sutra images, then I realized what she was talking about. Uhh, classic rock. She tilted her head. Stones.

She ambled over to the juke box and, as she leaned over to put the quarter in, her dress rode up to reveal half her buttocks and the dark cleft of her vagina. As Honky Tonk Women came on, she started to dance, swaying with her eyes closed. Her hands slid across her body, squeezing her breasts and ass and working their way up her inner thighs. Mick was as entranced as I was, and I’m sure she knew we were both watching. Her dancing was fully sensual without being cheap and slutty. By the time the song ended, I had a wet spot on my slacks.

I’m Lilith, she said, putting her arm around me and settling into the stool next to me.

Dave King, from Chicago, I stammered.

King? Ironic, Before I could ask her what she meant, she reached down and stroked my penis! I groaned. I was shocked but helpless to protest or resist, or so I told myself. Impressive, she remarked as she felt its length and girth. Ever since I was in junior high, I always checked out the other penises in the locker room to compare, well maybe it was about more than just comparisons, and knew I was big. Marilyn had never complimented me though. She began to stroke me.

Eight inches, I moaned. Mick was drying glasses, but I was sure he knew exactly what was going on. I felt the need to say something, anything. Wa… Wa… What’s this festival all about?

It’s the annual Midsummer festival, a celebration of the horned god, Pan. It’s a blast. She was still slowly caressing me.

I’ve never heard of it. I gasped.

You wouldn’t have. It’s not advertised. It’s strictly for the town folk and a few select invited outsiders. She took my hand and slowly guided it between her thighs and up her dress until my fingers brushed against her labia majora then slipped into her vagina. She was soaked! She moved slightly, and my wet fingers slid across her erect clit. Moaning, she took my hand and brought it up to my face. I breathed in her aroma deeply. Oh, Lord! Her fragrance overwhelmed me. I was washed away by Lust, drawn into the sweet depths of the sea. She grabbed me by the belt and stood up. I was being pulled into this by a domineering goddess and my own bestial desires. I told myself it was impossible to refuse, and this allowed me to set aside my guilt for the moment, place it in a dusty superego drawer.

On my tab, Mick? His too?

Of course. See you tomorrow night! he replied.

I’m looking forward to it. I started to protest about the check, but she pulled me towards the door. As soon as we were on the porch, she unzipped my fly, took out my throbbing penis, slick with precum, and started sucking it. I could not believe she was able to take the whole thing, burying her nose in my pubic hair with her chin slapping my balls! I looked over at the painting of Pan. It seemed to be grinning directly at me and the massive erection was there again, red, almost glowing, pulsating. I was drawn to it, wanted to touch it; I wanted to . . .

Would you like to suck that cock, David? she asked, taking my prick out of her mouth then deep throating me again.

Oh god! I gasped, unable to hold back any longer. She immediately stopped and pinched my member just below the head preventing my orgasm. When the urge had passed, she put it back in my pants, grabbed my belt again, and pulled me across the street to the hotel. Beth was still in the lobby, and I know she saw my open fly, but all she did was smile and wink at the two of us as we quickly walked past.

Somehow Lilith knew which room I was in and, as soon as the door closed, she undressed me faster than I could myself, then slipped out of her dress and tossed off her black heels. She was gorgeous! Her full breasts had large dark nipples that pointed upward and were fully erect. Her ass was round and firm, and I wanted to bury my face between its cheeks. Her neatly trimmed pubic hair and the wet pink folds of her labia were a work of art. Her juices were running down her inner thighs, and I was down on my knees lapping them up in an instant. So good! She pulled me up, gasping, and pushed me onto my back on the bed, then sat on my face. She sucked on me as she rubbed her pussy all over my face, gyrating on my tongue. I was delirious. Whenever I would come close to coming, she would stop sucking and pinch me again. I was going crazy, dying to cum. Suddenly, she started shaking and screaming.

Oh god! Io Pan! Fuck me god! Without warning, a gush of warm fluid poured on to my face and into my mouth. She was a squirter! My head, neck, and chest were soaked. How hot! She abruptly jumped up off the bed, still panting, and said: I’ve got to get home right now. I just realized something. My cock was pointing straight at the ceiling and throbbing painfully. She noticed my frown and bent over to kiss it on the head, licking up some of the precum. You have to come to the festival tomorrow. I promise I will take care of you.

So, I’m invited then?

Absolutely positively officially by me. When I nodded my head, she added: I’ll be by at seven. Sleep well.

I resisted the temptation, not knowing why, of taking care of myself and slept quite well surprisingly. I dreamt I was in the forest frolicking with randy nymphs in a pond while Pan played his flute.

Chapter Two

Pan's Grove

The breakfast buffet was delicious, and the athletic young man attending it called Joe was very pleasant. I thought he might be gay because of his double earrings, and I caught him eyeing my crotch several times as though he knew I had something extra in there. I called Marilyn but didn’t confess to last night. I knew it was cheating even though I didn’t cum, but I wanted to discuss this face to face. What would be the result of my infidelity? Divorce? I loved my wife and didn’t want to lose her but felt like I had been catapulted into a whole new world. I needed this. I told her I had a possible business opportunity here and wanted to go to the festival. She was disappointed I wasn’t headed home but agreed. I was excited. But it was bugging me: what was this secret festival all about?

I spent the rest of the day exploring town, trying to answer that question. There was more to downtown than expected with a grocer, gas station, bookseller, diner, and other shops. Everything was quite ordinary, quaint, friendly, and peaceful seeming. Nothing mentioned Pan or the festival, and there was nothing unusual whatsoever except for an antique shop called Magick that sold pagan religious implements. There was nothing online about the festival either. I’m a business consultant who researches the viability of new ventures for companies. I am good at it, and I used my skills to investigate the town.

My first surprise was that Pan’s Grove was not officially the town’s name. On the map, every map and map app I checked, it was called: Brookville as well as on the website. According to the homepage, the town was founded almost 200 years ago by Scots fleeing religious persecution by the church in their homeland. It didn’t specify why they were being persecuted. Fergus McBod, the mayor, was a local boy with several businesses around the county. He looked way too young to have kids in college. His wife Lizzie was a beautiful redhead with freckles who looked just as young. The town budget was modest, and Festival was not an item in it. There was a small Catholic school run by Father Groper and sisters Agatha and Beatrice who were young and pretty and had a mischievous sparkle in their eyes. I imagined them out of habit and blushed (what was I thinking?). The Methodist church looked quite ordinary as well. Pastor Dick Hardy’s sermon last week was How to love your neighbor.

When it came to health resources, however, things were a little off. Doctor Sean Johnson, the sole practitioner in town, had degrees from MIT in botany and biochemistry and went to med school at Yale. He practiced alternative medicine as well as traditional and looked to be about 50, which didn’t line up with his graduation dates. The town counselor, Sybil Eros, had a nice figure, perky smile, and a PhD from Stanford. The pharmacist, Bill Lay, who looked like he lifted weights and had an incredibly hot wife, got his degree from Cal Tech as did the Physical Therapist, Diane Moon. They were all healthy, attractive people with educations not to be found in small towns in the hills. The massage therapist was the best: Brit Ludder was a true Scandinavian beauty, tall, blond, and buxom. I watched some of her yoga videos just to see her in spandex. What an ass! She had studied in Switzerland and gave classes in sensual massage at the high school in the summer. I ended my research with no answers but with a warm pleasant feeling about the town. Tonight, my questions would be answered, I thought, and spent the rest of the day relaxing.

Chapter Three

Còmhla!

Lilith arrived at seven sharp wearing a short purple robe which was cinched by a gold cord and which highlighted her long, tanned, athletic legs. I was in jeans and a button-down shirt.

She gave me a very wet kiss then said: Let’s get you dressed. Out of those clothes! When I looked confused, she explained: This is what everyone wears to Midsummer. She handed me a robe identical to hers and a cord. It’s warm. No need for anything else, including underwear. She smiled as I took mine off; I was half erect just from being near her. The robe was light, extremely comfortable, but barely covered my naughty bits. I slipped on some sandals. Great! Off we go!

We drove in her black Range Rover over the back roads and up a narrow valley. I quizzed her as we went, wanting to understand her incredible sexual aura. She was a widow with four kids. Her husband had been a software developer who left them quite well off. He had been shot by a hunter from a neighboring town while hiking in the mountains. They had both grown up in Pan’s Grove and were sweethearts in high school. She was the director of the community center and an avid artist. We arrived at a large clearing surrounded by apple and pear trees. The heavily wooded hills sloped upward on each side of the meadow enclosing it in green. I couldn’t count the number of cars and buses; the entire town must come to the event, I thought.

You can leave everything in the car, including your sandals. When I looked skeptical, she added: Seriously, trust me. Everything will be fine, better than fine. I felt uncomfortable venturing out into a crowd in only a small, thin, piece of cotton, but I obeyed. At least my erection had subsided. The grass was soft, bouncy, and fragrant, almost like foam but all natural. It must have cost a fortune to plant this, I thought. Everything was green around us, with lush ferns and vines reaching up to the very edge of the clearing. Lilith led me to the crowded end of the grove where a half dozen or so booths had been set up. People talked, laughed, and played, all wearing white robes except for some older teens in black who seemed busy at work. There were no children.

Why are we wearing purple? I asked.

We’re royalty, honey. I’ll explain later. Always later.

We passed a dunking booth and there sat the mayor, Fergus McBod, in the perilous position. He was in purple as was his wife Lizzie who watched from the side. She was a gorgeous red-head, slender, with fair skin and freckles; I could see her firm nipples through her robe. When a young man hit the mark dropping Fergus in the tank, she laughed with delight. He climbed out soaking wet and smiling and I noticed the fabric clinging to his member, a nice package indeed, a size befitting his office. He made no effort to adjust the cloth but walked right up to me and gave me a firm handshake.

Welcome to Pan’s Grove. I’m Fergus McBod, mayor, and this is my wife Lizzie. He was grinning.

Dave King, I replied, From Chicago.

Lizzie came up to me, looked me in the eyes with her baby blues and held my face with both hands, kissing me on the lips. She was so beautiful, so youthful, it took my breath away. I blushed. This couldn’t be the mother of six. It’s a pleasure, she said softly, still holding my face. It was intense, but if anything made me feel more relaxed.

Come along! said Lilith, waving goodbye to the McBods. There was the usual bake sale booth, where everything looked delicious, especially the Mountain High brownies. People were taking things without paying; I guess it was on the honor system. We enjoyed a snow cone but passed on the cotton candy and funnel cakes. The arts and crafts booths were the most interesting. There were candles of all colors, stones carved with Celtic runes, amulets and necklaces, and paintings of naked nymphs (or witches in others) dancing around the bonfire which brought back memories of my dream. There were multiple statues of Pan in bronze, polished stone, and wood all with horns, flute, hairy goat legs, and . . . massive erections! If they were life size, their penises would have been over a foot long! Even though it was just a statue, I found myself getting aroused which surprised me and made me feel ashamed. I had never had sex with a man before (well, except for some playing around in the locker room) and no longer thought it was morally wrong, but. . .

We’ve got one like that in our den, said Lilith, noticing my interest. Why was I not shocked?

As we ambled around, Lilith introduced me to almost everyone we met including Doc Johnson and his beautiful wife, Ali (both in purple). The doctor explained how he got to a small town in West Virginia: a charming atmosphere, a unique faith alternative (he’d let the Reverend explain), and an herb found only in this area. That was his special interest: discovering new herbal remedies. Someone called his name, and they excused themselves. For a woman well into middle-age, his wife had lovely legs and a firm butt, I noted as she walked away. I may have blushed again but was feeling less guilty as the evening progressed. The pharmacist Bill Lay (also in purple), was a rather bland man though extremely fit and highly intelligent. His wife, Penelope, on the other hand, was so stunning that I stammered. Deep pools of brown eyes, jet black hair, and large nipples that pointed up. I was instantly in love, or lust at least, or both. There was the sound of a flute, so subtle that I thought I had imagined it. Apparently, everyone else heard it because they started heading for the center of the grove.

About ten long tables that each seated maybe 30 were set up parallel to each other with benches on each side. Another table sat perpendicular and facing these with benches on the far side. The table of honor, I presumed. Behind that, on the far end of the grove, a large bonfire had been constructed but not yet lit. I noticed a low padded dais of sorts on the opposite side of the fire which struck me as odd. On the tables, there were plates, cloth napkins, and beer steins/mugs but no utensils. Lilith guided me to the far table and, noting my surprise, said: Yes, you are an honored guest. She sat to my right and the mayor and his wife sat next to her. (Wow, a very honored guest, I thought). Reverend Hardy, the Methodist minister and his wife Virginia, a petit brunette who looked like she did her Pilates every day, sat next to me. Everyone looked so healthy and youthful; they glowed. As soon as everyone was seated, the servers (the teens in black) appeared with jugs filled with a purple liquid I guessed was wine, but it was sweeter and didn’t seem to contain any alcohol. It was quite delicious, pomegranate and grape with hints of lavender, I thought.

Have you heard about our town’s history? asked the reverend after introducing himself. I said I hadn’t. Well, it was founded by Scottish pagans, descendants of the Druids, from the pasturelands, who were being persecuted by the Anglican church in the 1800s. They brought with them their own rituals, customs, and moral codes. When the Catholic church and later the Methodists came to town, they were tolerated but couldn’t make any inroads. Eventually, they had to incorporate the pagan practices into everything, to merge religions. I had noticed the priest and nuns sitting further down the table in their normal robes and habits. Don’t be misled by their dress; the Catholics have adapted as well.

Suddenly the food was here, and it was plentiful and delicious. Venison, duck, pheasant, wild boar and brook trout (evidently Pan was not a vegetarian). A cornucopia of fruits and vegetables. I watched Lilith eat with her fingers, licking them, sucking on bones; and she winked at me and briefly caressed my inner thigh. Something was happening; was it the punch? Everyone kept drinking, and the servers kept pouring. I felt warm and loving, familiar with everyone like we were all the closest of friends . . . or lovers. I was totally relaxed, not a bit self-conscious, and . . . turned on.

Pan’s punch: it’s the doctor’s concoction,