Go with the centaur

“I accept,” you say, taking his hand. “Thank you.”

He nods solemnly. Pain stabs your hand with white hot agony. With a gasp you pull it back and turn the palm towards your horrified eyes. A mark is there, a ring with scales inside burned into your flesh like a brand. You look up, questioning to the centaur.

“All agreements are binding here,” Castor says. “This plane is different from your own, pure one. You would do well to remember this on the road ahead.”

“Thank you,” you say, though puzzled in it. Should you be thanking him for explaining such a thing only after you had done so? But was it his duty to explain it to you? Such thoughts make your head spin, and you brush them aside for the moment as you again take his hand (wincing though nothing happens) and are pulled up. He lifts you onto his back where you gasp, as his spine rises in a series of prominent bumps down his back, rounded so they do not cut, but feeling unmistakeably strange against your bare ass and despoiled womanhood resting on them

“Hold tight,” he says. You wrap your arms about his chest. He starts off.

“Oh! Mmmm!” You bite your lower lip to restrain the groan of pleasure, his bouncing stride rubbing the bumps of his spine against your raw cunt as you saw back and forth. With every step it rubs your clit, your juices already slickening his scaly rump and the nubs of his spine, and it is to be a long road ahead. You frantically attempt to distract yourself.

“These…mmm…these Droads. What are they?”

“Wretched creatures, though useful,” the centaur says. He seems utterly unfazed by your increasingly ragged breathing and your juices slithering along his back. “They capture the unwary and fuse their bodies to the road. Their cries as you move over them are what gave the City of Moans first its name.”

“And…and the city,” you gasp, pressing yourself against his back and the pillow of his hair, your engorged nipples rubbing against him.

“One of the greatest in all the nethers of this world,” the centaur says. “Countless souls walk through its gates from every corner of the realms. Anything you seek, it would there to find it. But there is always a price, pure one. All things have such.”

He continues to talk, but no matter how hard you try you can’t manage to concentrate. The feel of his spinal bumps against you aching folds and pert ass are two much. You clutch at him, moaning in helpless desire. But the ride goes on, rubbing you back and forth on the slickened bumps, never quite bringing you over the peak of satisfaction.

You have no idea when the ride stops, only that you are no longer being rubbed against the bumps upon his back. He lifts you from him, your legs shaking with unquenched desire, collapsing beneath you as you are put down. Your mind fogged with arousal and your body aching with need. You look about blankly. The sky as always is black with ash and lingering hellfire. You have turned off the road and into a small stop surrounded by jagged rocks. The ground is flat and warm beneath you, coloured a dark red like dried blood.

“We will camp here,” the centaur says. He releases the straps of the cart from his back, letting them fall to the dust. He approaches you with the clop of hooves, his expression grim. “Pure one. I smell your need from here. Others shall as well. If left unsated, it will draw them to our camp.”

You look up at him blankly, for the moment unsure what he’s saying. Then it comes to you, and your eyes glow with desire, your body shaking in arousal un-slaked. You feel empty, a strong desire to be filled shuddering through you. Your eyes trail down his toned chest and abs and look between his six scaled legs. You gasp to see a black cock begin to rise, flared like a horse’s, a bitch breaker if you have ever seen one. Your fingers find your puffy lower lips and begin to stroke.