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Edythe and the Centaur

Edythe sighed as she trundled through the forest, picking a mushroom here and there, just so she'd have something to show for her labours when she returned home. After all, picking mushrooms was her excuse for being out there, so she could hardly return empty-handed... but in the end, it was just an excuse. She'd needed to get out of the house for a while. To be alone with her own thoughts. And she still did - hence why she hadn't started heading home, despite the sun already touching the horizon.

With an even more gushing sigh, she sat down on a stump, ignoring the sensation of the moisture of the recent rainfall still clinging to the rough bark seeping through her skirt. Everything just seemed so dreary of late, so rote and routine... with no suggestion that it would ever change. Keeping the cottage neat, cooking meals, doing a bit of handicraft to sell on the market... not that SHE got to go to the market, of course. No, she had to stay home and mind their cottage - and their son - like a good housewife, while her husband took the surplus of their harvest (and her incidental handicrafts) to market now and then...

A perfectly ordinary, perfectly boring life. Though she wasn't sure what she had expected to be different, really. Perhaps she'd just thought it would set in a bit later. After all, he'd been so fiery back then, when he pursued her. So filled with youthful vigour and a burning determination that had made her weak in the knees. He had wanted her, needed her, and she had responded to that. Then, though... once he'd gotten what he wanted, it seemed like all that wilfulness just leaked out of him. Then, it was just a matter of knocking her up with an appropriate number of sons, and otherwise settling down to just survive - like his father, and his father's father before him. No romance, no adventure, no... passion.

And now that their first son was reaching the age where he would shortly be sent out on his apprenticeship, it was time - by that same old standard - for her to bear another child. So he lay with her nightly... and would tonight again, no doubt. For the handful of minutes it would take before he'd done his business and rolled over to snore, anyway. She should be happy with her lot, really. She knew other women in the village whose husbands were mean drunkards who beat them for minor, oft-imagined infractions, or cheated on them with every easy barmaid or village floozy they could afford. Her husband wasn't like that - he was nice to her, and faithful, as far as she knew. But... she hadn't married him because he was 'nice'.

With another sigh, she pushed herself back to her feet and wandered on, eyes idly scanning the forest floor for edible mushrooms while her mind continued to run in circles. What could she do, really? Society had prescribed her role in life, which she was fulfilling neatly. Any attempt to break out of that mould would result in swift repercussions - from the law, the church, or just society's tendency to shun those who ignored the unwritten rules it was based upon. Was she crazy to even be thinking this? Most others seemed content to simply follow the path the world had laid out for them, without expecting anything beyond largely avoiding torment and destitution. Her husband certainly seemed perfectly happy to just go with the current, and was steadily raising their son to be just as unimaginative. And yet, her heart ached for something... different. Something more.

Her thoughts ground to a halt as she realized just how much she had to squint to distinguish mushrooms from rocks on the forest floor. Barely a sliver of the sun's evening-red circle was still visible above the western ridge, and even that was vague and diffuse this deeply in the woods. Swearing, she turned around and started making her way back where she'd come from, as swiftly as she dared in the ill light. At this rate, it'd be pitch-dark before she made it home, and stumbling around in the woods at night was a bad idea for many, many reasons. At best, she might wind up tripping over every log, branch and rock in the forest, and return with a torn dress, twigs in her hair, and no mushrooms. At worst... well, best not think of it.

As she'd feared, the last of the sunlight soon faded, and the darkness grew dense as her pulse quickened with rising fear. Then a silvery light began to colour the leaves and branches, and her breathing calmed. Of course... the moon was large at this time, and the skies were clear. She'd have light for her return trip yet. Indeed, the moonlit forest was showing her a new side of itself - an insubstantial, fairy-like image of beauty. The faint light cast strange shadows as the branches rippled in the evening breeze, giving the impression that the whole forest was alive - but somehow, it did not seem threatening. With renewed confidence, she pushed past a silvery bush to an animal-trail she'd noticed earlier, which would help her get home faster and easier.

Suddenly, something large loomed out of the shadows in front of her, and she froze. It was big and quadruped... a hart? Well, this WAS an animal-trail, so it was to be expected. Best not to spook it - while usually skittish, stags were quite willing to lash out with hooves or antlers if startled, and this one seemed like a particularly big one. At least it was too tall to be a wild boar - those could be downright vicious! Fortunately, it was moving away from her, in loosely the same direction she was heading... perhaps best to take another route, once it had gotten a bit father away?

As she thought that, however, she instinctively shifted her weight back on her heels so as to be ready to turn around - and a twig snapped. The sound seemed shockingly loud in the night-silent forest, and the animal jumped and darted around in response. As it did, however, it moved out of the shadow, bathing its front in silvery moonlight - and in that instant, she realized it was no hart, nor any other kind of wild animal. It had the body of a horse, sure enough, but where the head and neck should be, the torso of a young, wiry man emerged from the speckled coat. He looked almost as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

Adrenalin roared through her body, and it took no time at all for her fight-or-flight instincts to reach a conclusion. In the space of a breath, she'd turned around, discarded the basket half-filled with mushrooms, and taken off into the dense woods. She was moving significantly faster than she'd dared before, panic making her reckless, but as she stumbled over a tree-root and rolled back to her feet, she tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that the dense undergrowth would slow down her pursuer even more. For he WAS pursuing, as she'd known he would - she could hear him crashing through the bushes that edged the animal-trail, even now.

On any kind of open ground, he would've been on her in seconds, of course. But there were obvious reasons you didn't usually encounter centaurs in woodlands - why this particular one was here, now, she could not fathom. She dared a glance over her shoulder as she zig-zagged between several slender saplings, and felt her already-pounding heart speed up further. She had less of a lead than expected - a centaur though he was, he was also a rather lean and wiry specimen, and his slim body and legs were more capable of squeezing between the trees than she had hoped. No wonder she'd mistaken him for a stag in the shadows... he was just about built like one.

Her panting breath seemed to echo in the forest, and her ankles were already beginning to ache from the pressure she was putting on them, particularly the many rapid changes of direction. She'd been walking for hours, lost in thought, and wasn't in the greatest shape to begin with. Meanwhile, the centaur behind her could probably keep HIS pace up for days if he had to. She'd hoped to put enough distance between them to disappear into the forest, but his unexpected agility had broken that mostly-instinctive strategy in halves. At this rate, it was only a matter of time - and not even a great deal of it - before she took a bad fall or just ran out of steam and he caught up with her.

A copse of oak-trees stood ahead, thick and magnificent even amongst the other trees, the flickering moonlight shadows turning them into stoic giants. Seeing them, she made a quick decision. If she couldn't outrun him long enough to vanish into the undergrowth, her best hope was to make him THINK she had. Willing herself to pick up the pace - and knowing that she wouldn't be able to keep it up for more than a couple of minutes - she sped towards one corner of the small copse. Darting around the edge of it, she knew she was momentarily out of her pursuer's sight - now, all that was left was to call upon the memories of certain youthful adventures involving an apple-orchard that had neighboured her childhood home, and dart up the broad branches to hide amongst the broad leaves of the oak's crown.

Seating herself in the crook of a thick branch near the top, trying to make herself small amongst the leaves, she desperately tried to quiet her rapid breathing, muffling it with her dress. As she heard the crashing sound of her pursuer getting closer, everything she'd ever heard about his equine kin rushed through her mind. She'd never actually SEEN a centaur before, of course - they supposedly lived in large numbers on the plains to the south, but didn't exactly mingle with humans much... at least not peacefully. They were infamous and feared as raiders, bandits and slavers - attacking merchant caravans on the roads, or raiding poorly-defended villages. They'd steal anything of value, drag off farm-animals, and seemed to place particular value on human women... for reasons that were speculated upon rather luridly in many places.

Or they used to, anyway. Most of the stories she'd heard were from when her mother was young. Since then, the kingdom had fortified and garrisoned all the villages along the southern borders, built several fortresses in strategical places, and started providing military escorts for caravans moving near the edge of the plains. There had even been talk of building a wall along the entire border, but the idea had ultimately been discarded as expensive and impractical. As it were, there was no way any centaur raiding-force large enough to cause any real trouble could make it past the defences on the border unnoticed... though, obviously, a single centaur, moving stealthily, could. But what was he doing here? Even the constabulary of the village would be able to deal with a single, solitary centaur. Was he scouting? Or just hoping for some foolish woman to be caught out in the forest, alone, by night?

Her rambling thoughts ground to a sudden halt as the centaur bounded around the corner of the copse and skidded to a halt. He walked slowly forwards, looking around, obviously trying to spot his fleeing prey - but blessedly didn't seem to think of looking up. Now that she was getting a good look at him - without all the running and whatnot - she could tell his slim physique was due mainly to his youth. A colt by equine standards, there was barely a fuzz visible on his chin. He was looking downright skittish as he searched around - perhaps fearing that she'd gotten away from him and made a beeline for the village constabulary. No doubt, if she HAD done that, it would have been a matter of time before every able-bodied man in the village was descending on the forest wielding torches and pitchforks, with the constable's trusty old crossbow at the vanguard. Hopefully, he'd realize that and soon decide that waiting around wasn't worth the risk...

She could hear him cursing under his breath, his voice carrying easily in the still of the night. "Dammit... after getting this far... just my luck... no way I'll be able to steal a mare now... maybe try the next village over? No, no, word will get around before tomorrow night; they'll be on the lookout... dammit, dammit!" She almost felt sorry for him - he had all the hallmarks of a young man out of his depth, starting to realize that he'd bitten off more than he could chew. He wasn't a man, though, she had to remind herself - he was a centaur, member of a singularly ruthless and violent race who preyed on the helpless and the innocent! And by the sound of it, he had been sneaking towards her village with horse-theft in mind - a hanging-offence even for humans, seeing as horses frequently represented the livelihood of their owners.

Minutes snailed by. The centaur seemed to be searching for tracks, but though she probably HAD left some rather deep footprints in the ground (which was still soft from the day's rain), the dim moonlight and his own inability to bend down far enough to get a good look - combined with the fact that he'd trampled across said footprints himself upon turning the corner - clearly rendered the task hopeless. However, now that the two of them weren't noisily crashing through the forest anymore, the 'silence of the night' began to fade, as the nocturnal critters and birds came out of hiding. Squawks, buzzing and chittering seemed to resound from every other branch or bush. Including the one she was sitting on.

A small squirrel emerged from a knot-hole in the branch, spotted her, and leaped away in a panic, shrieking loudly so as to warn its fellows about the large intruder in their treetop kingdom. This primal warning-noise made the centaur instinctively look up, and for the second time that night, she found herself looking directly into his eyes. They were, she noticed, a deep, hazelnut brown, and wide with surprise. She didn't move. There was nowhere to run TO. Although... it wasn't as if the centaur could climb up after her, was it? Perhaps she could just wait him out. Chances were her husband would be worried about her already - soon, he'd be searching for her, maybe rustling up some of the neighbours to help... so if she could just hold out for a bit...

That faint hope was dashed when the centaur pulled a compact recurved bow from a leather holster by his equine hip, and lifted it - along with a nasty-looking arrow - to aim up at her. "Come down quietly. Please." He said in a clipped, somewhat-strained tone. "My aim isn't good enough for me to be confident in shooting you down without killing you." Shuddering at that matter-of-factly statement, she reluctantly obeyed, climbing carefully down from the tree. As soon as she was on the ground, the centaur put his bow and arrow back in their holster and quiver, and - after a moment's hesitation - pulled a length of rope out of a pouch hanging from his other hip. She looked around desperately, hoping to see the flicker of torchlight between the trees, hear voices shouting her name as they searched, but the forest remained dark and quiet as her hands and feet were bound together. She considered screaming out for help, but if none was near, doing so would only draw the centaur's ire... so she remained silent, biting her lips as she was hefted across the centaur's back like a sack of potatoes.

She remembered little of the trip out of the forest. Dark trees whizzing past as the centaur made his way out just as agilely as he had pursued her, twigs and leaves whipping across her hair or her feet as they narrowly avoided this or that plant... though, less of that once they hit the animal-trail where they had first met, and he turned to follow it away from the village. Then they were out from under the trees, the meadows beyond drenched in silvery moonlight, and the pace quickened. On the open roads - empty, of course, at this time of night - the speed of the centaur really came into its own, and the ground flew past beneath her at a sickening pace. For the moment, she was grateful for the rope tying her to the centaur's saddlebags and holding her in place - without it, she would've gone flying off, and likely come to a bad end.

For hours, he galloped like that. Then they were back in a forest - a denser, older one than the woods she was familiar with back home. He moved slowly, carefully, stepping around twigs and branches as he made his way between thick tree-trunks and broad bushes. Now that the galloping wasn't throwing her around anymore, the swaying of his back became somewhat hypnotic. It was late at night, by then - past midnight, probably - and the combination of exercise, fear and stress she'd undergone had tired her out tremendously. Thus, as she was slowly carried through the forest, almost in spite of herself, she fell asleep...

Her rest was rudely interrupted when she slipped from the centaur's swaying back, down into the cushioning embrace of a patch of tall grass. Momentarily confused, she blinked against the light and tried to get her bearings. Based on the angle of the sun, it was late morning - an assessment backed up by her stiff muscles. She must have slept for hours wrapped around the centaur´s back - how far had they come in that time? Certainly, her surroundings were anything but familiar... but at the same time, not unpleasant. The soft grass she was currently reclining in was growing on the shores of a small pond, fed by a tiny spring that was emerging from a crack in a pile of rocks too small to even be called a hill. A scattering of bushes and flowers clustered around the little oasis, along with numerous tall, slender, obviously-unclimbable trees. They were closely enough spaced to form a semi-solid wall, and though she could peer between them to see a vast plain stretch towards the horizon, she doubted that anyone out there would be able to spot her - or her 'host'.

Those plains - however featureless and unassuming - made her blood run cold. These had to be the Great Plains that the centaurs called home. No humans ventured there voluntarily - even the most well-defended caravans preferred to skirt the centaurs' territory. Out there, there was nowhere to hide - and no-one could outrun the centaur marauders. Even the hardiest warriors would be worn down by repeated hit-and-run attacks and ambushes. For her, that meant there was no rescue coming, even if anyone back home somehow figured out what had happened to her - nor was there any real chance of escape.

Hesitantly, she turned her eyes towards her captor. He wasn't paying much attention to her at the moment - though, considering the situation she'd just realized she was in; perhaps he had no reason to. He was kneeling in the midst of a small, semi-permanent campsite next to the pond, feeding a small bonfire while turning a piece of meat on a spit above it. The smell was mouth-watering. She rarely got to eat meat - being farmers in a farming-village meant that you mostly made do with vegetables. Animals were mostly useful for milk, eggs, wool and so on - and when you DID produce a meat-animal, it was usually necessary to sell it to provide money for repairs or other necessities. Trying to ignore the vague rumblings of a stomach suddenly reminded that it hadn't had dinner last night, she focused on the rest of the campsite. A mat of woven grass had been propped up by a branch to provide a barely centaur-sized shelter from inclement weather, and smooth rocks encircled the fireplace to keep it safely contained. A number of leather pouches were carelessly stacked next to the shelter, along with a quiver and bow. All the stuff he'd been carrying the night before, basically. Briefly, she toyed with the idea of trying to make a grab for the bow and arrows... but she'd never been taught how to use one (being a woman and all) and from what she gathered, it wasn't that easy.

Something niggled at the back of her mind. What WAS this place, exactly? Everything she'd heard suggested that centaurs lived in larger herds, but there was no room here for more than one, maybe two centaurs. On the other hand, it looked a bit too fancy to be just a place to rest and eat before moving on to the true destination. The grass-mat was brown - it hadn't been made the previous night, and he certainly hadn't been carrying it on him. Clearly, he'd embarked on his infiltration-mission from here, and then... returned, with her in tow. Well, on one hand, it could only be a good thing that he didn't seem inclined to drag her back to a full Centaur herd, considering the kind of fate that would have awaited her there... but then, what WAS he planning?

Worries and speculations ricocheted around her mind as the minutes snailed by, and the centaur calmly kept working on his presumed breakfast. Finally, he lifted the spit from above the flickering campfire and sniffed at it, then began to blow on the flame-grilled surface as he prepared to take the first bite. She couldn't help staring as he started to eat, meat-juices dribbling down his chin, and her stomach rumbled loudly enough to draw his attention. Glancing in her direction, he shrugged and - with the chunk of roasted meat still clamped between his teeth - pulled out another roasting-spit from a nearby pack, along with some smallish pieces of vegetable and meat. Soon, a skewer was spinning over the fire, with meaty chunks - smaller and less choice than what he was chewing on, but still juicy - interspersed with veggies. By the time both were browned and warmed through, he had finished his own breakfast, and brought the spit over to her. Then, after a moment's narrow-eyed hesitation, he pulled out a knife and cut the rope holding her hands together. "Eat" he simply said, holding out the skewer.

Gratefully, she chowed down, eating the succulent, fresh-roast meat with relish despite the situation. As she ate, however, she could not help but notice the centaur looking at her in a sort of... assessing way. The tension ratcheted steadily upwards until she swallowed the last bite of the juicy meat-skewer and slowly lowered the spit. Then, summoning up all the courage she could, she raised her head and looked her captor in the eye, asking the inevitable question. "What do you want with me?" To her surprise, the young centaur barked out a laugh. "You're seriously asking that?" he replied, shaking his head and taking a step back. "Come, now. I find it hard to believe you haven't heard the stories. Centaur marauders raiding townships and caravans, dragging whatever women they can catch home to their herdlands and using them for sex-slaves? It's too good a story not to be whispered in every tavern from here to the Northern Mountains."

She shuddered involuntarily. It was certainly true, she had heard those stories, same as anyone else, but... "Maybe I have - but I don't see any herds here. Just a campsite fit for one." She was surprised she had the capacity to be that snarky, considering her circumstances, but... she finally felt on something resembling familiar ground. The centaur was TALKING to her, now. With more than clipped commands or one-word orders, even. She'd always been a social and empathic person, and had held the belief that if you just took the time to really talk to someone, you'd be able to understand them. If she could establish a rapport with her captor, maybe she could talk her way out of trouble...

Her words certainly had an impact, taking the laugh right out of him, and instead he sighed with a trace of melancholy. "Yeah. You're right about that. But the thing about herds is that they are, by their very nature, hierarchical. Someone's gotta be at the top, gotta be the big Alpha Stallion, and he has to pick on others to demonstrate how big and tough he is... and THEY then gotta pick on others who are smaller than they are to remind themselves that even if they aren't on the top, at least they aren't on the bottom, either. And so it goes, all the way down, until you reach someone who's maybe a bit skinny, and not terribly good at archery, or... has some other reason to be singled out negatively. Someone _everyone_gets to pick on. Until, perhaps, he decides that running with a herd isn't all it's cracked up to be. You follow?"

She nodded. She DID follow. Pecking-orders wasn't something anyone could go through life without being familiar with - whether it was the men bragging about strength and virility over foaming mugs of beer in the tavern, or their wives sniping at anyone wearing unfashionable clothes on market-day. It was a part of life. It was unpleasant enough to be at the bottom of the hierarchies she was familiar with - and she could easily imagine that it would be far worse in a society as ruthlessly martial as the Centaurs´ was known to be. "So you set off on your own. To live by yourself. I can understand that. But that doesn't answer my original question..." He snorted, throwing his head around in a surprisingly equine way. "Now you're just being deliberately blind. There's no way you don't get the implications. Yeah, I skipped out, set up camp by myself, but after a while, I started missing some of those advantages of being part of the herd, you know? Like access to the communal Colt's Hall, and the pliable breeders held there."

Her blood ran cold at that offhanded remark, and her voice was equally chilled when she replied. "Women, you mean. Prisoners. Slaves." To her surprise, however, he shook his head again with an angry bark of laughter. "Hah! Not likely. To even have a chance of getting a whiff of the captive women, you need to be a high-ranking warrior, or shaman, or whatever. Didn't you hear what I just said about hierarchy? Even if you happen to be the one who catches a human woman during a raid, it makes no difference - the Herd raids, and the Herd decides the disposition of the captives. And anyway, we don't catch that many women in the first place - and they don't usually last very long once we have them. The big stallions tend to wreck them pretty quick. They do it deliberately, I think, so they can brag about their virility and strength. So the rest of us have to make do."

She blinked, confused. "Make do... make do with what?" He shrugged, looking just a bit ashamed. "Well... with mares. We grab them when we raid, same as human women. It tends not to start as many stories, though, for some reason. They're the right size and shape, and as long as they're well fed, they don't complain much about being mated outside their heat-cycle." He grinned, suddenly. "That was why I snuck into human lands, actually. I was hoping to steal a mare from some outlying farm. Wasn't expecting to run into a pretty girl like you alone in the woods at night. What were you DOING out there at that hour, anyway?" "Well... gathering mushrooms..." she replied, somewhat lamely, while a strangely detached part of her mind giggled coquettishly somewhere in the back. He thought she was pretty! It had been entirely too many years since anyone had called her that. Or 'girl', for that matter.

His mirthful laugh was predictable and she restrained herself from making a waspish reply. He had a point, after all - letting her mind wander out in the forest and losing track of time like that HAD been extraordinarily stupid. "Why all the kidnapping and horse-stealing, anyway?" She asked, once his chuckles had faded. "Why can't you just find a nice Centaur-mare to settle down with?" He looked at her with a lifted-eyebrow and a how-stupid-are-you-really look, before replying. "Well... because there's maybe one mare to every ten stallions. And they're only in heat a month and a half out of the year. Guess who gets to amuse themselves with them at that point. Hint: Recall my earlier speech about 'hierarchy'."

Her mouth opened and closed twice before she found suitable words. "...ah. I did not know that. Just figured you didn't see centaur-mares around 'cuz they stayed home while the men went raiding. One to TEN? That's ridiculous!" He just shrugged, turning away from her to look out across the little pond. "It is how it is. I guess it made sense, back in ancient times. The stallions used to fight to the death for mating-rights. The strongest survived. Probably made us stronger as a species. Then we started getting clever, forming a society... stopped killing each other in favour of killing other species. And that's how you get left with a whole lot of sexually-frustrated colts and stallions who need something to do with their energy." He laughed again, looking over his shoulder at her with a strangely-attractive twinkle of humour in his eyes. "And hey, unlike you humans, it's not like we can really... take care of business ourselves."

She couldn't help but laugh along at the mental image of a Centaur attempting to masturbate. This young man... or, at least the upper half of one - was far from the image of the bloodthirsty, sex-crazed raiders she'd heard of in stories about Centaurs. He had a wry sense of humour, he thought she was pretty, and he was... not unattractive, himself. Clearly younger than her, but his bare chest and arms were muscular, yet sleek. His movements displayed a wiry sort of strength... well, again, the movements of his upper half. His horse-half, she had to quickly remind herself, probably outmassed her entire body by a factor of three, and had the strength to carry her through the night without slowing. Considering his apparent plans for her, and what he'd said earlier about stallions 'wrecking' captive women with their sheer size, that strength ought to terrify her. And yet, despite the fact that he'd kidnapped her and smuggled her to a foreign, barbaric land with designs on her (somewhat worn) virtue, she found it difficult to dislike him. After all... at least it didn't seem likely she'd be bored again anytime soon, and wasn't that what she'd been complaining about just yesterday?

Giving herself a mental shake, she scowled at her own pliability. This wasn't an adventure, this was a kidnapping. Forcing herself to put some ice into her voice, she finally replied. "That's all well and good, but it hardly changes the facts from my perspective... you've kidnapped me, and clearly intend to rape me on a regular basis." She was a bit surprised that he didn't wince at her tone - she'd halfway expected him to. Instead, he just shrugged and turned back towards her. "I suppose that's true. But you seem like a reasonable person, so I'm hoping we can avoid most of the... unpleasantness normally associated with that word. And unlike the guys back in the herdlands, I'm not going to make your stay here any more painful than it has to be." Hearing this, she snorted dismissively and waved towards his equine hindquarters. "That's not much of a comfort, considering just what is covered under that 'has to be'. I may not be the most worldly of women, but I grew up around farms. I know what horses are packing in that department."

This, surprisingly, produced a slight wince from her captor, followed by a sigh. "Don't borrow trouble, woman. I think you may find it... less unpleasant than you're assuming." A sneaking suspicion was forming in her mind, now - aided by something he'd said earlier, or rather, NOT said. But first... "Don't call me 'woman'... I've got a name, you know. Edythe." He nodded, apparently grateful for the change of subjects. "Edythe..." he seemed to taste the word. "Sounds strange to me, but it has a nice ring to it. I'm Mávros. Mávros Drákontas. At your service, so to speak." She nodded, and was about to make a comment about how strange that sounded to her ears, but he continued before she had the chance. "And now that you've had breakfast and the introductions are out of the way... it's time we got on with it. It's been... a rather long time for me, you know."

Edythe froze up as Mávros trotted towards her. Despite the contents of the preceding conversation, it still hadn't really sunk in on the emotional level. As polite and pleasant as this centaur seemed to be, he wanted to have sex with her. In fact, he seemed rather determined about it. Insistent, even. And resisting would clearly just make the experience more painful... he certainly had the strength to force her, one way or another. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she found a strange sensation of mixed familiarity and surprise flutter in her chest. It was the smell, she realized as he drew closer. That strange mix of fresh young-man sweat and animal musk. She must have breathed in a lot of it as she slept, lying across his back, even if her conscious mind hadn't had a chance to familiarize itself with it until now.

She'd always been scent-focused. While cooking, she usually checked every ingredient by smell, sorting out anything that was going off and determining how much of a spice or herb was needed to balance a dish by that alone - her husband sometimes joking that she could've cooked just as well blindfolded. When their son had been younger, she'd often found him by smell alone when he'd crawled off and hidden himself in some nook or cranny of the farmhouse. For that matter, part of the reason she'd picked her husband was his smell - an earthy scent of hard-earned sweat. Back when they were younger, she'd often slept snuggled up to him, with her nose buried in his armpit, just enjoying the smell of Man.

Now, her sensitive nose was getting familiar with something even more heady - the smell of Man, mixed with the potent, inhuman masculinity of a stallion. Despite her situation, she found the fluttering sensation growing - and spreading. What would he smell like in more... intimate places? The pubic hair was where the most pheromone-laced and intensely masculine sweat tended to accumulate, she recalled... but, horses didn't HAVE pubic hair, did they? Well, they had a sheath instead - maybe that had a similar effect... oh, but what was she thinking? She shouldn't be... oh, but what good was it to fight it? If she didn't have a choice - if she was stuck here anyway, with this amorous centaur - why not make the most of it? Why not enjoy it, if she could?

He was right in front of her now, towering above her as she sat on the grass. She thought she could actually smell his arousal, mixed in with the general musky scent of fresh sweat from his midnight ride. Desires left unfulfilled for Gods knew how long, now finally looking at release... underneath his body, she could see a shadow swaying, and her heartbeat quickened. "Get on all fours." His tone was commanding, if a touch uncertain. One could almost hear the 'please' at the end that he had very deliberately NOT spoken, clearly determined to establish dominance despite his young age. She swallowed, hesitated... and then found her voice. "Please... I need a little longer to prepare myself... can I not... pleasure you in another way? I am quite skilled with my hands and mouth, or so I've been told..."

Mávros looked down at her, apparently mulling it over, uncertain. She wondered if centaurs even knew about oral sex... the mental image of one centaur going down on another was as laughable and anatomically improbable as the idea of them masturbating, and most of their captives wouldn't likely be cooperative enough to suggest it themselves. But, apparently he DID know of it somehow - or maybe he was just intrigued by the suggestion - because he finally nodded and sighed. "All right. I suppose you'll find out soon enough anyway." With that cryptic message, he gestured towards his hindquarters, and - with her legs still tied - she pushed herself up on hands and knees and crawled under his equine body.

There it was, dangling, swaying and bobbing with each beating of his heart. Undeniably equine in shape - rather than the smooth shaft and bulbous glans of a human dick, it was more veiny, with a noticeable radial ring halfway up the shaft, right where the sheath-tissue began. That ring also marked the point where the dark-brown hide of the base started giving way to the fleshy pink of the tip, with speckles and splodges of brown remaining here and there along the shaft. The head wasn't that much different - bell-shaped, with a more marked lower ridge than a human would have, but otherwise rather familiar. Speaking of familiarity, several of Mávros' comments - including his most recent one - now made sense. While certainly horse-like in_shape_, it wasn't really all that stallionesque in terms of... well, scale. It certainly still compared favourably to her husband's - and, for that matter, every other young man she'd dallied with in her flighty youth. But hanging under that massive horse-body, it looked obviously undersized. In a species that did not wear trousers, that seemed like a recipe for lots of bullying and humiliation...

As she crawled closer, her nostrils flared. She'd been right about the sheath, apparently. The smell was... intense, this close. Stallion-musk, man-sweat and aching, unreleased desire, wreathed together into an intoxicating, overpowering miasma. Even trying to breathe through her mouth didn't help - the smell was so strong, she could taste it. It filled her head, reminding her of heady days in years gone by, nights spend in senseless desire with no thought for anything but the fulfilment of pleasure. The centaur-cock seemed to practically vibrate with lust as she drew closer, letting her heated breath caress the smooth surface, admiring the pattern of speckled dark-brown and fleshy pink.

She wasn't even conscious of the way she'd closed the distance, how her nose had come to rest directly against the smooth, pink tissue of the heavily-edged head, breathing in the smell of his arousal. Arousal for her! When was the last time she had been so desired? That a man - be he ever so quadruped - had gone so far just to bed her? The fluttering sensation in her chest had finished its downwards journey, now, and she could feel her labia begin to swell as her own arousal made itself known. Distracted by the potent scent and the tingling in her groin, she barely even notice when her tongue - apparently of its own accord - flicked out to caress the dangling rod before her.

The taste of salty sweat and bitter pre-cum hit her taste-buds like a bolt of lightning, sending a shudder of reminiscence through her body. She hadn't been lying earlier about her skills - though they were, admittedly, a tad rusty. During her wild, younger days, she'd driven more than one young man to distraction with her oral skills, and found that she enjoyed it almost as much as they did - the feeling of their erect members against her tongue, the taste of their juices, the feeling that she was having such an intense and often loud effect on such a big, strong man with nothing more than a flick of her tiny, agile tongue... plus, of course, an excuse to bury her nose in the fragrant bush of their pubic hair. But of course, her husband no longer allowed anything not designed to produce children to take place in their marital bed, these days - any mention of the things they'd gotten up to during his courtship dismissed with a blush-concealing gesture and an embarrassed mumble about how he'd been young and foolish.

Now it was all coming back, though - with interest. Even the first feather-light caress of her tongue was making Mávros' powerful, equine hind-legs shake, while his massive body loomed above her. A thrill went through her, mixing with a rising desire that, after going so long unreleased, was surging like a massive tide inside her. So what if the situation was seven shades of messed up? So what if the dick she was staring at was attached to an inhuman centaur? The lust she had been bottling up for over a decade, practically since her son had been born, and which had begun to ferment as her husband attempted to get her pregnant again with a complete lack of passion and imagination, was all boiling out now. A big, strong, virile male was in front of her now, and he wanted her. Wanted to fuck her. Not to impregnate her, wed her, or turn her into yet another run-of-the-mill housewife. Sheer, animalistic biological imperative propelled him, made his cock vibrate under his belly like a steel rod... reaching for her. She couldn't resist. She didn't WANT to resist. She wanted this just as much as he did, even if she'd only just realized it.

Leaning forwards, she engulfed the bell-shaped head in her mouth. It strained her jaws, but not by much - her teeth barely scraping across the rough edge that separated the head from the shaft. It filled her mouth, pulsating gently, letting her feel the forceful beating of his pulse through her tongue as she began to caress it in earnest. Normally, she would've pushed farther, letting the head into her throat, letting her tongue wash the smooth shaft, and getting her nose closer to that oh-so-manly-smelling bush at the base... but, however much the memories welled up in her, this situation was just a bit different. Be it ever so undersized for a grown stallion, his dick was still too thick to fit in her throat, and the length of the shaft would've prevented her nose from getting to the base even if there HAD been a fragrant wad of pubic-hair waiting for her there.

So instead, she tucked her knees under her, and lifted her hands to begin rubbing and tugging at the smooth-yet-veiny shaft, feeling the bump of the radial ring and the subtle change in texture beyond it as she let her fingers explore the full length of the tool, all the way back to where the fist-sized pair of testicles dangled behind it. (Those, at least, were fully in scale with his body, and she wondered what that would mean for his... output.) As she felt its thickness and hardness against the soft palms of her hands, she found herself growing equal parts aroused and scared - scareoused, perhaps - at the thought of it finding its way inside her. Small for a centaur, sure, but still bigger than any man she'd ever been with. Thick and long and... that ring around the middle... and the rough edge of the cockhead...

A wetness was building between her legs, at once familiar and strange. She hadn't been wet like that for a long time. Her husband's recent attempts to knock her up had been sufficiently passionless that he had, at times, been forced to fetch some oil from the pantry in order to get things moving smoothly - a fact that neither one of them had ever commented on in the light of day. At least she wouldn't have that problem here, she gathered! Still, she was unsure of whether it would be enough lubrication for this hefty rod... hopefully, Mávros would be gentle, at least the first time. Strangely enough, she found that she wasn't terribly concerned about gentleness much beyond that point...

The thick cock jumped in her hands and suddenly surged forwards, pushing forcefully against the back of her throat and pushing her head backwards for a few seconds before returning to its previous position. It took her a moment to regain her breath - though her hands never stopped their work - and she quickly realized what had happened. Mávros' hind-legs were straining, now, the hooves digging into the slick grass as every instinct in his body told him to use them, to buck and thrust and pound. All considered, he was doing an impressive job controlling those instincts... and that slip-up probably meant that he was getting close.

Far from being deterred, however, she swiftly redoubled her efforts - sucking in her chins to apply pressure to the hopefully-sensitive head, while her hands eagerly milked the length of the shaft behind it. Half-strangled moans drifted down from above, sounding strangely distant to someone who was used to her lover's head being quite a bit closer - but still clearly recognizable for what it was, and eliciting the same thrill for her as it had years ago. His hindquarters jerked again, but this time she was ready, and leaned back to ride the movement, enjoying the feeling of his broad cockhead pushing against her palate as she did so.

He'd barely returned to his previous position, however, before it happened again - and as she once again moved with him, she heard a long, drawn-out groan behind her... even as a thick, salty liquid began to fill her mouth. With the way he was pushing forwards, a lot of it went straight down her throat, but she was already moving with him, and soon the thick, pungent liquid washed over her tongue as well, a thousand times stronger than the faint taste of pre-cum she'd been picking up before. And so much of it! Even though a man's cum could easily cause an impressive mess if one was careless, it ultimately wasn't much more than a spoonful - but Mávros, as she had previously observed, had a full set of stallion-sized balls behind his somewhat undersized cock, and they probably hadn't had a chance to release their payload for quite a while.

She was forced to swallow quickly to keep her mouth from overflowing (a distant part of her brain reminded her to be careful with her dress, seeing as she wasn't likely to get any other clothes to change with anytime soon), and the concentrated distillation of inhuman maleness rapidly filled her gullet, even as the intense smell rose to fill her nasal cavity from the inside, suffusing the sensitive organ and fogging her mind with lust. Sweet juices were soaking through her sensible cotton knickers, now, and running in rivulets down the inside of her thighs, and if it hadn't been for the obstructing mass of her long, thick skirt, her fingers would've found their way down there swiftly.

When the deluge finally stilled, the dangling, dancing balls at the centre of her field of view drained of their pent-up load, she let her cum-coated tongue resume its work, even as more moans resounded above her. The cockhead in her mouth had changed shape somehow - unnoticed while she focused on the taste - with the rough rim pulling forwards and flattening the whole head into an inverted cone-shape, leaving a flat surface at the front that pushed against her cheeks. She'd heard farmers mention 'flares' in relation to horse-breeding before, but had never gotten close enough to the action to really figure out what that meant before - now, though, she knew.

Hungrily, she cleaned the caked-on cum off the flat surface, stopping occasionally to caress the urethra in the centre - which, she noticed, seemed to stick out from the flat just a teeny bit at the top, like a bit of tubing - and sucking the last few drops out of it. Most men would've probably found these post-orgasmic ministrations a bit too much for their sensitized parts, but centaurs seemed to be made of sterner stuff - at the very least, Mávros didn't seem to mind, despite the obvious shaking of his hind-legs as she finished her work.

Finally, she pulled her head back, wincing slightly as she felt her teeth scrape unavoidably across the back of the flared head, even as her lips stretched to an almost painful degree to let it out. It was sparkly-clean, now, utterly coated in her saliva, but not a single spot of cum remained. That was all in her stomach, now, filling it with a pleasant warmth. But while her belly was full, another part of her was achingly, almost painfully empty, and she desperately needed it filled. Even the size of the tool dangling before her was no deterrent anymore - she simply observed with satisfaction that it wasn't softening in the least, still surging with youthful virility. Her rising lust had drowned out all fear and concern, leaving only the arousal that had been percolating inside her since she realized the handsome young centaur's intentions.

Rolling out from under his equine body, she tried to get to her feet, only to stumble as the ropes tied tightly around her ankles, forgotten in the surge of passion, reasserted themselves. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Mávros - his eyes agleam with desire, sweat beading his brow, quickly dance around so that he could reach down and grab the rope, while unsheathing a knife from his belt with the other hand. "This is going to get in the way... nowhere for you to run, anyway..." he mumbled as he quickly sawed through the rough fibres, freeing her legs. Her feet prickled as the blood returned to them, but she barely noticed - the important thing was that her legs had been liberated... so that she might spread them freely and provide easy access to the sopping-wet cavern between them.

The dress was in the way too, but even as she got to her feet to pull it off, she found herself hesitating for the first time since the sordid scene began. Not because she'd suddenly become uncertain about whether she wanted to continue - she just desperately did - but now, her desires were warring with something far more potent than mere cultural norms; her own self-image. Sure, once, years ago, she'd had the kind of youthful hourglass-shape that made all the village boys wolf-whistle and look at her with desirous eyes, but that was over a decade - and one body-wrecking childbirth - ago. Her curves were a lot more generous these days. Nobody, her husband included, had looked at her with desirous eyes for all too many years. Thus, uncertainty laced with self-doubt froze her hands, stopping her from showing her naked body, somehow feeling subconsciously certain that this sight - child-bearing hips, stretch-marks, untrimmed body-hair and all - would kill the desire she was sensing from Mávros.

It felt like an eternity, but she probably only stood like that for a second and a half. Then Mávros took the problem out of her hands. His powerful hands, calloused from years of bow-practice, reached down to grab the coarse fabric of her sensible farmer's-wife dress. "Here, let me help you with that..." he remarked, in a slightly breathless fashion that spoke loudly of impatience to get on with it. As he pulled it up, she could only lift her arms and let him do what she hadn't been able to do herself, quailing inwards as she felt the balmy air caress suddenly-naked flesh.

Not that she was entirely naked even then, though. The simple strip of undyed cotton wrapped around her chest to support her breasts, however, didn't last long - without the dress to keep it together, it easily unwound under Mávros dextrous hands - making her dimly realize that the sight of her largely-undressed body seemed to be entirely failing to distress him. As the long strip of off-white fabric fluttered away on the breeze, his hands fell next to her sensible, equally-undyed knickers, which he gave a few experimental tugs. She was about to pull herself out of her daze and lift a leg to step out of them, when he grumbled hoarsely, close to her ear as he bent over her from behind. "Silly things. You don't need them. Not anymore." She froze anew when she heard the whispering sound of his knife leaving its sheath. A second later, the thick cotton of her knickers was cut apart in several places, and the broken fragments fluttered to the ground... except for the groin-part, which - being utterly soaked with her juices - clung wetly to the inside of her right thigh.

Now utterly naked at last, she felt her breath catch in her throat as Mávros hands roamed across her body, exploring it with every sign of relish. Cupping her smallish tits - each no more than a handful - caressing the curve of her overgenerous hips, even running his fingers through the thick bush growing unkempt on her venus mons. "Marvellous..." she could hear him whisper, and shivered. "A human woman. So... strange, yet erotic. And mine. All... mine." At this, the shiver became a full-bodied shudder, not of repulsion but of sudden, surging desire, and she found herself unconsciously leaning back against him. She could feel his non-human nature against her back - the way the smooth skin of his lower chest shifted to the coarse hide of the horse beneath. But if he so happily accepted her despite her flaws... she could hardly hold such details against him in turn, could she?

His voice seemed to grow deeper as his masculine hormones rose to dominate his body. "I don't think your arms or legs are strong enough to support you once I get going... but that boulder you were resting against before is about the right height. Go bend over it." The timbre of command still had a certain undertone of uncertainty, but it was fast disappearing. It seemed like having a woman at his disposal had brought forth hitherto-unseen reserves of confidence in the runt of the Centaur-herd. Shivering again as his dominant demeanour triggered a fresh surge of lubrication between her legs, she nodded and reluctantly pushed herself away from him to stumble towards the boulder, no more than a couple of steps away. She'd always liked it when the guy took charge, back in the day - mostly because of the self-confidence and assertiveness it demonstrated, but also because she found a certain illicit pleasure in being obedient. Not out of need or out of fear, but out of choice. And while the current situation arguably fell into the 'no choice' category, it didn't feel that way.

Probably because it wasn't that way, she thought privately as she carefully bent herself over the smallish boulder, wincing slightly as her sensitive, pebble-hard nipples came into contact with the cool, smooth surface. Sure, Mávros could have forced himself on her bodily if he'd wanted to, and could even have forced her into cooperating with his desire with the threat of knife and fist... but he hadn't really done either. Mainly, perhaps, because he hadn't NEEDED to. Because in the end, he was everything she'd secretly been wishing for while plodding around in the forest the previous evening, sighing and moaning like a sorry excuse for a ghost: An escape from a life that had increasingly become one of dreary drudgery. A passionate, intense and virile lover, who could sweep her off her feet and make her whole body throb with desire, the way her husband had done 15 years ago, and never since. And he was handsome too, at least his upper half... which was a nice bonus.

The sound of hooves on grass behind her made her heart-rate climb. Then his hands moved caressingly across her buttocks, hips, thighs... and beneath. He could no-doubt feel her abundant wetness, and chuckled with satisfaction. "Maybe this will be easier than I thought..." she heard him mumble, seemingly to himself. Then she groaned as several fingers pushed open her labia. She wasn't sure how many - probably more than two, though. Three or four, likely. Not enough to really stretch her - she'd given birth once, after all - but once those fingers moved apart, straining against her inner labia, she did feel a slight sting - and began to worry, somewhere underneath the growing pleasure of the deft stimulation, about what would come next.

Then the fingers disappeared, and she heard a grunt of effort as a broad shadow covered her. Two sturdy forelegs landed heavily in front of her, the descending hooves missing her shoulders by little more than an inch, and above her she could feel the heat radiating from the horse-body, its coarse underbelly barely short of touching her back. More importantly, she felt something prodding between her legs, seeking, sliding across juice-slickened flesh. The head felt rounded again - apparently, the flared tip had gone back to its previous shape during the intermission. That would make things easier, hopefully... assuming Mávros could find his mark.

What felt like several minutes - but was probably no more than ten seconds - passed, interrupted by the occasional frustrated grunt from above. She, too, produced a few little mewling noises, particularly when she felt the domed cockhead slide across her labia and clit, only to continue instead of finding its way inside. It wasn't really surprising, perhaps - he obviously wasn't terribly experienced in the first place, and from what he'd said before, this was his first time with a human woman. And she had seen enough mares to realize that several things would be in different, harder-to-reach places, compared to his prior experiences. Those justifications, however, were scant comfort next to how much she needed to feel him inside of her.

With a final, impatient groan, she shifted her body, lifting one thigh from the smooth stone, and reaching her arm through the gap, her hand waving around until it caught a smooth, slender rod. Then, with exquisite care, she guided him forwards - well, pulled him forwards, really - while simultaneously lifting her groin to provide a better angle of entry. A sharp intake of breath above indicated his surprise, but he still followed along, his hooves skidding across the slick grass as he adjusted his position in accordance with her guiding hand. Then, finally, he hit bullseye, her labia spreading in eager welcome as the coarse edge of his cockhead scraped across them.

She moaned uncontrollably as she felt it slide inside. The cockhead's rim was like a beacon, standing out from the surrounding sensation, giving her a clear feeling of how deep he was going. Behind it, the smooth-yet-veiny surface of the shaft followed, caressing the inner walls of her sex-starved pussy. It was... big. She'd known that intellectually before, but looking at it, it had been hard to see past how undersized it was for the burly frame of a centaur. Now that she had it inside her, she could fully appreciate how big it was by any objective standard - and certainly by her own, subjective standard as shaped by previous, human lovers. Never mind her husband, who was all she'd had to make do with for many, many years. He hadn't been the best-equipped of the young men who'd once courted her, either - it was his inner fire, now sadly doused, that had attracted her to him, rather than any shallow, physical traits.

Still, it fit. Maybe thanks to the stretching her son had given her on the way out, maybe just because the human pussy was an impressively flexible apparatus to begin with, it fit. Her labia strained under the girth, but the slight sting only added spice to the heaping helping of pleasure that was filling her mind as Mávros filled her up. He kept going, too, until his rounded cockhead slipped past her womb to rest in the small hollow beyond - a clever part of genital-design made to prevent the cervix from bearing the full brunt of incoming thrusts, for which she was currently quite grateful, considering the sheer, muscular mass of her lover. Of course, in this case, it just meant that the rough, rippled ring of his head's lower edge rubbed across the hypersensitive mouth of her womb instead, sending flashes of unfamiliar (but not unpleasant) sensations through her.

She was quite amazed at how much raw horsemeat she currently contained. The radial ring she'd noticed earlier had slipped inside with barely a twinge, and the first couple of inches of her cunt were currently wrapped around the marginally-rougher skin of his sheath-fabric. It was deeper than he'd have been able to go with a mare - be she animal or centaur - due to the differences in anatomy, and it showed... both in the way he now had her caught between his coarse-haired belly and the boulder beneath, his warm mass resting lightly on her spine, and in the way his rapid breath signalled his own rising pleasure.

Behind her, she could hear his hooves shifting subtly, finding their spots and digging into the grass and the soft ground beneath, and in front of her, she could see his forelegs doing the same. Despite her general unfamiliarity with her present situation, she found that she could guess the purpose thereof. He'd gauged how deeply he could go without hurting her, and now he was adjusting his body so that his strokes would match that - using every last inch of her pussy, but not pushing beyond that. Sure enough, once he'd settled himself, his massive hindquarters shifted, and as his legs straightened, he pulled back. She gasped as the smooth shaft - and the less-than-smooth cockhead - slid through the well-lubricated tunnel, and marvelled at the sheer stroke-length his inhuman physique made possible. Little more than the head remained inside when he stopped, paused for a split second, and then thrust forwards again. Based on that, she speculated that he probably had to hold back a bit to avoid slipping out altogether when he'd been with more horse-shaped lovers, considering that he wouldn't have been able to go past the radial ring on his way inside, then... and that was the last coherent thought she had for a while.

The sensation was indescribable. The first time, he'd been slowly sliding forwards to gauge how much she could take, how deep he could go. Now he knew, so he didn't need to hold back anymore... and considering how lust-addled he had to be, it was frankly amazing he'd managed to hold himself back for as long as he had. So now, he was letting his instincts reign, and fucking her with his full, inhuman power. The mass of a young stallion, powered by muscles trained through a life spent dashing across the endless plains, pounded her with the force of a winter storm. Every square inch of her filled-to-the-limit cunt was being stimulated - it was too rough, now, to speak of caresses. After so many years of brief, dispassionate, unsatisfying sex, and having to occasionally satisfy her own desires when she could sneak away for a few minutes, she was finally getting truly and properly fucked.

Grunts, moans, thumps and squishing sounds filled the clearing as Mávros and Edythe rutted against one another. Far from being a passive recipient, Edythe was eagerly participating, now that the rising pleasure had wiped away the last shreds of self-consciousness. She'd found a convenient handhold in Mávros' sturdy front legs, and was now rhythmically flexing her hips to match the centaur's swift-yet-powerful thrusts, maximizing the friction and impacts which were sending such delicious sensations through her body. She'd cum within the first couple of strokes, with the resulting tightening of her already-packed pussy only spurring Mávros on, and was already fast on her way to a second. He, meanwhile, would probably have blown his wad already if he hadn't just emptied his balls down her throat a few minutes ago...

Still, everything had its limits, especially when her second orgasm squeezed him tightly as a vice - and a few minutes later, just as she was climbing towards her THIRD climax, he reached his. His huge, heavy balls surged, and a spray of thick, hot spunk blasted down the length of his cock to emerge forcefully from the tip, filling up what little space remained in the tautly-stretched orifice. This shortness of space and resultant build-up of pressure caused a fair amount to spray directly into her womb despite the awkward angle, while more flowed all the way back along the shaft, lathering it in further lubrication, before squirting out around the edges of her labia. Simultaneously, his head flared again, its shape altering as the tip widened into a nearly flat surface which would probably have helped create a firm seal for his cum... in a woman with a slightly more equine physiology.

The flared head was far from wasted, though... it certainly created a whole new experience and a novel set of sensations in Edythe when he started moving again, still hard despite having cum twice. Sexual frustration pent up over the months since he left the Herdlands, and arguably for years before then as he had to make do with worn-out old mares for regular release, which didn't lend itself well to his small-for-a-centaur size. In a way, this was the first time he was PROPERLY having sex, and he seemed determined to squeeze years worth of fucking into a single morning. Edythe, being in nearly the same position, would probably have had no complaints, even if she'd been in any state to form coherent thoughts, let alone express them.

Nearly an hour later, Mávros finally ran out of steam. Even the virility of youth, combined with months of deprivation, could only take a centaur so far. For that matter, even if his dick had still been up to the task, the rest of his body was shaking and sweat-stained - he'd run through the night, and the day before, sneaking into human lands and back out again. Centaurs have incredible stamina... but that, too, had limits. Now, he stumbled backwards, stepping around the boulder rather than dramatically jumping over it, as his rapidly-softening member slid back out of the cum-caked hole it had spent so long pounding, a deluge of cum following in its wake. It splashed into the sizeable puddle that had already formed beneath them with a slimy sound.

Edythe, meanwhile, was nigh-catatonic. She'd long-since lost count of the orgasms, and for the last twenty minutes, every thrust had been more pain than pleasure as it thundered into her over-sensitized, worn-raw pussy. And yet, she'd kept cumming, finding that she somehow enjoyed the pain just as much as she had the pleasure. Even now, her empty pussy was pulsating with pain, its overstretched, overworked tissue still aching after the rough treatment it had endured, and sending little shivers of pleasure through her in the process. Her mind, working lazily in the post-orgasmic glow, slowly mulled over the implications thereof, wondering if there were other kinds of pain that might actually be enjoyable.

She stirred as she heard her name spoken, albeit by a clearly unfamiliar tongue. "Edith... dythe? Whatever... Get up, will ya? You can rest afterwards, but right now, you need to clean off my cock before it pulls back into the sheath. It gets kinda' gross otherwise - can even cause infections." She blinked slowly and, with a groan, pushed herself up and away from the boulder. Her whole body felt stiff, and her legs were shaking underneath her as she struggled to maintain her balance. Turning around, she spotted Mávros standing with his side to her, his cock dangling thick but soft underneath him, dripping wet. It was positively coated in cum, mixed with her own quickly-flowing juices. The same frothy mix filled her pussy and womb - enough so to make her feel full and strained across her stomach - but now that she was standing up, it was gushing out even faster than before, coating the inside of her thighs.

"Clean it... right..." she mumbled, still somewhat dazed, and staggered the necessary couple of steps forwards before dropping to her knees beside him and bending her head to fit under his belly. Eager to taste the bitter tang of his cum again, she grabbed the base of his shaft and began to lick up and down its length, lapping up the messy coating as she went, cleaning him with her saliva. A hungry moan resonated from her busy mouth as she found a huge reservoir behind the crested rim of his head, licking up enough to form a solid mouthful, relishing the strong, earthy flavour before swallowing it. Groans from above indicated that she wasn't the only one enjoying herself either, even if the occasional jerk of movement going through the centaur's shaking hind-legs indicated that his overworked tool was just as hypersensitive as her own, thoroughly fucked-over pussy.

Once she'd finished cleaning the entire surface - in front and behind, top to bottom, including the edges of the radial ring, where she'd found another, smaller reservoir waiting for her - she pulled her head back, half-disappointed, half-relieved that the treatment had failed to stir the equine rod for another round. Looking up, she saw Mávros grinning down at her, his face and hair as sweat-drenched as she figured her own probably was. "VERY nice... I was honestly just expecting you to wipe it down with a handful of grass, but I'm not gonna complain. Oh, and if you want to clean yourself off as well, do it down by the stream - the pond is our drinking-water reserve, so keep it clean, please." He nodded towards the edge of the small watering-hole, opposite the little pile of rocks that the water was trickling from, and she spotted a small stream emerging from the pond, snaking between the surrounding trees and disappearing out into the plains. Nodding tiredly, she pulled herself to her feet again and staggered down there. She was honestly halfway tempted to just settle down for a nap where she was - her night on Mávros back hadn't really been all THAT restful, and she felt like she'd just run several miles, doing cartwheels for half of them. But sleeping for hours with her inner thighs coated with gunk seemed like a good way to get a bad rash, so... time to be at least a little bit sensible.

As she washed off the mixture of cum and pussy-juice with handfuls of stingingly-cold water, then wiped herself down with fresh, green grass, she wondered about her new situation. Sure, she'd left a lot behind, and she'd technically been kidnapped, but... looking at it another way, her secret prayers and desires had been answered in magnificent form. The dreary, ordinary life she'd once seen stretching out in front of her, involving endless days of managing the house and raising a steady succession of kids she'd been knocked up with through passionless, unimaginative, just-for-procreation sex, had dropped away now. Mávros was energetic, fun, straightforward, and practically crackled with passion. He'd gone to great lengths - literally - to 'court' her, albeit in a rather forceful fashion... and the just-ended session had been, by far, the greatest sex she'd EVER had, surpassing even the rose-coloured memories of her adventurous youth.

Spending every day like that... out here, surrounded by nature... having lots and lots of great sex, eating meat roasted over an open fire... well, some veggies WOULD be nice, occasionally. Hopefully, Mávros could hunt some down. Oh, and that little lean-to definitely needed to be expanded. The weather was balmy year-round on the great plains, but it DID rain occasionally, and some nasty storms swept through the place during winter and fall. With such thoughts for the future swirling in her head, she dragged herself away from the stream a bit and settled down for another nap with grass for her pillow, stark-naked under the heavens yet feeling not the least self-conscious.

Edythe looked up from her work as she heard the familiar, swishing sound of a broad, equine body pushing its way through the copse of slender trees surrounding the oasis that had become her home. It was quite ironic, really - the closely-spaced trunks were as solid as prison-bars to her, while Mávros, despite his far larger body, could pass through with little trouble... simply because his sheer mass and strength forced the slender plants to bend out of his way. Mind, it didn't feel much like a prison anymore... it really felt like home. It helped that there was some proper shelter, now. Her sewing-skills had found new purchase here, and despite the primitive tools she was stuck with, she'd managed to turn the hides of the various prey Mávros had brought home into a serviceable and sturdy tent, with patches of moss sewn onto the outside to break out its outline and make it harder to spot through the trees.

The tent had already proven its worth during occasional rain-squalls, and would be a lifesaver when the winter storms began, but for now, the weather was warm and quiet, and she was doing her sewing on the grass by the water's edge. Smiling, she put her work aside and brushed off her dress before getting to her feet. Said dress was far easier to move in than it had once been - most of the skirt and part of the sleeves had been harvested for spare material and used to patch it up, covering fraying areas and tears. It was the only fabric she had available, and she wasn't likely to ever see more. She'd probably have to get used to wearing hides at some point, but for now, she enjoyed the lighter garments of her past.

Walking towards the sound, she soon spotted Mávros emerging from the trees, a dead buck slung over his back and a big smile on his face. Understandable, too. There was enough meat to feed them for far longer than it'd last, fresh, so most of it could be smoked or dried into jerky - good emergency supplies for lean times - it also had a large hide that could be used for all manner of leather-work... and to top it all off, a magnificent antler that could be carved into a variety of tools. That would give him something to do, too - she handled most of the food-related task, and all of the sewing (he was HOPELESS with a needle), but carving and whittling was his speciality - he handled his knife like a master, regardless of the task.

"Great fortune on the hunt, I see!" she exclaimed, mirroring his smile. He grinned broader still, if that was possible and snorted with mock arrogance. "Fortune, my equine arse. SKILL won the day! Tracking and shooting! No mere luck found my arrow to this critter's throat." She laughed and leaned up to kiss his chest - the highest she could reach, if he was standing up straight. "Of course, O mighty hunter. Your peerless skills carried the day, I am sure. Never mind that you're famously awkward with a bow and usually bring down your prey at knife-range." He shrugged, flashing her another gleaming grin as he put a hand on her head, running his fingers through her hair as he often did. "Never mind, indeed! And with that out of the way, this mighty hunter is eager to be welcomed home by his faithful and dedicated servant..."

Her pulse quickened as his smile turned naughty. There was no need for her to reach down and check - her pussy started to gush lubricating juices any time she was even near him, never mind when he started actually fondling her... which he usually did whenever he had her in arm's reach. Even now, one of his hands had found its way down the front of her dress, where it was squeezing and teasing her left tit. The neckline of said dress was quite a bit lower than it used to be - of course, she had taken fabric from that area for vital repairs and not for any indecent reasons, such as allowing him easier access... or anything like that.

She heard the thump as he unburdened himself, the dead buck bonelessly hitting the ground behind him. Then he was bending over her, bringing his head closer to hers even as his hands pulled her closer. His voice, coarse with desire, whispered from above. "Turn around and bend over. I need you." A shudder went through her as his words redoubled her own desires, and she felt the familiar tingle of hot juices running in rivulets down her inner thighs. Then, as soon as his firm, powerful hands relinquished their grip on her, she obeyed.

She'd long-since discovered that Mávros was simply too high off the ground for the basic 'hands and knees' pose to work, as he had suggested the first time. The boulder by the pond's side had served for a while, covered by a fur blanket to soften its edges, but she didn't need it any more. Her arms and legs had grown thick with muscles, and she'd found a pose that worked... ensuring that she was available to him anytime, anywhere. An important detail, considering his seemingly boundless virility and matching desires. He'd never managed to equal their first day in terms of sheer quantity, but still he managed to mount her at least half a dozen times across a normal day... well, not that he literally mounted her every time. He'd taken a bit of a liking to oral sex, too, though he pretended not to - because he knew how much she loved to suck on his fat cock and drink down the resulting deluge of hot jizz. So he'd started phrasing it as a 'reward', letting her go down on him only if she'd been 'good'. She didn't mind playing along. His threshold for 'good girl' status seemed rather low, anyway.

This time, however, she would serve him with her cunt, and with her body trained into fitness by the rough living, she was more than ready to do so. Turning around, she hitched up her short skirt, shaking her arse saucily at Mávros - and enjoying the feeling of his eyes caressing her curves with heated desire - before spreading her legs almost as far as they would go, and bending at the waist to put her palms on the ground. This not only left her arse at the right height, but also slanted her back in a way that pushed her pussy backwards, making it an easier target. It had been pretty hard to maintain that pose for any real length of time at first, but practice made perfect!

She shuddered slightly as she heard him step forwards, and felt his rough hands caress her exposed rear, running across her buttocks and thighs, before finding the dripping-wet hole between them. Questing, searching, they soon found their mark - the tiny, hypersensitive nub of her clit. She knew she was lucky that it was positioned so close to the orifice itself - ensuring that every time he entered her, it was pulled into direct contact with his thick shaft, redoubling the pleasure... or inflicting toe-curlingly delicious pain if he kept going long enough. For now, though, the feeling of his fingers rubbing forcefully across it was pure bliss, and she moaned lightly to let him know her appreciation.

He chuckled in reply. Then his free hand fell on her exposed buttocks with a sharp, fleshy sound, sending a shockwave down through her groin that nearly made her knees buckle. The moan of pleasure that resulted was entirely involuntary, and significantly deeper than the previous one. "So eager and willing... heh heh. If all human women were like you, we wouldn't have to raid, I think. We'd be besieged by volunteers." Another firm slap, followed by a brief caress across the stinging surface. He'd developed a solid spanking-technique over the past few months, after first realizing that this particular 'punishment' was anything but for her. Not only was the experience itself intensely pleasurable for her, but the after-effects - that lingering soreness and heat in her buttocks - also magnified her desire, and the pleasure she took from their other interactions.

More slaps fell, little quick ones mixed with proper zingers and spaced by the occasional gentle caress. Her breathing accelerated even as her thighs flexed, pushing her arse up into the air so as to be as accessible as possible. After several minutes, the rain of blows stilled and she heard Mávros huff with mock fatigue. "Whew... it takes a lot of work to look after a girl of your own. But, ah, the results speak for themselves. Your arse has that beautiful, bright-red glow now, you know? A thing of beauty, that is." She grinned, knowing he couldn't see it like this. The young, inexperienced, somewhat-unsteady Centaur who had kidnapped her was already mostly gone. He'd gotten used to being in charge, now - and was gleefully exploring the forests of sexuality alongside her, discovering new turn-ons and interests just as quickly as she was. There still was a bit of a 'What the hell am I saying?' note to his voice when he talked bossy sometimes, but even that was fading with experience.

That line of thought was swiftly jumbled as a shadow covered her, immediately followed by two equine legs thumping into the grass in front of her, inches from her hands. It still gave her a chill whenever he did that - jumping over her like that - but he'd never missed his mark, never so much as glanced her. So when it happened, even knowing the damage that could be done to her if he misjudged his jump, she didn't flinch. She trusted him.

Something warm and soft rubbed against her pussy-lips, and it was all she could do not to pant like a bitch in heat. He'd gotten much better at finding his way inside unassisted, but part of that was taking it slow, carefully inching forwards while feeling out the right angle of attack. The expectation was torment... but only served to magnify the pleasure of that long, smooth first thrust when he found his mark. As he did now, his ripple-edged cockhead pushing her eagerly-accepting labia apart and drilling inside, followed by the thick, veiny shaft - and, eventually, the slight bulge of the radial ring, and the coarser texture of the surface beyond it.

He pushed firmly against her, making sure he'd really bottomed out - rubbing his coarse-haired belly against her freshly-tenderized buttocks in the process - and she moaned afresh from the by-now familiar sensation of fullness and pressure. Her pussy wrapped snugly around him, having grown accustomed to his size - the slight sting of stretching that had accompanied his entry during the first couple of weeks long-gone. But the pleasure never left - the sheer physicality accompanied by equally-intense arousal just from being once again reminded that such a virile young stallion remained so desperately eager to mount her. She was desired, lusted-after. Her body in constant demand. She'd shaped up in the last few months, slimmed down, put on muscle... but the memory of the homely mother and housewife still lingered, still haunted her - except when dispelled by the indisputable statements of Mávros' fat cock.

Her body shook as he began to thrust, sending shockwaves down through her spine and into her arms. It was a workout and a half, getting fucked like this, but she knew he enjoyed it more than using the boulder... and that made her want to do it. She wanted to please him, make him feel just as good as he'd made her feel. To thank him through her actions for, well, not kidnapping her, but rescuing_her. Giving her a new life, in a new place, filled with all the pleasure and passion she'd previously missed so desperately. And... for giving her a place where she was _needed. To Mávros, she was irreplaceable, a gift from the gods. Back home, meanwhile... hah. Her husband was a kind man and a good provider. He'd probably found a new wife already, happy to keep his house and cook his meals and birth his children in a safe, reliable and predictable setting. Her son would be out on an apprenticeship by now, too. Learning a craft, becoming independent, making his own way through the world, though probably not very far. Or to anywhere interesting.

But Mávros wanted her, desired her, lusted for her, needed her. It was an incredible feeling, one that filled her with warmth even as she soared towards her first orgasm. He needed her so bad, the first thing he did when he returned from a long, tiring hunt was mount her, fill her, pleasure her... how could she not love that? How could she not love him? Her arms and legs shook as they withstood the combined brunt of her orgasmic tremors and the centaur's continuous assault, even as her mind and heart pumped with a heady combination of love, need, and sheer animalistic pleasure.

At least two more orgasms wracked her body before Mávros shot his load - she wasn't quite sure if the last one wasn't actually two, rather closely spaced climaxes, which happened a lot. The sensation of his hot, thick cum pouring into her, filling every crevice of her well-used cunt never failed to bring her to tremendous orgasms, and sometimes more than one. It was a tribute to the harsh conditioning she'd gone through that she managed to maintain her pose through it all, though her knees threatened to buckle on several occasions... from the pleasure, rather than the physical impacts, mind. But she was, indeed, still standing thusly when Mávros, tired but sated (for now), backed up and pulled out.

Only once she no longer felt the heat radiating down from his body did she move, dropping down to all fours and swiftly crawling back underneath. It was nearly second nature by now - whenever he finished riding her, no matter how exhausted and pleasure-dazed she was, she'd swiftly make her way towards his wet, cum-dripping cock, nostrils vibrating as she picked up the ripe flavour of their mixed juices. Cleaning it carefully, with practised ease, scooping up delicious dollops of pure, salty-bitter cum from the areas behind ridges where it tended to accumulate... she'd grown quite proficient at that process to the point where she could practically do it in her sleep. Not infrequently, her tender care would cause him to re-harden, in which case she eagerly continued until he blew another wad straight into her throat, filling her mouth with the juicy taste of his manhood.

This time, however, the long, equine tool continued to soften even under the loving touch of her lips and tongue - probably more due to sheer physical exhaustion from the long hunting-trip, than any absence of ardour. And so, with a slight groan of exertion, she rolled back out from under him and got to her feet, sidling up to him for a quick embrace - which, as usual, prompted him to flash a delighted smile down at her. Then he picked up the discarded buck and dragged him off towards the tent with her keeping pace close behind him as he shared the details of his trip and reassured her that he'd managed to find a fair collection of roots, herbs and wild vegetables as well, for spicing up their diet - particularly hers. While she'd loved having easy access to meat aplenty - something that had been an unthinkable luxury in her old life - she had, as suspected, soon come to miss vegetables as well. Fortunately, the Great Plains were fertile lands, and many interesting plants grew wild there for the keen-eyed gathered to find.

A bit later, after the buck had been hung up on the drying-rack and the vegetables stashed in the improvised root-cellar she'd dug (with some begrudging help from Mávros, who really couldn't see the appeal of all that 'green stuff', as he put it), they were sitting together in the tent, the front open to let the balmy air and sunlight inside. He was effectively kneeling, putting him down at her height for once, as she lounged against his broad chest, her back to him as her fingers languidly caressed human and equine parts of his body alike. _His_arms, meanwhile, were wrapped tightly around her, in yet another demonstration of the fondness (and possessiveness) that never failed to make her shiver with equal parts pleasure and delight.

She always felt very close to him when they were like that, just... lounging together, hugging, watching the insects dance above the pond, not doing anything but enjoying one another's company. At times like that, she couldn't pretend even to herself that she didn't love him. Loved him every bit as dearly as she'd once loved her husband... and with far more fiery passion. It made her open up, and want to say things she'd never be able to get out otherwise. "You know what I kind of miss?" she asked, lazily. "Vegetables? Non-frayed clothes?" Mávros guessed randomly, and without much more than a hint of annoyance. Usually when she missed something, it was something from her old life that she couldn't get out here... though sometimes, as with the vegetables, alternatives could be found. By him. As an extra chore.

This time, though... "I miss the way your cock used to feel when you first started fucking me. The... sting, when it stretched me open. Other centaurs may call you small, but to me, you're plenty big. And I liked feeling that. Now I've gotten used to it... my _body_has gotten used to it. Now it fits like hand in glove... which is nice, in its own right. But I miss that... sting." He replied with a naughty chuckle, and one of his hands left her waist to go wandering across her body. "Oh, well! I suppose you _would_have gotten used to it, considering how often we've been going at it. But if it's just the 'sting' you're missing... the sensation of being stretched... well, maybe it's time I showed you something new..." His hand had wandered down to her skirt, now, and she automatically lifted her arse a bit to let him pull it up around her waist. What was he on about now, she wondered? He'd already taught her a great many things, and her heart beat faster as her imagination began to pick up speed.

She groaned slightly as his fingers reached her pussy, spreading her legs for him automatically. Two digits, made rough by hard work and hunting, pushed their way inside, meeting little resistance. Her labia, so recently parted by his far thicker cock, barely noticed the entry. She, however, couldn't help but notice the sloshing, slimy sounds his fingers generated as they moved about inside her, once again demonstrating the fact that she tended to exist in a state of constant arousal when she was around him. She still had no idea what he was getting at, though - nor did she catch on when he gently pushed her bum forwards, leaving her leaning against him at an angle with her thighs still widely-spread, and her pussy now pointing more upwards than forwards...

The copper finally dropped when he pulled his fingers back out - now thoroughly coated with her lubricating juices, and probably some residual cum from his earlier ride - and adjusted them further downwards. Pressing them gently but firmly against her sphincter, he managed to push first one, then a second inside, and she gasped as she felt the tight orifice stretch around them. There was a sting, all right! She vaguely remembered hearing about this before - 'anal' sex. Back in her wild, younger days, it had been occasionally whispered of as something done by particularly depraved individuals in the 'big cities' and similar corrupt locations, but there hadn't been anyone in her small town who'd ever even tried it... or, at least, had been able to admit as much.

As his fingers dug deeper, she soon found herself wondering why not. The 'sting' she'd been missing was certainly there, and then some. That stretchy sensation... the best sort of pain... but more than that, the movement of his fingers was teasing the nerves in the area, sending unfamiliar but definitely pleasurable signals up through her spine. Little shockwaves were spreading out from her sphincter, making her freshly-fucked pussy and clit tingle in response. Her already-rapid breathing was fast becoming laboured, and she found it impossible to sit still, her body now slowly undulating against her centaurian lover's naked chest, caught between it and his probing fingers.

As Mávros' fingers continued to move more insistently, pushing roughly inside her, digging deeper, the sensations collecting somewhere around the base of her spine started to build up towards an unendurable pressure. Her breathing had become a steady stream of little, whining moans, which only seemed to spur him on further. Finally, the dam burst, and she found her whole body curving in response - her arse rising from the ground as she pushed herself up against the invading fingers, mind blanked by the sudden, unexpected rush of pleasure even as her whole spine seemed to buzz. It was an orgasm, but a different sort than those she had previously known. More intense, to an almost painful degree.

Only then did his fingers finally stop, and her body gradually relaxed back to the ground, slouching against him even as his fingers were slowly pulled back out of her arse-hole's tight embrace and wiped off on the grass. She was still breathing heavily, trying to figure out what just happened when his voice resounded lightly from above, tinged with laughter. "Well, I hadn't expected that much of a reaction... but I'm not about to complain." It took her another minute or so to get her breathing sufficiently under control to reply. "What... was that? I mean, I'd heard about 'anal', but I thought it was just some... perversion. Figured it'd just hurt. Nobody ever told me it could feel that good."

She could feel him shrug, even if she couldn't see it. "Well, to be honest, I don't know that much about that bit myself. Anal sex isn't unusual, back in the herdlands. Mares that have gotten too loose to be much fun otherwise often get it that way... and, of course, unfortunate captives whose cunts have been too badly wrecked to be useful still. The mares don't say much about what they like and don't like, and I've never heard of anyone in the latter category enjoying... well, much of anything." She could hear the distaste in his voice, which served to somewhat dull the shiver that went through her as she was once again reminded of the fate that might have awaited her if she'd encountered any centaur other than Mávros. "...but I have also heard unsubstantiated rumours about how the top chieftains have mistresses - Centaur-women, that is - who let them do anal when they aren't in heat. Which would suggest that they enjoyed it somehow... females are rare enough that even the chieftains can't get away with antagonizing them. But I honestly always thought it was just a legend, meant to make the life of the top-tier chieftains sound even sweeter than it already looked."

She couldn't help grinning, despite her earlier shiver, at the sheer wonder in his tone. "Well, it seems like that's one legend that's proven true... but on the other hand, there's a bit of difference between a pair of fingers and, well... you." She wasn't feeling as uncertain as she sounded, though. The experience had been very intriguing, and she hadn't been kidding about missing the sting of stretching that his cock had once given her. Still, she wasn't about to complain when Mávros responded by pulling her closer. "I know. And I really don't want to... damage you. But we'll take it slow, right? One thing I do know about anal is that it gets easier with practice. So, I guess we'll work our way up - two fingers work just fine, maybe three will too if I'm careful. Something like that." She nodded. She had heard the unspoken word that he had so swiftly replaced - knew that in his heart, he'd meant 'hurt', not 'damage'. A reminder that however difficult it was for him to admit it, even to himself, he'd come to care for her in the same way she cared for him. "Yeah. Let's give it a try, see where it goes. Could be fun!"

Edythe stirred as a particularly violent gust of wind shook the fabric of the tent noisily. The great plains might never suffer true winter - temperatures never got low enough for snow to fall, for starters - but the storms that swept across them at that time of the year were no joke either. With a groan, she sat up on the bed of thick, comfortable furs that Mávros had arranged for her and blinked a few times. Based on the steel-grey light filtering through the closed tent-flaps, it was early afternoon. She'd been spending more time napping lately - with the weather being what it was, she had no desire to head outside unless she had to, and the available indoors activities were fairly limited... whenever Mávros, as now, was out hunting and foraging, that was.

Still, he should be back soon, she thought with a smile as she untangled herself from the bed-furs. She'd best get her duties taken care of before then - show him she was a good girl. Otherwise, she might get... mmm... punished. She licked her lips at the thought and stretched languidly, enjoying the sensation unwholesomely. Her new outfit helped with that. The dress she'd worn when she'd been 'kidnapped' had given up the ghost by now, and she'd had to sew herself a new outfit from the hides and leathers available. She probably could have improvised a decent, if somewhat heavy dress from that too, but... her priorities had shifted somewhat, hadn't they? As had her confidence.

Certainly there were numerous reasons why she couldn't have worn this back home, she thought with a lopsided grin as she ran a caressing hand down the leather straps. Decency-laws, for starters. Also, lack of body-confidence. Here, though... well, she was really just aping Centaur fashion, and body-confidence wasn't much of a problem when she could tell how hard it was for Mávros to tear his eyes away from her. Plus, there were... other advantages, she thought as she got to her feet with a low moan and felt the tight straps shifting to accommodate the motion.

It was, indeed, much like the harnesses worn by centaurs - an arrangement of criss-crossing leather straps that allowed the wearer to hang various useful items - pouches, tools and such - about their person, without actually concealing, well, much of anything. Indeed, the design displayed more than it hid - like the triangular sections of hide surrounding her uncovered breasts, the bottom part wider and more padded to provide some support... not that her perky pair needed much of that. It was a suitably savage look for her new, more toned body. A more active life, a more protein-heavy diet... it had all contributed to get her into better shape than she'd been since she was a teenager. Though, it hadn't really changed the fact that she had the body of a mother - complete with wide, child-bearing hips and a waist that no-one would ever call 'waspish'. The fact that her arms and legs were thick with muscles more than layers of fat would also have made little difference in the beauty-standards back home... but who cared about that? Mávros loved the look. And he loved how much her toughened body could handle... and so did she.

She gasped a little as she bent down to grab some leatherwork she'd started on earlier, before the sound of the gushing winds lulled her to sleep. The broad leather strap going between her legs rode up with such movements, tightening against her... it was the only part of her outfit that got 'in the way' at all, and it was designed for quick and easy removal and reattachment. She was just taking a moment to savour the sensation when she heard a familiar sound amidst the constant whine of the winds, and froze in her track. A rustle from the nearby trees. A large, quadruped body pushing its way through the swaying trunks. Mávros was back early... and she hadn't finished even half of her duties! Shame and embarrassment chased one another through her mind for a second, before being pushed aside by something far bigger... that special mixture of thrill, arousal and just an edge of fear. She would be... punished for this. She_liked_ being punished. And he liked punishing her, which only made it better. Sometimes, she was even tempted to be a bit 'bad' on purpose, just to give him an excuse... Well, this time, it hadn't been deliberate, just common sloth. All she could do was assume a suitably apologetic position as she waited to welcome him back.

He pushed through the tent-flaps, carrying the bounty of the hunt. A couple of rabbits, and a large bird she wasn't familiar with. Most of the larger prey tended to head further south when the winter-storms started blustering, so things were a bit leaner - they made good use of the dried and smoked meat from earlier in the year. And of course, the various herbs and vegetables that grew wild on the great plains could be found year-round... which had forced Mávros to begrudgingly accept a somewhat 'greener' diet than he usually preferred. He seemed to have no complaints about her ability to turn chunks of unpalatable jerky into a delicious meat-and-potato stew, though.

Stopping just inside, he took the time to refasten the tent-flaps before the wind could get a good hold of them, then took in the tent's interior. The mostly-empty water-jug she'd been supposed to refill, the leather-work she hadn't finished, and her, kneeling in the middle of it all, doing her best to look suitably chastised. Sighing, he shook his head and hung his prey up on the drying-rack near the entrance, then discarded the pouches that would be filled with freshly-collected roots and vegetables. "Been lazing about all day, have you? While I was out hunting and providing for us both? That's no good, my dear... no good at all. Go bend over the rack while I pick out the instrument of your punishment."

Shuddering with equal parts apprehension and desire, she obeyed, getting to her feet and walking over to 'the rack'. A simple, table-like construction made from lashed-together tree-trunks harvested around the pond, reinforced with hides and covered with furs, it was surprisingly sturdy, not least because of its springiness. The height was carefully-measured, and it could be used in a variety of ways... not least because each corner, high and low, held a handy attachment-point for the braided leather ropes she, herself, had made. As did the comfy, fur-lined leather cuffs she wore around her wrists and ankles as part of her regular outfit. She didn't watch as he pondered the tool-rack where several other leather implements - also made by her own hand - awaited his choice. Paddles, straps, switches... even a braided cat o' nine tails.

Instead, she just bent her waist over the narrow side of the rack, stretching her arms out alongside the edge and spreading her legs. Soon, she heard his hooves clopping up behind her, then his knees hitting the ground as he reached down to tie the ropes into place at her ankles, holding her legs in place like that. Next, her wrists were secured, locking her in place. The rack itself was built around four sturdy trunks that had been deeply buried into the ground beneath the tent, and had proven itself at standing up to the full weight of a centaur's ardour - so she certainly wasn't going to move it. Finally, she felt the leather strap running between her legs being detached at the back and left to dangle beneath her, removing even that teeny area of protection.

"Phew... it's rough, it is. Coming straight home from hunting, and then needing to correct a misbehaving girl like you." A swishing sound could be heard as he tested his chosen tool by swinging it through the air. "Sorry, sir..." she mumbled. She'd taken to referring to him as such when they were engaged in these little... games. He seemed to like that. His quiet laugh certainly sounded like it had a quality of genuine enjoyment in it. "Such is my lot in life, I suppose... but I guess I shouldn't complain too much. It might be hard work, keeping you in line, but... it's worth it."

As usual, she could hear the meaning behind the words... that to him, SHE was worth it. She knew that he was enjoying his life together with her far more than he'd ever enjoyed his life in the Herdlands... not so different from her, in that regard. A smile creased her lips... which then immediately split in a groan as the first stroke fell. She recognized that sting - it was the flogger. Several mid-length strips of cured leather, delivering a combined impact similar to a paddle, but far more... flexible. Now, they were caressing her buttocks, and she could feel them swiftly heating up as Mávros' strong arm delivered a rapid succession of strikes.

Her breathing became more rapid, more intense, as the pain - and resulting pleasure - mounted. Every stroke drew a moan or a groan from her lips, even as Mávros demonstrated his practised technique by varying the strength and direction of the strikes enough to prevent any one area of her (admittedly spacious) arse-cheeks from taking TOO much damage. She could feel the heat and the sting spreading across the whole of their surface, reddening the flesh even as it shook under the repeated assault.

Then, the first surprise - a sudden change in the direction of his swings brought the flogger up from beneath instead of down from above, cracking across her labia and mons. Her clit, deep-seated as it was, never took the direct brunt of such strokes, but she could still feel the shockwave spreading through her most sensitive parts, even as the sting spread across her pussy-lips. Several more light strokes hit her buttocks, keeping the heat on there, before the next one snapped across her cunt once again, drawing a pained mewl from her lips even as she jumped, tugging at the stout bonds. Even after just two strikes, her groin was already feeling decidedly sore - the flogger was like that, especially when Mávros wielded it with as much strength as he was right now.

It was not as if she was any stranger to receiving her punishment directly on her pussy, mind. The spankings that had started in the obvious place - her by-now well-tanned arse - had gradually spread to include other interesting locations. But the pussy remained the most sensitive area, a fact that Mávros was well aware of - explaining why only maybe one out of every ten blows landed there. Still, the overall effect was one of intense, almost overwhelming sensation, a stinging heat that seemed to encompass her entire lower body.

Just as it reached the threshold where the pain was squeezing tears from her eyes, however, the strokes stopped. She panted, leaning against the rack as she felt his hands caressing the freshly-punished areas, feeling that gentle touch on regions that had just been rendered sore for many hours yet to come - indeed, probably until tomorrow sometimes. Then he was leaning over her, his chest against her back as he untied her hands, his mouth next to her ear. "Get up on the rack. On your back. Your rear looks so damn good right now, I can't control myself." She shuddered, managing as quiet "Yes, sir." even as her slowly-steadying breath began to pick up speed again. He wanted her, right now? While she was so... deliciously sore...

Her now-released arms and legs trembled slightly as she pulled herself up on the rack, lying down along the long side with her butt on the edge. There was no need for attachments, here. She just lifted and spread her legs as he walked between them, his fingers once again caressing her exposed buttocks as they sought the point between them... the one part of her rear that hadn't been thoroughly reddened by now. Finding what they were looking for, they curled around it and, with a twisting motion, pulled back.

She gasped as her sphincter suddenly expanded, her head rolling back even as her eyes looked down the canyon between her breasts to see the plug emerge. She was still bemused by its size... and the ease with which she wore it nowadays. Working her way up had gone much faster than either one of them had expected... helped along by the fact that she enjoyed the particular flavour of pain that anal stretching brought. Several tools of carved horn, bone, even smooth-finished wood, had been crafted to assist in this endeavour. The one she was using right now had been carved from bone, and was deliciously smooth - with an oval base that fit neatly between her arse-cheeks, a hefty, tapered body that filled her ass satisfyingly, and a thick neck that kept her sphincter constantly stretched... and thus, rendered her ass easily accessible to her lover.

A pot of lubricant - made from rendered animal fats, its scent and feel greatly improved with a careful selection of added herbs - always stood near the rack, and now Mávros quickly added a lathering of the stuff to her arsehole, even as it started to wink, contracting around the sudden, empty space. As always, the removal of the plug left her feeling like something was missing - but she knew that this sensation would not long endure in this case. Sure enough, a second later, he was on top of her, rearing in the air as his hind-legs danced him forwards. The rack had been designed with his measurements specifically in mind, so it fit perfectly - his forelegs thumping down just beyond the top, even as his dangling, fully-erect cock reached the lower end.

The height, of course, matched too - putting them chest-to-chest. She could feel his massive weight on top of her - albeit only a teeny bit of it, of course. She could wrap her arms and legs around his barrel-shaped body as he entered her, practice and experience having long-since erased any hesitation on his part as he unerringly located her puckered, freshly-lubricated arsehole. She moaned as he pushed his way inside, feeling the sting of muscles that had _just_started to relax being forced to stretch widely once again. Then, deeper and deeper it went, past the reach of the plug, as he bottomed out like only this position would allow. She could feel the coarse hide of his groin rubbing against her sore, stinging pussy, and his huge, dangling balls resting against her beaten-red buttocks. The plug ensured that he could easily find his way inside, but the deeper parts of her arse never stopped feeling the sting, the sense that they were being filled to capacity and then some. That delicious stretching.

As he started thrusting, the familiar pleasure/pain mix of deep, passionate anal sex joined the continuing burn of her freshly-flogged rear and groin, elevating the sensation to an even higher level. The first orgasm hit her so quickly, it caught her by surprise - driving the air from her lungs as her spine curved, lifting her chest to press against Mávros' unyielding mass. Her whole body seemed aflame with desire, stoked by the heat that continued to radiate from the countless, bright-red marks left by the leathery straps of the flogger. "Ooohh... yessss... please... I love you so much..." her voice sounded strange and hollow, as if it was reverberating in her own head. She hadn't spoken consciously - it was as if the pleasure had simply robbed her of the ability to keep her thoughts inside her own head as she rose rapidly towards a second, equally-potent anal orgasm.

His only reply were grunts of primal desire as Mávros rode her ass with single-minded determination, fully absorbed by the sensations her tight anus was granting him. It was only later that she got her answer, after her count of anal orgasms had risen to three, and he at last had reached his own climax. His legs sagged ever-so-slightly from the release, with enough of his weight now descending to make the wooden structure underneath her creak audibly. Feeling that weight above her, squeezing down on her, catching her between his body and their very special 'bed', even as his cock still pulsed slightly deep in her well-stretched arse filled her with a warm glow - like she was enjoying the strongest, most intimate hug imaginable. Then she heard the words, a remote, half-choked whisper from where his human half rested above, probably covered in sweat. "Oh... my Love... I can never get enough of you... how did I ever live without you..."

It probably hadn't been on purpose. The throes of pleasure, the bliss of release, those could loosen lips and let thoughts slip out, she knew. And she'd known those thoughts were there for a while. Still, it was lovely to hear them spoken aloud, however unintentional - it certainly did nothing to harshen her afterglow. So when he finally pushed himself up with a sigh and backed off, pulling out and leaving his cum-stained member dangling wetly between his legs, she rolled off the rack and got down on her knees underneath him with more than her customary celerity.

She knew that he didn't really mind if she just used a washcloth for this part. But she also knew that it excited him when she didn't. And the herb-mix in the lubricant tended to deafen all other flavours anyway. Certainly, a year ago, she would not have expected that she'd spending next winter kneeling under a Centaur's belly, dressed in a leather harness that bared far more than it concealed and went between her legs largely to keep a large butt-plug from slipping out, while happily cleaning his cock, fresh from her arse, with her tongue. And yet, there she was. The world, she reflected, was a strange and topsy-turvy place... but sometimes, you lucked out.

The End