My Travels with Clytemnestra Ch. 08

About most of the piers cluster small docks and jetties and ramshackle landings inexpertly built and entirely unmaintained. Most, it seems, are abandoned, mouldering away in the wet and wash of the lake along with the ancient boats tied to them, or incorporated rudely into their structure.

I try to quell a feeling disquiet as I push the raft towards an obviously used, and usable marina. We can see activity on and around it. Small crafts, fishing boats and flat-bottomed barges with human women and men on their decks, and we can see centaurs here and there on the marina.

We bump jarringly against the ancient wooden posts and planks of the marina and I hold our raft tight to it it, nuzzling clumsily against the wood while my companions gracelessly disembark. Some passers by, centaurs of course, help them scamper and scramble onto the marina and I vault assure with what I fondly imagine is impressive ease. Our loyal little raft drifts off, forgotten while Aristomache diverts the locals' questions and tries to divert the people themselves from our party.

"Why'd you shoo them off?" I ask, genuinely curious now that she has made sure we're all alone.

"What would you have me do? You," she indicates Clytemnestra and me, "And we had a common destination, but I don't want to be surrounded with strangers the moment we arrive."

"They could've told us where we need to go... Or something... Where do we need to go? You've got a letter for this Grand Master woman?"

We walk easily the paths of the marina and now find ourselves climbing long, shallow stair winding around the body of a serpentine seamonster as it climbs toward the city itself. The air smells of algae and impurities decayed in water and the stone under us is damp and slippy.

All of that, however, is forgotten. Zoa is breathtaking. All of a sudden we are at street level, thrown instantly into a bustling pedestrian way hurry-scurrying between mighty gothic stone buildings looming up all about us. Every building is a thing of art where no whim or talent of mason or architect was ever denied. Every wall is a relief of carven images broken only by tall, dark stained glass and flying buttresses and leering grotesques.

Ah, and the people! Centaurs, of course, all of them. I feel so obviously alien surrounded by them all. I cower close to Clytemnestra for fear of being trampled or swept away in the crowd. She lays her hand protectively on my shoulder. So many centaurs, the woman attractive, very, very shapely and less than half wearing any clothing. Everywhere I look my eyes are massaged by firm, smooth flesh, glossy dark coats, copper skin and round, tempting breasts.

Men too, I've never seen male centaurs before, scarcely thought of them. They're taller than the women, for the most part, and mostly broader, too, more muscular, but sharing that same undeniable wildness of spirit in their eyes. None of them are clothed and for the most part their tails are little able to conceal their obvious intimidating maleness.

Almost everyone around us, women and men alike have body piercings. Their ears, noses, nipples and more besides. I no longer wonder at Salmacis ponderous gold rings.

"That's our way," Aristomache points, I think west, the spiral stair and tall, strange buildings have cost me my sense of direction, "The Grand Master's palace is at the centre of the bridge."

So saying she leads us on. So many centaurs! Everywhere. I hold tight to Clytemnestra's hand, a little frightened.

Clytemnestra asks after the city, "When was this built?"

"I know not," Aristomache shrugs without turning around, "My mother never said, if she knew. A long time, I think. You are coming to the palace? You could ask there."

"Are we?" My voice is small and soft against the constant background of rich, full centaur voices in the street and I have to repeat myself to be heard.

Eupraxia looks down at me, surprised, "Are you not?"

"I don't know... We were going the same way as you, but we don't have any... Any real plans here."

So we follow. Clytemnestra squeezes my hand and she keeps walking and so do I. As simple as that.

I cannot begin to speculate how old this city may be, but with every new vista of it I grow more certain that no centaur built it. The doorways are too small – most modified, but obviously so. The statuary along the roads and the images carved into the walls does depict centaurs, but far less often than human women and men. And what centaur, I ask myself, would build a city requiring so many staircases? Stairs around the piers, stairs outside buildings, stairs, no doubt within all these tall edifices.

Yet more stairs, now. They lead up to the cyclopean doors of the Palace and when we climb them a phalanx of centaurs swoop down on us, bringing us to a halt. Each of them has a long, leaf-bladed weapon like a cross between spear and lance, and each has a rifle scabbarded at her waist.

"Far enough, citizens," one says. She may be the leader, others seem to defer to her.

Aristomache smiles warmly and I silently curse when the first words she speaks are, "We're strangers, not citizens."

I can't imagine that will win us any friends in these fierce, well armed, soldiers and my eyes automatically scan for the best escape route. I think, if I have to, I'll take my chances with the stairs crawling around the outside of the nearest building.

"Be about your business, strangers," the leader tells us, "This is the Palace of the Grand Master and you are not permitted within."

Aristomache keeps smiling innocently, "We carry a letter for the Grand Master. A letter from Zenaida the Fair, and I am Aristomache, daughter of Zenaida."

"Indeed?" the soldiers look her over closely, and look over each of us too, "And who are these others?"

Aristomache introduces Eupraxia as her wife, and Clytemnestra and me as travelling companions from the east. The soldiers' leader converses briefly with one of her women and then nods at us.

"You will come with me, Daughter of Zenaida."

So saying she leads Aristomache through the palace's great door and we follow, thankfully unmolested. Through the magnificent arched doorway and into a vast, echoing marble hall whose roof is supported by tree-like pillars with stone roots that spill out over the floor and branches which intertwine with the ribs of the distant, vaulted ceiling. Between the pillars are tall brightly painted statues of centaurs, each atop a black marble plinth.

"See," Aristomache singles one such statue from the others, "My mother, Zenaida."

Zenaida's statue shows her standing on four legs, one arm cradling an open book, the other raised as though orating. Her head is thrown back, her considerable bosom thrust forward over her book.

"She was a poet?" I ask, remembering Salmacis' description.

Aristomache nods, "The very finest poet and dramatist you may ever know."

"That she was," the soldier speaks for the first time since ordering us follow her, "Her departure was a day of sadness for Zoa."

Presently we arrive at a waiting room where we are ordered to remain, and then left quite alone when the soldier closes the door behind her. Remain we do for about an hour, I think, interrupted only once when a boy, a centaur boy, brings us a gilded tray with four vast mugs of white wine.

Each one is two pints at least and I find myself holding mine, staring nervously at it.

"Problem, lady?" asks Clytemnestra, already well on the way to defeating her own.

"Do you think I have to drink it?"

"Have to? Why? And why wouldn't you?"

"I don't know... Maybe it'll offend them if I don't."

"Then do."

"If half of what you've told my about centaur booze is true, I doubt I'd survive the attempt."

I essay a mouthful and confirm my suspicions, it's a very potent, and in fact, rather unpleasant drink. I have a quick glance around to make sure no one is walking through the door and then transform it into water. I'm glad none of my companions notice either, they'd probably think it deeply wrong to waste alcohol like that.

That brief crisis solved I'm still sober by the time another servant, this one a much older man dripping in gold chains and rings and piercings arrives.

"Thank you for waiting, Daughter of Zenaida," he starts, without introductions, "Her Grace will see you and your companions now."

"Excellent!" Aristomache moves to follow him and the rest of us tag after her until he stops us.

"Her Grace will see the three of you," he turns to me, looking down somewhat ambivalently, "However, she does not treat with your kind lightly. Quarters have been prepared for all of you and you must remain there until the audience is complete."

I stare at him for a moment before remembering myself, "How long..."

"As long as her Grace wishes."

"Lady, if you..."

I cut Clytemnestra off, "It's fine. I'll be here when you're finished."

I pat her hand fondly and smile at Eupraxia and Aristomache. I suppose this is only fair after I ditched them to stay with Salmacis. The old centaur leads them out of the waiting room and another figure enters immediately. A startlingly cute woman with rich, golden palomino colouration on her equine body matched by the pale skin and silver-white hair of her hominine half.

"My apologies, ma'am, I'm sure you will not be separated long. Please, come with me and I will show you to your rooms."

She indicates for me to follow and I do, happily watching her sexy, shapely rump sway in front of me and stealthily trying to catch a glimpse under her long white tail. She's just the cutest thing ever, very petite, fine, almost elfin features and sparkling blue eyes. She's just made for a pixie haircut, but in fact it's long and loose and swishing about her pale shoulders. Her small, perky, excited breasts have a fine golden chain strung from pointed nipple to pointed nipple.

"These rooms are yours for as long as you are staying with us," she shows me into an exotically elegant room of veined red and white marble splashed all over with gold-leaf.

I stand for a moment drinking it in. In the centre a huge mattress rests on the floor as centaurs like things, draped in fur and silk. Here a polished walnut writing desk, there a dark mahogany wardrobe. I wonder through a doorway into an adjoining room dominated by vast bath cut into the marble floor, a bath more than large enough for a centaur, or two.

"Will there be anything else, ma'am? I'm instructed to provide anything you desire to make your stay as pleasant as possible."

"What's your name?"

"Kallidora, ma'am."

"And you're to provide anything I desire?"

"Yes ma'am."

"And should I desire Kallidora?" I trail my fingers softly down her warm flank, walking slowly along her body

She flinches slightly at my touch, swallows breathlessly, smiles warmly, "Anything," she purrs.

I walk behind her, tracing my fingers across her broad, mouth-watering arse, "Anything," I repeat, completing my circuit of her sexy body.

'Anything'. Ah, I know what I want of her! My red satin top floats to the floor, Kallidora catches her breath and eyes my naked chest hungrily even as I wriggle out of my skirt and then my pants too. She gasps, such a quick, cute sound, gasps at my revealed garden of pubic hair, staring openly, desirously, as I comb my fingers through that thick dark jungle.

"You've never seen a human unclothed?" I ask, walking to the desk and kicking off my boots and socks on the way.

"No ma'am."

"Never made love to a human?"

"No ma'am."

"Mm, never," I take up the silver chalice which sits next to the decanter on the desk, "tasted a human?"

"No ma'am," Such desire in her eyes, her voice, her body.

Kallidora's sexy white tail is lashing back and forth and I smell the unmistakable scent of centaurs' lust in the air. She shivers as I approach her, the cup dangling loosely from my fingers.

"Anything?" I ask, lightly grasping the sparkling golden chain between her erect nipples, pulling gently until she leans down and I can steal a brief, almost chaste kiss from her lips.

"Anything!" a centaur's lust is powerful, all-consuming, irresistible, the poor girl must be crazy with need.

I release the chain, "then taste."

The chalice is between my slightly spread thighs, the silver metal cool against my flushed skin. Cool and deliciously exciting. A trickle, just a little trickle flows from my engorged, wet lips. A little splash of pee flows into the chalice. I sigh, she gasps, I pee a little more, filling the metal cup while she watches, unblinking. I lift the cup, bring it to my lips and sip just a very little of my so-warm pee pee.

"Taste," I say, raising the chalice to her.

My heart hammers, my sex burns with desire and excitement as she takes the cup from me, her fingers brushing mine, wrapping around the hot metal.

"Anything," she pants, lifting the cup to her lips.

She drinks. She tips the cup filling her mouth with my piss, her eyes close and her throat moves, swallowing every drop, draining the chalice in one long, slow draught. My pee glistens on her slightly parted lips, she catches one last shining drop as it falls from the chalice's rim to her tongue and swallows greedily.

My cunt yearns to be touched, teased into ecstasy by the erotic vision before me. Touch me she does. The now warm metal cup she presses to my hairy sex, her desire shouted without a single word. What can I do? I let myself go again, let myself fall again into the wonderful sensation of peeing in front of her. A jet of excited piss leaps from within my mass of dark hair, splashing noisily into the cup and throwing droplets over the edge until it is very swiftly filled again.

Again she lifts it and there is no more erotic sight to my mind right now. Soft moist lips kiss the silver-white vessel and she tips it back, her head falling back too, drinking deeply. I stroke myself openly, running my fingertips over the centre of my lust while she drains that wicked cup. Her hooves sound suddenly, hard and loud on the marble floor, she is suddenly with me, bodily close. I snatch away the cup and drop it clattering to the ground, taking her hands in mine and pulling her to me to kiss those irresistible wet lips.

Soft. Soft and warm and moist and intimate beyond thinking. All that a kiss can be. Kallidora's arms go around me, holding me, her skin is hot and soft and she smells bewitchingly of spice and flowers, but also of sweat and lust and woman. I step back and she forwards, I pull and she follows me. I throw myself backwards into the feather-soft embrace of the mattress and she is not a moment behind. Her hominine form looming over me, smiling like an angel as her long, sexy legs fold beneath her to the ground.

I kiss her again, my arms around her neck pulling her to me as her hair falls all about us like a veil of white. We kiss and kiss and she giggles and brushes her hair aside and we kiss again. I hold her so tight, pulling her body to mine and throw my legs about her narrow waist, gasping when her eager, questing fingers sneak down to grope at my bum. I gasp and giggle and now sigh as those same fingers feel between my spread legs, combing through my hair and brushing deliciously over my wet, wanting, womanhood. She cannot help but notice and I cannot help but shiver and sigh when she does it again.

"Ahh, good girl," I quiver , shiver and wriggle my hips against her hand, tightening my grip around her with my legs.

Her golden chain is hard and teasing pressed against my yielding bosom. I kiss her lips, her cheek, her jaw, I nip cheekily at her ear and purr my pleasure at the poems of lust her wanton, wonderful fingers are writing into the open pages of my sex.

So good. So very good. Her hand is writing a climax into my cunt, building it moment by moment as I writhe beneath her. Her breath is hot on my face, her lips soft and open against mine and I kiss the mouth that drank my pee. I hold so tight about her, my arms and legs locked in an irresistible embrace while I rock my sex into her loving fingers.

"Ohh, good girl, good girl... I'm almost there!"

I buck against her fingers, she drives her thumb over my soaked petals and teases at my clit all the more, rubbing eager, exquisite pleasure into my most sensitive spot and I will her on, panting in time with her loving rhythm. Closer and closer still until, with a needful, hungry kiss of her lips I find my ecstatic peak, seizing her with every limb, holding on as she forces me into bliss. I hold her, I hold her... I fall back to the bed...

I lie, panting, writhing, weakly and she kisses me softly.

"That was... Mm, exquisite," I purr.

"Thank you. Mm! Thank you!" she licks her fingers greedily, smiling with joy.

Ah, but she's just the cutest woman ever! She licks each finger in turn, grinning like the cat that got the cream and absolutely thanking me for letting her masturbate me like that.

All of a sudden she turns and vanishes! Even as I wriggle and raise myself on my elbows she's back, though, that nasty, lovely cup in her hands and she's still grinning as she puts it between my legs. The cold metal rim makes me shiver.

"May I have some more?" she beams, all big, bright eyes and lusty desire.

There's not a soul alive who could deny her, so earnest, so sexy! She bites her lip, watching so closely as I piss for her, filling her silver goblet with my golden pee. Mm! I can barely stop myself now, barely keep from overfilling it.

She lifts it to her lips again, panting in anticipation. So am I, so excited by the scene she plays out before me as I recline on my elbows, legs spread lewdly before her. Her mouth floods with my fresh pee and she swallows, eyes closed, savouring every moment.

She looks down at me again, her eyes lock with mine and she leans over me once more, filling my vision. The cup, its bright silver surface here and there bejewelled with droplets of urine, tips in her hand. It's still nearly full and she pours out the hot, aromatic contents. Pours it over my body. The wave of piss falls across my chest, splashing and sparkling all over my flushed, bare breasts, all down my body, pooling in my navel and running over my waist.

"Kallidora!" I gasp, shocked and aroused and thrilled beyond thought.

I can only gasp again as she descends upon me, kissing my wet body, licking me again and again. Kissing my soaked breasts, licking the lovely pee from my skin, nipping at my eager nipples and lapping the pool of piss in the middle of my flat tummy. I gasp and giggle and pant beneath her while she licks up every drop of gold. And then... And then she takes another cupful from between my legs, and another, and another and does it all again!

Her face is shiny and wet when she's finished. Droplets of pee cling here and there in her white hair. I kiss her so deep and long, hold her to my wet body, twine my fingers through her wet hair, lose myself in her erotic wonder.

"You'll still do anything for me?" I sigh between kisses.

She nods eagerly, "Anything!"

"You'll pee for me? Pee for me and let me drink too?"

She beams excitedly, "Of course!" nodding and snatching up the silver goblet.

"No," I admonish her, taking the cup from her hands and casting it away, I will drink from the source!"

She leaps up as though galvanised, clapping excitedly and chattering her eager consent. In a trice she's facing away from me and that cute, round arse of hers is above me, coming down, and down, and down while I scramble out from under her. She settles herself on the mattress, bum sticking up slightly and I settle behind her, cross-legged.

Who could ever get tired of seeing an aroused centaur's womanhood? Not I. Never! I move her restless, fidgety tail aside and gaze longingly at her wet, quivering cunt. Black lipped, winking wetly, so big ad lump and kissable! Spread and ready it glistens before me in the middle of her golden behind. The smell is overpowering, I can feel the heat on my face as I lean in. Her little peehole is just visible, winking within her womanly folds and I give it a lick, making her flinch.