The Centaur Coach Ch 03

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

On Monday, he does nothing. On Tuesday, nothing.

On Wednesday...I have problems.

Try as I might, masturbating just isn't the same. Even with all those sordid memories, playing with my penis just doesn't cut it. The pleasure's off, the sensation is inferior, the feeling of it subpar. It's worrying by Monday, dangerous on Tuesday, terrifying by Wednesday morning.

Terrifying, because Kyln might have broken me. Might have ruined sexual release for me.

Just looking at him, being near him and smelling him, arouses me. I'm not gay, I'm not attracted to a man, let alone a beast like Kyln is, but I'm forced to think of the least sexual things in the world, must constantly readjust myself in his presence, and need to keep far and away from the centaur coach.

It's so bad that by the end of the lesson on Wednesday I'm left awkwardly masturbating in the shower wishing, praying, that I'll be able to ejaculate and rid myself of this annoying boner that's plagued me all day.

I don't hear the door go, and only hear his hoofs a fraction of a second before I see him. Coach Kyln, tall and muscular, hairy and wild, is stood in the shower entrance grinning lustily at me. He snorts, throws his head back and chuckles loudly, filling the changing room with mirthful mockery.

'Thinking about me, Greyson?' he says, trotting into the large shower room, a rectangle of tiles and equidistant shower nozzles. 'Friday was good, huh?'

Paralysed as I am I watch him go past. He sets himself beneath a wall shower, letting the water soak through his thick salt-and-pepper locks and wet the coarse flow of his beard. 'Well, sissy? Anything to say for yourself? You know it's against school rules to masturbate.'

Coach Kyln positions himself in such a way as to have his backside facing me, puffy black ring of his arsehole visible beneath his long tail when it flicks from side to side. My gaze betrays me as settle upon the great hanging sack between his rear legs, that set of four massive balls, huge and sagging, glossy with sweat. Leathery brown skin, no fur.

'I...uh, I wasn't, Coach.'

He snorts. 'No need to be coy, Greyson. We're pretty familiar now, aren't we? Shit, bitch, I fucked you so hard you fell unconscious! Had to haul your cum-filled arse in here myself.'

'So what, you're going to blackmail me now?'

The Coach gives me a look of ill-humour. 'Blackmail? Gods no, slut. You think I care if you wank in the shower? Pfft.' He runs both hands through his long grey-streaked black hair, straining it, pulling out the knots, the sweat of the day washing away. 'I don't do blackmail. Weaklings do that. The strong take what we want. The strong receive what we deserve.'

He shifts, the cords of muscle beneath his fine coat flexing, momentarily obvious. The motion has his balls shudder and sway, a Newton's cradle effect, wobbling side to side and springing about in their taut leathery sack. I realise that I'm staring so I glance away, blushing harder, feeling nervous and ashamed. What's wrong with me?

Kyln obviously notices. 'Makes sense you'd stare at them,' he says. 'Kinda got a rapport, you and those testicles. After all, one produces my load, the other receives it.'

My mind races, flashing back to Friday, to the things I said and thought. I called this beast daddy, didn't I? I craved the sensation of his flesh inside of me, desired a pleasure only he could bestow, and was willing to do just about anything to perpetuate it. This stallion centaur -- my coach -- absolutely ravaged me, fucked me to pieces. And, as he says, filled me with one of his immense ejaculations.

'What I said--'

'Doesn't matter, Greyson. You were honest, on Friday. You knew your place and were rewarded for it.' He shrugs his powerful shoulders. 'Now you're playing it cool, but you were honest to me then. I know how you think, feel, need.'

I twist my mouth. 'If anyone were to find out--'

'I'd be sent back to Wildenarth, sissy. You think I want what I did to become common knowledge?'

'You raped me. It was rape.'

Kyln nods. 'Yep, Greyson. It was rape. Twice over. You being my student, you not consenting. Not really consenting, anyway. Not according to the' -- he makes air quotes -- '"high morals" of you humans and this world of yours.' The Coach turns to me with just his torso, a proud grin on his strong mouth. 'You loved it, slut.'

I...I did. I really, honestly, truly did. I loved being fucked by another man, by a bestial centaur stallion of a man. I'm straight, I say to myself. I'm not gay, I say to myself. But how do I square this circle? How could I enjoy gay sex -- the gayest, being the receiver, being the girl -- while maintaining these ideas about myself?

'I'm not gay.'

He rolls his eyes. 'Maybe, maybe not. Does it matter? I'm not looking to wine and dine you, Greyson. Just looking to drain my balls.' Kyln turns away again, wetting the furry hairs of his broad, sculpted chest. 'Our little coupling drained yours, I bet. You wanna experience that again, don't you, sissy?'

I do. I hate myself for it, but he's right. I do. I've never cum so hard, never experienced anything quite like it. Being ridden, being mounted, by the centaur stallion coach was something else.

'I won't tell,' I say while blushing, quivering. Instinctually I turn my back to him, put my hands against the tiles, assuming some kind of presentation pose. 'It's our secret, Coach. Just...do what you want.'

The Coach chuckles. 'Can't even say in plain English what you're after, huh?' There's a clack of hoofs on tiles as he turns about and rushes at me. Coach Kyln rears up on his powerful hind legs and I chew on my lip excited, eyes wide, ready...but he just presses his forelegs against the wall above me and holds steady, a great and terrible equid beast looming threateningly. 'Cute how you tremble. Why don't you guide me in?'

'I...uh...'

He snorts, reaches down, and grabs hold of my throat. 'Look, slut, do you have any idea how readily I get laid? How filthy your species are in the throes of heat, in my presence?' The Coach easily presses me forwards, pushing one of my cheeks against the wall, and tilting my head to look up at his brutish grin. 'The fuck do I get out of some dishonest little sissy who just wants to sit there and take it, huh? You want yourself a girl who just goes limp, bitch? Are you that fucking dull?'

I wouldn't, no. Any potential vision of a sexy girl, in bed with me, has a lot more to her than just laying back and taking it. Much as I hate the realisation, it's an honest one. I'm so nervous about this, so embarrassed about it, that I'm trying to avoid it entirely. If I'm beneath Kyln, if he's doing all of it...it's like I'm just being pleasured. Easy to pretend.

'What...what should I do?'

'You want me to fuck you, then?'

'Y-eah.'

'Say it, slut.'

'I want you to fuck me, Coach. I want to be mounted.'

Coach Kyln chuckles. 'That's a start, I guess.' He releases my head and pats it with a big strong hand. 'First thing is, I don't share. No dating. No boys. No girls. Just me.'

'As if I'd be doing this if I was getting laid.'

'You overhear Marcus, that time? What I can do for you, what I can do for girls, is better than what you can do using your cock,' he says. 'Multiple orgasms as a man can only occur from anal penetration. Simple as that.'

I cock an eye at him. 'So why don't you find a man who can do that for you?'

Kyln grins. He looks feral, dangerous. 'Because I'm a real man, an alpha-male, and the psychological pleasure of asserting that over boys and girls far outweighs the pleasure I'd get from having my arse reamed. Got it, sissy? I like to conquer. To be mounted is to be conquered.'

'Sure, I guess.' The idea makes me blush, makes this worse and better. Just that simple admittance, and it feels like the mirrored opposite of what I felt when he was taking me. 'What next, Coach?'

'Next,' Coach Kyln says, 'is that I'm not even hard yet.' Hearing that, I glance back over my shoulder to find his hefty sheathe, a foot of drooping soft horse dick protruding from it. Definitely not hard. 'Tend to me, sissy. Get that weapon ready for war.'

My head spins. It goes to naughty, dirty places. I mean, this whole thing is filthy, right? But on the surface, all I want is to repeat that experience, to be ploughed by the stallion, to cum until my head wobbles off. But beneath the surface I'm struck by what must be gay urges and thoughts, becoming aware of this latent interest in his body, from its bestial qualities to its sexual ones, and to what Kyln must desire of me.

'Meaning...what?'

'Meaning that the doors are locked, and I have the only key. Nobody's going to interrupt us, so you can be bolder than you were on Friday.' He gives his rear end a shake, causing those hefty balls to wobble and sway, and that drooping cock to jiggle. 'It's been a long, hot day. My balls need washing.'

Hearing him say that, when the mind races with lewder possibilities, has me sigh in light relief. 'Sure,' I say. 'I can do that. Could you turn around?'

'Why?'

'To reach the shower?'

The Coach chuckles. 'Sissy, I could do that myself,' he says. Kyln reaches down and strokes my head. 'Use your mouth.'

Such a little phrase, and it makes my eyes bulge. All relief fades, replaced by something dark and alluring. I can't do that...can I? I can't really use my mouth on the Coach's enormous, heavy, sagging nuts. They're...this whole thing is...

'Go on, sissy.' He continues petting me. 'You want me to mount you again? Prove it. Show me that you think of me as your mate. It's customary for the mare to wash her stallion's balls, in my culture.'

I shudder, flush. I'm beneath Coach Kyln's huge body, angled as it is up towards the wall, his rear legs spread wide to hold firm his stance. Brown fur all around, muscles obvious beneath it, his underside sloping down towards those heaving balls and that foot-long piece of drooping cockmeat. This is no man but a beast, with a beast's body. If I wash those heavy swingers I'll be washing horse testicles, and Kyln...Kyln wants me to use my mouth. To lick the sweat and the grime of the day off of them.

And then, to make it all worse, he practically calls me his mare.

'I'm not a girl,' I say, trembling in voice and body. 'I'm not your mare.'

The Coach chuckles, pats my head. 'But you want me to mate you, don't you, sissy? You want me to ride you, like a couple of horses in a field,' he says. 'And if you want that, then you'll wash my balls. You'll wash them with your mouth.'

I...fuck. 'I can't believe I'm doing this,' I say softly, under my breath. Coach Kyln sniggers.

But I am. I am doing it.

I lower myself and descend on his genitals, going past his drooping length of flaccid penis, coming down on my knees beneath his balls, to rest my knees upon the hard tiles of the shower room. His heaving loins hang above my head, inches away. This whole region utterly stinks, smells bitter and musky, distinctly male, incredibly thick. Wild, animalistic, dirty.

The Coach drops back onto his forelimbs, turning on the shower as his hoofs clack down. The weight of the movement causes his balls to drop and wobble, bouncing off my forehead as they do so. They momentarily smother my face with heat and sweaty dampness. Oh God. The stink makes me...I'm actually salivating.

'Wash those nuts and get me ready,' Kyln says. 'I'll finish washing my hair.'

It's awful that I have some general idea of what to do, even though I've never even thought about washing a centaur's bollocks before, let alone this way. I reach up with both hands and capture one of the front pair, bringing it away from the others. The four hang so low that there's about a head's height of separation between their lowest point and his underbelly.

They're not exactly alien now, but still...interesting. Still new. The testicle is very heavy, firm to the touch, warm bordering on hot. The damp skin is smoother than leather but has that same general sense of thickness to it, furless and hairless compared to the scrotums of other species, humans included.

'Those feel an awful lot like hands, sissy.'

I blush, feeling weird on hearing his strong, baritone voice. 'I'm just working up to it, okay? It's...a big ask.'

'Is it? You don't see how lucky you are, Greyson.'

I roll my eyes. 'Lucky? To wash your balls with my tongue?'

'The balls of a centaur stallion,' Kyln says, sounding weirdly serious. Like this means a lot to him. 'The balls of a powerful alpha male, of a better species. Not just a better male, but of a superior category of males. And one of the finest of that group.'

'Does your neck hurt, Coach? With how heavy that head is?'

He does actually chuckle, a good-natured sound. 'Don't get cocky, slut. You're holding my nuts, you've seen me in action, you've been mounted by me. You tell me, Greyson. Am I exaggerating about my virtues?'

It's a little worrying that my first thought is no. Coach Kyln, for all of his arrogance and tendency to bully me, is remarkably controlled. Bulging with muscles, seething with masculinity. Literally hung like a horse, with four massive testicles each like five times as big as either of my two are while also being far, far heavier. Aged, powerful, dangerous.

But...I don't want to say that I might somehow, pathetically, agree. So I do the natural thing to shut myself up, closing my eyes and advancing on the captured bollock with my mouth. The stink, that bitter musk, that male wildness, grows thicker and thicker as my face nears his drooping scrotum. My nostrils twitch and the heat of his loins warms my face.

Fuck it.

The first lick, the first attempt, is some clumsy and quick upwards stroke. Out goes my tongue, pushed between my lips and sent crudely against the leathery skin of his bald scrotum to touch base with the fat lump held warmly in both hands. I'm struck with foreign warmth against my tastebuds, a mismatch between the smooth outer skin and the irregular surface of the lump beneath. Then comes the potent taste of saltiness, edged faintly in bitterness.

'Good boy,' Kyln says, the slightest wobble in his voice. 'Wash those fat balls, sissy.'

I briefly open my eyes, cementing the reality of this. I'm kneeling in the shower, kneeling beneath Coach Kyln, the middle-aged centaur, with one of his huge testicles in my hands and my lips basically touching that hanging weight. I keep my eyes open as I lap again, tasting again his salty sweat, that musky bitterness. The bollock shifts and the sack deforms in response to my tongue's lapping.

'Mhm.'

It's wrong, but his balls taste good. I'm not quite sure if it's just the saltiness, or something more carnal, but the flavour of his sweat combined with the warmth against my tastebuds and the heavy nose-tingling musk of his undercarriage has me losing my inhibitions a lap at a time. Before I know it, I'm affectionately stroking his bollock with my tongue, feeling faint dissatisfaction as the taste of his dirty nuts is gradually replaced by the fainter neutrality of saliva-washed scrotum.

'You're a natural, Greyson,' Kyln says. He clacks a front hoof on the tiles. 'I should've been practising this with you instead of archery.' The centaur chuckles warmly. 'Something to--ugh--keep in mind, perhaps.'

'Yesh.'

I barely attend to myself, hardly control myself. The smell and the taste and the sensation and the strangely exciting compliments doled out by the much older centaur make my head spin. All of those dirty ideas, this idealisation of Kyln as some alpha male, some pinnacle of masculinity, swim around my thoughts.

Before I know it I'm kissing him, kissing his testicle. In some act of peculiar worship, I let my hands slip away and use them to balance myself on his muscular rear thighs, and let his heavy four-balled scrotum practically engulf my face. The world fades and all that remains is the weight of his loins, the thick stink of his musk, and the warmth that swallows my face.

I'm lapping, kissing, shifting my face about in some trance. The Coach's bollock sweat fills my mouth and I eagerly seek more of it, nibbling and sucking on the folds of his sack, lapping up at the shapes of his big fat hangers. Their contours form a mental image in my head, the actual world shrouded darkly in brown nut-sack. My heart is racing, my cock is aching.

'You like those balls, don't you, bitch?'

His voice, demeaning, weirdly exciting. 'Mfyes.'

'How do they smell? How do they taste?'

'Amafzing.'

Coach Kyln chuckles. He makes a movement with his hips that causes his heaving balls to sway and shudder, buffeting my face with their heaviness. 'I--ughn--like the initiative you're showing, Greyson. I only told you to wash them, didn't I?' He chuckles again, a mote cruel. 'Kissing, motorboating...you're worshipping me, sissy. And to think, you said you're not my mare.'

Something in my head snaps, as if the world is suddenly clearer. All my deeds are lain before me, bright and photographic. The things I said, the things I've done. I gasp cleaner air and fall backwards in shock, finding myself beneath the great centaur stallion.

Kyln is erect. His two-and-a-half-foot long penis, that of a virile horse, looms above me. The flared glans twitches and aches with need, its urethral pit glistening beneath the upper overhang of smooth brown tissue and drooling a thick rope of beady precum. His arousal is ripe in the air, musky and bestial, with a heavy dominant odour. The whole thing commands interest, such terrible curiosities, so much so that I find myself staring, idly licking at my lips.

'Coach...'

'Put your hands on it, sissy,' Coach Kyln says. 'You think I don't hear your breathing? You think I didn't hear you lick those lips?'

'It's...it's incredible.'

The centaur chuckles. 'It feels better than it looks, Greyson. But you know that already.'

'I do,' I say, recalling the heat, the silky-smooth touch of his skin and the pulsating need and firmness of his inhuman weapon. I'm struck by a mix of terrible desires. What's wrong with me? 'I...I'm so confused, Coach.'

'What's the problem?'

The problem is that I've never before considered putting another man's penis anywhere near my mouth, and yet right now it's all I want to do. All I can think about is sitting up on my knees beneath the Coach and taking hold of his penis and actually sucking on it, giving him a blowjob. I can't help but imagine tasting all that gooey precum and experiencing his hot throbbing horse-cock in my mouth and on my tongue and pleasuring him, servicing him. The idea is awful, grotesque, but for some reason it's a deeply erotic and enticing thought.

And it's terrifying, but I want to taste him as well. I want the powerful, much older centaur stallion to ejaculate right across my tongue. I want to taste his fat healthy centaur sperm, to taste his release, to consume his pride. To...to submit to him in the most erotic way I can envision.

'It's just' -- I lift my hands, and shift my posture. The urge is too strong, the lust dangerous in its appeal -- 'I can't stop thinking about you.' Kyln's cock is heavy, the stink mind-numbing. It throbs across my upturned palms, hot as hell, drooling more voluminously. 'I keep...keep masturbating to you...keep remembering how this felt...keep...fantasising...'

'Nobody's going to stop you, sissy,' Coach Kyln says. 'Nobody's going to find out what happens here, between us.'

I'm on my knees now. His cock is barely half a foot from my lips. The huge glans is starkly inhuman, brown and glossy, full and flared, engorged with need. The shaft narrows then expands into a thick ring of tissue, from which protrudes a smooth crest, clefted vertically, the upper portion curved downwards into a recess around the opening of his urethra, which appears as a small yet obvious protrusion. A penis, least of all an inhuman one, should not be appetising, and yet Kyln's most certainly is.