I’m closing out this week centered on Rome with an excerpt from my erotic short story, Beware the Ides of March. The story doesn’t take place in Rome, but it does have a connection, since it involves a bit of role play with Brutus from William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. More about the e-book after the excerpt:
Grant gently lifted her head a little and slid a pillow under it, giving her a cushy place to rest. Then he stood before the bed and studied her and the rope with a careful eye. He seemed satisfied with how she was tied up.
His toga didn’t seem odd any longer. His muscles looked hard as iron. He took the glass of red wine from the bureau and returned to stand before her.
“Did you like the wine?” he asked.
“Yes,” Laura said—and she nodded, just to make sure.
He brought the wine glass over her stomach and shocked her by slowly tipping the glass. The top of the glass moved closer to her belly button, the wine tilting and slowly moving toward the opening of the glass.
Not on the comforter! The words almost erupted out of her mouth, but she pressed her lips tightly together and kept them in. She held her breath.
As a trickle of wine fell from the glass onto her skin, she sucked in her belly to create a well. Gratefully, he didn’t pour out all of the wine. When he was done, a puddle of red liquid lay in the well of her stomach. He stood and a little smile played on his face as he put the glass back on the bureau. He enjoyed her holding her breath for fear of spilling the wine on her nice comforter. The expensive, toasty-warm comforter she yearned to keep stain free.
He leaned down and noisily sucked up the wine puddle. When only a little wine remained, he licked the last of it up. Relieved, Laura let out a very long breath and relaxed her stomach. Not a drop had slid off her to soil the comforter.
Grant wiped his mouth with his forearm like he had just downed a sports drink after a grueling workout. His eyes hit hers with that hard intensity that made her quiver.
Then he slipped down, kneeling between her legs, and licked her pussy. She took in a sharp intake of breath. Also in reflex, her arms pulled down—but they were immediately halted.
Oh, right, she thought. Fucking rope.
* * * * *
For a thicker, longer excerpt, click here.
Beware the Ides of March. In Shakespeare’s play, it was the warning the soothsayer gave to Julius Caesar. And it’s the warning that Laura receives from her husband, Grant, in a text message. But what does it mean? Laura has no idea, but puts it to the side as she works hard in her office on a Saturday to finish a big job. When she returns home, she finds out what the warning means. How it leads to giving up control, feeling the danger and helplessness of giving into Grant’s commands. And by giving into him, feeling the wondrous heights of pleasure that come with it.