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By Root 2373 0

Amazon, with breasts larger and heavier than he had expected. They bore down on him with stone-hard points. Between the breasts was a man’s organ too, with the testicles, but small like a child’s. The discovery puzzled him; he hadn’t known it was like that. He burst awake into the crisis of their jouissance. She’d covered his mouth with her hand to muffle the noise he must have been making, but now she released it, and his panting breaths mingled with the rush of hers. She relaxed and let her weight settle meltingly over him.

It was still pitch dark in the little room. Tentatively Daspir stroked a hand down the bumps of her spine and over the curved rise of her buttock. This was a woman, not a centaur. Isabelle gave a pleased little moan at his touch. Then she pushed up and rolled free of him. Daspir reached for her, a little too quickly, and gasped at the catch in his torn shoulder.

“You are hurt,” Isabelle said.

“It is nothing,” Daspir said, a little shy, though he knew his injury was worth a boast.

“But you were valiant. I have heard the story. Here, let me.” The balls of her fingers found the sore spot at once: the size of a coin, expanding and dissipating as her touch circled outward. Daspir sighed. He was surprised at the strength of her hands. All the while her voice kept murmuring.

“You were valiant in his defense, and yet the Captain-General is unkind to you—yes, I saw how he used you today, and I had the story from chère Pauline too. It is only his hurt vanity—it piques him worse than your shoulder pains you.”

“Was it for that you—” Daspir began, but Isabelle shushed him.

“Don’t ask for reasons,” she said.

“From the first time I saw you, I—”

“Don’t,” she said, and kissed him deeply. But there was something hard between her breasts; he could certainly feel it as she pressed against him. He worked up a hand and felt a flat shape of flesh-warmed metal.

“What’s that?”

“The key to this house—in its former state,” she said. Quick as a fish, her hand glimmered between his legs. “And now, I beg you—do stop talking.”

When they had finished, Daspir fell into a deep, velvety, dreamless sleep, and when he woke, the charcoal sellers had begun to cry their wares in the streets beyond the walls. There was light now in the room, from a small window set high in the wall, filtered through a red cotton cloth. Isabelle was watching him with a neutral, cat-like concentration. As the tinted daylight grew it picked out elements of her aging: marks of childbirth around her belly, the breasts ever so slightly drooping, threadfine lines circling her neck and framing the corners of her mouth and eyes. A pattern printed in the cloth across the window repeated itself in shadows on her skin. All these details inspired in him an awful tenderness. Also, since most of his prior experience had been with busy harlots, he had seldom had such leisure to study a woman completely unclothed.

“What do you see?” he asked, as she kept looking at him with an equal interest.

“Your eyes,” Isabelle said reflectively. “Your eyes don’t fit your face.”

“I don’t understand you,” Daspir said, faintly annoyed.

“Look here,” she said and touched his cheek, then the groove of his upper lip, as if her fingertip might serve him as a mirror.

“Your mouth, and all your features really, are merely sensual. Goodhumored enough, ready for pleasure, a little greedy, I should think.” She smiled. Masked in the projected shadows of the cloth, her face was for a moment a little frightening. “Except the eyes. The eyes are deeper, stronger. Maybe harsher too. It may be that I see some resolution there.”

“Well, I don’t know—”

“You mustn’t mind my fancy,” Isabelle said. “In the end, your face will grow into those eyes. Only give it time.”

It seemed she saw some future in him. Pleased with that thought, Daspir let the topic drop. When she leaned in to kiss him lightly on the forehead, something swung out from between her breasts: the key he’d grasped earlier, yes, but something else too, dangling above the key. He caught it as she withdrew from him.

“Careful,” Isabelle