On the road to recovery

As you reach the top of the hill you stop to catch your breath and take in the view.
In the city there was a light breeze, but out here on the northern plains the wind blew freely. You are surrounded by a sea of green broken up by islands of rocks and hilly terrain. For a while you stand there leaning on your bike and remember why you left the city with its heavy stifling air.  The only sounds you hear are the light whistling of the wind and the rustling of the grass.

You close your eyes and sigh. Peace and quiet. You begin to drift away, but as your grip loosens the overburdened bike jerks you out of your reverie, threatening to tip over. For the umpteenth time today you wonder why you didn’t ask a neighbor to borrow their truck. You wife hated the things as exhaust got in her eyes and nose, and the noise broke the serenity of the country side.
Shifting the weight and steadying the bike, you mount up and prepare for the rest of the journey home. Normally a ride in the countryside would be the kitten’s ankles but right now you just wanted to get home and dump this load.
When you arrive home you are tired and sweaty. Grunting with effort, you stack your boxes of this week’s supplies and head on in. As you begin unpacking you hear the distinct sound of hooves on wood, you turn around and are greeted by the sight of your centaur wife.

You remember when you first met she would regale you with tales of her ancestors, steppe nomads whose and skill in war made them prized mercenaries and eventually conquerors.
Looking at her, you could certainly see why. She was small for a centaur, but well-built with strong legs bred for jumping. Her toned arms and midriff are a thing of beauty, well defined but not so hard as to make her inflexible. Her dark skin and black coat were covered in a light sheen of sweat, drawing your eyes upwards towards her well-endowed bust.
Despite her athleticism she had over strained her body and had managed to break a leg, though the wonders of lich medicine meant that she wound up being bed ridden for a week and ordered to rest for a month.
As she moves to help you, you do your best dead pan voice and cite that “the patient must refrain from strenuous physical activity, including any horse play. Ha. Ha. Ha.” She crosses her arms and gives you an indignant look.
“I am well recovered husband, watch!” She stretches her front half forwards and bows down, touching her front legs and giving you a great view of cleavage. As she rises there is a short sharp inhalation and her injured foot jerks upwards. Unable to hide and too proud to admit it, she raises the leg higher and tries to strike a dignified pose with her hands on her hips. You can’t help but chuckle as you reach up towards her head and caress her face, having to tip toe slightly to reach her ears, causing her to blush and nuzzle your hand. Her eyes shoot open as she realizes she had been cowed so easily, and her blush deepens as she begins to pout.

After finishing with the groceries you both head into the living room for a well-deserved break. You settle down in front of the TV and lean back onto her flank as she cradles you in her torso, ears flicking happily. A few hours of channel surfing and idle chatter later and you are bored and stiff. Another perk of having a centaur wife was that you felt a hell of a lot fitter than you ever did before, though it does also have a tendency to make you restless.
With nothing better to do you decide to help change her bandages. The first time was met with protest, her pride demanding that she tended her own injuries. While she was flexible enough to reach down to her own hooves, in her current state anything beyond light pressure caused her pain. To her credit she had fought through it and managed to finish, however the bandages were wound too tight and she had spent most of the evening trying to suppress the urge to scratch at it. Though you admired her willpower and strength, you reminded her that her stubbornness had led to this in the first place and eventually she relented.

You begin with a hot towel and a small bucket of hot water, gently rubbing up and down. She is tense and her ears don’t stop flicking about, but she lets out a deep sigh as the warmth relaxes her. Next you massage an ointment into her skin, making sure to give her muscles a firm rubbing as well. Moving your hands along her calf elicits a short moan and you look up to see her flushed face with a goofy smile. Bandages forgotten, you move your hands upwards and trace her thighs, slowly inching upwards. You can feel her inhumanly hot body rise in temperature and by the time you reach her human torso you are both breathing heavily. She pulls you in and you are wedged between her bountiful breasts and toned midriff. She leans in for a kiss, your tongues intertwine  over each other and when you finally pull away the air is thick with a heady musk and her hot panting breath.
In a daze you can only look up when you hear a lustful “Husband…” and see a pair of heart-pupiled eyes descending towards you…


Your centaur wife has been getting restless after her leg had recovered to the point where she could walk and stretch without pain. While her impetuous nature had been reined in somewhat, she was still fairly impatient and after being cooped up for over a month, she was itching to feel the sun on her skin and the wind in her hair. Your warnings for her to not strain her body could only hold her back for so long and eventually she declared that she was going outside, dragged you to the door and left you to get ready while she waited outside.

As you exit and lock the door you are greeted by the sight of her practically prancing about in anticipation, she trotted around back and forth, doing little hops and humming to herself. When she heard the door opening and turned around you could see the gleam in her eyes, and she eagerly grabs your arm and sets off at a brisk walk. Your complaints of it being too hot, the cicadas being too loud and wishing you were back home are met with a short laugh; this was the first real exercise she was getting in too long, and nothing was going to spoil her mood, not even her “pretty pouting prince”. You chafe at the comment and increase your pace in an effort to outrun it, much to her delight.

The rest of the afternoon is spent strolling through the country side, slowly meandering through the grassy plains and stopping at the top of a small hill. The two of you are tired and sweaty and decide to stop here. You plonk down like a sack of potatoes, splay out on your back and breathe deeply of the fresh steppe air. Your wife makes a more graceful landing, stretching her arms upwards then forwards and tensing her whole body before letting out a satisfied sigh and slowly lowering herself next to you. She has a bright smile on her face, her ears occasionally twitching and her tail swishing back and forth.
You lie there in silence, content to watch the brilliant blue sky slowly change orange before finally setting off home.

You spend the evening leaning on your wife’s flank, cuddled together on a pile of pillows and cushions, listening to the sounds of the country side. The warmth of her body coupled with her cinnamon scent shampoo are enough to make you feel drowsy, sensing this she shifts you towards her front and. She cradles in her chest and hums softly while a hand runs through you hair, along your temple and scalp and down your cheek, tilting your head backwards before she finally leans down to plant a kiss on your forehead.

You drift off to sleep to the sound of her singing.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=twzb_3Y216o)