Coach Kyln's Cumdump, Ch. 3

 

Chapter 3: Earning a Big Reward

 

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.

‘I’m scared, Coach. It’s…’

‘–it’s okay, Greyson. It’s about time we started doing this, given our clear compatibility.’ He chuckles warmly. ‘Open wide and begin by sucking on the tip. Get used to the feeling of it, my flavours, and make sure to use your tongue to get acquainted to my shape.’

It’s wrong, but…I lean in. Lean in, until my lips are a mere inch from the leaking glans that tips his tremendous equid penis. The centaur’s erection pulses against my palms, and I curl my fingers around the thickness of his shaft. I want this, don’t I? I’m salivating, I’m licking my lips.

‘What if I hate it?’

‘Then we’ll know, won’t we?’

‘And I can stop, then? Just like that?’

Coach Kyln makes a little noise, and trots a hoof. ‘Greyson, you have the wrong idea about this. This isn’t something I do to you, but something you do to me.’ He shifts slightly, the penis moving against my hands, those gigantic testicles wobbling beneath its base. ‘You do the work here. You pick your pace, you do as much or as little as your sissy heart desires.’ His tone has a satisfaction to it, a confident warmth. ‘That’s what makes this act so special. That’s why they call it service.’

When he says the word, I draw in a little breath. His glans throbs, his cock aches against my palms and fingers, and some more of that glistening penile drool leaks out of the little cum-vein aperture. I slowly lick my lips, wetting them, preparing for…for what I’m about to do. It’s mad, it’s crazy, it’s fucking gay, but…

…but I lean closer, and keep licking my lips. Closer, until the heat of his engorged glans warms the moist skin of my mouth. I’m about to do it, Jesus Christ. I’m on my knees beneath Coach Kyln, beneath this much older man – this centaur – and I’m about to put his inhuman penis inside my mouth. I’m about to service him.

The thought makes my cock ache. Makes my head spin. Makes the world strange.

‘Kyln,’ I say. ‘Coach.’

‘Yeah, Greyson?’

‘Don’t tell anyone. Please.’

He chuckles. ‘I won’t, sissy. But in return, I want you to do something for me.’

I shiver at his tone. ‘Something beyond what I’m about to do?’

‘I want you to beg, Greyson,’ Coach Kyln says. ‘I want you to beg, for the honour of servicing a true alpha-male such as myself.’ The Coach’s tail flicks, side to side, with excitement. ‘Can you do that, boy? Can you beg?’

The tone, again, promotes a shiver. The hairs on my neck rise. ‘Beg?’

‘Tell me how badly you want to taste me, Greyson. Tell me how honoured you feel, to have the luxury of servicing a stallion like myself. Tell me how lucky you feel to have such a teacher as myself, to introduce you to the world of appeasing real men through the efforts of that sissy virgin mouth.’

I tremble a little, my cock aching. I’m not gay, I remind myself, but I’m incredibly aroused by this entire situation. I’m staring at Coach Kyln’s equine erection, his huge shaft that sits currently against my hands, its flared glans glazed and gooey, staring back at me. A bestial, powerful, manly tool. Glossy, slick brown skin, the shaft itself veiny and with patches of creamier flesh. The glans itself ringed in thick tissue at the edges, bulging out with a vertical cleft and an obvious urethral protrusion, drooling constantly.

‘P-lease let me s-uck your cock, Coach,’ I say, trembling, my mouth wet. ‘I want to taste it s-o badly. I want to taste a r-eal man, a real stallion. It’d be s-uch an honour to service you, C-oach. I’m s-o lucky to have a s-tallion like you teach my sissy virgin mouth to service real m-anly cock.’

The centaur coach laughs, raucous, pleased with it all. It makes me feel smaller, makes me feel pathetic, and I blush to recall the words I just uttered. The admittance, honest despite my reservations, that I have my own role in this sordidness. That I, too, am fetishizing this carnal act between an old virile stallion centaur and a young virginal human boy.

‘You really are a little sissy bitch, aren’t you, Greyson?’ Kyln says, and laughs again. ‘Shit, I’ve wanted my own pet human cocksucker since I got here. All the better that it’s you.’ He adjusts slightly, cock slipping forwards in my grip, towards me. With incredible control, hinting at the true power here, the Coach halts his glistening glans a hair’s breadth from my lips. ‘Kiss me, Greyson. Kiss me as though you’re kissing Jen. Kiss me in the one place that matters the most, you slutty sissy beta.’

It's hard to picture Jen’s mouth being the bestial flared glans of the centaur’s cock, but I can only try. I’ve come this far. As wrong as this is, as new to me and foreign as it is…I want to be mounted again. To go forever without experiencing that most vulgarly submissive of pleasures would be a tragedy.

The bestial tip is hot and wild in the way it throbs. It surprises me with the softness of it, the silky texture weirdly pleasant. It’s larger than Jen’s mouth, but if anything that makes it easier to kiss. The smooch I give is at first tentative, then protracted. My lips meet the centaur’s cock and for a moment we’re kissing, but not in any romantic manner.

His flare glazes my lips with a thick smear of precum, which I slowly taste. Like a jolt of electricity down the spine, the flavour wakes me up. Salty, tangy, earthy, just like before. An animalistic, bestial, undeniably pleasant taste. I go in for a second approach.

‘That’s it, sissy. Kiss a better man’s dick.’

His words slide off me, a dirty madness now heavy on my thoughts. What begins with mere lips against shaft transforms into something lustier, a passion that has me tilt my head this way and that as I engage my lips upon his glans, soaking my mouth in copious amounts of centaur precum.

If it were Jen’s mouth, I’d be tongue-kissing her. A dirty notion, a righteously carnal one.

A slipping-out of the tongue gives me a big mouthful of his powerful flavours, a dirtiness creeping in to join the taste of his dick juice, wholly logical given that this is a penis, and not some bodiless strange lollipop.

‘Schlup. Slurp.’

The crude noises that come from my mouth, from the unity of the equid cock and my lips, shame me like nothing else. Yet I don’t stop. I keep going, shifting my lips about his swollen flare and dirtying my face as his powerful body produces a continual drool of musky oiliness that paints my lips and drools down my chin.

I stretch my lips a little more, then a little further, while bathing his glans with tongue movements. God, it’s so wrong, so dirty, but Coach Kyln tastes so good. Good beyond he should be, good beyond him having any right to be. Pretend it’s Jen, pretend it’s Jen…and then I’m snogging his helmet, trying to suckle on it, ultimately sliding my lips so far and wide that the filthy submissive act commences in truth.

‘There we go,’ Kyln says. ‘That a boy. Ughn.’

His glans is so thick and fat it strains my mouth. I take him up with both hands and begin to stroke and tug on his length while tending to the tip with my kisser, sucking in my cheeks on instinct around the dangerously hot, incredibly pleasant bulk that pushes down my tongue and stretches my lips.

‘Mhm. Schlup.’

I ignore my own sounds. Ignore the dirty submissiveness that is so fitting for me now, comes so naturally. Kyln glazes my tongue with endless amounts of filthy centaur precum and I tug and nurse and suckle on him, wanking his lengthy lance while tracing out the contours of his interestingly-shaped helmet.

Coach Kyln stomps a hoof, swishes his tail. From this angle, eyes wide open, above me is his barrel-like underside and ahead I can follow the cream-white and chocolate brown of his shaft along to its origins in that thick-ringed brown sheath, and beyond it those pendulous horse bollocks that sag in that leathery brown sack swing faintly.

‘Ughn. Good sissy. Bob for those apples.’

Something is mesmerising about this whole ordeal. The way his balls wobble and shudder, the heat and taste and feeling of his dick in my mouth, the sheer throbbing power of his shaft in my hands, all come together to force an undesired truth upon me.

I…I like sucking Kyln’s dick. I hate that I do, I don’t want to, but it doesn’t change the truth.

‘Slurp. Mhm. Mumph.’

God, it feels so right in my mouth. I was worried, dreaded it, but the salty earthy tang of his precum and the way it dominates everything, how readily it slides about, how powerful its presence and how pleasant its textures…I can’t hate this.

I’m losing control. Losing my focus. So aware that I can give myself to this act, to really service the old stallion, at the drop of a hat. Because every time Coach Kyln groans or exhales sharply, every time that tail swishes or a hoof comes down with a clack, I feel this weird pang of excitement that I’m pleasing him so.

But I need to relent. This is just to get him ready. Just to make sure that he can fuck me how I like to be fucked. Nothing more. But…nothing less, either.

‘Forget girls, Greyson,’ Kyln says. ‘Forget the world outside of this room. Ughn.’ He claps down a hoof, swings his tail. ‘Do what–ugh–you were put on this world to do, sissy. Service me, like the little slut you are. Service daddy, like a good–ughn–boy.’

I maintain my cool, keep the gentle bobbing, keep stroking and sucking. ‘Mumph. Schlup.’

‘That cock you’re sucking on,’ he says, ‘is the same one that–ugh–claimed you the other day. Doesn’t it deserve–ughn–worship, slut? Doesn’t it need it?’ Kyln groans, grumbles. ‘Feel how it pulses, Greyson. Feel what it wants. What I want. What you should–ugh–want, as well.’

No. I can’t. I need to remember the point of this. I just need to–

The way it throbs, the way it pulses, makes my head spin. I overextend and it brushes the opening of my throat, tickling my spine, making me arch my back. My cock aches, twitches. The Coach has needs, and I can satisfy them. His cock, this perfect bestial cock that so thoroughly blew my mind, desperately needs release. I can feel it, honest and true, with every spurt of tasty precum and every throb in my hands and between my lips and against my tongue.

If…if I keep going, this won’t end the way I want. If I keep going, Coach Kyln isn’t going to fuck me today. I know that much.

‘Would it be so wrong, slut? To play mare for me, to treat me with some respect?’ He swishes his tail. ‘Forget what you wanted. Think about what I want. That’s what matters, Greyson. You know it.’

In some perverse way…he’s right. And every time he moans, every time he shows pleasure, I feel weirdly satisfied, weirdly proud.

‘Ughn. Give me a blowjob, Greyson. Relieve me. Relieve the man who claimed you. You know it’s what we both deserve. You know how this has to end.’

Nobody is going to know. Whether Kyln fucks me or I keep sucking, nobody will know. I’ll know, and he’ll know, but when I look upon his underside and the sheer length of his shaft and the heavy sway of those immense testes I’m struck by a dirty, filthy thought.

Marcus loved it. Marcus saw it through.

I…do want to be like Marcus, don’t I? I wanted Jen, but…

…I’ve got Kyln.

‘That’s it, sissy,’ Kyln says. He grunts, clacks a hoof. ‘Forget it all. Forget the world. All that matters is tending to my needs.’

I shut my eyes and push away my restraint, resulting in a quickening of the pace, a more frantic bobbing of my head. His glans pokes against my throat and there’s no gagging, despite the size of his penis. Maybe it’s the precum, maybe it numbs or otherwise stretches, but I know what I need to do. I know how this must go.

‘Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.’

My throat produces the most vulgar of sounds as Coach Kyln slides into it, creating an incredible sensation of heat and firmness that spreads down my neck. ‘Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.’ The sound is filthy, echoing in the relative quiet of the shower, and the centaur grunts and shudders. ‘Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.’

His heat lances down my gullet, warming my chest from within. I’m starting to deepthroat the centaur stallion, actually taking so very much of his sizeable equid length into my body in a way I never imagined I would. The raw warmth of his presence, sheathed as it is inside of me, makes my cock ache and my mind race.

‘That’s it, bitch. That’s–ugh–how this should be.’

‘Glugp. Glugp. Mhm. Glugp.’

I’m really going for it. I’m dimly aware of how lurid this is, how perverse this act happens to be. I’m giving Kyln a proper blowjob, bobbing my head up and down his immense length, slobbering over it and making it slick with throat juices, all the while he coats my mouth and gullet with his constant drool of bestial precum.

It’s impossible not to lose myself in this. The raw stink of his animalistic body, the sheer forceful character of his centaur cock, the dirty tastiness of his virile manhood. Much as I shouldn’t, I’m so content to be used like this, to use myself like this, to worship Coach Kyln in this most sordid of ways.

And…and why shouldn’t I? Kyln is many things, but he’s undeniably a powerful male of his species, of any species. There must be women out there, and gay men besides, who would kill for a shot of doing what I’m doing.

But Kyln chose me. Kyln is letting me do this, not them.

I slide back from his manhood, releasing it but not retreating from it. Like a love-addled teen with his first real girlfriend I start to snog his interesting equid helmet, smooching it with rabid abandon, making crude wet noises that echo through the shower disturbed only by the centaur’s own grunts and vaguely laboured breaths.

‘I’ve not felt so appreciated in a long time,’ the Coach says. He chuckles. ‘That slutty little sissy in you just couldn’t wait to escape, could he?’

I shiver, kiss, and shake my head, as if Kyln is watching. ‘No. I can’t help it now. I…your body is amazing, daddy.’

It doesn’t even feel so weird, to say it. God, I’m losing it. I’m in a filth spiral.

Kyln groans, clops a hoof on the tiles, as I stick my tongue into the contours of his horse-flare. ‘Tell me, Greyson. Ughn. Have you ever done this before?’

I pause, a sticky strand of all sorts of juices connecting my mouth with his impressive glans. ‘No, Coach. You know that.’

His tail flicks. Pleased? Excited? ‘It’s a rare honour, in my people, to be serviced by a virgin mouth. With what you’ve done for me here, today, you’ve dirtied yourself with my manhood. Nobody else will get that same honour.’

Hearing him say such a thing makes me tremble, as if made all the filthier by the mere sound of his deep masculine voice. And yet, head spinning as it is, madly lustful as I am, I’m struck with a crude thought.

A thought that I speak aloud.

‘I’m glad…glad it’s you.’

Coach Kyln exhales sharply, but there’s no humour. ‘Do you mean that, Greyson?’

I do, don’t I? God, I do. ‘Yes…daddy.’

‘I want to lay claim to your mouth, Greyson. But I need you to want that, as well. Because this, too, is an honour nobody else will receive.’

‘Meaning what?’

He swishes his tail, shudders, and brushes a hoof against the tile. ‘You know how this ends, sissy. You know how male bodies work. You know I am the superior specimen here, the true male between the two of us. You know just how to prove it.’

He can’t mean…but my body seems to know better than my eyes do. I look past his engorged inhuman phallus, so slick with spit and throat glaze and precum, to the hefty sag of that quartet of gigantic testicles.

Kyln is a better man, and…he wants me to prove it. He wants me to want the most emasculating, filthiest, most perverse degradation of the self I can picture.

‘You want me to…you want to cum in my mouth,’ I say.

The Coach’s tail swishes. ‘If you really believe all you’ve said, Greyson, you’ll let it happen. You’ll let me fill your slutty little belly with my pride. I’ll never forget who you truly are, and you’ll never forget my true taste.’

‘I’ll…there’s too much. I can’t. I’d–’

‘It comes in spurts,’ Kyln says. ‘A mouthful at a time, plenty of time between shots. I rarely finish climaxing in less than fifteen minutes, so you’ll be down there a long while, but you can handle it. A slutty boy like you was built for this. You know I’m right.’

There’s this part of me screaming, crying out, knowing how wrong this is. Kyln is so much older, Kyln isn’t human, Kyln is a man. And I’m not gay, I have to remind myself, as if it matters this far into it all.

But…when I sniff, when I lick my lips, when I watch the muted sway of those heavy bollocks…I’m struck by another thought.

What if he’s right? And what if, just like Marcus, I can’t help but guzzle down his seed?

‘You promise?’

The Coach sniggers. ‘Greyson, the last thing I want is for this to be a one-time thing,’ he says. ‘Yes, I promise. Will you let me claim your mouth?’

I firm up my grip on his dick. ‘Y-es, daddy. F-eed me.’

Coach Kyln lets out a low feral grunt as I wrap my lips around his flare. The old centaur stud clatters the tiles, trembles. ‘Just what I needed to hear, sissy. Ughn. Milk me, slut. Pull out those superior swimmers.’

‘Mumph. Mhm. Schlup.’

It’s wrong, I know. It’s something I shouldn’t be doing, I know.

But I’m here now. I’m starving with lust, hungry for something carnal and primal. I want this older, stronger, virile stallion of a man to be the first – and likely last, given how spoiled I’ll be – man to grace my tongue with the thick gravy of his loins.

I’m sucking and slurping on Kyln with reckless abandon, pushing away all doubts and worries, embracing the raw facts of the situation. That I adore how he feels in my mouth, so powerful and primal. That I love his flavour, so salty and earthy and tangy. That I want to taste him, taste him in the most intimate of ways, and fill my belly with his pride.

‘Mumph. Slurp.’

‘Ughn. Go on, sissy. Milk daddy. Ugh. Just like that.’

‘Schlup. Mhm.’

‘Ugh, yeah. Filthy slut. Fucking cocksucker.’

‘Mumph. Schlup.’

It’s the little details the scare me, make me shiver in excitement. The faint widening of his gait towards the rear, the way those bloated nuts seem to pulsate, the manner in which his phallus throbs and produces ever-greater quantities of his delicious lubricating pre-seed.

His flared glans is pretty much square on the centre of my tongue, straining with need, feeling quite ready to pop. The precum leaking from that little opening, a faint protrusion of his cum-vein, is thicker in its flavour now. A prelude to what is boiling up in those immense testes which swing behind the base of Kyln’s monstrous equid shaft.

This…this isn’t just about making him cum. It’s not just about him loading my mouth.

I slide my head backwards a little, ensuring that all but the swollen prominence beyond the band of dense tissue is outside of my lips. Only the bit that can solely be called Kyln’s glans, the upper bulge and the under pit, and the seed-spitting opening, are left within the grasp of my suck-hole.

The Coach chuckles warmly, lustily. ‘Thought so, sissy. You’re a natural. A good boy.’

I’m…I’m filthy. When he ejaculates, I’ll have to get used to the taste, because it’s going to cover every inch of my tongue. No load straight down the throat, no swallowing just at the back. Those billions upon billions of centaur sperm, fat-tailed white virile things, are going to spill out all across my tastebuds and I’m going to learn, once and for all, forever etched into my brain, the male taste of Coach Kyln’s genes.

‘Mhm. Slurp.’

I sit back on my haunches, getting comfortable, and the equine cock angles downwards with my mouth. Kyln groans, low and needy, and I feel the vibration of his pent-up lusts where his cock strains against my hands and where it throbs between my lips. I stroke faster, firmer, and lather his flare in quick tongue movements.

What’s it going to be like, to have my mouth flooded with his potential foals? How long is my belly going to look pregnant, stuffed with all those would-be centaurs?

But then Kyln says, ‘Flatten your tongue, sissy,’ and I realise I’m going to learn very soon.

So I do as he says. I get my tongue as flat as can be, and keep tugging.

Then the Coach grunts. ‘Fuck. Goddamn.’

The horse flare swells, strains my lips, and rewards me for my efforts. A heavy quantity of something thick and creamy, heavy as hell, like hot custard, spills out across my tongue. I hear myself moan. Coach Kyln slams a hoof upon the floor, and swings his tail.

I can just about imagine it, the equid dick opening out into my mouth, depositing something that should be utterly disgusting and yet is…is…

‘Don’t be afraid to swallow, sissy,’ the Coach says. ‘But I don’t blame you for savouring me.’

Kyln’s load is salty, rich, weirdly buttery. It’s a savoury thing, loaded with potency, a taste that makes parts of my head switch on and others switch off. This is primal, this is animalistic, this is submitting to another male to such an extent that I’m letting him pack my mouth – and soon, my belly – with his semen.

‘Mhm.’

I roll the stuff around, tasting it properly, enjoying this naughtiest of substances. The stallion grunts, clacks a hoof, and deposits a second shot that completely fills my mouth to the brim. Cheeks stuffed, seed threatening to escape, I’m forced to attempt a heavy gulp but even so, the seal of my lips breaks momentarily and his thick gooey orgasm leaks down my chin and onto my bare chest.

‘More–ughn–where that came from.’

Kyln’s seed slides down my throat, trailing a pleasant warmth as it goes. He’s feeding me, feeding me his pride. The centaur produces another heavy shot and again my mouth is full, but I’m a little better prepared this time. I moan around his dick, roll about his strangely delicious baby-batter, and swallow enough of it that I can handle the next shot.

Before I know it I’m starting to feel fuller and fuller, belly swelling with the stud’s voluminous semen. Something clicks, something strange, and I start to cum, cum just from tasting and swallowing Kyln.

He chuckles, warm and mocking. ‘It happens, slut. Ughn. Your body knows what it wants. What it needs.’

The orgasm is strange, muted yet wonderful, my cock untouched but spurting away as the much older centaur stud rewards my dutiful mouth with another thick deposit of his rich and salty man-milk. What little stability of thought I had promptly takes its leave.

I savour and swallow, and he produces. Time is a distant thing, out of focus, out of sight. All the world is Kyln’s potent male flavour, so creamy and rich. All the world is his potent smells, his musk, his animal stink. All the world is the way his dick throbs and spits, endlessly producing, fiercely straining against my lips and fingers.

And all the world is the swelling of my belly, and the spilling of my seed.

The centaur’s semen is so at home in my mouth, the way it sloshes out again and again and again upon my waiting tongue. Coach Kyln’s swollen flare-glans will shudder and in excitement, to taste more of his fresh ejaculate, I’ll get my tongue ready to catch the latest spray of manly cream. It never disappoints, so hot and delicious, so assertive in the way it fills my world.

Coach Kyln is past laughing now, past mocking. He grunts and shudders but mostly rides the wave, basking in the long slow orgasm and what must be a vulgar kind of pride, knowing that I’m gulping down such copious quantities of his semen, of his sperm.

I don’t even realise that an end will arrive until at last his glans spits no more, and my mouth is left empty in wait for a replacement that never comes.

‘You’re a good kid, Greyson,’ Kyln says. His cock is softer now, his voice calmer. ‘Let’s see that pregnant belly.’

He moves, and I’m powerless to interrupt. The centaur’s great cock, a little smaller now, slips from my mouth as he turns about. I burp, tasting the rich musky notes of his man-chowder, of the hundred billion would-be-foals coming to rest in my fat belly. God, I can barely move, I’m so full.

‘Quite a sight.’ The centaur is watching me now, stood a little away, all warm with pride and contentment. He’s gotten what he wants. Received what he deserves. ‘How’s it feel?’

‘Filling,’ I say. Another burp. I lick my lips. ‘Shit. I’ve never been so full.’

‘You’ll be fine within the hour.’ He chuckles. ‘You look good, Greyson. Stuffed with my semen. It suits you.’

I hazard a sleepy grin, but everything is so much effort. ‘You…you’re delicious, daddy.’

The Coach moves nearer, cupping my head with his strong hands. ‘I know, slut. Daddy’s little cumdump cocksucker, aren’t you?’

‘Y-eah.’

He strokes my hair with surprising gentleness. ‘You’re my mare, boy. You belong to my dick. You exist to resolve its tensions. Do you understand?’

Sleepily, stuffed as I am, I nod. ‘Y-eah.’

‘Starting tomorrow, you won’t need a packed lunch. You’ll see me, instead.’

I can’t help but lick my lips. ‘Okay, Coach. No packed lunches.’

‘I’ll leave the door open,’ he says, giving my head a pat. Kyln goes to the exit and I lay down, falling into a stupor, cum-drunk, bloated with the older stallion’s healthy swimmers. ‘You’re mine, Greyson. Don’t forget it. You know the rules.’ He chuckles, turning away. ‘I might even mount you, if you’re lucky.’

I can barely do anything, let alone protest.

I lay down on my back, in the quiet shower, and shut my eyes.