Six weeks later...

Having not heard a word from Studs 'R' Us for the entire six-week wait, you've had little else to do except wander the fields behind your farm house, double and triple-check that your stable is fully stocked with hay and water (and that your key still fits the padlocks on all the bolts), and daydream giddily about what the future may bring. You also checked your bank statement when it arrived and, indeed, a staggering sum has been drained by various unconvincingly-named organisations in the past month. But you haven't heard any complaints from your bank, so whatever Studs 'R' Us have been doing, they've been doing it carefully.

Sure enough, at sunrise, six weeks to the day since you had that phone-call, a black horse box with tinted windows rolls up to your home. It backs up to the stable, carefully, and you come out with the keys, to help them unload. From the banging noise coming from inside the vehicle, you know that Studs 'R' Us have held up their end of the bargain. Two discreetly-dressed men in sunglasses and caps nervously take the keys and, within moments, the banging from the horse box is replaced by the restless stamping of hooves coming from your stable. You hear what is presumably your new centaur sniffing the air, perhaps picking up on your scent, which at least seems to calm it down for the time being. It seems satisfied to wait, knowing that you'll be coming to him.

You're taken aback when the driver tosses the keys back to you, and the two men climb back into their vehicle without asking you to sign anything. When you ask about it, the driver scoffs and waves you back, adjusting his side-mirror and glancing around anxiously.

"You've got to be kidding me. We were never here, man. Got it?"

He doesn't even wait for your reply before slamming down on the gas, and racing away. In moments, the horse box is only a blot in the distance, and then it's gone. Nothing else but fields and forests, for miles around.

You turn to look at your acquisition, and with a jolt, realise that he was already watching you, like a hawk. A smirk of something like hunger and contempt cracks his face, and you have to reassure yourself that you're the one with the upper-hand... At least for the moment. Despite the wooden façade, there's thick steel behind those walls, and reinforcing the chest-high fence (not to mention the wire grating above that), and this is all dividing you from him... And his smell...

You snap yourself out of it, but his chuckling tells you that he noticed your expression glazing over for just a moment. His voice is not remarkably deep, but it is masculine... And in such a powerful sense that you can't quite even think of a way to put it into words. You slowly approach the grating to get a better look at him, and glance at the entrance to the stable to reassure yourself. There's another bolted-and-padlocked gate inside, in addition to the one you're looking at, so as long as you lock up as you enter, he can't just rush out as soon the door's open. And seeing how he'd have to practically roll over to reach the floor, you think you can keep the keys out of his reach if there's a struggle. Not that you're intimidated, or having second thoughts, or anything like that...

You look into the stable, and take a deep breath through your nose to calm yourself, although this only ends up filling your nostrils with another wave of his... Equine musk... Your pecker is rock hard already, bulging unbearably beneath your constricting clothes, and your brow begins to sweat.

His features are... Human. Well, more than that- you feel like you're looking at an Ancient Greek statue, brought to life. The toning and definition of his chest, the firm and supple muscles of his arms, all lend credence to that idea. For that matter, although it's difficult to tell with the lighting, his skin seems a flawlessly unblemished, rich olive, like he really was borne from beneath the Greek sun. You always thought you were of fairly average build... Well, a bit more twink-ish than that, maybe... But standing near him, you feel like you might as well be an insect gazing upon a god. Yet the way he stares into you - the look that hasn't wavered for as long as you've seen him - says something slightly different. It's appreciative, or appraising, in an objectifying sort of way. As though you were a piece of rare meat. A prize to claim. You're starting to feel so...

As if he were reading your thoughts, or perhaps just your features, he turns to look out the window, stretching his arms, and your stomach sinks at the neglect. The rest of his stallion body follows suit, and your stomach is suddenly filled with queasy butterflies. It takes all your strength to trace the outline of his body before the rest of him, but you manage... Eventually. It takes a few tries.

His horse-body ripples with muscle as he adjusts, great slabs of raw power barely disguised by his jet-black, silky coat; the same colour as his dreamy, tussled hair. His tail is much the same, and shimmers in the rays of the early-morning sunshine as it twitches; a deliberate move, you think. His hooves, revealed beneath the fringes of his unshorn fetlocks, are like great stone bricks... And for a moment, you wonder if he really could break through your petty enclosure, if he had a mind to.

Your watering mouth demands an end to the charade of restrained observation, and your eyes descend automatically to the twenty-two inch trunk of dark, mottled, flared horse-flesh far thicker than your arms. In a moment of trance-like stupor, a strand of saliva slips from your lips, and you bring a hand to your mouth, blushing, as he chuckles again. Your face heats up in shame, unable to meet his eyes. Not even that. You can't stand to look away from his huge, throbbing, steaming horsecock.

You run down its length with your starving eyes, right down to the sag of his sack- partially obscured by his thighs, but slick with humidity (oh, how thirsty it makes you feel), and clearly bulging with two hefty testicles the size of... The size of... You can't even think of anything else... Did whatever they put in them to affect you have any other effects? They did say it was unfinished, didn't they... But that smell...

You don't know any more. You know at least that they're filled with white, creamy, salty, liquid promise. At the back of your mind, the last shred of doubt tries to scream a reminder of what that promise entails, and everything you're planning to throw away... But you can't hear it. You don't even care enough to remember what's in store for you, when you can barely contain your desire for what's right in front of you.

You are reminded, however, of what calibre of centaur you're dealing with: wild and dominant. Wild. He seems far from manic, or aggressive, in that sense of the term. On the contrary. He's in complete control. But you don't have reason to doubt that the company delivered what you asked for. You fidget restlessly, as it slowly dawns on you that you never had a hope of 'taming' him, in those terms... But he's already unravelling whatever it is that makes a cultured human being, like you, 'tame'...

"I've heard that there's a needy mare to be found in these parts, who'll only open her drenched legs to a real stallion of the plains."

You shiver uncontrollably as he speaks, even before you realise words are being spoken, but as soon as the message pierces your lust-addled brain, you look up to him in hope. But he's already looked away again.

"You don't look like the type capable of pleasing either..."

Your legs almost give out in despair at his throwaway-words and careless glances. You know he's playing mind games with you, and that you're losing. It doesn't matter. He looks back to you once more, and your soul sings! For long moments that might as well be years, he holds your **** gaze with his mastery.

"... But perhaps you can open the door, and point me in the right direction."

He punctuates his statement with just one brute thrust of his hind legs, and your sphincter (along with most of the rest of your body) clenches automatically. You feel dizzy. It's hard to believe, now, that he was made for you... You're fairly convinced it was the other way round, wasn't it? What are you doing locked out here, alone, when he's in there?