"This is going to be a wonderful week," Kyrie breathed out, her hands clapping together in a show of soft delight, their long and graceful fingers lacing together in a serene clasp. She turned a beaming smile on to her bodyguard, her sapphire eyes shining with fondness for her oldest friend. The Crown Princess' soft features fit her sunny disposition well, framed by the ridiculously intricate updo-ponytail her golden hair had been pulled into. "A parade! Why, we haven't had a parade in three months. Last year we had a parade every month!"
Reva snorted out of habit. From her, the noise was more chuff than not, a simple habit her people had. She crooked a patient smile down at her ward. The pair of them drew attention wherever they went.
Where Kyrie was radiant sunlight, Reva's appearance spoke more to a woman of nature, her face as powerful as it was lovely and smattered with freckles. The bright green of her eyes spoke to her fey blood. Her long hair fell wild down her back, a curly riot of red hair, a proper mane befitting a centauress. Confident as she was in her skill as the Crown Princess' personal knight, she wore little armor most of the time and left most of her human flesh bare. Though the leather halter she wore was studded for protection, its true purpose was to secure her impressive rack, hefty enough that other centauresses eyed them with jealousy. The top showed off her tanned skin and rippled stomach, and lest anyone get too interested in her or the Princess, arms that could clearly crush a man.
On her four cloven hooves, Reva towered over most men at eight feet tall. It wasn't just their beauty or stations that made them stand out, but their height. Kyrie's mother had been one of the few amazons to survive the Southern War, and she inherited plenty from her. Though the princess was no warrior, she had just enough lean muscle to fill out her six foot frame. Not that most people noticed it over her pouty lips or her full tits, large even on such a tall woman. Her bubbly ass was always safer to ogle (what was Reva going to do, turn on her heel?) but far less fun.
Though the Princess usually dressed conservatively, the Empire's capital had brutally hot summers. Men, even royalty, often went bare-chested while women went for lighter, more revealing clothes. Kyrie had chosen a tunic dress this morning, its white just sheer enough to hint at the tone of her fair skin beneath it. Artful gold embroidery scrawled across its collar. Reva could swear it outlined her charge's breasts more than it obscured them. Gods, but the thought of those soft pillows wrapping around...
No. No, no, no. It was her tribe's greatest honor that Reva had been sent to guard the Crown Princess.
Reva cleared her throat and looked to the path ahead of them, the stables and the royal riding grounds not far from them now. Kyrie was kind, if a little slow at times. It never seemed to click with her that bringing a centaur horseback riding might be offensive.
Actually, it was incredibly offensive. But Reva minded her tongue; she did her duty with grace and honor. It was only an hour or so each week. Kyrie couldn't be expected to learn about centaur culture. They were such a tiny part of the empire, after all, even if Reva was her constant companion and one could _reasonably_ expect some interest, if not learning by osmosis. She often suspected that Kyrie's overly voluptuous chest was her body's compensation for Kyrie's naivety. That one day, Kyrie would make up for her ditziness by wrapping her awe-inspiring mammaries around Reva's...
Nooo, no. She was looking again. "Reva?" Kyrie chimed, smiling beatifically as she noticed the staring. "Did I stain my tunic at breakfast?" she asked in her sweet innocence, checking herself before the flat-footed centauress could summon her wits and reply properly. There wasn't anything that she could see, but it was reasonable for her to assume there might be something on the front of the garment or perhaps on the bottom slope it created while hugging her tits. Her hands lifted and rounded over them, putting on an inadvertently lewd show of cupping her breasts and feeling over them.
Whatever words Reva wanted to say were lost in the returned fantasy of pinning her charge down on a table beneath her and fucking that beautiful cleavage with her unsheathed horse cock. Her breath caught before she snorted again, one leg stomping on the dirt floor, distracting herself from getting too aroused. Kyrie did /not/ know about her cock. It wasn't a conversation she meant to have with the princess, who seemed utterly unaware of her sex appeal or even sex itself.
"I-- no, Kyrie. I was just admiring it," Reva replied. It... wasn't a lie. Not really. She just wasn't being honest about what she was admiring. Kyrie accepted that answer with a fresh, beaming smile. They proceeded to the stable in companionable silence, with Reva forcing such improper thoughts from her mind. The princess loved to wear sandals with high laces up her calves during the summer, though she kept a pair of thigh-high riding boots in the stables. Once she had changed her footwear, they spent a time looking for the stablehand, who seemed to be out.
"Not a problem. I can prepare Silverlight for you," Reva assured Kyrie. Silverlight was her brother's horse, the only one that she would be willing to ride.
"Fantastic," Kyrie clapped her delight once more, excitement coursing through her body. Oh, but she loved riding horses. She loved the feel of such a large, muscular beast between her thighs. Its power, her own spreading warmth. Never with a saddle, of course! Her mother always said a true amazon rode bareback. Everyone smiled and laughed when the Queen said that, and a few people blushed too. If it made people happy, Kyrie was just as happy to take it at face value.
Neither stablehand nor Silverlight were present in the stables.
"How odd," Kyrie frowned, an expression that only emphasized the fullness of her virgin mouth, perfectly shaped for sucking cock. Reva thoughtlessly closed her eyes as the image struck her: the Crown Princess of the Cesta Empire laying on her back over a low table. Just low enough that Reva could stand comfortably over it, her rock-hard horse cock held between the plushness of Kyrie's tits while her royal tongue dutifully worshiped its head.
There was a suction-born pop as her lips left it and as she licked free the string of saliva that kept her mouth attached to the object of her affections, slowly squeezing and dragging the stiff pillar between her mammaries as though in compensation.
"Perhaps," Kyrie told Reva breathily, "my brother has Silverlight out for a ride. The stablehand must be out for errands." She blinked slowly, then darted her tongue down to lick the slit of her cock's head. Reva shuddered. "Perhaps he's buying fresh hay and carrots!" That was ridiculous, of course. Such things would be delivered to the royal stables. That rational thought reminded Reva that Kyrie was not, in fact, laying on a table, alternating between jacking her cock off between her breasts and tasting its head.
Reva blinked and realized at some point, her eyes had opened and she had begun staring. She cleared her throat again and chose to go with the path of least resistance and perhaps move the conversation somewhere else instead. "Maybe so, Your Highness. Would you like to wait here or carry on the day elsewhere until your appointment with the royal seamstress?"
They had been together for eleven years now, and Reva defaulted to informal address when in private with the princess. It usually made both of them more comfortable, more at ease. Whenever the naive princess got like this, though, her centaur knight threw up formality like a restraint. It helped her keep her focus, reminding her that for all her behaviors, Kyrie was not a bitch to be bred.
Kyrie bit her bottom lip in consternation, folding her arms just under her -- no, no, Reva was not going to look at them again. Especially not while Kyrie was doing as she often did when seized by indecision, absently swaying her body back and forth... back and forth... she could feel her rod begin to stir, begin to push its way out of its sheath. She snorted, willing herself to be free of a centaur's summer lust.
"I don't know," Kyrie sighed, letting her arms drop and turning, habitually graceful in her pacing along the other stalls to look over each horse in turn. None of them had Silverlight's coloring or gentle bearing in spite of a powerful size. She considered the horse more friend than animal. Stopping before a chestnut-brown stallion's stall, she leaned over the rail to consider the animal. "I was so set on riding today." Were the horse any shade of humanoid, it would be entranced by the way the princess' proud rack hung over the barrier.
