The Fountain of Salmacis
Salmacis didn't Listen to the taunts of her Naiad sisters to enjoy the Pursuits of Artemis: to take up the bow, to chase in The Hunt through the forests - fleet of foot, leaping over the fallen branches, stopping to take aim with controlled breath, falling prey with a toss of the javelin.Artemis had, in fact, until recently not even been aware of the Nymph until hearing the talk of the sisters and hearing the name "...Salmacis in her Fountain..."
The Virgin Goddess lowered her bow from her keen eye as the lucky stag hopped into the safe cover of foliage. "Now that you've all distracted me, please do tell who is this Salmacis?"
The doe-eyed, soft skinned sisters looked at the benefactress silently- each not wanting to be the first to speak. "You!" She said, pointing at one with the tip of her bow. The selected one-one who spoke most viciously of Salmacis said: "One of our sisters, Goddess of Goodness, who has not made herself known to our games but lazily rests in her Spring and cares only for matters of beauty, constantly combing her dark mane of hair and always gazing at her reflection in it's calm waters."
Artemis stood tall and strong bodied in her vest made of deer pelt- curves of her firm breast streaking out from the openings and her leather leggings with the crotch cut away exposing the dark patch between her legs and the opening widening around the rump exposing her firmed ass that trembled as she chased game or her sisters through the forest; she'd made her acolytes copy her dress as an act of devotion. "Ageless sisters with age-old hearts, I have tried to show you the way, to keep you to the path of the Virgin Goddess, the love of the sport, the hunt- the pursuits reserved for men. The purity that keeps you uncorrupted that men will try to take from you. This poor sister has lost her way and will be prey like the doe for any stag who catches her in her spring; I must off to her and save this poor girl."
And with that the Goddess was off on the winds leaving the sisters to their own pursuits of pleasure. They retreated to the secret places, some in pairs some in groups whatever their whims and fancies provided. They'd spied on their wayward sister and saw the care she took of herself and they had their own simple rituals- they braided each other hair, laughed and giggled which more suited their appearance and belied their agelessness. Imparted from the Goddess was their repulsion with men: their rough skin, their hirsute bodies like beasts, but they delighted in each others softness, their trim bellies, forever budding breasts. Some left their attire on- delighting in the feel of second skin, laying over another inverted;
mouth finding every delicious aperture between the sheaths of leather, tongue darting in and out- gently, slickly sliding in when finding dry resistance; vest of their lover soft on their belly as they returned the delights, fingertips clutching at seams of leather with perfectly manicured nails. Others were happy to shed their votive wear: they'd start with each other lips, feeding hungrily moving on to soft necks trails of teeth marks leading to nipples sucked on gently, languorously. They'd explore the newly exposed parts of their bodies- marveling at their Dimples of Venus and wondered if their matriarch had such things and how her firm body felt and tasted and wondered if she'd ever tasted such sapphic delights. Surely this doesn't impune upon virginity they thought. Their hands crawling down to the coarse tufts of hair, fingers slipping into the clefts quickly wet with arousal. Finding the nut still hidden in the shell and pressing, prying it, drawing out deep breaths; the geography of the body rising and falling in expectation. Creeping around to full, firm buttocks and the mouth forever following the hands- lips kissing, sucking, tongues licking first then gently slipping in; head tossed back in ecstasy. So was their play when the Goddess was away...
Salmacis was content with lounging in her Sun-dappled spring, hanging her gauze dress in the nearby branches stirred by the gentle breath of the wind. With just the voice of the whispering leaves and the beautiful faces of nearby flowers watching her for her company.
"Why should I care about my sisters and their adventures in the forests with The Goddess- I much prefer washing and combing out my hair and laying it out on the greensward to dry. Softening and scenting my limbs with the aroma of flowers, painting my lips with the luscious blood of berries- yes I much prefer the pursuits of beauty, creating a crown of flowers for my head and consulting my waters which color best suits my soft complexion. Chloris has blessed us with such sweet gifts all the colours of Iris' gorgeous rainbow dress within reach of my fingers: flowers coloured by the spray of spilled blood, sprouting from the tears of Love's first loss. My eager fingers pluck the firm young cone from the nearby trees but stay away from the suspicious almond. Always watchful of what fruit I gather"
