A Centauress Dances Pt. 2

He grimaced. It was never an easy task. Just last week he had gotten a black eye from a young halfling woman, barely 19, 38lb wet, 4 ft tall and animated by the most desperate fear of death he had ever seen from a condemned prisoner. She had to be held down by two guards while the prison doctor administered a tranquilizer just so they could get the restraints around her limbs. The halfling girl had been so petite Henry was forced to attach a 40lb weight to her ankle restraints just so she'd have enough mass and momentum on the long drop to properly snap her neck. A none-too-pleasant event in any case, even by the sordid standards of an executioner.

The thought of Ms. Shelley having that same reaction prompted Henry to bring along two more guards over the regulated squad of four. All of them wore helmets and soft armour that could soak up even a desperation-driven kick from a young, fit centauress. Armed with cattle prods, the contingent arrived in front of Marianne's cell. Henry inserted his keycard into the reader on the door, and removed it upon hearing the clunk and hiss of the door unlocking.

She was kneeling on the floor, all four legs braced under her black furred trunk, hands clasped together, a rosary draped around her slender fingers. Her lips moved silently in prayer.

It had been said that the young centauress had found God and the Catholic Church inside the penitentiary, a young soul realizing too late what fate awaited after her appeals were denied. With no physical rescue in sight, she had become willing to consider spiritual salvation, helped by the gentle encouragement of the penitentiary priest and the sizable amount of guilt over the woman she had crushed under her feet.

Her azure blue eyes slowly opened, pupils warily following as the squadron of men moved to encircle her. Henry watched Marianne's chest shift as she exhaled, the baggy grey prison issued shirt a size too small to completely disguise her large, pert breasts.

"Ms. Shelley, we have a schedule to keep to. Please remove your top."

She obliged, removing the shirt and carefully folding it on the floor.

"Ms. Shelley, if you would be so kind as to present your arms for restraining."

She raised her arms. Mr. Bradshaw, an orc with 8 years experience on the death row job quickly slipped the handcuffs over her wrists.

Slowly, she got up, her full size dwarfing even the tallest correctional officer escorting her. From her hoof to the top of her head she was about 9 foot 6 inches, and even with the raised ceiling of the cells, she had to bow her head to clear the doorway. Another aspect unique to centaurs and centauress's was their sexual characteristics, as many had both female and male anatomical features. It was unavoidable, Marianne had a penis about the length and girth of a streetlamp. The prison had to order a dozen custom-sewn pairs of underwear. A single canvas diaper was also fabricated to order, large enough to contain Marianne's "package" securely, along with soaking up any incontinent discharges of fluid and solid waste during the hanging process.

The procession moved down the hall. The condemned still awaiting their own executions watched from within their own cells. The silence was suffocating, punctuated only by the clop of Marianne's hooves and the muted clicking of the prison guards boots. Henry glanced Marianne's way, and watched her breasts swing pendulously as she moved. He looked up, saw her cold blue eyes locked into his gaze. He looked away, a sense of shame washing over him.

They arrived at the changing room. Henry turned and looked up at Marianne. "Ms. Shelley, I would prefer to give you some privacy, but regulations are regulations, your hands are restrained and I'll need to assist you while you wash and change."

"Appreciate the sentiment, sir", her softspoken northern accent drawl elongated the "sir", sarcasm tinging her voice.

Henry opened the door and she stepped inside. The room contained a shower area, tiled and with a drain hole. A bench nearby had one pair of the centaur specific underwear, one pair of the centauress specific diapers. Two of the guard contingent followed Henry and Marianne. Henry got up onto a stool, gripped the shower head, and pulled it out of its mounting on the wall. He squeezed the switch on its handle and sprayed Marianne from her upper chest down to her lower body, then along her barrel and hindquarters. She stood still as the hot water coursed down her bare skin. He raised the shower head and concentrated on her head, her jet black bangs sticking to her cheeks and neck. Next, a bottle of shampoo was picked up, a dollop squirted into his hand and rubbed it into her hair. She closed her eyes as bubbles ran down her forehead. He put the shampoo down and lathered up a sponge with a bar of soap. Slowly, he scrubbed down her torso, gently pulled the sponge around and over her breasts. Down along her withers, shoulder, flank and croup he continued. Kneeling, he rubbed soap around her testes and along her sheath. He heard a feminine grunt, felt the sudden pulsation of blood surging as Marianne became erect from the stimulation. He continued rubbing up and down, saw a bead of precum emerge from her shafthead, and stopped. He heard her breathing heavily.
Henry picked the showerhead up and sprayed the lather off. Steam misted the room as he stepped back.

A set of warm towels was handed to him. He patted Marianne down, drying off the moisture and remnant soap bubbles, wiping around her bust, her nipples visibly hardened. Brackish water puddled around her hooves and circled down the drain.

She turned, her whole body glistening under the halogen lights.

"Ms. Shelley, please step over here, spread your hind legs for me please."

She obliged, and Henry quickly pulled the canvas diaper up and secured the velcro straps over her croup. Over that went the underwear, swiftly buttoned together.

Finally, he rummaged through his vest pocket and retrieved a scrunchy. Gently, he gathered her loose bangs up and snapped the scrunchy around it, giving her a rough ponytail.

It was now 30 minutes to the scheduled drop.