Mistress To Slave
by Morwenna Drake

Atia settled herself on the recliner so that the cool Italian breezes could play across her overheated skin. The bustling sound of the Forum drifted in through the windows and Atia breathed a sigh of contentment. She was glad to be away from the Northern Provinces and her father’s olive groves. Life in the country was dull, with only a few servants to tend her needs while their villa in Rome afforded all luxuries a young woman could desire.

She heard Marcus’s gruff voice announcing his arrival long before his heavy footfalls brought him into the room. Her feelings about Marcus were mixed – she knew of him as a magnificent businessman, his trading skills unrivalled, and he had always been decidedly attentive to her at each of their meetings. Her skin would tingle under his heavily-lidded gaze. Yet she couldn’t help viewing him with a sense of despondency – as would any woman who met the man arranged to be her husband in a business deal.

Before he entered the room, Atia picked up a book of Juvenal’s Satires and swiftly immersed herself in its pages, so that she appeared engrossed when he entered. Marcus strode over to the window without greeting; Atia matched his coolness and feigned concentration on her book, watching him out of the corner of her eye. After a few moments, he came to stand behind her, evidently looking over her shoulder.

‘I’m not sure the barbed words of Juvenal are suitable for a young noblewoman’s mind,’ he said abruptly.

‘I find his work quite stimulating,’ Atia responded, matching his gruffness with sweetness.

‘Well, I shall have to see if I can’t provide a more stimulating distraction for my future wife,’ he said. Atia felt Marcus’s hand on her shoulder and she nearly jumped at the unexpected contact, but she kept her attention firmly fixed on her book. He lightly brushed the nape of her neck, then her shoulder, moving down and slipping beneath the fabric of her robe. His hand cupped her breast, holding the globe in his palm while his thumb and forefinger teasingly tweaked her nipple.

Atia kept her gaze lowered, careful to keep her breathing regular and undisturbed, yet her pulse began to pick up speed. Marcus’s caresses were slow and leisurely. Atia could feel the hairs on her arms standing up as her arousal spread through her belly and downwards. It had been a long time since she had felt the touch of a man, and she was taken aback by the strength of the desire which was building within her. Yet she knew she must keep her head – Marcus would be an unbearable husband if he knew he could control her so easily.

As Marcus’s hand slipped across to her other breast, Atia realised she had read the same words on the page before her three times already. She knew her racing heartbeat must be giving away her excitement, and she tried to counter it.

‘Really, Marcus, I find even the dullest of Juvenal’s observations more arousing than that clumsiness you are attempting.’ Atia cursed herself for the uncontrolled quiver which ran through her voice, undermining her impression of composure. Before Marcus could reply, a voice from the door made her jump.

‘I have found them, master. They are in here.’ Atia nearly dropped her book in shock to see her father’s slave, Quintus, standing in the doorway. Marcus quickly withdrew his hand before Atia’s father, Cornelius, appeared as well.

‘Marcus, my apologies,’ Cornelius said, his arms outstretched to embrace his future son-in-law. ‘Quintus was most lax in informing me of your arrival.’ As the two men embraced, Atia inwardly sighed; it was a favourite lie of her father’s to blame Quintus for his own tardiness. Cornelius was a man of bluffs – he gave the impression of an aging businessman, partial to snoozing over his scrolls in the late afternoon sun. Yet Atia knew that uncounted businessmen had been fooled into believing it to their cost.

‘No apologies necessary,’ replied Marcus with an indolent smile. ‘I am sure a flogging will make sure he never does it again.’

‘Are you suggesting I punish a slave on the first day of Saturnalia?’ Cornelius asked with undisguised horror. ‘Marcus, you know it is highly inauspicious at such a time for a master to berate his slaves. Why, it should be the other way round.’

Atia smiled quietly to herself, imagining any slave trying to berate Marcus. She doubted her future husband would allow such impudence, even during a festival where slaves where entitled to do just that. Marcus’s sneer of disapproval confirmed her opinion.

‘My family and I retire to our personal quarters during this unconventional time,’ Marcus snorted. ‘Of course, our most faithful slaves do not hold with such imbecilic frolics and remain to attend us. It is a frugal three days, but better that than having the house overrun by impudent slaves. Don’t you agree, Cornelius?’

‘Not at all!’ blustered Atia’s father. ‘Why, even the most sombre of Roman citizens needs a little perversity in his life to keep him safe from the boredom bred by security.’ As Marcus glanced aside in disapproval, Cornelius spared a wink for his daughter and Atia had to stifle a grin.

As the trio of men left the room to conduct their business, Atia was surprised to find Quintus’s gaze resting on her for a moment. She returned his bold look with an innocent smile. Insofar as one could have any feeling regarding a slave, Atia had to admit that Quintus was her favourite. Dark and lean, with a bluntness to his brow. He was pleasing to look on – for a slave. He was never lazy or sullen and Atia knew she could trust his discretion about what he’d seen. Yet his departing look made her feel that he was nevertheless plotting something behind his subservient gaze.

The winter night had already closed in when Atia retired for her bath. In the country she was obliged to bathe in a simple, cramped tub, yet Cornelius’s Roman villa had its own luxurious bathing suite with a large circular pool set into the floor. Atia leaned her back against the curved side and closed her eyes. She let the heated water cleanse her limbs and her spirit, trying to forget Marcus’s earlier touch and the desire it had inflamed. Atia heard the door open and the sound of sloshing water as her personal slave, Arathusa, came to refresh the bathwater. Atia curled her toes in pleasure.

‘I know you will be preparing for the slaves’ feast, Arathusa,’ she murmured sleepily, ‘but would you rub some scented oil on my skin before you leave?’ Any other time, Atia would have issued a command rather than a request, yet her father held strictly to the spirit of Saturnalia. He allowed his slaves to feast and game, attending only to the very basic needs of the family.

Atia held her arms out as Arathusa knelt behind her and poured oil over her neck and shoulders. Yet the moment she felt that rough touch Atia knew that it was not Arathusa who had refilled her bath and was now massaging her skin. She opened her eyes to see a man’s hands wrapped around her forearms. She tensed and drew breath to protest but a familiar voice cut across her.

‘Relax, mistress,’ said Quintus, his voice deep but not as gruff as Marcus’s. ‘There is little point in my ministrations if you are too tense. Close your eyes and lay your head back on my lap.’ The thought of protesting crossed her mind, yet his touch was firm, relaxing and his voice brooked no argument. Atia found herself doing as she was instructed without even thinking. As Quintus’s hands moved to work on her shoulders, Atia briefly wondered what her father would say. Despite his strictness in keeping the spirit of Saturnalia, Atia suspected that a male slave helping his daughter to bathe might be a step too far. And the fact that Quintus had ordered her about in such a tone – even at Saturnalia – would undoubtedly infuriate him. The thought added a touch of delicious wickedness to the situation.

As she leaned into his massage, Atia could feel his dense calf muscles beneath her head, the rough fabric of his tunic brushing against her cheek. She thought how drastically different it was to the smooth silk of Marcus’s fine togas. Quintus’s movements were smooth and his fingers were agile, finding hidden knots of tension in her shoulders.

‘I noticed you seemed a little … disconcerted when I came across you and Gaius Marcus earlier,’ commented Quintus, the amusement in his voice evident. ‘Were Marcus’s attentions unpleasant to you?’ Atia tried to remain calm and relaxed, although anger flared within her at his impertinent question

‘I do not think that is any of your business,’ she replied. Atia was painfully aware that it was almost impossible to carry off an indignant attitude when she was lying naked and oiled before him.

‘My mistress’s pleasure is one of my main concerns,’ said Quintus in a low voice. As he spoke, his hands moved away from Atia’s shoulders and slipped down to encircle her breasts. Atia drew in a sharp breath to protest, yet no words came. Just as Marcus’s had done, Quintus’s thumb and forefinger began to tweak and twist Atia’s nipples. The oil on his hands heightened the sensation as Quintus squeezed the globes of both her breasts. Atia squirmed beneath his touch, sending ripples across the water to crash against the side of the bath.

‘So this is to my mistress’ pleasure, then?’ asked Quintus. ‘Or would she prefer it if I concentrated elsewhere..?’ With his left hand still cupping her breast, Quintus’s right hand began to slip downwards over Atia’s chest and belly, and Atia raised her hips to meet his touch. Quintus’s fingers curled for a moment in her most intimate hairs then descended lower to circle around her clitoris.

Atia gasped at his touch, moaning with pleasure as his fingers found the entrance to her sex and slipped inside. Atia was positively writhing beneath his hands now, but Quintus suddenly withdrew his hands and sat back on his heels. Atia turned to glare at him in shock and frustration and Quintus gave her an apologetic smile.

‘I hear the bell, mistress,’ he said, getting up and adjusting his tunic, ‘I must go and oversee the preparations.’ The wicked smile he threw over his shoulder as he left told Atia that his departure was not as reluctant as he had intimated. Atia slapped the surface of the water in anger at being teased and unsatisfied for the second time that day. Yet the outburst did nothing for her frustration except to send bathwater pooling across the floor.

Cornelius and Atia dined together with preparations buzzing around them. Yet while her father wolfed down his dinner, Atia found herself without appetite, distracted by the sound of celebrations already underway in the street outside. A wave of relief soaked through Atia when her father finally dismissed her from the table. She intended to shut herself up in one of their receiving rooms in an effort to escape the raucous celebrations. As she went to retrieve a book from her father’s study, Atia forced herself not to search out Quintus from among the household. At first she had convinced herself that she simply wanted to scold him for his earlier, inexcusable behaviour but she knew that if she probed her motivations deeper she would find her reasons for wanting to locate Quintus were quite different.

Passing through the atrium, Atia caught a glimpse of a pair of slaves in a darkened corner who had evidently begun their celebrations early. Her view of them was fleeting yet it was enough for her to take in the woman’s head thrown back, her legs wrapped around the man’s waist while his hips thrusted vigorously backwards and forwards.

The ecstatic moans of the woman followed Atia as she hurried across the atrium and through the archway into her father’s study and closed the screen doors behind her.

Walking over to the balcony, Atia breathed deeply to regain her composure. She tried to subdue the jealousy that pooled within at the fact that even slaves were enjoying pleasures she had been denied twice today already.

With the cool night air washing over her fevered skin, she forced her breathing to slow and her heart to stop racing. In her mind she still saw the slave-girl, pressed up against the wall, only now the slave wore her own face and it was Quintus tangled between her legs.

‘Lost in thought are we, Atia?’ came a low voice behind her. Atia jumped, thinking she had been alone in the room. It was disconcerting to find the man who had dominated her thoughts all evening standing just behind her. He placed his hands on her waist to prevent her from turning round fully, and his touch seemed to burn through the thin, expensive fabric of her robe. It lit a fire in her skin which travelled through her belly and down into her loins.

‘What happened to “mistress”?’ Atia asked, trying to keep a disinterested tone. Quintus moved closer behind her.

‘It’s Saturnalia, when slave and master are equal,’ Quintus whispered against her ear. His hands gathered up the fabric of her skirt and he had raised it to her knees before Atia pushed herself away from him.

‘I am due to be married very soon,’ she said indignantly. Quintus slid a hand behind her back and drew her close again. She could feel his swollen manhood pressing hard against her leg and her heart leapt at the feeling.

‘Well? So am I,’ he said with a grin before bending to plant light kisses along her neck and shoulder.

‘You are?’ asked Atia, genuinely surprised. Quintus slipped the sleeve of Atia’s robe off her shoulder, following its fall with his kisses.

‘A pretty little thing down in the Appian Way,’ he murmured, his words muffled by her skin. Almost of its own will, Atia’s hand snaked its way beneath Quintus’s tunic and found the warm length of his shaft. Her heart hammered against her breast as she held it in her hand, so velvety and very firm. She kept her grip light and teasing, stroking from base to tip. Quintus had slipped both sleeves off her arms completely now, exposing her breasts to the cool evening air. He traced a decreasing circle with his tongue around one aureole to the hardening nipple at the centre. Then he took it within his lips, sucking on it until Atia’s knees almost gave way beneath her. She had to lean on Quintus for support and this seemed to bring him back to his senses and his train of conversation.

‘Yes,’ he continued, his words punctuated by kisses, ‘Melania has her master’s permission to marry. She’s a cheeky little thing – wild dark hair, and an arse so pert you just want to sink your teeth into it like a ripe apricot.’

‘Like mine?’ asked Atia idly, her eyes closing as Quintus moved his lips to encircle her other nipple. She started as he laughed.

‘Good gods, no!’ Quintus said. ‘Your buttocks are anything but pert, Atia,’ he said with a mischievous grin. Outraged at the blunt insult, Atia tore herself from his grasp and headed towards the door. Yet Quintus was too quick for her and, grabbing her from behind, he forced her forwards so that she was bent over Cornelius’s writing desk. Atia squirmed in protest, but Quintus’s grip was unyielding. She thought about crying for help, but an unexpected excitement growing deep within her made her bite her tongue.

‘You misunderstand me,’ said Quintus, raising the hem of Atia’s skirt and exposing her buttocks to the night breeze. ‘Melania’s arse is firm and tight from all the work she does, but yours,’ he gave a low, deep chuckle, ‘your arse is soft and voluptuous, perfectly crafted by luxury and idleness. Your arse is designed for nothing but pleasure, dear Atia, and tonight,’ Quintus paused to caress the smooth skin of her buttocks, ‘tonight it is for my pleasure.’

Feeling his rough palms against her smooth skin sent a tingle of anticipation racing through Atia’s body and she could feel her sex begin to moisten in arousal. She had invited men into her bed before, and some of them had been rough, but none of them had ever dominated her this way. Atia was uncertain whether, if she ordered Quintus to release her, he would obey. The thought that he wouldn’t let her up until he had taken his pleasure from her sent a decidedly delicious shiver down her spine.

‘I can see that, despite your indignation, you don’t find my attentions entirely disagreeable,’ murmured Quintus. Atia felt his fingers brush down her arse and begin to stroke at her exposed sex, coaxing out more of her juices until her intimate curls were slick and shining with them. Glancing over her shoulder, Atia could see an expression of intense concentration on Quintus’s face.

‘Push deep inside me,’ Atia murmured, ‘like you did earlier.’ She felt Quintus’s hand suddenly lie still against her skin and she turned to look at him in confusion. His eyes glinted with wicked delight.

‘Why Atia,’ he said in a tone of low reprimand, ‘tonight of all nights you cannot order me to do anything. You may ask or beg, but any demands you make will be met with swift punishment.’

‘Punishment?’ asked Atia tremulously. ‘What kind of – ’

Before she could finish, Quintus raised his hand and brought it down behind her. Atia’s buttocks exploded in a blaze of pain as Quintus administered a hard smack. She cried out in protest, but the blows continued unabated. Heat flared over her body, pain mixing with shame. Atia could only imagine what she looked like, bent over before him as he swatted her again, and again. The blows became harder and through the overwhelming outrage of it Atia found herself tipping her hips back, to take the slaps of his broad palm more fully across her buttocks. When Quintus finally stopped, Atia was breathless.

‘This is intolerable,’ Atia said, her whole body shaking with rage. She could hear the smile in Quintus’s voice as he replied.

‘No, my pet, this is Saturnalia. It is a time when social morals are turned on their heads, where a slave can be master for a day. And for a long time, I have wanted to be your master, my sweet Atia.’ Quintus bent low, tracing a path of kisses along the nape of her neck.

‘Of course, if you’d rather I stop, all you have to is whisper, “please, please stop Quintus” and I shall leave you to your books without a word.’ His voice was but a whisper now, his breath warm on Atia’s skin where the evening air had chilled it. Yet the stinging pain in her arse had eased, to be replaced by a glowing warmth which spread down her legs and through her loins. Atia wriggled at the sensation, her pouting sex beginning to burn with desire.

‘But I think you’re enjoying yourself, Atia,’ Quintus murmured, amusement rich in his voice. She shook her head in denial even as she felt herself grow slicker, warmer, more ready to be taken.

‘Quintus, please …’ she began, her voice a soft moan. She jumped when she felt his hands on her arse again, now moving in gentle and soothing caresses.

‘Yes?’ he asked expectantly.

‘Please …’ she repeated but her words were lost in a guttural exclamation of pleasure as Quintus’s fingers stroked swiftly down her arse and buried themselves in her sex. He thrust them into her once, deeply, then withdrew.

‘Turn over,’ he commanded and Atia rolled on her back without question. She glanced down her body to see Quintus standing before her, his hand beneath his tunic stroking his erect penis. He looked at her with undisguised hunger. ‘I’m glad to see you’re getting better at obeying,’ he murmured, his voice thick with lust. ‘A little reward is in order.’

Quintus knelt down before her and buried his face in her groin, his tongue thrusting into her just as his fingers had done. Atia spasmed in ecstasy, thrusting her hips down so that his lips and chin were pressed against her. Quintus moved up to her clitoris, sucking on it and flicking it with his tongue.

Atia writhed with delight yet she felt as if there was an emptiness within her, with fulfilment lying just beyond the reach of Quintus’s tongue. Bending forward, she pulled Quintus’s face away from her curls, and he looked at her with glazed, puzzled eyes. She pushed him to the floor, surprised at the strength with which desire had imbued her.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ asked Quintus, his own voice husky with desire. Atia felt she was near to bursting with frustration, unable to think clearly beyond the need to be satisfied.

‘I need … more of you,’ she stammered, her breath coming in short gasps. Quintus’s eyes flashed with delight.

‘Very well,’ he said, ‘but it’s still my rules we’re playing by.’ In a flurry of movement, he had stood up, grabbed Atia by the waist and pinned her up against the wall. He hoisted her up bodily so that their eyes met. Atia was amazed at the strength in his arms and upper body which supported her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer until she could feel his penis pressed close against her sex. She began to lower her hips to sink down onto his shaft, but Quintus grabbed her buttocks and held her still. She looked in his face and saw that same wicked smile which had barely left his lips all night. She held her breath in anticipation.

‘My rules,’ he whispered, planting a tender kiss on the tip of her nose, ‘and we’ll begin when I’m ready.’ Atia nodded helplessly, almost shaking with frustration. She had never been so completely at a man’s whim before and it thrilled her.

Slowly, excruciating slowly, Quintus lowered Atia’s hips so that she sank down onto his shaft. Completely supported by him, Atia wrapped him in her arms and buried her face in his neck. She couldn’t help digging her nails into the skin of his back as Quintus withdrew then re-entered her with deliberate slowness.

The stone of the villa behind her was cold against her hot skin and Atia licked her lips as her breath came in short gasps. Quintus’s thrusts were becoming faster, more vigorous and Atia realised she had no control over the moment. Her heart began to beat faster as she felt herself on the crest of an orgasm and she squeezed her legs tighter around Quintus’s waist. She closed her eyes as the feeling intensified and Quintus drove deeper and deeper into her. Her mind was filled with light, every muscle in her body tensed in anticipation. Atia cried out as the orgasm began to wash through her body, and she felt Quintus spasm within her as he matched her timing. She felt her fingers rake grooves in his back but she could not stop herself, she was completely lost in the moment. As she crested the peak of her orgasm, the room seemed to dance with light and colour. It slowly resolved back into darkness as her pleasure receded to leave her with a languorous inner glow.

Quintus eased her gently back down to the floor and smoothed away some stray strands of hair which had fallen over her face. Atia suddenly felt very self-conscious.

‘We didn’t even get undressed,’ she said as she smoothed out the creases in her robe. Quintus reached out and tilted her head back to look into her eyes.

‘Well then, that’s a pleasure we can save for tomorrow night,’ he said tenderly. He left her with a gentle kiss on her cheek, hastily adjusting his own clothes before disappearing out of the door. Atia picked up her abandoned book and, after a suitable delay, stepped outside the study herself. As she made her way to bed, her mind was already racing at the thought of the next night’s adventures.