The Centaur Coach

***The characters referenced in this story are Sixth-Formers, aged 18, or they are teachers. No character is any younger than 18***

I've never had any luck with women. At five-eight and chubby, I'm no pinnacle of manliness. My dick's a fair size, but what's that matter if girls prefer just about every other man around them?

It sucks being an eighteen-year-old and still a virgin.

The whole situation got dramatically worse a year ago, when the Two Worlds Treaty was announced. Scientists discovered a kind of spacetime rift leading to a parallel Earth -- we call it Wildenarth -- where all manner of sapient, sentient, pseudo-mythological entities exist. For the sake of mutual gain, our governments and theirs signed a treaty, allowing for migration between both worlds.

In my Sixth Form college, about half of the staff and students decided to move to the new, adventurous place. In their stead, a stream of monster-folks -- "Wildenarthers", politely speaking -- came to replace them. Monstergirls and monsterguys have ensured that losers like me are now at the absolute bottom of the totem pole. Even the tall, attractive humans struggled in keeping their girlfriends. Sure, most moved onto monstergirls, but the change was no less disheartening for it. Jen Stephens, my long-time crush, got herself her first boyfriend: a minotaur hunk.

I don't even get much time to hang out with her anymore.

The Headmistress is an elf. One science teacher an orc, another a nymph. We have a dire wolf teaching English, a scorpion-woman Maths, a Scylla Music. And it goes on, but this story relates to my most-hated subject of all, physical education. PE.

We'd never had a Coach, and now we do. Kyln is a stallion centaur, a ferocious example of his species, muscular and hairy and wild. He dominates every conversation, goes around unclothed despite centaurs generally wearing shirts at the very least, and rules the PE department with an iron fist.

As an unfit, lazy, doughy nerd, we're each other's natural enemies. So, obviously, I'm the target for a large amount of his chastisement and abuse.

Kyln solely teaches archery, so I'm spared his wrath most of the time. But when archery lessons arrive -- something about cross-culture pollination -- I'm the object of his perpetual scorn. 'I didn't paint the damned target on the wall, Greyson', 'The bow's a lot stronger than you are Greyson, you wimp', 'Arrows are designed for shooting, Greyson, but you're miraculously capable of removing that quality. It's remarkable.'

And so on. I can deal with it.

But the Coach scares me. When I have detentions -- and I have lots of them, on account of his strictness -- it's just me and him alone. Which by itself would be fine, if not for the way he behaves.

He'll come up behind me, seven-foot-four in height, and put both hands on my shoulders. In class he never touches me, but when we're alone, he's...handsy. Hands on my shoulders, straightening my posture. Hands on my hips, on the sides of my chest. Hands, whenever possible, regardless of how things are going. His willingness to touch becomes, quite rapidly, concerning.

The rules are clear, post-treaty: human and non-human interrelations are encouraged wherever possible. Cross-species (race?) pregnancies are possible, and to be encouraged.

But I'm not gay. I've never been interested in men.

'Uh, Coach?' I say, having fired my last arrow. 'I need to collect the arrows. Can you release my shoulders?'

He just squeezes firmly, sliding his hands gently down onto my breast, back again. 'Not like you're going to hit any targets, Greyson.'

Kyln cups what amount to breasts on my chubby form. He pinches my nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, firm yet painless. I shudder. 'Coach...'

'Damn, Greyson, are you enjoying this?' Suddenly he chuckles cruelly, trotting off to the side, smirking maliciously. 'Get laid, kid. Do I look like a pretty girl to you, huh?'

No, definitely not. I blush, awkward, embarrassed, as Kyln makes a show of zig-zagging down towards the targets with his powerful, inhuman body on full show. Muscular haunches, a thick equine lower half, tail black and messy-long, fur brown and rough. His hoofs are larger than my hands at full span, fingers and all.

Kyln is clearly middle-aged, given the way his black hair greys at the temples, but his body is the pinnacle of honed muscle, chiselled and broad. The man himself, the human, has wild green eyes that hint at feral cunning, a strong jaw, a sharp nose, a clean-shaved face. His hair flows behind his ears, a black mane growing grey streaks, running halfway down his muscular back.

I'm forced to glance away, in spotting the heavy sway of what must be his balls, wobbling side to side between his back legs. Kyln keeps me in his peripheral, smirking to himself as he trots over to the lost arrows, and scoops them up with a slight bending of his legs, so large is his humanoid upper half.

'You got a girl, Greyson?'

'I--'

'What am I saying? Of course, you don't.' The Coach laughs viciously. He gallops back down the length of the great gym hall, depositing ten arrows on the floor before me. 'Pick them up, Greyson. With any luck, a bit of training your archery muscles might give you a shadow of a chance at mating, in the next century.'

'Thanks, Coach.' I sigh, and bend over, reaching for the arrows. Kyln, naturally, proceeds to slap my arse so hard I almost fall down. 'F-uck, man, that hurt!'

'Bend your knees, idiot.'

This is obviously going to be hell, isn't it?

*

I end up in detention with him again on Wednesday.

'That girl you were watching at break,' Kyln says. 'The red-haired one. Who's she?'

'Just a friend.'

He snorts. 'I'll say. You've no chance against a minotaur, Greyson.'

'Yeah, yeah.'

I shoot the bow, graze the target. Kyln laughs. 'Bet that minotaur won't miss the target when it comes to putting a calf in her belly.'

'Do we have to do this? Am I really here just to have you bully me?'

'Bully?' The Coach chuckles. He trots over, brushing my back with his flank. 'I'm doing my job, Greyson. I'm teaching you, aren't I? See, you almost hit it. That's an improvement. You might actually hit the straw backboard before you graduate.'

One of the worst things about him getting so close is the way he smells.

It's not even that it's bad, per se, it's just...heady. Kyln has this strong odour about him, not quite sweat. It's nose-tingling, potent, musky. It's bitter and animalistic, a kind of wild beast's stench, not unclean but also not superbly washed. A wilderness odour. Other centaurs don't seem to have it, not even things like minotaurs, or orcs.

'Yeah, but you don't need to constantly point out how bad I am with girls.'

The Coach says nothing for a moment, then seizes my shoulders from behind. 'I'm pretty well-travelled, Greyson. Ever think I know a thing or two about women? Play your cards right, I might teach you.'

'I'm sure your advice works for centaurs, but I'm not one.'

It's not something I should say, but I do, all the same.

'What's that girl's name?'

'Jen. Stephens. Why?'

'I'll fuck her within the month,' Kyln says.

I shiver at the notion, but find recourse in humour. 'Really? With her boyfriend about?'

'I'll fuck him, too.'

'What?'

'You humans have all these hang-ups, on gay and straight, but centaurs don't. Sex is about power, Greyson. Pleasure, yes, but power mostly.' Kyln runs his hands down, stroking my chest. 'Those that we conquered, back in the glorious days, found purpose in living for our needs. To be taken by an alpha, a stallion, was a fate that fell upon men and women both.'

He sounds insane. 'Why do this?'

'To prove a point, obviously,' Kyln says. He moves back, slaps my shoulders. 'Him first. Her, we'll talk about.' The centaur coach canters aside, circling around. 'Hit those targets, Greyson. Prove you're not the loser I think you are.'

*

I have these "lessons" with Kyln on Friday, then the following Tuesday.

Same business, same shitting on me, same being a bully, being touchy-feely. But Wednesday, all of a sudden, ends strangely. 'My office,' Kyln says. 'You know it?'

'PE block, out at the wooded bit?'

'Wait by the window at three o' clock tomorrow. Just out of sight.'

'Why?'

'I'm going to fuck Marcus over my desk.' He chuckles. 'I want you to see how easy it is.'

'You're...you're joking right?'

Kyln squeezes my shoulder. 'No, Greyson. I'm deadly serious.'

'Why would I want to see that?'

'Because if you don't' -- he cups my chin, forces me to meet his dangerous green gaze -- 'Jen Stephens will be next. And unlike that minotaur, I really know what I'm doing. Understood?'

'I...okay.'

Kyln smirks, releases me, and trots to the side. 'Ready your bow, Greyson. At least hit the fucking target today.'

*

I'm not sure if I believe him, but I don't want to take the chance.

Kyln's office is part of the new, larger buildings, that built upon the old, smaller ones. Because, of course, so many of these nonhumans simply wouldn't fit in the old, human-centric designs. Forest surrounds it, shadowing it most of the day, making it easy to slip around the outside and find the spot in question: a length of brick wall leading to an inverse corner, a large window looking into Coach Kyln's office. It's a large open rectangle, mostly unfurnished, but for the huge desk in the middle and the file cabinets on the other side.

Marcus stumbles in, a faint blush beneath his large, gentle eyes. The minotaur, eight feet tall and black-furred, handsome and muscular of build, looks nervously around. I slip back behind the wall, out of sight.

'Jen can't know about this,' he says, voice deep and warm. 'She can't, man.'

'Scared of the truth getting out, huh, sissy?' Kyln says.

Marcus groans. 'Wish you wouldn't call me that.'

'You are, aren't you, Hamsel? You're a sissy, in need of a man.' There's a noise, a grating of heavy object sliding against the floor. I peek, finding Kyln holding Marcus by his upturned horns, pushing him face-down against the desk. 'Shit, slut, you're such an easy lay. One good glance at what I'm packing, and you go weak at the knees.'

'Fuck you, Coach.'

Kyln drags him around by the horns, positioning him such that Marcus's backside is facing the window. Is Kyln really so strong, or Marcus just playing? The minotaur resists, only to be pressed down. The centaur lifts his forelegs onto the desk, either side of Marcus's shoulders. From this angle, Kyln's great dangling balls shudder obviously. Does...does he have four of them? What the fuck?!

'I see you checking out my undercarriage all the fucking time, Marcus. I see that dirty curiosity, sissy. You wanna know what it's like, don't you? What it's like to be the girl, for a change. Am I right, bitch? You wanna be the Coach's girl, today?'

I'm not sure what I expect to follow. Anger, violence, rejection, but...Marcus practically whimpers. 'Don't tell, okay? Jen, my friends, other teachers--'

'Push down your shorts, and beg, slut. Beg for what you want.'

Marcus shifts, digging his thumbs into his running shorts, pushing from the waistband. Down flops a set of four heaving balls, smaller than Kyln's by a fair margin and above them, a length of pink phallus that must be about two-feet, wrist thick, vaguely equine. Then Kyln readjusts himself, as if lining up an arrow for a target, and I see his.

The middle-aged centaur is packing a length of dark, mottled horse-meat, about three feet in length, as long as my arm. I barely get a look, the angle being poor, the lighting being iffy, but one look instils the truth: Kyln is dangerously well-equipped.

'Dick, Coach. I wanna...I wanna feel your dick.'

'I said beg, slut.'

'Please, Coach, please ride my arse like the sissy slut I am, I need to know, I need to feel you inside of me,' Marcus says, whimpering. 'Mount me, Coach, mount me like a fucking mare!'

Kyln chuckles cruelly and again I catch a glimpse of the dark meat, glistening, mottled white in places. It slips between a pair of firm muscular black buttocks, and Marcus cries out like a girl. 'Ughn. Shit.'

'That's a good sissy.'

Kyln is violent, but Marcus seems to manage. The stallion centaur rams, rams, thrusts, rams. I shouldn't, but I watch, and on those moments of sanity, when I look away, the hefty slapping of the Coach's gigantic balls draws me back.

I can't believe that this is actually happening. Jen's big manly minotaur boyfriend is actually being ridden, mounted, fucked in the arse by Kyln. He keeps whining, whimpering, groaning, grunting, all the while the centaur ravages his backside with these hefty, weighty thrusts that only the powerful body of something so bestial as a centaur could produce.

Kyln's balls are so big, so bouncy, it's insane to think that they're testicles, so massive they are. And Marcus, despite being a minotaur, has smaller ones, ones that get slammed again and again by the older man's stupidly fat bollocks.

'How's it feel, bitch?'

'Ughn, fucking amazing.'

'Better than Jen?'

'C-oach...'

'It is, isn't it?' Kyln chuckles. 'Ugh, you know it is. No girl can give you this, slut.'

'Y-eah,' Marcus says, groaning. 'It's...it's hitting all these spots. Shit. Ughn.'

The Coach grabs Marcus by the horns, heaving him upwards, increasing the pace and force of his powerful thrusting. 'Because I'm claiming you, bitch. Because you're mine now.'

'Ughn.'

'Say it, slut.'

'I'm y-ours, Coach. I'm y-ours.'

'My what?'

'Your f-ucking mare, C-oach. Ughn, shit, I'm your f-ucking mare.'

Marcus ejaculates powerfully. It's clear to see, even if the perspective is warped, because this thick, off-white fluid starts leaking off the edge of the desk. Kyln laughs cruelly, unrelenting, if anything pushing that much harder. 'Fucking loser, what a goddamn mess.'

'S-orry, Coach. I'll c-lean it.'

'No, you fucked up.' Suddenly, the Coach ceases. 'I'm disappointed, sissy.'

'Please, Coach, don't stop.'

Kyln pauses, letting the silence grow longer. 'All right,' he says. 'Get on your back. Make it up to me.'

'What?!'

The centaur angrily taps the desk with a hoof. 'On your back, on the desk, lay in your fucking beta-grade jizz, sissy. Feet to the window. Maybe I might just forgive you.'

'Y-eah, C-oach.'

I take that as a cue to hide again. There's movement, shuffling, and Marcus says, 'Dude, you...I can't do this.'

'Settle down, sissy.' I peek, spotting Kyln again lining himself up, this time with a rather different orifice. Marcus' hoofs face the window, his head between Kyln's rear legs, a mammoth spear of brown and white mottled glistening equid flesh hovering powerfully above the minotaur's face. 'Open wide, if you ever want to be my mare again.'

Kyln's penis stares at me, a cycloptic monster beneath the barrel of his underside. The length is insane, the thickness insane, the veins and slickness insane. Brown and white flesh, clearly silky rather than leathery, born of a brown leather sheath ringed in a thick band of tissue. It ends in this huge circular glans itself ringed in the same way, mostly flat but bulging, clefted around a slit and dark hole that continues to drool precum. I've never seen anything like it, in all my life.

I pay no heed to the dark pinkish minotaur cock, similar generally. I pay no heed to the fact that Kyln must be facing me; it doesn't seem to register. I'm bizarrely fixated on that ridiculous phallus, a godlike penis, something befitting a demigod and not a man, not a beast. That shape, that size, that wetness, that inhumanity, paired with the full quartet of big brown balls behind it, sagging in a taut scrotum...it makes my head spin.

I've never looked at a man's genitals like this. I...for some reason I reach for my own penis, as if to compare, to clarify. It's...I've got an erection?

Marcus says something too softly to hear and Kyln adjusts, lining up the flared tip of his monster with the prone minotaur's mouth. It slides in easily enough and Kyln treats the black-furred hunk as though his mouth is just another anus. He starts to thrust, to ram, and Marcus' throat bulges to make way for the immense length of horse-cock.

'Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.'

'Ughn, that's it, sissy. Work for that alpha seed.'

'Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.'

'Ugh, so fucking tight. Filthy slutty throat.'

'Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.'

'Shit, you really want that load.'

My hand is on my cock, though it shouldn't be. Why am I so hard? I reach in, feeling it throb, pulse, watching this utterly gay scene unfold. Kyln thrusts, pumps, goes so deep that he hilts himself in Marcus's face, massive balls engulfing the minotaur's eyes and nose.

'Ughn, slut...time to decide,' Kyln says. 'You really stirred me up. Shit, I've got a lot of healthy sperm ready to unload.' He ceases his thrusting. 'If you wanna taste it, best get on your knees, sissy. Ughn. But we both know what that means, don't we?'

The Coach pulls back, slips back onto the floor. He positions himself in such a way that, whatever happens, I'm able to watch. I finally meet his gaze, his green evil gaze, finding there a big vicious smirk. Suddenly I recall my hand, my cock, and blush.

'I...I can't,' Marcus says.

'You want to, don't you? You wanna taste a real alpha male.'

I forget to hide when Marcus rises, but he's not looking for me. His attention is solely on Kyln. The big black-furred minotaur, Jen's boyfriend, stands up, back slick with his own wasted semen. 'It's...you're...'

Kyln puts a strong hand on the minotaur's shoulder, and the hunk pretty much collapses. He drops to his knees and the centaur shuffles forwards until his erection slides across Marcus' dirtied lips. 'You'll never compare, sissy. Don't deny your body what it can't otherwise produce. You can't match the quality of a stallion, and you know it.'

And Marcus takes the centaur's penis in both hands, wraps his lips around its flared head, begins to pull and milk and tug for the dirtiest end imaginable. He's doing it, he's really...I can't believe my eyes. Marcus is going to...he's really going to...

'Ughn.' Kyln groans, grunts, snorts. He stomps a foreleg down. 'Flatten your tongue, sissy. Savour your reward.'

The equid penis shudders, widening, the balls behind it rising and falling. 'Mhm.' Marcus...he can't really be... 'Mhm.' He's enjoying it?

I can only watch, paralysed, as Marcus continues to pull. His cheeks seem to widen, his mouth moving, pleasured sounds escaping him. He's...God, this is so...so gay, so gross. But Marcus isn't stopping. He can stop, he can spit if it's disgusting and -- it is semen -- it must be disgusting, he can just stop himself but...he's not stopping.

'Swallow, slut. More's on its way.'

The minotaur's throat rises and falls several times, clearing his mouth. I know, at least, about this. Centaurs ejaculate over twenty minutes, in some cases, and produce anywhere between two and five litres of semen. Something about Kyln suggests twenty and five to be around where he sits, no doubt.

I remember Kyln's gaze -- it hasn't left me -- and leave my cock alone, much as it aches for my touch. This culmination of dirtiness continues, ticking the minutes over, Kyln berating Marcus, Marcus continuing his sordid task of draining the older man's testes. Little by little, the minotaur gains something of a paunch, his stomach swelling with the sperm, hundreds of trillions of sperm, belonging to another man. Why's he doing this?

'You're not a man anymore, sissy,' Kyln says. 'You betrayed your masculinity by tasting mine. Shit, I hope it was worth it. Ughn.' He shoots another portion of the ever-flowing load. 'Judging by your efforts, shit, I'd say it was.'

'Mhm-hm.'

*

It's quarter to three when Kyln is done.

Marcus shamefully pulls away, stomach bloated, and wipes his mouth. He blushes, looks around, scrambles for his clothes. Kyln seems quite dazed, contented, saying nothing as the minotaur hastily dresses himself. 'Was that good, Coach?'