CHAPTER I
'CLYTEMNESTRA'
((Author's note: This is the first thing I've written since school, which was a long time ago now. It started off as a fairly crazy idea to simply set down a fantasy I had as prose and grew from there.
Be warned, it features moderately strong wetting/watersports and knicker-fetish themes, if that's not your taste, turn back.))
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.
