Sneak preview: centaur futa story

Firstly, apologies for this update being behind schedule. It’s just me, I forget stuff. I need to set up a calendar, so I don’t.

But, anyway, I’ve been working on a new short — nothing related to anything else, just an idea that popped into my head, and I just had to start writing! I’ve barely planned this one, just the initial concept, and it’s more or less writing itself.

It’s a centaur futa erotica, set in a fantasy world, crossed with a Western. The Centaur With No Name, so to speak. Only, slinging swords instead of guns.

Anyway, here’s a quick peak:

Untitled (as yet)

Blood and smoke.

The smells clogged Gennara’s nose and throat with the taste of destruction and death. It was quiet outside now. The screams had finally ceased. In the darkness, Gennara hugged her knees and rocked back and forth, trying to stifle her sobs.

She had been the only one to make it to the hidden refuge in the cellar before the bandits struck. She had begged her aunt to join her, even as heavy blows thudded on the door of their cabin. But Aunt Hellia had forced the trapdoor shut instead. Gennara had heard the scrape of the barrel being dragged over the hiding place, almost at the same time as the cabin door splintered. Moments later, the screaming had started.

That had been hours ago. Gennara had thought the screams would never end. But it was worse when they did.

Now, she cowered in the darkness, rocking and shivering. She had no idea if the bandits had gone, yet. She dared not leave her hiding place to look. She knew she would be able to lift the trapdoor, even with the barrel, with some effort. But the noise would certainly bring the bandits, if they were still there. She decided to wait longer. Cracks in the boards above her at least enabled her to see a little light. She would wait until nightfall, she thought. Maybe even next morning.

Then came the sound she had been dreading.

The scrape of wood above her head told her that someone was moving the barrel. She scuttled as far back in the hole as she could, hoping desperately that the searchers would see only darkness.

“Ha!” said a rough voice above, making her jump. “Told yer these muckers would have a hidey-hole somewhere for their treasure.” There was more scuffling.

“Gar,” said another voice. “What treasure would a bunch of bloody farmers have? Gold? Ha.”

The trapdoor shivered. “Silver, for sure,” said the first. “From the harvest, if they ain’t drunk it. Why else would they-” his words ended with a grunt, and the trapdoor flew up. Gennara hid her face from the light. There was a moment’s silence.

“Well, well, what ‘ave we ‘ere?”

“Ha, there’s yer bloody treasure, Ned,” said the other voice. “Some gutless brat, hidin’ from the fight.”

“Alright, you,” said Ned. “Let’s get a look at yer. Out of there, now.” Terrified, Gennara just shook her head.

“I said out!” Ned repeated, louder. “C’mon, now – hop it! If I have to come down there, you’ll be sorry, believe me.”

Trembling, Gennara forced herself to stand. Her heart pounded, and her legs felt as if they had turned to jelly. As she climbed out, a hand roughly grabbed her collar and dragged her the rest of the way. She fell to her knees, then squeaked in terror as she was dragged to her feet.

“Fuck me.” Ned was a swarthy, rat-faced man with grizzled black hair, dressed in a dirty leather jerkin. “You’re a scrawny one, ain’t yer? No wonder you run and hid.”

“Well, it’s too bad for you, now, lad.” The second speaker was a tall, gaunt man with wide, staring eyes. “If you’d stuck around for the fight, you’d only be dead. Now, the boss’ll have you off to the slave markets.”

“Then you’ll wish you was dead,” Ned laughed mirthlessly. “Alright, let’s take you to meet the boss.” He turned, dragging Gennara stumbling along with him. As she was marched out of the cabin, she caught a quick glimpse of something dark staining the floorboards. She moaned.

“Enough of that,” warned Ned. “Boss!” he called as they marched Gennara outside, her feet dragging in the dust. “We got a live one, here!”

They stopped, Ned keeping his firm grip on Gennara’s collar. Smoke stung her eyes, making them water.

When she blinked them clear, her heart sank.

The Boss was a big man. Leather armor strained under his broad shoulders and barrel chest. A longsword hung at his side, and a pair of daggers were thrust through his belt. But what made Gennara’s blood run cold were his eyes. Black as pits and as cold as the winter sky at night, his eyes were utterly without human emotion. They were the eyes of a man, Gennara knew instinctively, who would order atrocities without the slightest thought.

The small band of ragged men grouped behind him looked like they’d enjoy carrying out them out.

“Stand up,” the Boss said. His spoke quietly, but the rumble of his voice carried clearly through the afternoon air. Those cold eyes flicked up and down, sizing her up.

“That one’ll be for the market,” he said curtly. “Check him for weapons.” He turned away.

“Right-o, Boss.” Ned began to pat Gennara down. Suddenly, he stopped. A shrewd glint came into his sharp eyes.

“O-ho!” he said, softly. Then he called, “Oi, Boss! This one ain’t no lad, after all!”

The Boss stopped and turned. “Are you sure?”

Ned jammed his hand between Gennara’s legs, making her gasp. He chuckled. “Not unless they cut his cock off.”

The Boss folded his arms. “Strip her.”

Gennara gasped as her shirt was ripped away. She tried to cover her chest, but Ned slapped her hands away.

“No tits to speak of, boss,” he cackled, pawing at her breasts. “Flat as a hammered tack. But it’s a girl, alright.”

The Boss shrugged. “Fuck her, then. She’s all yours.” Without another word, he turned away again and walked off, signaling to one of his men to follow. The rest began walking towards Gennara, grinning. Ned hooted with laughter.

Gennara struggled as her pants were dragged down. Hand were groping at her breasts, pulling her undergarments down to feel her buttocks.

“Me first!” shouted Ned. “I found her! I get first go!”

Gennara screamed as she was dragged roughly to the ground. Stones cut into her ass and back. Her arms were roughly pinned. She fought and kicked, but hands seized her ankles and pulled her legs apart.

“Ooh, there’s a tasty fresh bit o’ meat! Virgin, if I ever saw one.” Ned pulled down his trousers and dropped to his knees. “Hold her down, lads, there’s the way.”

“Please!” begged Gennara, tears running down her cheeks. “No!”

“Shut it, you!” said Ned. He leaned over her. His breath made her gag. “Now, how’s about a little kiss for ol’ Neddy, eh? Gotta make your first time special, and all.” Gennara gritted her teeth and turned her face away. Ned laughed and slowly licked her cheek. Gennara moaned.

Ned was fumbling between her legs. “Hold still, yer litle bitch,” he growled as Gennara struggled helplessly. “Now, let’s blood this filly!”

Then he froze. For a moment, he stared at Gennara, his eyes wide with shock. Then, he collapsed on top of her without a word and lay still. The hands holding her let go.

There was a moment’s silence, then a buzzing sound like an angry hornet. A man screamed, and then voices all around her were shouting. The Boss’s voice was like thunder, bawling orders. Through it all, Gennara heard more of the buzzing sounds, followed by more screams and curses. She tried to shove the still form of Ned off herself, wondering vaguely why he wasn’t moving.

Then it dawned on her that he was dead.

There was a thunder of hooves, followed by the ringing of metal on metal. It seemed that mounted soldiers were attacking the bandits. Gennara froze. It flashed into her mind that her best chance was to lie still, and hope to be unnoticed with Ned’s body on top of her. At least, until the fighting was over.

That didn’t sound like it was far off. The men’s voices were growing fewer. A few were groaning. A voice screamed a wild battle-cry. Gennara heard the Boss roar a challenge, followed by the grunt and clash of combat. The horses’ hooves thudded. The sound of the fighting rang like a blacksmith pounding an anvil. The Boss bellowed in rage.

Then it all stopped.

There was silence. The voices moaning in pain suddenly cut short, one by one. There was scuffling, and the slow, steady thump of a horse moving nearer. Someone breathed heavily, like a bellows. Gennara began to wonder if it was safe to move.

Suddenly, Ned’s limp body was lifted off her. She blinked at the bright sky. A huge form loomed over her, silhouetted by the glaring sun. Gennara glanced sideways as Ned’s body dropped to the dust next to her. An arrow stood out between his shoulder blades, just below his neck. Then someone spoke.

“Alright, lad. You’re safe to get up, now.” The voice was a woman’s, deep and musical. A strong hand took hers and pulled her to her feet. Gennara could just make out the horse and rider as they towered over her.

“Ah. Lass, I see. Sorry,” the woman said. Gennara rubbed at the dirt and tears clogging her eyes, trying to see clearly. “Figured you for a boy.”

Then Gennara saw her clearly for the first time. She gaped.

“Y-you’re a centaur.”

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