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.
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
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.
