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Chapter One
"Remember: centaur cocks are way bigger than you think. Whatever you're imagining? Not big enough."
Thea makes the remark as we clamber out of the carriage and approach the front gate of the Centaur King's keep. When I scoff, she stares at me solemnly with golden, goat-like eyes. "I'm serious, Caden. Tap out when you need to. Don't be stubborn."
Elle tucks a blonde plait behind her pointed ear as she comes up beside us. She elbows Thea in the ribs. "Don't lecture. He's got this."
"Thank you, Elle," I say.
"…Or he doesn't, and he'll never volunteer to fuck a centaur again!" she adds brightly.
Good-natured snickers resound from my colleagues. I shake my head and sigh, as if they are children and their antics are beneath me.
We are a diverse group, offering tonight's centaur clients a variety of flavors. Thea is a satyr, Elle is an elf, and bulky Ashton is half human, half orc. The rest of us — Blake, Anna, and I — are human. We all wear sheer outfits with sparkling jewelry, highlighting our dips and curves.
This is my first time working one of the infamous gangbang parties hosted by the Centaur King. All five of the others have worked these events before. My colleagues always return the morning after exhausted, sore, and hardly able to walk — yet with wide, smug grins. Apparently, centaur stallions aren't just huge and horny. They're also gracious hosts, and consider it a point of pride that nobody leaves one of their parties unsatisfied.
I've always been intrigued by my colleagues' tales, but our boss only sends the pleasure workers he knows can handle centaur cock. In the six years I've worked at this pleasure agency, I've serviced many different species, yet Sir has never sent me to one of King Idris's legendary orgies…until now.
When Jasper left, I walked into my boss's office and confidently declared I'm ready to spend all night getting railed by a herd of stallions. Sir was skeptical. Unlike at shadier agencies, our boss cares about our well-being and doesn't want us split in half. Yet I insisted I could do this. I've been working my ass off — literally — to build my body's endurance and increase the size of cock I can take.
Faced with my eager confidence, Sir agreed to let me try.
The enormous gate to the Centaur King's keep groans as it opens. Brisk hoofbeats tap within. I grin at the promising sound.
The officer who greets us at the gate has a thick brow ridge and a stern expression. His equine coat is all white, and his close-cropped white-gray hair matches the color of his tail. He's wearing leather armor adorned with several accoutrements of rank, and the garment wrapped around his equine portion is blue and silver — the colors of King Idris. He's so tall that I'm barely at eye level with his abdomen. I crane my neck to look up at his solemn face.
The white centaur cracks a small smile as he gazes at our group, crow's feet forming at the corners of his blue eyes. The fond expression gives him a "stern-but-fair Daddy" vibe. Mmmm. I wonder if he'll be at the orgy. I hope the other stallions attending tonight are this appealing.
Captain Daddy chats with my colleagues — i.e., Elle talks his ear off, and he listens politely — as he leads us through the busy keep. Centaurs, humans, and the occasional satyr crossing the courtyard wave at us with friendly smiles.
I try not to gape at every centaur who trots by, but I'm fascinated. They're all incredibly tall, varying in size and build. The centaurs' beautiful coats are so many different colors and patterns; it reminds me of the lullaby: Hush-a-bye, don't you cry. Go to sleep, my little baby. When you wake, you will have cake, and all the pretty little ponies. Blacks and bays, dapples and grays; all the pretty little ponies…
The high walls of the keep surround sprawling single-story structures. King Idris's palace appears to be the only building with a second floor. The upper level is accessed via wide, gently sloping ramps that wind artfully around an open atrium. I feel as small as a field mouse as we follow the captain through the palace's wide, looming doorways.
We enter the grand hall, where the Centaur King's human staff bustle about, setting up for tonight's event. Long tables are being covered with tablecloths and tasteful decorations, while tall candelabra are positioned at the ends of each table, and smaller clusters of candles are placed in windowsills and sconces.
It would almost appear the staff are preparing for a typical feast…if not for the six breeding benches stationed in the center of the room. The intimidating structures are designed for a human-sized person to be strapped face down with their legs apart, while a centaur stallion mounts from behind, bracing his front hooves on raised troughs on either side to keep his weight safely off his partner below.
His much smaller, weaker, highly vulnerable partner. I shiver.
We're noticed as we enter the room. Several stallions are gathered already, and their eyes scan our group with interest.
Elle places a hand on her hip and shoots a passing pair of pintos a flirty smile. "Hey there, boys!" she coos.
One of the centaurs is so distracted returning Elle's smile that he nearly collides with the corner of a table. His friend shoves his shoulder, snorting with laughter.
Of all the stallions in the room, it's obvious which one is King Idris. If his brightly colored tunic and the silver circlet nestled in his curly black hair didn't give him away, the deferential body language of those around him would. The Centaur King has a broad build, deep umber skin, and dapple gray coloration. White circles dot the dark background of his coat like moons and stars flung across the night sky. His neat goatee is streaked with dignified silver.
"Ah! Our gorgeous mares have arrived," King Idris remarks. He smiles warmly as we approach, causing the corners of his dark eyes to crinkle. Elle nudges Thea and giggles. All my colleagues are half-besotted with the Centaur King, or joke that they are.
"I see a new face and one missing," the king observes. "Where is Crystal?"
"On his honeymoon, Your Majesty. He retired," Blake replies. Thea shoots him a sideways look for spilling our former colleague's business. Blake runs a hand through his auburn hair, grins, and shrugs.
I still can't believe my friend Jasper — "Crystal" was his working name — quit the agency and eloped with a gargoyle client out of the blue. Jasper and his new husband moved north, where I assume they are basking in marital bliss.
Ever since Jasper left, my colleagues have enjoyed speculating about who will be next to catch the contagious disease of true love. All I know is that it won't be me. I like my job. It's exciting, pays well, and I'm good at it. Why would I relinquish my independence to fuck off with a starry-eyed new beau? I like being tied up, not tied down.
