Description Let’s just say that four-legged Ivan is… multitalented. And he likes to share his experiences with his best friend (and himself).
|Updated||20 Oct 2018|
All Legs Centaurs Christmas Cock Growth Detachable Four Legs Huge Cock Lots of Legs Mouthcock Multiarm Multicock Multileg Multilimb Muscle Growth Replication Six Legs Size Growth Wristfooted Four-Legged Ivan Josh Dugan All Stories By Date
Ivan’s adventures were originally posted as separate stories, linked under the series title “Ivan’s Extras”. But the author has since decided he sees them as chapters in a continuing story, so the stories and their tags and views have been consolidated here. If you’ve been rerouted to this page after following a link to one of those stories, check the contents dropdown just above for the story you’re looking for.
After spending his vacation with a band of four legged Amazonian Indians, Ivan returned, anxious to show off the results of his bonding ceremony with them.
He looked a little irritated when I marveled at the beauty of his four feet. “It’s not the number of feet that matters,” he said. “It’s what they symbolize.”
He was cross-legged, his front pair of legs crossed on top of his hind pair of legs and all four feet hanging heavy and relaxed.
“The magic of the feet is not in the way they multiply,” he explained, “but in the way they express the unity of the tribe. If they are beautiful, it is because the beauty helps drive the bonding of the tribe.”
“How do you do it?” I asked.
“It’s a simple answer,” he said, “and a simple mantra: four of them, more of them. It’s even more beautiful in their language,” he added, a little wistfully.
The rituals involved hours and hours of bonding and then the care of the feet, he told me. The feet are like the tribe’s children: beautiful and much loved and much cared for.
“They can increase in number,” he went on. “But again, it is not the number that matters! It’s what the number means, and what the number means is the bond that exists between the brothers of the tribe as expressed by the multiplication of their feet.”
I said, “I think it is beautiful that you bonded with them … and it is beautiful that you carry within yourself the result of that bond. And I’m very happy for you.” Then I added sheepishly, “And I still cannot help but say that you have four very beautiful feet.”
Many hours later, after much food and more wine, he was laughing gently as I held his beautiful feet. There were six of them now, and he was relaxing across me with six of his beautiful legs.
“My feet are so clumsy when I am drunk,” he smiled, and they were they were warm and heavy and tumbled clumsily on my lap.
We were bonding.
“Hey Ivan, check this out!” I said. “It says you have four legs.”
“It does not,” he smiled.
“Yes, it does,” I said, “and it is a true statement.”
His beautiful face lit up with a smile and he said, “Let me see that.”
I said, “Look it up for yourself.”
He picked up his own phone and said, “Okay, how do I find it?”
I answered, “You just search these four words and it comes up: investigated, hypothesized, found, learned.”
He typed in the four words and hit search. “There are a few entries, but they all say about the same thing,” he said. “Oh, I see. It’s a way to memorize those four words. They’re the steps when trying to see if something is true. To remember the four words, you just remember their first letters: I H F L.” Ivan was grinning at his phone. “And that’s why they say Ivan Has Four Legs.”
“Well, if they say that in science than it must be true,” I said.
“Yes,” he laughed, “then it would have to be true.”
“I think it’s cool that it is true that Ivan has four legs, and that we both totally agree,” I said.
“Well, I am Ivan, and if I have four legs why would I not agree that it is true?” he laughed, flushing.
“So it is true,” I said, also flushing.
“Well yeah, I mean, here they are,” he said, raising up his legs and swinging four of them into my lap. The fact that there were four of them made them heavy in my lap, but I did not mind in the least. I ran my hand along his four beautiful thighs, and with my other hand squeezed each one of his four beautiful feet in turn.
“That feels so nice,” he said. “I want to wrap them all around you.”
“Well, put your phone down,” I said. He smiled his wonderful smile and did just that.
There were two of him side by side, and I must have posed a question about his feet, because both of them were enthusiastically discussing what they liked about their multiple feet. I noticed that one Ivan had four feet and the other had six of them.
I wasn’t sure which Ivan was saying what, because they were completing each other’s sentences while they handled each others’ feet to illustrate what they were saying. They were both laughing and aroused as they picked up each other’s feet and lovingly showed off their beauty.
“They look so nice from any angle,” Ivan said, holding a beautiful foot in his hands as its leg comfortably rested against him. A couple of other handsome feet gently migrated onto his lab as if they wanted attention as well.
The other Ivan smiled his agreement and said, “It’s true, and they are so beautiful when they are all stepping around each other—even if it gets a little clumsy having so many feet. But no matter what they do, they are simply the most beautiful and amazing living wonders with a magic all their own.”
“That explains the appeal the of leg wheel,” the first one said, “which when you think of it is a foot delivery system. I need to have two of me just to help with the leg wheel and all of the feet.” Both Ivans helped each other get their many hands and feet under them as they clumsily got up to greet the enormous and beautiful wheel of Ivan legs that was stepping its many beautiful feet in their direction.
“Excuse us, mating time,” they laughed, and as I stood to greet the tall, handsome wheel of Ivan legs I was pleasantly surprised to be welcomed into its wondrously warm and sleek embrace, its beautiful feet pressing against me all over as I nearly swooned.
In fact, I must have swooned for real, because I came to back in the warm and comfortable embrace of Ivan’s four legs.
“That must have been some dream,” Ivan smiled. “You came all over my hind legs. But don’t worry; I’ve got more,” he said, his four legs squeezing me gently as his four feet smoothed themselves against me.
“I guess,” I sighed with a smile.
I began to suspect that there was something magical about Ivan’s four feet.
They seemed to have their own relationship to each other in a way that seemed almost independent of him. Understandably, because they were so beautiful, he left them bare almost all the time or at least in flip-flops when they needed to be.
So they were always on display, handsome and beautiful as they dangled from his four fine ankles while he read. They were fluid in their four-footed grace as the four of them carried him, his four handsome legs a wonder unto themselves, matched only by the beauty of those four smooth and shapely male feet.
For example, while Ivan’s mind was occupied with mental activities such as lounging on the sofa while reading, his four handsome feet would gently seem to commune with each other, smoothing themselves against each other and seeming to enjoy the comfort of each other’s beautiful shape.
I realized that these were crazy thoughts and Ivan’s four feet couldn’t possibly be doing what I thought they were doing. After all, people with only two feet can smooth them together unconsciously; I reasoned that it probably seemed the way it seemed because of the fact of Ivan having four of them. Four feet wood naturally interact among each other more than two would, I told myself.
But then again there were times when I would hold Ivan’s four feet as he read, or even especially as he snoozed, and his four feet would seem to like to encourage me to squeeze or stroke them, three of the beautiful feet patiently resting in my lap while I massaged the fourth, then seeming to present themselves to me in turn as they vied for the attention of my hands, while Ivan himself was otherwise completely occupied in his reading or in deep in slumber, leaving me alone with the beautiful company of his four handsome feet.
And the effect seemed most pronounced when both of us were asleep, especially those times when Ivan would share his four legs with me, wrapping them around me as I dozed in heavenly comfort with the sleek, smooth warmth and weight of those four gorgeous male legs warmly surrounding me.
At those times, his four feet seemed to star in my dreams.
Here was Ivan in his cubicle at work, barefoot times with those four beautiful feet up, surrounding his desktop computer keyboard, his four bare feet on display for all to see, his colleagues oohing and ahhing at the beauty of his four feet and taking selfies with all four of them draped around their shoulders and mussing their hair, the guys taking off their watches and placing them on his four fine ankles, Ivan laughing and posing for more selfies, pretending to try to tell time from the four different watches one by one raising his four legs too see in turn each of his colleagues’ timepieces on his four ankles, which lit up his beautiful face with pleasure because in an oddly erotic way the watches really showed off the beauty of Ivan’s four feet.
Here were two intoxicated, seriously aroused and gloriously naked Ivans laughing drunkenly and running after each other, their sweating, beautiful bodies glistening as they ran clumsily, their words slurred and slow, their drunken four-legged bodies naked and barefoot times four, on a hot day chasing each other down a hill after a drunken picnic, laughing and stumbling on their clumsy foursomes of beautiful feet as they chased each other, their huge aroused penises bobbing and swaying heavily between their pairs of clumsy, stupidly running beautiful legs.
“Help me, I’m falling!” laughed the first Ivan, his beautiful feet clumsy and stupid on his four clumsy legs as they crazily stumbled and tripped while he laughed and plunged down the ravine.
“Hoo hah!” yelled the second Ivan, stumbling and tripping on his four beautiful drunken feet , the four of them barely touching the ground as he dove after the first Ivan, his aroused penises swinging wildly. “I’ll save you!”
He lunged and caught the first Ivan, laughing wildly and grabbing him as the two of them and all of their drunken feet, legs and penises tumbled and tumbled onto a luxurious expanse of soft green lawn, surrounded by dozens and dozens of giggling drunken four-legged Ivans and mating Ivan-couples.
Very aroused myself, I grabbed the nearest giggling Ivan and hauled him in for a kiss, loving the swaying of his drunken, four-legged body.
He laughed and pretended to try to push me away, but his hands changed into beautiful dangling Ivan feet, huge and clumsy on his fine wrists.
As I held his beautiful body against me, his eyes tried to focus on them. He had trouble moving them because they were so heavy and awkward.
“Whoops,” he giggled, patting them together, “I’m wristfooted.”
I held them to my face, loving their beautiful male foot shape and I squeezed them and then planted a huge kiss on Ivan’s sweet drunken lips, coming and coming as I did so.
He squeezed me and squeezed me hard, from front and back, and I gradually awakened to realize I was being squeezed by warm beautiful Ivan legs surrounding me.
I felt Ivan stirring as he awakened.
“Did you just come all over my hind legs again?” he asked me with a gentle laugh.
“Whoops,” I said, as his four legs squeezed me anew, four confident Ivan-feet sweetly caressing my own.
Ivan was grinning into his phone again.
He was in his usual internet surfing posture, sitting naked on his two pairs of crossed legs, his four beautiful feet relaxed and comfortable and his twin boners huge and upright, one touching the other as he scrolled through his reading.
“What,” I said, already hot and bothered at the sight of his beautiful four-legged body and his beautiful dimpled grin.
“I’m thinking about trying to hoompa,” he said smiling as he looked up from the glow of his phone. “I think I can do it. It turns me on so much to even think about it that I know I can.”
As if to affirm his confidence, his front and rear penises seemed to squeeze themselves into even larger erections, pressing themselves tightly against each other and against his stomach.
“What on Earth are you talking about?” I said. “You lost me at hoompa.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said. “You bounce yourself more legs, you can snap them off in sets of two pairs or more and share them. It’s a story on the web.”
Now I was getting more aroused, but I had to question the fundamental reality of the situation. “It’s a story,” I said, “and the story is in its own world. Can you possibly think that you can do something because you read it in a story?”
“No, but it would be fun to try,” he said. “I could have extra legs and I could snap some off and wrap them around you and I could wrap some around me and we could have centaur races and it would be fun.”
“This is all from the story?” I said.
“Yup,” he said.
“So how do you hoompa?” I asked.
“Well, from the story I think you just bounce yourself on your crossed legs while saying hoompa, and every time you say it a pair of crossed legs adds itself under you. The thing is, I already have four legs so I’m not sure it would work in that case.”
“Well, it’s probably like riding a bicycle. You really can’t learn by describing it; you just have to learn by doing it I think,” I said. Obviously I had not the least idea of what I was talking about.
“Okay,” he said easily, and he sort of straightened up on his two pairs of crossed legs and put the phone aside and sort of started bouncing on his crossed legs, and he got into it and started to say with each bounce, hoompa, hoompa, hoompa.
That’s all it took.
Trust me, it happened faster than it takes to describe, and I was too stunned to even feel stunned, but there it was: with every hoompa, Ivan bounced one set of legs higher, and in the time it took him to say hoompa three times he was suddenly sitting on three extra pairs of his beautiful naked crossed legs. He was way taller than me now, on five pairs of his beautiful naked crossed legs, and how could I not notice each pair has its own towering erection.
“Oh, wow,” he said, a little dazed, and running a hand through his hair as he dizzily looked down at his warm and comfortable pile of beautiful naked crossed legs and all of those beautiful bare Ivan feet.
“I think I’m going to come,” he said, and sure enough it started—all five of his towering penises, already sleek with arousal, began dripping and spurting with massive shots of come that made them pulse and stiffen as he came and came and came.
Somehow I found myself there with him with a couple of large bath towels and gently dabbed up the gallons of warm, pungent, reeking hot come that was all over his chest and his hands and his face and his hair and those five glorious pairs of beautiful come-splattered legs.
It took a third towel to get him more completely dry and as I was finishing him up I realized that I was almost as tall standing in front of him as he was seated on on his five handsome pairs of crossed legs.
I held him, pulling him into me and leaning towards him as he rested against me. As he held me, my hands wandered over his beautiful layers of five pairs of beautiful sleek legs and all their thighs and calves and feet and I said wow I guess you were right.
He straightened up and smiled closely at me and we kissed.
“How about a nice set of six legs to wrap around you and snuggle with while I go shower?” he said.
“You’ll be okay with just four legs?” I asked, only half in jest.
“We’ll see,” he said.
The place was littered with wrappings and bows and opened boxes and gift tags, opened presents everywhere and well-examined gifts piled high.
Ivan was particularly pleased with the four-legged sweat pants and jeans I had found on Amazon, although just now, as usual, his four beautiful legs, crossed pairs lazing comfortably upon one another, were gloriously naked, like the rest of him, except for his little red and white Santa hat.
We were down to the stocking stuffers. There had been rather a lot of them hanging from the mantle, considering there were just two of us, by now just four of them left dangling heavily, Ivan having already opened his, loving the matching foursomes of socks I had stuffed in his mantle stockings, which were now folded neatly beside his handsome foursome of barefoot crossed legs.
How clever, I thought to myself. Socks as stocking stuffers. How could he possibly top that?
Looking up from my self-congratulatory reverie, my gaze began with Ivan’s handsome feet now standing in front of me, and slowly moved up along the handsome contours of his four legs, and there, in front of his swelling erections, dangled the four heavy stockings he held in front of me, his dimples deepening as he smiled.
“I hope you like them,” he said, gently placing them in my lap. They were warm and heavy and, I noticed with surprise, that the four stockings were unusually foot-shaped.
He gracefully melted down onto his four knees, the upturned soles of his front feet kissing the calves of his hind legs as he sat comfortably on the four of them.
“Go ahead, open them,” he encouraged me, his beautiful face alive with anticipation.
And open them I did, one by one, in slow amazement, as my hands gently withdrew the stockings from their warm and weighted contents.
“These are amazing,” I said, and truly meaning it, as I slowly held and turned the four of them over and over.
They were perfect and ridiculously lifelike full-size replicas of Ivan’s four beautiful feet, and the realism was not to be believed, down to the last beautiful curve of the arch and flex of the beautiful arrays of Ivan-toes.
“Where on Earth did you get these?” I asked as a couple of the feet in my lap tilted from the slow force of my growing hard-on beneath them.
“Well,” he smiled, “I was reading another story about this kid who could bilocate himself or just his legs and I realized I could probably bilocate just my feet for you, since I know you like my four feet.”
I picked up one of the heavy, warm beautiful feet and gently nuzzled it to my face and then gave it a gentle massaging squeeze along the arch.
“Mmmm, that feels nice,” he said. “Can you do more of them?”
“I’d love to,” I said, truly meaning it.
“Good,” he laughed, “because I almost forgot I have one more gift to give you.”
I became aware of a crumpling sound, sort of like wrapping paper being unwrapped, which is just what it was, as something wrapped in gift-wrap behind the tree was clumsily rising and coming our way, six gift-wrapped flexing columns of noisy gift wrap on six sleek Ivan-feet, and they picked their way among the mounds of discarded wrappings and discarded boxes and bows.
Ivan helped me peel off the gift wrap and untie the ribbons from what was now clearly Ivan’s six beautiful hoompa’d legs and, aroused by the all the handling, his three engorging boners among his six legs.
“You can ride these when we have centaur races,” Ivan smiled. “Or if you want it to be a fair race, I can hoompa some more for myself, and I can ride them, too.”
“That I have to get that on video,” Ivan said from behind me. I turned, startled, and there was Ivan, picking up his phone. Ivan number two.
I turned, just a little exasperated, to Ivan number one.
“This is from the story, right? You can bilocate your complete self, as well as just your feet, right?”
“Yup,” he said.
“I think we should all snuggle up and talk about it,” I said, and both Ivans did just that, on either side of me, and for good measure, the six Ivan legs climbed on and snuggled with us as well. “Here, everybody, have some feet,” I laughed, passing them around.
“So what are centaur races?” I asked four-legged Ivan. Ivan number one.
I call him number one because he had bi-located himself; how I don’t know, except that he seemed to be able to comfortably do some of the seemingly impossible things he had read about in stories on the internet.
Having received Christmas gifts from him of his four warm, beautiful bi-located feet and a set of his six long-muscled, hoompa’d legs, their handsome triple bobbing genitalia in a near-constant state of arousal, I was now comfortably seated between the two gloriously nude, multilegged Ivans, Ivan number one and Ivan number two, his handsome naked bi-located self.
Both handsome naked Ivans towered over either side of me, their height increased by the fact that they were each sitting cross-legged nude on beautiful foursomes of legs.
My handsome ambulatory Christmas gift, the hoompa’d set of six handsome Ivan legs that Ivan had detached and gift wrapped for me, lazily sprawled themselves on the laps of all three of us, their heavy, well-muscled lengths sleek, warm and heavy, with beautiful Ivan-feet seemingly everywhere. The legs snuggled with us and squirmed with desire, driven, no doubt, by the urgency of their three warm and massive boners.
The two Ivans, and I sitting between them, rested our arms across the six warm and beautifully long-muscled legs, occasionally petting and stroking them as if they were an oddly erotic breed of dog, one composed entirely of Ivan’s six very handsome and athletic male human legs and six beautiful male human feet, and endowed with their own set of three large and urgently aroused male human penises.
“Well, in the story they call them centaur races but they don’t really involve actual centaurs,” Ivan number one said.
“It’s just guys with lots of legs racing each other across this endless lawn. There’s not a lot of detail other than they got all their extra pairs of legs by saying ‘hoompa.”
Ivan number two giggled, his dimples deepening. “Hoompa!” he said, enjoying the sound of the word as if it were the first time he had ever said it which, I realized, it was.
He no sooner said the word than he bounced higher, to his surprise, and found himself now sitting cross-legged on three of his handsome pairs of legs.
The sudden jostling caused the six Ivan-legs lounging on our laps to reflexively struggle for balance, and the hardon of the hindmost pair of legs, which was now somewhat upended on the now-higher lap of now-six-legged Ivan number two, shot its wad, or rather wads, coming and coming and coming all over his own six crossed legs. My own two legs warmed under a flood of Ivan-come from the enormous penis between the middle pair of legs on my lap, and Ivan number one got his four legs soaked as well as his face, neck, hair, chest and arms, by the giant frontal penis that was now ejaculating out of control.
Both Ivans groaned with pleasure, and sure enough, they, and all of their own penises, came as well, massively.
I gave the Ivans, and all their legs, time to recuperate.
“These are all bilocated legs and penises, so of course you felt that,” I said, realizing the obvious.
“Mm-hmm,” Ivan number one nodded, the nod causing the giant pulsing frontal penis he had pulled into his mouth to suddenly stiffen and blast again, nearly gagging him with an enormous second volley of come.
I realize that, even though I was a little beside myself with the intensity of the moment, it would be probably fun to try having centaur races with Ivan. After all, he had promised to make it a fair race by having both of us ride hoompa’d legs instead of just me.
First I would have to figure out a way to get myself dried off and get these six legs in our laps dried off and get these two come-soaked Ivans dried off.
I spread my arms and wrapped them around the waists of my two towering naked handsome Ivans and pulled them to me, loving them leaning into me in turn as their arms found me as well.
“How do you like them?” Ivan said. I was sitting between my gloriously naked Ivans, four-legged Ivan, Ivan number one, and his bilocated number two, six-legged Ivan.
“Like what?” I said.
“The four feet I gave you as stocking stuffers.”
“You know I love them,” I told him. “I told you that when you gave them to me and it’s so true—they’re absolutely beautiful.”
I meant it, too. I kept all four of them nearby and generally took them to bed with me too, because they were wonderful to snuggle and wake up next to you and sometimes I even like to hit Ivan with them. They were the perfect gift for someone who has a thing about feet, especially about Ivan’s feet, and since they basically are his feet just bilocated, then they are an extension of him, and there is no way I can explain how hot it is to have these, the four most beautiful feet in the world, warm and loving and beautiful perfect live copies of Ivan’s actual four beautiful feet.
He groans with pleasure when I collect up the four handsome Ivan-feet and massage all four of them, and, very often, I can get him helpless with laughter wherever he is, if I let my impish side take over and pick up one or more of them and start tickling them. It doesn’t take long before I hear his screaming and laughter from some distant corner of our place and him begging me to stop.
“Well, I’m thinking of trying wristfeet,” he said.
Ivan number two giggled, his dimples deepening. “Wristfeet!” he said, enjoying the sound of the word as if it were the first time he had ever said it, which, I realized, it was.
Ivan number one and I exchanged a glance and then both of us turned to Ivan number two. Both of us did a double-take.
“Whoops,” said Ivan number two.
And was he ever. There at the end of his wrists were two of the most beautiful sleek and handsome large male feet the world has ever known, perfect copies of his other six handsome feet, although these big beauties were right up there at close range, strikingly beautiful in their nearness and helplessly dangling in their awkwardness and size, beautiful as they were.
I couldn’t help but notice that Ivan was staring with a blend of awe and envy, looking at the handsome, sleek and very large and heavy wristfeet that weighed down the fine wrists of Ivan number two, who giggled and struggled to move the clumsy, heavy, beautiful wristfeet. They were so handsome.
I have to admit I was pretty aroused to see those beautiful large wristfeet, actually the same size as Ivan II’s other six handsome feet, but entirely out of proportion as they dangled from his wrists, taxing them with their size and weight.
“So this is somehow tied to the story in that he can grow these just by saying it?” I asked. I realized that no matter what the answer, it was obvious that he could make them happen just by saying it.
My question was lost on Ivan, who had had taken the beautiful and heavy wristfeet into his own hands and was reverently kissing them and smoothing them against his blushing face, as Ivan II’s dimples deepened with a look of mild confusion and a growing blush of arousal.
“They’re so beautiful,” Ivan said. “ I can feel them even as I hold them, and I can feel my face against them just as he feels it, since he’s me bilocated.”
I loved seeing Ivan so enthralled, and I wondered if he might like more of them.
“How would you add wristfeet if you wanted to, or does him having wristfeet satisfy you?” I asked Ivan. I was touched by the way he was overcome by the beauty of the smooth, handsome, clumsily beautiful wristfeet as they heavily dangled, weighing down Ivan II’s fine wrists, taxing his arms and forearms with their weight.
“Well since he’s me, I have wristfeet,” Ivan said, sensibly enough.
The huge, handsome wristfeet were now resting on his naked chest as Ivan number two gazed anew upon them with growing wonder and admiration.
Ivan looked at me. “Would you like him with four of them?”
I thought about it for a moment. For some reason it seemed a very pleasant thought as I envisioned Ivan II having four of his beautiful arms, weighted down with a splendid foursome of these heavy and handsome masculine wristfeet.
The four of them would complement their six handsome brothers at the end of those fine, handsome six legs.
They would please Ivan to no end as they massaged him and found comfortable places to rest on his chest and shoulders.
They would make Ivan II giggle as he tried to gesture with his four heavy, beautiful and ridiculously clumsy wristfeet, and they would pile into his lap in a huge and awkward pile of big beautiful wristfeet when they got too heavy to keep aloft.
“Well, they are beautiful,” I said.
“Four!” said Ivan number two.
Since it was for a charity, Ivan had agreed to pose four-legged.
The annual fundraiser Centaur Festival had asked if he would help them create a calendar and would he be their four-legged pin-up boy.
Naturally, it was not a serious centaur theme because Ivan would be a humorous approximation of a centaur; the twelve centaur depictions in a light-hearted kind of pin-up boy fashion featuring Ivan and his four handsome legs.
Ivan had received his free copy in the mail and we were paging through it as he sat next to me cross-legged on his four handsome naked legs.
All twelve of the images had turned out pretty well, using a variety of lighting and photographic techniques to make them all a little different, yet they all highlighted the beauty of Ivan’s four handsome legs as he took on a variety of ordinary and centaur-like poses from everyday life and with a few classical references.
The everyday life collection featured him in ordinary situations such as sprawled naked on his stomach reading a magazine, his four bare feet up in the air, his four shapely male legs idly smoothing themselves against each other.
Here he was in a bright sunny day at the beach, trying to coordinate his four feet to get a fallen flip-flop back onto its hind foot, the handsome young volleyball players in the background oogling him.
Here he was in a sunlit forested retreat, naked and in deep meditation upon two pairs of handsome crossed legs, palms upward in a yogic pose.
Here he was in a fine men’s shoe store, surrounded by dozens of opened boxes and piles of shoes everywhere, the handsome young salesman overcome with the beauty of Ivan’s four feet, holding the four of them in his hands and burying them in kisses.
Here he was smiling on a whirling merry go round, standing four-legged next to the beautifully carved horses, toddlers happily seated on the horses and a strapping, handsome young man happily seated on him.
Here he was weighing himself after a shower, holding a bath towel around his waist while trying to get his four bare feet to stand on themselves to fit on the bathroom scale.
Here he was, in all his naked barefoot four-legged glory, in a rustic hay-filled stable with a handsome cowpoke, looking a little disdainfully at the saddle being politely offered him.
Here he was in pilgrim times, being publicly punished in wooden stocks, his four handsome bare feet sticking out of the four holes, laughing helplessly as a handsome young pilgrim tickled one of them.
Here was one that was an interesting reversal of the classic statue of Hercules slaying the centaur—with a god-like sweet-faced young bodybuilder playing the role of Hercules, but rendered helplessly aroused and spell-bound, leg-locked by the four strong legs of handsome Ivan, smiling down at the poor besotted god as their eyes locked as well.
A cleverly photoshopped depiction showed another reversal of an ancient centaur legend, with a dozen four-legged Ivans, in full frontal and hind arousal, laughing and hauling away as many equally aroused and laughing beautiful young naked men, not worried in the least about their imminent deflowering.
Here was Ivan as mighty Sagittarius, with his four handsome feet firmly planted in a wide stance, his strong arm pulled back on the arrow while the other steadied the bow.
Here was Ivan with a long, beautiful arm crazily holding a goblet high, as the mythical drunken centaur, naked under a full moon, laughing wildly, with both his huge penises aroused between his four collapsed and beautiful front legs and hind legs. “They couldn’t get me to do the pose right,” Ivan smiled, “so they actually got me quite drunk, and as you can see, it worked.”
“I was there,” I reminded him. “You have no idea how heavy your four legs are when they are drunk. You would think that your four feet would give you balance when you’re drunk, but the four of them were even clumsier than your four legs.”
“I don’t know why,” Ivan said, “but that kind of turns me on.”
“Me too,” I said becoming aroused with the memory. “You were fantastic that night.”
He gave me that sweet look that I like so much, his dimples deepening in a smile.
“Think about the present,” he smiled, standing himself up on his four legs and pulling me up as well. “Which calendar centaur would you like tonight?
I didn’t even have to think. “Any one of them, so long as it’s you.”
“They’re all me,” he smiled.
Ivan wasn’t kidding when he said they got him quite drunk in the photo studio, in order to get a realistic pose for the mythical drunken centaur calendar page.
I was home at the time, enjoying am amazing four-armed massage from Ivan II, using his four beautiful wristfeet. It was kind of like having someone walking on my back, only with a comparatively light touch times four because the four large feet that pressed against my back, Ivan II’s beautiful heavy, warm wristfeet, were able to press four areas at once, sometimes in concert and sometimes in different places.
For someone who had only recently become wristfooted times four, Ivan II was really quite masterful in the use of the four beautiful wristfeet, and I was of course in an exalted place in heaven under their smooth and weighty warm touch.
Being massaged by four beautiful warm, heavy wristfeet was so pleasant that I found I must have drifted off to sleep for quite some time; I only noticed it when I awakened to feel his face warmly buried in the nape of my neck. I was surprised to to be nearly overcome with the strong warm sweet pungent scent of alcohol on his breath, with the full weight of Ivan II laying on top of me.
His four long-muscled arms were wrapped around me, their four large wristfeet heavy and relaxed in various upended positions under me, warm fumes of sweet alcohol breath enveloping me as a Ivan II softly hummed an oddly musical hum of pleasure right into my ear, the weight of his languid, sleek four-armed, wristfooted, six-legged body lying nakedly and heavily on top of me. I could feel the four large sleek warm wristfeet under me tumbled crazily at the ends of his four arms wrapped around me, twisted clumsily on his four strong wrists.
“I’m getting drunk,” he giggled softly, his voice oddly musical and his tongue clumsy and slow. “Drunk, drunk, drunk. I’m getting sooo drunk.”
He slowly rolled off me and onto his back, humming that oddly musical hum and letting his four clumsy wristfeet try to pat each other in mid-air as his eyes tried to focus on them, his six athletic legs splayed all over each other in a clumsy, comfortable drunken pile. They were aroused, too, I couldn’t help but notice, the three big penises seeming to be looking for fun in three different directions.
“How on earth are you drunk?” I asked, “There is nothing here—there are no drinks around.”
“They keep giving me stuff to drink so I look like a drunken centaur, “ he giggled, putting all four wristfeet to his mouth. “To take my picture.”
That’s when I realized what was happening. Ivan II being a bilocated self of Ivan I, they would both experience the same things at the same time, since they were both the same Ivan.
I hated to leave my beautiful Ivan II, I told him, but I realized I would need to go get Ivan I. Since Ivan had bi-located himself, the intoxication of one meant the intoxication of both. It was too bad that Ivan II couldn’t come along to help me carry Ivan I, I told him.
“Take my legs,” he said, pointing two, then three drunken wristfeet at the six hoompa’d Ivan-legs comfortably sprawled on the sofa, “The Christmas legs you got.”
And that idea pretty much saved the day.
At the studio they were quite pleased with the way the drunken centaur picture turned out because Ivan truly looked the part, his drunken composure totally authentic, down to the four beautifully collapsed legs, but getting him up again and keeping him up on his four legs was another matter entirely.
No one had thought ahead to how heavy those four legs would be when they were hopelessly intoxicated, although Ivan himself was delightfully cheerful even without any help from his four magnificently clumsy feet or his four beautiful, helplessly clumsy legs.
And again the arousal was not to be believed, whether among everyone present as they helped Ivan and his four legs and two massive erections mount the six handsome naked Ivan-legs, or among the six legs themselves, which also became massively aroused under the weight and pressure of Ivan and his four legs.
It was quite a sight as Ivan leaned against me from astride the six legs, as their six beautiful feet carried Ivan homeward, cameras clicking as we left the studio. “I see we’ve got a head start on next year’s calendar,” I told Ivan.
We had no sooner gotten home than naked Ivan inexplicably began laughing wildly as he drunkenly hung onto me for balance, since he was still riding with his four legs astride the six naked Ivan-legs whose six beautiful bare feet had carried him home.
“What?” I said, enjoying him holding onto me as I walked alongside with my arm around his handsome naked torso, loving his strange drunken laugh.
“Oh! I am coming! I’m coming!” he laughed, moaning and screaming, and as he squeezed me, he really did start coming profusely from his enormously aroused front penis as well as from its handsome twin brother penis, the enormous penis between his hind legs. “Oh, I can’t stop coming!”
And he really couldn’t. He held onto me for dear life as his four legs spasmed with ejaculations, laughing and moaning wildly, the spasming and hot streams of come causing the six legs under him to become aroused as well by all the motion and slippery contact. “I’m having sex with my legs!” he screamed, laughing.
I was pretty aroused myself by this time, holding onto this big, beautiful laughing, ejaculating naked four-legged boy-centaur. “No you’re not; you’re just riding them,” I reasoned with him, perhaps a little condescendingly, since, after all, he was drunk and in a diminished mental state, or so I thought.
“No; inside,” he said, gasping for breath between moans and screams of laughter as his two huge, spurting penises came and came. Oddly enough, I also became aware of the sound of his laughter coming through from inside our front door which we were approaching, and sure enough, once I got the door opened, there he was, all of him, and all of them.
It wasn’t exactly pandemonium, but it was a lot to take in, all at once, starting with the beautiful simultaneous laughter, aroused moans and screams of Ivan’s voice, coming from everywhere.
It looked like my beautiful four-armed Ivan II and all his legs and wristfeet, in his aroused and drunken state, had been bi-locating and playing a drunken game of hoompa at the same time.
Several of him were, just like Ivan said, having sex with his legs, the drunken, detached foursomes and sixsomes of hoompa’d Ivan-legs that were eye-poppingly beautiful, aroused, languidly clumsy and tripping over their own many handsome feet, mating with each other, some of them mating drunkenly with six-legged Ivan II, and some of them ejaculating wildly as yet more naked, multilegged Ivans held them with foursomes of wristfeet, ravishing them over and over and over and over, the beautiful clusters of drunken long-muscled legs and handsome multiple feet writhing with pleasure as they ejaculated and ejaculated.
Recovering from my initial reeling, I remembered I had my arm around Ivan. I pulled him to me, loving the swaying of his warm and intoxicated four-legged body, and I dove in for a kiss as I pulled him and his four drunken, clumsy legs off the six Ivan-legs that were now squirming with an aroused desire of their own. He returned my kiss and almost made me lose my balance with his weight as he clumsily leaned heavily against me, his hands holding the forearm of the arm I had around him.
We shared a quiet laugh at the sight of the six squirming legs that he had ridden in on, standing there alone and aroused next to us, their six beautiful feet hesitating in the midst of all the other beautiful mating legs and Ivans.
“Go for it, boy,” I said, smacking them on the hind butt and releasing them into the fray. “Kind of puts you in the mood, doesn’t it?”
“This is rather a lot of me,” said Ivan, as he leaned his four-legged body drunkenly against me in the midst the room full of mating Ivans and Ivan-legs. “Especially since I’m still kind of drunk. It’s confusing,” he said, his breath sweet with alcohol as he surveyed the mating Ivan couples all around us.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, “but I think I’m going to relocate just to my one self. Except for my six legs I gave you for Christmas.”
“Not at all,” I said, loving the warmth of his beautiful four-legged body as it leaned heavily against me. “It’s a pleasure having many of you or just one of you, and I do like the six legs—not to mention those four beautiful feet you gave me also.” He turned his beautiful face toward me and smiled, his beautiful eyes looking into mine. “So how do you pull yourself together?” I asked.
He thought a moment, as the roomful of his handsome, multi-legged doubles drunkenly ravished each other’s beautiful legs and hind quarters.
“I think the most efficient way is to do sort of a conga line,” he said, “a naked kind of a circle that would circle back on itself.” He paused, rethinking what he meant. “Or rather, circle back on myself.”
Since all the Ivans in the room were actually the one Ivan bi-located, obviously the same thought process was occurring to them as well. It was funny to see, but the multiple Ivans and Ivan-legs in the room seemed to like the idea even as Ivan described it, popping major boners at bizarre thought of Ivan lining them up and inserting each one’s boner into the handsome ass of the Ivan or the Ivan-legs in front of it.
The six legs that Ivan had given me walked themselves over to me, nudging me affectionately, and I knelt down and wrapped my arms around all six of the glorious Ivan-legs in a wonderful hug, mindful of the three huge boners that they sprouted, one between each pair of the beautiful, long-muscled legs. They leaned into me, enjoying the hug, and then walked their six beautiful feet over to the couch where they folded themselves into a comfortable seated tangle of long, beautiful legs and massive, aching boners.
It was really kind of amazing to see Ivan marshaling his multiple selves and his multiple sets of free standing legs. He was affectionate with them and made some wonderful eye contact with his many multi-legged bilocated Ivans, their beautiful smiles seeming to mirror one another and often ending in a sweet kiss and embrace between the multi-legged, aroused Ivans.
Finally, Ivan walked his four handsome legs to the front of the line of Ivans and Ivan-legs where Ivan II, at the head of the line, inserted his enormous frontal boner into Ivan’s hind ass. It was quite a beautiful sight to see so many of these tall and multi-legged Ivans and the many sets of Ivan-legs connected by their enormous phalluses buried in each other’s handsome hindquarters.
With Ivan II’s four huge wristfeet at the ends of their four beautiful arms wrapped around him from behind, Ivan held the four wristfeet to his handsome abs, and led the conga line of multiple Ivans and Ivan-legs in the direction of the end of the conga line, completing the circle by inserting his enormous frontal boner into the beautiful hindmost ass of the six Ivan-legs that made up the caboose of this glorious and graceful line of Ivans.
The room filled with the pleasant groans of all the aroused, handsome Ivans as they worked their hard-ons into each other.
Ivan turned his head to kiss Ivan II behind him, causing the whole circle of Ivan-legs and tall, multi-legged Ivans to ejaculate prodigiously into each other all at once, a complete circle of beautiful multi-limbed bodies spasming as they shot their huge hot loads into each other.
I couldn’t help but ejaculate spontaneously myself, nor could the pile of Ivan-legs on the couch, as their enormous phalluses shot giant leaping spurts of come everywhere, soaking themselves and the furniture as they writhed among themselves in arousal.
And then, suddenly there was my Ivan, beautifully naked, four-legged and alone, still turned to kiss what was now the empty air behind him.
In spite of the hot mess that my spontaneous ejaculation had made of me, I could not restrain myself from an embrace with my beautiful four-legged Ivan, as I gently touched his chin and turned his beautiful face in my direction, greeted by the deepening dimples of his wonderful smile.
And as I held him, we kissed, my arms wrapped around his beautiful body, and my face surrounded by gentle pressure as Ivan affectionately mussed my hair. I reached up to wrap my hands around his, and was surprised to find my hands wrapping themselves instead around a pair of beautiful large Ivan-feet that affectionately smoothed themselves against my face.
His eyes widened in surprise as well, as he pulled back from our kiss to stare at the enormous, beautiful feet dangling heavily from his wrists.
“Whoops, I’m wristfooted,” he laughed.
“Mmmm, nice!” I said, burying them in kisses as I held and squeezed them, pressing my face into them.
“Going running?” I asked Ivan.
He had just run his many footsteps down the stairs and was headed out the door.
I thought I saw him dangling running shoes from his hands, but when I looked again, they were a pair of his handsome feet.
“Weren’t you carrying shoes just a second ago?” I asked.
He stopped, laughing, and held them towards me, the same pair of running shoes I had just seen moments ago, hanging by their shoe strings.
He looked them over, turning them over and his hands, looking at the tops of the shoes and the fancy tread of the soles.
But wait a second.
Now he had a rather pendulous necklace of his long and shapely feet banded together around his neck, hanging down on his chest and back and awkwardly laying on his shoulders, flipped this way and that, soles up, soles down, some pairs with toes interlocking playfully.
He laughed again and with one hand self-consciously tried to arrange the large, dangling feet, even as he somewhat restlessly tried to make his way out the door to go for his run.
“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “You’re not seeing things. My feet are magical and they’re always doing stuff.”
And with that, he was out the door and jogged lightly away barefoot, across the lawn on his four beautiful feet, his four legs graceful and athletic has he sailed away on them, the necklace of unwieldy, beautiful dangling Ivan-feet happily bouncing along on his shoulders, chest and back as he loped off with that wonderful fourlegged gait.
Evidently confirming his decision to run barefoot, he let the running shoes fall to the soft, green lawn as his four legs carried him into the distance, letting what were now four running shoes bounce softly onto the lawn. I walked out and when I finally got to the four fallen shoes I picked them up, cradling them in my arms as I brought them all the way back inside, to leave in the closet.
But at the closet, no sooner had I put them all under one arm so I could open the closet door with my other hand than they were all feet again, four beautiful, sleek Ivan feet, warm and shapely. I laughed to myself, holding the beautiful feet to me.
I was seriously tempted to tickle them on the spot, knowing Ivan would feel it.
It would serve Ivan right, but I didn’t want to spoil his run, leaving him helpless with laughter from the tickling and torture and begging me to stop when I was nowhere near to hear him.
But inspiration struck, as the Muse often will, of its own accord.
I held the four beautiful feet to my chest, two on each side, pressing them warmly and comfortably against my own well developed pectorals.
I didn’t know if it would work, but I thought to myself, if they’re magical feet, let’s see what kind of magic they can do.
It would all be in the spirit of fun, and Ivan might like it, especially since he seemed to have no problems with always changing his physical form, and especially because the changes he made always made him more ridiculously beautiful.
I wasn’t sure how to do, so I just sort of tried what came to mind.
I held the four large, beautiful Ivan-feet firmly against my well developed, muscular chest and tried to instill my thoughts into the four magic feet.
So far, so good, it seemed. I decided to back that up with a verbal suggestion:
“Make Ivan’s chest bigger, but let’s not let him in on it just yet.”
I didn’t know if it could possibly work.
The four handsome Ivan feet, pressed against my own massive pectoral muscles, seemed comfortable there, relaxed, with arches filled with the contour of my chest.
I smiled to myself as I enjoyed feeling the warm and beautiful shape of Ivan’s four glorious feet warmly and muscularly pressed against my chest muscles, picturing Ivan on his glorious fourlegged run, his wonderful body even more beautiful with the suddenly swelling muscles of his chest, their muscular sheen as glorious as their newly enlarged size, beautifully shaped, powerful chest muscles spanning his upper body and handsomely complimenting the width of his shoulders and the glorious nape of his neck, radiant in their powerful and beautiful masculinity.
I wondered if the magical feet pressing comfortably against my chest were in on the idea.
I mean, there they were, all four of them, recipients of my thoughts and suggestion, pressed against my chest and beautiful in their four-footed glory.
I brought one of them to my lips, kissing it gently, and then pressed it against my chest again. And then I had to do the same to the other three, bringing each beautiful foot in turn to my lips for a gentle kiss, and pressed them again against the swell of my chest.
I found myself sensing, rather than knowing, that they might possibly be into it.
“And nice, sensitive nipples, too,” I said aloud, surprised to hear myself say it.
They changed it up this year, and instead of shooting pictures of Ivan for the annual Centaur Festival calendar, they created a statue gallery of him as the quasi-official “centaur” at the festival, which would be the subject of the current year’s Centaur calendar.
We were attending the preview.
Ivan was a beautiful sight in a summery light blue silk business suit over a crisp white shirt and a dark blue silk tie. The business suit featured shorts that highlighted his many handsome calves.
“For formal occasions, I always like to hoompah an extra set of legs and also go wristfooted, although it was hard getting my wristfeet through the sleeves,” he said.
He looked really good, the cufflinked sleeve cuffs of the white shirtsleeves protruding a quarter inch past the sleeves of the handsome light blue silk suit jacket, as his large, beautiful wristfeet hung heavily, their shapely size and weight taxing his forearms and wrists.
“I decided shorts would be easier and I figured who needs shoes when I’m six legged,” he laughed.
“Wow, the suit really highlights your wristfeet,” I said to him. “Can I hold them here for a moment?”
As his dimples deepend into a smile, he held them up for me, his large, beautiful wristfeet dangling heavily from his fine wrists, set off by the white cuffs and the cufflinks.
I reveled in the heft and the warmth and beautiful shape of Ivan’s large, heavy wristfeet, and before I could help myself, I was burying them in kisses, pressing them to my face and neck and cheeks, in heaven with their sleek, strong beauty as my delighted hands squeezed and enjoyed them.
Ivan laughed. “That’s what happened to me when I was getting dressed. I bilocated myself so I could help myself get my wristfeet through the sleeves, but once we had done that, my double sprouted wristfeet as well, and we stood there forever, kissing and ravishing each other’s wristfeet. Then we had to clean all the come off our front, middle and hindmost legs and feet, which is why it took so long for me to get ready.”
“Mmmmm,” I said, not really capable of comprehending anything at the moment, other than the all-enveloping beauty of his magnificent pair of wristfeet that I held to my lips, as I closed my eyes and let my hands gently squeeze and feel them, his beautiful wristfeet.
“Mmmmm,” Ivan smiled, letting his large, gentle wristfeet press my hands between them as well.
The gallery was very nicely done, in a special partitioned area of the main tent of the Centaur Festival, away from the more uproarious sections that constituted the majority of the outlandish celebration.
The statues were beautifully executed, with really fine life-size detail. We toured among them and enjoyed walking around them, taking in their detail and beauty. They really captured Ivan’s naked body and plenitude of legs.
You could see all the statues in the room, separated by plenty of walking space, and highlighted with nicely focused lighting. The first statue we encountered was lower down than the rest and very unassuming, yet with a simple beauty.
It was of Ivan seated comfortably on the floor, leaning back on his hands, with his front legs spread out in front of him, his hind legs reaching around from behind either side of his waist and resting comfortably on his front legs. He could have been watching TV, staring past his four beautiful lazy, relaxed feet.
“Funny,” I said. “I see you sitting like that all the time, but it’s like seeing you for the first time when it’s executed in stone I like this.”
“I feel the same way,” he said. “I’ve seen myself sitting like that in real life when I’m with myself bilocated, but it takes on a whole different aspect when you see it sculpted out like that.”
A few steps away was a much taller statue, of two naked, four-legged Ivans, one as an Uber for hire, with the second one riding on his hindquarters, the passenger Ivan with his arms draped around the Uber Ivan’s shoulders as they both pointed with quizzical expressions at iPhone map directions that Ivan the Uber was trying to figure out.
While their eyes and minds were focused on the task at hand, there was a subtle beauty in the interplay of their bodies as they held onto each other, one bearing the other, with the gentle draping of arms and multiple legs, the four strong feet on the ground engaging with the earth, versus the four equally athletic feet of the rider dangling against the four strong legs of the handsome beast of burden, muscles tensed in arrested motion, four legs draped over four legs, athletic, multilimbed bodies mounted peacefully astride one another and holding one another, while hands held and pointed to the phone.
It was beautiful to circle the statue, to see the beauty of the two Ivans in their full dimensions, circling them and seeing from all angles their amazingly handsome physical forms.
We were basically visiting the statues at random, drawn to whichever one was nearby, such as this next one of middling height, with two Ivans again, a four-legged Ivan crosslegged and leaning back against the multiple legs of a second Ivan seated behind him on a beach chair, who fills four-legged Ivan’s lap with piles of beautiful feet to massage.
It showed the talent of the sculptor, who has managed to convey in this static three-dimensional image, hewn from rock, a sense of motion and a story in play, even though nothing, of course, moves, since it is a stone sculpture. I found myself reminded of the great statuary in the major museums of the world where herculean action could be captured in the stillness of stone.
In this particular sculpture we are looking at, the story of what is happening is conveyed by the skillful positioning of the many limbs, which delivers a confident sense of what is going on, frozen in time. While four-legged Ivan massages the feet, Ivan in the chair keeps sending more beautiful feet for him to massage; they arrive one after the other and hover expectantly on either side of four-legged Ivan, who is pleasantly aroused as his strong hands pleasure and savor the handsome feet in his lap. He is leaning to one side, near to one of the extended legs, so he can kiss one of the beautiful hovering feet.
“I like that detail,” Ivan told me as we walked around the sculpture. “He wants to kiss it to tell it to be patient and he will get to it soon.”
“Or,” I said, “he wants to kiss it because it’s just so damn beautiful.”
“Thank you,” smiled Ivan, taking my arm and guiding my hands to hold his warm, sleek wristfeet as we moved on to one of the corners of the exhibit where an extremely detailed and large sculpture glowed under its theatrically provocative lighting.
In another variation of the drunken centaur theme that is a part of historical centaur lore, this one strikingly depicted a vivid rendering in stone of two large, naked and muscular multilegged, wristfooted Ivans, their splendid bodies reeling drunk on multileg wine, a mythological vintage that was, according to the myth, said to dupe the young and the gullible in the false belief that it had the power to assist the inebriated with additional legs in order to counteract the loss of equilibrium brought by excessive consumption.
However, and woe to those who would imbibe it in excess, according to the myth, all who did so were doomed to suffer in their bodies the great lie of multileg wine: not only could the wine not counteract the debilitating effect of overuse, but in a symbolic caveat and telling effect, it would also combine the drunken loss of inhibition and judgement with a new and wildly uncontrollable sex drive, symbolized by the actual real-life unrestrained sprouting of a plethora of giant and urgently aroused penises, along with the multiple legs, the myth’s stern warning against unintended consequences.
And thus was the warning expressed in this master sculpture of the two heroically physiqued Ivans, with their massive, broad-shouldered, muscular bodies totally off-balance as they as they muscularly wrestle with each other in a clumsy and drunken dance of love, but sprawled clumsily on piles of their many beautiful tangled legs, shot through with massive, veiny, and unstoppably aroused erections, one of the Ivans staring stupidly at all the beautiful legs, feet and protruding giant penises.
“Heavens,” I said. I felt Ivan squeeze me, enjoying my reaction to the overwhelming sculpture.
“For me to pose for that one,” he explained, since there is no such thing as multileg wine, “they just got me drunk on regular wine and had me hoompah the extra legs.” He grinned. “Of course you hoompah way more legs when you’re drunk, and who knows, maybe multileg wine is a thing, because the giant penises were no problem at all; I could sprout them all I wanted.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” I smiled. “And I am also pleasantly surprised by all the muscle on demand.”
“All for you,” Ivan smiled. “Then, I just bilocated, and I got so turned on that both of me became wristfooted, and it was so much fun—I just had sex with myself for hours while they sculpted like crazy to make statues of me.”
“Well, that explains it,” I said.
“I didn’t remember wristfeet being a part of the myth. But they do add that certain something,” I said, as he gave me an extra squeeze with them.
The next statues seem to cut to the chase, with two tall, naked four-legged Ivans in a deep kiss, as their long-muscled embrace extends even to their hands on each others’ handsome hind asses, pulling their hindquarters up against their muscular backs, their front feet on the floor and their upraised hind legs and feet hanging down, dangling helplessly in mid-air.
“That’s nice,” I told Ivan. “I want to kiss you like that. I want to make your hind legs dangle in the air while I squeeze them against you and you against me and bury my lips in yours.”
To tell the truth, my last words actually sounded more like “bury my mm-mm-mmm!” Because before I could even get the words out, my lips were buried in his, my shoulders surrounded by his wristfooted embrace, my hands and arms hugging his four hindmost legs up against his back, lost in a powerful kiss that came out of nowhere and almost made me swoon, with four of his six handsome bare feet dangling from their hug-captured, upraised legs, cascading down to the front two feet of his that held the floor, facing me as he held me in a deep kiss, his wristfeet pressing and smoothing themselves against my back, the sound of our breathing full in our ears, as we swayed and his four hind feet dangled.
Had an eternity passed?
I gradually became aware of the ambient sounds of the Centaur Festival, and realized I was warmly embraced with Ivan, as we both opened our eyes and let our breathing slow. We found ourselves giving each other a couple of thank you kisses while I helped him straighten his tie and jacket, having relinquished my hold on his hindquarters, allowing his four bare hind feet to slowly recapture the ground, the four beautifully dangling feet slowly lowering until the tips of their toes first kissed earth, and then their four handsome soles gently touching down on the floor again, one by one, re-joining his front feet.
It was a while before either of us could speak, and I actually struggled to find something to say, since I couldn’t think of anything equal to what we had just experienced with each other.
“The statues should sell pretty well, I would guess,” I offered.
“Yes,” said Ivan, “and the miniatures in the gift shop.”
“Well, we’ll have to pick some up,” I said.
“But you’ve got the original.”
He looked me straight in the eye and I had to hug him in agreement.
“Let’s go see the centaurs,” he said.
“Centaurs?” I said. “Actual centaur centaurs?”
They got live centaurs this year. We were headed out to the paddock behind the tent to see them, and I could already hear a lot of commotion coming from the paddock, including a lot of pounding of hooves and a lot of very virile and drunken, aggressive sounding voices that really sounded a lot like Ivan’s voice.
“Are these more of you?” I asked Ivan, as we got closer. “I kind of hope so, but I don’t see how it could be possible.”
“Partly,” he said. “One was 3-D bioprinted from life using advanced biotechnology, because they all are basically the same guy, scanned from my upper body and from below the neck of a stallion’s body, and then they had me bilocate until the paddock was full.” He considered as he looked them over. “Although I can’t explain why, all I do as a paddock full of centaurs is drink to excess, mate, mate, mate, eat and sleep,” he added. “It’s so out of control, and I think it’s because we tapped into the actual nature of a centaur, which tends toward continuous drunkenness and mating. It’s also a lot of fun.”
And there they were, outside the tent in a large corral, dozens upon dozens of Ivan centaurs, with a very ragged and raw handsomeness, much wilder than Ivan himself. The paddock was crowded, and the centaurs were basically mating with each other incessantly.
The pattern was vivid and endless: an Ivan centaur would grab the nearest Ivan centaur in a rough kiss, which brought both of their frontal and hind penises to enormous erections, and they literally consumed each other sexually in every possible way.
The Ivan centaurs were Ivan all right, but far wilder. Their torsos were massively muscled with enormous shoulders, backs and chests, and narrow waists that blended beautifully into gleaming stallion horse bodies. The Ivan centaurs were far rangier, their faces leaner and more angular, although with beautiful lips and teeth and hair and bright, penetrating eyes, a very intense version of Ivan’s face, and they tore after each other, wild on their hooves as they chased each other down and forced each other in for a wild muscular kiss, followed by intense, violent mating.
They coupled twice, first with their enormous frontal hard-ons, and a second coupling with their hind-end hardons. They grabbed on to each other violently as they coupled, and no matter which hardon was buried in the other, the free hardon spouted gallons of hot steaming come. Both members of the centaur couple seemed to spurt endless come from very huge sexual organs, both frontal and hind, and their sex seemed inexhaustible.
No sooner had one couple mated than they were attacked by other Ivan centaurs, who grabbed them and hauled them in for more powerful kissing, and another round of potent male centaur coupling.
The entire paddock was jammed with these powerful, mating Ivan centaurs, and true the historical tradition of the centaurs, they seemed to be quite drunk, from what apparently was wine supplied to them by the festival.
Those that were not galloping full speed after each other in wild pursuit were feeding ravenously at the centaur trough, and in the far corner of the paddock lay dozens upon dozens of the huge muscular bodies of the centaurs, piled on each other in a drunken, exhausted sleep, some with hooves sticking up in the air as they lay on their horse backs, their human torsos intertwined, their enormous frontal and hind centaur phalluses at full arousal even in their sleep, some exploding with come as they mated in their dreams.
Near the trough was an enormous, crude wine fountain ringed by giant cups, with which the drunken Ivan centaurs scooped up gallons of the dark, potent stuff, grabbing each other and pouring it down each others’ throats before resuming their endless mating.
Their fellow centaurs assisted by gorging on their come from their amazing penises. “They get a good portion of their nutrition from each other,” Ivan explained. “You can see them sucking one another down almost anytime you see them together.” Sure enough, the centaurs with their wonderfully flexible, muscular torsos could easily satisfy each other as they swallowed copious quantities of each other’s come.
The way they looked at Ivan was absolutely enthralling. Some of them spotted Ivan and charged the fence, crowding each other and pushing each other out of the way to look at him, extremely aroused. Ivan smiled and blushed, obviously aroused himself, “They are so beautiful,” he said, and he was absolutely right.
Ivan ran a wristfoot through his hair as he steadied himself against me, amazed at the power of their centaur stares.
While the magnificent, drunken Ivan centaurs who had fought each other to get a frontal position at the fence were still riveting Ivan with their gaze, their identical brothers behind them seemed to turn to a new commotion in their midst, their drunken Ivan-voices virile, slurred and loud as they laughed and collided their hugely muscled bodies into each other, whooping anew about something that really had them and their enormous pairs of genitalia aroused.
I noticed that Ivan was leaning more heavily against me, and as we marveled at the beauty of the centaurs, his words were starting to slur. I realized that he was becoming drunk.
My arm around him could feel him increasing in muscularity through the straining fabric of his suit. I gently loosened his tie, taking the moment as an excuse to plant a kiss on his beautiful lips and, realizing the need as his muscles swelled handsomely right before my eyes, I removed the tie and unbuttoned his shirt, unbuttoned the cufflinks of his sleeves, and, for good measure, raised his heavy, beautiful wristfeet to my lips for kisses and to steal myself some handsome wristfoot worship.
He giggled gently, pressing the beautiful, clumsy wristfeet to me, loving the way I was squeezing them.
His breath was sweet with wine. I raised my eyes to look at his beautiful, slightly stupefied face, and we exchanged a long, sweet wine-flavored kiss, which ended with both of us smiling at each other as I gave his giant, sleek wristfeet a couple more squeezes. He let me hold them, slowly swinging his unfocused gaze over towards the pandemonium of the drunken, mating centaurs in the paddock.
“I think they have been bilocating me and drunking me up with their wine and muscling me up,” he giggled in an oddly musical drunken voice, aroused and breathing heavily as I held onto his large, beautiful wristfeet to help him balance. “They like me with big muscles all over my body.”
Sure enough, through the strapping forest of mating Ivan-centaurs you could see more and more laughing, multilegged, wristfooted Ivans riding the centaurs in the paddock, aroused and flirting with the centaurs, who immediately ravished them in return. The beautiful Ivans were becoming amazingly muscular, and at the same time my Ivan was also was becoming spectacularly muscular inside his suit as my hands gladly held and savored his heavy dangling pair of wristfeet.
“Can they do all that?” I asked.
“Well, yes,” he said, trying to focus his beautiful eyes on mine, a cloud of his sweet wine breath perfuming the air between us. I breathed it in, eyes closed for a moment. “They are mostly me, so they can do anything I can do.”
Ivan’s beautiful eyes crossed drunkenly as he pondered further, pursing his beautiful lips in thought.
“Or their wine-powered come is making me drunk,” he reasoned, slowly turning the idea over in his mind. I wanted to kiss him, but didn’t want to derail of the train of his thought.
“Or just the wine,” he added with a belated nod.
“Probably both,” he hiccuped, patting my chest with his large wristfoot to drive home the point.
As his suit begin to tear itself apart over his magnificently expanding muscles, his beautiful body spasmed with laughter as he nearly toppled into me. I held him, giving him the kiss I had waited to give.
He returned the kiss with sweet drunken fervor, smiling at me as he explained.
“I can feel the horse hair as I straddle them with my six legs,” he slurred, his tongue sweet, shiney and slow. “‘N’ I can feel them kissing me and grabbing my legs and my feet, which feels really so so really amazing, ‘n’ I can feel them worshiping my wristfeet. And spurting centaur boners everywhere, in front of me and in back of me and in me.”
Sure enough, there in the rough and tumble of the mating Ivan centaurs were more and more drunken, howling and handsome multilegged Ivans, multiplying and gloriously wristfooted, in increasing arousal and muscularity, laughing helplessly and screaming with pleasure as they were ravished by the aggressive, enamored centaurs and their enormous, ejaculating penises.
And in the midst of their endless mating, the Ivan centaurs were riding their multilegged Ivans around on their horsebacks, scooping up huge goblets of wine from the wine fountain, which they swilled, then turning their massive, muscular torsos to pour wine down the throats of their handsome, wristfooted Ivans.
The centaurs could not get enough of the legs, feet and wristfeet of the drunken, multilegged Ivans, hugely muscular and aroused, who were laughing and screaming with pleasure as their stupid, beautiful huge drunken wristfeet dangled helplessly from their powerful forearms, their six hugely muscled legs helping them hold on to their centaur rides, the copulating Ivans and Ivan centaurs laughing and ejaculating as their virile, drunken voices screamed with pleasure.
“They like my legs,” Ivan laughed drunkenly as he kissed me, his newly powerful, nearly-naked muscular physique reeling and off-balance in my arms, his breath sweetly potent with centaur wine. “They really like my legs.”
And it was true, I could tell, as the sweating, beautiful throngs of Ivan centaurs grabbed and ravished the Ivans’ many handsome naked and wine-clumsy legs, some centaurs wrapping them around their muscular centaur torsos as the Ivans laughed and screamed with drunken pleasure. The Ivans were loving being ravished by the beautiful centaurs, being entered by the Ivan centaurs’ enormous spurting frontal and hind-end phalluses.
Ivan whispered clumsily into my ear, in his strangely sing-song drunken voice as his hugely muscled arms held me, way too muscular now for the tearing sleeves of his suit that was being ripped apart by his rapidly growing muscles, his lips moving numbly against my ear as they and his slow, shiney tongue clumsily formed his words.
“I think they love my legs because the centaurs don’t have feet, since they have hooves,” he breathed warmly into my ear, the overpowering sweet reek of the potent centaur wine filling my lungs with his warm, delicious breath.
“You’re sweating,” I said, kissing him on his numb, moving lips even they kept trying to speak, the sweet clouds of his pungent, wine-scented breath warming both of us.
Not only was he sweating, but his suit was disintegrating on the massively muscling naked body within it as Ivan’s gorgeous muscles kept growing. Not only that, but his swaying and newly-muscular pairs of legs and asses were bursting out of their disintegrating six-legged shorts, giving what had to be a welcome relief to his giant genitalia, the pendulous, swaying penises between each pair of his legs.
As his six heavily muscled legs spontaneously adjusted their positions to make room for the newly naked and bobbing presence of his three giant free-falling penises, his six beautiful feet tripped over themselves, nearly taking him down several times as they got in each other’s way.
He giggled helplessly, swaying heavily against me as I held and kissed him. I was trying to help him out of the remains of his suit, now being rent into shreds by the awesomely beautiful growing and swelling muscles of his arousal-flushed, multilegged body.
Ivan’s newly gigantic physique heavily pitched against me, gleaming with sweat as I struggled to peel the last tatters of his suit off his growing muscles, while keeping him and his six beautiful, clumsy legs from falling over. I wish somebody could’ve made a video of me doing it, because I almost lost him a few times, but I got it done. Finally, freed from his now-destroyed suit, he was gloriously naked, massively muscular and six-legged as we kissed, and just as drunk as all of his bilocated selves matng with the Ivan-centaurs.
“They really like my feet,” he slurred, laughing with drunken pleasure as he felt what they felt. “It feels so fantastic, my feet feel so fantastic,” he laughed wildly, kissing me fervently, as he writhed and grew even more muscular within my embrace. It was one of our better kisses, although they are all pretty good, and lasted nice long time.
He came up for air suddenly, laughing and swaying heavily in my arms. “They keep kissing and massaging my legs and my feet and my wristfeet.”
It was amazing to hold him against me as his muscles expanded within my embrace, and when I looked over at the massive centaur/Ivan orgy within the paddock, it was equally amazing to watch the gorgeous, wine-stupid Ivan centaurs as they worshipped and ravished the multiplying, ever-more muscular Ivans, whose six beautiful legs became not only more handsomely long-muscled, but clumsier with wine and centaur come.
As if they were absorbing the muscularity of the centaurs along with their potent wine, the multi legged Ivans were becoming equally muscle-physiqued and drunkenly spectacular as their number increased among the spectacularly beautiful throngs of mating, wine-clumsied Ivan centaurs.
The multiple Ivans howled with laughter as they ravished the beautiful Ivan centaurs in return. I was glad to have my beautiful Ivan to hold onto, because truth be told, the spectacle was a bit much to take in.
“Do you want to meet the centaurs?” asked Ivan, leaning his bulging plethora of muscles into me as I helped him remain standing on his six muscle-sculpted, unsteady legs.
“Meet them?” I asked.
It was a little fearsome to approach the paddock fence, as Ivan leaned drunkenly against me while the fence groaned and heaved from the force of the stumbling, muscular centaurs slamming drunkenly into it as they endlessly mated with each other and with their laughing, six legged Ivans, their huge, beautiful wristfeet dangling helplessly from their massively muscled forearms as they enjoyed being ravished, their huge, ridiculously beautiful muscles spattered with come.
Just about all of the centaurs now had a six-legged Ivan of their own hanging onto the centaur stallion horse backs with their six legs. Once to centaurs had hauled each other in for the rough kiss that got their frontal and hind hardons massively engorged, it was amazing to hear both a centaur and his Ivan scream as they were joyously ravished from behind simultaneously by the massive twin boners of an attacking centaur.
I was surprised to see the intense, angular faces of the Ivan centaurs break into a refreshingly welcoming smile of recognition as they noticed me, burdened as I was with the magnificent and leaning beautiful body of my wine-stupefied, six-legged Ivan as he heaved against me while we approached the padlock, his six beautiful feet too clumsy for words as they tried to carry him forward, stepping all over each other as his giant penises bobbed and swayed, bouncing off the stupidly clumsy surround of his six beautiful drunken, stumbling legs.
I told Ivan it hadn’t occurred to me to expect that the centaurs would know me.
“Well, they are me,” he slurred with drunken enunciation as his slow, shiny tongue and numb, beautiful lips tried to form words in his oddly musical drunken sing-song voice.
“So they love you just like I do.”
Well, I had to kiss him then and there. And what a kiss it was, locked in a swaying embrace with his towering and eye-poppingly beautiful array of giant, beautifully enlarged muscles, widening his shoulders, back and chest, his muscular arms giant and gentle around me as I framed his face with my hands in our kiss and felt him framing mine with the beautiful long contours of his shapely male wristfeet, our intimacy fragrant with the warm wine scent of his breathing and the taste of wine strong upon his tongue.
As usual, it was a pleasant and indeterminate while before I became aware again of our surroundings, as Ivan and I finished our wonderful kiss.
The background sound and fury faded back in, with the loud and inarticulate groans of the virile, drunken Ivan-voices of the furiously mating drunken centaurs.
As they dove in for kisses with each other, the hugely muscular physiques of the centaurs spasmed in their frontal and hind orgasms with erotic force as they groaned and grabbed each other’s beautiful muscular torsos, their hungry kisses extremely deep and long.
The kissing between the hugely muscular, powerful Ivan centaurs was very passionate and, the longer I watched, the more I realize it seemed a little odd.
As their muscular bodies writhed against each other, while their muscular arms felt each other’s muscles and their giant frontal and hind penises swelled and swayed with arousal, I noticed that during their prolonged kisses, the centaurs would seem to take turns swallowing and swallowing, even as they kissed. They groaned and moaned, tears in their eyes as their drunken kissing went on and on.
“I think they have tongue cocks,” giggled Ivan. “I can feel them my mouth,” he laughed, his own tongue numbly clumsy in the warm fog of his pungent wine breath.
Sure enough, the centaurs took turns extending their enormous tongue phalluses into each others’ beautiful mouths as they moaned and screamed with pleasure during their muscular writhing and kissing, nearly gagging each other with overpowering, hot explosions of come from the massive, pumping penises giantly protruding from their beautiful, kiss-craving lips as they swallowed and swallowed in turn, pulsing rivers of excess come glazing their faces and muscular necks and steaming down their massively muscled torsos.
“No wonder you can’t understand a thing they say,” I laughed, Ivan giggling along with me as his drunken muscular body nearly toppled into me.
“Whoops!” he laughed, trying to get his multiple muscular naked legs to coordinate. He tried to focus his beautiful drunken eyes on me.
“I think the cocks are taking over,” he slurred, drunkenly pointing a beautiful wristfoot at a sudden explosion of giant new clusters of ejaculating penises between his front, middle and hind pairs of legs.
There was a renewed pandemonium of mating in the paddock, loudly accompanied by the groans and screams of the multilegged, wristfooted Ivans, as enormous clusters of ejaculating penises started crowding out their beautiful multiple legs. The sudden blooming of huge penis clusters among the giggling, ejaculating six-legged Ivans was even distracting the centaurs from their tongue-cock kissing, as they reeled in surprise at the crazy, beautifully meaty proliferation.
The curse of the multileg wine, I thought to myself.