They don’t make cars for centaurs. The logistics are hard to work around and as far as Daniel knew, there was one in the world: him. His jacket warms the human half of his body and blankets draped across akin to a dress shield public from his profane body. His balls drag upon the ground constantly always accompanied by a  trickle of wetness from his bulbous, slavering pussy. The slit balloons out and is barely hidden beneath his tail. What helps waive away more inquisitive glances is the incredible musculature that is painted across his entire body, smoothing out conspicuous bulges into the shape of muscle; years and years doing hard labor, plus a penchant for weightlifting, kept both halves of himself in marvelous shape. Every muscle is bloated and holds power past what its size hints at, strength that is only revealed truly when he takes gold at any athletic competition. But those years are gone now. Having been banned from most sports due to his obvious physical advantages—though he could never beat qualifiers at swimming—Daniel has since been put into a relaxing, if monotonous and lonesome, fixed-income retirement. His hooves, oversized since birth like a portent of his immense bulk, stamp into the ground with steps through town, clicking louder than any high heels ever could. Where was he headed? Not even he knows, but walking through town gives him something to do.
	From a young age the centaur had learned to pay close attention. Bumping into a human was not merely a bump but akin to a car’s collision. Though even those automobiles needed to be wary of the centaur. The frayed edges of the cloak drag on the asphalt as he goes from curb to across the street, only half in the half-filled lines as he makes room for the humans walking this path coincidentally. Normally, he walks in the bike lane but downtown the double-parked cars and narrow one-way streets forbid it, so on the sidewalk he trots. 
	A sound from an alley away perks his human ears. Heels? Loud heels if so…  Perhaps? His heart thumps in his chest, oversized and hyper-efficient to provide blood all through his body, it pounds in his ears at the thought; but he’s been burned before.
	Carefully he walks closer to the sound, the rhythm matching his own; clak-clak-clak-clak, four beats to the measure. Clak-clak-clak-clak, louder and louder still as his pace can’t help but increase. He turns the corner, eyes wide but painfully, fearfully aware of the usual disappointments.
	But those fears prove unfounded. Another centaur. Both Daniel and him are male and both bodies of certainly the same shape, the same… species if that is the correct term. He can nearly see the shock and surprise in the other’s eyes as they are frozen on the sidewalk for an awkward amount of racing heartbeats. 
	“Ar-”—he coughs from the tightness of his throat—“Are you a centaur?” He hopefully asks, eyes as of yet unable to take anything in but the other’s silhouette.
	“You are too?” The other centaur man speaks. His sweet, boyish, and vaguely flamboyant voice draws Daniel back into reality; the loneliness he had felt all his many years had just been alleviated, at least in part. The blur of excitement and surprise faded just enough to reveal the man before him, and shaky legs drove the sumpter forward. 
	Dyed cotton-candy pink and blue hair, nose ring, eyebrow piercing, hoops and chains off the ears. Daniel had seen these kinds before but never paid them mind until now. The goth centaur, surely in the prime of his 20s, carefully approaches. They walk closer, and despite their difference in age and body shape, they know deep within their throbbing heartbeats, they share one common thread: centaurism.

***

	The house is oversized to accommodate the former only-child of centaurism with rooms wide and long, ceilings tall, and a kitchen nigh unusable by those not atop a horse. The bedroom is similar, though by far the largest room in the house. The hope of another centaur, let alone one that would bed him, was the largest expense in this house, but when Drew took his position atop Daniel, three massive horsecocks each throbbed free of both centaurs’ suspiciously small sheathes, he knew the cost was worth every penny.
	Daniel stood on all fours while Drew mounted him just as two purebred horses do. His human upper body was twisted around as much as could be for the two to embrace and kiss. Lips danced a tango of passion that failed to keep rhythm as their excitement skipped steps, retraced ones, and the dance floor became hazardously drenched in saliva. The far elder of the two breaks the lascivious kiss to breathe, and forehead against forehead, he pants, “Are you sure you want to do this with an old man like me?” As though the decision hadn’t been made the moment their eyes met.
	Drew intermits his gentle grinding of his giant, virginal human shaft into Daniel’s enormous back muscles to speak, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure, old man.” A deep kiss punctuates the romantic, flirtatious statement as though their relationship had begun years prior. The top’s tongue stud paddles against the flood of saliva to stroke at Daniel’s unadorned muscle with lascivious flare; his wet glans slips between the bulging cleavage between muscles, and smearing precum all across his partner’s back. Although the older man’s pussy is slavering in anticipation of being bred, their six horsecocks absurdly extended from their sheathes frot, stroke, and slather precum across each other. The sides of Drew’s three shafts grind primarily against Daniel’s leathery pouch of massive balls and the first few feet of thumping, eagerly drenched cocks in front of them.
	Their human halves are locked in an embrace of effeminate arms surrounding bulging muscles. Their kissing love is passionate enough that drool sloughs from their sloppy seal, and the waterfall of saliva soaks their chests, chins, necks. “I know we just met but…” Drew murmurs as lips slip from Daniel’s to slobber across the muscular man’s masculine jawline and down his bulging neck. Suckling, kissing, and gently nibbling on the skin, his mouth imparts as much love it can manage onto Daniel at this angle. The back of the twink’s multicolored hair is rubbed softly and head pulled in by the older man’s aged hand, scrubbing through the dyed hair like an overflowing of passion transferring through hands and arms.
	“I need you, Drew, I need you,” Daniel pleads as all his cocks, both the single human and the triplet of horse, drizzle slimy, off-yellow prejizz onto the bedding that’s stained from years of solitary use. 
	The gothic dom’s lips brush flirtatiously into the collarbone buried beneath thick layers of bulbous muscle until he finally says, “Are you ready to be a father?” Drew’s position changes slightly to rub his triple unsheathed cocks against Daniel’s beyond-aroused asshole and pussy, while the twink’s human cock placed between his horse forelimbs paints his ‘mare’s’ back muscles in copious honey-like precum. The look in his lover’s eyes gives Drew all the permission needed.
	The triple cocks dive into the oversized triplet wombs meant for them; every oddity in their shapes were echoed by the other, like two puzzle pieces meant to tesselate forever. Just as fast as the shafts raced into the wombs they pulled out merely to slam again. In the kitchen the sounds of ceramics and pots and pans falling off rattling shelves exploded into the bedroom but the breeding would not stop. Heaving wrecking ball testicles spanked together and vibrate the house’s foundation; the sacks of skin smashing together makes ripples and waves rolling up their saggy flesh all the way up their body like concrete blocks dropped into a calm lake sending ripples far enough to tickle the water up the waterfall.
	The loud SLAP SLAP SLAP of skin against skin as the two men fuck passionately juxtaposed with their intensely sensual kissing embrace like that of a honeymoon. Their horse halves seem to obey brains of their own focused entirely on the roughest, most powerful, sloppy thrusting and prejizz-spattering sex imaginable, with such ferocity it’s almost as if the act of quaking the earth came first, and breeding was a side effect.
	As their rutting continues, their sheathes and wombs feel tighter, thicker… more. Had either centaur been in the presence of mind to do anything but breed and kiss perhaps they’d ask, but instinctively both know how their bodies function. Drew’s new cocks thump out of sheathe to race into a new womb awaiting its penetration, over, and over. The three cocks triple in quantity, and that triples. And that triples. And that triples. Somehow the bulging of their sheathes, however, is capped off at double the muscle’s original diameter as another impossibility contained within their bodies. Cocks of triple digits like a bouquet, nay, a bush, of massive, pent-up stems with flared tips, pouring from each their slimy, addictive, delectable nectar. Neither has ever experienced more than one spare cock throbbing free the sheathe from arousal, let alone the sheer quantity that emerged now.
	Drew’s impassioned thrusting’s pace, like the rate of the pair’s genitals multiplying, becomes far less regular; their kiss sloppier, lips less cooperative, and hugs tighter. SLAP SLAP… SLAP… SLAP SLAP SLAP! With a shared duet moan loud enough to rumble the house in parallel with the thrusts, the entire bed creaks like wood yet is made of steel, and near a thousand wombs are pumped full of the virile cum of near a thousand cocks. Gallon after gallon of white, sperm-stuffed semen floods every possible void within Daniel’s wombs, assuredly impregnating him beyond all imagination.
	Finally, with bloated sheath kissed tight against Daniel’s utterly cum-stuffed slit, they separate from each other for just long enough to collapse onto the bed: face to face with limbs instantly entangled, just as their lips are. No refractory period stands in the way of their passion. As the screaming pleasure of orgasm dies down it simply begins to build again. Kissing not just with their lips but by seemingly a force of magic, pure lust drives their cocks to smooch and slobber against each other. Their bulging shafts frot, slide, and each intertwine with their partner’s matching prick. Then, one of Daniel’s eager dicks thrusts down one of Drew’s, and they alternate for all thousand pairs. Thrusting and pistoning by themselves like a 2,000-cylinder engine, ramming all the way down into their balls. Their bodies are immobile, both of them, aside from their lips savoring each other's, and their automatic pistoning of their cocks into one another.
	As their entire bodies kiss, hands and limbs unable to stop stroking and loving the other’s figure, their silhouettes continue to change: Daniel’s tongue grows, thrusts, spasms just in time for Drew’s to do likewise. In their mouths the newly lengthened and thickened tongue muscles tie into a knot. Despite the clump, their tongues still have lengths to drive down each other’s throat and more. In a breath the knot is squeezed tight by a vice grip of two enormous cocks each and the savory flavor of precum joins that of overflowing saliva. Throats are abused lovingly by the utterly uncontrollable breeding of tongues and these new, human-shaped mouthcocks, all of which slide down their partner’s throat with fervor matched only by their unsheathed pricks.
	Then like a nuclear bomb exploding, the force of jizz flooding every single orifice of each other nearly collapses the house. Throats and shafts and balls are instantly inflated with the other’s gooey, churning, bubbling virile cum, stuffed with so much sperm the goop slides around in an active hunt of eggs to impregnate. The cum finds eggs and where it doesn’t, pregnancy occurs in those throats and shafts and balls by the sheer will of lust and love the two, Daniel and Drew, share for the other. The flash of light of this blast fades as the two pass out, bodies still working on their own, breeding, breeding, breeding.
	When they wake up simultaneously, the passionate kissing and intentioned thrusting begins again.