by S. C. Daiko
‘Ready?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m ready, sir.’
‘Remember, when you say, “stop”, I’ll do just that. Promise me you’ll say the word if it becomes too much!’
‘Yes, sir. I promise.’
‘Good girl.’ He moves behind me, out of my sight.
I close my eyes and brace myself. I can hear him breathing. Oh, dear Lord!
CRACK!
The sound is so close that I jump and the chains rattle.
His warm breath on my neck makes me shudder. ‘Your pain,’ he kisses my ear, ‘will bring me, and ultimately you, the most beautiful pleasure.’
‘Oh yes, yes sir.’
He reaches around me, cups my left breast with his free hand, and squeezes it as he holds the whip in front of my eyes. ‘Stare at it, Theodora.’
I do as he says while he kneads my breast. The leather tail is long. I gulp.
He draws it down my belly. Sweet Jesus! It feels like a gigantic finger stroking me, and wetness floods my quim. A rough squeeze of my breast, and he angles the whip and slides it between my legs. I groan and my knees give a little, the shackles pulling at my wrists. Another kiss to my ear as he lets go and slides it away.
‘Ready yourself, Theodora.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I pant.
CRACK!
Shrieking, I fall into the chains, gasping for air. But no pain. He did not strike me.
‘How are you feeling, Theo?’
‘Hot, sir. So hot.’
‘Anticipation, my sweet. Anticipation can increase both plain and pleasure. Can you see that, Theodora?’
I whimper.
‘I’m going to hit you now. The next crack you hear will be the skin on your back screaming its pain. However…’
Silence.
Only my heat beat, my rapid breaths.
‘Sir?’
‘You are tense, Theodora. I want you to relax and wait for the strike. Can you do that for me?’
I take a deep breath, blow it out. ‘I’ll try, sir.’
‘Good girl.’
I hear him step away. Steady my breathing. Relax into the chains. Oh, God!
CRACK!
The whip strikes like a hot knife across my back. I cry out and thrust forward. My feet twist and my wrists pull at the shackles. Sweet baby Jesus!
Another crack of the whip. Harder this time.
I squeal. My legs give way and the chains rattle.
CRACK!
I shriek at the burn and yank on the chains. But now I’m feeling the warmth spreading through my flesh, the juices wet between my legs, my nipples taut and needy.
‘Can you feel my pleasure, Theodora?’
‘Yes, sir, oh yes I can, sir.’
‘Then tell me you want more.’
‘More sir. I want more.’
‘Tell me to hit you.’
‘Hit me, sir. Please, sir! Hit me! I can take it.’
CRACK!
A sharp flick, a sting like a bee’s. I yelp and jerk against the chains.
CRACK! – across my shoulders.
CRACK! – lower now.
CRACK! – lower still.
CRACK! – a nip at my arse. It stings. It bloody stings. I cry out and fall back on the chains. He comes up to me and caresses the welt on my buttock. ‘All well, Theo? Shall I stop now?’
‘No, no. Go on, please sir!’
Another swipe of the whip. This time on the soft skin at the side of my shoulder. I jump and the chains jangle. My legs feel weak and shaky. He hits me again and I hop from one foot to the other, yelping. A neat strike takes in both buttocks on the underside, the tip of the whip curling around my thigh. My knees give way and I’m swinging on the chains as he strikes me again and again, my thighs, my arse, my back, but it feels so good. So, so good. I’m his to do with as he pleases and I love his darkness. I fucking love him.
‘Enough, Theodora.’ He puts down the whip.
‘No, sir. Please, sir. I want more.’
‘Enough, I said.’
I bow my head.
But then he’s stroking his hands up my body, squeezing my breasts, and pinching my heated nipples. He presses a kiss to my lips and reaches between my parted thighs, stroking his fingers over my wet folds. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I want him to fuck me. I groan and sway my hips. Yes! He slips a finger in, and another and another. Four fingers inside and his thumb is teasing my clit. I whimper and grind against him, swaying in the chains.
He kneels between my legs, opening his mouth over my quim. My clit throbs as he sucks on it; the burning stings on my flesh send sparks of pleasure through me. His fingers are back in my sheath again, stroking then pushing in and out, in and out. Oh, sweet Lord. My juices are bathing his face, and the roughness of his stubble is prickling my smooth folds. ‘Oh, God, sir, I’m breaking. Please say I can climax!’
‘Not yet, Theodora.’ He pulls away, stands, and helps me lift my legs so that they’re wrapped around his waist. Then he pushes his cock upwards into my wetness, all the way in to touch the entrance to my womb. I’m filled with him and it feels so, so wonderful.
He begins to pump me, slowly at first, the shackles at my wrists so tight. Faster now. We hold each other’s eyes as he fucks me, as my breasts jiggle, as the chains rattle, as the welts on my skin throb hotly. And then it happens. I squeal as a fierce tremor spins from my quim and reverberates through me. The walls of my sheath grip, pull and grip again. A violent shudder shakes my thighs. ‘I’m there, sir. I can’t help myself.’
He thrusts into me, his thick cock filling me so full, so fucking full. With one last thrust, his hands at my arse, he batters the entrance to my womb and I feel the pulses of his prick as his hotness spurts into me and I’m lost in shuddering ecstasy.
***
‘Ah, sweet Theo.’ He unshackles me and holds me close. ‘You were magnificent, my darling.’
‘So were you, Justinian.’
‘Let’s go to the bathhouse,’ he says, kissing me on the lips. ‘The salt water of the frigidarium will help heal your skin.’
He explains on our way across the courtyard that, from now onwards, we’ll only be in the role of dominant and submissive in our special room. And I’m glad of that, for if we are to be married, I’d like to work alongside him as his equal. The thought sends goose-bumps down my spine.
I immerse myself in the freezing cold bath. It stings, God how it stings. Not just the coldness of the water, but the saltiness of it. I twist around to look at the red welts on my buttocks. It’s as if I’ve been scratched by an enormous cat.
‘Come, Theodora, to the tepidarium. We can relax for a while.’
We sit on the shallow ledge at the edge of the bath. There’s something I’d like to try. If he’ll let me. ‘Lie back. I want to touch you.’
‘Yes, Theo.’
My heart almost beats out of my chest. ‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. I’m at your command.’
Is that a wink I catch? Definitely a wink, albeit a fleeting one. I slip into the waist-deep water next to the ledge and slide my hands over the slick, wet skin of his shoulders, down his heavily muscled arms. Then I trace the hardness of his chest. He shudders.
‘Stay still!’
I make my way down one thigh, holding the back of his knee as I kiss his shin and the side of his calf and his foot, then the opposite ankle and back up. His knee. His thigh. His hip. I clamber on top of him and press my breasts against him as I reach around to cup his lovely firm arse.
‘I’m at your mercy, sweet Theo.’
I smile up at him. ‘Anything?’
‘Anything.’
My tongue flicks out to lick the groove of his stomach muscles, my fingers digging into his hard buttocks. He rests his hands on my shoulders, breathing deeply. I slither down his body until my face is level with his cock. It’s flaccid, curving slightly to one side.
With my hands still gripping his beautiful round arse-cheeks, I kiss his balls. Just a touch of my lip
s before I open my mouth to lick his taint and take his sac fully into my mouth, sucking it gently.
He blows out a breath, and his cock, lying across my cheek, hardens. I tilt my head so the length of it rests on my face while I suckle his balls. ‘Does that feel good?’
‘Oh, yes, Theo. So fucking good...’
‘Do you want me to do it again?’
‘God, yes.’
With every touch of my lips and tongue, his sac tightens and his cock swells. I’m still holding onto his arse. I love the feel of it in my hands. A long lick lifts his stiffened cock, and I take him into my mouth again, giving him one gentle suck before stopping.
He grunts.
I go back to licking his length, then suck in as much of him as I can.
He groans.
His massive shaft is veined and straining, skin stretched, head gleaming with my saliva, balls tight against his body.
‘I’m going to suck you dry, Justinian. I’m going to take your big hard cock into my mouth and suck you until you climax so hard you can’t stand up straight. And then I’m going to keep sucking.’
He groans again.
I turn my head sideways and wrap my lips around his thickness, licking him down to his root and up again, before sucking him into my mouth until the tip of his prick hits the back of my throat.
He hisses.
And now I slide my fingers into the crease of his arse.
The hiss turns into a drawn-out moan.
Still sucking on him, I brush my fingers over his arsehole, massaging that tight knot of muscle.
‘Theo?’
I stop sucking and glance up at him. ‘You said anything. I want to touch you there.’
He nods.
I press my middle finger in just past my fingernail.
He groans. ‘Fuck.’
‘Relax, Justinian. Hold onto my hair. Pull it if you want.’
I cup the half-moon globe of his arse with one hand, and press the middle finger of my other hand against his hole while I suck on his cock again.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ His fingers grip my braid.
The thickness of his cock stretches my lips, and I can feel every pulse of his blood in the veins of his shaft as I work my finger deeper into his arse.
‘You can move, Justinian. Fuck my mouth.’
I slide his prick between my lips, and he pushes into my down-thrust. I pull away before he touches the back of my throat. Again I lower my mouth on him, and he matches my motion, pulling back when I do. I start bobbing, and he moves with me, shallow thrusts to match mine, and as I set a rhythm, I push my finger inside him.
He groans again and again. ‘God, Theo.’ He takes my hair in two handfuls and grips hard, drawing in a rasping breath.
I open my throat to take him deeper, pushing my finger into his hole and swirling it about.
He moans and thrusts back.
But I pull away from his thrusts.
‘No, Theodora. Please don’t torture me.’
Sliding my mouth over his prick, I take him deep into my throat, so deep his balls touch my chin. He tugs at my hair. ‘I want to climax on your breasts, Theo.’
I keep bobbing on him, holding his arse-cheeks and letting my finger go deep inside him. He growls, and I feel his sac tighten. His cock throbs and jerks and he ejaculates a burst of hot, salty muskiness on my tongue. I suck and swallow the first gush, and then spit out his prick.
He reaches down and squeezes my breasts together. I slide my fist down the length of his shaft, stroking him to milk the second stream of fluid. A spurt of white seed squirts onto the slope of my bosoms and slithers down between them.
Moving on top of him, I crush his cock between my breasts, and he thrusts it upwards into my waiting mouth, shooting a third spurt onto my lips and tongue. I slip another finger into his arsehole, and he curses, arching his spine. He rocks his hips, thrusting his cock into my mouth, and when another spurt jerks from him, he cries out. I yank my fingers from his hole and he arches and flutters his hips in small quick thrusts.
I suckle each spasm of his cock, holding him still against me with one hand on his arse. Flicking the pulsing head of his prick with my tongue, I milk him with my mouth until I know he’s done, and then keep sucking, bobbing my head and creating as much suction as I can. Finally, he falls backward, wrenching himself from my grip, and sags back down on the ledge.
He shakes himself, a bewildered expression on his face. ‘I’ve never let anyone do that to me before.’
I’m about to put my arms around him and smother him with grateful kisses, when Hilda bursts unannounced into the bathhouse.
She prostrates herself, and gets to her feet. ‘My lord, my lady. Something terrible has happened. The Empress Euphemia is dead.
X
There’s a scream in my chest, a silent scream I will not utter. I’m reeling from the dark look of triumph on Justinian’s face when Hilda announced Euphemia’s death. Oh, good Lord. Would he do such a thing? It would have been easy enough to get someone to slip cyanide into the Empress’ food. A sick feeling has settled in my belly…
We’ve thrown on our clothes and are running through the Great Palace. Guards fall in behind us as we sprint past stern-faced statues lining the reception halls. We stop outside the throne room. The ebony doors are open. Inside, under a canopy of leafy golden trees with birds made out of hammered gold, the Emperor is sitting on his gilded chair. There are two white marble lion sculptures at his feet, and I prostrate myself between them.
His cheeks are streaked with dried riverbeds of tears. I feel no grief for Euphemia, but my eyes fill for Justin. I rise to my knees and he holds out his hand. ‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘She… she… she was seized with a fit as we were getting ready for bed. There was nothing I could do. I sent a slave to fetch the Court physicians, but, by the time they arrived, Euphemia was gone.’ A thin wail escapes him and he pulls back his hand.
I turn around, glancing at Justinian standing behind me, trying to read his face. All I can see is his darkness: face like thunder, green eyes smouldering, mouth set in a straight line. A tear runs down my cheek.
‘I’m sorry for the loss of the Empress,’ he says to his uncle.
Is he sorry?
He pats the Emperor on the shoulder. ‘Where’s Narses?’
The old man shrugs, a forlorn gesture of hopelessness. ‘He was here earlier.’
‘He should have called your attendants, Uncle. I don’t know why you’re here in the throne room. You should be lying down. Look at your leg…’
Only then do I notice an open ulcer oozing puss on Justin’s right calf. I gasp. ‘What happened?’
‘An old battle wound.’ Justinian pauses. ‘It flares up from time to time, doesn’t it, Uncle?’
The Emperor nods, but his face bears a confused expression. ‘Where’s Euphemia?’
Oh, God. He’s forgotten already. Part of his senility, perhaps? ‘Your Majesty, she passed away a short while ago.’
‘How?’
I explain and then he remembers and starts to sob. Great heaving hiccoughing sobs. ‘She was my love, my life, my all,’ he wails. ‘People didn’t see the real Euphemia. They thought she was cold and calculating. They didn’t know her like I did. It was how she coped with life at the Palace. She hid behind a persona that wasn’t really her.’
Between us, Justinian and I, with the help of two slaves, manage to carry the Emperor to his chamber and lay him on the bed. ‘Don’t leave me, Theodora,’ he pleads. ‘Sit by me and keep me company through the rest of the night. I can’t face it on my own.’
Justinian nods his agreement. ‘I’ll go now, Uncle. Try to get some sleep. Theodora will stay with you.’
I watch my lover leave the room. Not once since we learnt of Euphemia’s death has he met my eye.
The Emperor’s attendants bathe the ulcer on his leg while I pull up a stool and take his hand in mine, stroking it until he drops off into an uneasy sleep. Soon my
own eyelids are drooping and I rest my head on the edge of his bed. Before I know it, I’m asleep too.
***
It must be early dawn: I can hear market traders setting up their stalls in the street beyond the Palace walls. They’ll be the fruit and vegetable and flower sellers, many of whom harvested their goods yesterday and travelled all night to bring them into the City. In an hour or so the meats will arrive, live chickens ready to kill at home, fresh carcasses of sheep and goats and even cows, slaughtered and bled, hung for inspection by calculating housewives and tougher household servants. Down at the harbour the fishing boats will be long gone on the last of the night tide, ready to make their day’s first catch with the breaking sun.
Everyone out there is beginning a new day. Not me, though. My day is still firmly stuck in the consequences of last night. Should I have slipped away when the Emperor fell asleep, gone to my room, packed my bag and left before anyone noticed? Maybe it’s not too late. There could still be time. Then I could take the gold necklace Justinian gave me. He won’t begrudge me that. Comito will give me money for it, hopefully. If I go down to the docks, I might be able to find a ship that will take me to Alexandria. There, I’ll beg Timothy’s forgiveness for failing him, ask to be taken in, hand myself over to a nunnery, to prayer and peace and a life of purity.
What was I thinking of accepting this mission? I’m out of my depth here. Way out of my depth. This world I’ve entered is a brutal one. Justinian’s darkness threatens my integrity… threatens my very spirit. I don’t want it to swallow me whole. This is reality, not our games before fucking. Yet how can I bear to leave him? In spite of everything I still love him so, so much. And I know he loves me. Tears run down my face, and I knuckle them away as the happiness I thought would be mine departs like a bird on the wing.
I get to my feet, stretch the stiffness from my limbs and tiptoe out of the room. The air is cool outside, a hint of autumn. My tummy rumbles as I cross the courtyard; I ate little at dinner last night, too nervous to indulge myself. Perhaps if I wait until after I break my fast I can leave then…