Fit for a king

by Josh Dugan

A warlock madly in love with the king uses enhanced laborers produce a unique gift for his highness.

I was lost in reverie watching the farm hands. How well the term farm hands fit them—they were tall, muscular youths—four-armed, with four hands.

Something about their extra hands made them irresistible, and I tried to think back to their first arrival at the royal winery.

Ever since the King had gotten on the good side of the handsome warlock who controlled the magic of the land over which the King was, well, King, things had been going very well. I wasn’t sure whether the King was truly in love with the warlock or whether it was one of the warlock’s spells, but things were wonderful either way. The King and the warlock were both handsome young fellows, or should I say all three of them, because the warlock would sometimes double himself when ravishing our beautiful King.

Anyway, a lot of good work was getting done at the royal vineyards. And we had lately lucked into several spates of strong young farm hands, and my mind often drifted pleasantly as I watched their well-muscled, handsome bodies toil, sweating in the summer heat.

I love to see good work being done, and truth be told, I love to see good workers. Somehow the warlock had divined my secret taste in men—big, beautiful, and stupid, and somehow I knew it was no coincidence that a stream of them had in recent weeks begun stumbling onto the royal grounds, looking for work. I couldn’t turn them away—they were clear-eyed youths, beautifully tall and muscular and, to my liking, dumb as bricks. Obviously, they were the warlock’s work, and I really liked them!

I had been instructing the latest batch of them on the work they would be doing, inwardly loving the way they winced and moved their lips as they tried to follow what I was saying, unconsciously holding onto each other’s bodies as they sweated in the still summer heat.

The warlock must have been reading my mind when he rode up on his favorite centaur stallion, a deeply tanned, broad-shouldered beauty with lips and eyes to die for. “They’re easily confused,” the warlock smiled, crossing his forearms and leaning them on the beautiful shoulders of his centaur. “But they like simple motivations to make them happy, and then they’ll tirelessly do anything you want. May I show you?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Fine; watch this. This will make them happy and help them do a better job for you.” He turned to the sweet-faced, strapping youths. “If you promise to work hard for this man, I’ll double your arms—you’ll be able to do more work easier, and think of all the fun you can have with a nice extra set of arms.”

The young men’s eyes widened, and they nodded their agreement.

“Done!” said the warlock.

And then they were all laughing and delighted, showing each other their beautiful extra arms, slapping and punching each other’s bodies playfully, wrestling and hugging each other. Their shoulders were broadened and doubled; all the arms and hands looked so good, really quite sexy, and it did something to me to see the long-armed young men so muscular and beautiful with their extra arms.

“Thanks,” I said.

The warlock said, “You’re welcome.”

I thought I saw the warlock sway slightly, but I realized it was because his centaur was swaying slightly on his four legs. Actually, now that I noticed, it, the handsome centaur was quite inebriated, absent-mindedly tracing beads of sweat on his magnificent torso, drawing patterns in the sweat droplets on his chest and stomach with his finger. I also noticed for the first time the sweet scent of wine on the centaur’s breath.

I gave the warlock a quizzical look.

“That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about,” the warlock said. “That’s also why we need the extra hands,” he said, nodding to the happy and somewhat aroused knot of sweating young gods, who were running their fingers through each other’s hair, and also beginning to look hungrily at the beautiful drunken centaur.

“Something wrong?” I said, concerned.

“Just that I’m out of my mind in love with the King,” the warlock smiled. I smiled, too. It was both sweet and insane love, but I was happy for both of them. Or all three of them, as the occasion required.

“Never mind my drunken stallion here; it’s in the line of duty. I’ve got my centaurs on a special project, and I’m using all the magic my heart can distill for this one,” the handsome warlock said winsomely. “I want to present my love the King with the finest, sweetest wine ever created.”

“So your big stallion guy has been helping with the quality control?” I smiled. The handsome centaur noticed he was being talked about, and tried to focus his beautiful eyes on me as he clumsily wiped sweat from his brow with a powerful forearm. His other hand had found a prominent nipple on his noble chest; a finger twirled slowly around the nipple as it reddened and firmed.

He smiled at me and giggled gently. The sweet wine smell on his breath was turning me on.

The warlock gave the drunken centaur’s shoulders an affectionate squeeze, and the centaur looked back smiling at the warlock, his four legs doing an unsteady dance as he tried to keep his powerful body balanced.

The warlock wrapped his arms around the centaur’s beautiful torso and hugged it, and the centaur held the warlock’s arms against him. They kissed, and the centaur swayed again.

The tall young workers groaned softly, appreciatively, their arms around one another also.

“It’s a labor of love,” the warlock smiled at me, when he had recovered from the kiss. “All my centaurs have given their bodies over to the production of the finest wine ever made, for love of my King.”

He explained how he had transformed the centaurs’ innards and genitalia to make Centaur Wine. When they consumed freshly stomped grape juice, their centaur bodies rapidly fermented it, and for the amount of grape juice they drank, a certain proportion would be transformed, via their huge centaur sex organs, so that when they made love, their cum would be fine wine. If they drank fine wine, their cum would be cognac. If they drank cognac, their cum would be very superior stuff. What they drank would be blended. “This all would involve a lot of drinking,” I said, intrigued.

“It certainly does,” the warlock smiled. “My handsomely hindquarted friend here has been working with the other centaurs to help me come up with the perfect wine—here come the others now. Care to bring your farm hands up to have a look?”

“Sure,” I said.

I heard the slurred voices of the handsome half-dozen centaurs approaching as they laughed and playfully tousled each other’s hair or held each other in armlocks as their clumsy hooves stumbled, their horse bodies bumping each other. They were obviously intoxicated, and by their degree of arousal, I could tell they had been producing copious amounts of fine wine. They were laughing and holding on to one another’s magnificent muscular bodies as their hooves stumbled and tripped. Two of them spontaneously coupled, one handsome centaur mounting a buddy centaur, both of them moaning as the first centaur shot his load into the centaur he was mounting.

“It’s hard for the centaurs to remember to have only oral sex,” the warlock explained. “They get so drunk doing the wine fermentation that they end up losing some of it in each other’s hindquarters. If you and your farm hands can help, it would be excellent to let the centaurs have as much sex as they want—oral sex. Their bodies will further refine the already excellent wine their sex organs are producing—the important thing is to help them remember to suck each other down.”

“I’d be glad to help,” I said, feeling excited by the work we had to do. “For the centaurs to rump-feed each other is of course wonderful, but it hinders the actual wine production to some extent,” the warlock explained, holding onto his reeling ride as the drunken centaur dizzily turned towards the sound of laughter and slurred speech from his intoxicated fellow centaurs.

The centaurs finally stumbled up to us, one of them giving the warlock’s centaur a very relaxed and lazy hug and a remarkably deep kiss. They both stumbled and seemed about to lose their balance, but their hooves managed to hold onto the earth.

“I’d better get my four-armed farm hands onto the centaurs’ horsebacks,” I told the handsome warlock. The warlock didn’t seem to be paying attention, and in fact appeared aroused and distracted by being seated upon a centaur whose arms were around another magnificent centaur.

“Fine,” he answered.

“No problem,” I answered, not sure if he was aware of what we were talking about. The beautiful young men, still wowed by their four arms, helped each other onto the centaurs, who were becoming quite aroused at the sight of the beautiful four-armed young men. The drunken centaurs seemed to enjoy having a pair of the rider’s hands on their shoulders and another pair clasped about their tall centaur torsos. There wasn’t a penis among the centaurs or their beautiful four-armed passengers that wasn’t aching and aroused.

The centaurs seemed to realize how stupid the beautiful farm hands were, and I realized that they shared my taste for beautiful-bodied, gorgeous, brainless young men. One of the centaurs, a magnificent blonde with a splendid golden palomino equine body, had persuaded his giggling four-armed farm hand to let the centaur hug him. The aroused centaur and the farm hand were deep into a kiss when the centaur inserted his amazingly huge frontal hardon snugly into the dumb stud’s muscular behind. The farm hand screamed with pleasure, penetrated by the giant frontal centaur organ. His four arms forgot to hold onto the centaur and his four beautiful hands relaxed, hanging from their wrists, as he writhed in ecstasy, moving his buttocks in enjoyment of the centaur stallion inside him. Luckily, the centaur’s muscular embrace held the farmhand’s body firmly, while the centaur nuzzled the young man’s beautiful chest. Soon the farm hand’s four hands were caressing the centaur’s blonde hair and muscular shoulders, and in moments the centaur squeezed the beautiful four-armed youth to him, grunting and spasming as his enormous frontal hardon ejaculated repeatedly into the young man’s handsome rump.

Soon all the centaurs were making love to their four-armed youths in the same way, and the warm air was full of their groans and cries, as the centaurs pumped their young men’s muscular rumps repeately with their huge, ejaculating frontal hardons, their hind hardons swaying heavily to and fro between their hind legs.

The tall, muscular bodies of the sweet youths relaxed in the embraces of the drunken centaurs, and the youths’ four arms clumsily embraced the beautiful torsos of the centaurs as their legs wrapped around their waists, their lips full and warm against each other’s.

The tall young four-armed men smiled sweetly and lazily rested in the muscular embrace of their centaurs, who carried the youths up to the winery, their four legs stumbling and clumsy, their enormous frontal hardons buried in the handsome asses of the young men.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the beautiful centaur-youth couples, and I couldn’t help noticing how much more appealingly stupid the beautiful young men now seemed—lazy, clumsy, and dazed—when I realized that the young four-armed men were suddenly very drunk themselves, their tall bodies relaxed and comfortably careless in the centaurs’ embraces.

“Wine enemas,” the warlock said to me, noticing my stares at the blissed-out, listless drunken youths. “The centaurs are coming wine or even stronger come, and once in the young men’s rectums, the alcohol goes right to the bloodstream. Those boys are drunk as lords.”

“That they are,” I agreed, somewhat aroused at the sight of my beautiful farm hands drunk in the arms of their handsome centaur friends. “What kind of come are those centaurs ejaculating into the farm hands?”

“It depends,” the warlock explained, enjoying the chance to share one of the finer points of his magical spell. “One quart of wine requires two gallons of grape juice, for example… and the other steps involve similar ratios from what gets drunk and what the centaur ultimately ejaculates.

“There’s a lot of almost continuous ejaculation involved, but it has to be done carefully, otherwise a lot of careful work can wind up on the floor. That’s why the safest sex for these centaurs is oral sex, since that way nothing can get lost.”

I had to envy the centaurs for the work they got to do. Still, I thought, after a day’s work, these centaurs were pretty smashed.

“They can turn beer into incredibly fine ale,” the warlock said, almost musing to himself and looking quite aroused. “Strawberries and kiwis are turned into incredible liqueurs. As you can see from the romances forming among your four-armed farm hands, my centaurs tend to be pretty popular.”

I could see it was going to be a challenge to keep my farm hands on their feet. “How about if we let the farm hands be centaurs also,” I suggested.

“You can make them wine-producing centaurs if you like. At least they’ll be able to remain standing while they suck each other off.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” the warlock agreed, idly massaging the massive muscles of his centaur’s shoulders. “Or if you think it would be more practical from a housing standpoint, we can just keep the farm hands human, but four-legged. I’m sure they’ll be delighted, by the way they are enjoying their extra arms. And they could still produce wine; they’d have frontal and hind genitalia to work with, and you’d only have to worry about getting them used to having four human legs, rather than learning how to get around with a horse’s lower half.”

“Fine with me,” I said, fully aroused at the thought of it. “But do you think it will be a problem for your centaurs that the farm hands have been upgraded so quickly?”

“Not at all,” the warlock smiled. “With the type of spells I’ve woven, they won’t even care. I guess I like them stupid, too.”

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