The winged centaur

By Josh Dugan 
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It was so many years ago, yet I remember it as if it were yesterday. And now, I can scarcely imagine how the world could have survived for so many centuries without him and his kind.

I remember it well. I had read with a mixture of arousal and fear the stories about the winged centaur. He was reported as dangerous and sexy, and accounts of him had the same type of love/hate repulsion/allure reserved for highly skilled and elusive criminals, such as cat burglars.

The winged centaur would prey on the beautiful, alighting from the sky and capturing his prey and having his way with them, and though they would protest at first, they would fall helplessly under his sway.

He was said to be irresistable, with the gentle beauty of a muscular god and the power and the grace of a magnificent steed, all the more beautiful because of his graceful white wings which bore his potent body forth with the ease and beauty of a swan’s flight.

An encounter with him changed one for life, as his sexual prowess was undeniable and the potency of his urgent, burning come would overpower and change the human body, making it appealingly, yet not completely, centaurlike.

Those he captured he would first confuse with his beauty and gentleness, alluring and arousing them, and they would invariably succumb to his sweetness and magnificent body. He would bear his naked, aroused prey away on his giant wings, and while in full flight he would hold his human prey to his massive frontal genitalia. Seeming drugged by his beauty and potence, his prey would feel no fear at all, only wild joy, as they screamed and groaned with pleasure.

The winged centaur’s powerful frontal loins would pump endless jets of his thick, hot, potent come, filling and distending the rumps of his helpless, aroused prey.

More than the initial distension of their hindquarters, their minds became distended as they begged him for more, and became hopelessly in love with the winged centaur. He would grant them all that they wished, as his capacity for pumping their hinds full of prodigious quantities of his centaur-come seemed limitless.

Their beautiful bodies would be overcome by the quantity and potency of his come, and as they became confused and enamored, able to think only of him, their bodies would emulate him, and they were left to face life forever in love with him, wandering, dazed, forever aroused, and forever four-legged, their beautiful human legs lengthened and now four in number. Like him, they became hugely endowed with potent genitalia between their front legs and their back legs, with prominent, ponderous male genitalia for his male prey and the female equivalent for his female prey—though the women also develped beautiful, enlarged breasts, six in number.

Their added bodily appendages and limbs served only to heighten their intense physicality and yearning for him, as their minds constantly thought of his his beauty.

Their long graceful foursomes of legs writhed through the night and their genitalia ached with desire as they dreamed relentlessly of him, of his beautiful stallion’s body, his immense and irresistable genitalia, his magnificent winged horse-shoulders, his godly human torso, and the unforgettable sweetness of his gentle, beautiful male lips, eyes and face. The world press chattered and clamored at his helpless prey, and tabloids bloomed daily with reported sightings and also with authenticated stories and photos of the beautiful, enamored victims, whose beautiful four-legged bodies lived only for him, ever-aroused and aching for him.

Along with the clamor and alarm was desire, as many of the type who would be his victims, the statuesque and beautiful, yearned to be with him and to be transformed by his potent virility. The beautiful poured forth upon the streets and the beaches, wandering into the hills and the countryside in the hope of being ravished and transformed by the winged centaur’s massive, endless pulses of centaur-come.

In their loneliness for him, the ravished prey would wander and gather, finding solace in one another, speaking of him far into the night as their four legs entwined and their huge frontal and hind genitalia gently coupled, although the males also comforted their fellow males, and the four-legged women gently tended each other’s aching femininity. The four-legged women and men feasted on each other’s beauty, their appetite for huge sextets of breasts repeatedly sated, as the giant, pendulous double genitalia of the males also satisfied them. They spoke of the winged centaur and in long four-legged walks would comfort each other arm in arm, the beautiful potency of their gentalia a welcome and frequent solace as they thought about him and about each other.

And throught the long afternons and the endless nights they would gently nurse each other or playfully mount each other, the men and the women, the women and the women, the men and the men.

Those of the beautiful that ached for the day that they would be prey to the male centaur would also be welcomed by the four-legged, and a community of gentle and arousing urgency grew, joined by new wanderers from the world over, two-legged and four.

I guessed I knew who he was, the winged centaur. If he was mythical, the myths were only attempts to capture him by word of mouth. He was one of the priestly caste of centaurs, probably immortal or nearly immortal, who would spawn legions of descendents. How had his race diminished centuries ago? How was he the lone descendant, unmated and alone?

For as potent a creature as he was, no human could bear his child, although no human body could withstand the potent and transforming life force that burned urgently and ceaselessly within his multiple aching centaur loins. Nor could his lower-body mates, the horses, bear his child, although they, too, transformed under his mounting. The fields and paddocks where the winged centaur’s urgent visits transpired began to boast splendidly transformed mares and stallions, with second and third sets of hindquarters and genitalia.

But his strongest need for replication was in the beauty of the physically magnificent human body.

His wings bore him lightly to earth one day. The sprawling community of his beautiful lovers and would-be lovers found him in their midst at long last, and they feasted him and fed him. None were spared his sweet excess, and all stumbled with intoxication and arousal as he covered and entered them. In the marathon full-moon bacchanalia that ensued, humans two- and four-legged and horses four- and six-legged romped and feasted, blinded with love and lust, human and animal, gay and straight, all pummelled and pumped with his potent centaur-come as well as each other’s.

While this might have been the lifeblood of the tabloids and the media, the real story has been the re-emergence of the centaur race, with the ancient drives of natural selection forcing their way through into the present century. To this day scientists and theoreticians debate and review the very happenings I have just recounted, and while no one is yet certain of what combination of events or attractions or loves produced the classical centaur race as it has reappeared in our time, there is no doubt that an aching need and absence in the world has been filled.

And that is how I remember the dawning of our gifted age. The best and favorite feature of the community of the winged centaur, now that it has grown far beyond its original boundaries, is the beautiful new generation of centaurs, who with their multi-legged horse and human cousins, have spread love and gentle beauty over the face of the earth. While they have indeed given immortality to the winged centaur, none can say if or when another like him will ever come forth.

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