Kyrie, who had been born well after the Empire conquered the amazons, had limited exposure to their culture. She loved visiting her mother's personal chambers; the Amazons were exotic, and everything about them enraptured her in stark contrast to how boring she found the Empire.
The rugs were made from animals she had never heard of and the tapestries depicted their proud history, only missing the last three decades when her father brought her mother's people to heel.
On one wall hung a beautiful spear, its obsidian head gleaming unnaturally, its ironwood haft carved with runes of unknown power. It was said to be the first spear in all creation, given to the first amazon by her father. Beneath it, the Queen's Torc sat in a glass case. Though beautiful, it had no power of its own. The ruby at its center shone with a glorious inner fire; the amazons were bound by ancient oaths to obey whomever wore it.
The ruby wasn't there anymore, of course. It was the centerpiece of her father's crown.
These artifacts and so many more parts of her heritage were on display, and in the past she had spent hours exploring the room, asking her mother question upon question.
That night, Kyrie ignored most of them in favor of the west wall, dominated by her mother's collection of trophies. Reva had managed to clean her up with a quick bath and a thorough toweling, and they replaced her milk-stained clothes with an outfit just like it, but green where the first was blue.
Kyrie giggled, wearing a dopey grin as she held her arm up to the centerpiece of her mother's collection. She had always thought it was weird the massive 'minotaur horn' wasn't actually made of horn. Preserved by magic, it was only a little bit longer than her forearm.
The door opened and the Queen entered, looking every part a goddess of lust and violence. Though she moved with feline grace and her perfect posture emphasized the curves of her breasts and her womanly hips, her predatory edge was unmistakable.
Kyrie resembled her greatly, though where she was fair-skinned the Queen was tanned and bronzed.
Where the daughter was lean, the mother was athletic, her muscles only complimenting her deadly femininity. She was inches taller, and though her breasts were heavier, they were just as perky. The cleavage of her pale silk top was so wide that it didn't cover all of her areola; she didn't care if a movement exposed one of her nipples, letting the always tight tips of her tits taunt everyone around her. The sarong she wore around her hips was similar to her daughter's, though the Queen wore a thong where the Crown Princess wore panties. A little less than a thong, in truth. A small slit gave her immediate and easy access to her pussy whenever she cared for it.
Kyrie's eyes were bright blue and shone with optimism, but the Queen's were dark and dangerous, never disguising whatever fickle desire she was about to demand. And though the Queen would soon be forty-five, she didn't look a day over twenty nine. She smiled at her daughter as Kyrie turned to face her, clearly amused at the sight of her eldest measuring her arm against her prized treasures.
"You never told me these were cocks, mom," the cum-high ditz declared, grinning brightly as she took the minotaur cock-trophy in hand and wrapped her fingers around the thick base. "It's so much smaller than a centaur cock! Look, I can almost close my hand around it."
Her mother kept smiling, though her eyebrows raised slowly.
It took the bimbo a moment to realize what she had just done.
"Oops."
The two spoke long into the night, and Kyrie didn't tell Reva what had happened when she crawled into her cage inside the centaur's bed, still loopy from her mistress' potent sperm.
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***
"She's on the balcony, enjoying some fresh air, and she does not wish to be disturbed. Leave it there," Reva said with an absent wave of her hand, not really caring where the maids left Kyrie's breakfast, though she was happy to have her own placed on a serving cart near her bed, a perfect height for the lounging centaur.
Of course, Kyrie wasn't on the balcony. She had slept in her cage. A few minutes ago, she had just gotten her morning swallow of her mistress' cum. She could never down it all; after the first few weeks of their relationship, Reva gave her a pile of parchment to line the cage with, making it much easier to clean up. As much as she liked the thought of her bitch sleeping in a pool of her spunk, she
was
a royal bitch and couldn't be kept filthy all the time.
Also, they found it started to smell bad and the maids almost discovered it while searching for the stink. It was just more practical.
Reva started in on her breakfast, taking her time and enjoying each bite while she could feel her bitch shift around beneath her, replacing her mouth with her asscheeks, hotdogging her mistress' shaft as it began to stir back to life, recovering from her first orgasm.
The centaur loved their routine, and as she finished off her bacon she began to consider their day plan. Other than her dinner plans with the bickering nobles, Reva would have Kyrie at her disposal all morning, all afternoon and most of the evening. It would be a good time to do some training, and perhaps they'd sneak out for a 'walk' just past midnight.
