Chapter 1 - Clytemnestra

Author's note: It might be for the best if you don't read this chapter, or at least, don't start here. It's not very good. I'm writing this note six months after writing and posting this first chapter, and anyone can see that my writing has improved massively since I started. I may not be great, but later chapters are much better, so maybe skip this one...

CHAPTER I
'CLYTEMNESTRA'


I suppose I simply... Willed myself here? It's not a good explanation but it's the only one I have. Wherever 'here' is?

	Everything is different, if familiar. I'm on a worn earthen path surrounded on both sides by trees. A forest of broad-leafed deciduous trees of the kind I'd expect to see at home. The air, though is warm, tropically so, and laden with sweet, exotic scents that I do not recognise. Fruits, flowers, spices and other, more earthy, fecund smells that I've never encountered before but understand on a deeper, animal level. Sounds of birdsong and gentle arboreal rustling back my every movement.

	It's all unfamiliar, I swear I've never been here, but I feel comfortable. Moreso than I ever have before. I feel... At peace. There are splashes of deepest blue sky visible through the canopy and the warm weather makes me feel happy, as it always does.

	I'm different too, I realise, examining myself. Same old me, but better. I'm dressed all in white, which is odd. I never dress like that, and my midriff is showing! My waist is so narrow! I'm wearing a long white skirt and a short, sleeveless white shirt which shows my navel and the trail of dark hair leading down from it into my skirt.

	My little breasts are even smaller! I think my nipples are bigger, though. They jut through the fabric and I cannot help but feel a frisson at the sensation of tight cloth across them. When I look down a long, long plaited ponytail falls across my chest. My own brown hair turned black, but so much longer.

	Glasses! I'm not wearing any, but I can see with perfect clarity! I reach up and feel the bridge of my nose, there's not even the indentation that'd show I ever wore them.

	I lift my skirt a little, tall boots of soft white leather and white woollen knee-socks come to light. When I take a step I realise that my knickers must be at least a couple of sizes too small, they hug me tightly. Irresistibly I take a look inside the waistband of my skirt. White. Plain white cotton knickers, definitely too small, excitingly so. They put noticeable pressure on my sex with every movement of my hips. A goodly amount of pubic hair peeks from around the edges, stark black against the white, it reaches all the way to my navel in a dense treasure trail. I peek within my little white pants, with a little difficulty, they are tight! There's a lot of hair there, more and more dense than I ever had before. Same goes for my armpits when I check.

	My whole body is... Is similar to the way it should be, only better. My bare stomach is flat and toned, I think I even see the suggestion of ribs. My skin, what I can see of it is pale and without blemish, like I've been expertly airbrushed. Not enough to look artificial, but enough to look very, very good.

	I'm not sure how long I've been standing here, wherever here is, but I think I'd better do something. The path isn't very wide, and grown with grass in patches, as though disused, but it's fully usable. In either direction it travels, curving after a dozen yards one way or two dozen the other, no clues as to where it may lead. I don't know which way to go, forward or back seem the same.

	I decide to go forward simply because that's the way I'm facing. Perhaps a little fun first, though.

	I stand here, hands behind my back, eyes closed, legs together and concentrate for a moment. It only takes a moment, these days. So unlike the first few times I tried, when it could take half an hour or more of effort.

	I feel the warmth spread over my groin. So hot, so wet. I shiver when it begins to trickle down my inner thighs. The flow gets very strong very fast and my knickers are soaked, the stream penetrates them and a wet patch grows on the front of my white skirt as more and more piss flows down the inside of my legs. I feel it soak into my socks and the patch on my skirt gets bigger yet, staining the white cloth light yellow.

	Maybe it's my too-tight knickers, but I hadn't realised how much pressure there was on my bladder, how full I was. I piss for such a long time! Loving every second of the hot, wet feeling. It flows down both legs, stroking them, almost. I'm tempted to touch myself but I know from experience that that only spoils the moment. I finish peeing, the last drops mixing with the juice of my aroused sex. The wet spot on my skirt is huge, all the way from waistband to the hem down at my ankles. The puddle beneath my feet is bigger yet and spreads in thick, dark rivulets across the hot, packed earth.

	Well, that tells me something too. I never wet myself unless I'm certain I won't meet anyone before I have the chance to clean myself up. Wherever this place is, it's affected more than just my body. For all I know anyone could come around the corner right now and see me standing here in a puddle of piss rubbing myself through my soaked skirt.

	I set off down the path, savouring the strong smell of ammonia as it mingles with the other scents in the air, and exhilarating in that binding, rubbing feeling one only gets when walking with inner thighs drenched in one's own piss.

	My wet legs now feel deliciously cool but they dry quickly in the warm air, like my skirt and unlike my knickers which are flooding with another substance entirely... I wonder if I should stop and take care of that, but I want to see where this path leads.

	Clearly, my body is fitter than I feel it ought to be, as evidenced by my complete lack of fat, and my toned tummy. Despite the heat I'm making good progress, and not tiring at all. Although I am getting a little thirsty. Damn, I'm starting to wish I hadn't wasted all my pee on the ground. Only makes you thirstier in the long run of course, but I guess it'd have solved the problem briefly and been fun.

	The forest clears and I see the lake. Truly this place is good to me.

	The woods circle it, forming a clearing perhaps a mile across, with a river flowing into it about a quarter-way around and I guess another flowing out somewhere. Oddly, the heat's no worse as I step out of the shade. Even a little ameliorated by a gentle breeze.

	There are baroque purple mountains with jaunty snow caps on the horizon to my left, the same direction from whence the river flows. Before me, the lake sparkles in the bright sunlight, little ripples and waves throwing golden reflections at me as I approach through the thick, broad-bladed grass that grows here.

	I stop on the edge, tempted to drink, but holding back. The water is so clear that I can see the stony bed, even as I cast my eye far out from shore. But then, the things that I'm worrying about aren't visible, are they? I look around, there are no birds on the water, though a few fly overhead from time to time, I think I see a kestrel, or some similar hovering raptor.

	Then I hear a rustling, more pronounced than the gentle movement of the trees which have accompanied me since I arrived here. Turning I see her. Just emerging from the same path that had brought me here, she sees me in the same moment.

	She's a centaur. Clear as day and just as obvious. I'm stunned, immobile, I can but drink her in. Eight or nine feet tall, easily and at least six long. Her equine coat is glossy black all over, save white coronet markings which I glimpse as she approaches. Powerful muscles flow under her skin and and I find myself considering the terrible strength she must possess.

	If only for a moment – as I am quickly drawn to her hominine part. She is flawless. Straight-backed with lithe, sinewy muscles and rich brown skin. Her hair is shortish and a little scruffy, but shows off her cute, pointed ears. She smiles when she sees me and it just lights up her whole face, I cannot help but smile back, disarmed and suddenly relieved of the sense of dread that I hadn't even noticed building.

	She's not wearing much. A small, at least for her, leather halter top that holds her plump breasts perfectly still, and a wide belt about the base of her hominine torso. That might've been the source of my dread. There's a brobdingnagian two-handed sword on her right and a rifle every bit the sword's equal in a rifle-scabbard on her left along with a pair of satchel like bags. Even the rifle cartridges in the loops of the belt are as long as my hand.

	She walks right up to me as I stand rooted to the spot, and places her right hand on my shoulder. I imagine it's some sort of greeting but I certainly cannot return it, so I settle for smiling hopefully and wishing I could say something.

“Clytemnestra,” she says, her voice musical and utterly feminine, surprising in a being so large.

“What?”

“My name is Clytemnestra,” she smiles still, and I stammer out my name, at which she squeezes my shoulder and lets go.

“You're a traveller, like me?” she asks.

“I suppose?” Well, it's as good a answer as any, “I... I wanted a drink,” glance at the lake, “Is it safe to drink?”

“But of course,” she looks confused for a moment, the question was not one she'd been expecting, “Will you join me?”

	With that she releases the buckle of her belt and lowers it, with its cargo to the ground, her halter top follows a moment later and she walks into the water. I can merely stare at her.

	A moment later I am undressing as swiftly as I ever have, throwing off my white clothes and dancing excitingly into the cool water. My breath catches at the sudden chill and Clytemnestra laughs like a child, her magnificent body wet and glowing in the sun, her breasts jiggling with her mirth. She cups her hands and drinks deeply of the water, as do I a moment later.

	As a drink, I hate water, I don't like the taste at all, but this is different. Like everything here, the same, but somehow better. I drink until my stomach is taught and sloshing while farther out where it's deeper Clytemnestra smooths water over herself, washing the dust and sweat from her skin and coat.

	I try to get nearer but very soon the water is up to my chin and I'm still a good way from her, unwilling to put my very weak swimming to the test. She walks to me until her bow-wave washes over my face and I come up spluttering and have to retreat. She splashes me again and again until I fall backwards and simply lay there, floating on my back as she towers over me, dark skin running with water. The light breeze has made her nipples hard and from where I lie looking up they are silhouetted wonderfully against the bottomless sky.

	In a moment she is gone and I stay, floating and reflecting on the sight, my hand strays toward my centre, but I catch it in time, lest she notice. Standing again I see Clytemnestra walking from the lake, water running from her body, hair and tail plastered down and little droplets flinging, sparkling, from her hands and hooves as she moves.

	I want to follow her, but I cannot imagine what I'd do or say. Part of me wants to stay here in the cool water, too. I dither for a moment before following her and trusting to fate that I can find some way to talk to this magnificent woman.

	I reach the shallows and cannot help but look over my naked form, my arms and legs are wiry with small, hard muscles and I can definitely discern my ribs, albeit subtly. Every square inch of my crotch is covered in dark hair, longer, denser and greater in area than before, it's something to behold.

	When I look up Clytemnestra is standing by the little white pile of my clothes, she's in the act of rising and has a scrap of white in her hand. My knickers! She brings them to her nose and inhales deeply as she looks me right in the eyes.

	I nearly stumble, stunned for the second time.

“It was you,” she says as I stagger from the water.

	She takes another big breath, holding the gusset right to her nose.

“I wondered if it had been. It was you who pissed all over the path,” she walks imperiously toward me until she's standing so close that I have to look almost straight up to see her face framed between those wonderful breasts.

	Before I can reply, if even I could, she presses my nasty knickers to my nose and despite myself I smell them. I enjoy the smell of piss and my own juice as she holds the little pants to my face and the next thing I know they're gone to be replaced by her own face. She kisses my roughly, leaning down and pulling me to her. Her long tongue forcing its way between my lips.

	She may have perfect human proportions from the waist up, but everything about her human part is bigger. To scale with the rest of her. Her tongue is long and thick and I am sucking it as much as I am kissing her. 

“Mm,” is all Clytemnestra offers as she settles onto her knees and then further until she is lying before me, putting us almost on eye level.

	She takes another long sniff at my knickers and as soon as she finishes I kiss her again, holding tight around her and feeling her firm breasts against my own tiny titties. I'm lost in the sensation. The feel of her breasts, her smell. The sound of my heart beating so very hard. The taste of her lips. The taste of her tongue exploring my mouth, the honey pooling between my legs. The kiss only ends when I gasp as her fingers trace my cunt. She takes the opportunity to raise them to her mouth and lasciviously lick my juices from them.

	I look into her eyes and see only lust, burning like fire, she seizes me and I'm spun around to face away from her even as she clamps me to her. One hand roughly mauls at my breasts, the other again seeks my dripping cunt. She hauls my legs apart with irresistible strength exposing my furry slit. I try to moan as she strokes my opening, but her mouth covers mine.

	Her fingers press against my needy cunt sending electric waves of pleasure through me, wonderfully counterpointed as her other hand gently tweaks my nipple. Suddenly her tongue is gone from my mouth replaced by her fingers, and I greedily suck on my own mild flavour.

	She's biting on my ear now as her arm holds me ever tighter to her and her other hand returns to my bush. I strain to look down as her fingers disappear into my thick hair and cry out as she suddenly strokes a fingertip across my clitty. I'm hers utterly. My world is her hot breath in my ear, her strong arm around my chest, her wonderful, wonderful fingers caressing my cunt to heights undreamed. A feedback loop of pleasure from my clit to my nipples and back again.

	She strokes her fingers faster and faster through my wet slit, she rubs at my clit until I'm convulsing with pleasure and she kisses me as I come. I come harder than I ever thought possible, unable even to kiss back.

	She lets me fall to the ground where I lie, mewling as she licks her hand clean and takes another sniff of my pissy knickers. She stands and reaches down, all the way down to help me to my feet. I'm still a little unsteady and another long kiss doesn't help, I hold her close and she me. My feet leave the ground entirely, my weight nothing to her as she shares her hot, wild kiss with me.

	But that's not enough for her, not right now. I understand that wholly as she puts me back on the ground and without a word, turns her back on me. Her tail, almost dry now from the warm air, swishes restlessly and I can see her sex, dripping wet and pulsating. Glossy black outer lips winking wide to reveal the sweet pink within.

	How can I refuse? How can I resist?

I moan her name, “Clytemnestra,” that name to me right now is all that is woman, and all that is sex.

	I can wait no longer and lean forward to lick her slick equine sex from bottom to top. That alone makes her sigh contentedly but I don't stop there. I fall to with enthusiasm, lapping, licking, caressing that most extraordinary cunt. Sweet sighs of feminine joy rewarded me. Sighs and so much nectar, slightly thicker and more flavourful than my own, a little bitter and salty, and I insatiably drink down every drop with questing tongue and long, sucking kisses.

	With my left hand I explore the folds of her creamy cunt, finding her hard, jutting button with ease and stroking it with my thumb, while never letting up with my tongue. Clytemnestra cries out for pleasure and stamps a hoof the moment I touch her there. Her breathing becomes more erratic even as her cries become softer moans of pleasure and I devour her with my lips and tongue. Her juices coat my face, my hand, my neck, flowing down across my chest as our lovemaking goes on.

	My other hand reaches under her, and I soon find my target there between her legs: her nipples, her other, equine nipples. Big and stiff, I have my revenge for her abuse of my breasts, rubbing her clitty with my left hand and rolling one nipple and then the other with my right. The first tweak of her nipple makes her cry out, the next, sigh and her transports grow to a higher plane still.

	Her tail is sticking high in the air above me, the long hair tickling my back as I give her my all. When she comes it's like an earthquake. She cries aloud and her flanks and dock shake powerfully. The force of her orgasmic spasms knocks me to the ground and I look up, dazed, as she stamps and roars her pleasure to the world. Womanly fluids cascade from her quaking cunt and part of me can only lament that I am not there to receive them.

	She looks over her shoulder, smiling that smile I so love, “Not bad, sweetie.”

	I wonder how to respond... Flippancy or nonchalance, or a declaration of love, or lust at least. Clytemnestra doesn't give me time. She's still looking at me over her shoulder and even as I try to summon some response her tail swishes to the side and a strong, hot jet of liquid strikes me. That brings me back to my senses very fast. I open my mouth trying to catch her precious pee. The stream is powerful and so very, very hot and there's so much. I can swallow only a fraction as it plays all over my face and body, my eyes shut tight and my mouth open wide questing for the hot salt flavour.

	It's over too soon and I'm drenched in her piss, sitting in a huge puddle that even now is soaking into the rich earth. For the second time, Clytemnestra picks me up and kisses me lustily. A long, sloppy kiss that intermixes with her licking my face and neck. I return it eagerly, and wrap my arms and legs about her torso, grinding my hairy cunt against her belly and smearing her piss all over her. She licks my cheek one last time.

“Enough... Enough! Ooh, that's quite enough, lady,” she laughs trying to put me down.

“Not for me!”

“Is that so?” She canters into the lake again and heaves me across the water with a mighty throw. I squeal, flailing all my arms and legs and am suddenly doused. Struggling to the surface coughing I cannot help but just laugh just as she is.

	She splashes over to me and dumps big double-handfuls of water over my head, rubbing her hands over my naked body, washing her pee off of my skin, out of my hair and I do the same for her, as best I am able. Both of us let our hands linger on our favourite parts of one another's anatomy. Both of us share many kisses, some brief, some not so as we play in the cool water.

	We lie on the soft grass as the sun and the warm air dry our naked bodies. I lie against Clytemnestra. The sensation of her slow, powerful breathing a strange pleasure to me.

“Where are you going?” she asks. I have not moved, but that's not what she's asking, I think. I'd called myself a traveller.

“I don't know where I am. Maybe I'm there already?”

“That's no answer, little one.”

“It's all I have,” I reply, a little petulantly, looking up at her. She's not looking at me, but across the lake, “Where are we?”

“Maybe it has a name, I don't know. Should one wonderer who doesn't know where she is expect better from another?”

“You're a traveller too?”

She looks at me over her shoulder and nods, “But I know where I'm going.”

I wait for her to continue, and she does, “Everywhere. The world is more beautiful than we can know. Larger than we can feel. Filled with more and more interesting people than we can imagine.”

“I believe you,” I say, almost a whisper. Her voice is so sincere. She speaks almost religiously.

“Why just today I made love to a stranger and then threw her in a lake! Imagine what tomorrow may bring.”

“If you like, you could make love to her again.”

	She licks her lips and seems to think over the idea.

“I could... unless of course...”

“Unless?”

“We're both travellers, but you think you may have arrived, and I have not. I go on.”

“I think I have arrived. I think you're my destination. So if you go on, so do I, for as long as you'll have me.”

	I stand and kiss her again.

“I'd like that,” she puts her hand on my shoulder again and this time I can do the same, which makes her smile. I love her smile most of all.

	“Where are you going next?”

She looks across the lake, “North, But I don't know what I'll find. What we'll find. These woods are big and I don't expect to be free of them for a little time. I think we'll stay here the night.. I had not expected to pause for so long and I doubt we'll find a better spot before nightfall.”

	I look at the sky. The sun has moved but a little, westering since I'd entered the clearing, it is maybe mid afternoon. I wonder if the days are twenty four hours here, but I don't much feel like asking a question like that.

I nod, “That's wise, this is a perfect place.” Since I'm beginning to feel a little self conscious of my nakedness, I start to dress. Funny, that. I am a little self conscious, but I should be mortified to be naked, and to have done such lewd things with a stranger.

	I put on my clean white blouse and my messy white knickers. After a moments thought, though, I take my skirt and socks down to the shore and rinse them in the lake. Whether it's a property of the cloth or this strange, pleasant to drink water, I could not say but the pale yellow stains vanish almost immediately, cleansed as though by touch alone. After a moment's thought I wring them and put them straight on. A little primitive perhaps but body heat is a very efficacious way to dry clothes.

	Clytemnestra has produced a half-loaf of rich brown read from her satchel and offers me some when I've slipped my white boots on. It's dense and very flavourful, if perhaps a little stale.

“Where's your pack?” she asks when I thank her for it.

“I... I'm wearing everything I own,” I conclude, weakly. I'd not considered that, until now. I have literally nothing but the clothes I stand up in.

“Robbed?”

“No, I... I... Well, I never intended to be here, or to go anywhere. Come to think of it I doubt I could have packed if I'd known before hand.”

“Ah, you're a runaway. What are you running from?”

“Life, I suppose. My old life?”

She thinks on that for a while, “You don't have to tell me if you don't want.”

“Thanks, Clytemnestra,” I love saying that name.

	I eat a little more and thank her again for the food, for want of anything more useful to say, and for fear of the conversation ending. I'm beginning to understand that she has a taciturn streak to her, and I'm often at a loss for words, a symptom of the somewhat unusual day I'm having, no doubt.

“Won't last,” she says, and clarifies, “The food. I've only got a little.”

	So saying, she stands and sweeps up her halter top, fastening it about her chest and denying me the view that I had been enjoying these last few moments. Her broad belt follows thereafter.

“Where are you going?”

“To get some food,” she clarifies the statement by drawing her rifle from it's scabbard. It's easily six feet long with two barrels arranged over and under, I don't doubt it'd break a human's collar bone. She breaks it and slides two huge cartridges home before snapping it closed again.

“Can I come with you?”

“Can you stalk?”

	Well, yes I can, I'd hunted small game often as a youngster. I tell her as much but she looks doubtfully at my long skirt, and then at the fairly dense forest and I'm forced to concede the point. Clytemnestra takes a hatchet from her bag and hands it over, asking me to make a fire.

	I wonder how a woman of her size will fair in there, but she must know what she's doing and I let it go as she vanishes almost immediately upon passing the border.

	I heft the hatchet experimentally, for Clytemnestra it's a hatchet, for me a good sized axe. I select a smallish tree with suitable looking limbs and start to hack at them. I've never cut wood before and it's not as easy as it looks. My new body may be fit, but I don't have the technique and I make rather a hash of it over the twenty minutes or so that it takes me to hack half a dozen limbs from the tree with this over-sized axe.

	I carry them back to the lake shore and select a suitable spot away from the grass or anything else flammable looking. The part I'd really dreaded is now. No matches, no lighter, no tools of any kind save the axe. Thinking about a lighter makes me want a cigarette. One more problem, but a minor one compared.

	A quick examination reveals that all of the stones on the shore are sedimentary, not a sign of flint, not that I think I could make a fire with flint and the axe. I dither for a few more minutes before I hear a boom and a roaring, rolling echo from behind me. I take that as a sign that Clytemnestra's had more success than I and decide to wait for her.

	Presently, Clytemnestra emerges from the trees, rifle stowed and a wild pig lolling over her withers, held still with a careless hand.

“Fire?” she asks.

“I don't know how,” I admit, “I've never had to make fire before, at least, not without tools.”

	She giggles good naturedly and drops the pig to the floor exposing a mighty exit wound in its side.

“Then I probably should have left you this,” it's a little metal cylinder, a tinderbox, in fact. I've never seen one in person before and I cannot help but be fascinated as Clytemnestra kneels, and strikes sparks onto the charcloth, and then lights the kindling I'd already arranged. I doubt I'd have managed things half so well even if she had left me the tinderbox.

	I think I score a few points back when I'm happy and confident to help butcher the pig. Even if I'd only dealt with rabbits, geese, ducks and pheasants before. My dad would have been most unhappy to raise the sort of girl who couldn't handle cutting up the animals she'd shot. Clytemnestra has a long knife, it looks to me more like a fighting knife than a survival one, but we cut the flesh into long strips that can be cooked over our fire and share a little more of her bread. We cook as much as we can, to keep for the next day or two.

	I wonder at the whole affair. I'd have thought – if I'd thought about it at all – that centaurs would be herbivores. Clytemnestra certainly isn't, she eats with gusto and eats a great deal, too. I cannot recall the last time I've enjoyed a meal so. Partly it's the food, fresh meat always tastes better, and there's a lot to be said for it being cooked over an open fire. I think it's also very likely that the meat in this world is as superior as everything else seems to be too. Mostly though, I revel in the company.

	I immerse myself in simply being near Clytemnestra. She is the most sexually appealing woman of whom I can conceive, and moreover I start to understand that I simply like being with her on an entirely non-sexual level. Even though she says little as we eat I luxuriate in her presence.

	By the time we've butchered, cooked and eaten the pig – and frankly, Clytemnestra did most of all of those things – the sun has vanished behind the trees. We've spoken little. I think she wants to talk to me, but is unsure what to say. She seemed several times to be on the verge of speaking, only to see me look and change her mind.

“Clytemnestra... I want to thank you...”

“For the best sex you've ever had?”

“Uh...”

“Absolutely my pleasure, lady,” she swoops in and kisses me, laughing.

“Not just for that,” I struggle to get back on track before my lust gets the better of me, “I want to thank you for... Well, everything. I think we've established that I'm woefully unsuited to being out here and I'm pretty lucky you showed up.”

“Everything happens for a reason. I got lucky too.”

“How so?” I ask.

“No, listen – I got lucky too.”

	I stare at her for a moment, not sure how to respond to her taking something heartfelt and making a pun in reply.

She seems to understand what I'm thinking, “Awww... don't be like that. Everything really does happen for a reason and when two people meet, both are equal in fortune. So take everything as it comes, give thanks if you want, but it's more important to be happy, and I am.”

“Me too.”

	I sit pondering her philosophy as she stands and walks away without another word. She walks to the shore and produces a large canteen which she empties on the ground before refilling it, drinking and filling it again. I'm starting wonder how voluminous those satchels are given the things she carries in them.

“Clytemnestra... I er... I suppose you haven't any tea in there, have you?”

“Not a leaf.”

	That's a real shame. Not to be any less casual than she I take up her axe again and go to cut a little more wood, lest the fire go out overnight.

	She lies by the fire as I return, the sight, as she is lit against the deepening twilight is inspiring. I dump the wood a little way from the fire and then move to stand by her side.

“Are you... Oh!” whatever she's about to say is interrupted as I put one arm around her shoulders and with the other hand, cup a perfect breast, squeezing slightly through the leather.

	If she's going to say anything more I'll never know as I kiss her lips. I kiss her and circle in front to embrace her properly.  I love the addicting feelings that flow through my body when I kiss her, when I feel her warm, soft lips against mine. Her lust grows with mine, our hard, sensuous kiss sharing feelings, needs that must be satisfied.

	I hold her with all my strength. Her arms are around me too, but far from still. She strokes my neck, my back, and runs her fingers down to my bottom. I gasp into her mouth when she gropes my arse coarsely and slides her hand beneath my waistband and between my cheeks. I break the kiss and stare into her great dark eyes. She leans forward and bites my lower lip, pulling me to kiss her again as her hand paws wantonly at my bum.

	That's all I need to start fumbling for the laces that hold her top closed and even distracted as I am I soon haul it over her head and have at my prize. I excitedly kiss her soft, firm breasts. I lick the dark flesh and trail my teeth lightly across her sensitive skin biting gently, as she thrusts them eagerly toward me.

	My sex is wet with arousal. So wet, I'm certain I must be juicier in this world than I ever have been before, and by a long, long way.

	I take a dark brown nipple gently between my teeth and pull ever so slightly before closing my lips about it. I risk a slightly harder nip and she squeaks in excitement. I can hear her long tail swish through the grass, and feel as she arcs her back thrusting those dark orbs forward. I trace the tip of my tongue around her stiff nipple and flick it over the tip. Her hands close around my head and she brings me up for a quick, hard kiss on the lips before directing me to her other breast.

	Clytemnestra moans as I nip and suck at her stiff nipple. My hand is inside my knickers and I moan too, stroking my centre. She takes her other bud between her fingers and tugs it obscenely. That gives me the confidence to be a touch rougher, biting and tugging until she cries aloud. I bite her with exquisite care, as she gasps my name.

	She reaches for my waist unfastening my skirt and it drops to the ground, the white cloth a pool of orange in the firelight. With that she's out of my grip, rolling onto her back.

“Give it to me!” she calls, pulling at me with her hands even as all her legs kick at the sky. She pulls me down upon her and I settle my cotton covered snatch to her lips.

	I try to pull the crotch of my pants aside and she swats my hand away, licking at the sopping, stained material for her own pleasure and pressing with her lips for mine. I rock my hips and fuck myself on her mouth as her hands seize my own and bring them to her proud breasts.

Somehow she speaks again, “Give it to me, lady!” and I do.

	I'm thankful I've had so much practice, enough to pee almost at will. It takes but a moment to feel the thrill as my already wet cunt floods her face with hot piss. I grind my cunt against her hard working mouth, waves of ecstasy radiating from my clit as she struggles to swallow the piss filtering through my much abused knickers.

	She grips me about the hips and guides my motion. Her lips and the fabric of my knickers stimulate my little clitty as she works hard to swallow. Her face is all wet, my thighs too. Her teeth rub against my lips through thin, wet cloth. I hump her face, pissing all over it and whimpering inarticulate noises to the darkness.

	I quiver as orgasm builds within my racked body and collapse upon Clytemnestra's supine form, sobbing with pleasure as I come, piss still leaking from my hairy cunt and she still drinking it down and licking me down from the heights of pleasure.

“You're the best,” I pant, “You're the best, you're the best, you're the best.”

	“Then we're almost even,” she says as I try to crawl off her. She pulls me back, “almost.” Se laughs a happy innocent laugh at odds with what she's just done and I have to kiss her.

	I kiss her sodden lips, I lick my pee from her face, I taste it in her mouth, I drink it from the hollow above her collar bone, I kiss her again and again and again. Long wet wonderfully obscene kisses of lust and greed.

“You taste good, don't you?” she she asks between kisses.

“I do,” I kiss her again, “but not,” I lick her wet neck, “As good as you,” I stand and walk to the other end of her long body, trailing a fingernail from her navel, all the way down her equine underbelly to her sex and eliciting a squeal of thrill for it.

	It's dark and I can scarcely see the pink folds within her quivering black quim but I can smell her arousal, overpowering and erotic beyond words. The ground and the base of her tail are wet with her love as I sit and lean forward to lick all the way from her dock up across her sphincter to her clit and further up until my face is between her spread rear legs and my lips find her erect nipples. Again she moans as I nibble her stiff buds and roll them between my fingers, tweaking them harder this time and making her gasp with pleasure and pain.

	I continue to suck and tease at her nipples while my fingers move back down. I feel the rough, winking, dripping lips and the soft, soft texture of her needy wet sex. I smell her arousal now underscored with the deeper scent of her coat, her body.

	My fingers brush teasingly along her lips until I know her frustration must be growing unbearable and then I glide just one into her centre as my thumb seeks her hard pleasure button and she shivers all over, almost coming. I bite just a little harder to bring her down and she grunts in pain and denial.

	I want to touch my own flooded twatt so badly but this is her time.

	She moans harder as another finger enters her pink folds, and then another and I wonder just how many she can take in her equine cunt. I slide three fingers into her and out again, rubbing her clitty with my thumb. Her juices splash on my wrist and on my thighs. I can wait no more, she takes four fingers easily and on the next stroke I fold my thumb against my palm and slide within her slick sex as she wails her joy.

	My lips leave her abused nipples and seek instead her clitty as I pump my closed fist inside her deep horse cunt. Her body surges back against me with every thrust of my arm into her. Her walls squeeze me so tight it almost hurts. A flood of wet love accompanies every out stroke, a gasp and a reciprocating push back every in stroke. She grunts every time I thrust my arm deeper inside her, cries every time my tongue lashes her clit.

	I pound my fist into her with all my strength, pushing up to my elbow with every stroke and loving the roars of passion I get from her. Her legs kick at the air and her tail tries to thrash at the ground between my open legs. Her cunt grips my arm so very tightly in time with her rolling waves of pleasure, growing with her ecstatic cries until the wave breaks and I have to gasp in pain as she comes and my hand is crushed by her internal muscles in the throes of her powerful, volcanic orgasm.

	I slowly, very slowly withdraw my arm. Clytemnestra whimpers happily with every little move I make and sighs loudly as it is finally expelled from her drooling, sated cunt. I lean down again and give her a big, slurping lick that makes her squeal again before I stand. My thighs are soaked in her juice, and my own, and I carefully lick the whole length of my forearm all over as I sit down by her lolling head.

“Where've you been all my life?”

	That's a good question and I'm not at all sure how to answer it. I settle for a kiss, just a quick touch of my lips to hers.

	I pull my skirt on again and lie back as Clytemnestra rolls right side up again and shakes her wet tail. I imagine she's not too comfortable on her back. She pokes the fire with a stick and then snaps it in two to throw it into the flames. Her strength is effortless, a little frightening. I flex the fingers of my right hand, still sore from her orgasm.

“You really don't want to talk about it?”

“About what?” I ask.

“Where you've been? It was rhetorical, but the way you reacted... Whatever you're running away from...”

“I'm not running from anything. I shouldn't have said that. It's... No, I don't really want to talk about it.”

“I said you didn't have to tell me if you didn't want to.”

“Thanks,” I reach out and she takes my hand in hers for a moment. That feels good. Her hand is big and strong, calloused but not rough.

	We both lie there for a long time after she lets go. I don't recognise any of the constellations overhead, and I'm a knowledgeable stargazer, I see no moon. The fire crackles cheerily nearby and strange night-sounds flicker in the forest over the ever present lapping of the lake. The night is only a little cooler than the day was and I'd be quite comfortable without the fire. I smell its pleasant smoke mixed with the scent of our sex and the perfumes of the forest. I don't recall a time I've ever felt so connected to the world around me, so in tune with the simple activity of living.

	“You're right, Clytemnestra, the world really is a wonder, and the people in it.”

“Ah, so I am.”