The Guards and the Horse Knight

>"I'm telling you for the last time, Darvill, there's no bloody way it could happen."
>Both of the guards stood on the parapet, the morning fog rolling listlessly across the fields
>"What, Horace, that a man's cock couldn't be ambulatory?"
>"It's not a matter if it could be ambulatory, it's a matter of simple locomotion and erotic stimuli."
>Down below, you're standing there getting increasingly frustrated in your chain mail
>The Centaur in front of you squeezes hard with her vaginal contractions, trying to stimulate you
>But months of riding in this manner have given you quite the stamina, and you end up stopping her with a hard glare
>There's a wet pop when you 'dismount' from your trusty steed
"If you two are done! Where has this man calling himself the King of the Britons gone!?"
>Silence, then, once again
>"Look, Darvill, all I'm saying is that for this bloke to retain proper speed of roughly 6.4 kilometers per hour, he would have to thrust into her maybe what, two times a second? Am I right? Not to mention we've yet to see his technique!"
>"Oh, right, Horace. But you see the size of his bollocks? They're like a pair of grapefruits they are!"
>Your eyes couldn't possibly roll any harder when they look over the wall towards you, caught in the absurd debate
>"Oi! How many women have you bedded?"
"Does it matter?"
>"It's all for the sake of science, mate!"
>"Oh yeah, completely for science!"
"Please, I must know where he went!"
>"Don't change the subject now!"
>Your centaur whimpers, grinding her blisteringly hot equine vagina and hindquarters against the front of your tabard, nearly drenching you in her feminine nectar; Her stomach, well, lower stomach, if you wanted to be completely technical, has been getting larger lately, making you worry if she's with foal
"Just this one!"
>"Just one Centaur!? Surely with that mustang between your legs, you'd have seen quite a few equine suitors!"
>"Are you sure you don't need two halves of a coconut instead mate?"
>Your cheeks burn with redness. It was true, she was your first and only, for as many as the Centaurs of your village wanted to get to know such a stallion as yourself. God knows it was something in the river water that gave you such a massive member. Or that soapy trollop in the lake.
>"Right, now that that's settled, how often do you have sex and how are you even riding her?"
"I grip her by the hindquarters!"
>"You WHAT? How in the bloody hell is she even able to trot off if you're gripping her by the hindquarters? Are you some kind of mon'keigh?"
>"No no no Horace, it's monkey! Mon'keigh ain't even for another thirty thousand years or so!"
>"Oh right! Copyright parody and all that sort! But he still hasn't shown us!"
>Muttering to yourself, you clamber on top of the Centaur, positioning yourself to penetrate her from above and behind, not dissimilar to an actual stallion mating with a mare. Her sumptuous, hot flesh makes your glans tingle as you slip into her, thrusting so that she moves no more than three paces. Each thrust is small, but quick, at roughly the same speed quoted earlier.
>"Alright then! Alright! We get it now!"
"So will you tell me where the King of the Britons is?"
>"KING OF THE WHO?"
>"HORACE HE MEANS THE GUY WHO THOUGHT HIMSELF KING FROM A FEW DAYS AGO."
>"OH, HIM?"
>"HE WANDERED OFF THAT WAY, PRANCING AROUND LIKE A PONCE!"
>They both point across the hills, where above the clouds you see a dour looking but Godly figure glowering at you
>You can barely hear him shouting verses from the Book of Leviticus, and you're too miffed to even avert your eyes
>A fair cop this is, alright. Bloody semantics debating bastards on their stupid parapet.
...

>"Is he gone, Horace?"
>"Aye he is, why?"
>"You think he knows she's got a pussy in front?"
>"Maybe he's into that sort of thing, you know."
>"Bloody peasants."