("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2007. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Goat Girl by Goat Girl (goatsmate@yahoo.com) *** My introduction to Goat Passion (g/beast, 1st) *** Goats are passionate. I know. I was twelve and a virgin. And you have a dirty mind if you think I lost my virginity at twelve. I didn't! Exactly. Dad was a delegate to an international conference on atomic energy that summer. Mom had never been to Europe, though dad had many times. His company paid for mother's ticket, but they wouldn't pay for mine. I was bundled off to aunt Charlotte's for two weeks. I'm a city girl, or I was then. Oh, not a big city girl. More of a semi-city girl. We lived in a middling- sized city in the great Pacific Northwest. The most exposure to the country I got was a drive past farmer's fields or a twelve-mile trip to a small outlying town where it was common to see horses and goats in front yards. The only reason we ever went out there was to visit one of my parent's friends or to hit the yard sales. Mom was a great yard-saler, but she wasn't an animal person. Neither was I, really. I had a fish. That's the start and finish of my creature experience until aunt my two weeks at aunt Charlotte's. Aunt Charlotte raised goats. She had a small flock of French Alpines and another smaller group of Nubians. I like goats. A lot. I have my own. They make cute babies. The babies are fun to hold. I'm sure they're fun to make too – from the goat's perspective. I like goat milk. I like goat cheese. I like goat ... Well, before I finish that sentence, let me tell you about my stay at Charlotte's. There were the usual goodbyes. Mom hugged me and cried. Dad kissed my cheek and said, "Be good for your aunty." I didn't say much of anything. I didn't know my aunt very well. I didn't want to be left behind. The truth of the matter is, I was feeling a bit abandoned. I watched them leave, staring after dad's car until I saw only the flash of tail lights in the dust the car stirred up as it pulled out onto the gravel road that led to my ... prison? New life, maybe. Charlotte is a very nice person, but my first day was not fun. She tried to cheer me with chocolate cake and milk. I ate it, enjoying every bite. But I let her carry the conversation. She reached across the table and patted my hand. "You'll do fine, honey. I'll keep you so busy you won't have time to miss them." She kept that promise, mostly. The first thing we did was feed the animals. We made sure the goats had plenty of hay. She kept a pile of dried leaves in their pastures too. "Roughage," she said, as if I knew what roughage was. I did, actually, after I thought about it. But the idea that goats needed it was new. "Sort of, 'a leaf a day keeps the vet away'?" I quipped. Aunty laughed at that. As she chuckled she scooped a nearly knew Alpine kid from under the manger and pushed it against my chest. I had no choice but to hold it. And I fell instantly in love with the little thing. "What's his name, Aunt Charlotte?" I asked. "It's a she, and she doesn't have a name yet." "Tammy. Her name is Tammy." "Unusual choice." Charlotte winked. We tended the Nubians next. They're a larger breed of goat than French Alpines, and not as elegant looking. Charlotte had three Nubian bucks. She kept them separate from the females, putting two or three tail- wagging does in with them. This was my first up-close and personal with a Buck, and note the capital "B." The largest of the bucks was as tall as I was and am. At four feet, ten inches, I could look him in the eye. Now, in what little goat- porn fiction circulates on the web, the buck is usually mean, aggressive, practically a rapist. I suppose that adds spice to the story, and the idea may come from how goats mate. But Bucky was a friendly cuss. He nibbled my shirt until it was saturated with goat spit. I'd pull it out of his mouth, and he'd find it and nibble some more. Finally I just let him slobber while I petted him. Goats have very unusual eyes. My best friend say they have "evil eyes." They aren't at all evil. Just goatie. Bucky had no horns. All the males were de-horned at birth. He let me rub his coarse but still soft hide, and I decided Bucky was a fascinating if not too large creature. Your waiting for the sex, aren't you? Well, there wasn't any just then. Charlotte called me over to the water trough, and I filled it using one of the biggest garden hoses I've ever seen. Filling a nearly empty water trough is boring. I let the water run and watched Bucky. He was ignoring the does, nannies to you. Isn't confusing that "does" as in 'he does it" and does and is "doe a dear, a female dear," are spelled the same? I've always found it so. He wasn't ignoring himself. Male goats do some unusual things. They have talents in the area of flexibility, and they have a pee fetish. They can extend their penis and reach back an lick it. Bucky did that. I was fascinated. He tasted his own pee, and sprayed his beard with it. It was a tad gross, and totally interesting. I watched. Watched, nothing! I frankly stared. I stared at his long, very pink, skinny "thingie." It was about as big around as a man's thumb and maybe seven or eight inches long. It flared a bit at the end. It was ... not what I imagined at all. I guess I imagined this huge fat thing. It's not like that at all. "Goat's ain't horses or donkeys," my best friend will tell you. "He wants to smell nice for the ladies," Charlotte said. "Smell nice?" "The ladies like it, Hun. It's part of mating behavior." "Oh," I said, and continued to stare, open-mouthed, I'm sure. Charlotte shrugged. "That's life on the farm," she said. "Now, go clean up, and we'll fix dinner. Or would you like to eat out?" Eating out we did. She took us to a little place called the Baire Hut, and we had some homey but really delicious breakfast food, even if it was dinner. She was faithful to her promise. I thought little about mom and dad until we got home. I declined a movie and went up to my room. I knelt at the window and stared at nothing, wishing I had gone with them and wondering where they were at that minute. "Probably in New York," I muttered. Jolly old Bucky was licking himself again. I watched that. He and another of the males decided to head-butt each other. I watched that. I notice now what I failed to see then. Guys are a lot like male goats. They have questionable hygiene, they would all like to lick themselves if they were that flexible, and they head- butt in one fashion or another... and they think a lot about sex. As their play progressed, I though less about my parents. I was engrossed in their mating ritual. I didn't know that's what I was watching, of course. I found out fast enough. Bucky was the largest male. Bucky won the ritualized contest. And Bucky got the girl. Have you ever watched goats "do it"? It's not the stuff of goat-porn. Goats don't hump. They're not like dogs. Bucky herded the female. He bumped into her side, shoving her some. He laid his head on her rump. Decided things weren't just right. He shoved her aside again and rested his head on her back. He did a kind of stamping dance, and he made a sound that for all the world reminded me of a turkey gobble. I giggled. And then he was up and on her. He sprang up, was in, and was right off. The whole process repeated, and repeated and repeated. He had her ten times, at least. I could see the slickness. I was enthralled by it. Each mounting was quick, but it went on and on. My stomach burned with an adrenalin rush. I felt embarrassed. I was sexually excited, and I wished Bucky was doing it to me. Now if you think I plotted, at twelve, to go down and have sex with a male goat, you really are a pervert! Of course I didn't have sex with Bucky. But, let me tell yo what I did. Bucky and his girl friends became my focus. I watched their matings, though a surreptitiously as possible. I mean, who wants to demonstrate to the world that they're made horny as heck by watching a goat lick himself, head butt his friends, taste girl-goat pee and his own pee, and stick it to the lady goats? Would you admit it? Okay, so I didn't either. But, I found myself wet and full of desire. I slipped my fingers into the spot that matters and wondered if the girly-goats liked Bucky as much as I did. I made feeding Bucky and the other males my job. On Tuesday of that first week, Aunt Charlotte left me alone while she went grocery shopping. And I was delighted. I didn't have a plan. I certainly didn't plan to have sex with Bucky. What I did was stand at the gate to the pen and pat him in the same fashion I had every day. I enjoyed rubbing his neck and he liked it. I had never been in the pen. My aunt warned me not to. I saw why once when she went in and one of the males tried to mount her. He reared up and dropped his forelegs over her shoulders. She just shrugged him off and called him a "bad boy." "They'd mate with a rock if they could," she said. Okay, so I ignored what she said. I let myself in with Bucky. I was tired of petting through the fence. I wanted more contact. Now you're thinking, "ah ha! She did have sex with him" or "I bet the goat got her!" No. I told you no. What did happen is that I petting his flank, and I enjoyed the soft feel. He lifted his left rear leg and licked himself, as he did often enough. I bent down to watch and impulsively touched that long, very warm, pink thing. He jumped a bit, and I jumped back. He eyed me, and for a moment I was afraid. But, he made no aggressive moves. In fact, he leaned into me quite gently, and I took that as an invitation to resume my petting. I did. I was shaking with an overflow of hormones and adrenalin. I wanted to belong to this goat! When he extended his penis again and licked, I touched him again, more gently, more slowly, and he let me. He arched his back for a moment, and then stood with his hind legs spread and his penis extended and resting in my hand. I rubbed it as gently as I had stroked his fur. He grunted, and my hand was covered in goat-goo. He was still quite hard. And I continued to stroke him. He let me, only shifting his weight. I gently touched his testicles. They're really quite large, you know. He seemed not to like that, so I confined myself to his very warm penis. Goat temperature is much higher than human body temperature. It is noticeable. I know in more ways than one. Goats are hot. More goo and a bit more grunting and he broke it off. Some people hate the smell of a rutted goat. They are nauseated by male scent and by the scent of goat sex. I'm not. I like it. I like the feel of goat-goo. I like the smell. And, I found out right then and there, I like the taste. Yes, I did. I sniffed at it, cautiously at first, and then fully. This is nice. I tasted it with the tip of my tongue. Just the tip mind you, nothing more. There wasn't much taste at the tip, but when I retracted my tongue, I got the flavor of it, and I licked it off my hands. I think, if I could have figured out how at twelve, I would have given him oral sex.. Instead I became conscious of the time, and was worried that my aunt would return soon. I ran off to the house, and took a quick shower. I was still shaking for excitement, and I used the shower to relax and to make the wet between my legs go away. And I wondered exactly what it would be like to be Bucky's Doe. Though I brought him to climax almost daily, given the chance, I never attempted sex with him. I never got past touching and licking the result off my hand. But Bucky entered my fantasy life. My primary sexual fantasy all my teen year and into adulthood was Bucky. Is that all, your asking? Oh, heck no! I grew up, thankfully. I wasn't especially wild. I never did drugs. I was a virgin when I married. We made babies. I dreamed of Bucky! Along the way I acquired a girl- friend who introduced me to lesbian sex. Now, that's part of a different story. I'll tell you that later, maybe. It's enough to tell you that with her I tasted girly-pee for the first time, and found out why Bucky liked it. I experienced a bit of bondage. I became the joint property of my husband and my girl friend. Now my girl friend and I fell into a game we called "what would you do for me." Perhaps others play this too. We felt as if we invented it. We snuggle and one asks, "would you (fill in the blank with the outrageous act of your choice) for me?" You're free to say no, but if you say yes to any thing, your partner can require you to do it. So we're getting more and more wild. I'm blithely agreeing to almost everything. I've said no to robbing a bank. That seemed extreme. I've said yes to toe sex (hey, I like it!), to being a pony girl for the day (done that), to running through the park naked (with the mental reservation that it has to be at 2 am) and almost everything else she's suggested. Finally, she paused with deep thought. She was seeking the most outrageous thing she could find. "Well, will you have sex for a goat for me?" she finally asked. All the sexual excitement I had nurtured with fantasy and with my two-week love affair with Bucky came back. I felt dizzy. I felt hot. And I said yes. "Good," she said. "Let's find a goat." She expected me to back out. Instead I went to the phone and called my cousin. She had goats. "Jane, it's me! Yes, Jane, we'll have to do that? Friday? Sure, bring the kids and we'll make a day of it... Uh, Jane, I want a goat... Two of them? Why? Oh, I see. Socialization? I didn't know goats had socialization issues... So how much? Oh that's nice of you... Two females? Oh, no. I think we want a pair. Male and female... You will? Okay. This afternoon. I'll meet you out there." Now we own some property along the river. It's fairly isolated out there. There's an old barn, a small stone house, a few out buildings. We had no animals other than a stray dog we'd adopted. My husband used it to fish, and we had picnics and such out there. Now, it would be home to my goats. When Jane showed up she only had the male. He was and is beautiful. He isn't any particular breed. He's got a bit of angora in him, I'm sure. He is fairly large, though not as big as Bucky was, though he probably weighs 70 lbs. I was in love. Call it love at first sight. "Where's the female?" I ask. "I'll bring her later. He was bothering her. You watch out for him; he'll try to mate with anything." I'd heard that before. And it was just what we wanted! So we got him off the truck. He strutted around as if he owned the place, and in a real sense he did take ownership of his new surroundings. We left him munching the sweet green grass, and said our thanks and goodbyes to Jane. Then we looked at each other and burst out laughing. "Now what do we do?" my girl friend asked. I shrugged. "Well, I guess we're going to get acquainted with the goat," I said. "Really well acquainted..." I said earlier that I liked goat scent. But this goat was just nasty. He had peed on himself so much that he was crusty. He smelled like something died, rotted, came to life again, and re-died. Yes, it was that bad. "You need a bath!" I said. Have you ever bathed a reluctant goat? This was difficult, but we finally got him tied up, sudsed up and rinsed. He decided he liked the hair dryer. And he took to brushing rather well. This consumed a lot of time, but it was worth while. Not only did he smell a lot nicer, but I found he liked his nether regions washed. He was a tad jumpy. But we fell into it. So ... what next? What next indeed. I got naked. He did nothing. Except he ate grass. My girl friend tried to coax him onto me. That didn't work. I patted my bare butt and wiggled it. That didn't work. I was becoming frustrated; he was content with grass; and my girl friend was giggling. "Pretend you're a goat. Go Baaaaaaa," she said. Now that was an idea. I didn't go baaaaaa, but I dropped to my elbows and I peed. Female pee attracts male goats, and girl-goats do it on their knees. He noticed. He sniffed. He licked where it matters. If I wasn't hot and horny before, that lick did it. He bumped my side, hard. I staggered a little to the side, if one can call being jostled to the side when on one's hands and knees staggering. He laid his head on my butt and he was up! Okay big goat passion scene now: He missed. We didn't connect. I raised my butt, and he tried again. He made it in. He gave a little jumping sort of trust. I felt his hot cum. It's a very pleasant warm feeling. It's slick, very hot feeling and it's pearlescent in appearance. It still smells wonderful to me. Receiving it where it is meant to be received is better than getting it all over your hand, that's for sure! My girl friend says, "That's it?" Before I can say, "Just watch," he's up and on me again. I lost count, but about ten, maybe eleven times later, he gives me a shove aside. It's his "I'm done, but I'll be back" notification. We mate at least twice a day. We have for four years now. If there were a way for me to have my goat's babies, I would do that too. Oh, and I no longer lick it off my hands. I've learned to suck it from the source. That was a bit of an adventure. It made him nervous the first time, though he settled down fairly fast. Now he herds me. When he seems me he starts shoving me where he wants me. If I'm not undressed quickly enough, he head butts. He treats me as if I'm a doe. I am a doe. His. The female goat duly arrived. I'm not jealous at all. Besides, given a choice between us, he always picks me. END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 50