Licking the Lotus Stamen

The two of us are moving in a delicious rhythm now. I can smell the scent of flowers on Wan'er, combined with the scent of her cunt. It is heavenly. I feel her body go tense. She speaks to me in my language, "...very soon, very very soon!" She murmurs these words over and over, louder and louder, then she wails as her body convulses.

Now I want to feel her big clit against my lips and tongue. I turn her to face me, push her against the cushions and crouch with my face between her thighs. She is so wet and swollen! She lets me suck her there, as I gorge myself and groan with pleasure. Then she is on her knees, demanding my cock in her mouth. She sucks me wonderfully -- but as she brings me closer and closer to my climax, I suddenly must have her cunt in my mouth again. We go back and forth like this, again and again, both greedy, both demanding our turn to taste.

Finally she cries out in Chinese, resumes her standing position with her back to me and her hands on the low table. I plunge my cock inside her again, and again, and I keep plunging until we are both crying aloud, and my seed is spilling out of her onto the rich brocade carpet.

My men and I, with our Chinese honor guard, are riding now toward the sea, where a Srivijayan vessel waits to take us home. Sang is with us. I gave him the finger ring, the gift from the Empress. He was strangely silent when he accepted it, and he has not put it on his finger. I don't know whether this has anything to do with his Buddhist practice. I have come to realize that he is a rather complicated man.

Commander Li is not riding with us. He has been made the head of the Imperial Guard, a position of great responsibility. We now ride with Commander Phoa, who is very vigilant, but not talkative at all.

The days are finally beginning to grow shorter; perhaps they will return to something that feels normal to a southerner such as myself. On the morning that we departed, Wan'er gave me a sealed envelope, and asked me not to open it until several days after leaving Luoyang.

Now we are resting our horses in a grove of trees along the Yellow River. It is late afternoon. The blue skies overhead are populated with an infinity of soft white clouds. There is no breeze here below, and all is silent, save for the murmur of the river. A battalion of long-legged herons is wading through the shallows, looking for small fish and frogs. I think this must be a good time to open the envelope.

I withdraw a piece of what they call paper, upon which Wan'er has written with exquisite calligraphy in my own language. It says:

Esteemed Ambassador Buana,

I wish you a safe journey home, and congratulate you on the success of your mission. Perhaps, from time to time, you may think of me. We both serve our respective empires, and let us not permit any sadness to step between our hearts and our duty. I often find that poetry helps to preserve certain memories. I wish to make a gift to you of this poem by Wang Bo:

"By this wall that surrounds the three Qin districts,
Through a mist that makes five rivers one,
We bid each other a sad farewell,
We two officials going opposite ways....
And yet, while China holds our friendship,
And heaven remains our neighborhood,
Why should you linger at the fork of the road,
Wiping your eyes like a heart-broken child?"

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