She heard a whimper escape her lips. She sounded so much like a kitten.
He moved fast with confident steps as he swept her up and carried her to his bed. He lay beside her as his hands filled with the weight of her needy breasts.
"I want to be on top," she said.
He laughed. "As the lady pleases," and clasped a hand around her butt and pivoted them both around in the tiny cot. He slipped another hand between them both and he used it to gently cup her in front. Myra rode his hand for a couple of minutes until she felt him guide her onto him. She had hoped to retain at least a measure of control but as the angle of their bodies brought him into previously unexplored depths, she found waves of passion start to emanate from her core and forgot all about the world.
*****
They lay in bed. Her breasts lolling in time to the movement of the waves beneath. Commodus had to force himself to look away.
"Up here…," Myra laughed as she took his chin and made him look into her eyes, "how many time do I have to tell you, young man, it is polite to look people in the eyes," she giggled. "Why is it that men are so infatuated with women's breasts? I can never quite understand," she feigned a curious expression on her face.
"Well, they are…" he started but she quickly clasped her palm across his mouth.
"No, never mind, I'd rather not know," she laughed. Then her eyes grew serious and her expression darkened.
"Tell me instead, how long will you be out here. Away from Rome… Away from me?" she asked, "I miss you…"
"I miss you more, Myra!" he hugged her tight. She felt a sadness make its way into his voice. He grew tense with thought. Then, suddenly, he reached some decision, and he sat up and turned to look her in the eye.
"What it all comes down to is — I'm running," he almost smiled when he saw how big her beautiful eyes got. "Yes indeed — the emperor of Rome, the most powerful man of the known world, is on the run."
"But why, Master? What are you running from?" her eyes searched his face for a clue, "Are the monsters of Hades upon us? Have the Gods forsaken us? Do we all need to hide? Your troubles surely cannot be that bad! You are more powerful than your enemies! I know it!"
He found himself smiling. He loved her passion.
"That may be, but I cannot overpower them as long as they remain hidden. For me to catch them, they first have to reveal themselves. I do not believe in throwing the entire crop to the fires just because of a few bad apples. My enemies will come out in the open only when they are certain in my weakness. With me gone I am sure the rumors have already started."
He kissed her forehead, "That is also why I wanted you far away from me. If they attack me — nothing will stop them from harming you."
"You are playing the bait and waiting for them to be the mouse," Myra said understanding his plan.
"Something like that, yes," he smiled and hugged her tighter. She whimpered and breathed deeply as she snuggled into his chest. They lay like that until the motion of the sea lulled them both to a restless sleep.
Chapter Five
TAKEN
The Bay of Naples
The wind had died down and the surface of the Mediterranean, so tumultuous just hours before, glistened in the moonlight as placid as a mirror. A loud clatter almost made Myra jump out of her skin.
"Sorry, Milady", a disheveled old sailor bared a toothless grin at her and bent over to pick up the tools he had dropped.
Just Commodus and her. And the great placid sea. Where had everyone gone?
"You must be cold," the emperor approached and she felt his warmth as he wrapped his arms around her.
"Here," he undid his thick cape and bundled her up in it. It was so big! Myra giggled when she imagined herself as she probably looked from the side — a massive silken cocoon of purple with her tussled head and a nose peaking out against the starry sky. Then she grew serious again.
"Did you send your praetorian guards away?" she asked.
"No. They're changing the guard. Our companion galley escort will be back any moment now with their replacements."
She leaned back into him enjoying the security of his body. There was no moon tonight, just rows and rows of stars above their heads. Myra felt small, like a leaf cast adrift in a lake. She couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation and sheer agony when she thought of what Commodus had told her. He would lure the traitors out by tempting them with his own helplessness. But what about the danger? What if they actually overpowered him, his powerful praetorians notwithstanding? Myra willed herself to stay calm.
Somewhere to starboard they heard a splash. And then another. Soon it was a sequence of splashes following each other in rapid succession. Oars. The galley with the praetorian guards. Myra felt her own body relax but was surprised to feel the emperor grow tense behind her back.
"What is wrong, Master? It sounds like our bodyguards have made good time."
He was silent for a long while. His body facing the direction of the sound. She felt his chest expand as he breathed in the night air. Then suddenly he spun her around and looked directly into her puzzled dark eyes.
"These are no praetorians. The boat they left with was only equipped with sails, not oars. These people are approaching much too fast with no lights or drums as is required by the military. You need to run bellow decks, Myra. Now!" he breathed. "Lock the doors and hide yourself, and do not come out. No matter what you hear. Do you understand me?" his voice was a soft whisper, but his intonation, hard and deliberate left her no choice but to obey.
Myra looked up at him. Her eyes trying to reason with him as she brushed back her curls.
"What about you? Where will you go? What will you do?"
"I will be fine. I'm the emperor." he forced a thin smile. "No one will harm me as long as there is a ransom to be head." Unless someone already paid them for my head on a pike.
She barely had enough time to hide bellow deck when a soul-splitting crack shattered the silence of the night causing the powerful ship to shudder.
Chapter Six
THE DEPRAVED
House of Petronius, City of Rome
General Petronius looked on as the nubile dancer followed the rhythm of the drum. She looked pleasing enough: doe-eyed and slim, with small perky breasts and a smile that easily went from shy to insolent to wicked. He motioned for a slave to pour him more wine. Old age was such a bore. There had been a time when it often took more than four women to tire him out. Now, at sixty-seven, gratifying a woman even once required lengthy setups and imaginative displays.
Petronius smiled and for the first time that evening felt a welcome twitch. The girl had missed a step in her dance, her concentration broken by the blond Apollo that had ascended the stage by her. Karl, the master of the general's harem. The boy had turned out to be an excellent acquisition. At twenty — almost a youth in the general's eyes, he had matured into a natural dominant. The general sipped on his wine and relaxed back into his seat. Up on the stage Karl passed a hand through his golden hair and tossed it back. It fell back across his sculpted shoulders not unlike a waterfall of languid honey. Petronius signaled the drummer and the music stopped.
"Stand straight," said Karl as he stepped close to the shivering woman and moved his hands over her body, his exploration — expert and slow. Petronius felt a tingle of pride; he had taught him well.
"Kneel on the floor. Spread your knees," the young man commanded.
Petronius broke off a cluster of grapes. Why was it, he wondered, that some slaves turned out to be naturals when it came to lovemaking and obedience, and yet others —proved about as sensual as a piece of furniture. No matter how many hours of dedication and training he devoted, some slaves simply wouldn't, or rather — couldn't learn. Like teaching music to a tone-deaf child.
The general knew it wasn't his technique. It might have been a problem once, long ago, when he had first started dabbling in sexual training of slaves. But not now; not after the decades of meticulous practice and dedicati
on he had devoted to his hobby. Now he knew, no man existed that could best him when it came to unravelling the layers of a human soul until the inner petals of raw sexuality lay bare and exposed. He chuckled at the thought: The most decadent among decadent Romans — that had to count for something.
Some people considered him callous, heartless — a stone cold butcher on the fields of war. But the general knew these were not weaknesses but strengths. Some people said that he was congenitally incapable of feeling empathy or love. Perhaps they were right. But love was almost as useless on the battlefield as it was amongst civilized Romans.
Born into middle nobility, general Petronius always made sure he followed the norms and expectations of civil society. He derived no inordinate pleasure from hurting innocents. After all, it wouldn't do for him to be seen as insane by his fellow nobility. But he also knew how to unleash the fires that burned within. His smile broadened — The Scourge of Thrace, they had once called him. Yes, he definitely knew how to break people and entire nations as well. Pain was a tool, a means to an end, and he did indeed know how to use it to great effect.
Such a pity he had grown old. Society and his peers now expected him to move aside and make place for young careerists like general Varus… Young and rash, was what Petronius thought of Varus. Ah, old age… Death by a thousand cuts was what it truly was.
Up on the stage the girl had been positioned on her back and her small whimpers could be heard as Karl crouched between her knees. He had commenced a most delectable exploration of the parts she considered to be her most private. "Yes, master," the girl whispered in reply to a soft command and the general saw her pull her knees and double in two as she tried to collect them up toward her head as far as they would go. He could see a sheen of perspiration break out along her pale skin as she waited, her hands holding her legs splayed wide for the attentions of her master.
Karl first touched and then pushed into parts of her that she probably never thought could be reached. Long minutes of slow, deliberate motions were punctuated by her moans and squeals of discomfort that added color to the tableau displayed before the general. After perhaps an hour of diligent ministrations, Karl finally pulled out his hand and moved to wipe it in her auburn curls. The general heard her intake of breath as her lungs were at last again able to expand into her previously occupied abdomen.
"Stand!" came the command and she quickly shimmied out of her prostrate position onto wobbling knees and stood before her tormentor. Karl moved around her, his eyes, ablaze — scanning, appraising. He grasped her throat, squeezed it gently, then released it, trailing across her back, moving to her front where he gently cupped her breasts, pressing them up and against her body, then letting them suddenly fall as she gasped.
The general stood up and undid his belt. He was ready.
"That will do, Karl. Take her to my bed and position her over you. You can enjoy her, while I will explore her nether regions."
The old man followed the young couple as Karl hefted the whimpering young woman by the waist, his sculpted triceps rippling as he dragged her to the master's bedroom. Fortunately for her, she was granted a reprieve, for just at the instant when the general was about to honor his promise, a chime sounded throughout the house and a slave hurried to announce the arrival of an imperial messenger.
For a minute Petronius caught himself weighing the repercussions of personally slaughtering the impertinent messenger that had the bad taste of interrupting him but one look at the giant of a legionary made him forget his initial annoyance.
The letter the praetorian bore turned out to be simple in words and exceedingly complex in execution.
"Dear Petronius, I hope these words find you in the best of health and disposition. Not least because I need your service. It is urgent, as I'm certain you will understand, and therefore I will be brief. Upon receipt of this note you are to assume control of the praetorian legion and arrest general Varus the instant he sets foot in Rome. After that, you shall also assume command of the four legions accompanying him and march to Naples where we shall meet. Decimate any barbarians you may encounter. You can name any reward you wish when we meet." Commodus, Imperator Romini.
Post Scriptum: "Vergilius, the bearer of this letter, is captain of my guard. He is yours to do with as you please until we meet again."
Petronius allowed his eyes to travel up from the letter to the massive frame of the praetorian and then down again. He smiled and licked his dry lips.
"Are you big everywhere, praetorian?" the general asked. He watched the initial puzzlement quickly wash away replaced by a squinty-eyed look of comprehension and a thin sadistic smile.
"Most people seem to think so," growled Vergilius.
"The emperor says you are to serve me for some time until we meet him. Will that be fine with you?" asked the general.
"I do as my emperor orders," came the simple reply.
"Excellent. We'll be riding out with the remainder of the praetorians in the morning. But first I need you to help me out with something here," Petronius turned and looked back at his bedroom. From where he stood he could see the naked calves of the woman as she lay spread-eagle waiting.
"Undress," he told the soldier and moved toward the bedroom. "You shall mount her from the front while I continue what I had initially started at her back door." He felt himself harden when he heard the young slave's whimpers as saw the giant enter the room.
*****
Finding and killing the traitor Varus turned out to be much easier than general Petronius had expected. If anything, it happened too fast. Petronius had only been on his march north for less than a day when his scouts came back to announce they had come upon a disorderly column of mountain clansmen heading their way.
Two hours and a couple of skirmishes later, Petronius had the chiefs captured and their ragtag gang of followers surrendered en masse. When the general walked over to meet them, he caught himself wandering how it was that such a foul-smelling group had ever hoped to stay hidden from the imperial troops for more than an afternoon. Their poor discipline and abysmal weapons only completed the picture. Petronius found the atmosphere in the enclosed space of the cramped tent where they were being kept more than overpowering.
"Captain," he snarled, "Unchain these men. And bring them, out in the open." He waited patiently for the surprised chieftains to step out and come over to where he was seated on a small gold-encrusted chair eating grapes and dong his level best to stay upwind from his visitors.
"Milord," the biggest one of them said when he emerged, his head bowed in submission, "Please show us mercy, Milord."
The old general cast the ragtag group of barbarian chiefs an appraising look.
"Who are you, tribesman?" he asked, his voice cold as snow.
"Rolf son of Gunther, leader of the Longhorns, Milord," replied the largest of the group who appeared to speak for them all. This simple statement was followed by a long uncomfortable silence during which the general ate a cluster of grapes that he chased down with a generous swallow from his bejeweled cup of wine.
"Very well, Rolf son of Gunther," he stood up and walked over to the kneeling clansmen. "Here is what I can offer you and your people: You are free to return whence you came. You can keep the booty from your raids, but any slaves that are Roman citizens, you'll have to release. However, I will also give you a choice: If you join me and show us the way to where Varus the traitor is encamped, I will allow you to add his loot to the one you already have and keep it all for yourselves," he bent forward to offer his cup of wine to the flabbergasted chieftain.
"So what is your decision?"
It took the smelly barbarians less than two seconds to switch their allegiance. It turned out that general Varus, during his short time with the clansmen had gone a long way toward alienating and even antagonizing his bearded allies. Over the time of their campaign against the emperor the mutineers had raided many a Roman town and villages up and down Northern Italy.
However, much
to the annoyance of Rolf and luckily for Petronius, general Varus had kept most of the spoils for himself. The young fool had further antagonized his allies by sending off the barbarian chiefs to mop up and chase down retreating imperial troops rather than allow them time to enjoy the rest and booty they felt they deserved.
Amazed that general Petronius had not only not crucified them but actually offered them that which Varus had kept for himself, the chiefs' choice had turned out to be a foregone conclusion: Rolf volunteered to personally lead Petronius' scouts and show them the fastest way to Varus' camp. They marched immediately, the element of surprise being the best weapon in Petronius expert opinion.
The battle against the mutinous general and his four legions started at day break. Petronius saw no need to give his own troops time to rest from the overnight march and opted instead to thrust them into the trick of Varus' camp immediately. By ten that same morning the corpse of General Varus was brought out by one of his personal bodyguards and unceremoniously laid before Petronius. The general sighed. His emperor wouldn't be pleased that they never had the opportunity to question the traitor.
The mission having been accomplished, Petronius promptly released the vanquished troops from their oath to their mutinous leaders. They could retain their freedom on the sole condition that they swore their allegiance to him instead.
Later that night, as he lay luxuriating in the embraces of a waifish little thing he had acquired from amongst the slaves of Varus, he wondered about the rapidity of his success those last couple of days.
Perhaps his earlier thoughts of retirement had been premature. As he plunged into the hapless girl, almost fifty years his junior, it occurred to General Petronius that maybe the gods had always intended for someone more experienced, more decisive and less emotionally attached than Commodus to take control of the state. Someone more like him.
Mistress of Rome, Book Three of The Emperor's Obsession Page 4
