Unfairly. You tease Praxilla all night until she's exhausted.

Nadia flies off on her broom. You think you've seen the last of her until tomorrow, but she returns in a short while with two buckets balanced, one in each hand -- showoff, look, Eric, no hands -- but you're grateful to see that one bucket is full of brushes, combs, cloths and miscellany, and a second bucket sloshes heavily with water and includes a long-handled dipper.

"Don't use any of the metal grooming tools," Nadia cautions. "Just the currycomb, here" -- Nadia indicates an oval brush with a grid of flexible nubs on the working side -- "or the brushes, gloves, and cloths. When she wakes up, she'll tell you if it's not feeling right."

"Thanks, Nadia, you're a champ," you tell her.

"Remember that the first time she saw you, you ambushed her with a flying kick," Nadia says. "I don't think you're going to have an easy night. Even if Tanglefoot means she can't kick you back. At least you'll still have your balls un-kicked tomorrow. Ms. Sterling would be disappointed if her boy toy was out of action." Nadia grins.

You manifest an instant blush and an immediate erection tenting out your robe.

Nadia boops you on the nose with her forefinger. "See you tomorrow, I hope," she says.

You nod and wave goodbye. She straddles her broom and flies off, her brown House Beavertail robes fluttering as the air catches at the hems.

You sigh as Nadia departs, leaving you alone in the Weirding Woods with a delinquent young centauress in your charge.

Resolving to make your best showing and keep Praxilla safe from herself, you circle the little copse of trees, casting a large warding circle to alert you if danger nears, and settle yourself down next to Praxilla, looking through the bucket of grooming implements.

You'd read something about Love Grass. Furrowing your brow, you manage to dredge it up. Sometimes there's a bright side of being a grind. Love Grass, in addition to being an herb useful for breeding balky enchanted creatures by putting them in the mood for immediate and intense copulation with their own kind or whatever conceivably compatible partner, peg or hole happened to be around -- there was a footnote about the unethical practice of creating hybrid creatures, you recall -- shaking your head, there was one more thing. Wizards in human or animal form report that Love Grass, in addition to being an aphrodisiac, was also an amplifier of tactile sensation. Brushes and light touches became ripples of sensation across the entire body, sometimes overwhelming.

You look at the currycombs, then at Praxilla. Her white-blonde tail is still draped to the side as she sleeps, exposing her swollen pink sex lips. Your member throbs. That's no way to start the night. With another sigh, you pick out a glove with a bristly velvet palm, and a currycomb with a pad full of flexible nubs.

As you stroke Praxilla, she murmurs in her sleep. It sounds like Greek -- centaurs use it as a language for history and classical education, and for wilder tribes, it might be their only language. Some sort of eager pleading, perhaps, but she's speaking quietly. You keep combing and brushing and stroking with both hands, going over her from withers to rump, as well as you can reach as she lies on her side.

Master Maurippos' sleep spell gradually wears off. Praxilla's breathing changes, and she rolls her head and sighs. You keep stroking, combing, grooming. A ripple goes through her body from her human shoulders back through her hindquarters. Her tail flips up, spreading the fragrance of her heat. Praxilla's sighs turn to moans, and she relaxes her head back to rest on the ground.

Well, maybe you can keep her spellbound if you just keep at it. It works for quite a while as you stroke Praxilla's golden-haired equine body with the currycomb and bristly glove, pulling out sighs, moans, shivers, and tail flicks. Her cheeks and shoulders glow with a pink flush, her eyes are closed, and her mouth is open, drooling a little from the corner. The shadows of the trees change as the hour advances. You're starting to notice some aches and fatigue from kneeling bent-over as you work. Your penis has been throbbing constantly, for hours now, as you breathe Praxilla's scent, but you remember Nadia's warning and have no intention of exposing yourself to a fierce kick. Praxilla might consider it just **** after you foiled her getaway by kicking Maurippos' staff out of her hands.

But it's Praxilla who breaks things off first. She unfolds her legs and tries to stand up. Nadia's Tanglefoot persists, scrambling her coordination, and the best she can do is fall down on her other side with a plaintive "Ah!", her four hooves flailing uselessly. Turning her head and shoulders round, she raises a hand and waves urgently toward her tail end. "Kak, kak, ahhh..." she whimpers.

"What?" That's Greek again, you're sure, what was it again?

"K-k-G-get me up, I need to shit!" Praxilla cries.

You drop the currycomb and scoot round to her front. Once you grip her hands with yours, her legs untangle and she rises to face you. She gestures with her chin. "Over there, quick."

Keeping your hand firmly grasping Praxilla's seems to be enough to keep her upright. She turns her face away as she answers her call of nature. You guess she's more uncomfortable with needing your help rather than with the bodily function itself.

With a sigh of relief, Praxilla rolls her shoulders, pulls her hand away from yours, walks two steps forward and falls in a heap with an angry snort. She grits her teeth, sucks in a breath, and snaps out a charm of banishment. You feel your warding circle ripple. She tries to stand and falls back down.

"So why are you here?" Praxilla demands. "And why am I still falling over? Don't tell me, let me guess. Maurippos is punishing me. But why you?"

What reply would anger her least? you wonder. You clear your throat. "I asked how I could help," you say.

Praxilla raises her eyebrows and looks at the tent in the front of your brown House Beavertail robes. "Is that so?" She snorts. "You must have given Old Beardy some reason. Or maybe he's punishing you too. Help me up."

You clasp her hands in yours. Her feet obey her will and she stands again.

"Now take this silly spell off me, it's embarrassing us both," Praxilla demands. "We can..." Her mouth drops open, speechless, as you run your thumbs in little circles over the palms of her hands. "Ah, ah, ah, ss, ss," Praxilla sputters. "Y-you. Ahhh. Ah, ah, hh, ssppt."

Shifting yourself to stand beside her, you keep hold of one hand and place your other hand where her human back meets her horse back. Once her legs are steady again, you walk her back to the trees where you started.

"I knew your House were all tedious grinds," Praxilla says. "Shouldn't you be herding spiders or something?"

"If you lie down, I'll groom your other side," you say, moving your fingertips gently against her back.

"Arrhhhh," Praxilla moans. Her white-blonde tail flips up again. "All right, I give." She lowers her body to the ground and puffs her hair out of her eyes with an annoyed-sounding "Pffft!"

You give Praxilla a thorough rubdown with the currycomb and the bristly glove, using the towels from time to time to blot her dry. Now that she's awake, she directs you, telling you "Higher" or "Further back" or "More more more more more!" And again, that flipping tail, spreading her scent into your nostrils, making your heart beat fast and keeping your erection hard.

By the time you finish her other side, Praxilla is dozing, drunk with sensations. The sun is sinking.
You take a deep drink from the dipper and tiptoe off to answer your own call of nature, once you're far away to clear your head with some deep breaths and distracting thoughts to soften your member. It even aches a little once it's soft.

As the day wears into evening and the evening wears into night, you repeat the routine twice. Helping Praxilla stand up, walking her a little distance, walking her back, giving her water and currycombing her into a reverie of sensations until she dozes off again.

The third time, in the depths of the night, Praxilla tries to break away. While you're walking her back from another call of nature, she snatches your wand and tries to lay a spell on you. But as she points the wand, you slip your hand out of her grasp. Praxilla hisses and snaps off a STUN, but with her legs collapsing under her, your awkward counterspell is more than sufficient. She shrieks in anger and lays into you with curses you've never imagined.

Angry and cursing, she's still pretty, and her on-heat scent is a continual, arousing distraction to you. Sitting over her for hours, combing and brushing and grooming has your pulse is thumping in your ears and your penis throbbing and aching. But this is NOT THE TIME. If she asked nicely, you're afraid you might say yes, and it would be regrets all round. So you half-hope she stays angry at you until the Love Grass wears off.

"I'll be back," you tell her.

You walk a wide circle, renewing your wards. Out here, you sense twitterings and flitterings near the rowan tree that Nadia was using for her magical lesson. Something is up and about, hunting or looking for trouble. You're afraid of what might be out there after the tales you've heard, but Master Maurippos wouldn't casually endanger you, would he? There's a crawling feeling around your neck and shoulders, and you hope your wards will give you a warning if you need it in time. You're tired and holding it together with pure will. Praxilla seems to be flagging as well. You hope to outlast her.

You let Praxilla curse and fume until she's down to a grumpy mutter before you carefully approach from the front. Tanglefoot or no Tanglefoot, she's still an angry centauress who could strike you dead with a well-timed kick.

"Let's get that grass out of your coat," you say. Securing your wand more carefully, you help her rise and walk back to the little nest under the trees.

"Just let me stand for a bit, all right?" Praxilla says. "Help me back up to that tree there, I've got an itch." She points.

It takes a second in the dark. She must have better night eyes. A young tree with a smooth, round trunk. "All right." You are absolutely not getting in kicking range, so you're happy to help Praxilla take care of herself.

"Just hold onto my hands now, all right?" Praxilla says. She lifts her tail and backs up to the tree. She grips your hands firmly, closes her eyes and grinds her hindquarters back at the tree. "Hold on, hold on," she says, her horse-hips dipping up and down. "Hold on." You don't think you could break her grip if you wanted to. But at least all you have to do is stand with your feet planted on the ground.

Praxilla's climax catches her with a shout. She rears up, yanking you off your feet, loses her balance and collapses forward. You land under an orgasming centauress with a stunning thump, a burst of stars in your vision, and a quick slide into darkness just as you sense a disturbance to your warding circle.

Gain +1 XP from your "unfair" success, using DILIGENCE to wear Praxilla out. You have 5 XP and may apply ADVANCEMENT when appropriate.

You have Ambition -1, Bravery 0, Cunning +2, Diligence +2.

You have a FAVOR from Miss Wormwood, and a FRIEND, Aurelia Sterling, your Enchantments teacher.

Roll +AMBITION(-1) to GET OUT OF TROUBLE: ⚄⚄ - 1 = 9.

When you have to GET OUT OF TROUBLE, on a 7-9, you get a stern lecture from Maurippos, and it will cost you something. Choose one:

• A professor or upper class student decides to be your mentor. Gain a FRIEND and a CONSEQUENCE.
• You get remedial work or duties to set you right. Gain +1 XP and a CONSEQUENCE.
• You're told to work it out honorably with Praxilla. Have a MAGIC DUEL or CONFRONT YOUR ENEMY.

You'll need to work out the CONSEQUENCE before Maurippos will consider you for next term's Care of Magical Creatures.