16. What a Blessing Widows Are!

Soundtrack: Adam Ant, Doggy Style

Inglorion has spent enough time in Amakir to have connections there. In particular, he’s determined to renew his acquaintance with a complacent widow, Artemisia, who will let him fuck her any way he likes, as long and as hard as he likes. He’s been without feminine companionship for five days, and it will take more than one round to slake his thirst. 

Once he’s settled in, then, and talked Cleo into giving him a latch key, Inglorion sallies forth to find Artemisia. It’s not late, so her butler is on duty and accepting bribes. He finds Artemisia in her study, reviewing accounts.

“Madam,” says the butler.

Without looking up from her ledger she says, “Madison, I’m not at home to visitors. Deny me.” Her tone is one of weary irritation.

“Are you sure?” says Inglorion. “I brought you violets. I can keep them myself, or leave them with Madison here.”

“Inglorion,” she cries, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, no! I wouldn’t think of disturbing you.” He saunters over to her desk, pulls the quill from her hand. “I can leave. Just say the word.”

“Madison, leave us. I’ll ring if I need you.”

As the door closes behind the butler, Inglorion reaches over and tickles her with the feathered end of the quill, running it over her jaw, throat and bosom. Artemisia picks up a second quill, marks her place in the ledger, then replaces it on the desk. “What a wretch you are! Where have you been? It’s been — what? A year? Two years?”

“Who’s counting? You haven’t married, have you?”

“Not married, no.”

“Oh, good. I’d hate to have to cuckold a freshly minted Mr. Artemisia.” He hands her the violets.

She sniffs them voluptuously, then tucks them into the front of her dress. “Where on earth did you find violets?”

“I bought them fresh off the dock. They remind me of you. Fresh, earthy, rare.” He kisses her cheek and shoulder. As he smells and tastes her, and begins to unpin her curls, he murmurs, “I have missed you, my dear.”

She laughs. “You’ve done an admirable job of concealing it for the past two years.”

“I’m here now, and prepared to make up for lost time. You can always go back to your accounts. No hard feelings.” He twines his fingers through her hair, close to the scalp, and tilts her head gently towards him. He kisses her jaw and ear, down her throat, to her cleavage, where the violets are nestled. He runs the tip of his tongue delicately all around them, then glances up at her. “How do you like your violets?”

“They’re charming, of course. I should throw you out now.”

“Probably. But if you do, then we won’t get to…” he whispers in her ear.

“You’d better. Twice. You owe me.”

“With pleasure, Madam. I always pay my debts. In full.” He kisses her soundly on the lips, feels her melt against him.

“Come upstairs, then. I’ll order drinks for us. Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”

“I’m not sure. If you put food out, I might eat it.”

“We’ll find something to tempt your appetite.”

And so Inglorion and Artemisia renew their bond. After fighting the first round to a draw, they recline side-by-side on Artemisia’s down bed. She’s feeding Inglorion strawberries and cream. “Where do you find these?” he asks. “They’re exquisite.” 

“Fresh off the dock, I suppose. My housekeeper would know.” 

“I may be around awhile. You’ll have a chance to get bored of me.”

“Really? Why?”

“I’m studying with Lucius Junius Brutus, with the intent of gaining admission to the military academy.”

“Lucius Junius Brutus took you on? You’ll never last. He’s very strict with his students — weekly, mandatory confession. You’ll have to confess what we just did, and you’ll be punished. You’d better stop now, Inglorion.”

“What happens here is between me and my God,” Inglorion says flippantly. “The Bringer of Light doesn’t give a rat’s ass about chastity.”

She shakes her head. “I wish you nothing but success, but you’re know you’re a terrible liar, Inglorion. I’ve never known a worse.”

He nods deliberately. “Yes, I’ll have to work on my lying and hypocrisy — critical parts of a military education.” He trails his fingers down her side, rolls her onto her stomach, mounts her, bites the back of her neck firmly. “I love your ass, Artemisia. You were issued the right equipment.” He slaps her ass, knees her thighs apart, whispers, “I need something more to confess.” She pulls her ass checks apart, buries her face in the pillow. He begins to press into her, pushing past friction and resistance. He feels her strain to take him. He pauses, kisses her. After a moment he feels her give in, open up to him.

“That’s it,” she says. “Fuck me.”

He does, spreading her wide, gripping her slender waist, grinding himself into her in slow, firm strokes. “You’re in for it now,” he says. He smacks her ass hard, digs in, starts to fuck her hard and fast. The rest is a delightful chaos of sensation: the scent of sweat and crushed violets, her incredible stamina and yielding, her lithe form pressed against him, her thighs and ass spread wide, the taste of fresh sweat on her nape, her voice urging him on steadily until he comes.

He returns to himself gradually, kisses her again, rolls off her, takes her hand. She curls up against his side, sighs with contentment. 

“I know, right?” he says. “I always think I’ll kill you there at the end, but, nope. You’re indestructible.”

“Oh, no, I love it.” After a time she adds, “You’re welcome to stay.”

“I wish I could. I’m boarding there, though. I have a latch key, but I don’t think I should push it on my first night there.”

“It’s your first night there, and you got a latch key and came here? You were born to hang, Inglorion.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” he murmurs. 

“You can’t lie worth a damn, but you’re still full of shit.” she says, affectionately. “You can find your way out, then. Madison will lock up behind you.”

He sneaks back in, just before midnight. Before going to bed, he writes a journal entry, in Common, since that’s the language he’s practicing now.

May 18, 17—

First day back in Amakir. Sought out Artemisia, and wore myself out pounding her delicious ass. The musk of her hair, violets crushed — the petals and leaves. She’s as exquisite as ever. What a blessing widows are! She has her own home, her own money and property, and a business to manage. She gives in purely because it pleases her to do so.

He does not mention Lucia, because he does not think of her.

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