by S. C. Daiko
I clasp my hands together and pray that Germanus will stay away. I don’t rate his chances much if he should return to the City…
Heralds dressed in pristine white tunics, bay wreaths on their heads, enter and line the aisle. They raise golden horns to their lips, and trumpet in unison before calling out, ‘His Most Christian Sovereign, Augustus Basileus Flavius Justinus! Her Royal Majesty, Eusebestati Euphemia, the First Consul Flavius Petrus Sabbatius Justinianus!’
The Royal party enters through the massive bronze doors. Threads of pearls and rubies from Euphemia’s crown fall midway down her back and blend into the seed pearls gleaming on her stola. Justinian stands tall and handsome next to his uncle, who looks more grandfatherly than imposing, white hair spilling out from under his gold crown.
The City’s Patriarch bows to them, and the Royal party proceeds to the main altar, imperial red sandals and white silk socks poking from under their long robes.
Six priests flank the Patriarch. All seven holy men hold white candles so pure that no trace of smoke mars the sacred air, and the Patriarch’s Latin chant swells down the nave. We all lower our heads to pray for blessings upon the Emperor and Empress, the new First Consul, the people, Constantinople, and the Empire.
I fidget in my seat. The silver balls within me shift again and moisture wets my thighs.
***
When we come out of the church, I clamber into an open litter next to Antonina; Belisarius sits opposite us. Justinian is with the Emperor and Empress, leading the procession in their litter, and the rest of the Court follow behind. Pine and rosemary scent the air. Good! As per my instructions, the streets have been sprinkled with the crushed herbs.
Excubitors hold back the boisterous crowds as we progress down Middle Street: wide as a parade ground, porticoes topped with statues: emperors and empresses, heroes, senators, gods and goddesses. There are shops that normally sell gems from Asia, Persian silks and spices, and Baltic amber, but they are closed in honour of the celebrations. The whole City has the day off, as I wished.
We arrive at Constantine’s marketplace. Empty today of the wheels of cheese wrapped in bristly pig skins, the rainbows of spices in brown baskets, and the crates of gossiping chickens. Instead, there are stalls providing free food and drink: bread stuffed with roast pork, barrels of beer and as much wine as anyone could want. There will be hangovers tomorrow, but the people will be grateful to Justinian for throwing this party to end all parties. As the balls clink together inside me and my undergarments dampen further, I can’t help feeling a sense of satisfaction that it was me who organised it all.
I insisted Justinian give pivotal roles to people from both Blue and Green factions, whatever the preferences of the Emperor and Empress, and whatever my own allegiances, this is the best way to ensure that no part of the celebrations, from the dancing and games in the Hippodrome to the street fair in the Mese, to performances on the Kynêgion stage, will be interrupted by drunken youths from one faction provoking or attacking the other.
People line the road beyond the marketplace, shouting: ‘Long live Justinian! Long live the Emperor!’ I gaze towards the tenements hugging the Golden Horn Estuary where I grew up. The streets are narrow there, lined with tall houses with overhanging balconies that almost touch and shut out the light. Women who are not at the celebrations will be sitting, spinning wool and watching the world go by, their newly washed clothes hanging out of the windows to dry. Such a different world to the one I now inhabit. I do not miss it.
Our litter-bearers turn around at the outskirts of the City. There are nothing but orchards and market gardens here. I stare at the seven hills of Constantinople, crowded with buildings. Colossal ramparts and thick walls ring the metropolis. Part-brick, part-stone, edged with moats. They are what keep us safe from barbarian invaders. Oh, and the strength of our Emperors do that too, of course.
The silver balls move inside me as the litter sways and lurches, sending jolts to my quim. I hold back a moan. We’re taken to the Hippodrome. Justinian goes with the Royal party to the Kathisma balcony, but I do not join him. I would not be welcome there and, in any case, I have to supervise the start of the dance.
The stadium is packed. Not only is every single seat taken, but the U-shaped racetrack itself is overflowing from side to side. People have piled onto the spina that runs down the middle like a raft, where the bronze charioteer statues stand frozen in a line stretching to the twisted Delphi Column. Men have shimmied up to the column to cling to three gilded snakeheads balancing a golden bowl (which some say was looted from the famed Temple of Apollo in Athens). Next to it, the pink granite of the towering Egyptian obelisk glitters in the sun.
Of course, I’m not performing myself. It wouldn’t be seemly for me, even if I have no official role at Court. Comito and my friends from the theatre are there, ready for me to give the signal. I’ve arranged for musicians to take up position all around the arena, playing flutes, kitharas and cymbals. ‘Let the dance begin!’ I shout.
Each dancer grabs someone from the crowd to form a circle, raising and lowering their hands in time to the music. More and more spectators join in until the whole floor of the Hippodrome is covered with concentric lines of dancers: circles within circles within circles. I watch, clapping my hands, my heart soaring, and the balls in my sheath sending tingling sparks to my nipples.
***
At last, Justinian takes me back to the Hormisdas Palace. After the dancing, the interminable chariot races, the magnificent banquet in the Hall of the Nineteen Couches, where the Emperor kept Justinian by his side and I had to be content with the company of Antonina and Belisarius, I feel desperate for release from the silver balls inside me, the urge to push them out and bring joy with my clit is overwhelming.
Justinian kisses me on the forehead. ‘You were magnificent, Theodora. I’m so proud of you and what you achieved. Everything was perfect. The people are full of praise. They think the Emperor was right to choose me as First Consul. And I’m sure he’ll make me his successor.’
I stretch out opposite Justinian on the couch. ‘I hope so. We don’t want a repeat of the fiasco when the last Emperor died.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Tell me about what happened in the Hippodrome while you were waiting for the Electors to make up their minds.’
Justinian runs his hand up my leg, sending delicious tingles to my quim. ‘Ah. I guess you’ve been talking with Narses.’
I stutter out a breath. ‘He told me that you’d gone to manage events. What did he mean?’
‘The Hippodrome was packed. Just like today. The stairs to the tiered seats were full, the upper wall completely hidden by standing observers. Only the Kathisma still had space – the space that would be taken by the new Emperor when he was presented to his people.’
‘Were the people calm?’
His hand has reached the top of my thigh, and he kneads my soft flesh. ‘Not exactly. I remember a hum threatening to become a growl.’
‘The people wanted a name, didn’t they? An Emperor. A Basileus. Just like today, they wanted to cheer and toast and celebrate a new beginning.’
‘Yes. They wanted to know whose hand would hold the helm. Uncertainty shimmered in the air, creating possibilities like a mirage. There might be blood. There might be civil war. Rumours flourished, growing fatter like scavenging rats.’
I open my legs, inviting his fingers to go further. ‘What sort of rumours?’ My voice is throaty.
‘The Emperor had named someone. He had not. There was a document. No, there was not. Impatiently, they waited for The Name to reach the Ivory Gate. But the Great Electors clearly could not agree, for no name was forthcoming.’
‘Did the people get impatient?’
He stops stroking my leg and his face takes on a stern expression. ‘They were massed shoulder to shoulder, sweating in the sun. I remember there were buskers with flutes, drums and a sistrum playing a selection of the marching songs. Then someone began
a chant: We demand our Emperor, given by God, for the army! We demand our Emperor, given by God, for the world.’
‘So… what did you do? How did you “manage events”?’
‘I caught the eye of a fellow-Excubitor on duty beneath the Kathisma. He gave the sign we’d agreed upon earlier, when money had changed hands. The man nodded and stepped forward. We will choose! Let us choose! The cry was taken up and rolled around the Hippodrome. The excitement grew to a frenzy. The same Excubitor yelled again: We propose John the Giant, Tribune of the Excubitors!’
‘What?!’
‘There was a method in my madness, Theo.’ His hand is back on my leg again. ‘It made the Blues furious. John’s supporters were all Greens, and the Blues would never allow them to make their man Emperor.’
My breath catches as he parts my undergarment and strokes my cunny lips. ‘What… what did they do?’
‘They scrabbled along the edge of the racetrack for stones, and hurled them at the Greens. Matters started to get out of hand. The Excubitors shook their swords. Blood was about to flow.’
‘Oh my God!’ I sit up straight and Justinian withdraws his hand.
‘Then the Excubitors started shouting, Justinian for Emperor! I was aghast. I would never be accepted by the Electors, no matter how much the mob bayed my name. And my uncle would consider it rank treachery. I stood to lose my head, not gain a crown.’
‘It must have been a relief when your uncle appeared in the Kathisma, dressed in the purple.’
‘It was. A thunderous roar went up. The Hippodrome reverberated. The army became delirious. I was off the hook.’
‘If the Emperor appoints you his successor, there will be no need for you to be elected, will there?’
‘No. And I want you by my side, Theo. I want you to be fully mine.’
‘Oh?’
‘Have you kept the silver balls in place?’
‘Yes, sir.’ My juices flow in expectation.
He folds his arms with his hands tight beneath his armpits, and his biceps flex against his knuckles. ‘I’d like to tie you up, Theodora.’
I gulp. Tie me up? Like a slave? ‘But, why?’
‘It’s the next step in your surrender. My ropes over your beautiful skin. You will have to trust me completely, give yourself to me fully. And when you do, you’ll find such joy.’
I’ll be helpless. Unable to escape. Can I do this? Yes. Absolutely. I WANT TO. ‘Oh yes, sir.’
‘You promise to tell me if it gets too much?’
‘I promise, sir.’
‘Make sure you do, my love.’
Love? He’s called me his love. Am I? My tummy squeezes and the silver balls send further sparks to my nipples. ‘I will.’
‘Good girl. Get up, Theodora.’
I stand and he lifts off the plain white tunic I’ve been wearing all day under my stola. I step out of my undergarment. His hot breath on my cheek, he whispers, ‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes, sir.’ And I am. My nipples have puckered and wetness overflows the silver balls and trickles out of my quim.
He runs his hands up the sides of my body. ‘I’ve been thinking about this all day, my sweet. Even in the church when I should have been focused on my vows. Even in the Hippodrome when I was basking in the adoration of the crowds. All I wanted was to get you back here so I could tie you up and make you mine.’
‘And I’ve been thinking about you, sir.’
‘Excellent. Put your hands behind your back.’
He reaches under the couch and pulls out a long rope, which he loops above my breasts, just beneath my collarbones. I let out a gasp as I feel him tying a knot at my back, between my shoulder blades. Another loop to the front, binding the top rise of my bosoms. Sweet Jesus! Then a knot behind, next to my spine. His breath comes through his nostrils as he concentrates. Just below my areola now, he eases my flesh so that my breasts are bound between the two loops. My nipples jut out, dark red with engorged blood. Holy Mary!
He stands back and grunts, ‘Perfect. Your luscious nipples are like two thick arrow-heads.’ He pinches and flicks them and I give a yelp. But the sensation feels good. So very good. He takes my right nipple between his lips and sucks it into his mouth, tugging, stretching, and I give a heavenly moan. He lets go and moves to my left nipple, sucking it in and tugging, stretching. ‘Oh, God, sir, that feels wonderful.’
He straightens up and palms each taut teat, kneading gently, sending thrilling tingles to my quim. ‘Fuck me, sir. I need you to fuck me.’
‘Shush, Theo. I will do better than fuck you.’
Better?
He adjusts the tension of the rope, then wraps more around the base of my ribs. I catch sight of the huge erection tenting his tunic and my sheath quivers for it. But he carries on tying me up, taking in my wrists now and trapping them in the string of knots. I feel them nudging at the bones down my back. My breasts are swollen and burning, and I can’t lift my shoulders. Oh, God!
‘All well, Theodora?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He kisses me, his tongue around mine, lingering, caressing. Catching my bottom lip between his teeth, he nips it and then stands back. ‘Ah, my sweet, you don’t know how beautiful you look, all tied up for me. And your breasts! You have the most delicious breasts.’
Tugging at the rope, he binds around my waist and over the curve of my hips. The stubble on his face scratches my soft skin as he drops to his knees behind me. I feel his hands running over the ropes, his fingers weaving in and around them. ‘Perfect, Theo – just perfect!’
My breasts ache so. Dear Lord! The pain is wonderful, though. I tense my arms against the knots; I’m trussed up like a chicken ready for the pot. It feels constricting, but I can bear this. I want it. A frisson of worry. ‘You will catch me if I fall, won’t you, sir?’
‘I won’t let you fall, my love. Trust me. You are my responsibility. I want to look after you, protect you, and keep you safe from harm.’
And I do trust him. I trust this man. And it feels so, so good. I relax my muscles and the rope isn’t as constricting.
‘That’s excellent, Theo.’ His fingers are between my legs. ‘God, you’re soaking. Your cunt is crying out for release, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir. Yes, it is.’
I rock my hips and rub my quim against his hand, the silver balls jigging me into a frenzy. He flicks my clit, and I let out a gasp. My knees are weak; I’m in danger of toppling over. He holds me close, steers me to the desk, and sweeps the mass of papers to the floor. ‘Bend over, my love.’
The wood is cool against my hot nipples. I lower my weight onto them and they burn with desire. Justinian smooths his palm over my buttocks and brings down a sudden sharp slap. Then again. The stinging pain dulls to a warm heat. My breasts scrape pleasurably against the desk. Another hard whack on the other buttock. I curl my toes and screw up my face and brace for more.
Slap!
‘Oh, God!’
Slap!
‘Oh, Justinian!’
Slap!
‘Your cunt is so slick and swollen, Theo.’
‘Then fill it, sir! Please, sir!’
He laughs and rains kisses down my back, running his tongue between my buttock-cheeks and inserting it into my hole. I squeal with pleasure as he waggles it inside me.
‘Your wonderful arse is begging for my cock.’
‘Oh, sir. Please! Put it in! Fill me!’
‘No, Theodora. You will climax without my cock in your cunt or even in your arse. You will break because of the balls inside you and my paddle on your delightful bottom.’
Paddle? Oh, sweet Jesus! Yes!
I turn my head to look. It’s long, wooden, flat. The size of a man’s arm. I close my eyes and grit my teeth.
Thwack!
Pain thuds through me. Delicious, wonderful pain.
Thwack!
My body jerks against the desk. The silver balls shift inside me. My quim is on fire. I gasp as my nipples press on the wood
. I’m aroused. So fucking aroused. I’m loving it.
‘More, Theo?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. Please!’ Aching agony making me feel alive. Really, really alive. A tremor passes through me, pulling towards my core. My clit throbs, and my head swims with the joy of it all.
With a front-hand-back-hand motion, he paddles my behind. Again and again and again and the balls pound my sheath from within. I lift my arse to receive the blows, and I’m wet for him. So fucking wet. Without warning, I’m breaking. My cunny muscles squeeze against the silver balls; my clit and my swollen breasts rub against the desk. I’m moaning and bucking against the paddle, breaking and breaking as I shriek my release.
He runs his hands down my back, his fingers tapping over the knots. I’m too breathless to speak. Suddenly the ropes loosen around my chest. My lungs expand fully and my breasts spring free with a delightful ache. The rope slackens more, then falls to a heap at my feet. He’s released me.
Dropping to his haunches, he parts my legs and cups a hand between them. ‘Push them out, Theodora. One at a time.’
I give a push and the first ball slips free into his hand.
‘Excellent!’ Now the next!’
Another push and the second ball joins the first with a clink. He places the balls on the desk, wraps me in his arms and kisses me. I feel his erection against my belly and drop to my knees.
Curling my fist around the thick base of his heavily-veined prick, I work my mouth up and down its length, coating it with in my saliva. With my other hand, I cup and massage his balls. Fluid coats my tongue as I swipe it against his tip and capture the bead of salty liquid to swallow it down.
‘Keep going,’ he pants.
I ease open my mouth and suck him in, stretching my jaw wider. He tangles his fingers in my hair and pushes down deep. I relax my throat to take him deeper. He withdraws and thrusts, withdraws and thrusts. My breath comes in short, sharp bursts.
He gasps, arches his back, and tightens his grip on my hair. A fountain of viscous saltiness coats the back of my tongue, and I swallow it down, then another and another as he spasms into me. He pulls me gently to my feet and holds me against his hard chest. ‘I love you, Theodora. Marry me!’