CHAPTER VIII
'KALLIDORA'
I could have stayed with Salmacis a long, long time. She would have let me, too. But it was not to be. I love Clytemnestra, even if it is only for a season, as Salmacis said. As Clytemnestra herself said too, in her way. So I departed with Clytemnestra, and with Eupraxia and Aristomache we went on towards the river, where now we find ourselves.
My, but it is a mighty artery already. It didn't look so from high up in the mountains, but here on the banks it is a sight to behold. It must be half a mile broad, a vast expanse of sparkling bottle-green water flowing before us. Clytemnestra and Aristomache are cutting wood to make a raft, but neither is working very hard or fast at it and I don't fully blame them.
I'm quite excited about sailing a log raft down an exotic jungle river. It's so... So irresistibly adventurous to my mind! I can scarcely contain my enthusiasm for the endeavour, but to the centaur mind, rafting is one of the very few things less appealing than bushwhacking through a dense jungle, which is saying something. Still, this is the way we must go, so I tolerate their lack of enthusiasm.
"Are you sure I can't help?" I ask, trying to show willing.
"Take your rest, Lady. Two people can't swing one axe," Clytemnestra tousles my hair fondly and starts knotting the latest log into the array of fibrous twines we've scrounged up from the jungle.
"Fair enough. There's nothing so relaxing as watching other people work."
Eupraxia giggles and nods. I suspect that we could have been done hours ago if Eupraxia and I had been more help, but there really has been little for us to do and I know the raft will not be finished before dusk, much to the centaur's joy, I suspect.
Fortunately we have a pleasant spot to camp for the night. We are settled in modest clearing between the river and jungle, carpeted with soft grass and little blue flowers. Our raft takes shape over the few remaining hours before sunset. It's around twenty-five feet square, formed of a double-layer of long, narrow logs bound tightly together cross-grain to keep it stiff.
To my eye it doesn't look the most seaworthy vessel in creation, but the river is wide and slow and I have assured the others that, in a pinch I can make up any shortcomings with a little magic. I think I probably can too!
The sun sinks beneath the canopy of trees and I spark a little fire amongst some offcuts and kindling. We make a supper of the last of the bread and cheese Salmacis gave us a couple of days ago. Aristomache 'mmm's contentedly as she shrugs out of her halter top and stretches the kinks from her muscles, a moment later, Clytemnestra does the same, contentedly letting her bouncy round boobies out of captivity. That's an enjoyable sight.
Centaurs wear little anyway, usually just a halter top or some such to keep their breasts from jiggling, but there is still such a difference, perhaps if only psychological, between clothed and naked. I could look at centaurs' breasts all day. In fact, I have done so, Eupraxia's flat little bust rarely needs restraining so she almost always goes nude, but it's still a treat to see the others on full display.
On a whim I remove most of my clothes too, my boots and socks, my top and skirt until I'm wearing only my knickers... Well, they were originally Kyani's knickers, but they're mine now. I settle back down, leaning against Clytemnestra's firm, warm body.
Aristomache looks at me for a moment, taking in my barely dressed state, "Why do you leave the last garment on?"
"Just for fun," I shrug. It's the truth, but it sounds silly to say it out loud.
"She likes them," Clytemnestra explains.
"Why?"
I ponder Aristomache's question for a moment, "Why does anyone like anything? It's... It's difficult to explain. Especially to a centaur."
"You will try?" she asks, apparently with genuine interest.
I stroke my pants, the cloth is a little damp, just thinking about them is exciting.
"Well... first off, these aren't mine, they belonged to a woman I made love to once, more than once, actually. Mostly my own pants don't turn me on, mostly. But, just... just think about it..."
I'm still stroking my knickers, stroking myself through the slowly moistening cloth, slow, gentle, circular motions, feeling the slightly rough texture of the cotton, the shape of my womanhood beneath, the irregular sinuous complexity of my thick pubic hair trapped under the tight, taut fabric.
"Knickers are.. Are sexy. Tight, damp cloth wrapped hard around a woman's most intimate place... Hard about her body, infused with her scent, her taste," I squirm delightedly at the thought, wriggling against Clytemnestra soft, glossy black horsehair and still teasing at my flooded cunny through Kyani's pants.
"They're intimate, personal. Sexy, it's not a good explanation, but... But that's all there is to it. Give me a nice pair of used knickers and I'm happy, the smell, the feel the... Just the feeling of holding someone else's knickers, sniffing them, licking them, wearing them."
I'm masturbating properly now, through these wonderful used knickers, my love infusing them, joining with the old infusion Kyani gave them when she wore them.
"And if she's wet them... Ooh! It's not better, maybe, just different. If she's wet herself, there's something so sordid, so sexual about holding a pair of pee soaked knickers, the smell and feel of them. Even mine, but someone else's are always better. The smell changes as they dry out, but it's still just as good. It's... It's..."
It's getting harder to talk as I tease myself higher toward my plateau, my mind floods with wonderful images of sexy knickers and lewd, wet women wearing them, wetting them.
Having come under the influence of such delightful mental images I gradually become aware that all three of my companions are watching with a degree of amusement. I can only smile half-heartedly and snuggle back against Clytemnestra's flank, licking my fingers.
"May I try them?" Eupraxia's voice startles me slightly, she's soft-spoken and hasn't said much until now.
"What?"
"Your knickers, may I smell them?"
Oh wow... just hearing her say something like that, in her soft, sexy voice is electrifying.
"Of course."
I slip my thumbs under the waistband and wriggle the warm, wet pants off as she approaches. She takes them from my hand and raises them to her face, pressing the scrap of white cloth to her nose and inhaling deeply.
She dos it again, sniffing my dirty knickers, turning them to find the wet spot, her eyes closed to fully appreciate the smell. She sniffs again, then licks at the damp fabric. It's a wonderful sight. I lean back against Clytemnestra, gazing up at this wonderful, pale centaur sniffing and licking my knickers. My pulse thrums, my heart hammers with excitement.
Her hand falls again, she tosses the pants into my lap, "Now pee in them for me."
It's such a simple thing to say... So simple, yet so lewd, so sexy, all the moreso for its simplicity, for its very matter-of-fact nature. She asks this incredibly sordid thing of me so sweetly.
I leap to my feet as though galvanised and slip the still-warm pants on again, pulling them tight against my wildly excited cunt. Eupraxia settles herself to the ground before me, taking me in her arms, she kisses me softly on the lips and then looks me right in the eye.
"Wet yourself for me, please," she bids, her tangerine eyes lancing into mine.
I hold her tight, and she me, our bodies together, my cloth-covered womanhood is hard against her hard body as I piss for her. She gasps, so do I, the hot, hot wet pee gushes forth, instantly flooding my knickers, it splashes down my legs, and across her skin. I feel wonderful, tingling rivulets of urine flow between my thighs. Her strong arms hold me tighter to her, forcing my pissing flower against her alabaster coat.
I kiss her again, "That's it..."
She lets me free, her hand traces the outline of my lips through the thin layer of utterly wet cotton. She tastes her fingers, just once and then draws the pants down over my wet, clammy thighs, down and to the ground and I step out of them. Instantly she has the knickers to her face, she sniffs heartily, licks at the wet material, sucks noisily with the cloth between her lips.
Strong brown arms encircle me from behind, Clytemnestra runs her hands all over my body, but especially over my wet legs, else through my wetter pubic hair. She tastes my piss from her fingers, and lets me taste too.
"You are wrong," Eupraxia says.
"About... Ooh, about what?" It's hard to concentrate with Clytemnestra pawing wantonly at my damp thighs.
