this is a very sexy pic.

Thank you, Sir.

Looking great!

Happy birthday!

Yes... sir...

"Let's take a good look at you, Boy."
The Satyr puts a finger underneath the waistband of your underwear and pulls, sliding them down to your feet. Your cock bounces free of the restraining fabric.
"Much better," he purrs, and you feel his dick press against the cleft of your ass.
To be continued.

The satyr caresses your ass cheek in a slow, lazy circle, and you feel yourself fading into his touch. He whispers into your ear, encouraging you to let go, to become one with your desire.
His hand moves to the front of your underwear and your cock throbs even harder.
"not yet," he whispers.

But the satyr puts his hand on your ass cheek, gently pressing through the fabric of your briefs, and any thought you had is lost in a wave of desire and pleasure. You moan softly, unable to stop yourself as your last bits of self control fade away.

He pulls your jeans down, exposing your briefs and the straining bulge beneath them. There is already a spreading pool of precum on the front. Somewhere deep inside your mind there is a flash of embarassament and anger at your exposure.

The flute plays a series of notes, pulling your hands to the button of your jeans and snapping them open. You slide down the zipper and open them, and the satyr stops.
Your hands freeze on the fabric of your jeans. He gently pushes them away, bringing them down to your sides.

Finally, He picks up his flute again, and plays a slow, seductive melody. You feel your hands moving on their own, dropping down to your boots and untying the laces. You step out of your socks and shoes and feel fallen leaves and soft dirt beneath your bare feet.

You feel the Satyr's hot breath on the back of your neck as he toys with your chest, making you flex for him, and putting you into pose after pose.
His rough hands feel good on your skin and his deep voice penetrates your foggy mind, making you hornier and hornier. But you can't do anything about it

The Satyr picks up your arm. "Whenever I move you into a position, you will hold it, until I tell you to stop, or until I play the flute again. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good Boy," he says, as he pulls your flannel shirt off and tosses it away. "You won't be needing this."

"No..." you moan the word and he smiles. The fingers tighten on your nipple.
"No, Sir," he corrects you. A torrent of pain and pleasure rushes through you.
"No, Sir." you gasp, unable to resist his command.
"Good Boy. But you will find that you are my statue, and I can shape you as I see fit."