Slave of Rome The Emperor's Obsession. Book Two Read online

  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."

  Commodus saw her face, already ashen grow deathly pale but her long eyelashes remained downcast like feathers upon her eyes.

  "You are so small, so thin..." He said quietly.

  Myra shivered as he looked her over, his eyes devouring her like a pair of starving wolves. She felt like a trapped lamb, just waiting for him to strike. Why was she petrified like that? Why didn't she bow and curtsy like she knew he expected? Why didn't she speak when he talked to her? She knew why. She was truly afraid, scared like she had never been. Even that one time, in the winter, when as a child she had seen a hungry lone wolf staring at her on a path in the forest, it hadn't caused such an immobilizing sense of utter helplessness.

  She felt him reach out and brush a jet curl that had fallen across her face. Myra hiccuped. She hated herself. He quickly withdrew his hand, as if singed. When she was nervous she tended to do one of two things — she would either play with one of her springy cu
rls, or her breath would catch in her throat causing her to make a sound that most people thought was a hiccup. It had always been that way and she couldn't help it.

  His dangerous menacing appearance almost made her gasp. He was so big. Enormous shoulders filled her sight as he looked down on her. He wasn't handsome in the same way like her husband. It was more like he was a god of war, to Silvanus' god of love. Commodus had the brutal features of a street fighter, his face too sharp, his complexion marred by a large scar that ran from his right ear, to his chin. She could feel his heat even a foot away and it made her body tense and her nipples tighten.

  "You are afraid," she saw his beautiful lips curve down in concentration, "Don't fear, little one, I'm your friend, not your enemy." She realized her entire being had suddenly filled with irrepressible emotion.

  "Does my presence trouble you, Myra?" She permitted herself the slightest nod and felt him motion something to the men surrounding her. They retreated and she felt her lungs relax and she could breathe easier. Myra steeled herself and fought back the tears that threatened to burst upon her eyes. She finally looked up and gazed into his dark eyes, getting her first good look at him. She felt mesmerized, intrigued even as her body relaxed a tiny bit. There was a sadness about him that made her instinctively want to care for him; inexplicably he seemed strong yet fragile, like a beautiful clay figurine of an ancient god of war. He took a step forward and her body tensed again. For a moment, she noticed a fleeting smile cross his dark eyes.

  "I know you are here because of a promise that was made," she saw repugnance wash over his features. "The Majordomo offered to help out your family, in return for one year of service." He looked at her, his sadness returning. "You are worried about your little brother... About the cough, that keeps him up at night; you don’t think he’ll make it through the winter..."

  His gaze bore into her. She felt him searching, probing. She was stunned by his words, he knew so much, he knew everything...

  As if reading her mind, he said: "One day, soon, you shall have no secrets from me."

  He circled her and she felt her own hand search out to a string of springy curls by her ear.

  "He will be fine, your brother. I can promise you that. He will not die, not now, not like your father..." he sighed. She couldn't explain it but his sadness made her heart heavy as well. It was as if his proximity caused her soul to meld with his and her empathy for him grew.

  "There is something else I sense, however," he said. "I can see that there is a hesitation in you. Your heart has not accepted what your mind commands your body to do."

  He stood in front of her for a long time as he allowed the silence to build. The drumming in her chest subsided, her vision opened up, the perfumes of the orchard filled her. She could see his temples move as his mind was clearly deliberating something.

  "The promise that was made to you, you have until tonight to decide whether you stay or you go. You shall join me for dinner tonight. At the end, after we have dined, you will tell me of your decision. Not before. You came here to be my slave, this will not change. However, if you choose to stay, you will only be a slave in the privacy of my chambers. Otherwise you will be who you truly are — a free woman of Rome. For one full year you will live with me here in the palace. You will wine, dine and enjoy your heart's desires. However, when I call, you shall come."

  He made to leave but stopped and turned. "One last thing — other than the Majordomo and myself, no one is to know. I forbid you from telling anyone of our arrangement. If you do," his features clouded over, "you will deeply regret it. To everyone you know or meet, you will simply be a visiting friend of the Majordomo. You will fast learn that I accept no excuses."

  Chapter Four

  All this time until now, growing up, Myra had always been focussed only on herself, her own pleasures, her own wants and cravings. She had never even stopped to consider how with every passing day of extravagant lifestyle and spending, her father had brought them closer and closer to the beggars' lot. With him dead, the bill was now due and it was her that would be paying it.

  Her brief afternoon siesta ended when she was awoken by a nondescript house-servant or slave, she wasn’t exactly sure which, who mutely offered her a beautiful toga embroidered with a shimmering sequence of red and black silken threads followed by a pair of exquisite black leather sandals with a slightly raised heel. She had never seen anything like them before. The sandals fit her small feet perfectly allowing a tantalizing peek of her toes but strapping her ankles in place with a small silver buckle that attached to a beautiful gilded clasp fashioned in the form of a lion's jaw at the back.

  The servant raised five fingers which Myra assumed to mean she had five minutes to get ready and quietly left to allow her to don the items he had brought. The dress felt as if it had been tailored specifically for her, its satin belt cinching her waist so that she couldn't help but observe the perfect hourglass of her shadow in the late afternoon sun. But when she donned the strappy sandals, she couldn't help but gasp. The odd heels had added almost two inches to her height and even though she found walking in them a tad difficult, the unbelievable softness of the insole made her feet want to sing with joy and more than made up for the initial clumsiness of her gate. Now that her vantage point had been elevated she found herself squaring her shoulders and standing erect.

  Normally Myra didn't seek out mirrors, afraid of what she might see in them but this time she walked over to one massive floor to ceiling mirror and looked at her reflection. Even though tighter around the waist than her natural modesty would have initially allowed, she found the garment a thing of unparalleled beauty. The shape and design of the toga added significantly to what she suspected most men already found charming in her appearance. The black and red of the shimmering embroidery worked miracles in bringing out her naturally olive complexion. The hourglass cut accentuated her body's natural appeal which coupled to her new height almost made Myra wonder if she was still that same girl who just a couple of days ago had left her farm estate and come to the capital of the world.

  Someone at the door cleared his throat and for a petrifying moment Myra teetered precariously on her high heels until her long legs took into consideration the odd height of her footwear.

  "You are ravishing, milady." The Emperor!

  For a moment her heart almost missed a beat. He was smiling, the most beautiful, carefree smile she had ever seen upon an adult man. And what a man! His attire was simple for a man supposed to be a the ruler of the known world. But it was the quality of the purple silk, the classy design of the epaulettes, the perfect length of his toga ending as it did just above his muscled knees thus allowing an exquisite glimpse of his sculpted shins that screamed his status to anyone that cared to look. The way his body filled the clothes, the way he stood with the relaxed, almost dismissive confidence of a born ruler of men — all that conspired on Myra and for a moment she found it necessary to remind her body to breathe.

  "Don't be late, milady" the emperor smiled, "we don't want to give the senators any unnecessary excuses to gossip behind our backs." He stretched out his hand and she almost swooned. Why, oh why do you have to make everything so deliciously complicated, oh why? Tell me, oh Fate? He kept saying "us" and "we" when he refereed to Myra and himself. She needed wine, the more — the better, and fast. Or she might just grab him by his weighty shoulders and kiss those expressive lips of his.

  Myra entered the dining hall with the certainty of someone who had already made up her mind. In point of fact her decision had been an easy one. She felt that to a large extent, it had been made for her. Whether by the fates, or the emperor himself, she couldn’t tell, but she knew what she had to do. If she didn't accept the emperor's offer, she would be sent back to her farm where, unable to pay back her father's debts, she would be forced out to live on the streets together with Silvanus and her sick brother Marius. They would be dead in a fortnight at most. She was determined not to let that happen.