You are shrouded in this scent of another world, with its marjoram and sweet clover brought to Rome by people much like you returning from eastern lands you had heard tales of, but never been directed. Many a night you lay in bed and drifted off to sleep to this perfume, which filled any room that had been blessed with my divine presence. Now, your body is alive with more. Every inch of you belongs to me in this moment as waves of ecstasy surge through you making you feel as powerful as Caesar Augustus himself. The intimate attention from your domina electrifies your senses, and you surrender everything to me. Your body has always been mine to command, but what has remained yours was the breath in your lungs. However, with my touch, I manage to steal even that from you. As you stand in my chamber, as you silently gasp for air, it becomes clear that your domina now possesses the final part of you.
You feel me grasp your hair, the rough control I now have over you offset by what you recognise as my parted thighs. My pale skin is a space where few men of your standing would be permitted to enter. Your neck curled back, you feel my remaining hand contact your skin. Deliberate and controlled, it follows a path from the nape of your neck, downward over your muscular shoulders and slowly down to the base of your spine. Your cock is now thick and in attention, in admiration of my touch, and you feel me wrap my hand around your torso and take hold of your stomach, pulling you back into my body.
An orange of the sunset outside gently illuminates my stone walls. You turn around slowly, standing tall over me, your frame looming over my soft features. My eyes look up over your body from your feet, over your thighs, dwelled upon your cock, which stands within kissing distance of my lips, and up over your chest to meet mine. You have never dared confront my beauty in such a way, never locked your eyes on mine in this way before.
It is your turn to speak, to speak when not being asked of, and standing over my lips, you move to interject, “Domina, I respect your command, but you deserve and will be ravaged like Carthage.”
FUCK, BOY, you have me gushing in ravenous delight. My eyes almost fall out of their sockets at the sight of this Lion of men in my chamber. I’m wasting no time. I seat you on the side of my bed, look into your lusty eyes. You have no idea just how irresistible you look, all oiled up and looking back at me like a MAN. I notice a droplet ooze from your manhood, moistening your head.
I’m thirsty. And so I let my tongue savor it. Oh my, a nectar sweeter than the one at the temple of Jupiter. And that’s why I swallow you whole. I’m used to commanding with a clear unflinching voice. But you taste like Bacchus himself and are towering like Olympus and my voice has betrayed me.
Streams of your potion emanate from you and I let not a drop forego my mouth. In uncontrollable ecstasy, you fold your arms behind your handsome head. Your triceps flexed as so, your armpits taunting me to maintain my womanly modesty, your chest puffing massively in slow, rhythmic cycles and your beautiful lips uttering long and low grunts.
Immortalize this scene for me, boy. For this is the human condition in all its glory.
I pause without thinking for a second, just admiring how perfect you look. How I ought to have my craftsmen turn you into a heroic statue in this very stance.
The lion in you has made you forget your place in my domus. You spit on my face, preoccupied with your paused pleasure. The insult has me as dazed as aroused. You notice and use the strength of your hips to shove your cock into my face, battering it with your pulses. I have no choice but to take you in again, lubricating it with my drool, as my hand cups and caresses your large berries, and my other squeezing your chest to give me postural support—and tactile satisfaction.
I sense your closeness but this is not how I will have you finish. In a surprise move, I let go and push you with both hands onto my ornate bronze bed with its goose feather comfort. Clasping your neck as a handle—and I am NOT gentle—I sit on your member having quickly clearly my silken stola out of the way. It surprises you but I have another handle. My own lips onto your strong support beam. I can grip and unclench, which I alternate based on the reactions on your symmetric, worn face. Your eyes telling me everything that is traversing down your veins and spine.
I reach down and plant a sharp love bite onto your shiny, muscular chin and let go of your neck just when you seem out of breath, grabbing your hands and pinning them down.
“Spit on my face again, servant,” I order, an order you’re only happy to comply with. I’m so feralized I fling my breast in your face to suckle, like a she-wolf to Romulus. You have no civilized way of licking and your physical crudeness makes me interject a sharp cry of pleasure/pain. Sensing my mammary weakness, you fold your knees, hoist your feet, and impale me repeatedly as I nearly fly off the bed in air, like a weak little puppet in your potent hands and hips.
“AAAAAH,” I surprise even myself with my loudness of my voice, while you feel a warm brook down your groin a moment after. You flip me down to the bed as if I were a paltry sack of grain you regularly transport onto your cart, and hammer me incessantly with a force I can only call servile. A brute man with no more qualms. It is my turn to go breathless, as if plugging me down there has gagged me all the way up to my mouth.
I slap you right across your slippery face, making sweat precipitate onto my collarbone. It pleases me and I slap your other cheek, sending you in a flying rage that lands as pummels of your cock inside me. Ceaseless, rapid, deep, powerful. I see your face strain from the impending release and begin vigorously rubbing my hood.
Your crude voice erupts in orgasm, muffled but noticeable, and that sends me into another one of my own, tears welling in my eyes and a gleaming smile spreading across my face. Drool throws itself from your mouth which I grab with a startling reflex. The string of spit connecting our lips grows shorter and shorter until you kiss my rosy lips and collapse on me. A heave from my lungs reveals the blanket I most desire in this cool evening: my sweet, naked, hot slave boy.