Slave of Rome, The Emperor's Obsession. Book Two (4 page)

"In the morning, we found her carcass being picked over by hyaenas. I’m still not sure why the other lions killed her. Maybe she was slowing them down, I will never know. Nothing like that will ever happen to this lion. I will not allow it. When the time comes, he will receive a painless honorable death."
 

Myra looked at the emperor and knew that he was speaking about himself. He wouldn't allow himself to become that pitiful old beast, slowly devoured  by his own subjects. Somehow she knew he wanted her to know that about him. It made her feel warm inside and for the first time she realized that there was more to this scary and powerful beast of a man than could ever meet the eye.

In one abrupt movement he turned to her. His eyes like those of a boy, not unlike the stare of her brother when he was little.
 

"Perhaps, now is the best time for you to tell me. Will you stay?" he whispered. She looked at him and felt both sorry and afraid of what she saw.

"I will, Sire," she whispered, surprised by the resolute sound of her own voice, "I will stay with you."

Chapter Five

"Let's walk," the emperor said simply. And so, they walked on, making their way back through the gardens. The night was young and full of sounds. The moon was up and so the praetorian guards held back, holding flaming torches in their arms. When they arrived by the little orchard, where they had truly met for the first time, they lingered for a while and she noticed in his hands a box. Not too big, it looked heavy, and she guessed — made out of red cherry wood. He handed it to her without a word and she tried to open it. She had never seen something like it in her life and for a moment felt dumbfounded at her own inability to spring its latch. But after a couple of tries, that she noticed brought out a silent laugh from him, she got it open on instinct alone and gazed inside.
 

There, laid upon a soft cushion of red velvet lay a heavy gold chain that she guessed was meant to be worn around the neck. With trembling fingers she raised the heavy chain out of the box and gazed at the glinting gold as it shimmered in the pale moonlight.
 

And then she got up on her toes, bent forward and kissed his scarred burly cheek. "Thank you," she said. And then added: "Master."

Part of her was afraid he might become angry at her insolence. But he just stood there, immobile, as if petrified, staring back at her. He stayed silent and having returned the necklace to its box, they walked on down the path to his chambers.

At one place, just before they had to climb the marble stairs leading into the palace, Myra tripped and fell against him so that Commodus found his hands move up to hold her, so curvy and lithe and at the same time hard and alive that it caused a deep wave of emotions to wash over his body.

And then he picked her up. She sensed his muscular body as she draped an arm around his neck and allowed him to carry her in. He walked so fast, that for a moment she thought he was running but his breath was slow and measured, his gate determined and deliberate. When they reached the third floor of the cavernously empty palace they soon arrived by a room where a single large bed occupied the center. It looked scary and beautiful at the same time.

The bedroom itself had to be larger than the her entire house back home. Severe dark furniture was tastefully spread around the interior: a massive desk with oodles of papers, and the sculpture of a lion on the edge. A thick, plush carpet with silken designs of people in strange headgear chasing after big tusked animals she had never seen before, dominated its center. Commodus laughed, a beautiful deep sound that gave an outlet to some internal source of amusement. She shot him a glare and before she could check her disrespectful frown, he noticed it. Instead of getting angry, Commodus actually made as if cowering in feigned shame. A small smile illuminated his beautiful lips.

"You look like you have never been in a house," he smiled more broadly and took off his sandals of polished military leather.

"I have never been in a house
such as this
," she said softly as she stepped forward and allowed her toes to sink into the rug. "It's beautiful," she whispered, "the carpet, the furniture, the..."
The bed…

"Not as beautiful as you", he almost said but stopped himself in time. Instead he reached and took the box with the necklace that she was still clasping in her hand. He opened it and gently held out the heavy gold chain.
 

Then he carefully took her by the shoulder and turned her so that she now had her back to him. She whimpered, a velvety soft sound so youthful and so shy, that it sent the emperor's ears ringing. Careful, so as not to touch her skin lest he completely lose control, he slowly and deliberately brushed her long black curls that cascaded down her back to the side. This revealed her neck, its form gracefully flowing to her back. He kept his eyes fixed on the gold links in his hands because looking at her delicate skin, so close to his touch, a sheen of perspiration making it glisten in the shimmering candlelight, confused him so much. He passed the chain around her neck and attached the two ends together firmly clasping it in place. The chain itself wasn't long and once in place, it looked more like an extravagant collar than a sumptuous necklace. He loved it.

Myra's entire body felt the cold metal as it went around her neck and clicked into place. She hiccuped and as if out of nowhere despair and loneliness welled up inside her, and she just couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

Here she was, in the room of a man she hardly knew, by a bed not her own, at the threshold of an unknown path that could easily lead to perdition. For an instant she felt feint and lightheaded. It was either do what she had to, sleep with the emperor, be his concubine, or face a life of poverty, brutish and short, witness her husband join the legions and go away to fight and probably die in some unknown faraway place, see her brother perish from hunger and sickness and witness herself — destitute on the streets.
 

She had never had a choice!
 

She caught herself. No — she did have one choice; she could either choose to go on, resigned to her fate and simply follow along the path set forth with no enjoyment, afraid of her own feelings, guarding against her own pleasure.
 

Or she could set her mind free to taste the fruits along the way; live the life laid before her to its fullest, let go of the guilt. That was her true choice to make. She cast one last look at her emperor and she knew she had made her decision.

Commodus allowed the girl to cry. He owed her that much at least. He knew she would eventually come around but somehow also realized that she needed a few moments to come to terms with her own decision. He stepped away and took a few long moments to get himself a glass of wine. He emptied the vessel in slow, deliberate gulps that sent the godlike substance cascading down his parched throat.

Then, he felt her turn to face him and so he did the same and allowed her to come to him. It seems she understood his intention and so she took one small step forward, and then another, and another, until she was barely an arm’s length away. With an untrembling hand she undid the strings that closed the dress over her chest, slipped it from her body like a tunic and stood naked before him.
A slave before her Master.
 

Commodus found his own body inching forward toward hers until they almost touched, feeling her warmth and a gentle scent of lavender. She had taken off her sandals, her head now barely at the height of his chest. He looked down and allowed himself one last foretaste before they touched. His eyes roamed her body starting at her feet, which lay almost engulfed in the thick rug, up her ankles, her legs -- chiseled and taught from work in the fields, her joints casting soft shadows that begged for his touch. He murmured something and he grabbed her in his arms and they fell together upon the enormous bed and she started removing his clothing. And then she kissed him, peppering his powerful neck with butterfly kisses of long eyelashes and fragrant lips.
 

"Oh, Gods!" he moaned.

Slowly, carefully, he put one hand on her shoulder and pressed her gently back so that he could touch her breast, firm and large, her nipples taught, and then like a lightning she was in his arms so fast that their bodies came together in one instant — a bolt of silk, writhing moving and then he finally had his arms around her, kissing her warm mouth fully, crushing her breasts against his own chest and then rolling atop her. For the first time in his life Commodus felt an indescribable sensation of life and energy, his whole body transcending itself and he just let himself go.
 

Myra took charge. With tiny nibbles in one instant she would abruptly slow her passion and tease his lips, until — in the next moment — she would delve again into the depths of his mouth, her tongue washing over his. It was as if she was fascinated by him, as if she was kissing for the first time in her life, and so he applied pressure to the back of her head, his hand enmeshed in her tangles and he dove further into her sweet depths.

And then somehow her lithe little form pivoted and came on top of him and the girl wrapped herself around him and lavished hot sweetnesses upon his shoulders, his chest, her tongue lingering there, nibbling on his nipples, and then she would move lower still until she buried her mouth in his silk. His body became one single searing eye of sensation and his world ceased.
 

Finally, they lay, how long, they didn't know, her by his side, a tiny hand continuing its exploration of his body as she nuzzled into her emperor, her master, her god among mortals.
 

Chapter Six

Time slowed to a trickle and Commodus felt her slowly relax; her breathing evened out and he felt her sigh deeply as she fell asleep. He didn't. Her face was too lovely in repose, a perfect face he had before only seen upon frescoes and statues of ancient goddesses of fertility. Even after long hours of complete possession, he could not stop himself from marveling at her beauty as she slept.

His sigh turned to a gasp and then a smile. A woman like this could not be owned or simply had. She had too much to offer to be sullied by a master's wishes. No, she had to be allowed to find her true path. His father had once taught him that many young men often started down a false path to their true identity. Time, good luck and fate, usually set them straight. Commodus now knew that this also included women as well.

And then he smiled because he knew exactly what his next step with Myra would be.

*****

"Saturnalia?" she blurted out, Her face a mask of confusion.

"Saturnalia," he affirmed.

"But, isn't this an ancient festival where the ancients celebrated the return of the sun," she yawned and looked up at him. "I didn't realize people still observe that ancient rite."

"They do," he smiled a touch of mischievousness trickling onto his serious dark eyes. "But there is a great deal more you should know about this particular festival," he let his index finger adorned with the massive gold ring of imperial power trace circles around her left areola as he watched her dusky nipple come to life.

"I'm up here, you know", she put her own finger under his chin and lifted his face to meet her eyes. His lips twisted in a smirk. Moist with tiny beads of sweat, his lips were beautiful, clearly outlined against the chiseled features of his nose and chin. She couldn't help herself as she moved in closer and kissed him, their tongues found each other and washed over in cascades of power. He pulled back and much to Myra's dismay started to make his way out of the massive imperial bed.

"Besides, Saturnalia is only three days away, it is best we don't meet again until then," he was now completely out of bed and donning his cloak and sandals. Then he suddenly stopped and shot Myra a narrow stare. "I will have the black Nubian slave explain to you what is expected. I hear you two have found a soft spot for each other. Or perhaps I should say, more than one soft spots."

Myra blushed furiously and rather than reply chose to pull the blankets over her tussled head. He laughed and with that he left.

As it turned out he was correct. There was indeed much more to Saturnalia than a simple religious festival. Myra spent the three days leading up to it in the constant company of Sana, listening, absorbing and often practicing for the event. Myra laughed and blushed when she thought of what these practices had often entailed.

The festival had indeed originated as a commemoration of Saturn, the sun god —
Sol Invictus,
the most powerful of them all,
 
but after century upon century many more layers had been added to the simple tradition gradually transforming it into one of Rome's most cherished events practiced for many days and nights in the month of December in the city.
 

No wonder she knew next to nothing about it, she was a provincial, from an affluent family perhaps but still a peasant girl after all. The best part of the celebration, at least according to Myra, was the tradition which called that for the duration of the festival, master and slave would trade places.
 

She couldn't help but smile mischievously when she thought about all the things she planned to do to her emperor Commodus and that beautiful birthmark he had on those sculpted buttocks of his.

Thank you for purchasing
Slave of Rome
. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It is the second part of a projected series of four stories:
The Emperor’s Obsession
.
 

Part One,
Taken by Rome
is already available on Amazon, while Part Three:
Mistress of Rome
is in the works and about to be released shortly.
 

I love reading your thoughts, feedback, questions, comments and even concerns. Please email them all to me at:
[email protected]

If you enjoyed this book, please consider more of my works at my
Amazon Author’s Page
.