Chapter 8 - Kallidora

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 needs no restraining so she 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 wet cloth, slowly, 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 and still teasing at my flooded cunt 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.

“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 on the front, her eyes close 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 massaging 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 wantonly 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 cunnilingus. 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 second 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.

	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 as 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.

	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 do 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, 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.

“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 flagons of 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. 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 a 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, 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 the 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 one more, filling my vision. The cup, it's 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 tummy. I gasp and giggle and pant beneath her while she licks up every drop of pee-pee. 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 mover her restless, fidgety tail aside and gave longingly at her wet, quivering cunt. 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.

I warn her, “Just a little! Just a little, I don't want to waste a drop!”

	She giggles and I press my face into her big, wet sex, opening my lips for her to pee in my mouth. She does. Ah! So hot, so hot and so wet and strong and so much! I sputter and gasp and her piss splashes all over my face!

“Again. Just a little!”

	Again she does, slower this time, with less force. My mouth fills with her strong, hot urine, fills full very quickly and she stops peeing. I swallow that big gulp of pee, shivering with intimate thrills of pleasure and wrongness.

“More! I demand.

	Sealing my mouth to her cunt again I'm rewarded with another deep draught of her heady, womanly wee. She fills my mouth perfectly and knows just when to stop, letting me swallow the hot liquid and then giving me more. Her tail swishes excitedly over my shoulder, across my naked back as I drink gulp after gulp from her bladder. Her hot, salt-bitter urine flows down my throat, mouthful by mouthful, minute by minute.

	My hand extends beneath her, between her sexy, spread thighs and finds her nipples. Oh my! Another chain, another fine little chine is strung between hoops pierced through her equine nipples. I joyously drink from her cunt and play with her firm, big, tips. Kallidora sighs so sweetly at every gentle tug on her piercings and fills my mouth with pee.

	So much hot piss. She has so much for me and I drink so much, I never want to stop, but presently, I have to. I have to stop, leaning against her firm, sexy thigh, I sigh happily. My stomach is sloshy and full of her pee-pee, so full! My face is wet and drippy and my mouth tastes of centaur pee, it is a good taste!

“Enough,” I manage, weakly.

She looks at me fondly, “Already? But I'm not done,” she pouts.

“Oh, but I am! I can't drink another drop!”

	She giggles and so do I while she turns about and kisses away the wetness on my face.

“Just go,” I urge her.

She looks worried, “Go?”

“Mm... Just go. Go all over the floor, loet it all go.”

	Understanding dawns and, though she looks askance for a moment, she complies peeing all over the marble floor. The sound is sexy and exciting, the stream of yellow pee cascades from behind her, hitting the hard floor and splashing everywhere while a big puddle grows around her hooves.

“Thank you,” I say, when she's done, “You'd best run along now. I don't know how long that audience might take and we don't want to be caught like this.”

She looks upset, but nods slowly, “What about that?” she asks, pointing at the puddle off pee she's made on the floor.

“What about it?” I ask, feigning nonchalance, “Along with you now. I'm sure you have things to do... But! But I think I will ask you to attend me again soon, if you don't mind?”

“Anything!” she giggles.

	She's so cute! She trots off, leaving me alone in the big, empty room and I think I will definitely have to see her again! Still, I really don't know how long I may have before my companions are done with their audience and I don't really want to be found naked on the bed in front of a puddle of piss.

	Standing I banish the accumulated be from my body and gather my clothes. Oh! I can't resist! I soak my knickers in the big pool off pee Kallidora left, and then pull them on, all wet and sloppy and sexy. Ah! The sudden cold wetness around my nethers sends a frisson thrilling deliciously through my body. Mm, that feels so good! Her pee runs down my thighs and soaks into my pubic hair. I finish dressing, my knickers still wet with her pee and then magically banish the puddle.

	So wet! My clammy thighs bind against one another and my wet knickers squish so viscerally at the crux of my legs, my bum as soaking in pee. I perhaps could have thought this through a little better, my skirt is very quickly wet too, a definite dark patch spread above where it touches my knickers. With some sadness I dry myself off with a touch of magic. It felt nice and so sexy, but I really don't want to be seen like that... Well, not by most people.

	I really wish I'd not sent Kallidora away so soon. It's more than an hour before I hear hoofsteps in the corridor outside my rooms, more than an hour I might have spent making love to her, rather than just thinking about the same.

	It's not Kallidora who has come to summon me, alas. The old man with all the gold chains knocks on my door and bids me follow him.

“Where are we going?”

“Her Grace the Grand Master will see you,” he says, not quite answering my question.

“Why?”

“In Zoa it's not our custom to demand explanations for the Grand Master's instructions.”

“Well, I thought it wasn't her custom to talk to the likes of me, either.”

He looks down at me unkindly, I don't think he likes me much, “It is not, you are given a rare honour.”

“Good for me. Will my friends be there?”

“Enough questions, we are here.”

	He's lead me through increasingly grand and opulent spaces until we find ourselves before an almighty set of gold-leafed double doors, on which he knocks. Without waiting for a response he opens one and enters, I follow since I think I'm supposed to.

“The Sorceress, your Grace.”

	Wonderful. I bet Clytemnestra's behind this.

	I was expecting a throne room, but this is nothing like one. It's a grand, but homey sitting room appointed with a great many mirrors on each wall, and much very fine furniture of dark, polished wood. There are two other people in the room besides me and my guide.

	One, so obviously Grand Master Kallisto stands to greet me. She's not terribly tall for a centaur, with a handsome, smiling face and clever brown eyes. She has an elaborate gold filigree choker around her neck set with opals and both of her brown nipples are pierced with ruby rings. Her coat and hair are rich, chocolate brown and her skin just one shade lighter.

	The other woman doesn't stand. In fact, her hominine torso is stooped like a vulture with a bad back and she barely seems to notice my arrival.

Kallisto dismisses my guide with all the chains and greets me by name, “Welcome to my city. I am Kallisto.”

“Thank you,” I bow and hope that's appropriate.

She motions to a big cushion on the floor because centaurs don't have chairs in their palaces, “Be at ease and talk with us a while. This is Chloe, my sorceress.”

“Sister,” I say respectfully, nodding my head before sitting.

Kallisto settles herself to the floor again, an excited expression rolling over her face, “We have much to discuss.”