by Jack Doe
Human-Centaur Relations
By Jack Doe
Copyright © 2017 Jack Doe. All Rights Reserved.
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Second Edition
Disclaimers:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book contains material that is suitable only for adult audiences. Potentially upsetting material includes homosexual and heterosexual erotica between humans and centaurs. Reader discretion is advised.
Chapter 1
"What did you learn in school today?" Grandpa asked as he tucked the little boy into bed.
"Grandpa, we learned about centaurs today!" Bryce replied, his blue eyes sparkling with wonderment.
Grandpa grew quiet and smiled a knowing, wistful smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Is that so?" he asked quietly, taking a seat on a little wooden stool next to Bryce's bed. The room was warm from the fireplace, its crackling glow flickering off Grandpa's glasses. "What did you learn about them?"
"Well," Bryce began, "we learned that they're part horse, part human!"
Grandpa nodded. "Mm, hmm. What else?"
Bryce searched his memory. "Oh, and they were strong and fast!"
Grandpa nodded encouragingly. "Yes, that's right, Bryce. What else did you learn?"
"Um..." Bryce paused, thinking through his class today. "Oh! They were warriors, and they liked to fight with the humans!"
Grandpa sighed, his eyes saddening. "Did they?" he asked, carefully maintaining his tone.
"Oh, yes!" Bryce replied, sitting up in bed. "They fought all the time, and they liked to drink!"
Grandpa chuckled at his grandson's enthusiasm and coaxed him to lie back down as he tucked him in again.
"Grandpa?" Bryce asked.
"What is it, Bryce?" Grandpa replied.
"What's wrong with drinking?"
Grandpa smiled wryly. "It's not the drinking, Bryce, it's what you drink—and how much."
Bryce looked puzzled. "What do you mean, Grandpa?"
Grandpa ruffled his hair. "I'll explain it when you're older," he said, kissing him on the forehead. "Good night, Bryce," he said with a smile and turned to leave.
"Grandpa?"
"Yes, Bryce?" Grandpa asked, turning.
"What about Jacky?"
"Ah, yes," Grandpa grinned, "I almost forgot Jacky." He bent down and kissed the stuffed black horse that Bryce held in his arms on its star, a white patch in the middle of its forehead. "Good night, Jacky," Grandpa said, "and good night, Bryce," and headed for the door again.
"Good night, Grandpa," came the reply. In no time, Bryce was asleep, Jacky snuggled in close to him.
Grandpa stepped outside into the night air and looked wistfully up at the stars. Orion looked down upon him, standing there on the porch bathed in white moonlight, surrounded by the gently rolling hills of the shire.
Liked to fight with humans, he thought to himself. That's what they're teaching kids these days. He shook his head sadly, losing himself in the constellations above. He knew better: his grandfather had taught him, and his grandfather's grandfather had taught his grandfather, a long line of storytelling of what the centaurs were really like. He nodded to himself, reassured and resolved, casting a final wistful glance at the sky before going inside.
Chapter 2
Anul'thek watched through the canopy of the ship as it sped through space. Unlike the rest of the ship, the observation deck was unadorned and plain. Bare burnished metal surrounded him on his sides and behind him in the round room. The ceiling pitched sharply into a transparent dome, letting him see the universe as it zipped by above and in front of him. Far ahead, he could just make out the tiny dot that was his kin's homeland. He sighed. He had been aboard this ship ten years, and there were still twenty more before the ship would finally be within the planet's gravitational field. He felt a hand on his shoulder and tensed, ready to throw his potential attacker to the ground. He relaxed; it was only Ing'ma. He hadn't heard the door when it slid silently open behind him.
"You're tense today, Anul'thek," Ing'ma said, running his hand down Anul'thek's back, stopping short of his withers.
Anul'thek sighed and turned to return the gesture, running his hand down Ing'ma's back.
"More so than usual," Anul'thek admitted, balancing one of his back hooves on its toe in an attempt to force himself to relax.
"Why so?" Ing'ma asked, rubbing Anul'thek's upper and lower back with aromatic herbs from a pouch around his neck. The tension in Anul'thek's back slowly began to melt away.
"Dreams," Anul'thek said evasively.
"What kind of dreams?"
Anul'thek stared off into space. "War," he murmured.
Ing'ma paused, glancing at Anul'thek's face. "War?" he asked placidly. "Young roughhoof, we've not had a war in over almost ten millennia."
Anul'thek nodded. "But it was with those beings that we warred," he replied, gesturing toward the distant ball of light, the tension returning to his back, which Ing'ma continued to rub with indefatigable patience. "It was because of those beings that we left."
Ing'ma nodded. He had taught Anul'thek much of what he knew. "You believe they haven't changed?"
Anul'thek sighed and shook his head. "I don't know, Ing'ma," he said. "I know the calculations said that the humans have changed their ways and are ready to reunite with their long-lost cousins..."
Ing'ma nodded sagely.
"But what if the calculations are wrong?"
Ing'ma cocked his head. "It's been known to happen on rare occasions, Anul'thek," he said soothingly, "but we've cross-checked the calculations. Many independent predictions were run, and they all came to the same conclusion."
"But what if our assumptions were wrong?" Anul'thek persisted, frustrated. He knew it was pointless to argue against the calculations: far wiser centaurs than he had spent countless years distilling centuries' worth of knowledge into the mathematical predictions that counted down the days until the reunification, and one colt's qualms were of little consequence.
"Colt" was perhaps too strong a word: he was an adult, but any young stallion who had not yet sown his oats was considered a colt amongst the tribe. It wasn't that Anul'thek had lacked the opportunity. The mares (and some of the stallions, too) were all keenly interested in him, with his buff build, thoughtful and courageous personality, and keen intellect, but Anul'thek simply wasn't interested. He didn't need the distraction; his heart had long desired to be the one to restore peace with the humans.
His sire had planted the seed years and years ago, when Anul'thek was very young, teaching him about how the humans used to coexist peacefully with the centaurs, how it had all gone terribly wrong, how the centaurs had vanished, leaving only hints of their existence and traveled to a far-distant world to wait for their young cousins to mature. When his sire passed away at the ripe old age of 1026, Anul'thek had pledged himself to Ing'ma, seeking to know everything there was to know about the humans. That was 15 years ago.
Ten years ago, Anul'thek, 25 at the time, had begged Ing'ma to take him when the predictions finally converged on mankind's maturity horizon, about 30 years in the then-future. Ing'ma, as the then-oldest member of the clan at 1010, was guaranteed to go, although there were concerns whether he'd make the voyage or not. Having spent his life practicing healing, he had lived a very healthy life and was in better shape than many people a century younger than he. Certainly Anul'thek and the others who were close to Ing'ma had no conc
erns as to his ability to make the voyage.
It was without hesitation that Ing'ma took Anul'thek with him; in his centuries of teaching, Ing'ma had never had a more dedicated, insightful student, and although he retained his role as Anul'thek's mentor, the two had developed a good friendship as well. Others made the voyage, too: there were several ambassadors, translators, scientists, warriors (just in case), and of course, the spacecraft's crew.
The added company certainly made it a more pleasant voyage: in stark contrast to the barrenness of space that faced the two in front of them, on the other side of the wall behind Anul'thek and Ing'ma were numerous gatherings of centaurs of all the different classes feasting and drinking together, singing and dancing together, and disporting themselves in any way that was possible on the spacecraft.
The interior of the ship was well-equipped to sustain centuries' worth of habitation or more. The place looked like an enormous park. Aside from the ship's bridge and the observation deck where Anul'thek and Ing'ma held their conversation, the ship was composed of one vast, ellipsoid chamber, the floor of which sloped gently down towards the center and was covered with many feet of rich soil. Grass carpeted the entire floor, and trees dotted it here and there. Little streams flowed from places on the walls through the grass to a pond in the middle of the chamber, providing water to the centaurs and the vegetation. The ceiling was, like the observation deck, transparent, providing light and scenery above to complement that below.
Centaurs lived here in the immense grassy chamber that reminded them of home. They slept, they ate, they played, they cooked, they relieved themselves, and they mated on the grass. They played music and sang; some harvested fallen limbs and created sculptures from them or weaved grass and sticks into paint brushes and used fruits to make edible paintings. Impromptu games of tag, hide-and-seek, and various sports with balls amongst both young and old were frequent. Wine was abundantly available from the vineyards that grew along the aft section of the ship, as were juices from any of the fruits. Refuse was composted and re-spread to even out flat spots as they got trampled, and grass seeds were resown to keep the place lush. Everybody contributed to the work, and everybody reaped the rewards. Carbon dioxide put off from the centaurs' breath and from the cooking fires was turned back into oxygen by the plants, and the compost replenished the soil, providing nutrients for the grass and trees. It was its own little ecosystem, capable of sustaining its occupants as long as desired.
The hull of the spacecraft was no different: the large transparent domes filtered out harmful radiation and converted it into useful energy for propulsion, and the ship was thoroughly insulated against the coldness of space. Minimal energy was required to keep it comfortable, and some of the species of grasses glowed, providing light when the ship traveled far away from stars. Yes, the ship could go on for centuries if needed, but that was typical of the engineering of this society: things were reusable, maintained natural balance, and strove for efficiency.
Anul'thek sighed. Such a place made it difficult to worry about anything, yet here he was, worried.
Ing'ma rubbed Anul'thek's shoulders. "It will be all right, Anul'thek," he said encouragingly. "If the calculations are wrong, what's the harm?"
Anul'thek tensed again. "What if they kill us? What if they take over the ship? What if they enslave us? What if they find their way back to Eve'gil?"
Ing'ma silenced him with his hand on his lips. "One thing is for sure, young roughhoof: they will not find Eve'gil." He smiled both warmly and amusedly. "We've traveled ten years to get here, we have twenty years more to go, and we know where we are going. They may not even know that our planet exists, let alone that we exist or how to get to us."
"The ship–" Anul'thek protested.
"– will be of no help to them, Anul'thek. It was designed without an autopilot to home intentionally. It is doubtful that they speak our language, and it is even more doubtful that they could fly it, even if they did know where to go. Their lifespans are nowhere near as long as ours, and even someone leaving at a young age would be middle-aged by the time he made it to our homeland."
Anul'thek looked relieved.
"Don't worry, young roughhoof," Ing'ma said, stroking Anul'thek's arm. "We wornhooves really did prepare for the worst," he said, his dark brown eyes twinkling as he needled his pupil, "even if we do hope for the best." He put his hands on Anul'thek's shoulders and looked him earnestly in the eyes. "It will be okay, young roughhoof," he said earnestly. "Trust me."
Anul'thek nodded and embraced his mentor. He was glad to have a calm voice of reason when his mind wandered off the logical path. Ing'ma hugged him back fondly, his eyes catching sight of Anul'thek's back.
"Feel like breeding?" Ing'ma asked when the embrace ended.
Anul'thek grinned, rolling his eyes. "Ya know, for such an _old_ guy, you sure have a strong libido!"
Ing'ma clutched his chest in mock injury. "Agh! Again with the old jokes!" He snorted and stomped a front hoof. "You better hope you're in this good of shape when you're half my age!"
"As much as you breed, I'm amazed you made it to half your age!" Anul'thek retorted. Ing'ma's expression turned cross, but then both burst out laughing.
"Breeding's what keeps me young," Ing'ma said when their laughter subsided.
"Oh, okay," Anul'thek said, his voice dripping sarcasm, "well, we've got to keep you young, then, don't we?"
Ing'ma shrugged his shoulders in mock indifference, "Hey, I was just asking. If you don't want to..."
Anul'thek spread his legs and flicked his tail out of the way, leaving his muscular black buttocks exposed. He gave Ing'ma a coy, flirtatious grin, slapping his butt. "Can you get up, old man?" he teased.
Ing'ma deftly threw his upper body on top of Anul'thek, his cock quickly extending from his sheath and becoming hard. It was about two feet long and a little more than two inches in diameter, average for a centaur, with thick veins sticking out on the sides. A little ridge of firm skin formed a ring halfway down his shaft, something that his partners very much enjoyed. The head was thicker than the shaft, and right now it was bobbing up and down in anticipation as Ing'ma pushed forward with his hips. His prick easily found Anul'thek's anus, round and clean and donut-shaped, and he pushed in.
Anul'thek's sheath stirred; the feeling on his butt excited him, and his cock emerged, dripping pre-ejaculate. He braced his hooves on the textured gray floor as Ing'ma pushed himself in to the hilt. Anul'thek's eyes closed, as did Ing'ma's, and the two of them savored the feeling for a moment: the pressure they both felt, the stimulation thrilling to both of them. Ing'ma began to thrust in and out slowly, the band around his shaft stretching and relaxing Anul'thek's ass, stimulating him on its way in and on its way out. Anul'thek's cock throbbed in pleasure, and he bent over to stroke it with his hands. It felt warm and firm, yet soft, and his hands expertly traced their way over all of his sensitive spots, edging him closer to orgasm. With the twin sensations of his hands on his cock and Ing'ma in his ass, he knew his orgasm was imminent. A primal grunt escaped his lips, and his seed exploded from his cock, splattering the transparent window in front of him and the textured ground beneath him. As his ass clenched against Ing'ma's cock, Ing'ma, too, let out a primal grunt and shot deep into Anul'thek.
Ing'ma rested on Anul'thek's back a moment as their cocks retracted back into their sheaths, and then he dismounted. The two stood next to each other, stroking each other's backs and enjoying the afterglow. As they both came down, Anul'thek gave a rueful grin.
"We probably should have been in the courtyard," he said, looking at the splash of semen on the window and floor.
"Are you kidding?" Ing'ma asked, lying next to the mess. He reached down and took some of it in his hand, bringing it to his tongue. "It's delicious!"
Anul'thek had to admit that he'd never tried it; everywhere he'd been, there had been no hard surfaces. The grass would collect it, or the dirt, or the water. He lay next to Ing'ma and tentatively stuck his finger
into the sticky puddle and sniffed it. There was no discernible scent. He tasted it.
Ing'ma was right, as always: it was delicious, and the two of them made short work of the puddle before climbing back to their feet. They left the observation deck arm-in-arm to rejoin the others.
Chapter 3
"Can you keep a secret?" Grandpa asked Bryce a few days later.
"Is it a good secret?" Bryce asked coyly.
"The best," Grandpa replied, his eyes shining as if the secret he had to impart, too great to stay hidden inside him, was trying to escape through them.
"Cross my heart, hope to die," Bryce said, making an 'x' across his chest. He looked at Grandpa eagerly.
"It's about centaurs," Grandpa began. Bryce snuggled up under the covers, listening intently. "What they teach you in school isn't true," Grandpa continued. "Centaurs used to live alongside humans. We worked together, and we learned many things from them."