Several years ago, I was inspired by certain parts of Spartacus (the Starz series) to write an erotica story — one that would probably become a novel — that took place in a fictionalized, magic-using version of ancient Rome/Greece. Two of the characters are Yvell and Micaea; Yvell is the Lady of a well-to-do house, and Micaea is her companion, who lives at the house. (Yvell is married, and her husband knows about and approves of her relationship with Micaea.) This scene takes place on the balcony of the house, in the afternoon. It’s a longer one, so I split it into two posts.
Yvell was lounging on the balcony of the villa, overlooking the untouched side of the ridge where the city wasn’t, when she heard Micaea’s light footsteps coming up behind her. “Hello, my love.”
Micaea went to her knees beside Yvell’s chaise. “Hello, my lady.”
Yvell took Micaea’s chin between two fingers and tilted her head up. “Kiss me, my love.” Her companion did so without hesitation, and Yvell, as she always did, felt herself go soft and hazy with the sweetness of it, her heart thumping in her chest as they separated. “I missed you in bed this morning.” She frowned slightly as she cupped Micaea’s right breast through her gown. “Karsa isn’t you. You’re softer.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Micaea rested her hand on top of Yvell’s. “Have you had a good morning?”
“Apiel was wonderful, as always.” Yvell had had the bath-chamber girl massage her from head to toe, leaving her feeling as if she was made of warm dough. She’d dozed off right there, waking perhaps an hour later for a small breakfast. Since then she’d been here on the balcony, the summer sun kept off by the overhanging awning and protecting her fair skin from being left bright-red. “And you? How was your mother?”
“She enjoyed the strawberries I brought her.” Micaea lifted Yvell’s hand to her mouth and kissed her fingers. “She wishes I would settle down with a man.”
“But you won’t.” Yvell traced her companion’s lips with the tips of two fingers. “Will you.”
Micaea shook her head. “No, my lady. No man could hold my heart so well as you do.”
Yvell felt a smile touch her lips. Words like that deserved to be acted upon. She sat up on the chaise, ran her hand through Micaea’s hair, and rested it on the back of her neck, urging her companion closer.
Then she kissed her, hard and needful, Micaea reaching up to cup Yvell’s face in her hands as Yvell teased her companion’s lips with her tongue until she was able to taste Micaea’s mouth. It was divinely sweet; she must have eaten some of the strawberries.
When Yvell had had her fill of that first kiss, she pulled away just long enough to get to her feet. Micaea stayed on her knees, where she should be, as Yvell leaned down and pulled Micaea’s gown over her head, leaving her bare. “You’re so lovely,” she whispered, brushing Micaea’s hair away from her forehead. “So perfect.”
Micaea glanced away at that; Yvell would never stop saying it, even though Micaea did not feel herself worthy of such words. Her companion had often countered them, saying Yvell was the perfect one: soft and voluptuous, her skin purpling prettily where Micaea would bite and suck at it.
In fact, that was a wonderful idea. Yvell let her gown slip down and stepped out of it. “On the chaise,” she said.
“Yes, my lady.” Micaea moved with easy grace, reclining on the soft fabric, drawing up one knee almost demurely.
That was something Yvell couldn’t allow. She pushed Micaea’s thighs apart, revealing the bare bronze skin between them, the exquisite shape she so loved to touch, to taste. And she would taste, soon. Now, though, she straddled Micaea’s hips, resting her bottom against her companion’s pubis, cupping her own breasts in her hands. “Mark me, my love.”
Micaea needed no further instruction in that regard — truthfully, she was so submissive to Yvell that she rarely needed instruction at all. She put one hand on Yvell’s right thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh, and brought her mouth to the inner curve of Yvell’s right breast. Yvell released the other and pulled Micaea’s head to her chest even as Micaea’s lips parted and her tongue pressed against the smooth, freckled skin.
And then Micaea’s teeth dug in. Gentle at first, and she sucked at Micaea’s breast as well, her right hand taking hold of Yvell’s left and taking Yvell’s nipple between two fingers until it grew firm where she pinched it. Yvell whimpered and pressed down, trying to gain more contact from her companion where she pressed against her, but her body wouldn’t cooperate, and anyway Micaea had started to bite harder, drawing more of Yvell’s breast into her mouth and pulling at it with her teeth. Yvell’s whimpers became moans as she rocked atop Micaea, and the moan became a choked cry as Micaea bit down as hard as she could and Yvell surrendered to a hot, sharp orgasm that left her breath stuttering in her throat.
When Micaea leaned back on the chaise, her lips swollen and smiling, Yvell had a large, deeply red mark on her breast, framed by the imprints of Micaea’s perfect teeth. “Wonderful,” she husked.
“Thank you, my lady.” Micaea’s words were clear, but when Yvell was done, they wouldn’t be. “Would you like more?”
Yvell leaned forward, one hand going between her legs to touch herself as Micaea took Yvell’s left breast in her hands, drawing her nipple into her mouth and flicking her tongue across the tip. Yvell let two fingers slip inside; Micaea’s free hand came round to grab her backside and squeeze hard. Without warning her companion bit down hard again and Yvell felt her entire body quake with the pleasure of it.
But now it was Yvell who couldn’t speak. Full of need, she stepped back and put one hand on Micaea’s head; her companion knew instantly what she wanted and slid down the chaise until her face was between Yvell’s thighs. Yvell lowered herself and felt Micaea’s quick, questing tongue find the point of her pleasure in no time at all, twisting in circles around it as both hands took hold of her backside and pulled her in closer. Micaea’s mouth opened wide enough to cover all of Yvell, sucking at her as her tongue came up to tease her opening, and Yvell gasped, leaning forward, supporting herself with one hand and squeezing her freshly-bitten nipple with the other. “More,” she whispered, barely getting the word out. “More!”
In response, Micaea pushed her tongue deep into Yvell, her teeth grazing her point of pleasure almost hard enough to hurt. Yvell bore down for more, until the hardness of teeth made her ache even as Micaea’s tongue worked, the combination of sensations dragging Yvell higher and higher up the mountain. Her body shuddered still more; her vision tunneled down to nothing but blackness, her beloved companion’s fingers dug deep into her backside, and when one went even deeper and brushed her most sensitive, most tight place, she cried out loud and long as her orgasm broke in great shuddering waves, waves that Micaea caught up with long swipes of her tongue that brought Yvell to a smaller, but no less satisfying, additional orgasm.
Finally, when she thought she could manage it, Yvell sat up, her bottom against Micaea’s elegant breasts, her companion’s hands still cupping her. She looked down, saw the sweat on Micaea’s brow and the wetness around her mouth, and couldn’t resist; she climbed off the chaise, knelt beside her on the stone tiles of the balcony, and kissed Micaea’s mouth. The taste of her pleasure was strong, but there was still the flavor of Micaea and her strawberries underneath, and Yvell couldn’t help but smile as the kiss ended. “My love,” she said, her forehead against Micaea’s, “the things you do to me–“
Micaea had reached up and rested her thumb on Yvell’s lips as she cupped her cheek. “I love you, my lady.”