Kaya is a distraction.

“Yes you are a very lucky man,” Kaya told him, “and I am a lucky centaur. Now if you don’t mind,” she set some corn cobs, whole and unpeeled in front of Steve, “If you could peel those.”

Steve took the bowl, “I believe the word is shuck, shuck the corn,” he said as he picked up the first cob. Kaya pulled a few more ingredients out before stepping up behind Steve and sliding her hands around his waist and under his apron. She felt her hand wrap around his cock and laughed, “I thought you said we couldn’t.”

Kaya shook her head as she stroked him several times, her hand felt pleasant but somehow sticky “I said, you couldn’t because I would have a sharp knife.” Steve moaned as she let go and stepped around him, licking a thick golden brown substance from her fingers.

“Wait, what is that?” He asked as she licked her fingers, slowly sucking each one between her lips to work cleanly with her tongue.

“Syrup, thick, sticky syrup which is so hard to lean off.” She licked her lips, “Consider it a reward for you helping me cook.”

Steve smiled, “My reward for helping you cook is to have a sticky cock?” he laughed.

Kaya shook her head, “No, your reward for helping me cook is to have me clean you with my mouth, sort of an appetiser to dessert tonight.” Steve moaned, “Also, it means I can trust you not to try fucking me while we are cooking.”

They both laughed, “You are a very strange and lovely creature. I am so glad that I met you, that Jan and I met you, and that we said yes.”

Kaya gave him another kiss, she tasted sweet and savour as only dark syrup does. “I think I am similarly lucky and want to show you how grateful I am for your presence.” She went back to preparing dinner for several moments, humming a tune which Steve couldn’t recognise.

“So your traditional art, can you tell me anything about it?” Steve asked his girlfriend, still feeling strange that his cock was sticky with syrup.

As Kaya was cutting vegetables and putting them in a pot while she started to explain. “Well, we use waxes to make intricate figurines, representatives of major events, myths and legends. It is a way we tell stories,” she had a different tone to her voice, something that Steve couldn’t quite place. “We then cover the wax figures with clay and pour molten metals, silver or gold traditionally in. When we break the clay we have the figures there preserved in metal.”

Steve frowned, “But I thought you were a migratory people, how do you carry the art with you?”

“We don’t. We bury them, we find a spot easily identifiable by trackers and normally in soft soil or sand and we dig a big hole. We place that last pieces of the story in the bottom of the hole and slowly build up layers. By the time it is completely buried we have a story.”

“You bury gold and silver?” Steve asked amazed.

“Well, it’s pretty but has no real value to my people other than in communicating, jewellery or stories. So when the tribe come back around that area, the youngsters go out with a tracker and a storyteller. The tracker teaches them life skills about how to hunt and track and as they dig out the elements of the story the storyteller recites our histories, our morals. Then the youngsters have to rebuild the story, helping them remember the tale and the lessons.”

“That’s beautiful.” Kaya put the knife down and turned to face him, she clasped his face gently and kissed him again.