My Travels with Clytemnestra Ch. 08

Story Info
An adventure with a human woman and a female centaur.
8.2k words
4.73
14.5k
8

Part 8 of the 8 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 11/08/2012
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
ZoZa
ZoZa
53 Followers

CHAPTER VIII
'KALLIDORA'

I could have stayed with Salmacis a long, long time. She would have let me, too. But it was not to be. I love Clytemnestra, even if it is only for a season, as Salmacis said. As Clytemnestra herself said too, in her way. So I departed with Clytemnestra, and with Eupraxia and Aristomache we went on towards the river, where now we find ourselves.

My, but it is a mighty artery already. It didn't look so from high up in the mountains, but here on the banks it is a sight to behold. It must be half a mile broad, a vast expanse of sparkling bottle-green water flowing before us. Clytemnestra and Aristomache are cutting wood to make a raft, but neither is working very hard or fast at it and I don't fully blame them.

I'm quite excited about sailing a log raft down an exotic jungle river. It's so... So irresistibly adventurous to my mind! I can scarcely contain my enthusiasm for the endeavour, but to the centaur mind, rafting is one of the very few things less appealing than bushwhacking through a dense jungle, which is saying something. Still, this is the way we must go, so I tolerate their lack of enthusiasm.

"Are you sure I can't help?" I ask, trying to show willing.

"Take your rest, Lady. Two people can't swing one axe," Clytemnestra tousles my hair fondly and starts knotting the latest log into the array of fibrous twines we've scrounged up from the jungle.

"Fair enough. There's nothing so relaxing as watching other people work."

Eupraxia giggles and nods. I suspect that we could have been done hours ago if Eupraxia and I had been more help, but there really has been little for us to do and I know the raft will not be finished before dusk, much to the centaur's joy, I suspect.

Fortunately we have a pleasant spot to camp for the night. We are settled in modest clearing between the river and jungle, carpeted with soft grass and little blue flowers. Our raft takes shape over the few remaining hours before sunset. It's around twenty-five feet square, formed of a double-layer of long, narrow logs bound tightly together cross-grain to keep it stiff.

To my eye it doesn't look the most seaworthy vessel in creation, but the river is wide and slow and I have assured the others that, in a pinch I can make up any shortcomings with a little magic. I think I probably can too!

The sun sinks beneath the canopy of trees and I spark a little fire amongst some offcuts and kindling. We make a supper of the last of the bread and cheese Salmacis gave us a couple of days ago. Aristomache 'mmm's contentedly as she shrugs out of her halter top and stretches the kinks from her muscles, a moment later, Clytemnestra does the same, contentedly letting her bouncy round boobies out of captivity. That's an enjoyable sight.

Centaurs wear little anyway, usually just a halter top or some such to keep their breasts from jiggling, but there is still such a difference, perhaps if only psychological, between clothed and naked. I could look at centaurs' breasts all day. In fact, I have done so, Eupraxia's flat little bust rarely needs restraining so she almost always goes nude, but it's still a treat to see the others on full display.

On a whim I remove most of my clothes too, my boots and socks, my top and skirt until I'm wearing only my knickers... Well, they were originally Kyani's knickers, but they're mine now. I settle back down, leaning against Clytemnestra's firm, warm body.

Aristomache looks at me for a moment, taking in my barely dressed state, "Why do you leave the last garment on?"

"Just for fun," I shrug. It's the truth, but it sounds silly to say it out loud.

"She likes them," Clytemnestra explains.

"Why?"

I ponder Aristomache's question for a moment, "Why does anyone like anything? It's... It's difficult to explain. Especially to a centaur."

"You will try?" she asks, apparently with genuine interest.

I stroke my pants, the cloth is a little damp, just thinking about them is exciting.

"Well... first off, these aren't mine, they belonged to a woman I made love to once, more than once, actually. Mostly my own pants don't turn me on, mostly. But, just... just think about it..."

I'm still stroking my knickers, stroking myself through the slowly moistening cloth, slow, gentle, circular motions, feeling the slightly rough texture of the cotton, the shape of my womanhood beneath, the irregular sinuous complexity of my thick pubic hair trapped under the tight, taut fabric.

"Knickers are.. Are sexy. Tight, damp cloth wrapped hard around a woman's most intimate place... Hard about her body, infused with her scent, her taste," I squirm delightedly at the thought, wriggling against Clytemnestra soft, glossy black horsehair and still teasing at my flooded cunny through Kyani's pants.

"They're intimate, personal. Sexy, it's not a good explanation, but... But that's all there is to it. Give me a nice pair of used knickers and I'm happy, the smell, the feel the... Just the feeling of holding someone else's knickers, sniffing them, licking them, wearing them."

I'm masturbating properly now, through these wonderful used knickers, my love infusing them, joining with the old infusion Kyani gave them when she wore them.

"And if she's wet them... Ooh! It's not better, maybe, just different. If she's wet herself, there's something so sordid, so sexual about holding a pair of pee soaked knickers, the smell and feel of them. Even mine, but someone else's are always better. The smell changes as they dry out, but it's still just as good. It's... It's..."

It's getting harder to talk as I tease myself higher toward my plateau, my mind floods with wonderful images of sexy knickers and lewd, wet women wearing them, wetting them.

Having come under the influence of such delightful mental images I gradually become aware that all three of my companions are watching with a degree of amusement. I can only smile half-heartedly and snuggle back against Clytemnestra's flank, licking my fingers.

"May I try them?" Eupraxia's voice startles me slightly, she's soft-spoken and hasn't said much until now.

"What?"

"Your knickers, may I smell them?"

Oh wow... just hearing her say something like that, in her soft, sexy voice is electrifying.

"Of course."

I slip my thumbs under the waistband and wriggle the warm, wet pants off as she approaches. She takes them from my hand and raises them to her face, pressing the scrap of white cloth to her nose and inhaling deeply.

She dos it again, sniffing my dirty knickers, turning them to find the wet spot, her eyes closed to fully appreciate the smell. She sniffs again, then licks at the damp fabric. It's a wonderful sight. I lean back against Clytemnestra, gazing up at this wonderful, pale centaur sniffing and licking my knickers. My pulse thrums, my heart hammers with excitement.

Her hand falls again, she tosses the pants into my lap, "Now pee in them for me."

It's such a simple thing to say... So simple, yet so lewd, so sexy, all the moreso for its simplicity, for its very matter-of-fact nature. She asks this incredibly sordid thing of me so sweetly.

I leap to my feet as though galvanised and slip the still-warm pants on again, pulling them tight against my wildly excited cunt. Eupraxia settles herself to the ground before me, taking me in her arms, she kisses me softly on the lips and then looks me right in the eye.

"Wet yourself for me, please," she bids, her tangerine eyes lancing into mine.

I hold her tight, and she me, our bodies together, my cloth-covered womanhood is hard against her hard body as I piss for her. She gasps, so do I, the hot, hot wet pee gushes forth, instantly flooding my knickers, it splashes down my legs, and across her skin. I feel wonderful, tingling rivulets of urine flow between my thighs. Her strong arms hold me tighter to her, forcing my pissing flower against her alabaster coat.

I kiss her again, "That's it..."

She lets me free, her hand traces the outline of my lips through the thin layer of utterly wet cotton. She tastes her fingers, just once and then draws the pants down over my wet, clammy thighs, down and to the ground and I step out of them. Instantly she has the knickers to her face, she sniffs heartily, licks at the wet material, sucks noisily with the cloth between her lips.

Strong brown arms encircle me from behind, Clytemnestra runs her hands all over my body, but especially over my wet legs, else through my wetter pubic hair. She tastes my piss from her fingers, and lets me taste too.

"You are wrong," Eupraxia says.

"About... Ooh, about what?" It's hard to concentrate with Clytemnestra pawing wantonly at my damp thighs.

"You said knickers were not better for having been pissed in, you're wrong."

"Not better, just different. Both are good."

"These are better," Eupraxia states flatly.

Clytemnestra has her own opinion on the matter, "You're doing it all wrong," she says, accusingly.

Clytemnestra's hand darts out and snatches the wet knickers from Eupraxia. Her arms go about me again and she shakes them open ordering me to step into them, which I eagerly do. Ooh! They're wet and cool against my skin, delightfully kinky.

"Now lie down," she orders Eupraxia, "On your back."

Eupraxia looks askance, but complies. Centaurs rarely lay on their backs, it's not very comfortable I think. Still she does as she's told and Clytemnestra forces me down, her hands on my shoulders she makes me sink down atop Eupraxia, my wet thighs either side of her head, my soaking, pissy pants lowered to her suddenly comprehending face.

We both moan excitedly when she kisses my crotch, hard and thirsty and eager. My hands find her flat breasts, questing all over, groping her lavishly. Her lips work at my fabric-covered flower, her hands circle my waist and I start to move, to trib myself against her face.

She gives out a muffled, merry moan as my rocking hips find their rhythm. Far away, all the way at the other end of Eupraxia's body Aristomache settles herself down and descends upon her wife's neglected sex, Eupraxia quivers and squirms beneath me as Aristomache stimulates her. Clytemnestra plays with my body for her own pleasure, she cups my small breasts, her hands engulfing them entirely, else nibbles gently at my ear or neck.

I fuck myself harder and harder against Eupraxia, against her biting, licking, kissing mouth. It'd hurt a human, I'm sure, but she can take it! Her body thrills under my hands, driven higher toward her peak by her Aristomache's spirited cunnilingus.

I whimper rhythmically in time with my own grinding hips, Eupraxia's hooves kick mindlessly into the sky, her hands mimic Clytemnestra's, caressing me all over. I'm close! So close! Tribbing myself wildly against her through my piss flooded knickers. I come, jerking, spasming and collapse on top of her moments before the lady herself cries out in ecstasy.

We both lie there for a moment, lost in the union of our bodies, then she gently rolls me from her, and rights herself, smiling happily. I scamper to my feet, kiss her hard, kiss the lips I fucked my wet knickers against. Then I kiss Aristomache too, just because I can. Ooh! Her lips taste of cunt!

Her strong arms wrap around me, holding me tight to her body, she kisses me back. Her tongue deep in my mouth, her hard, round breasts crushing my petite bust, her stiff nipples delightfully proud against my skin. She takes me up in her arms only to lay me gently down again in the soft grass before her. Her lips leave mine, kiss me again, and then again at my neck, and still lower. She trails kisses down my neck, down my chest. Her lips trail light, flighty tickle-kisses all over my little breasts, but never stop.

Now she has covered my breasts in kisses she goes on, raising my arms above my head, I feel her hot breath at my armpit. I can't help giggling! Her nose is buried amongst the thick, dark hair there, tickling me, she inhales full, centaur-sized lungfuls of my scent and moans her approval. Her tongue snakes out to lick me, kiss me with delicate precision tickling me all the more for her gentleness.

It's all a wonderful distraction! With a great heave she rids me of my wet knickers in a trice, making me squeal in shock. A strong copper-skinned hand touches my sternum, pushing me irresistibly back to earth and her she resumes her kissing journey down my body. Oh, but I know her destination!

"Aaah!" Without so much as a preliminary kiss her hard, strong tongue licks me right between the lips, she smiles widely, but only for a moment, realising that she's been too rough.

The next is more gentle. Having just come, riding her wife's face, I'm so very sensitive, and she is a woman given to hearty, powerful tongue lashings. Her tongue and lips drive my coming orgasm unstoppably. Her face, part buried in my deep jungle presses hard against me and I can but let her take me. Squirming powerlessly against her licking, kissing, drinking mouth.

Suddenly deeper shadows close in around me, the sky is obscured by Clytemnestra and Eupraxia, their shapely hominine torsos looming over me, closing in above me as each swoops down on my naked breasts. All three centaurs work at my body with their lips and tongues and teeth. Licking my quailing sex, kissing my tender breasts, nipping oh-so-gently at my so-stiff nipples.

No woman could resist for long, no human woman could endure for long against the might of three horny centaurs! I come with geologic ferocity, crying aloud, tearing up great fistfuls of grass, body shuddering all over with the intensity of my third orgasm.

It leaves me panting, gasping like a landed fish, the world spinning around me. One by one, the centaurs stand, smiling at the destruction they've wrought in me.

Ohhhh...

Last night, there seemed to me something exciting, something indescribably romantic about sailing down an exotic jungle river on a handmade log raft.

Standing here in the dawn's new light the placid, twinkling, green water seems to have taken on a hungry, threatening aura. It laps against the edge of our beached raft as though tasting it, preliminary to tasting us too. My heart beats swiftly and adrenaline thrills my nerves as I step aboard.

Clytemnestra, Eupraxia and Aristomache all have long, stout staves with which to guide our course and they set these to the beach, their great strength forcing our less-than-doughty seeming craft fully into the ominous water. The current takes us and the raft spins lazily around, rocking vertiginously as the centaurs scramble for balance, their hooves widely spread and striking splinters from the greenwood logs with every wild, lurching step.

If I'm feeling nervous, and I am, my companions are far worse, I think. We drift with lazy inevitability a little farther out toward the middle of the river until Aristomache tries to arrest our motion, succeeding mostly, but making us spin in the opposite direction now, slow, gentle revolutions as the current plays with our brutally unhydrodynamic square raft. Eupraxia and Clytemnestra are laying down and actually holding on to the raft with their hands, for which I'm glad as every step Aristomache takes tilts our little vessel under my feet.

The current is slow, ponderous and irresistible, carrying us on past endless green jungle on either bank. Bank? Ha! For the most part the meeting of river and land is indistinct, swallowed up in tangles of vegetation and the shadows of mighty, trees growing, it seems, directly from the waters themselves. I keep a watchful eye downstream for the watercraft I know sometimes come this way. Travellers from Zoa coming upriver to seek out Salmacis the Sorceress, or more rarely still, to cross the mountains.

None appear, though, and as time drags on my mind wonders sometimes to that most fascinating woman... To make love with her was... Transcendent. A more-than-physical act, but that is not what sticks in my mind now. My mind submerges itself in memories of the gentle intimacy we often shared following the capital act. I think of the long hours we spent just holding one another. At times she felt like all elbows and knees, our limbs tangled about one another sharing the warm comfort of her bed. Physical in a way entirely divorced from sex.

Moments like those have a magic all their own, and rarer than sex too. As my time in this odd, wonderful world goes on, I find I learn things hitherto unsuspended about myself. About my companions too, for that matter.

By the time some hours have passed they have fallen entirely silent and almost entirely immobile. All three are obviously deeply unhappy to be afloat. Shame. I am actually starting to rather enjoy myself again.

This morning's apprehension has almost entirely worn off and my earlier sense of exhilaration at rafting down an exotic jungle river has returned tenfold. I wish I could share it with the centaurs. In fact, I suppose I could, but I'm strongly disinclined to use magic on them. Another idea does present itself, however.

Reaching out with my Rod spell I snare a likely fragment of driftwood and, though unmoving physically, I position it about a hundred yards ahead of our craft before pointing it out to the other three.

"See that piece of wood?" I nod at it.

"What of it, Lady?" Clytemnestra frowns.

"Think you could hit it in one shot?"

"Why?" Clytemnestra peers at it more closely, as though I may have spotted some danger about it.

"I could!" Aristomache boasts.

"Even from a raft on a river?" I ask.

"From a cloud in a hurricane!"

Clytemnestra has already chambered a shell and fires sending our craft gently spinning and blowing the wood to splinters and splashes.

Eupraxia giggles, "I can top that!" Her own rifle comes out and she sights along the barrel for a dark speck in the water way off astern, aiming for a long moment as our craft bobs and turns before pulling the trigger and destroying whatever it may have been.

That's solved the problem nicely. Centaurs consider markswomanship amongst the highest peaks of excellence and showing off their skills in this unique, and highly challenging setting is more than enough to take their minds off any distress they may have been feeling. Not to mention, cause me some. The motion of our raft grows increasingly erratic with the pronounced effect that three moving centaurs and their guns' recoil has on it over and above that of the river. Perhaps I didn't fully think this through...

I've no interest in competing myself, of course. In other company I might go so far as to call myself a fair shot, but I know when I'm outclassed. Simply taking my ease as our craft drifts with the stream and my companions eventually exhaust their attention, and expendable ammunition I suppose, at their game.

The hours roll on with the same inexorability as the river, as life itself. The hours roll on, and soon the days. We float ever farther from the mountains, through green jungle which in time thins, and sputters and vanishes altogether while we spend our days afloat and our nights in some secluded space of bank or another.

One morning I wake to see a bright silver line on the distant horizon, quite invisible the night before. Much is made of it and with good spirits we set sail on what we think must be the final leg.

Zoa is... Magnificent. I'd had some idea, some hint at least, from my first glimpse of the City on the Bridge. How could it not be? Now though, as I sorcerously guide our raft, our stout little servant these last few days toward the city I appreciate it fully.

Its piers rise precipitously from the water, every one of stone carven in the shape of titanic monsters supporting the city herself, these beasts are of all shapes and kinds and kins, every one intertwined with its fellows, carved in stone stained green with long exposure to the waters around. The buildings of the city grow almost organically from their monstrous backs and shoulders.

ZoZa
ZoZa
53 Followers