"This time, Milady, you will not come until I tell you to." Again he spoke quietly, and again Myra felt a deep desire to please him build within her.
She nodded rapidly, wanting nothing more than to be given permission to release the bubble of pleasure within.
He spent many minutes massaging the thick fragrant oil into her breasts. Satisfied with his work, he next picked up what looked like an ornate white seashell with symmetrical ridges along its back. Myra gasped when she felt him position its razor-sharp edge at the base of her left breast. He took hold of her nipple in one hand, and with the other, started carefully scraping off the oil from her flesh. He moved with deliberate pressure under an angle up from her ribs to her nipple almost as if holding a blade and shaving her skin.
A rivulet of oil collected along the edge of the shell and dripped to the ground. Myra's squeal echoed in the tiny cell as she felt a bubble of tension bloom in her very center. Every successive motion of his expert hands made her desire grow. For some unknown reason instead of being afraid of the sharp object at her breast, she was actually scared she might lose control and come before he granted her permission. The slight pain of the scraping was the perfect backdrop to the deep waves of pleasure she was beginning to experience yet again in her belly. Myra bit down hard on her bottom lip in an attempt to keep her body in check as he first scraped her left breast on all sides and then did the same on the right, all the time squeezing her nipples so as to securely hold her flesh in place. Her lip hurt, but she didn't dare release it.
When he was done he stood back up. The flickering candlelight illuminated his mischievous smile that grew as she saw him get something metallic from the floor. He stepped toward her, his erection bouncing not two inches from her mouth. He met her stare and held up the object so she could see it.
It had two steel clamps at each end. What made her skin tingle however, weren't the serrated and sharp teeth of the clamps but the massive gold chain that linked them — it was heavy. She gasped when she realized his intentions. He reached out and touched her dangling breast, gently dragging his fingertips along the curvature of its flesh up to her cleavage.
"When I put this on you, you may come once. No more. Do you understand? Milady?" his last word dripped with the false sweetness of honey over a sour cherry.
Myra nodded earnestly, eager to relieve the growing bubble of pleasure within, no matter the cost. The emperor slowly, methodically pinched one clip, holding it steady in one hand between forefinger and thumb, its golden serrated teeth yawning open like a hungry little mouth. And then he opened the other. Myra found herself holding her breath, her chest steady, looking down as the two clips engulfed her areolae. The emperor slowly released the two springs shut upon the engorged nipples.
As they snapped in place chewing into her flesh, tugging her breasts, Myra's bubble of need popped and she heard herself scream with ecstatic pain as it radiated from her the tips of her breasts to shatter into her brain as she lost herself into delectable oblivion. Her insides vibrated with bliss as her pussy clenched and relaxed.
Amazingly to her, Myra's second orgasm was more powerful than the first. When she opened her eyes, she saw Commodus standing calmly in front of her, his dark eyes — two bottomless orbs of lust.
He reached behind her panting form and one by one released her wrists and then her ankles helping her lay her exhausted form back across the soft couch. For the next two hours he devoted himself to giving every inch of her body the exquisite treatment he had subjected her glowing breasts a few moments earlier.
First he lathered on the fragrant oil. Then he massaged it in with deep loving motions. Finally he scraped her skin clean with the white seashell, gentle to apply just the right amount of pressure, careful not to damage, but severe enough to make her shiver with fright. His attention to detail never wavered and Myra caught herself wondering if she could ever leave him, leave this creature of lust. Would he let me go? Would I want to leave?
Finally, in the small hours of the morning, his ministrations upon her all but complete, a delectable sheen of sweat covering them both, the young concubine turned around on her back and feasted her eyes upon the naked form of her emperor. She put out a thin hand and wrapped her tiny fist as best she could around his manhood.
She sat up, kissed it, and then laved it front to back.
"I believe we're done with your punishment, at least for now,” she said and took him into her throat.
Chapter Four
HER MASTER
Two weeks later.
Gods! How he wanted to wrap his hands around the throats of his enemies! Feeding them to the lions would be mercy indeed! They hadn't even had the courage to send assassins; instead they had chosen that most cowardly of weapons — poison. No! They would be begging for the lions by the time he was done with them. But first he had to figure out exactly who they truly were — these faceless men who had sought out to destroy him. His suspicions were too broad and too vague. He knew it wouldn't do to hurry and act without knowing for sure.
His counselors had advised him that he would be safest on his galley, out at sea, surrounded by his trusted praetorian guards. Commodus only agreed with their cowardly reasoning because he knew he needed time. Even now he could imagine his shadowy enemies hiding, waiting, conspiring. The emperor knew his life would never be the same. The honeymoon of the fresh-faced young leader was over. It was time to show the world who was its true master.
He had left with nary a word to anyone, even Myra.
He closed his eyes and pictured her again as she lay in his bed, by the pool. Her naked body had curled up instinctively searching out the warm place he had just left. He knew he had done the right thing — she would be safer at the palace, away from him, from where he had to go, from what he had to do.
He would not take his revenge in the immediate visceral way he knew was expected. Instead he too would wait, act hesitant and timid — give them all the reasons they needed to marshal their shadowy forces.
Commodus didn't think of revenge in the general sense, but in a very particular way. The people who had poisoned most of his slaves and nearly killed him and Myra were powerful. He probably knew most by name and worked with them daily in the senate. Rage wouldn't bring him the revenge he required. In fact they probably hoped that he would do something stupid and rash. No. For him revenge meant a permanent and complete destruction of his foes. Not one would be allowed to survive.
First, he would learn their identities. Then, he would make them feel safe, confident in his feigned weakness. Only after that, when they felt certain in their triumph, he would come for them swift as an eagle falling upon a snake. He would rip their lives away bit by bit. He would make them experience fear such as they never thought existed. Many would run, he knew, and it would be a long time indeed before they all met their just fate. But he also knew that an example had to be made. An example that would shine through the ages and deter anyone from ever testing his resolve again.
Yes, when the time came, they would all be begging for the mercy of the lions.
But the end was far and the road to success arduous and fraught with danger. Commodus suspected that they would come for him again, probably soon. He wasn't safe. He was bait. Myra couldn't be here. She had to be away safe and ignorant of the peril. At least for now.
Gods how he missed her!
His little Myra, his concubine, his lover. He wondered where she was now. Was she safe? What was she doing? Was the Majordomo taking good care of her like he had promised? Perhaps it would be best if she was allowed to return to her estate; to the peaceful country life she knew so well. But Commodus immediately knew that could never be. He needed to see her. If not now, then at least soon. He needed her to be there when he returned. To be with him when he savored his triumph. He couldn't imagine himself without her. Without Myra by his side, the emperor knew, victory would be meaningless.
Commodus stepped out on the deck of the military galley and allowed
the brisk chill of the early morning to wake him. The scent of rain felt heavy in the air. He looked on as a group of guards were readying a boat. The change of their shift.
It was time. His hand squeezed the pommel of his sword making his knuckles grow white.
"Centurion!" he bellowed.
"Master," the gruff voice of Vergilius, his trusted guard came from the deck behind.
"You'll be leaving too. I have a message for you to deliver."
"You'll be left alone without any armed guards, Master," the giant protested. "The next shift of praetorians aren't coming back until tonight."
"Let me worry about that. The message is important. You are to guard it with your life and make sure it reaches the destination at all cost! Do you understand?" Commodus looked the man squarely in the eyes.
"Yes, Master. I will die before I allow anyone else to see it."
"Good. Thank you, Vergilius. You are one of the very few people I can trust."
*****
Myra shot out of bed, her heart racing, sweat moistening her sheets. She couldn't recall her dream. She didn't have to. Her body hurt with the uncomfortable burn of uncertainty. Why? She knew the answer to that. Ever since Saturnalia, since that hasty return to Rome, Myra's sleep had been completely shaken. She pushed back the covers and padded barefoot across the floor of her small room to look out the palace window. The pale glow of the moon still held sway across the early morning sky.
Where was he? Was he alive? Was he safe? Was he staring at the same moon right this instant?
It was almost three weeks now. Ever since that last delectable night at the villa. The night before he left. The emperor was gone from the palace, from her life, from her bed.
Someone had poisoned the water wells at the villa. Many of the servants and guards had not woken that morning. Anyone that had drunk water from the amphoras was dead. Only a couple of the guards, her own companion Sana who had been at a different house, Myra and the emperor had survived. If she and Commodus had not spent the night in the bath house, they would surely be dead too.
The enormity of the event hadn't really registered with her until they were already making their way back into Rome. Who would have done such a hideous thing? Why? More than a hundred servants, helpers and soldiers had been poisoned that night. If Myra hadn't decided to play games with the emperor and "punished" him and made him service her like a slave all through the night at the spa, if they had so much as went back to the villa and drunk a cup of water, they would both surely be dead by now.
Now enclosed in the relative safety of the imperial palace, Myra felt utterly alone and left in the dark. Her only source of information were the wild rumors that circulated through the city. Some said the emperor was already dead, murdered by his own guard. Others talked about multitudes of barbarian hordes gathering in the mountains, preparing to pounce upon the defenseless city. Some whispered that the emperor had escaped to Africa and wouldn't return until the barbarians had retreated.
Myra knew better than to believe any of the gossip. But brooding and time had that annoying ability to shake the resolve of even the strongest believer. And Gods, did she miss him. Even her trusted maid Sana knew precious little about the emperor's whereabouts and wellbeing. Finally Myra decided she would act. The panic and uncertainty of waiting were simply too much.
She decided to approach the only person she thought she could trust. A number of futile attempts later, Myra was finally granted admission to the praetorian barracks and after an afternoon of futile waiting and enduring the constant and craven stares of the praetorian legionaries, she caught a glimpse of Josephus walking toward her across the courtyard.
Even from a distance, she felt the heat of his stare bore through to her very soul. Myra suddenly felt naked as if he had ripped her dress to shreds via an unknown preternatural force of lust.
She could tell he was angry and judging by the sinister looks of the other soldiers she suddenly realized that she might have endangered them both by coming here. The emperor's favorite concubine had no work at a military barracks. Least of all amongst his personal bodyguards. What reason could there be for a visit like that? Other than lust, perhaps? Gods, she felt so stupid sometimes; especially when it came to politics. Spies and the rumors they spouted seemed to ooze out of every cobblestone in Rome. But could she have done anything differently? Probably not. She had to talk to someone.
Josephus was the only person she knew that might be able to help her find the emperor. But now that Myra saw him walking across the courtyard, all the memories of that first encounter of theirs came rushing back. Her first training to be an imperial concubine…
"Why are you here, slave?" growled the praetorian even before he was near. His voice carried such quiet power, she wondered if he ever moved his lips.
"I'm not a slave. I'm a free…" she heard how whiny and pleading her voice sounded and simply stopped herself.
His stare — an intense beam of cold anger and pitiless resolve sent chills down Myra's spine. A feeling she remembered all too vividly stirred within the depths of her soul. Much to her consternation she felt her nipples harden. Gods!
He smiled as his eyebrows arched in an unspoken question.
"I had nowhere else to go...I just wanted to ask... If you knew..." she whispered and then just looked away and hung her head down in futile embarrassment.
"Well you're right about one thing…, slave," he smiled down at her. "It is true you have nowhere to go. So the best thing you could do right now, is to run back to the palace. Run before I allow my brothers in arms here to beat you to death with their cocks and tear you limb from limb."
Myra gasped and cried and found herself running as fast as she could from that hellish place and devil of a man. Before she knew it, her legs were already carrying her back into the depths of the imperial palace.
She had never hated herself as much as that day. She hadn't felt so helpless and weak, not even when she had first accepted the offer to be a concubine in return for imperial favors.
She had barely made it back to the palace when a message arrived from Josephus. It instructed her to join him and another praetorian in the early morning and follow them to the port of Naples. There they were to board a boat that would take them to the imperial galley docked off the coast.
*****
The trip was brisk and done mostly in utter silence. At one point, Myra thought she heard one of the sailors complain to another about the bad luck caused when a woman set foot upon a boat. Silly superstitions! Myra almost got angry and lashed out at the rough man but decided against it. Anger required energy and she had precious little of it left.
It was dusk when they finally glimpsed the outline of the imperial galley. Something about it made Myra think of a lonely animal, a beautiful migratory bird perhaps, left behind by its flock. Lonely and forgotten, it floated amid the mists, the blue-green waves of the bay lapping at its bow. Myra was relieved when her little boat finally reached its destination and she could hardly wait for the sailors to lower a gantry before she ran up to the main deck of the ship.
It was gigantic! For an instant Myra caught herself wondering if they could race chariots up and down the endless wooden expanses of the deck. Even though she knew that everything that somehow involved the emperor had to be big, she was still shocked by its sheer size. Somewhere up ahead a sailor waived and she followed him into a dimly lit cabin.
She had barely cleared the low portico when a strong arm wrapped around her waist and whirled her off her feet.
"The Gods are merciful, Myra!" she had never seen Commodus smile so broadly before. He brought her gently around to face him. "You have no idea what misery life is without you."
He missed me!
She was about to say something when she found his hungry mouth upon hers, his tongue probing, devouring. Had she been able to talk, she might have told him how much she missed him; how angry she was that he hadn't brought her along, but it felt too good to be back in
his arms and for a moment her mind just seized up and she let herself savor the moment. She felt his large hands meet around her waist and push up under her tunic. Myra sucked on his tongue and her lips met his — hungry, greedy and full of desire.
It no longer mattered where or how their relationship had first started or where it would lead so long as they were together. Myra felt his rising need pressed through their clothes against her thigh. She wanted him inside her. She used the railing of the cabin for leverage and pivoted wrapping her own hands around his thick neck as she leapt up and wrapped her legs around his torso. She felt his surprise and smiled careful not to break their kiss. Even between the togas, tunics and belts, she felt their combined heat.
She giggled into their kiss. "You're so very hard, Master. But you have way too many clothes on…"
She stepped back down and tugged on his belt. Finally its clasp came undone and she let let it clatter to the floor along with his sword. Need clouding her universe, Myra grabbed the edge of his pants and as she stood before him, pulled them completely off. Then she helped him shimmy out of his silken shirt and he, in turn, lifted her embroidered gown and pulled it off over her head. She raised her arms and let him do whatever he wanted. Myra felt him inhale deeply as he undressed her. "You smell tastier than milk and honey ever could," he breathed. She laughed out loud when he jumped with surprise as she wrapped her tiny fist around his engorged manhood.
Mistress of Rome, Book Three of The Emperor's Obsession Page 3
