The Centaur & Her Princess Ch. 03

Kyrie was glowing.

No, not glowing, Reva corrected herself. Glowing was the word humans used for pregnant women, Though Kyrie's already prodigious rack had swelled since Reva began feeding her mouth and pussy daily doses of centaur cum. It was a small side effect of her potent spunk, but one they were both pleased with. Centaurs did not have dainty hands and they certainly didn't have dainty dicks, so it made groping and titfucking all the better.

She supposed on some level, Kyrie's back might have a problem with it... but really, she was well and truly Reva's akhani now, which meant her first responsibility was being Reva's bitch on command, whenever and wherever the centaur might want to take her.

Then again, Kyrie was sometimes capable of frightening strength, so maybe her back was just fine. Reva decided not to dwell on it.

Having the Crown Princess impaled on her mammoth horse cock during a parade? Her body convulsing in orgasm just out of sight from the populace, scarcely hidden by the barding on Reva's armor? It changed things even more than seducing Kyrie had in the first place.

She still told herself it had been seduction. It all worked out for the best, anyway, and Kyrie smiled when Reva explained 'the trick' she had played, giggling and grinning. If she had any complaints about it, she left them unvoiced in favor of getting on her knees to tongue-bathe Reva's cock and balls five minutes later.

You could say they descended into new depths of debauchery, but that would make it sound like a bad thing. New heights, Reva decided.

And that was the thing, she supposed. Kyrie wasn't glowing.

Among her people, centaur cum was known to bring out the best in women... any woman from any race, really. Most female centaurs sported cocks of their own, and pregnancies were rare for their race. That was the importance of akhani, of having a harem. Fucking more women meant more chance of continuing the tribe.

Not that she was concerned about continuing her tribe. She had to remind herself that her true duty was protecting her loyal, royal bitch. At the moment, the centaur was lounging on her custom bed in the princess' chambers. She lowered the book she was reading and glanced off to the side and down, where the precious jewel of the Cesta Empire was having her midnight snack, wearing naught but her black leather collar, studded with gold and sapphires.

Its tag read HER ROYAL BITCHNESS.

Kyrie's golden hair was too voluminous to go in a bun; it was always put in a long, long braid by her maids before the princess retired for night, thick and trailing down her back. Its very tip hung over the lifted curve of her ass. Reva snorted softly. The way it had ended up /almost/ covering the rear view of her pussy and asshole was almost comical, like underwear too thin to cover her.

She watched the hypnotic sway of Kyrie's bubbly ass, her lapping tongue and soft moans of enjoyment mixing with the crackling fireplace to make for pleasant ambience. They had tried a bowl the other week for Kyrie's midnight snack, but it turned out Reva came far too much for it to 'just' fill a bowl. She preferred this sight, though, the Empire's luminary with her face down in a tiny horse trough, happily licking up fresh cum.

Yes, Kyrie wasn't glowing. The bed creaked as Reva half-bent, slapping the princess' ass with enough force to jolt her forward, which meant face-first into her snack with a yelp of surprise. As the fair-skinned princess lifted her glazed and dripping face, Reva grabbed her braid and gave it a rough tug.

"Here, bitch," Reva drawled, casual in her degradation of her sworn charge. "Come get it from the tap."

The way Kyrie's face lit up under the cum painting it was radiant. That was it. She dared to swipe a bit of her favorite delicacy off her lips with her tongue and tried to blink clinging spunk from her blonde eyelashes, looking up at the woman who just casually shoved her face in baby batter with nothing but utter adoration and devotion. "Where do you want your bitch to have it, mistress? In her mouth, in her pussy or in her ass?"

Kyrie wasn't glowing. Debauchery made Kyrie radiant, and each day their perversions grew. "Your ass."

Giggling with girlish glee in anticipation of a hard anal plowing, the once pristine princess crawled under Reva's bed once more.

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Count Varled of House Lanse and Countess Monessa of House Arek were not on speaking terms, which was exactly why the two of them were sitting alone in a small room. The silence was tense enough that you could cut it like butter, and their mutual agitation was hot enough that it might burn whatever it melted on.

It was a diplomatic incident just waiting to blow up, to start a war that none of their peasants would care to be drafted for. Not just because it would be senseless violence, but because the harvest was just around the corner; the respective demesnes of the lords made up for a significant amount of the capital's grain. People would starve.

Resolving the situation would require a skillful touch, a natural arbitrator and diplomat who could empathize with both sides and make them humanize their rival in the room, when both of their fathers had been sworn enemies. Sworn enemies that dealt mortal blows to one another in a completely unnecessary duel, leaving their children the youngest land owners in the empire.

Yes, it was a sticky situation.

That someone was Princess Kyrie of House Cesta, which would shock anyone who didn't know the princess' reputation. One popular story around the capital told of how the King's economic minister grew flustered in negotiations with the dwarves and had to leave the room, wracked with nerves that he wouldn't be able to secure access to vital dwarven steel for the army.

When he returned, eight year old Kyrie was sitting at the table, smiling serenely as the dwarves weeped in shame, reminded how over four centuries ago a Cesta king died defending the dwarves from an orcish invasion for no greater reason than he felt compassion for their plight; they had both suffered great losses to draconic raids the prior year, though it left the dwarves so much more vulnerable.

They had more dwarven steel than ever. So the story went, anyway. Both Varled and Monessa were of an age with Kyrie and had lived in their family's lands until a few years ago; both of them considered the princess a friend, though they hadn't seen her for several months. The two had been called back home to deal with the border dispute.

Varled, fair-skinned and tall, dark & handsome in the most classic sense, sighed not out of exasperation or annoyance for waiting as long as they had to for Kyrie's arrival, but because he knew it would rankle Monessa.

The Lady of House Arek shot a glare across the table, quick to tip up her chin and look away. He smirked in satisfaction and sat back, folding his arms over his chest as he stared at the object of his ire.

Monessa was average in only one way, her height. She was otherwise a lovely specimen of womanhood, her skin fetchingly pale and beautifully contrasted by her long, dark hair, styled into a crown braid lined with delicate silver ornaments. Everything about her face oozed femininity, from the naturally sultry cast of her amber eyes to her full lips, something her subtly seductive expression often hinted at.

What a slut. Varled suspected she spent hours in front of a mirror each day practicing them. He considered her dress to be further evidence of that, whorish red with a deep slash of cleavage that bared the curves of her full breasts. For a meeting with Princess Kyrie, of all people! She could stand to be more like the pure princess, who just so happened to be entering the room now.

His eyebrows shot up. Monessa's eyebrows shot up, though she recovered quicker than Varled. He cursed in his head as he rose to match the countess' curtsy with a bow, plastering on a tight smile.

"No need to be formal," Kyrie assured them with a sunny smile. "We're all friends here." She was certainly dressed like she was meeting friends!

They both knew Kyrie from social calls, parties and formal occasions, and neither of them had seen so much as a hint of leg or chest; she always dressed conservatively, fitting her innocent and wholesome nature. Not that she had done anything to /be/ less innocent and wholesome in the moments she'd been in the room.

It was just difficult to ignore someone like Kyrie wearing traditional amazon attire, or at least a facsimile of it. The halter imprisoning her hefty tits was barely more than a bra; an amazon would wear leather, but hers was blue silk that matched her eyes, thin gold chains strung along the bottom drawing attention to the attractive span of her flat belly. Her belt was made of golden medallions strung together, holding up a sheer pink sarong that did little to hide her lean thighs or her bubbly rump. The amazons considered it a full bottom garment when worn with particularly ass-clinging panties.

It really wasn't, but the Queen's preferences made it acceptable wear for women all over, though few noblewomen dared for it.

"As you'd like, Kyrie," Monessa said with a small smile, almost sly. Varled hated her voice. It was alway so suggestive, just dripping with lusty promises.

"Indeed," Varled cleared his throat. "Is it, ah, an amazon holiday?" He felt stupid the moment he said the question.

"No. Their next holiday is in three weeks.." Kyrie blinked her big blue eyes at Varled, who looked aside sheepishly and caught Monessa taking the opportunity to eye the princess' tits with base jealousy. He couldn't help but grin, fighting it down to a smile as it clicked for Kyrie why he might ask that.

"Just a gift from my mother. We're having tea this afternoon," the princess explained, clapping her hands together cheerfully. As if on cue, a maid wheeled in a serving cart behind her with a ready tea service, setting it up near the table and departing.

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Kyrie loved her friends! She truly loved them. She loved every subject of the Empire with her whole heart, unreservedly.

Gods help her, though, because Kyrie was bored out of her mind listening to their litany of complaints and grievances with one another. As it turned out, the least of their frustrations was the mutual 'my father killed your father'. Most of them were terribly personal, with matters of governance, like the very real crisis the capital might face if they began fighting, minimized.

It was like they didn't even know that their great grandfathers were storied brothers-in-arms who had sworn eternal friendship between their bloodlines one hundred and twenty three years ago! Ridiculous. The anniversary would be tomorrow; the only reason they didn't celebrate it was because Monessa's mother spilled wine on not on Varled's uncle, but his uncle's favorite dog, spiraling into their current state of affairs.

It did not occur to Kyrie that few people soaked up cultural information and historical fact like she did. It did not occur to her that fewer people could recall such detail in granular detail, and it certainly did not occur to her that almost nobody else could so effortlessly use that detail.

Her talent bored her to death.

She sipped her tea with a small smile, letting her expression shade with just a hint of grave concern as Monessa blew off Varled's tirade about a breast-baring wardrobe malfunction that happened almost a year ago at his birthday party, and how the Countess clearly mocked civil society with her choice of attire "that would make an amazon blush".

That was also ridiculous; what Kyrie herself was wearing was considered prudish by their standards. She didn't correct him or get offended by the comment, though. In truth, she wasn't really paying attention anymore, making the appropriate expressions and noises to show they had her full attention while her mind wandered elsewhere.

Her teacup clicked gently on its saucer as she turned towards Monessa, who ignored what Varled said entirely to dryly rip into his tendency to wear clashing colors. Absently, she ran her hand over the table's surface, flat but for some decorative carving in the form of wreathing vines. She looked thoughtful and let out a well-timed 'hm', giving no indication to the bickering nobles that her mind was elsewhere, conjuring a scene in her mind's eye.

Not one of a drunk Monessa flashing Varled or one of Varled trying to match Monessa's house colors with his outfit, of course. She found it hard to care about that. Didn't they realize how infatuated they were for each other? Kyrie was sure anyone could see as much if they cared to look.

Just the other day, Reva pushed her down on a table just like this one. She smiled faintly at the memory with the idle confidence her friends were too focused on each other to notice it or consider it out of place.

They had both been in desperate need of release after wading through three hours of petitions, and Kyrie's chambers were at least ten minutes away in the sprawling castle. There were unused private dining rooms, though, and Reva was confident no one would take a late lunch there. Kyrie had been less certain, but she did as she was told, already peeling out of her dress as Reva closed the door.

The Kyrie of yesteryear would have struggled through that, often wearing garments designed to need a maid's help to get on or off. More and more, the new Kyrie, the Kyrie who considered herself Reva's fuckslut first and Crown Princess second, preferred to dress for her mistress' convenience. Her wardrobe was becoming much more revealing, and much easier to get off.

First Reva had her on her stomach, her tits pressed down against the wood each time the centaur pounded into her. On occasion, her mistress would lower her underbelly just so, pinning the half-amazon with just part of her weight. Her mistress knew exactly what her bitch liked when they were fucking; to feel small and powerless, to be a demeaned servant and not the princess.

Kyrie found herself wondering what it would be like to get pinned on this table, to have her tits pressed against the carvings as Reva used her like a good little akhina. Would it leave the vines imprinted on her breasts? The thought of seeing that in the mirror made her giggle. A moment later, she realized Monessa and Varled were staring at her. Oops.

She smiled at them, bright and apologetic. "Sorry. Please, go on."

As the two resumed the argument -- who owned how much of a lake split across their lands or something -- Kyrie returned to her memory, so real to her that she could practically feel how wet she had been, between her own juices and the thicker cum Reva left in her. How after, Reva flipped her over and made her rub her sore, thoroughly fucked pussy to another orgasm...

Had Reva done that?

Oh! Kyrie gave a start in her seat when she became all too aware that the wetness she felt was her own, that her hand had stolen below the table and between her legs, teasing over her clit and occasionally dipping between her wet folds. She froze, then reluctantly pulled her fingers away from the source of the hot, horny flare she felt coursing throughout her body. Reva had explained to her that as an akhina, she could only fuck herself on command.

It was also very much not the time to fingerfuck herself. She cleared her throat lightly, smiled for the two to continue when they looked at her, and went about sneaking a handkerchief under the table to clean off her fingers. As she did so, her mind wandered again.

After Reva had cummed (and after Kyrie had cummed several times, of course, all in her daydream), they got ready to go. Her mistress had noticed the tiny puddle of milk Kyrie's tits had left on the table when she was getting pressed into it and barked at her bitch to clean it up.

Why, she could practically feel her milk leak out all over again...

...

Oh, no. Kyrie glanced down at her top and the thin silk that cupped her breast, twin dark spots starting to spread. And while she knew she really should focus on Varled and Monessa for just a moment, she was supposed to go straight to her mistress whenever she needed to be milked. What should I do? I need to leave. But she also needed to solve this problem first.

Kyrie cleared her throat a bit more loudly and began to rise gracefully to her feet, smiling with genuine ease. "We shall reconvene tomorrow," she declared, calling an abrupt end to the meeting. "Tonight, I would have you two dine together and discuss this more between yourselves." Both Monessa and Varled stumbled over themselves to say goodbye first, with neither managing it before Kyrie calmly left the room, closed the door and began fleeing down the hall.

After a moment of silence, the two nobles began to argue over who would host the dinner, Kyrie all but forgotten in her flight.