Seduce Me (3 page)

“Turn around, Jessie,” he said and I did. I spun in his loosened grasp like a ballerina in a music box.

His belt jingled merrily and I held my breath. Anticipating his freed flesh coming in contact with mine. He bent me over a clean cart. The sharp scent of new plastic filled my head along with the sharper underlying smell of the plant itself. He kept my wrists pinned but now they were held behind my back. I teetered on the edge of the cart, my belly pressing so hard against it that I saw stars. Then his cock found my soaked slit and I forgot about the spots and lack of air and everything else. He slid into me with a satisfied grunt. The sound alone had me teetering on the edge of coming.

“Stay still, girl,” he said and I went limp.

“Yes, Tim.” Not docile by nature, it felt right anyway. I absorbed his motions, accepted the hard length of him. I didn't move back against him. I took him in.

Tighter and then tighter still. I felt my body gearing up for release. I wanted it and yet I wanted to keep it in the distance. In the future. So I could have him here this way longer. Or better yet, he could have me as he wanted me for just a bit more time.

“Fuck, you are so tight. So tight. And your ass …” he trailed off as the first ripples of orgasm shot through me. Halfway through, he pulled his cock from me and I cried out. “Just wait. Shh.”

And he shoved into my ass. The pain was intense. It ate up my pleasure and then somehow enhanced it. I came long and hard. The pain flowing through me, dancing with the pleasure that threatened to overtake me. I let my head hang limp as he clutched at me. His fingers bit into my imprisoned wrists. His free hand yanked at my hips. When he smacked my ass hard enough to make me bite my tongue, a single tear slipped free of me. But he was fucking me so hard and the pain was so good. I came again on a sob.

Tim lost his rhythm. His body beat against mine in a frantic tattoo and he came. His teeth found my shoulder and nearly broke skin.

We stayed that way for a moment. Me teetering on the edge of the receptacle. Him buried deep in my ass. Softening but still hard enough to fill me.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Just enough,” I laughed.

“Coffee's cold, I bet.”

“Have a microwave?” I asked. His hands smoothed over my bottom. The spot where he'd struck me was hot and sensitive. He patted it hard enough to make me jump a bit.

“I do. Will you stay?”

“Of course.”

“Better yet, come home with me?”

My body grew hotter. I didn't answer. I pulled free of him. My wrists sore and chafed. My ass sore and wet. My pussy ready for more of him. All of me ready for more of him. The way he was. The way he took from me. The way that made me feel. He studied my face. Steel gray eyes. Serious face. Easy smile. Then his lips compressed and he reached out. He grabbed my arms and gave me a squeeze. Hard enough to hurt.

“You're coming home with me.”

“Yes, Tim,” I said and smiled.

Mistress To Slave
by Morwenna Drake

Atia settled herself on the recliner so that the cool Italian breezes could play across her overheated skin. The bustling sound of the Forum drifted in through the windows and Atia breathed a sigh of contentment. She was glad to be away from the Northern Provinces and her father's olive groves. Life in the country was dull, with only a few servants to tend her needs while their villa in Rome afforded all luxuries a young woman could desire.

She heard Marcus's gruff voice announcing his arrival long before his heavy footfalls brought him into the room. Her feelings about Marcus were mixed – she knew of him as a magnificent businessman, his trading skills unrivalled, and he had always been decidedly attentive to her at each of their meetings. Her skin would tingle under his heavily-lidded gaze. Yet she couldn't help viewing him with a sense of despondency – as would any woman who met the man arranged to be her husband in a business deal.

Before he entered the room, Atia picked up a book of Juvenal's Satires and swiftly immersed herself in its pages, so that she appeared engrossed when he entered. Marcus strode over to the window without greeting; Atia matched his coolness and feigned concentration on her book, watching him out of the corner of her eye. After a few moments, he came to stand behind her, evidently looking over her shoulder.

‘I'm not sure the barbed words of Juvenal are suitable for a young noblewoman's mind,' he said abruptly.

‘I find his work quite stimulating,' Atia responded, matching his gruffness with sweetness.

‘Well, I shall have to see if I can't provide a more stimulating distraction for my future wife,' he said. Atia felt Marcus's hand on her shoulder and she nearly jumped at the unexpected contact, but she kept her attention firmly fixed on her book. He lightly brushed the nape of her neck, then her shoulder, moving down and slipping beneath the fabric of her robe. His hand cupped her breast, holding the globe in his palm while his thumb and forefinger teasingly tweaked her nipple.

Atia kept her gaze lowered, careful to keep her breathing regular and undisturbed, yet her pulse began to pick up speed. Marcus's caresses were slow and leisurely. Atia could feel the hairs on her arms standing up as her arousal spread through her belly and downwards. It had been a long time since she had felt the touch of a man, and she was taken aback by the strength of the desire which was building within her. Yet she knew she must keep her head – Marcus would be an unbearable husband if he knew he could control her so easily.

As Marcus's hand slipped across to her other breast, Atia realised she had read the same words on the page before her three times already. She knew her racing heartbeat must be giving away her excitement, and she tried to counter it.

‘Really, Marcus, I find even the dullest of Juvenal's observations more arousing than that clumsiness you are attempting.' Atia cursed herself for the uncontrolled quiver which ran through her voice, undermining her impression of composure. Before Marcus could reply, a voice from the door made her jump.

‘I have found them, master. They are in here.' Atia nearly dropped her book in shock to see her father's slave, Quintus, standing in the doorway. Marcus quickly withdrew his hand before Atia's father, Cornelius, appeared as well.

‘Marcus, my apologies,' Cornelius said, his arms outstretched to embrace his future son-in-law. ‘Quintus was most lax in informing me of your arrival.' As the two men embraced, Atia inwardly sighed; it was a favourite lie of her father's to blame Quintus for his own tardiness. Cornelius was a man of bluffs – he gave the impression of an aging businessman, partial to snoozing over his scrolls in the late afternoon sun. Yet Atia knew that uncounted businessmen had been fooled into believing it to their cost.

‘No apologies necessary,' replied Marcus with an indolent smile. ‘I am sure a flogging will make sure he never does it again.'

‘Are you suggesting I punish a slave on the first day of Saturnalia?' Cornelius asked with undisguised horror. ‘Marcus, you know it is highly inauspicious at such a time for a master to berate his slaves. Why, it should be the other way round.'

Atia smiled quietly to herself, imagining any slave trying to berate Marcus. She doubted her future husband would allow such impudence, even during a festival where slaves where entitled to do just that. Marcus's sneer of disapproval confirmed her opinion.

‘My family and I retire to our personal quarters during this unconventional time,' Marcus snorted. ‘Of course, our most faithful slaves do not hold with such imbecilic frolics and remain to attend us. It is a frugal three days, but better that than having the house overrun by impudent slaves. Don't you agree, Cornelius?'

‘Not at all!' blustered Atia's father. ‘Why, even the most sombre of Roman citizens needs a little perversity in his life to keep him safe from the boredom bred by security.' As Marcus glanced aside in disapproval, Cornelius spared a wink for his daughter and Atia had to stifle a grin.

As the trio of men left the room to conduct their business, Atia was surprised to find Quintus's gaze resting on her for a moment. She returned his bold look with an innocent smile. Insofar as one could have any feeling regarding a slave, Atia had to admit that Quintus was her favourite. Dark and lean, with a bluntness to his brow. He was pleasing to look on – for a slave. He was never lazy or sullen and Atia knew she could trust his discretion about what he'd seen. Yet his departing look made her feel that he was nevertheless plotting something behind his subservient gaze.

The winter night had already closed in when Atia retired for her bath. In the country she was obliged to bathe in a simple, cramped tub, yet Cornelius's Roman villa had its own luxurious bathing suite with a large circular pool set into the floor. Atia leaned her back against the curved side and closed her eyes. She let the heated water cleanse her limbs and her spirit, trying to forget Marcus's earlier touch and the desire it had inflamed. Atia heard the door open and the sound of sloshing water as her personal slave, Arathusa, came to refresh the bathwater. Atia curled her toes in pleasure.

‘I know you will be preparing for the slaves' feast, Arathusa,' she murmured sleepily, ‘but would you rub some scented oil on my skin before you leave?' Any other time, Atia would have issued a command rather than a request, yet her father held strictly to the spirit of Saturnalia. He allowed his slaves to feast and game, attending only to the very basic needs of the family.

Atia held her arms out as Arathusa knelt behind her and poured oil over her neck and shoulders. Yet the moment she felt that rough touch Atia knew that it was not Arathusa who had refilled her bath and was now massaging her skin. She opened her eyes to see a man's hands wrapped around her forearms. She tensed and drew breath to protest but a familiar voice cut across her.

‘Relax, mistress,' said Quintus, his voice deep but not as gruff as Marcus's. ‘There is little point in my ministrations if you are too tense. Close your eyes and lay your head back on my lap.' The thought of protesting crossed her mind, yet his touch was firm, relaxing and his voice brooked no argument. Atia found herself doing as she was instructed without even thinking. As Quintus's hands moved to work on her shoulders, Atia briefly wondered what her father would say. Despite his strictness in keeping the spirit of Saturnalia, Atia suspected that a male slave helping his daughter to bathe might be a step too far. And the fact that Quintus had ordered her about in such a tone – even at Saturnalia – would undoubtedly infuriate him. The thought added a touch of delicious wickedness to the situation.

As she leaned into his massage, Atia could feel his dense calf muscles beneath her head, the rough fabric of his tunic brushing against her cheek. She thought how drastically different it was to the smooth silk of Marcus's fine togas. Quintus's movements were smooth and his fingers were agile, finding hidden knots of tension in her shoulders.

‘I noticed you seemed a little … disconcerted when I came across you and Gaius Marcus earlier,' commented Quintus, the amusement in his voice evident. ‘Were Marcus's attentions unpleasant to you?' Atia tried to remain calm and relaxed, although anger flared within her at his impertinent question

‘I do not think that is any of your business,' she replied. Atia was painfully aware that it was almost impossible to carry off an indignant attitude when she was lying naked and oiled before him.

‘My mistress's pleasure is one of my main concerns,' said Quintus in a low voice. As he spoke, his hands moved away from Atia's shoulders and slipped down to encircle her breasts. Atia drew in a sharp breath to protest, yet no words came. Just as Marcus's had done, Quintus's thumb and forefinger began to tweak and twist Atia's nipples. The oil on his hands heightened the sensation as Quintus squeezed the globes of both her breasts. Atia squirmed beneath his touch, sending ripples across the water to crash against the side of the bath.

‘So this is to my mistress' pleasure, then?' asked Quintus. ‘Or would she prefer it if I concentrated elsewhere..?' With his left hand still cupping her breast, Quintus's right hand began to slip downwards over Atia's chest and belly, and Atia raised her hips to meet his touch. Quintus's fingers curled for a moment in her most intimate hairs then descended lower to circle around her clitoris.

Atia gasped at his touch, moaning with pleasure as his fingers found the entrance to her sex and slipped inside. Atia was positively writhing beneath his hands now, but Quintus suddenly withdrew his hands and sat back on his heels. Atia turned to glare at him in shock and frustration and Quintus gave her an apologetic smile.

‘I hear the bell, mistress,' he said, getting up and adjusting his tunic, ‘I must go and oversee the preparations.' The wicked smile he threw over his shoulder as he left told Atia that his departure was not as reluctant as he had intimated. Atia slapped the surface of the water in anger at being teased and unsatisfied for the second time that day. Yet the outburst did nothing for her frustration except to send bathwater pooling across the floor.

Cornelius and Atia dined together with preparations buzzing around them. Yet while her father wolfed down his dinner, Atia found herself without appetite, distracted by the sound of celebrations already underway in the street outside. A wave of relief soaked through Atia when her father finally dismissed her from the table. She intended to shut herself up in one of their receiving rooms in an effort to escape the raucous celebrations. As she went to retrieve a book from her father's study, Atia forced herself not to search out Quintus from among the household. At first she had convinced herself that she simply wanted to scold him for his earlier, inexcusable behaviour but she knew that if she probed her motivations deeper she would find her reasons for wanting to locate Quintus were quite different.

Passing through the atrium, Atia caught a glimpse of a pair of slaves in a darkened corner who had evidently begun their celebrations early. Her view of them was fleeting yet it was enough for her to take in the woman's head thrown back, her legs wrapped around the man's waist while his hips thrusted vigorously backwards and forwards.

The ecstatic moans of the woman followed Atia as she hurried across the atrium and through the archway into her father's study and closed the screen doors behind her.

Walking over to the balcony, Atia breathed deeply to regain her composure. She tried to subdue the jealousy that pooled within at the fact that even slaves were enjoying pleasures she had been denied twice today already.

With the cool night air washing over her fevered skin, she forced her breathing to slow and her heart to stop racing. In her mind she still saw the slave-girl, pressed up against the wall, only now the slave wore her own face and it was Quintus tangled between her legs.

‘Lost in thought are we, Atia?' came a low voice behind her. Atia jumped, thinking she had been alone in the room. It was disconcerting to find the man who had dominated her thoughts all evening standing just behind her. He placed his hands on her waist to prevent her from turning round fully, and his touch seemed to burn through the thin, expensive fabric of her robe. It lit a fire in her skin which travelled through her belly and down into her loins.

‘What happened to “mistress”?' Atia asked, trying to keep a disinterested tone. Quintus moved closer behind her.

‘It's Saturnalia, when slave and master are equal,' Quintus whispered against her ear. His hands gathered up the fabric of her skirt and he had raised it to her knees before Atia pushed herself away from him.

‘I am due to be married very soon,' she said indignantly. Quintus slid a hand behind her back and drew her close again. She could feel his swollen manhood pressing hard against her leg and her heart leapt at the feeling.

‘Well? So am I,' he said with a grin before bending to plant light kisses along her neck and shoulder.

‘You are?' asked Atia, genuinely surprised. Quintus slipped the sleeve of Atia's robe off her shoulder, following its fall with his kisses.

‘A pretty little thing down in the Appian Way,' he murmured, his words muffled by her skin. Almost of its own will, Atia's hand snaked its way beneath Quintus's tunic and found the warm length of his shaft. Her heart hammered against her breast as she held it in her hand, so velvety and very firm. She kept her grip light and teasing, stroking from base to tip. Quintus had slipped both sleeves off her arms completely now, exposing her breasts to the cool evening air. He traced a decreasing circle with his tongue around one aureole to the hardening nipple at the centre. Then he took it within his lips, sucking on it until Atia's knees almost gave way beneath her. She had to lean on Quintus for support and this seemed to bring him back to his senses and his train of conversation.

‘Yes,' he continued, his words punctuated by kisses, ‘Melania has her master's permission to marry. She's a cheeky little thing – wild dark hair, and an arse so pert you just want to sink your teeth into it like a ripe apricot.'