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***

On Friday we're together again, after school.

'So, Greyson,' Kyln says, while we're setting up. 'What'd you think?'

'About?'

He sniggers. 'The other day. With Marcus.'

I shrug. 'You weren't joking. I didn't think it would happen.'

I lift the bow, knocking an arrow, but Kyln gives me pause by coming up close, putting his strong hands on my shoulders. I ignore his musky sweat, that potent animal headiness, and somehow manage to loose the arrow. It misses entirely.

'He keeps texting me,' Kyln says, a chuckle to his voice. 'What a needy little bottom I created.'

'Isn't that good?'

The Coach squeezes my shoulders. 'He doesn't want to leave Jen. Says he's not gay.' Kyln snorts. 'Doesn't get it, does he? It's not about gay, straight. It's about submission. You understand me, don't you?'

I might. It makes me shiver, but what Marcus did was, fundamentally, about surrender. He did what he did on some impulse, obeyed Kyln, choosing to taste his ejaculate rather than take it anywhere else. He got down on his knees and swallowed what must've been an enormous load of semen, of sperm.

Marcus says he's not gay, won't leave Jen to have that again, and I don't doubt him...but in the heat of the moment even the black-furred, buff "Chad" minotaur stated in no uncertain terms that Kyln was the better man, the superior example.

'The ultimate eroticism, for a man,' I say, 'is to have another submit to him.'

Kyln chuckles, running his hands down from my shoulders, rubbing them over my chest. 'You're a smart boy, Greyson. You're a curious one too.'

'What?'

Kyln leans forwards, his powerfully muscled belly pressing against the back of my head, and movement has me look up. I meet his grinning face, the face by all appearances of a man in his early fifties, greying at the temples, somewhat weathered from years.

'It's okay, sissy. You wanted to be Marcus, didn't you?' Kyln chuckles. 'You want to be him when he's balls-deep in Jen, and you wanted to be him when I was balls-deep in him.' He squeezes my breasts. 'The difference is, one of those might happen today.'

I shrug him off forcibly, put some space between us, but Kyln simply barges past me, knocking me aside with his powerful flank. The middle-aged centaur trots ahead, then sets himself circling me. An easy pace for him, hard for me to match. He chuckles again.

'Coach, stop this,' I say.

'Stop what, Greyson?'

'You're scaring me.'

He stops, raps his front hoofs, then lunges. The powerful centaur knocks me down, passing overhead, chuckling grimly as he does so. He wheels about, canters around, just as I'm managing to clamber upright. Kyln rushes again, colliding with me. I topple backwards, he topples, and the world goes dark.

Not, sadly, for losing consciousness. Something obstructs my vision.

'Oh, shit, how clumsy I can be,' Kyln says, restraining a chuckle.

I suck in air, tasting thick muskiness, saltiness, wild bitterness. It's such a humid, nose-tingling flavour, clinging to the nostrils, sticking in the top of the mouth. I push back against Kyln's barrel-like underside, finding the centaur simply too heavy to budge. His fine rough fur is warm, the leathery sensation against my face damp and bordering on hot.

'Let me get off you, Greyson. Just a moment.'

The Coach lifts his haunches and for a moment I can see past the outline of the obstacle -- obstacles -- that were weighing upon my face. Realisation makes my stomach churn, makes my skin simmer, my spine tingle.

Testicles. Kyln's four massive testicles, in their taut yet sagging scrotal pouch.

Before I can reposition he slips again, certainly feigned -- I've never known him to be anything short of precise -- and buffets my face with the weighty orbs, stinking of musky genital manliness. I'm pinned by his carefully positioned backend, which he proceeds to grind back and forwards a little, in the process dragging his heaving testes across the skin of my face, marking it with damp sticky musk.

'Shit, what poor luck,' Kyln says, the chuckling now edging his words, escaping between them. 'Sorry, Greyson, where are my manners?'

Each testicle is like a small melon, fat and dense, firm and heavy. They're so hot against my face, so stinky. Why does it...why's it not bad? I push against him and again find no give, frantic now, worried now. I try to seize hold of the balls themselves, to push them away, provoking a shudder in the old stallion.

'Oh, like that, is it?' Kyln snorts. 'Guess I can stay there for a bit, sure.'

He needs to get up and I need to be free but his balls...they're so interesting. My hands press into their firmness, the sheer fat weight of them dominating my small, meagre, human hands. Shit, no wonder girls go for these monster men. Balls like Kyln's must be able to knock up the whole school with triplets.

Did...did I just think that? Imagine it? I shiver. What the hell's wrong with me?

In some petty attempt at revenge, I squeeze as hard as I can. Kyln grunts, but the sound, and the way he shivers, suggests pleasure as opposed to pain.

'Fuck, sissy, you really like me, huh?' He chuckles. 'Bet they feel good, don't they? Bet you wish you had real balls, like I do.' Kyln pulls back and lets them dangle, wobbling in such a way as to smother my face. I try to get up but he just lets his haunches fall down, trapping me. 'No, Greyson. No way. You want out, you be honest.'

He lifts himself slightly, freeing my mouth. 'Honest?'

'Yeah, bitch. You had your dick in your hand, sissy. What was going through your head?'

Shit. Fuck.

'Uh...'

Kyln wobbles his haunches, causing the quartet of heaving testicles to swing back and forth above my face, brushing the point of my nose as they go. They're mesmerising, the way they sway, the way they bulge in the leathery brown of his scrotum. Such big, heavy, dangerous-looking balls.

'It's okay, Greyson,' Kyln says. 'I already know.'

'You do?'

'Of course, sissy. You're an omega male.' He chuckles. 'You saw a beta, who you thought an alpha, enjoy the body of a real alpha male.' Another shudder, prolonging the swing of his nuts. Kyln lowers himself slightly, causing the underside of his fat melon-sized balls to bury my nose and glide back and forth across my face. 'You realise that there's other ways to get pleasure now, don't you? That it's not just girls.'

I'd talk but my face is pretty much buried in the tangy musky damp heat of his testicles, which taint the air I breathe, which feel so weird against my skin. He does this thing, this side-to-side wobble, dragging his nuts across my face, in the process lowering himself so that I'm supporting the full weight of them.

'Tell me what I already know, Greyson,' Kyln says while lifting his rear, freeing my face of his testicles, bringing them high enough that the light behind and above makes the truth inescapable. 'You wanted to be Marcus. You wanted to be in my office instead of him. You wanted to be mounted, to be your Coach's sissy mare.'

I don't know, but the worrying thing is that I don't know.

Why...why was I so entranced, on Wednesday? I couldn't take my eyes off of Kyln's body, off of his balls, his equine shaft, his powerful sexuality. To witness Marcus, this male so far above me, who so easily won Jen's affections, submit so willingly to the older centaur...it awoke something in me I didn't know existed.

My cock is hardening. Shit.

Was I really jealous, of Marcus?

'But why?'

Kyln snorts. 'But why what, Greyson?'

'Why did I want to be Marcus?'

The Coach laughs and at long last pushes himself onto all four hoofs. In laughing his balls shudder, mesmerising me. I recall my newfound freedom and, for whatever reason, look upwards. Kyln is erect, at full length, three-feet of horse cock protruding out from the leathery brown sheath ahead of his swollen balls.

White and chocolate brown, the silky skin is clearly smooth, criss-crossed by bulging veins, underlined by a fat juicy urethra, a cum-vein. The flared brown head, wider than the wrist-thick shaft, culminates in a band of thick tissue from which protrudes a fat glans, the upper portion bulging forwards, the lower curving inwards around a dark protrusion, a cleft with a urethral bulge. It's bestial, animalistic, and incredibly...

...is it because he's a centaur, that I'm so glued to it? I've never paid penises a second of thought, in all the porn I've watched, all the hentai I've read, but here now, and on Wednesday before...I'm enthralled by the sight.

'Because you're horny and eighteen, Greyson. Because you want to cum, want to feel good, and you know you want sex. You saw Marcus getting railed, saw him cum, and that part of you, that dirty little sissy, wanted the same.' Kyln chuckles, causing his balls to shudder, his penis to wobble. 'You can't escape the truth, Greyson. I've been stood for over a minute now, and you're still under there examining the gym equipment.'

I am, aren't I? I'm still laid down, still staring up at his magnificent undercarriage. Magnificent, really? But it is, isn't it? Kyln is packing the largest, most intimidating cock I've ever seen. And those balls, those fat, sagging balls...

'We don't have to work on your archery today, Greyson.'

'We don't?'

'I mean, it's not like you can take your eyes off my cock, is it?' He chuckles. 'Why not sit up for me, and take hold of it? I bet you wank all the time, sissy. It's not much different, excluding that my dick's the genuine article.'

It...I can't. I shouldn't. This is Coach Kyln, this is the middle-aged bully who mocks and ridicules me, this is a centaur, a fucking man above all else. Nobody sane would sit upright and reach for his erect throbbing mammoth of a horse penis. I...I want to hold it, even if just for a moment, even if just to know. What is it like to touch a centaur's cock?

Kyln's cock?

'Coach...'

'Just you and me, Greyson,' Kyln says. 'Nobody but us, nobody to know what you do down there.'

I'm sat upright before I know it, I'm reaching for his shaft as it twitches away before me, now so much closer, so much vaster. It radiates heat, emits this musky, salty, animalistic tang that makes my head entertain dangerous thoughts. This thing, this penis, made Marcus act like a slut, a cock-hungry girl. That bull, that better man who took the girl I so adore, capitulated to this penis, this man.

'C'mon, Greyson, don't be shy. Don't you want to be like Marcus?'

'I...'

It's nothing to do with Marcus. Here now, the one thought is worse: I want to touch Kyln. My fingers are tingling, basking in the heat of his organ. My nostrils are alight with the stench of his penis, his balls. My cock is throbbing, hard and bordering on aching.

I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not gay.

'I like girls,' I say, withdrawing my hands. 'This is gay, Coach.'

'It doesn't have to be,' Kyln says. 'I mean sure, if you're hoping this'll turn into something romantic between us, that'd be pretty gay.' His tail flicks violently, side to side, drawing my gaze to his plump quartet of balls. 'But you're obviously curious about me, Greyson. That's a genuine stallion penis down there, so why not sate that curiosity?'

My heart is thundering, beating against my ribs. I can't take my eyes away from his dangerous phallus, the flared head with its slight forwards bulge staring at me, glistening with gooey drool. A horse penis, a centaur penis, Coach Kyln's penis. My hands are so close to it, the heat of it, the smell of it.

Kyln shuffles forwards, closing the distance, leaving but a half-foot between my paralysed face and the tip of his equid length, veiny as it is, flared as it is. A fear reflex dawns, mind set upon that worst of outcomes, that he might slam the thing against my face. I instinctively grab it, both hands taking hold of him just behind the flared tip.

I'm struck by the sheer heat of his throbbing weapon, the firmness of its structure paired with the smoothness of its exterior. The heavy veins bulge against my fingers and palms, the whole thing pulsates with need, with lust. This is a penis, a man's penis, a centaur's penis. Kyln's penis. I'm actually touching another man, touching another man's dick, and I'm not disgusted. It feels strange, but...

'Stroke it,' Kyln says. 'Spit on your hands and stroke it, sissy.'

'I don't think I've got enough spit,' I say.

Am I really going to do this? Why? What's the matter with me?

The Coach snorts. 'Wet your hands with the tip, then. Use that instead.'

His helmet, strangely shaped as it is, with its bulging upper half and receding lower, has some weird appeal to it. I bring my hands forwards, tracing out the expanse of the flare as it settles into this thick, monstrous head atop his pole. The glans is smooth, pearly smooth, silky smooth. It readily covers my palms and fingers in stickiness, this warm stringy substance translucent like spit, oily as well. Coated as they are in his precum, I slide them backwards again, onto the shaft proper.

I'm...I'm going to do this, aren't I? Kyln's flared equid helmet is staring at me, some white and brown mottled cyclops of a thing, goo-spilling urethra a little spigot in the innermost of its clefted face.

The Coach's penis, in my hands. My hands, slick and wet with his precum, which continues to spill out of his glans. His glans, staring at me, ominous and foretelling. This is a sexual act. This is a homosexual act. Stroke it.

My hands start to move before my eyes, and it's suddenly real. I'm giving another man a handjob, masturbating another man. Only the man is Coach Kyln, the formidable centaur stallion. His tail whips side to side behind him, excitedly. He cracks a forward hoof down, behind my head. For a moment it seems like I'm actually beneath a stallion horse, for all the musky animalism of the stench, for all the barrel-like brown-furred body above me, for the four legs and the mammoth, equid penis. It feels immediately more taboo, more perverse.

'That's it, Greyson,' Kyln says, breaking the illusion. 'Ughn. Keep going, sissy.'

I can't believe this is happening. I'm holding onto the Coach's horse-cock, stroking it with both hands, dragging back and forth along the velvet smoothness of his flesh. Kyln throbs against my skin. The motion of my fingers, the pulsing of his body, causes those huge fat bollocks to shudder and wobble. The heat of his body radiates into my palms, into my fingers.

'Ugh, yeah. Good little sissy. Tend to that dick. Tend to a real man.'

It makes me shiver, makes my cock twitch, being spoken so lowly of. 'I'm not a sissy.'

Kyln chuckles. I feel the vibration of it through our point of mutual contact. 'Coulda fooled me, Greyson. You got a crush on me, huh?'

'Of course not,' I say firmly, all the while slowly tugging on him.

'So--ughn--what's the deal? What are you doing?'

I don't know. I really don't. This just started, kind of happened, and now...now Kyln's dangerous equid cock is pointing at my face, a fat globule of precum building in the cleft of his unusually-shaped flared helmet. It's starting to leak, to drool downwards, forming a kind of beaded translucent string.

'Bet it feels right,' Kyln says.

'What?'

'Doing this. Tending to me.' He clacks a front hoof again, and groans. 'You like doing this, don't you? It's okay, Greyson. You're not the first straight boy to be doing this.'

As silly as it sounds, that offers some strange relief. His silken flesh pulses against my fingers, that trickle of precum hanging lower and lower, ultimately becoming too heavy and falling, splattering faintly on the gym floor. His penis -- Kyln's penis -- is leaking, because I'm stroking it.

'Was...was Marcus straight?'

I feel him shrug, muscled body giving a swing to his balls, a faint vibration to his shaft. 'Not sure, but I'd not seen him with boys,' Coach Kyln says. 'Not that he was of much interest to me, anyway.'

'You took him so easily.'

'Because he's a beta, that's all. A lot of self-described alphas out there are just betas wearing tough outfits.'

'What's the difference?'

'A real alpha does what he wants, doesn't care.' Kyln sounds rather proud of himself. 'If people saw Marcus fucking some hunk's ass, they'd question him. He'd cave, protest, maybe get angry.' The centaur chuckles. 'Me? I don't give a shit. The aim is to get what you want, so I do that. Getting hung-up on sexuality, gender, that trash, is loser-talk.'

'So you'd do what I'm doing to you?'

Kyln laughs. 'For the right man? Sure.' He groans soft, quiet. 'Yet to, ugh, find one though, sissy. But you seem to be in your element. A little faster, now.'

I do as he asks, moving my hands more quickly, provoking a heavy glaze from the eyelet cleft of his strange inhuman glans. He groans, which makes me shiver. I find myself strangely pleasured by the sound. Maybe he's right. Maybe this does feel right. I mean, why else am I doing it? It doesn't feel bad, and...Kyln's body is interesting, to say the least.

This might turn me on?

'I'm not a sissy, all right? Sissies want to be girls, man.'

'What you're doing down there, Greyson, is service. You get nothing from it, not in the sense that matters -- the physical one,' Kyln says. 'Anything good about it is--ughn--in your head. It's me who gets the pleasure, me who gets to pop off a load.' I feel him shake his head. 'That's sissy work, Greyson. Servicing another man like this, with no pleasure in return. You don't have to do it but you are, meaning you get a psychological thrill off it, feel good doing it. Again, unless you think we've got some deep soppy bond, or whatever.'

'Shit.'

Kyln chuckles. 'Right, ain't I?'

'No, I just...I forgot that you'd, well...cum.'

'Yeah,' the Coach says. 'That's kind of the point.'

The passing image of his immensely virile body and his lance of a horse phallus that drools before me ejaculating its thick ropey off-white payload is terrifying and, shamefully, exciting. His balls suddenly seem that much more intimidating, packing as they are what must be trillions of centaur sperms, ready to be mixed into a hot, steaming, musky bucketful of semen.

I pause my efforts. 'We can't,' I say. 'My clothes would be ruined. There'd be such a mess.'

'Well, you saw what Marcus did.'

Marcus, Jen's big burly minotaur boyfriend, got on his knees underneath Kyln. Got on his knees, put his mouth on the centaur's penis, and...sucked a load out of the old beast's loins. His stomach bloated, his pride gone, diluted by the sheer volume of "pride" he swallowed, fresh out of Kyln's bestial body. The thought makes me shiver, puts hairs erect on the back of my neck that creep down my spine. A chill on a warm day.

'That interest you at all, Greyson? Guzzling down your coach's swimmers?'

'I...no...it--'

Coach Kyln chuckles loudly, cracking a hoof upon the tiled gym floor, violent sound echoing far. 'Fact is, Greyson, that you started this,' Kyln says. 'I stood up, you stayed put. That little game we played? It turned into you milking me, using your hands on my dick. Shit, sissy, you're still holding me.'

Something about his tone makes my back stiffen, makes him seem dangerous and deadly even, towering above me as he does. At the same time, it makes my pathetic little cock twitch and throb, amplified by sordid arousal. Kyln turns me on, doesn't he? This smell of his body, this place beneath him. The way his great loins sway and sag, the way his enormous penis, like that of a horse, stares cycloptic at me, gooey and glazed, drooling ropey precum.

I can't deny it, can I? That evil, sordid, stomach-churning interest in all this. I am still holding him, aren't I? Holding on with both hands, feeling the heat of his body, the power of his male organ. So thick, veiny, dangerous-seeming. The way it stares at me, an equid weapon, drooling glossy sticky goo, its shining slick helmet bulging in that irregular, starkly inhuman manner.