The legionaries of the Ninth were relieved to be back in Rome. It had been a hard campaign, and more of their companions than they liked to remember hadn't made it home. But here they were back on the Field of Mars outside the boundary of their city and all the whores, it seemed, in Rome were here to welcome them.
'It's alright for you,' Mark Antony grumbled to Caesar who had dismissed the crowd of clamouring girls offering him whatever he wanted – free of charge for the General. 'You've got the lovely Pompeia waiting at home. And I'll bet she'll be all wet and juicy at the thought of your arrival.'
'Pompeia?' Caesar snorted dismissively. 'She's as dry as a bone. Even on our wedding night. Nothing gets her wet. And I can assure you I have tried.'
'I don't believe it!' Antony's dark face stared at him in astonishment. 'Pompeia, with all that glorious red hair and those plump breasts! She's made for a long, slow fucking.' He nudged Caesar. 'You can't be doing it right.'
For a moment the blue eyes were chilly as snow, then he smiled, not altogether pleasantly. 'You think you can do better than me?'
'I'm willing to try.' The tension between them hardened.
'Alright,' Caesar said. 'Come home with me. And prove it.'
Pompeia was in her sitting room when they arrived at Caesar's house. It was November, the end of the war season, and was getting dark already.
'No kisses for me, wife?' Caesar said, pulling her up into his arms. He kissed her with his hard mouth, felt hers open under him but she didn't kiss him back, just stood there accepting him passively.
'I have no taste for forcing an unwilling woman,' Caesar said, pulling away. 'Perhaps Antony can heat you where I can't. Go to him and let him try.'
Pompeia's big green eyes opened wider with shock. 'What do you mean?' she stammered.
'Go to him,' Caesar repeated. 'We need some wine.'
He called for the slaves, ordered wine to be brought and braziers to warm the cold air.
'Come on, sweetheart,' Antony coaxed. 'Come and let me kiss you. You'll enjoy it. Women always do.'
Short where Caesar was tall, dark where Caesar was fair, thick with muscle and with laughing dark eyes, Antony was reputedly one of the best lovers in Rome and his confidence told her he knew it. The thought of being kissed by that lush, sulky mouth warmed her but all the same she didn't move. It was shameful what her husband had suggested. No Roman man would allow such a thing.
'Go on,' Caesar prompted. 'Go to Antony.' He sat down in a chair, his long legs stretched comfortably out in front of him. 'Do it Pompeia, or I swear I'll divorce you.'
'You can't mean that!'
'I can assure you I do. Do you want me to prove it?'
'Don't bully her, Caesar, Antony interrupted. 'Come on, sweetheart. Take no notice. Just come and sit here on the couch with me.'
Pompeia went reluctantly, not knowing what else to do. Antony's body was compact and solid beneath his too-tight soldier's tunic. She had heard two of her slaves whispering once that his cock was the thickest she had ever seen.
'Thicker than the Master's?' the other had giggled, wide-eyed.
'I swear, it was thicker. Like my arm. Here.' She had closed her hand over her left arm, close to her elbow. 'Not as long as the Master's,' she had added, 'but thicker's always best. There's more to feel.'
They had seen her then and had stopped immediately, their faces aflame with fear. She didn't know that she had remembered so much detail, was horrified at the images the memory conjured up in her head. A cock as thick as her arm!
'Don't look so scared,' Antony said cheerfully. His teeth were very white and even in his tanned face. Now that she was close she could see the black stubble on his hard jaw. She sat down on the edge of the couch and felt his heavy arms go around her.
'We'll just kiss a little,' Antony murmured. 'And we'll see what happens.'
He had been drinking, she could taste the wine on his lips, his tongue. He smelt different from the fastidiously clean Caesar: of fresh sweat and horses and leather.
'Mmm, that's nice,' Antony breathed. 'You like it too, don't you? I told Caesar you would. Kiss me again and this time I'm going to touch your breasts. No, don't struggle! It'll be so nice, nicer than just kissing.'
His big hands were warm even through her tunic as they cupped her breasts, wakening all her nerve endings. His thumbs flicked slowly over her nipples sending arrows of desire through her. She could feel herself moistening between her thighs, feel the heavy ache as he kept stroking her, his fingers circling her nipples, stroking up them so that they lengthened and hardened beneath his touch. She had never known that she was so sensitive there.
'You're loving it, aren't you sweetheart,' Antony whispered. He took her nipples between his thumb and finger and squeezed gently so that she gasped and pressed against him. 'I knew you would. Look down, watch what I'm doing to you.'
It was impossible, Pompeia thought dazedly, that she could be sitting here in her own familiar room with a strangers hands all over her breasts while her husband sat opposite and watched. Oh, but the things Antony was doing to her!
'Undo your dress, sweetheart. Let me touch you flesh to flesh. Let me lick you – you'd like that, wouldn't you? Imagine my tongue, my mouth here on your hard nipples while my fingers are free to explore.'
It was like a dream where someone else's hands, not hers, untied her dress and drew it down to her waist, presenting her nipples to that wonderful mouth. She closed her eyes and moaned out loud as his lips closed over her. His tongue flicked delicately, pushing the hard tip backwards and forwards as his hand pulled her tunic up, his thick fingers parting her thighs.
'What do you think now, Caesar?' he laughed raising his head. 'She might be dry for you but she's not for me.' His fingers slid through her damp red hair, then he showed them to his General, glistening with her wetness. 'She's soaked,' he announced triumphantly.
The door opened and one of the slaves came in. Pompeia gave a cry of shame but Antony laughed and held her still, his hand moving gently between her legs, not entering her yet, just stroking there, getting her wetter. The boy's eyes widened with shock at the sight of his mistress sitting on the couch, her tunic bundled around her waist, her bare breasts wet still from Antony's sucking, her thighs spread around his moving hand.
'Just pour the wine,' Caesar suggested coldly. 'And some for Antony.'
