Centaur

It was a bright, sunny morning in Lapica. The sky was a pleasant shade of blue, with just enough wispy, inoffensive clouds to be called calm. It was like something out of a painting, complete with fluttering songbirds and golden rays of sunlight poking through the cypress trees.

Everything was perfect, as if the very gods had ordained that the day be beautiful, all for Rhoda’s wedding. She was my eldest cousin, and her father-my uncle-had spared no expense in paying for the ceremony. The grandeur was just as much for Rhoda as it was for her betrothed, Paphilos, a handsome sailor with olive skin and bright green eyes like emeralds. My uncle clearly wanted to make a good impression on the comely seaman, and the wedding feast had been divine. We had dined on wild boar, fresh olives, exotic fruits given as a gift by Paphilos, fresh caught sea bass and strange little seeds that made my whole mouth light on fire from the spice. We even had salt, fine wines and remarkable foreign spices!

Our families had sat at separate tables, but Rhoda’s eyes were always fixed on Paphilos. Admittedly, mine were too. How could I not be enamored with his lean, muscular physique, that salt-tossed hair and those glittering, emerald eyes? My heart skipped a beat and warmth had burst within my chest when he looked at me, and I was sure he could see the blush as it rushed through my face. What else would he see? An inferior image of his bride? Wavy blonde hair and pale skin like Rhoda, but my breasts weren’t as developed as hers, and I lacked that perfectly feminine figure my cousin grew into, something I had always envied her for. His gaze had left as soon as it graced me, but it left me warm and aroused for the rest of the night. As the feast went on and I made small talk with the other guests, nodding politely while listening to news about the oil business or asking how one’s mother was, I kept stealing jealous glances at my cousin’s bride, sharp intakes of breath and nervous gasps showing my excitement.

Eventually the wine ran dry and the food was all eaten, and the guests began to filter out with shaky legs and foggy visions. Rhoda and Paphilos were taken to their chambers to be anointed and cleansed before the ceremony the following day, but I could see the lusty gazes they gave each other, the raw animal passion they felt visible in their body language, the way their mouths wordlessly worked and their hips moved. I wanted that. I wanted that so badly I could cry, but all I could do was bite my tongue, clench my fist and retreat to my chambers.

As everyone else had slept with full stomachs and foggy minds, I remained hot and needy, my breath heavy and my head filled with Paphilos’ handsome face. My hand had snuck down to my loins, my fingers rubbing the damp folds of my sex as I imagined myself in Rhoda’s place. Gods, he was handsome. As my folds grew wetter I imagined those hands, those dexterous, calloused sailor‘s hands that must be strong and rough from years of tying ropes and hoisting anchors and all those things sailors did. My wine-fueled mind thought of those hands roaming all over me, undoing my dress and letting it fall from my body as his mouth pecked at me, those green eyes holding my attention like nothing else on earth. Two fingers probed my entrance, and as I gasped I wished they were his. To my shame I was no virgin, something I regretted every day. What man would want a used woman like me, someone whose purity was compromised? Hot breath escaped my lips and I shut my eyes and rolled onto my chest, picturing Paphilos positioning himself behind me, taking hold of my rear with those hands and-

My arousal reached its zenith, and a rush of fluids escaped my nethers, drenching my fingers and causing me to convulse, my inner walls clenching around my digits how I wished they would around Paphilos. I had only been with a man once before, and it was something I remembered with guilty fondness. The feeling of warm fullness, of hands and skin on my most sensitive areas, of feeling the weight of another on top of me. If my father ever found out about my secret liaison he would disown me, and I feared that one day he would find me touching myself, dreaming of men.

I slipped into unconsciousness, my wet hand slipping out from between my thighs, envy and lust my last thoughts before a warm sleep overcame me.

The next morning was as beautiful as the one before it, even more so as I saw the sun rise and the sky change to fantastic colors. The ceremony would be in a few hours, and even my jealousy was pushed aside by anxious, jubilant feelings of anticipation. If I had butterflies in my stomach, I couldn’t imagine what Rhoda was feeling.

In preparation all the guests, myself included were anointed with sacred oils, our bodies purified as the hot liquid washed over us. I suppose I needed it more than most, and if the priests noticed the residue of last’s nights activities on my legs they didn’t show it. I felt better knowing my guilty fluids would be gone during the wedding. It was symbolic in a way; the oils would wash away the residue of last night, and with them my shameful lusts, my envy would go with them. In theory at least, I didn’t know if I could maintain my composure while watching Paphilos take Rhoda’s hand, hearing him vow he would never touch another woman, that he would belong to Rhoda even until the day the underworld claimed them.

Nevertheless, I accepted the slim white dress the priests offered me, paid for by my uncle no doubt. The color of fresh milk with a pale green hem, leaving one of my soft shoulders exposed and revealing a faint glimpse of the side of my breast, I felt proud that I could wear something so fine, so regal. Of course it would be nothing in comparison to what Rhoda wore, but she was the bride after all, I was merely an observer. I tried to purge jealousy from my mind; I should be happy for her, thankful that the gods graced her with such a wonderful husband, that she was granted such a wonderful day to have her wedding.

We were led around the temple by the priests, the procession forming a large ring around the ceremonial fire at it’s heart. We tried to keep silent, though murmured whispers could be heard now and then, as the priests scattered scented seeds around the ring and recited prayers of matrimony. While they tried to command an air of respect, it was clear they’d seen such gatherings a hundred times before, and would go through the same ritual, the same song and dance next week, so they afforded us some small breaches of ceremony. Still, the importance of the date was not lost on me and my fellow guests, not least Rhoda and Paphilos’ parents, who I could see at the edge of the ring. Dressed in fineries of gold and silk, my aunt was looking as fertile and vivacious as her daughter while my uncle was wringing his hands and glancing nervously at the priests. Paphilos’ family was more composed, but a heavy sweat coated his mother, and she clenched her husband’s hand so tight that her knuckles were as white as her dress.

Everyone perked up at the sound of hoof beats, even the normally stoic priests looking quizzical. I hadn’t expected the bride and groom to arrive by horseback, this sort of thing was highly unusual, especially since I heard what sounded like a dozen animals. It was forbidden for a woman to ride a horse, so I questioned what the purpose of this part of the ceremony was. A nervous murmur went through the ring, Paphilos’ mother’s sweat becoming a heavy rain of perspiration as his father chewed on his fingernails. My aunt and uncle were just as confused, and they looked from each other to the priests in uncertainty. My own confusion was visible, and I craned my neck in the direction of the hoof beats, taking care not to break the circle of matrimony and ruin the ceremony.

A strange whooping accompanied the thunder of the horses, and the uncertainty among us turned to worry, even fear. The priests tried to keep us calm, but their own furrowed visages betrayed them. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything, I wondered. What was going on?

I got my answer as the first beast arrived. Though the lower two thirds of it were a muscled, chestnut stallion, it’s upper third was that of a wild, unkempt man. His hair was dirty and tangled, his face red and bestial. He stopped upon seeing the ring and trotted in place, watching our panicked reaction as the sacred ring broke and the families bolted from the bestial creature, the men trying their best to move the women and children somewhere safe. With a drunken whoop the horse-man reared back and galloped into the crowd, reaching down and scooping Paphilos’ mother up with one hand. The scene held me paralyzed, even as more and more of the monsters arrived. One, a massive black stallion with a beard almost as long as his tail, carried Rhoda under his arm and a bottle of wine in the other. My cousin’s once-gorgeous dress was in tatters, spun gold and white that would have stunned queens now just multicolored rags clinging to her womanly frame. She saw me with teary, bloodshot eyes that made me want to cry, her perfect wedding day spoiled and her very life now in peril. My cousin screamed, a hoarse, terrified yowl like I had never before heard from a woman, a screech that spoke of true, animal fear and desperation. This earned her a painful-sounding smack on the rear from the stallion, who hiccupped and trotted past us, cutting off escape routes and threatening to kick any who dared pass him by.

They must have numbered more than thirty, all well muscled wildmen from the waist up and wild stallions from the waist down, all red in the face from drink. They were faster than we were, and quickly formed a ring around us, trapping us in a net of stomping hooves, whooping yells and powerful equine legs.

“Centaurs,” screamed one of the priests, grabbing a blazing stick from the fire. “Centaurs! You are not welcome here, this is a place of the gods!”

He waved the stick in front of him as one of the herd approached, a straw-colored monster with dirt and other filth caked into his coat. The stallion scoffed at the holy man’s efforts at defense, and kicked him square in the chest with one of his dirty hooves. The priest was flung backwards into the sacred fire, spilling the coals into the panicked crowd that hung around it.

“Gods don’t want to protect you,” chuckled the centaur in a broken tongue, “seem fine letting us do what we please.” The half-horse kicked back and forth, making a great clamor and eliciting further shrieks from the guests.

Everything up until now had been like a dream, a constant stream of perfect tranquility, now shattered by the centaur’s attack. I backed away from the tightening ring of violent beast men, nearly tripping over my dress as their whooping calls and drunken stomps drowned out our screams and wails. Where was Paphilos? What had they done to him?

I saw one of the monsters trampling my father, even as he valiantly tried to keep them away from his hysteric wife.

“Cybele!” I heard him cry, turning his pained and panic stricken face towards me. “Run Cybele!” His cries broke me from my terrified paralysis, though I could do nothing but watch in horror as the horse-man stamped its hooves down on my father.

I had to get away. All around me was a throng of panicked bodies, fleeing feet stepping on the hems of white dresses and robes and tearing them, hands shoving others out of their way. I turned from the closing ring and ran, immediately tripping over my own dress, the garment I had been so proud of betraying me. The ground rushed up to meet me, and smacked against my chest with a thump. Ringing filled my ears, and all I could see were the sandals of other guests as they fled and panicked en masse.

To say I was afraid was an understatement; I was panicking. My heart beat a thunderous drumbeat in my head and my breathing was rapid and erratic. In situations like these you noticed the weirdest things; I could taste the marble of the temple floor, the cypress seeds scattered around what was once a ring of matrimony, as well as the harsh smell of the spilt coals.

A pair of rough, strong hands gripped my waist, and I shrieked in fear. My nails dug into the temple floor, but it was worthless, and I was hoisted off the ground. I heard a loud whoop from behind me, and I shut my eyes, wishing that this was all a dream, that I could will this away.

My prayers did nothing, as the centaur wrapped it’s muscled hands around my waist. I was facing away from it, but I could feel the warmth of it’s massive body against my back, smell the musk, hay and sweat on it, the bits of dirt and filth that caked it‘s coat.

“Help! Please somebody help!” I shouted, but my cries were lost in the din. My feet kicked ineffectively as the centaur reared back and kicked its front legs out, smacking one of my family members in the side of his head. Before I could utter another word (though numerous screams did escape my throat), the half-beast turned around and trotted away from the melee in the temple, carrying me in it’s muscled grip. I yelled. The helplessness and fear overwhelmed me, and I yelled at the top of my lungs, not thinking it would do anything, but needing to do something. I shut my eyes and screamed until my throat was raw and I could scream no more, but all that did was hurt my throat.

What had I done wrong? How had I offended the gods to make them do this to me? Was it my lust for Paphilos? Punishment for losing my virginity before marriage? I looked back on last night’s masturbation with terrible guilt; I was sure that shameful, impure action had summoned these beasts, that the raid on Rhoda’s wedding was all my fault.

When this realization dawned on me my kicking and screaming subsided. I deserved what would come to me, had I only restrained myself and remained stoic none of this would have come to pass. I cracked open my teary red eyes, my vision blurry and indistinct. In the scant minutes since my abduction the centaur had traveled far, and I didn’t recognize my location. We were in a forest, or what had once been one, but it had since been decimated by fire and most of the trees were reduced to grey husks. The monster whooped and threw me to the ground, ash and dust from the forest floor rising in a cloud around me.

It was the first time I could get a good look at the centaur. It was bay in color, with dark, almost black coloration around it’s hooves. At the waist his bestial half jarringly turned to dirty, thick skin that reminded me of the farmers and slaves I had seen on my uncle’s estate. It’s abdomen was incredibly muscled, and a inverted triangle of curly chest hairs covered his pectorals. A shaggy, curly beard that was all but indistinguishable from his hair decorated a squashed face with a round nose, and his cheeks were bright red from drink. It was naked and unadorned save for a few rope bracelets worn on his arms and black beads woven into his tail.

“No!” I screamed, holding up my hands defensively. “I’ve don’t nothing wrong, please leave me alone!”

The centaur trotted up into my face, the bottom of it’s front torso coming face to face with me. I heard him chuckle from above me, and his hooves stamped dangerously close to my feet.

“See that stump?” It grumbled, pointing a calloused hand at an ashy grey lump of tree-corpse.

“Put yer hands on it. Don try an run, im faster en ya.”

When I proved uncooperative, remaining still and sobbing to myself, it stamped harder, enough that I could feel the impact through the ground.

“Put yer hands onna stump. Do it or ill hurt ya, and ya don’t want that.”

Still sniffling and sobbing I complied, gripping the top of the ashen log and peering over my shoulder as the beast undid one of his rope braclets and trotted up behind me.

“’S’ yer name?” It grunted as it looked me over, its eyes lingering on my rear and my bust. Satisfied, he wrapped the lengths of rope around my wrists, tying me to the ashy stump.

“Cybele,” I whined, not daring to look the monster in the face. “My name’s Cybele. Please let me go, I wont say a thing about this, ill never touch myself again I promise!”

“Touch yerself?” The centaur chuckled, his carmine face growing even redder when I spoke of my masturbation. “You a whore Cybele?”

“No, no I’m not a whore, I just-”

“If yer not a whore,” he interrupted, “watchya’ touchin yerself for? You thinking about cocks? That makes ya a whore.”

“No, no that’s not it. I’ve only had sex once, honest, please don’t hurt me.”

“Ain’t even a virgin? Jus’ my luck. At least I’ll be able to fit more inside ya.”

“Wait, what do you mean by-”

I was cut off as the centaur gripped the hem of my dress and tore up, a huge vertical seam shooting up the garment. It ripped over my back, falling to my sides and arms, pooling around my feet in a heap of once-pristine white. My breasts fell free, and the centaur chuckled to himself as he ogled them. The beast couldn’t reach my dangling bosom, but that didn’t stop the feeling of shame as blush turned my face as red as the drunk monster’s.

“Nice pair ya got Cybele, y’ touch those too?”

I sobbed, the pressure of the situation weighing down on me. I had just lost control; I was immobile, naked and weak. There was nothing I could do to resist, to stop whatever the monster wanted to do. All I could do was shut my eyes and pray against hope that this would end.

“’S’ not real important if you do, but I wants an answer.” The centaur reached down and smacked my exposed rear, causing me to yelp with surprise and pain. “What else you do when yer thinking about big, hot dicks? You suck yer thumb like itsa dick?” He punctuated his question with another smack on my other cheek.

“No,” I whimpered through clenched teeth, my eyes cinched shut so tight it hurt. “No I just-I just put my fingers inside me and-and hump them a little. Please, please just let me go. Do you want something? Money? Wine? My family has those, I could get you some if you just please let me go.”

“Already got the wine. What’l I spend the money on? More wine? Nah, you got erry thing I want right here!” Her hit me again, this time gripping my pale ass cheeks between hs thick, strong fingers. Grabbing the front of my other foreleg he hoisted me into the air, my tethered hands serving as a fulcrum. My crotch was raised almost to his head’s height, while my head remained pressed against stump.

I couldn’t see above the centaur’s navel, but I felt his hot, wet breath against my sex, his coarse fingers roaming my inner leg and thigh. I gritted my teeth as he continued, his breath growing hotter and stronger as his face neared my sex. The centaur spat on my opening, gooey saliva dripping through my outer petals. My lower body quivered in response, my legs quivering in time with his steamy breaths.

“No,” I moaned, willing that this torment would stop. The centaur positioned himself so my calves were resting on his shoulders, his hands holding my shins to keep me from kicking free as he buried his face in my crotch. I wanted to die when I felt his mouth touch my lower lips, wanted to disappear forever just to get away from the shame, the gross, crippling shame. While this morning I feared what my father would do should he find out I had lain with another and touched myself, now I feared what the whole world would do should I return from this, naked and battered.

The centaur’s tongue left his lips and entered mine, forcing its way between my folds and into the inside of my sex. I whined as the shaking in my legs continued and the blood rushed to my head, sensation in my twitching feet and quivering shins becoming faint and prickly. My heart thundered in my head as he sloppily lapped at my opening, throatily spitting on it whenever he withdrew for air. Another wave of crippling guilt and self loathing washed over me, causing me to bite down on my tongue and furrow my face as my head rolled side to side. I was getting hot. I was sure the beast could taste bits of my own lubrication as he ate me out, and his oral attentions were causing my sex to grow excited and ready.

“Jus’ yer fingers? Like this?” I opened my eyes wide and gasped as I felt two of his dirty digits press their way inside. I tried to force them out, to make the process as uncomfortable for him as possible, but that only made it hurt more. He spread my legs out wide, so that he could press deeper, and curved his fingers upwards. The tips of his fingers probed at a part of my sex I could never reach, his knuckles attacking another spot that sent shivers through my whole body. I wanted to die. I wanted to curl up and let life vacate my body. I was growing aroused, a shameful heat growing inside me, spurred on by the beast’s fingers. My teeth ground together as my toes twitched in time with his motions, more and more wetness lining the insides of my sex. I didn’t want to enjoy this, I didn’t want the centaur to make me feel hot and excited. Perhaps this was another part of my punishment, another layer of torment I had earned, something to teach me not to pleasure myself again.

With another crude waggle of his fingers, the centaur dragged it’s digits out of me, millimeter by millimeter leaving my wet hole. A needy moan involuntarily escaped my lips as my traitorous body longed for more.

“’S’ about as ready as yer gonna get,” said the centaur, lowering my quivering legs onto the ground. My lower body had fallen asleep, and I feel to my knees as sensation rushed back, making the awful pleasure I was feeling in my loins all the more noticeable.

As feelings of guilt, self-loathing and shameful pleasure fought inside my mind, my mouth fell open and hot, animalistic pants from deep in my chest came out, my naked form rising and falling in time. The centaur moved so it’s forelegs were in front of it’s shoulders, it’s human torso looking over his side to glare at me. His beard was dripping with juices-my juices-and his gaze lusty and possessive.

I yelped as I felt something hot and muscular against my backside, something long and thick that I dared not wonder as to its identity. This couldn’t happen. Worry and fear played upon my face, to the centaur’s obvious delight.

“Better t’ jus bite yer lip ‘n enjoy it Cybele. Yer halfway there anyways.”

“No, no I’m not!” I whined, not daring to look the monster in it’s fluid-drenched face. “I just want to go home! Why are you doing this?”

“’Cause I like yer pretty face and yer pretty little hole, an’ I take what I want.” The beast-man’s words were harsh and aggressive, and further deepened the guilt and terror I was feeling.

The hot spike behind me moved up and down my back as the centaur rocked it’s hips, the monster’s meat rubbing against my spine. Gooseflesh prickled along its’ path, heavy, needy sighs showing my aroused state. “No,” I whined as the rod of meat’s tip poked between my shoulder blades, its entire massive length resting against me. Two heavy globes of flesh pressed against my drenched, aching sex, causing me to cry out in unwanted need. Slowly, but with building speed, he began to retract and thrust his hips forward, rubbing that unnamable organ up and down my back, his balls smacking against my rear with each thrust. I gasped each time that burning hot sack impacted against me, my sensitive loins sending waves of burning pleasure through my body with each smack. The centaur’s massive organ ran up and down me, growing firmer and hotter each time, beads of precum beginning to leak from it’s tip and form a line of sticky warmth up by back. Gods I shouldn’t have been turned on, shouldn’t have let his actions get to me, but here I was, bent over and naked, covered in a beast’s fluids and dripping my own, my whole body on fire with sensation. This far surpassed my previous experience, my partner hadn’t managed to make me this hot, this desperate. It hurt to think about it, but it was true. As the precum-dripping member rubbed against me, growing harder and hotter, all I could think about was how much I wanted release, how badly I craved it. The feelings of pleasure were overwhelming my guilt, my whole body growing flush with arousal as waves of wet, sticky heat emanated from the centaur’s rod.

The centaur pulled back, his organ dragging itself off of my back, it’s flared head lingering between my butt cheeks and causing me to whine with need. I heard the monster reposition it’s hind legs, and the human body above me sucked in it’s gut. I knew what was coming. It was going inside of me, and there was nothing I could do about it. No amount of whining or crying or wishing or praying would stop that hot, thick rod from driving into me and splitting me wide open. No matter how much I hoped I could end this torment, it was going to happen.

When I felt the flat tip of the centaur’s member press between my legs I whined in a combination of fear and anxious want. It was massive, almost the length of my arm, there was no way it would all go in, not without hurting me, tearing me up. But it pressed forwards, spreading my drenched walls to their limit, mere centimeters of it causing sharp bolts of pain to course through my body, accompanying the profane pleasure it brought me. He withdrew, then thrust forward again, this time more forceful. I shrieked, my eyes bulging wide as raw animalistic sensation overwhelmed me; pleasure, pain, fear, loathing, hatred and guilt forming a concoction of conflicting feelings that tore at my mind. I was being overwhelmed, driven to the edge as the centaur forced more and more of his enormous tool inside me. Our combined juices dribbled down my legs, forming a messy puddle beneath my feet as I moaned in agony and ecstasy.

I could feel it stretching me, tearing me, each painful inch forcing its way into my body. It hurt. It hurt badly. But that was one sensation among so many competing, conflicting ones it was almost lost to me. The smell of his animal musk, of my own juices, the feeling of his coarse, dirty hair on my back, the awful feeling of fullness, all battered me with their intensity. The feeling of his weight above me was something I couldn’t help but be aroused by, and I could see every muscle working under his skin, every limb rippling with power. Almost eight inches of his enormous rod had lodged itself inside me, my gaping, quivering sex convulsing and clenching at the hot spar of meat. Then it happened. Without warning, the heat overwhelmed me, my every nerve screaming unison. I came. I came hard, my abused entrance clamping down on the animalistic organ, drops of my own cum leaking out of the sides of my sex.

“You got a greedy little hole Cybele,” said the mocking beast above me as I panted like a dog, my tongue lolling out of my mouth and dripping saliva. I couldn’t respond, only groan in agonized pleasure. My afterglow was short lived, as the centaur picked up it’s pace, rapidly forcing its member in and out and back again, stretching my abused hole even further. My heart skipped a beat as I realized what had just happened. I had orgasmed from my rape, came on a horse’s engorged member. I was beyond helping, beyond forgiveness for what I’d done. This was my fault, my punishment, and it had torn me down to nothing more than a horny beast with no shame or decency. And even worse; I was enjoying it. I didn’t want to, I resisted all I could, but still my body found some perverse pleasure from this union. And I already could feel another one coming, another shameful, traitorous orgasm that would rock me to the core.

Before I had wanted to die. Now I wished I had never existed, so that my family could be spared the shame of having ever known me. More and more of the centaur’s length entered my gaping slit, the impacts form its thrusts rocking my body and pressing me against the stump I was tied to. Though the pain was still there, it was less apparent, and I began to moan and gasp in time to the lusty beast’s thrusts, my hips moving in time to accommodate more and more of that burning hot spar.

I could still feel it stretching me, it still hurt, it hurt so good though. The pain and pleasure were becoming indistinguishable, just one powerful feeling that made my nethers burn every time the centaur thrust into me. The beast stamped its feat as it tried to cram more of his length inside. I felt as though I was at my limit, that any more wouldn’t be able to fit. The centaur didn’t care for that though, my safety the least of his concerns, and he rammed his rod forward again and again even as I screamed my lungs out. Somehow, he managed to wedge more of himself in me, almost half of his bestial length buried in my sopping hole. I heard the monster grunt, his whole body tensing as he rocked his lubricant-slick meat in and out of me. I felt his length twitch, and before I knew it a torrent of blazing hot cum shot forth, splattering my insides and making me groan in unwanted pleasure. There was no way I could hold it all in, and I could already feel some of it leaking from my stretched entrance. The sensation was too much, and I convulsed violently, biting down on my lip so hard it drew blood. As shameful, as awful as it was, I had another orgasm, my whole body shaking and writhing from the sensation of being filled to the brim and then some.

The beast man kept his length stuck in me for some time, even after he came and his organ lost its hardness. When he eventually pulled out, a torrent of excess cum poured from my quivering, battered loins. I feared I would become pregnant, that I would be saddled with this beast’s child and forever doomed to die unmarried, for who would want the mother of a beast? I shook in fear when I imagined birthing a foal, one with my own blonde hair and this monster’s equine body. I could only pray that the gods did not want my punishment to go that far.

“Ya ain’t a bad lay Cybele,” muttered the centuar as it clumsily stepped off of me, the sudden vanishing of his body heat making me feel cold. “I’ll see if I cant keep ya, rest of the herd might wanna piece of ya too.”

My heart fell. If he meant what I thought he did, than the gods wished me a fate worse than death. On the other hand, would returning to my family, or what was left of them, prove any better?

“No,” I whined, not daring to look at him, not daring to acknowledge how good my cum-dripping sex felt after he used me. “No you don’t have to do this.”

“’S’ not about have to, its about want to. And I know you want more ‘a my prick, don’t lie to yerself.”

I gulped. Was this to be how I spent the rest of my life? A centaur’s mare, its personal rutting and breeding slave? To be fucked and stretched and fucked again ad infinitum, raped over and over again?

The beast undid my bonds then retied them, making another knot around my waists and roughly tossing me onto his back. It seemed there was nothing I could do to avoid my fate, and as the centaur galloped away, me bouncing painfully on its back as cum dripped from my sex, I resigned myself to weather it as best I could. If I were to be this beast’s bride, I would serve my husband as best I could.