The Centaur Coach Ch. 04

'Daddy,' I say, 'I don't want to rush this.'

The Coach chuckles harshly. 'I thought you were hungry, slut?'

'I am, but...'

He shifts his hips, cock dancing left to right ahead of me, and thrusts just enough to smack my cheek with the swollen flare, splattering it in his oily juices. 'Come home with me after school tomorrow,' he says. 'Spend the weekend with me. Get to know your future.'

The thought of being in his presence for two whole days provokes another mixed bag of hopes and worries. I'd be so fucking full, all of the time.

'Daddy, I--'

He thrusts through my hands, by luck or talent slamming straight into my briefly open lips. That dangerous lance, intended for nothing more than sexual warfare, easily barges clean into my mouth and spits a fat quantity of his lubricating stickiness across my tongue and right at the back of my throat. God, he tastes so fucking good. It's even better when it just drools out straight onto my tastebuds.

'Mumph.'

I begin moving back but before I can push off of him, Kyln shifts his body, and highlights our ridiculous imbalance in terms of physical might. I'm forced downwards as he drops his front half, rock-solid cock bringing me along with its movements and entering the tightness of my throat with worrying ease. My insides so readily accept him, so comfortably accommodate him, welcoming his manhood as if it belongs inside me.

'That's it, you little slut. You--ugh--fucking cumdump.'

Kyln grunts, and drives his raw heat into my gullet. A slick, sloppy sound escapes from the sordid and sudden union, echoing back at us from the walls. A sexy noise, a vulgar addition to the grunting and groaning of the older inhuman man.

'Glugp. Schlup. Glugp.'

I'm pushed back against his downturned underside, forced onto my haunches beneath him while his upturned backside pumps and thrusts, searing horse cockmeat driven back and forth between my lips and deep into my throat. The sensation of fullness, of being orally skewered, makes me shiver and tremble. It shouldn't feel so good. So right.

Ahead of me, against a backdrop of summer sunlight, his heaving nuts sway and swing, back and forth which each powerful shove of his hips, angled towards me. The centaur's tail swishes side to side, his happiness accentuated by the sheer dominance of the face-fucking he's delivering me. I put my hands on his back thighs, digging into the furred muscle, but it's useless. By cock alone, he has me pinned. I'm at his mercy.

'Glugp. Schlup. Glugp. Schlup.'

The filthy sounds coming from my mouth pair with the full fire that stretches my throat and make my dick hurt, the arousal causing it to strain against my boxers. Spit dribbles down my chin, mixed with his flavourful precum, as my throat radiates with the sheer warmth of his impressive length and its deep, powerful excavation of my insides via my face.

His manhood flattens my tongue, tasting salty. It strains my lips, the fat flare long past but the core breadth of his penis is sublimely thick by itself. Back and forth it goes, rough and uncaring, treating my face like little more than a pussy, to be ravaged and ploughed. I'm not a person here, not really. And...and...I might like that.

'Don't you--ughn--ever ask to slow things down again,' he says, grunting, exhaling forcibly. 'Your place is to serve, mare. To be--ugh--the caretaker of my loins. To be the--ughn--cum-drunk little sissy nature intended you to be.'

God, I'm fucking dirty. The fiercer he is, the more vulgar his demands, the more turned-on I get. To watch his big beautiful balls swinging and wobbling, something about their shifting ever so appealing, and to feel the fire of his lance as it goes back and forth in great lengthy thrusts, makes my dick hurt with need.

I can't hold back, can't stop myself. I take a hand off of his thighs -- useless that such a gesture is -- and frantically pull out my cock.

'That's it, sissy,' Kyln says. 'Wank yourself off while I--ughn--fuck your face.'

He chuckles viciously, and gives me an uncaring slam that forces me against his underside, swinging his bloated bollocks so close to my face that I get this faint breeze, perfumed with loin-musk and animal potency.

'Glugp. Mhm. Schlup. Glugp. Glugp.'

Yes. Do it. Fuck my face. I shut my eyes and lose myself in the pleasure of it, the raw presence of his penetrating lance, the musky -- and growing richer by the minute -- tang of his virile loins, the saltiness of his abundant precum.

I stroke his thigh with one hand and stroke myself with the other, mouth sloppy with our combined juices, torso pleasant warm with his sublime male presence deep inside of my gullet. God, I wish I could see myself. Wish I could see how depraved we must look, this mere human and this pinnacle of manhood stallion, the older and greater treating the younger and lesser like a mere pocket pussy.

'Mhm-hm. Glugp. Schlup. Glugp.'

'Do you have any idea how--ugh--satisfying it is, making you look pregnant?' the Coach says. 'You truly are a born mare, sissy. It suits you so well, being fat and gravid with my--ughn--foals.'

Yes. Feed me. Do it, daddy!

'Mhm-hm.'

Kyln chuckles. 'Good little mare. The enthusiasm will get you far.'

As he enunciates the last word in his low baritone manner, the centaur slams so deep into my face that I'm forced to open my eyes in shock. All is darkness, the world gone, replaced by sweaty humidity and the sheer presence of engulfment that in some vague senese is familiar.

Thwap. Thwup. Thwap. Thwup. Thwap.

His...his...Jesus Christ.

Kyln's balls are buffeting my chin, bouncing heavily with each of his -- now slowed -- pumps and thrusts, his all-too-close underside enveloping my world with such ease, smothering my world and pinning me inescapably. I shiver and shudder, the sloppiness added to by the meaty impact of his great heaving loins driving my perverse mind to filthier depths.

'Ughn. Such a slutty sissy mare.'

I want what's in them. I want his genes. I want his sperm inside my belly. I want to look pregnant with this stud's recipe, I want to taste his thick creamy load. I want to be his. Want to be his mare. Jesus. He must be right about me. This feels so natural.

'Glugp. Mhm. Schlup.'

Thwap. Thwup. Thwap. Thwup.

How can I be this filthy? God, they feel great. The weight of them, the sagging swing, the way they slap and spring against my bare flesh, the front pair being driven forwards by the rear set to flop against my cheeks while the latter settle for smothering my jaw.

All the while the second of his thick bands of tissue, that of the leathery sheath, presses against my lips. I must have several feet of centaur cock inside of me, and that alone is a disturbingly fantastical thought. The rules really did change, didn't they?

Thwap. Thwup. Thwap. Thwup.

I groan around his dick as the welcome cloying tang of his testicular musk and the warm damp presence of those great sweaty loins, not to mention the sound of something so sordidly sweet, drives me within a few moments of orgasm.

'Cum,' Kyln says. 'Cum, you pathetic little slut. Milk your meagre human cock while a true specimen prepares to seed your belly. Ughn. Cum for daddy, you slutty little mare.'

His words are enough to go on. His voice, in my ears, so deep and powerful, and the sloppiness of my mouth, and the meaty slapping of his balls, finish the job. I shiver and tremble, starting to bust a -- for me -- particularly heavy nut, and the Coach makes a deeply appreciative sound.

'Mhm-hm. Glugp. Mhm. Schlup.'

'Ughn. Little fucking cumdump.'

There's a new heat, something above and beyond his incredible penis. My stomach starts to roil, and the first thought, cutting clean through the haze of orgasm, is: no, I want to taste it!

But Kyln holds himself steady, cock throbbing and pulsing away, straining my lips and pumping a thick virile stream of delicious centaur seed straight past my eager tongue and right into my hungry belly. I grumble, moan pleadingly, but amidst his grunts of pleasure the old stallion only chuckles.

'I decide these things, slut,' he says, with surprising lucidity. 'Ugh. You take what you fucking get. Do as you're damn told.'

And I try to find pleasure in it, do indeed find pleasure in it, but still long for the better end. I want to please Kyln, want him to be happy, but...it seems almost wasteful, for his delicious semen to miss my dutiful tongue so utterly.

I'm not sure how long we stay locked, my belly slowing growing, bulging out with his produce. Eventually he does retreat, standing aright and freeing me, and like a frantic starving fool I reposition to get his generous crown round between my lips where it rewards me with a healthy helping of thick, rich, salty spooge.

'Mhm-hm. Mhm.'

The stuff comes out in heavy pulses, gravid with his seed. It sticks to my mouth, plasters my tongue, easily covers every inch of tooth and tastebud. God, cum shouldn't taste so good. The inhuman virility of this bestial man is too much. I...I think I--

But before I can settle back into enjoying it, Kyln pulls back and topples me, jamming a hoof on one shoulder. 'That's all you get. Lick the rest of your--ughn--body.'

The sensible thought, in beholding that engorged and seed-spitting length, is to worry about my uniform. To worry about washing it. To worry about staining it with thick musky centaur cum. But the slut in me, the seed-slave the older beast is cultivating, wins out.

I watch that beautiful cock throb and swell and then spit, slinging fat white ropes of man-milk all across my shirt and blazer, the odd bit hitting my face. The equid cock, the bloated balls behind it, swell and pulse as they deliver me my reward.

'T-hank you, daddy,' I say, mad with lust. 'Thank y-ou!'

The Coach chuckles as I scramble to scoop up the warm produce of his centaur loins, collecting frantic handfuls of his gooey gluey load up in palms and smattered across my fingers, devouring it with reckless hunger, surely embarrassing myself if I had but the smallest lick of self-respect remaining in me.

'That's it, mare. That's a good sissy. Don't miss a drop.'

I coat my tongue with his semen, putting his foal gravy where it belongs. This my privilege, being his mare. This is right, and natural, and so, so good. To taste and savour the thickly rich nut-butter of the powerful stallion, the creamy produce of his intensely impressive lance, is something divine.

'Mhm. Schlup. Mhm.'

I have no shame, eating like a pig, gorging as he splatters me, marks me as his mate. The thick white ropes spurt down, covering me, covering my clothes, a ridiculous contrast to the meagre load my own ball released.

And yes, there will be stains. And yes, I cannot help but stink now of cum, and not mere human cum with a fainter smell but this musky male produce of an inhuman body with inhuman virility. That must be part of it, surely. The psychological thrill of claiming me like this, of degrading me, of marking his territory.

God, it's hot to think about. To be the subject of this depraved stud's fantasies.

And when the last of it is done, when his final shot produces a heavy splatter intended right for my face, I stick out my tongue to catch as much of it as possible, and then lick hungrily around my mouth for the rest, collecting up whatever misses with frantic and now-sticky hands. I'm past caring, past concern.

The Coach chuckles, moving away from me. It is, at least, a warmer sound. 'What a cute little cumdump, sissy. Such a dutiful mare. Stinking to high heaven of me.'

He plants himself down, sitting like a horse, parallel to my body. And with such easy strength of those powerful arms, the older man hoists me onto my backside and positions me such that I can lay against his flank, amidst the warmth and surprising comfort of his sturdy equid lower half.

'You can lay there for a while,' Daddy says, stroking my head. 'Digest me, slut. Your body's finally got real sperm inside of it.'

I nod dumbly, eyelids heavy, world blissful like it was yesterday. 'Thank you, Daddy. So good. Mhm.'

Kyln chuckles. 'You will come with me tomorrow. I may not teach you much at school, but you've a lot to learn in my presence.'

All I can manage, resting against his body, is more pleasured moans.

'Good boy,' he says. 'We're making good progress.'