by Mardi Ballou
“A slave is good for fanning with palm fronds and peeling grapes for the great queen,” he said, stretching out next to her and speaking softly, “but who’s going to service her? Surely no mere slave would suffice. A prince, a general. Tell me, Caesar or Antony?”
Gwyn pouted petulantly. “Princes and generals are all good in their proper place. But sometimes the Queen of the Nile desires diversity in her bedchamber.” She leaned over and tongued his ear before whispering breathily, “Be my slave, Dominic. My love slave.”
By now Dominic’s throbbing erection signaled his eagerness to comply with Cleopatra’s directives.
“My Queen, as you can see,” he said sheepishly, indicating his risen mast, “you have convinced me to play the role you want in your fantasy. But tell me, Your Majesty, how does the queen’s humble slave dress?”
Dominic’s rapid capitulation to her wish scenario surprised and excited Gwyn. Though she’d just pulled the Cleopatra name and idea from her imagination, she now began to wonder how they could bring such role play to life. She looked over at his erection, licked her lips, and said, “We’re in a hot climate. Very hot. Tropical desert. A slave needs to wear very little. Especially because his queen desires to feast her eyes and hands and lips freely on his jewels. A simple loin cloth she can remove at will…that’s all that’s required.” She frowned. “But of course the queen must have a much more elaborate wardrobe.”
He rose from the bed. “How fortunate for the humble slave that he knows the way into the queen’s secret wardrobe… Her oils and unguents, her special jewels and gowns. And of course, her famous wig. For you, the slave will bring the queen’s special accoutrements and help her put them on. For there is no service this humble servant would ever deny his queen.”
Being with Dominic led from surprise to surprise, an ongoing adventure though they’d never left his quarters. Gwyn sat up slightly from the pillows she was reclining against and watched Dominic go to the second cabinet, the one she hadn’t been able to open earlier. He reached somewhere, came up with a tiny key, and opened the doors. Within moments he’d brought out a white sheet he wound around himself in loincloth fashion. He twirled around so she could see him from every angle.
She studied him critically. “I think that cloth needs to be tighter,” she said.
“Where, Your Majesty?” he asked.
“Between your legs, slave,” she said. “Your queen requires to be able to judge your state of, uh, readiness to serve at all moments.”
* * * * *
If he got much more ready to serve, he’d explode, he thought. Nonetheless, he tightened the white cotton—not to exactly tourniquet level, but so it left little to the imagination. Another runway twirl before her.
She watched critically. “That will do, slave.”
Then he bowed to her in humble eastern fashion. Dominic could barely suppress his delight as he watched Gwyn watching him. She was so tuned into him, it was as if she had a window to his dreams and fantasies. Whereas before, he’d always felt he was leading the few women who penetrated this far into his private kingdom. Gwyn seemed to know what to say and do instinctually. In fact, sometimes it was like she was leading him. Things were moving fast, maybe too fast. Whatever he did, he had to make sure he didn’t scare her away as he almost had with the leg irons before. But the way she was playing his game, he had the feeling his instincts would keep him as on track with her as she was with him. He hoped.
So she wanted him to be her slave? From the way she was constructing her fantasy, Dominic realized he’d probably be the one wearing leg irons and handcuffs before she was. But that was all right. He chuckled to himself, realizing he couldn’t remember the last time he’d let anyone tie him down—in any way. But Gwyn wasn’t like anyone else he’d ever let in his life before.
By letting her have her way, he could show he trusted her, be a model for when they did turnabout and he became the “master.” Besides, it had been a long time since anyone had turned the tables on him and maneuvered him into being the one restrained. He had to admire Gwyn for the quick and easy way she’d come up with this strategy. His cock did a small jig in anticipation of what she’d come up with for him as his queen.
He bowed down to his queen, then moving backward so as not to offend her, he went over to the cabinet and took out the Cleopatra costume, heavy in its garment bag It had been a long time since this one was used. Heck, it had been a long time since any of them had been used. Too long.
Though he loved Gwyn’s blond good looks, Dominic had to admit to a special fondness for the Cleopatra look. The costume included a short white silk gown with a simple drape, fourteen-carat gold bracelets and arm bands as well as a headband that went over the thick ebony wig, a magnificent necklace of turquoise and more gold, and heavy gold hoop earrings. Just as he’d told Gwyn, he had pots of creams and sweet scented perfumes. He wouldn’t have wanted to vouch for their historical authenticity, but he could vouch for their sensual potential.
Gwyn watched him open-mouthed as he drew these items from his special cabinet. He smiled to himself, only too aware of the other costumes and props housed in this cabinet—and the uses he and Gwyn could put them to in the future.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “please allow your slave to approach you.”
She gestured regally for him to come forward.
“May your slave be permitted to anoint you with the secret sacred creams made just for you before we robe you in your garments and jewels?”
Though her eyes were wide with curiosity and questions, Gwyn appeared to want to enter fully into her role play. She indicated her acquiescence with a languorous wave of her hand. “Very well, slave. Come forward. Anoint your queen. But first, I need to don my headdress.”
“Of course,” he said, holding the heavy wig to her for her inspection. She tucked back her hair with her hands and held her head forward for him to slip the wig on.
When she had the wig and the hair ornament on, Dominic gasped despite himself. Most blondes did not make an easy transition to being brunettes. He’d been afraid she was too pale to carry off wearing the wig, but now he saw it made her look sultry and even sexier. She looked harshly at him, and he remembered his position. “What is it, slave?” she asked haughtily.
“May I hold up the mirror so Your Majesty can see if the head covering suits her?”
“Of course,” she said.
He went over to the dresser and came back with an ornate silver mirror, which he held up to her.
She almost gasped when she saw herself, but then appeared to catch herself. She motioned her slave to put the mirror back.
When he returned, she asked, “Which cream have you prepared to use today for my massage?”
Dominic picked up a tray with two glass jars on it, one cobalt blue, the other amber. As with everything else, he’d had these custom made—and they were filled with creams made according to recipes he’d researched and improved upon. “I hesitate between milk and honey or rosewater, Your Majesty. What is my lady’s pleasure?”
She furrowed her brow as if contemplating the weightiest of matters. “I think the rosewater today,” she said at last.
“Your wish is my command.” He bowed low and opened the blue jar,. The fragrance of roses spread over the room.
* * * * *
Now Gwyn lay back among the pillows and felt the thick black hair spread out beneath her. She’d have assumed that a wig would be uncomfortable, and was pleasantly surprised at how good this one felt on her head. After looking in the mirror, she knew how amazing she looked in the wig.
Her slave, who’d obviously been well trained in the art of massage among his other talents, began to work the rose-scented cream into her skin—starting with each toe. He slowly and methodically rubbed the cream into her thirsting skin as if he had infinite time to devote to each surface. With his skilled fingers, he seemed to focus on those nerve endings on a direct route to her clit. Come to think of it, all her nerve endin
gs seemed wired to her clit. Stimulating and relaxing at the same time, his massage transported her like a slow boat trip down the Nile. When she finished her stint as queen, Gwyn would have to ask Dominic where he got this marvelous cream, which delighted her nose almost as much as it brought a glow to her skin. But then she banished the thought of later, which intruded the modern world and reality into her reverie.
Or maybe it was her slave’s skilled and attentive touch that set her skin to singing. Maybe he could have been rubbing raw mud into her and producing the same results. Everywhere his fingers went, Gwyn began to experience new sensations and fresh awareness of her body. She truly began to feel like a queen, an empress at least as great as Cleopatra. Though she didn’t want her slave to get too exalted an opinion of his skills, she allowed herself to moan her pleasure. Discreetly, of course. She’d have to find other means than suppressing her sounds of pleasure to keep him humble.
“Milady,” he murmured softly, “may I have your permission to speak?”
Gwyn/Cleopatra almost chuckled at the prospect of this powerful man asking her if he could speak. Oh, she could definitely get used to this. She swallowed her laugh and, as haughtily as she could, waved her hand at him and said, “Yes, slave. As long as what you say does not displease me.” It was a challenge to keep her tone imperial as he massaged the cream into the sensitive crease between her left thigh and her moist hungry pussy lips.
“With your permission. I was just thinking of the time I had the honor to massage Her Majesty as we floated on the royal barge down the Nile under a full moon,” he said softly.
“Ah, yes,” she said. His fantasy coincided with hers. Talk about synchronicity. Gwyn was almost beginning to believe it really existed. She longed to have the experience they’d both imagined. Floating down the Nile on a barge. The pyramids. Heck, she’d even enjoy paddling around San Diego Bay if Dominic was massaging her. Just being in the bathtub with him had been ecstasy.
Of course, she’d always dreamed of really traveling. That was why she chose to work in the travel industry. Egypt was high on her list of places to tour—and at least as far out of her reach as Greece and Rome and China and just about everywhere else, even with her professional discounts. Heck, at this point, she couldn’t swing a few days in New York. But a girl could dream. Tonight felt exactly like she was dreaming. She pushed Gwyn out of the picture to revel in being Cleopatra and having a faithful, very talented slave to serve her. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Her slave was continuing to speak softly, soothing words that had no real meaning, as he massaged the cream into the taut skin below her navel. His questing fingers skirted all around the welcoming folds of her cunt, increasing her desire to feel him there, raising that desire notch by delicious notch. She debated whether pressing her pussy into his hand would diminish her dignity. But he appeared to be asking something that required a response.
“Would you like me to arrange another barge ride for you? The full moon is once again near upon us,” he said, his hands making slow lazy circles on her belly—alas, too far from her cunt for her to just arch and have his hand where she wanted it.
“Yes,” she said sharply. “But attend to what you are doing now.”
“Of course,” he said, bowing his head.
When her slave had completed a most thorough massage, Gwyn/Cleopatra felt pampered, calm, and amazingly turned on. His eyes flashing, he asked, “Your lowly slave humbly requests to know, what next for Her Majesty’s pleasure?”
Gwyn thought about the leg irons. But that wasn’t the game right now. First she needed to get dressed in the Cleopatra clothes—even if she’d be undressing again within moments. “Your queen is ready to dress for the day,” she said.
He brought the gorgeous garment and jewelry over to her. His dream woman must be just her size, as the short robe fit almost as if custom made for her. And the jewelry was like a treasure trove. Hard to believe it was all real, but of course it was. She already knew that Dominic wouldn’t have it any other way. She carefully removed her diamond studs and put them in a little crystal dish. The Cleopatra earrings weighed her ear lobes down, bringing new sensitivity there.
“Would Your Majesty care to look in the large mirror?” the slave asked.
“Yes,” she said.
He led her to the first cabinet and opened the door to a full-length mirror. Gwyn loved how she looked already, and thought about how having the right makeup for a brunette would really finish the look. What a contrast to the cheap Tinkerbell costume she’d put on earlier that night. “This will do,” she told her slave in royal understatement.
Now that she was fully costumed, Gwyn’s thoughts went back to those leg irons always lurking beneath the surface of her thoughts. Did she dare ask him to put them on? Did she dare use them with him? Her heart began to race at the prospect, and her clit began to twitch. Just seconds of visualizing Dominic her captive in the irons blasted holes in the serenity of a moment before.
She wanted to use them, but what if…? What if what? Her concern was maybe she’d somehow turn Dominic off, never see him again if he knew she desired to have her way with him attached to his bed.
As if. As if she was ever going to see him again. That thought was as big a fantasy as her being the Queen of the Nile. Dominic Laredo was a major player, and she’d just opportunistically come along in a costume that went with his on an off night. The only reason she’d been available to go with him was because her boyfriend had chosen to ignore her so he could spend time with his buddies. But she wasn’t dazzled enough to think anything real or lasting could come out of the night’s adventures. Dominic Laredo was so out of her league, she couldn’t even believe they were having this one night together.
She held her regal, bejeweled head up high. She had nothing real to lose. Even if her fantasy totally turned him off, he’d go along—and then quietly send her off on her way. Or maybe he wouldn’t even bother going along. He was a big boy. Besides, he probably wouldn’t be completely turned off. After all, these were his toys she was playing with. So, what the hell? She’d go for it.
Swallowing hard, she looked at him and lowered her eyes almost flirtatiously, but maintaining her haughtiness. “You’ve done very well so far, slave,” she said using the slow and measured speech she imagined Cleopatra would have. This woman really had had all the time and resources in the world. No need ever to rush or to analyze her impulses to death… “Now for your next task, you will fetch those irons and cuffs and bring them back to the royal bed.” She sat down on that royal bed to wait.
His face a blank mask, he bowed his head slightly and said, “Very good, Your Majesty.”
Licking her lips, Gwyn watched Dominic cross over to the nightstand where he’d previously left the cuffs for feet and hands. She loved seeing how his muscles rippled as he moved across the room in his loincloth, sleek and powerful as a panther she’d trained to respond to the sound of her voice. She suppressed a small giggle as she thought that maybe he’d left the implements there thinking he’d use them on her. Turnabout was such sweet play.
Dominic/Slave picked up each item, held it up for her inspection with great reverence, and brought the whole lot over to her. He held them out to her. “What is your wish, my Queen?” he asked.
She sighed delicately. If she seriously wanted him bound to the bed, she’d have to move her derrière from its very comfortable spot. Oh, the sacrifices royalty had to put up with. Her desire to get him on his back surpassed the comfort of sitting and watching, so she got up.
“Slave, now you will pleasure me in all that I say,” she said.
“Of course,” he said.
“You’ll recline here on my bed when I tell you, slave,” she said indicating where she wanted him.
“Milady, this humble servant requests only to please you,” he said, bowing his head slightly but not before Gwyn caught the gleam in his eye and the slight smile lifting the corners of his scrumptious mouth. She could swear she saw him
surreptitiously lick his lips.
Well she was a generous queen. Let her slave enjoy himself as she took her pleasure from him. “I will tell you what to do next.” And next and next, she thought.
“I await your word with bated breath,” he said.
Right, she thought. “First, remove your loincloth.” He began to unwind the cloth at a leisurely place. Gwyn/Cleopatra was pleased to see his erection was not just a trick of the way the fabric was wound. “Faster.” He complied. This was fun. She clamped her lips tight with suppressed laughter. It wouldn’t do for her slave to see she was amused.
When he was totally nude, he stretched himself out on the bed and Gwyn feasted her eyes for a moment. What a magnificent specimen of male flesh. She’d enjoy herself enough with him tonight to last her the rest of her life.
He’d accommodatingly left the cuffs open so she could make easy work of fastening him to the bedposts.
“Spread out your hands and feet,” she commanded. He obligingly went into a spread eagle pose that raised the rate of her heartbeat and nearly had her crossing her legs to keep her intimate moisture from overflowing its banks like the Nile bringing fecundity to the parched land.
She found it surprisingly easy to attach her slave to the convenient posts of the head and foot of the bed. When he lay there, totally exposed and vulnerable, arms and legs stretched and secured, a moment’s doubt warred with her burgeoning desire. “Dominic,” she asked, “is this really all right? Does it hurt to be cuffed?”
He looked at her in almost a disparaging way. “This miserable slave aspires only to please his queen. He does not matter, except as to how he serves. Has he done something to displease Her Majesty? If so, he apologizes from the bottom of his abject soul.”
Gwyn blinked twice. Dominic was really holding true to his role in his play with her. Well if he was determined to maintain the fantasy, so would she.
