But before she could ask anything else, the ride ended, the elevator doors parting to reveal a small, dark area that automatically drew the eye to yet another shiny gold door. Above it, a rather old-world, Roman-looking script spelled out Caligula’s.
Stepping from the elevator, she turned to Damon. “Caligula. Wasn’t he the Roman emperor who had a lot of sick, kinky kinds of sex?”
Damon’s eyes glimmered in reply. “Correct.” And without another word, he opened the gold door.
Inside Brenna found a hallway lined with pristine white Roman arches draped with greenery and flowers. The walls on either side sported murals that gave the impression they stood on a Roman street and that the ancient city stretched in all directions around them. A man and woman, each attractive and wearing white togas trimmed in gold edging, greeted them.
“Welcome to Rome,” the guy said, lifting a hand as if to motion to the city’s splendor. Around his head rested a gold laurel wreath like those worn by Caesar and other men from that age.
“We’re pleased you have arrived,” the lady said, her voice warm, formal. Her short, toga-like frock draped over one shoulder and left her pointed nipples clearly visible through the white cloth. She held out two rolled pieces of what looked like weathered parchment tied with thin gold cord. “These are the terms you must agree to before entering our fair city.” Then she motioned to two open archways on either side of the hall. “And there you shall find the garments of our citizens—choose one to your liking and prepare for an evening of sensual delights unlike you have ever known.”
“My lady, you shall find your dressing room through the arch on the right,” the guy said, “and sir, proceed to the left.”
And before she knew what was happening, Brenna found herself ushered through the indicated arch, her roll of parchment clutched in her fist.
She wasn’t sure whether she was happy or sad to find another “citizen of Rome” waiting inside. The lovely dark-haired girl wore another revealing white dress and smiled prettily as Brenna entered. “Welcome,” she said. “I am your maid, Clodia. Once you’ve signed the document, I will help select your apparel for the evening.”
Brenna stood dumbfounded, given that she still didn’t know exactly what took place here. “Um, okay.” Hurriedly, she unrolled the parchment and found, in historic-looking script, the same general message Damon had relayed. Signing with a pen fashioned to resemble a quill, she passed it to “Clodia,” who then motioned toward various styles of women’s togas displayed on mannequins around them.
“When you choose,” the woman said, “bear in mind that everything you’re wearing now must come off. All jewelry and undergarments included.”
“I see,” Brenna murmured, studying the scant apparel.
She selected the same dress Clodia wore—gold shoulder straps led down to silky white cups that held her breasts and a bodice wrapped with gold, crisscrossing cords. The varied hem flowed to mid-thigh on one side, higher on the other.
When she slipped it on in a private dressing room, she feared it might too easily allow her pussy to be seen, but decided not to worry, since all the togas were short, and they’d come here to have sex, after all. As also seemed to be the case with all of the outfits, her nipples showed clearly through the white cloth and the cut of the fabric created ample cleavage. She wasn’t sure if she felt sheepish or sexy exiting back to where Clodia waited for her.
“Lovely,” the young woman said, taking her in from head to toe, her slow perusal causing a frisson of anticipation to race up Brenna’s spine.
Next, she was fitted with gold shoes—essentially strappy heels with cording that crisscrossed their way up her calves. Finally, they chose a headpiece from the many available—a circle of entwined gold links that rested around her head like a delicate crown.
“There,” Clodia said, spinning her toward the mirror. “You are now a perfect Roman goddess.”
And—oh God—she was. She felt as if she were going to a Halloween party, but…the kind Damon probably went to, where every woman was hot and sexy and every guy was ready. Though she’d never indulged in any sort of Roman fantasy, she suddenly thought maybe she could get into this—and for the first real time since stepping off the elevator, she found herself truly anxious to see exactly what awaited her.
“Go,” Clodia said, still in character. “Meet with your lover. He is waiting to take you to a bacchanalia at the emperor’s palace.”
Exiting into the hallway, Brenna found Damon, sexily clad in his own white toga and laurel wreath. She wouldn’t have guessed he could look so hot in what was technically a dress, but on the other hand, she wasn’t sure how Damon could succeed in not being sexy. She also couldn’t help noticing that despite the no jewelry rule, his cross still adorned his neck.
His eyes traveled appreciatively from her head to her feet, making her pussy pulse slightly. “Damn, babe—I should have brought you here sooner.”
She fleetingly worried that she’d end up with the same problem she’d experienced the other night with no panties to absorb her moisture—but she had bigger things on her mind. She pressed her palms to his chest, letting her eyes widen, but spoke low since their original greeters stood nearby. “So what happens here exactly?”
He gently squeezed her elbows, his expression sultry. “You’re about to find out.”
She was on the verge of arguing when the white-clad woman from the entrance approached. “Proceed onward toward pleasure,” she said with a smile, so Damon led Brenna farther down the hallway still lined with Roman murals as a patrician voice began to echo from hidden speakers.
“Welcome to the Holy Roman Empire. You have been invited to Caligula’s palace for a grand bacchanal feast. Many of the emperor’s guests have already arrived. While you are here, your wish is Caligula’s desire. You may swim in his baths, eat his grapes, drink his wine, play with other visitors, indulge your every pleasure. You may also choose to simply observe our riotous Roman festival. Whichever you choose, be respectful of others, and remember…when in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
The recording had been timed to end precisely as they reached wide double-doors beneath an elaborate facade of a Roman building. The atmosphere, already, was nearly overwhelming.
“Should I be nervous?” she asked Damon once the voice had ceased.
“No,” he said. “You should be…open-minded.”
She stopped, looked at him. She’d decided she was ready for this—whatever this was—back with Clodia, when it was more about a game of dress-up, but now she began to worry again. “What do you mean?”
His reply came in a steady, frank tone. “I mean you’re going to be shocked at first by what you see—but then you’re going to relax and enjoy. You’re going to let yourself go. Just like you did on the Eiffel Tower. And in the gondola. And last night, with Jenelle. You’re going to experience the most pleasure you ever have. It’s that simple.”
She stood speechless before him. It didn’t sound simple.
Because up to now, with Damon, she’d always felt…as if she had a choice. About everything they’d ever done together. Their sex had only reached certain extremes because she had lost her inhibitions and wanted it to happen.
But this, now, felt more thrust upon her than anything they’d done. Whatever waited behind that door would be something she’d have to endure, could not easily escape. The fantasy was at once alluring and…intimidating.
“I’m a little scared,” she said, deciding to lay it on the line. “I’m not sure I want to be here, want to do this.”
He stayed quiet, but his dark eyes bored through her as he, again, placed his hands on her upper arms to gird her. “Have I brought you anything but pleasure so far?”
“No.”
“Do you have any regrets?”
“No.” Not even about Jenelle. Part of her had feared feeling remorseful or weird upon waking up this morning, but it hadn’t happened.
“I never planned any of this, Brenna.
But I like helping you discover the bad girl inside you. I like taking you deeper and deeper into that side of yourself. And this is just…the next step. The ultimate step. Don’t you want to see what it is?”
When he put it like that, despite herself, she did. So, almost numb with wanting to please him—again, always—she felt herself nod.
Heard him say, “Good girl.”
Then watched as he banged the large, gold, lion-headed knocker on the door of Caligula’s palace.
Six
Maybe she had begun to form some picture of what took place here—a hedonistic feast, which surely included hedonistic sex. But she couldn’t have imagined the elaborate scene that awaited her when the palace door opened. Damon again placed his hand at the small of her back to usher her inside the expansive room.
More murals framed every wall, making it appear as if they were indeed inside a grand palace, in a hall lined with large windows revealing well-manicured Roman gardens complete with fountains and the occasional horse and chariot passing by. Between the “windows” stood large tables laden with grapes and cheese and jugs of wine.
But the paintings and food were—by far—not the main attraction. In the middle of the space, Roman columns created a large circle. Between each rested a bed covered in white, strewn with metallic gold pillows, and most were occupied by people dressed as she and Damon were. In the circle’s center were two small rectangular pools sprinkled with water lilies—and people, some immersed in their togas, others swimming naked. Between the two “baths” stood a grand dais on which a gorgeous blond woman took turns kissing two men, all three of them naked but for the golden laurels atop their heads and looking ready to do far more than just kiss.
Brenna wanted to stop, try to absorb it all from a distance before getting too close, but yet another toga-clad girl was leading them to an empty bed.
Looking around, she realized most of the beds’ inhabitants watched the people on the center platform, but some were indulging in their own pleasure. One couple kissed, their hands between each other’s legs beneath their togas, and she witnessed one girl seated behind another, reaching around to cup the second girl’s breasts as a guy knelt between the same girl’s legs, bending to eat her. On another, even two handsome, muscular guys made out.
“Relax and let yourself enjoy this,” Damon whispered as they settled on the bed together. Not quite sure what to do, Brenna sat with her knees bent slightly before her, unable to deny how good—even comforting—it felt when Damon eased his arms around her waist from behind.
And for the first few seconds, she couldn’t believe she was openly watching so many people have sex in a brightly lit room—and a stark embarrassment that bordered on shame bit at her.
But then something happened.
She realized that no one else was embarrassed.
They were simply enjoying the fantasy, the bacchanal, as the club was designed for them to do.
And she realized that it was impossible not to start feeling more aroused with each passing second. For everywhere her eyes fell, something sensuous took place.
In the pool nearest her, a naked woman with a perfect hourglass body floated on her back while a nude man began to lick between her legs. A shapely woman in a toga emerged up the pool’s steps, water sluicing off her dress to leave her ample breasts clearly visible, and her ass, as well, through the thin fabric. She lay down upon an empty bed, then motioned toward a toga-wearing man who stood nearby holding a tray of grapes. He went to her, dangling a clump of purple grapes just above her mouth, allowing her to bite one off.
In the room’s center, the lovely blonde now positioned herself on her hands and knees on a plush divan as one man’s cock entered her from behind and the other fucked her mouth. Brenna had never seen anything like it.
And although Roman-esque music could be heard—making her imagine a few of Caligula’s subjects off playing lyres and lutes in some distant corner of the room—the melody was punctuated with the sounds of sex: moans, sighs, labored breath.
Brenna was—slowly—becoming more fascinated than stunned.
She leaned back to ask Damon, “How does this work? What are the rules?”
She turned to see a scolding grin. “I guess you didn’t read what you signed.”
Well, not closely, no. She’d seen the part about confidentiality and grabbed up her “quill,” too uneasy to think very clearly. “Maybe not. So tell me.”
“You can just watch if you want—or fuck whoever you came with. But the people who work here will do whatever you like—feed you fruit, fool around with you, or fuck you if you ask.”
“Wow,” she said on an amazed sigh at the “feast” of choices here. Then she looked to Damon again. “How do you know the people who work here from the ones who don’t?”
“The armbands.” He pointed toward the guy still dropping grapes in the mouth of the woman who looked like she was competing in a wet toga contest. A gold metal band circled his forearm and, scanning the room, Brenna realized many people wore them. The woman whose pussy was being eaten in the pool, for instance. And all three of the lovers on the dais.
When Damon saw her gaze resting there, he said, “Only the employees fuck on the center stage. They take turns all night to keep everyone entertained.”
God, she thought—nonstop sex. All night long. What would it be like to work here? To fuck on that divan for a living? Up until this moment, she’d imagined every aspect of the sex trade as something dirty and debasing and undesirable, but for a split second, watching the woman being so thoroughly pleasured by two handsome Roman men with their muscular bodies and big, stiff cocks, Brenna thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
“What about…diseases?” she couldn’t help asking.
“There are rubbers under every bed,” Damon informed her. “And brand-new sex toys, too.” As her eyes went wide, he added, “It’s kind of like a minibar in a hotel—whatever’s gone when you leave is added to your bill.”
Unable to resist the temptation, Brenna leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled back the white covering. Indeed, beside a shallow bowl of condoms lay an amazing array of vibrators and other penis-shaped instruments—and a few things she didn’t even recognize!
“Like what you see?” he asked when she rose back up, probably looking dumbstruck.
She bit her lip and answered honestly. “I like what I’ve got up here a lot better.”
“Come here,” he said, then pulled her into a kiss. Around them, sensual notes from the lyre still wafted through the room and more moans and groans echoed, creating their own erotic symphony, but in that moment, all she could see was Damon. And when his hand rose to her breast, caressing her as his kisses dropped to her neck, she didn’t even care if anyone saw.
That quickly, somehow, she’d acclimated.
“Is this as horrible as you feared?” he whispered in her ear, his breath warm on her neck.
She found her gaze planted back on the threesome in the center of the room. The blonde now took turns sucking the men’s cocks, and whichever one wasn’t in her mouth was being worked by her hand.
“It’s horrible, and it’s…arresting,” she said softly, trying to analyze her emotions. “How is it possible that I’m both appalled and…utterly captivated?”
“Because you think too much?” he suggested between kisses that now spanned down onto her chest.
She cast him a sensual smile in reply. “It must be great to be a man, to not have to feel so much and think so much.”
“You’ve done pretty good at that this week, babe—and you should go back to doing it right now.”
He was right, of course. She’d managed to discover a whole new sexual world with his guidance and her ability to turn off old Brenna this week. But being immersed in something so wholly shocking had threatened to take her back there.
Until this moment.
Because she wasn’t going to let it.
Instead, she was going to close her eyes. Drin
k in the sensation of Damon’s kisses across her chest, his thumb stroking her distended nipple. Soak up the sounds of pleasure all around her. And…eat a grape. That’s what she wanted. To let a man feed her a grape while Damon kissed her. She wanted to be that daring. Take that step.
And it was just as she lifted her hand to wave over a darkly handsome guy wearing a gold armband and bearing a tray of grapes that Damon slipped the gauzy white fabric over her breast, baring it—and she didn’t stop him.
She couldn’t.
She had to keep going.
She held eye contact with the good-looking guy even as Damon’s mouth closed over her nipple—and her cunt spasmed.
Oh God, she was doing this, really doing it. It somehow felt infinitely more wanton than anything else she’d indulged in this week.
The grape-bearer—who even looked Italian—approached, and she licked her upper lip, pointing toward a pile of green grapes. Lifting a small bunch, he held them over her parted lips, allowing her to pluck one free between teeth and tongue.
As the grape squashed in her mouth, the sweet juice flowing free, Damon suckled her harder and her pussy nearly exploded from the rush of pleasure, making her moan.
“More?” the handsome Roman asked.
It made Damon look up, realize what she was doing. His eyes went glassy with lust and she felt beautifully, thrillingly exposed with her breast glistening and naked between the two men. Being on display made her wetter still, made her feel hot and swollen beneath her tiny toga.
She was about to say yes—to more grapes, and maybe more everything—when Damon glanced up at the guy once more, and this time said, “Anthony?”
Oh God.
The Roman lowered his chin, looking confused at first, but then he grinned. “Damon—I’ll be damned.”
“I haven’t seen you in forever, man.”
“Whisky a Go Go in 2002, probably—because I’ve been in Vegas since then.”
Brenna sat up a bit, pulling the fabric back over her breast. Her heart still beat between her thighs, but her sense of passionate abandon had been pretty much extinguished and she felt a little weird.
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