Centaur Stallion Gangbang

---

Forced Against His Will

This story contains non-consensual erotic scenes between an equine anthro and a gang of centaurs. It is intended for fantasy and fictional purposes only.

Otis heaved for breath, branches whipping his arms as he lunged through the undergrowth, the equine anthro's eyes wide and wild, bulging with fear. The white edge that rimmed them should never have been seen, not on an anthro, not as Otis clawed his way by an age-old bark, leaving a scar on the trunk where his hand ripped away its surface. It would heal, though that was more than what could be said for the anthro stallion. He was not so much running for his life, but he may as well have been.

His black hide gleamed with sweat, mane plastered to his neck, odd strands clumping together and fluttering out from the back of his neck as if he was still wild, as if he was still free. Yet his hooves, bare where they pounded the earth of the forest floor, in the foothills of the mountains, were scuffed and scraped, overgrown and chipped, in need of assistance. After being locked away in the dungeon of the centaurs, far from his tribe while the heathens roamed free, whooping and hollering, pillaging from villages as when they pleased, he had not been able to run and move to naturally trim them down. It was just one of the many signs of neglect, his black hide dull under the layer of sweat, moisture frothing over his bare chest. Otis didn't want to consider the reek of himself, yet fear had a way of stripping an anthro, even a stallion, back down to his bare basic needs, as if things that had once been so important to him were never really of any great importance at all.

He heard them behind, screaming for him, the hunting party of centaurs, human torsos mounted grotesquely onto the bodies of non-anthro equines. They said they were like him, that the horse tribe should join with them, though all it had taken was one little moment of hesitation, so many months back, for Otis to be captured, swept into a net and hauled away like a trophy. He had howled and he had neighed for his herd, but no one was coming, not back then, not to save him. He didn't blame them for not finding a way to scrape him out of the dungeons. He wouldn't have known where to begin either in infiltrating the centaurs' stronghold, the tall, wooden palisades framing the town they were building, all with anthro slaves at their bidding.

They'd set up their stronghold to be the best, the most powerful, so much more than the smaller tribes with lesser "horsepower", so to speak, at their disposal. No one had risen against them in time and, day by day, it seemed like they were going to become unstoppable.

His legs shook, aching to stop, muscles having wasted away in the below-ground dungeon with only a slit of a, barred, window to look out of, fed barely anything at all. Oh, how he wanted to slow, yet he could not, would not, even as his body, without his mind even being consciously aware of it, faded, step by step.

They were always going to catch him.

"Aha - there it is!"

_ _

It. He should not have locked onto that single word when they bore down on him, shrieking and laughing, great, big belly laughs, as if hunting him was the finest sport they could have imagined. Even though spears and bows were levelled, nocked ready and waiting with arrows set to fly at a moment's notice, they snatched him up by his name, holding him aloft and spinning him around, their prize of the moment. When they found another that was better worth their time, they'd use them too. But what would come of Otis then?

The stallion heaved and clawed at them, though he could not beat off the hands that grabbed at him, slapping his face, yanking at his legs as if they were trying to see more of him. Of course, he had not been permitted any clothes in the dungeons but never had his nudity seemed as prominent as it did then, his balls getting a punch that set his stomach churning, the threat of nausea rising all too urgently in the back of his throat. Yet there was worse to come, even if Otis did not yet know it, hatred seething in the pit of his stomach for the brutality of his tormentors.

"Time to show the cur what's coming to him..."

Otis swore and spat and thrashed and fought, yet everything he did appeared to be seen and done from a distance, as if he was piloting his body like a carriage from some metres away. It didn't make sense, not as cruel hands forced him down over a huge log, a fallen tree that was yet to rot away with its gnarled, twisted roots pointed to the sky, but it didn't have to make sense either. When his body and his free will were both no longer his own, all Otis could do was to grit his teeth, clench his jaw, pin his ears... All he could do was try to bear through it.

If he didn't, it would be the end of him.

They sawed off the hair of his tail with the crude blade of a knife, as much as he fought with what little will he had left, shorn close to the dock, even close enough to nick it, in some spots. On his belly, his hands were lashed down, pointed up towards the roots, which were higher than the top of the tree, crushed into the ground, letting out a shameful neigh that only carried fear with it.

"Ah, quiet yourself, colt, there ain't nothing you can squeal about..."

Someone grabbed him, hands groping, molesting, spreading his buttocks apart in a touch that Otis had not expected. He flinched and strove to wrench himself away, though they already had his fetlocks in his hands, yanking them apart, finding something to bind them too with more lengths of rough rope that raked over his limbs.

There were too many of them, far, far too many to fight off, and he was bound, bound and trapped, his situation hopeless. He closed his eyes against the fear, retreating deep into himself, though the sick twist of anticipation in his stomach for what he knew they did to war prisoners, for he had already faced it himself in the marketplace of sorts they had within their growing town.

In a flash, his heart clenched, as if there was an iron band around it from the blacksmith's forge, a finger thrust into his arse, though his heart could only thud, not stop. Oh, but he wanted it to stop, for something, anything to take him away from the moment, what he had already been replaying, over and over again in his head in his cell, the horror that had been done to him. Screaming a whinny, he fought all over again, thrashing, writhing, twisting, his hands stretched out before him on the old trunk as if he was an offering.

They only laughed. They always laughed.

He should have seen it coming, but he had been down in the dungeon for so long that he'd thought that there was no way they would ever take him out, not for any reason, not ever again. Time to lick his wounds had rendered Otis complacent, even as the stallion-centaur reared behind him, coming down with his front legs and hooves nicely on the trunk, tucked around his shoulders as if in an embrace.

"No! Noooooo!"

At least that was what Otis tried to scream, yet his throat was too hoarse, rasping through with strangled cries. Their laughter increased, the gang of centaurs, too many for him to count with all of them leaping and jumping about as they were, surrounding him, on all sides, leaving the stallion with nowhere at all to escape to.

"Hold...unff...still..."

Of course, there was nowhere for Otis to go and the other centaurs only bellowed at his predicament, slapping their chests, setting their weapons down, enjoying the show. Already, a bay centaur with a ripped, muscled chest pranced before him as if to show off, tail hiked as a hot length of stallion meat slopped heavily from his sheath.

Otis screamed, yet was powerless to stop the crush of horse cock grinding under his tail, dock twitching helplessly. It happened as if in slow motion for him, taking more than a few thrusts for the centaur stallion to strike home, for the position was different, even if the brutes were more than happy to make do with what they had at their disposal. In their eyes, their minds, they were there to put him back in his place, to show the weak, anthro stallion that he was no match to them, superior horses, superior beings. They were centaurs and they would not bow or acquiesce to a single need of an anthro!

Yet Otis was not privy to any of that as he was defiled, the thick, brutally demanding length of horse cock finally grinding up inside him. His scream was lost in the laughter as the centaur pushed in closer, not wanting to let any of his dick go to waste, balls swinging as he abused the stallion who should have been used to such debasement by that time. All Otis knew of who was fucking him was that they had black legs, like his coat of hair, but, otherwise, they could have been a stranger for all he could tell.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, not with the driving grind of horse cock forcing air from his lungs, his sheath and nuts crushed into the bark, head swimming with pain. Oh, his body wanted to respond in a sick, twisted way, though it was not to be, not as he howled and wrenched himself forward, pressing his face into the trunk as if he could dive into it. Yet there was nowhere for him to go and nowhere even for the stallion to escape to, for not even his mind had proven to be a sanctuary in the times since his capture by centaurs.

They laughed and mocked him, words rolling over, though they sank into him, not dripping off his hide.

"Weak whore."

"Stallion slut."

"Just another hole to fuck."

"Good for nothing colt."

They thought he was less than them, though all Otis had wanted to do was to live his life, something that was no longer under his control as a huge horse barrel pushed over him. And he felt every, fiery inch of that cock burning its way up inside him, leading a path with its pain. It might have spilt out pre-cum in a vague sort of effort to slicken its burrowing deep, but his mind did not even register it as his arse ached and ached.

End preview.

_ _

_ _

_ _

_ _

_ _

Thank you for reading! This story is available to purchase, worldwide, via Smashwords and Commiss.io!

Smashwords:https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1139372

Commiss.io:https://commiss.io/listings/kKnK

Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed this story, please take a look at my website, where similar stories are listed by kink!

https://alismitsy.wordpress.com/

All new releases will be announced via my Twitter account!

@alismitsy

I am also available for custom stories, tailored to your preferred nuances and characters. Please e-mail the following address for further information.

arianmabe@gmail.com

If you liked this story, you may also enjoy...

Sacrificed to the Centaurs: A Man Bound and Forced to Submit

It is a tradition that they must appease the centaurs but that doesn't mean that everyone benefits from the agreement, much less the men that are sent out to face the wrath of the centaurs. They never return but everyone knows what is happened, why the men that are chosen and taking to the staging area for such sacrifices never return.

No... They go there to be used and abused, their bodies but toys unto which the centaurs can unleash their lust over and over again. There are no rules left when it comes to the sacrifices and they are left there to be taken repeatedly until the centaurs, well... No one has ever returned to tell the tale of after their lusts have been spent, so who is anyone to speculate?

Only the sacrifices know.

Centaur Taken by the Stallion Gang: Her Unwilling Breeding

Carrie is a centaur woman: young, smart, wanted by half the tribe. But the fact of the matter is that she doesn't want to give up her virginity - not quite yet. She is too busy, has too much in mind, the tribe in the forest soft and wrapped around her. It's calm there, protective, and nothing will ever get to her.

Until Carrie gets herself caught in a trap, a heavy net covering her and tangling her hooves. She can't get free, but things take a turn for the worse as her tribe does not find her, but a band of roaming, wild stallions. The wild horses may not be able to communicate with centaurs, but dark intelligence gleams in their shimmering eyes, advancing on her as their sheaths plump out with lust. Lust for her and her body...

They want her. She has no choice in the matter, not as they decide amongst themselves the order in which they will take her, driving in, slamming in, using her body as if it is nothing more than a toy to them...

Author's note: this story contains non-consensual erotica with a sapient horse and a centaur woman, intended for fiction and fantasy purposes only.

Gryphon Habits: Forcing His Keeper Against Their Will

A gryphon, intelligent and, of course, sentient, is locked up in a zoo, though the anthros and humans who have put him there do not yet understand his kind. They are studying them, but do not know that gryphons are just as intelligent as they are, regardless of the fact that they are non-anthros in a feral body type.

That is a mistake.

His longing festers, simmering and seething, growing more and more, need rising in the dimness of his barely visited enclosure. He does not know what instincts to express or even how to express them, his life dreary and dull.

Until, one day, it explodes.

He can't hold back and neither does the gryphon want to as he turns on his keeper, taking him roughly, coarsely, the wolf anthro helpless for any means of escape.

But the gryphon will finally satisfy his breeding needs with another male and, at long last, find his escape...

Note: this story contains non-consensual erotica and is written and intended to be taken as fiction and fantasy only.