The following work of gay centaur fantasy fiction is intended for mature readers. If you are under 18 years of age or offended by gay fiction please leave this page immediately.
Chapter 10: When Looks Are So Deceiving
For Elmardin mixed feelings were as normal as the changes in stormy weather. He didn’t harbor any illusions that could alter the fact that his was a life of constant contradictions and instability. But amazingly he had found strength from this frequent confusion and an ability to survive that was far beyond what he’d possessed as a fae.
Elmardin enjoyed his playtime with Sol. The woodie was frisky and his passion was unbridled. If you wanted a guaranteed good time Sol was the one to see. But, unfortunately for Elmardin, there was more to his fuck buddy than just sexual satiation. When Sol demanded that Elmardin join with him in his effort to seize control of his tribe the centaur mage wanted to return to miniature fairy form and fly far, far away. If there was anything Elmardin hated, it was political machinations and egomaniacal power plays.
There was one consolation produced by the charade Elmardin had played for Sol’s benefit. The idea that Sol might be getting his needs met in one area made him even more willing to satisfy Elmardin’s needs in the only one he really desired to maintain with Sol, pure rapacious sex.
“As long as ya can keep tat old fool busy wit fear tere’s plenty maer w’ere tat came froom.” Sol boasted as if he were the great god Megansi himself.
“I have to admit it’s been too long a time since I’ve had such a good sucking, Sol. Your hot mouth is truly a thing of wonder.”
Truth told it had only been a short while since Elmardin had had the pleasure of a good sucking. He’d met a fine centaur lad on the trail and the two had lain for a moonlight night together before parting ways the next morning. One thing that was almost a certainty: single stallions were randy and ready for the sensual ministrations of another. As much as he’d enjoyed the lad’s attention he returned the pleasure in kind. Sex with one of his adopted brethren was superior to any other, even when the partner was as adept as friend Sol was. But there was no need to burden Sol with the measure of his competition. And there was no need to burden friend Sol with the news that he had played his best part that day in the presence of Elder Woodchuck and it was highly unlikely he’d be up for acting another. Their sex was grand, but not that grand.
Elmardin’s mixed feelings were briefly finding a solidity he seldom knew. It was funny how the release of some sexual tension could give him clarity normally left unseen. It was now very clear to Elmardin that getting caught up in the tribal tribulations of the woodies wasn’t on his agenda for the coming days. He wouldn’t work to thwart Sol’s efforts, but he wouldn’t be aiding them either. He had nothing against the centaurs of Taur’s Prairie. In fact, he had plenty more to gain by finding out all he could about these centaurs he had yet to meet. Were they really the bane the woodies claimed them to be? He imagined not.
Elmardin knew exactly what to do to have his bit of chimmie cake and eat it, too.
“Friend Sol, I have devised a simple plan that I believe will meet with your approval. If you will call Nedrick back from his spying duties I can serve that purpose far better.”
“How so, El?” Sold leaned in closer to his friend in a the manner of conspiracy.
“Is it not obvious? Who else do ye know who holds the appearance of taur? I can spy on them from within their ranks. What is better than that?” Elmardin’s tail swished across the top of his rump as a simple declaration of the fact.
“Aye, ye be a far more familiar sort o’ spy!” Sol laughed out loud and slapped his hairy haunches. “And ta fools will be caught unawares. Tis a gran’ plan, me clever friend.”
The schemers slapped palms together and Sol did a little happy jig.
There’ll be good sex play tonight, thought Elmardin.
Cyrus and Pell had never seen eye to eye on much and Pell had never appreciated how Cyrus managed Taur’s Prairie. Pell believed he’d be a much better taur for the job, but had yet to convince any other taur it was so. He dreamed of the day Cyrus would step down and, in his mind’s eye, saw himself stepping up to the responsibility he deserved.
“Young Pelion are ye busy daydreamin’ agin? No work ever got accomplished in dreamland.” Cyrus tapped Pell’s shoulder and, sure he had the stallion’s attention, instructed him to bring in casks from the cold shed.
Pell mumbled under his breath and went about his business, passing Shay as he trotted into the tavern.
“Good day, Pell “ and a broad smile fell flat and untended as Pell failed to acknowledge the constable.
“So, Cyrus, what’s up with Pell? He’s not his good-natured self today.” Shay remarked with a bit of sarcasm.
“Ah, nutthin’ a good dose o’ reality couldn’ cure. Thinks he’s ta important fer his own good. I’ll lay ya a small wager he’s settin’ his sights on me job. A hardy laugh that’ is. He can barely do his own labors.” Cyrus shook his shaggy head in frustration.
“I’ll have a talk with him. I think I have some work for him on this woodie situation. Nothing too difficult, I wouldn’t want to ruffle his pretty hide.” Shay gave Cyrus his best knowing wink.
“Aye, flatter ta lad an’ ye’ll have him etting out yer han’, ye will. But donna go spreadin’ yer fine charms on ta likes o’him, good Saur. T’ere are otters here wert persuin’.” Cyrus gave Shay he best seductive grin in response.
Shay thought he had yet to encounter any taur more forcefully flirtatious than this one standing before him. If he hadn’t found himself rapidly becoming enamored of his android pal he would definitely be taking the taur up on his offer. Maybe a three-way could be arranged.
Shay paused for a moment and realized that such a thought had never crossed his mind before. Three-ways? He was just gaining mastery of the one-on-one and now his libido was suggesting three-ways?
A loud whinny sounded in his head. So my sex life is compelled by simple horse sense? Another whinny greeted the question. We’ll see about that, Shay laughed to himself. Silence.
“Someting’ amusin’, good Saur?” Cyrus loved to share in any good joke. Especially humor at the expense of Pell. The young lout was most assuredly topping his shit list that morning.
“Nothing worth sharing, Saur. I’ll be on my way. Places to go and people to see. A constable’s work is never done, eh Cyrus?” Shay delivered one of his prize-winning toothy grins.
Cyrus melted some more. “No, good Saur.” He sighed aloud as he watched Shay’s fine form depart. “Someday, Laddie. Ta sooner ta better.”
Pell hauled in the first cask and Cyrus went back to tending his business, wiping down the bar and whistling a tune from his distant childhood. He remembered how his dear mum would sing the lullaby, “In Ta Bright Dewey Morn We Shall Run “, to him. Why the old song came to him now he hadn’t a clue. Perhaps it was there because there was romance in his heart. A feeling that made him yearn for fulfillment.
“What’s that, Cyrus?” Pell enquired.
“Ne’er ye mind, Pell.” Cyrus responded gruffly, embarrassed he’d been caught thinking aloud. “Ge’ back ta yer werk.”
Pell grumbled as his hoofs hit the wooden floor hard and determined.
Copyright 2012 by G. W. German. All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be copied without the express permission of the author. Any resemblance to real persons is entirely coincidental and not consciously intended by the author.