by Tony Roberts
“By the gods – I’m in trouble,” Vosgaris muttered as he watched Metila writhe in building desire.
Her eyes snapped open and he saw they were filmed with red, somewhat disconcertingly, and fully dilated. She hissed at him. “You do now or I rape you.”
Gulping in fear, Vosgaris fumbled at his tunic, his hands shaking. He hauled off his tunic, then tugged down his hose and undergarments, and knelt by the table, naked. The moaning woman was panting hard. “What – what do I do?”
“Breathe in smoke,” she gasped, the sweat dripping off her. “You no worry about anything after that.”
“Sounds like a drug,” Vosgaris said to himself, then, making a silent prayer to the gods, leaned over and allowed the smoke to drift past his face. Pausing a few heartbeats, he held his breath, then inhaled. He nearly sneezed, then the shock of his mind being assaulted by a burst of pleasure rocked him back onto his heels. His head was whirling, and his nerve-ends tingling and pulsating. What in the name of….?
“Again,” Metila groaned, next to him. He hadn’t realised she had edged round the table. Now she was holding his right arm and shoulder, her sweaty skin against his.
Vosgaris, no longer afraid, leaned over again and took in a deep breath. The pleasurable feeling increased immensely, and his entire body tingled and throbbed, and he could feel everything many times over – pressure, touch, Metila’s hands sliding over him. He was also aware of the swiftest and hardest erection he had ever experienced.
“Now, you join with me,” she whispered into his ear.
The world was distorted, reeling and thrusting, his sight was not working very well. He had double vision and a roaring sound filled his ears. Then Metila’s lips were on his and he hungrily responded, wanting to enjoy the most fulfilling kiss he’d ever had. The waves of sensation that rippled into him from her lips and tongue were like physical waves beating at him, but he wanted more, and pressed hard onto her lips.
His skin was slick with his sweat, and their bodies slid against one another. He could smell not only the smoke of the bowl, but also her scent, her pheromones driving him mad with desire. Pushing her to the ground he plunged into her, the sound of their joining accompanied by simultaneous cries of passion. The feeling that had transmitted itself from his loins had almost made him pass out. It was the ultimate wondrous feeling.
He pushed hard into her and the feeling was redoubled. Now he knew he had to make love to her hard and fast. Panting, gritting his teeth, he thrust away. Underneath him Metila was climaxing repeatedly, uttering small cries of pleasure each time she came, her head back, her back arched, pushing her loins up towards his.
Vosgaris didn’t know how many times he came himself, but he never grew soft; he remained hard and mindless of the body fluids that dripped from both of them. The world was a pounding, throbbing, unending sea of incredible lust and he’d never felt anything as good as this before.
Finally his strength ebbed and he collapsed, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. He lay on top of Metila, the woman’s eyes closed, her mouth wide open, demanding air to her lungs.
“M-Meti-la,” he finally gasped, still hard inside her. He slid out, accompanied by a wet, sucking sound. “Oh, I-I’m exhausted.”
“Good – good love,” she panted, lying spread-eagled on the rug. She looked as if she had been immersed in the sea. Her hair was soaked, her skin glistening with both their sweat. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Vosgaris could see right up between her legs and she was still massively sexually stimulated, like he was.
“How – long – will I be – hard?” he managed to pant.
“Not long – small potion,” she said, slowly, painfully turning onto her side. “You no tell – anyone – about child?”
“No,” Vosgaris shook his head. “Never.”
Metila nodded and fell back, staring up at the ceiling. “That good.”
Vosgaris sat up, his head pounding. He felt as if he were falling off a cliff, plunging down to a hard surface. He groaned and held his temples, the sweat beginning to dry. His erection was also beginning to go, thankfully, he thought. It was getting painful.
“Yes, me too,” Metila said, now on her hands and knees. “Feel bad short time, then normal again. Not worry.”
“What – is that stuff?” he asked, nodding towards the faintly smoking bowl.
“Special plant – me know where to find. Mix with special potion, make good potion,” she said huskily, a triumphant smile on her face.
Vosgaris shook his head. He needed to clean up, and looked round for a cloth. Metila slowly got to her feet and used the cloth to wipe away the worst of the fluids on her legs and inner thighs. “Wash, I fetch bowl. You be looked after.”
“Thanks,” Vosgaris said and fell backwards onto his bed. What in the name of the gods had happened to him? He’d heard about some people taking potions for pleasure, smoking a plant and becoming addicted to it. Was this something like that? If it was, no wonder people wanted more of it. A love potion. Something unknown, that it was.
Metila, now dressed, left and soon returned with a bowl of water. Together they wiped one another, and Metila smiled at the tender way he cleaned her. “You no love me, I no love you, I love Thetos. You not for me, you married.”
“Me being married didn’t stop you seducing me,” he said, looking at her.
“I told you, contract. Bragal contract. Sealed with sex. Bragal way.”
“Glad it isn’t like that here in Kastania – nobody would have time or energy to do anything else!”
The slave girl laughed. “You good man, but not strong in will. You like women too much.”
“Yes, it has been said before,” he said with a shake of his head. “I need to get my head together for the job tomorrow.”
“You sleep good tonight. I give you gift,” she said. “You have plant and potion in pack. Use small amount only! Use it on wife.”
“You sure?” he looked and sounded surprised. “Metila…”
She stood up, the bowl in her hands. “I not just object to love. I have feeling, too. You nice, I like you. This personal gift.”
“Metila…..” Vosgaris didn’t know what to say. “I – don’t know what gift to give you.”
“You no need to,” she said over her shoulder, by the door. “You show nice feeling to me, not treat me like object. That good.” She left, leaving Vosgaris a very thoughtful and somewhat confused man.
CHAPTER TWELVE
For Amne the next few days were quiet ones. She said little to anyone and rarely went out of her chambers. She spent some time with her daughters, and only attended two functions in the audience chamber, and that was only because she was needed. Her make up hid the worst of the bruising and she wore clothing that concealed the marks, cuts and bruises on her arms, legs and torso.
The marks in her mind were also unseen, but they were there.
Lalaas asked what was wrong but she shook her head violently and said nothing, which disturbed Lalaas, for Amne was normally talkative and even when in a bad mood, would make it known. To be this quiet wasn’t normal for her, and Lalaas went about his job with the unsettling thought that something was very wrong indeed.
Prince Elas was even more perfunctory towards Lalaas, and perhaps a little curt. The former hunter didn’t worry that much, for Elas was far too busy running Frasia with a severe efficiency that had the farms sending good produce into the capital in greater quantities than before. People began trickling into Kastan City to find employment or food.
On the fourth day after the failed coup, Amne sent for Lalaas. She was in Elas’ office on the ground floor. The captain waited patiently before her as she busied herself about the desk, looking at a list of figures. She looked up and smiled, which, Lalaas decided, was a big improvement over the past few days. “How are things, Lalaas?”
“Ma’am? Things?”
“Oh, come on, Captain,” she said, very business-like. “The security of the palace, the people
in the street. What of Dragan Purfin’s failed bid for the governorship? Have things settled down?”
“Oh, that,” Lalaas said, looking up at the ceiling. “Yes, everything’s gone quiet again. It’s as if nothing had happened. A couple of remarks about the failure from some groups in the city but to be honest, ma’am, they’re not that bothered. If trade continues as it is at present, they’re happy. There’s plenty of food in the city, lots of new jobs, there’s been no fighting for a little while and the fear of a Venn army marching up to the city walls has receded. Generally speaking, people are very happy.”
“Well that’s a relief to hear.”
“But you’re not, ma’am.”
Amne stared at him and her smiled faded. “Captain, please don’t pry into my affairs; if I have need of you I’ll seek it.”
Lalaas raised an eyebrow and stood stiffly to attention. “Of course ma’am, but as security chief here, I need to know if there is anything untoward.”
“Oh, Captain, don’t fret – it’s a personal thing and nothing to do with palace security. Domestic, which is none of your affair.”
“Ah, I see ma’am. Forgive me,” Lalaas bowed his head.
Amne waved the gesture aside irritably. “I’m fine, Lalaas, honestly. Elas and I have had a – reassessment – of our relationship and it’s taking a little time to get used to it. I’m good.”
“Very good, ma’am. So what is it you wish to see me about?”
“This,” Amne handed over a yellowed sheet of parchment. “What do you know of this?”
Lalaas studied it. It was a list of applicants to join the KIMM. Quite a big list. His eyes widened and he looked at Amne. “How long has this been here?”
“Yesterday. Elas handed it to me to look it over. Some names here I know, some I do not. What I want you to do is to go through all of these names and make sure all are safe to employ here. We will have to enlarge the stables and barracks to house them all, and I do not want another Dragan Purfin amongst them.”
“For all reasons, ma’am?”
Amne wagged her finger at Lalaas. “Don’t be naughty, Lalaas. I’ve finished with all that. No more dallying round with other men. It’s too exhausting and dangerous.”
“Well, I’m pleased to hear that, ma’am. I wouldn’t want another security risk, I can tell you.”
“Yes, I hate making your job any worse. Now if you could let me know of any of those men who are undesirables, I’ll cross them off the list. Thank you, Captain,” she smiled again.
Lalaas bowed and backed away. Amne seemed a little – stiff, formal, even – and he wasn’t sure whether he liked that or not.
Amne sighed and pushed herself away from the desk. Elas was busy walking the city square outside, looking for any expansion room for the trader’s market there, so she had the run of the palace for the time being. All the tiresome paperwork had been done for the present, now down to other business.
She left the office and was escorted by two guards, as protocol demanded. She said nothing on her walk to the visitor’s wing, then nodded to the guards to remain where they were. The two guards took up position on either side of the passageway and waited. They had no idea why they were to stay there but the princess had ordered it, so they would do as commanded.
Amne walked swiftly down the passageway and turned right at the end. The guest rooms were mostly unoccupied but one, at the far end, was being used. The officer of the KIMM, Fostan Telekan, who had commanded the detachment that had escorted her to Zofela a few years before, was standing in the centre of the room.
A smart, young man with short hair, a smooth face and an aristocratic air about him, he bowed at Amne’s entrance. Amne inclined her head briefly, then slipped her clothes off and went up to him. She put her arms about him. “Now, Sub-Commander, if you really wish to become a captain, you will give me what I want.”
“Ma’am – I could be hanged for this,” he said, hardly able to keep his eyes off her.
“Who is going to tell? Nobody saw you come here, did they? Nobody knows I am here, either.”
Telekan shook his head and sighed, running his hands over her body. Amne sighed and pressed against him. He was aware of a growing heat inside him and terror combatted with desire. Desire was winning. “Ma’am…”
“Here, let me help,” Amne breathed and unfastened his smart tunic, the buttons slipping through the neat holes. Once unfastened, the tunic dropped to the floor. Amne then stood before him, smiling, and unfastened his breeches. She tugged the waistband apart and plunged her hands inside them, finding what she wanted. “Oh!” she exclaimed, taking hold of a very hard and quite large specimen. “How wonderful!”
“M-Ma’ammmm,” Telekan shut his eyes and groaned. Amne pushed him to the rug and straddled him.
“You do not have to do anything other than hold on for a while,” she said and slid down onto him, hissing in pleasure. Now she began riding him, her head tossed back and squealing small cries each time she plunged down.
Telekan fought to hold on but the sight of such a well-endowed woman bouncing up and down on him was too much. He cried out in shame as he climaxed. Amne sighed and held herself still, waiting till he had finished. “S-sorry, ma’am,” he stammered.
Amne put a finger to his lips and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be up for it in no time.” She took hold of a cloth and wiped herself, then him, and then began giving him full attention down below. He cried out softly, and kept on clenching and unclenching his fists.
Having aroused him again, Amne lay down, spread-eagling herself. “If you can perform to my liking, by the time you leave this room you will be a captain.”
Telekan crawled over to her, panting in excitement. His family would be ecstatic at his promotion, as would he. He waited no longer and thrust deep into her. “I shall do my best, ma’am.”
“Then do it and stop talking,” Amne said, gripping him by the shoulders tightly.
As Telekan worked away on her, she closed her eyes and smiled. It was so easy to find a suitable man to pleasure her. All she had to do was to make sure Elas and Lalaas didn’t know. Elas, because he was such a thoughtless brute towards her and she hated him, and Lalaas because even though she adored the man, he was in an impossible position and it was best not to worry him so.
The bruising and damage of a few days back were nearly gone, and now the young KIMM officer was giving her what she wanted – and needed – and she felt her body warming up rapidly, a glow of pleasure spreading fast throughout her body. With a soft moan of delight, she climaxed, and then again. Telekan finally broke, but he had done all she had wanted him to, and she held onto him until he became soft, and she flopped back and lay there, sated.
Telekan rolled off her and knelt up, breathing hard. “Ma’am?”
“Yes, Captain?” she asked, smiling.
Telekan smiled and bowed. “Ma’am, when would you want – another visitation?”
“Oh, Captain, don’t be so impatient! Remember, we must be discreet if you are to remain clear of the noose, isn’t that so?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Telekan sounded disappointed.
“Captain,” Amne tried to look stern, which was somewhat difficult given she was totally naked and propping herself up on one elbow. One loses some dignity in such situations. “This does not mean you can make free with me whenever you please, remember that. I am a princess, and you, Captain,” she prodded him in the chest, “will obey my imperial command. You are to carry on as if nothing has happened. I can tell you, if Prince Elas finds out he will hang you, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Telekan bowed formally.
“Now, clean me up,” she commanded and stood up. To her delight, the officer diligently went about his task, something both Elas and Dragan would never do. She smiled to herself. If Telekan remained discreet, and she continued to do so, then there was no reason why she couldn’t carry on seeing this young man. All she would have to do was to project to Elas the
image of a dutiful wife. She did not want him to beat her again as he had done the other night. The strange thing was, he hadn’t touched her since, even though he had clearly been excited by the act of beating her. She wondered why.
She left the room first, commanding the young officer not to leave for a few moments. The time would give her plenty of opportunity to be far away when he finally came walking down the corridor, and if anyone should see him, he would be on his own. She found the two guards where she’d left them and they assured her nobody had been along the corridor in the time she had been gone.
Satisfied, she was escorted back to the busy part of the palace, allowing the two guards to return to their sentry duties. Composing herself, she approached Elas’ office, where his immediate group of officials and clerks worked. She entered and acknowledged their bows, and resumed her place in her husband’s seat. He would be gone most of the day and there were things that had to be done. The empire simply did not run itself.
She had allowed things to slip since she had been married. Before, she had been administering a small part of the province and a district of the city, but Elas had taken that away from her and she had drifted into a life of boredom – and affairs. Well, she thought to herself, she was a Koros, and would do her bit to run the empire. If Sannia, way away in Romos, could do her bit, then so could she. The two women still corresponded intermittently, sharing stories about their respective children and their lives as wives of princes of Kastania. Amne wasn’t entirely sure about Sannia still, and perhaps it was because she knew Sannia would one day become empress and have Amne at her beck and call should she decide.
Amne pondered on the succession. Her father, Astiras, was in his fifties, and that was getting fairly old in years. Kastanian lifespans tended to end around the sixty year mark, so he had perhaps ten years at the most before he may well die. She bit her lips at the thought; she was close to him, despite their differences, and she would miss him. What would happen then?
Jorqel would take over, certainly. Sannia would become empress. Jorqel would have to name a successor. As his own children would be too young, and they were female too, it would have to be one of the male heirs. Argan, Istan or Elas. If Astiras died before Argan reached sixteen years of age, then Elas would be the automatic choice. That meant Amne was in line to become empress, something that thrilled her. Empress!