by Ily Goyanes
Lorna didn’t leave my side. She got me a towel and a bottle of water and put her arm around me. I kept apologizing for ruining everyone’s dive and she kept assuring me that everything was all right. Once at the dock, she took care of my equipment and helped me off the boat. “C’mon,” she said, “I’m taking you to your room. Where’s your key?”
“In my shorts in my bag,” I replied, “but you don’t have to. Really. I’m okay.”
“What’s your room number?” I told her and carrying my equipment, she herded me into the elevator. She followed me off the elevator and down the hall, opened my door and herded me inside. “Go take a shower. I’m going to order some food. What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not hungry, really. Get whatever you want.” Beginning to feel better, I grabbed a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and stepped into the bathroom. When I came out, dressed and drying my hair, Lorna was waiting for me.
“Do you have an extra pair of shorts and a T-shirt I could borrow? I don’t want to leave you and I could really use a shower, too.”
I handed her some clothes and heard the shower running shortly after. All I could think about was how it would have been really nice to share the shower with her, but I knew she wasn’t thinking about that; she was just thinking about my safety. The food arrived and the waiter wheeled the cart into the room. I heard the water shut off and soon Lorna was standing beside the cart, wearing my new DIVE MEXICO shirt and a pair of gym shorts.
“I didn’t know whether you were a vegetarian or not, so I didn’t order meat. I hope that’s all right.”
She’d ordered guacamole and a couple of orders of cheese enchiladas with beans and rice. “I’m not a vegetarian, but you just happened to hit all my favorite Mexican foods,” I said.
She laughed. “Mine, too. Cool. Want some water or soda? I can go to the machine.” She came back with a couple bottles of water and we sat down to decimate the food. I hadn’t realized how hungry I really was.
“Yeah, diving’ll do that to you,” she said.
“Almost drowning will, too,” I replied.
She put her hand on my thigh. “I was so worried about you.”
Without raising my head, I raised my eyes. “Well, I guess it would be pretty bad if one of your divers drowned on your watch. I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah, it would be, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I was worried about you.” She slid her hand a little farther up my leg. “I, uh…I really like you and…I was worried and… Well, I don’t know how you feel about that, but…”
I looked her in the eyes and leaned toward her, causing her hand to slide up to my crotch. She tried to move it, but I covered it with mine and slid it back. “I like you too,” I said and gave her a peck on the lips. I started to draw back, but she caught the back of my neck and pressed my mouth to hers, this time taking the lead, kissing me hard. I ran my fingers through her still-wet hair and when we finally broke apart, I studied her face.
“I didn’t think… I didn’t know whether…”
“I caught you staring at me during class a few times,” she said. “Every time I tried to talk to you, you’d run off. It was like you were Speedy Gonzalez or something. I never saw anyone take a shower, change and get out of the locker room faster than you.” She kissed me again. “Just a minute,” she said, and wheeled the room service cart into the hallway. “Just in case they come back looking for this.”
I was waiting for her in the middle of the room. She closed and locked the door and put her arms around me, kissing me with more urgency as she walked me backward until the backs of my legs bumped the bed. Pushing me onto the bed, she followed, her lips still on mine and her knees on either side of my hips. Coming up for air, she looked at me and said, “You are so hot,” as she slid her hands under my T-shirt, sliding it up my body.
I hadn’t put a bra on after my shower and her smile widened as she exposed my breasts. “Damn, woman. Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” Her mouth latched onto a breast and her hand stroked the other one. She lowered her torso down and just before our crotches met, she pushed her other hand down my shorts, holding it prisoner with her body as she stroked me.
She switched from my breast to my mouth, kissing me quickly before taking her hand out of my shorts, pulling my T-shirt over my head and throwing it on the floor. “You okay wi—” she started to ask before I grabbed her head and pulled her down for another kiss.
As I kissed her, her hands flew back to my shorts. She undid the button and drew the zipper down and I raised my hips while she pulled the shorts and my underwear off in one motion.
“Wow, look at you with the Brazilian, girlfriend,” she exclaimed. “Nice.” She slid down my torso until she was face to pussy with me and pressed her fingers against my bare mound. “So smooth.” She licked both sides before following with a lick up the center.
“Bathing suits, you know,” I said. “Why so surprised. What about you?” I asked.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out later,” she said, going back to licking and sucking on my pussy lips. “So soft and smooth and perfect,” she said, speaking to my cunt. “I, I didn’t know… I thought you weren’t into me and I was reading the signals wrong. I caught you staring at me a bunch of times during the class and I thought you might be…but then you never said anything or even tried to talk to me at all. When I’d come out of the locker room you’d already be gone.” She buried her hands under my ass and lifted me up for a better angle. She spread my lips wide with her fingers.
“A bunch of times?” I asked. I couldn’t believe she’d caught me. I had tried to be so careful.
“Uh-huh,” she said, nodding her head up and down between my legs. “I thought you were either interested in me or there was something odd about the way I looked—and I was pretty sure there wasn’t anything odd about the way I looked.”
I’d been playing with her hair, but now I smacked the side of her head, lightly. “Yes, we both know you’re gorgeous.”
“Hey!” She circled my clit with a finger and the feeling took the last smart thing I was going to say completely out of my head and replaced it with a moan.
“Yeah, baby, that’s right.” She inserted first one finger and then a second, languorously fucking me. She used her other hand to lightly stroke my clit. “And, besides, you’re the one who’s gorgeous. Jesus, woman, look at you.” Her eyes looked up from between my legs to my face and I met her gaze as a first, gentle spasm rolled through me. I griped her with my thighs, imprisoning her face in my line of vision. My eyes never left hers as she stroked me to completion.
My legs relaxed and she was freed to climb up my body and lie next to me on the bed. We lay together for a few minutes, while I caught my breath before I turned to look at her. “You’re still dressed,” I said.
“Well, I guess I didn’t have time…”
“I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”
“I guess so,” she said. “I mean, we just ate but I guess I could have something.”
“Nachos.”
“Um, yeah, we could have some nachos…”
“And maybe a drink. Or maybe I should ravish you now.” Completely energized, I reached for her shirt.
“I vote for ravishment. We really shouldn’t drink if we’re diving tomorrow.”
“Oh,” I said, frowning, “I wasn’t planning on diving tomorrow.”
“But it’s the last diving day of the trip.” She studied me with serious eyes. “You have to dive tomorrow. If you don’t, you might never dive again. You can’t let something like this throw you. You have to get right back out there. It was a fluke. Your skills are strong. You’re a good diver.”
“Really?” I asked. “You really think that? But I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t notice where the captain stowed my spare regulator. I was stupid.”
“Yes, I really think you’re a good diver. You’re not stupid. It was an accident. I saw you. You were looking for your regulator exactly wher
e you’d been taught. You have to dive tomorrow. And now I’m ready for nachos and ice tea. You can ravish me after. But you should probably put some clothes on before we go downstairs—I’m just saying.”
I dove the next morning. Just a one-tank dive because I was tired. But I dove, partnered with the goddess with the short blonde hair and red-and-blue Speedo. Back at the hotel, it was my turn to do the ravishing.
That was ten years ago. Yes, I’m still diving. And to think it all started with a random free trip to Hawaii.
CYMONE’S DOMINATRIX
Paisley Smith
Appolonia sat at the table with the Hellene women, watching the other gladiatrices in their revelry. She sipped her wine. The games began tomorrow and she wanted to be at her best, not nursing woes from too much drink. The editor of the games had gone to great expense to treat the fighters to a lavish feast. Although the tribeswomen from the North—the Dacians and Caledonians—drank to excess, most of the Greek women, including Appolonia, only consumed watered wine.
Heady fragrances of roasted meat fused with the distinctive musk belonging to the forty female warriors. Laughter and bodacious bragging punctuated the balmy night air.
A fight amongst two Pictish women broke out across the room, but rather than join in, the other women moved aside and allowed the two to pummel each other until one of the trainers came in and separated the brawlers.
Appolonia sighed. Such nights always passed thus. Extreme drinking and overeating among the women tended to be the norm. But on the sands, the barbarian women relied on their girth rather than their skill. Such celebrating only made them fiercer opponents. The Hellenes employed technique and savvy to defeat their adversaries.
Still, the carousing reached an unusual height tonight. Doubtless, Appolonia thought, due to the knowledge that many of the gladiatrices in Marcus Flavius’s ludus would be forced to fight against each other tomorrow.
Each particular ethnic group tended to keep quarters with their own kind, but as members of the same house, the women all felt a familial kinship despite their origin of birth.
Appolonia finished her wine and looked across the table to where Cymone, another Hellene, sat staring into her cup.
Cymone. Gladiatrix prima. She dominated on the sands, knowing just how long to drag out a fight so that the crowd cheered her to victory again and again, knowing how to make a spectacle of dealing the death blow to anyone unlucky enough to have to face her. She was a true champion, an entertainer who’d risen far above her status as a slave to become one of the most celebrated gladiatrices of her time. A scar marred her olive-skinned cheek, but to Appolonia, the imperfection only made Cymone that much more intriguing, that much more beautiful.
For all her prowess in the arena, however, Cymone delighted in darker pleasures of the flesh and Appolonia was pleased the gladiatrix had chosen her as a lover. Most nights, they lay in each other’s arms, bringing each other release before succumbing to the god Hypnos’s spell. But on the evening before an appearance on the sands, Cymone allowed Appolonia a far firmer hand.
Appolonia squeezed her thighs together in anticipation. Any moment, Cymone would rise, giving the signal that they were to continue the festivities in a more intimate setting.
Cymone had explained her taboo yearning, but only once. Through submission, she found strength to face her most dreaded foes. Through pain and surrender, she discovered the fortitude to persevere despite any odds.
Appolonia admired Cymone and she loved her. In dominating her, Appolonia found her own strength.
Cymone lifted her head and with a shrug swept her long black hair over her shoulder, revealing the voluptuous curves beneath her tunic. Appolonia’s stomach knotted when their gazes connected. Her mouth watered at the knowledge she would soon be tormenting the pebbled nipples beneath the thin fabric of Cymone’s garment.
“Have you partaken of the merriment long enough?” Cymone asked, her voice deep and husky. The flash in her dark green eyes teemed with illicit promises.
“Yes,” Appolonia whispered. The word came out strangled. She sounded too eager, too easy. But that’s what she was where Cymone was concerned.
In that one instant, the gladiatrix prima became Appolonia’s property; lower than any slave and hers to command.
Appolonia swallowed. She steeled herself for what was to come. “To your cell. Remove your tunic and await me on your hands and knees.”
At once, Cymone shot to her feet. As soon as her lover had left the dining hall, Appolonia closed her eyes and tried to still her hammering heart. Wetness gathered between her legs, dampening her own tunic. The thought of Cymone stripping herself bare and awaiting punishment in the most humiliating of positions caused Appolonia’s blood to heat and thrum like thunder through her veins. That the proud warrior would willingly defer to her made Appolonia’s chest swell with pride.
But for now, she would make Cymone wait. A smile tugged at Appolonia’s lips as she poured another goblet of watered wine and began to sip.
With trembling hands, Cymone carefully removed her tunic, folded it and placed it across the chair in the corner of her cell. She glanced at the barred window on the door. The guards moving about in the hallway would surely wonder why she had climbed onto the cot on her hands and knees—but she had orders to follow.
A tingle swept over her naked skin as she planted her palms on the cot. She debated pressing her knees together, but that would most certainly displease Appolonia. Instead, Cymone set her knees on either edge of the cot. Her eyes drifted shut as she imagined the intense pleasure and pain that would be dealt to her soon. All thoughts of the arena tomorrow faded and there was only this moment. Her pulse pounded in her throat. Her channel clenched and her rim burned in anticipation of the upcoming invasion. Fingers. Tongue. Other objects…
She inhaled deeply, feeling the breath spread to every portion of her body. Her own juices slickened her folds, preparing her.
Time passed. Her hands ached. Her knees burned. Blood pounded in her temples, but she would not move. She would not displease her lover.
Finally, the door swung open, grating on its hinges. Cymone did not lift her head to gaze upon the black-haired beauty, but her stomach tensed with a wild mixture of joy and expectation. Her arms shook from sheer sexual hunger. She squeezed her eyes shut and capable hands slid smoothly down her spine and over her bottom. Her clitoris pulsed as she awaited her lover’s touch. She gulped. Please…
One fingertip edged closer, so close… If only she shifted slightly, the finger would brush her aching flesh. Cymone did shift.
She was rewarded with a smart slap to one asscheek. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as fire licked through her skin, settling into a sensuous, warm throb. Her blood thickened as it coursed through swollen veins. It seemed as if her consciousness spiraled deep within, leaving only her senses—to feel, to experience, to glory in all her lover intended to mete out to her.
Cymone’s breathing deepened as a soft palm kneaded the place that had just been punished.
“You will receive pleasure when I decide,” Appolonia bit out.
Cymone couldn’t stifle the whimper that welled in her throat. Her body ached to be touched.
Another smack reignited the fire in her backside. “Off the cot. No. You may not stand. On your hands and knees, slave.”
Cymone trembled as she clambered down from the cot onto the cool stone floor. Appolonia slipped off her tunic and Cymone gazed upon the taut, muscular form. High, small breasts perched above a rippled abdomen. And lower, sinewy lines delineated the V of Appolonia’s denuded crotch. A blushing clitoris peeped between two dusky folds.
Cymone’s mouth watered as she imagined teasing that succulent flesh with her tongue.
Appolonia parted her legs and motioned Cymone closer. At once, Cymone crawled to her lover and burrowed her tongue between the sweet nether lips. She couldn’t get enough. Her lover’s fragrance and taste filled her senses. Juices dribbled onto her tongue as she l
apped and explored, never able to get close enough, to delve deeply enough.
Fingers threaded into her hair, tugging hard enough to set her scalp on fire and then alternately pulling her mouth impossibly closer. Cymone reached for her lover’s thighs and at once a tight yank on her hair drew her head back. Breathless, she lifted her gaze to Appolonia’s.
Her black eyes were flinty in the dim light. “I did not give you permission to touch.” She tugged Cymone’s hair again for emphasis. “Hands behind your back.”
Cymone laced her fingers behind her as she was drawn once more to the glistening prize between her lover’s legs. As Cymone explored with her tongue, Appolonia rocked, grinding the lust-damp flesh against Cymone’s mouth until she felt her lips bruising from the force. Velvet skin with hard bone underneath undulated with quickening ferocity. Cymone could scarcely breathe when Appolonia spread wider and dipped to ride her mouth and tongue.
Oh, to die here instead of bleeding and broken on the sands…
Cymone kissed and licked and sucked until Appolonia shuddered and her breathing became ragged. Sweet nectar gushed onto Cymone’s tongue and she knew she’d brought her lover to orgasm. Her pulse accelerated. The most exquisite torture awaited now that she’d dulled the edge of Appolonia’s need.
Appolonia’s fingers caressed Cymone’s head and she gloried in what she knew would be short-lived praise.
“On your feet,” Appolonia ordered, her voice cracking as she spoke.
Triumph flitted through Cymone’s breast as she stood. Her knees shook.
“Bend over. Put your hands down on the cot.”
Veins thrumming with hot bursts of blood, Cymone obeyed.
A foot pressed against her ankle. “Spread your legs.”
