Slave of Rome, The Emperor's Obsession. Book Two (2 page)

Sana moved her head still lower until her breath fell upon Myra's splayed labia. She pushed her face in to get to her pussy and Myra squealed. Sana kissed the top gently, too lightly for Myra's feverish desire, she was arching her buttocks up and tried to grasp Sana's head with her hands to lead her in. But just then she felt the shock of Sana's tongue as she sucked in her clit between her lips, her tongue squashed out, sawing back and forth, over and around it.

Myra relinquished any control her body still clung to and let out a deep guttural moan, "Uunghh, arghh, Sana… yes!"

The black girl let go of her clit and forced her prodigiously long and wide tongue all the way into Myra's pussy, sinking as deep as it would reach, sending the inexperienced girl into a cascade of shallow breaths as she readied herself to explode into an orgasm. Sana snuck in a long brown finger and as she started fingering Myra with one hand, she used her other to gently squeeze a hold of one of her nipples while her tongue searched out and revealed yet again Myra's clitoris.

This time she sucked it in like a morsel of food and as she held it between her lips, she started flicking her tongue over it in ever increasing rapidity.

In a wail of incredible intensity Myra let her body enter the maelstrom of the most violent orgasm she had ever experienced. She nearly passed out, her mind grasping to consciousness as her fingers and toes curled and grasped at the sheets. Slowly it began coming to a halt as her series of orgasms finally subsided.
 

They nuzzled and cuddled for a long while after. At one point Sana offered to go get something to eat or drink, but Myra declined. She needed to nuzzle into Sana and refused to let her leave under any circumstances. The way Josephus had excited her earlier that morning and left without finishing what he had started, Myra had needed the release like nothing in else in a long time. Now her body relaxed into Sana and there she found the much needed comfort she had sought for so long. They slowly drifted asleep.
 

Chapter Two

When Commodus agreed to meet Petronius, the great general who was known the world over as the brilliant leader who had cut down the accursed Persians at the Helespont, he did so with some trepidation. For his reputation preceded him, and it was fearsome indeed. Already advanced in age, he had served with Caligula and then with Trajan and had established himself as a tactician of great prudence and wisdom, a leader, who the legions gladly followed wherever he might lead them. The young emperor knew well that meeting a man of such import carried with itself a certain potential for embarrassment and ridicule which in Rome could all too easily lead to serious consequences.

That was why Commodus chose that they should first meet in the gladiatorial gymnasium where gladiators would normally practice and warm up before battle. If there was one thing the emperor didn't doubt, it was his own prowess with a sword. He always felt most comfortable in an arena. It was therefore with some surprise when the young emperor decked out it in the ancient war armor of the gladiators — boiled leather and chain mail, witnessed the old general walk over to him and kneel.

"Sire, please accept my humblest homage and grant your servant your benevolent good will."

The emperor was truly impressed with the general's humility and after the polite banter required by protocol, they quickly found common topics of conversation that piqued his interest. The general presented him with a sword made with such exquisite craftsmanship, of a shine so brilliant and pure, Commodus could almost hear its glimmer sing in his ears.

"The only sword better than this one, Sire, would be a magical one dipped in the flames of the Eastern wizards. It bends like no other and yet does not break," with that the old general leaned on it making it almost double in two.

"Why don't we have our own swordsmiths make swords of that quality for our legionaries and praetorians?" asked the emperor suddenly concerned for the safety of his empire lest warriors armed with such steel chose to fall upon it.

"The metal is extremely rare, sire. This sword, I got from a swordsmith in Damascus but the steel it was made out of, I was told it comes from the east, over the horizon, over the great deserts of Arabia. I have inquired about procuring it and have been told that the traders will only exchange it for an equal weight of pure gold or female slaves of unrivaled beauty."

"Well, then, we better start procuring us some beautiful wenches as we are sure out of gold," Commodus chuckled. And with that the emperor suddenly chucked the sword into the arena. He motioned for one of the gladiators to use it and thus demonstrate the blade’s true quality in battle.
 
In two minutes the warrior that took it had dispatched one gladiator and fatally injured another, thus proving the blade to be an instrument of true value in the emperor's eyes.

The evening moved on and the conversation gradually slid into progressively more carnal topics until Commodus discovered with some delight that besides being a warrior of considerable prowess and an expert of swords and war, the old general was also a proud owner of a veritable stable of female slaves that he took with himself wherever he went.

"I train them myself, Sire," the old soldier said as he was about to chase a palm full of raisins down with some wine. "I've found that for one to attain perfect pleasure from a slave, she must be precisely honed to suit a master’s exact demands and nature. It simply wouldn't do to use a slave without having them first properly broken in, and then built up."

Taking note of the emperor's curiosity, the general then delved into the many ways of properly training a slave. "It turns out that depending on the future requirements of a master, the training should proceed along vastly different paths."

"A certain degree of planning is required. For example, if you will be using a slave primarily as a typical bed partner, I have found that having them deprived of sexual stimulation of any sort for at least one full year can work miracles toward increasing their responsiveness and obedience later. Very unconventional, I know... Most owners would do the exact opposite — beat and rape the poor thing until she is broken and defeated that she has lost the will or ability to resist. My opinion is that the real goal of a slave trainer should be to teach the slave to actively search for ways to properly gratify themselves. The true challenge is to make it so that the cravings of the slave correspond to those of the master."

The two men kept talking well into the night and then into the early hours of the morning by which time the first rays of the Mediterranean sun were already peeking through the purple curtains that lined the immense dining hall...
 

Chapter Three

When he first saw her, the emperor had been on his way back from the palace gymnasium. A morning of jousting with a couple of experienced gladiators had set his blood coursing. It had turned out to be just the right thing to wake him up and make him feel alive. He had removed his armor and then his tunic contenting himself to walk back through the imperial gardens barefoot only in a pair of breeches. The rough edginess of the sand and gravel felt exquisite as it dug into his toes.

It was a beautiful morning. Commodus felt as he used to feel when as a child his father would take him down to the market on hot summer days to mingle with the people of Rome. They would don the simple clothes of the gentry and shed their jewelry and rings, the only vestige of their imperial status being the two severe praetorians armed to the teeth that carefully watched over them from afar.
 

Commodus had planned to walk over to the imperial chancellery where he intended to berate the lord of the exchequer. Commodus had long ago set his mind on dealing with the corrupt aristocrat who through his minions had been allowed to do his larcenous bidding for way too long. The emperor knew that if they weren't stopped, they would in time strangle not only the Eternal City but the Empire itself.

He never reached the chancellery that day. Down the alley from the imperial gymnasium, tucked away in an orange grove was a little marble pool decorated with frescoes full with colorful fish and beside it a small portico with fluted Grecian columns that supported its marble arches high in the blue summer sky. Commodus had often strolled by accustomed to the studied solitude of the place but today there were two girls there. One — a black Nubian, a voluptuous slave his own body remembered well, her scantily clad form facing in his direction while beside her, with her back to him, busy picking fruit from a branch barely within her reach was another woman. She appeared to still be in her teens, yet her full womanliness was plainly obvious. She wore a threadbare little dress of rough cloth from which her tiny but well proportioned body appeared to be on the verge of bursting out at any moment. Not seeing the semi-naked man watching her, she giggled and plucked the ripe fruit from its refuge.

Suddenly the girl paused, startled, her eyes having caught the taught stillness of the black woman by her. She turned.
 

Her dress did a rather poor job of covering her front where its rough cloth opened in a fairly immodest fashion over her breast. Around her neck Commodus saw a necklace made of little colored stones he had often seen before. Though commonplace, the color and shape of the stones perfectly matched those of her olive skin and oval features. She was scared and Commodus saw her holding her breath in petrified attention as she succumbed to his stare.

Her head rose proud on a neck as exquisite as that of an ivory tower. She stood there on her toes, a fawn ready to run. To him she looked as if she was all made out of ovals — the contour of her face, the curve of her eyes, the swell of her bosom. Her skin was an exquisite dark cream and when he saw her eyes, Commodus almost took a step back. He couldn't tell if they were dark brown or black, two enormous pools with long heavy lashes adorning her lovely face. She stood frozen, a creature not of this world, an apparition that made the Emperor think of the dawn, her skin lustrous like the moon, her mouth rich like a fruit. He caught himself wondering what her smile looked like.
Would it be radiant like the sun?
He found himself standing there, heart pounding in his chest, his head suddenly dizzy.
 

*****

Commodus lost all sense of time. His heart was pounding, his blood surging through his body making his extremities tingle. He had never realized how fragrant the palace gardens were. Orange blossoms, lemon, herbs, flowers, all came in rushing on the wind and assaulted his senses. For a moment he felt as if his soul had sprung out of his body. And then he heard the old Majordomo speak, his voice like a blade upon a whetting stone:

"This one is the one I was telling you about, Sire. Her name is Myra. The little whore is almost ready for you. If you want, I can have her brought over to your chambers so you can spread her legs whenever you want…"

Commodus was pleased the fat man had approached him from his back and thus not witnessed the flush of his skin, the panic in his eyes. He wasn't pleased with his lack of control over his own emotions. It was as if he had suddenly shed any lingering notion of his status and become just another boy thunderstruck by a girl.
 

How could that happen to
him
— the Emperor; Commodus — the tyrant, the Breaker of People? This had never before happened to him. It was nothing like the adolescent crushes for the daughters of his father’s senators, it was far from the lust he'd had for the multitude of concubines, a craven desire borne out of his thirst for their womanly charms. This was an overpowering will for possession, an unbearable sculpting of the girl's face on his mind, where, he was certain, it would now haunt him till the end of his days. He had to break the spell, reclaim his control.
He had to possess her, to satiate himself and cleanse his body from this horrendous obsession
. In this instant his entire existence became utterly simple, brought onto the tip of a single spear, everything else — the state, the looming war, the palace intrigues, himself even, had just become unworthy of even a moment's attention.

When he had spoken with the craven Majordomo about finding a woman to coerce her to become yet another palace concubine, he had envisioned just another girl, another subject rapt for his carnivorous lust. He had not expected this creature, this priestess of sensuality whose own apparent obliviousness only doubled and tripled her already blinding charm. Had the old, lecherous bastard not seen that in her? Was he completely blind to her presence? Her rarity? What kind of ignorant uncivilized monster could the Majordomo be, to even have the temerity to contemplate ensnaring this pure creature?

Commodus swung on his heals, his face suddenly an inch from the fat folds of the Majordomo. He gave him a stare of pure ice. This was the first time Lord Julius had suffered the cold imperial glare. The emperor's ashen look, his gaunt features, the anger that fell off of him like waves of smoke over a lake of ice quickly sobered up the old Majordomo and he bowed deeply.

Glad with the intended effect, Commodus looked to one of his guards:

"Get that woman out here, to me. Now."
 

*****

A couple of moments later a guard brought the petite girl out from under the little orange grove. She stood almost two full feet smaller than the towering Scandinavian legionary by her side. She trembled like a little bird in winter, her shoulders together, she seemed to almost dissipate and vanish before his eyes. The emperor approached her with great gentleness.

"I know who you are, Myra. I hope I don't scare you."

For a fraction of an instant she raised her eyes to him and he saw her shake her head in submission. Her breath was fast and shallow, as if she had just ran a long distance. But it was the loneliness he saw in her eyes that almost made him want to cry. The Majordomo, who had somehow by now composed himself grumbled icily:

"Speak, slave. This is the one true living God among men on Earth, our Emperor, who is standing before you woman."