The Unexpected Spoils (Closed from FromYouToME)

Cassius would have been surprised if she hadn't protested his unusual order. Who called a slave into their presence simply to have them drink in front of them? If there had been any doubt in her mind before about his intentions, Cassius knew they would be gone.

He nodded slowly, his face set in its classic pose somewhere between harshness and disinterest. He did not need her to become completely drunk, no, that would hinder his plan. All he needed was to take the edge out of her resistance. As much as he desired her to fight for her dignity, he knew that her current powerless position was clear to both of them. She was not the type to scream, to strike him if he touched her. No, but he dared not risk her inhibitions be totally dulled by the drink, causing her to make more noise than she intended, or was needed.

An imperceptible grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, the silent battle was near at hand. All he needed now was for her to drink, to give in to his demands. He would take her, not like one of the whores, rough and fast for the money's worth, but like a slave, someone over whom he had complete control.
His wish would be her demand, no matter how degrading she thought it.

He stood and slowly walked around the table that served as his desk to stand a few feet from her side.
"It would be more improper to disobey, slave."

He stepped nearer still and spoke in a lower tone, the one he used on the rare occasions when he needed to cajole a child or lover, "come now, another sip for your master."

More improper. Lucia knew he was right. And Lucia knew that Cassius knew that he was right--that was why he stood and neared her. It was why he addressed her as what she was--"slave." Anything could pass as proper as long as Cassius ordered it. She had hoped to appeal to his higher moral fiber--if it existed; this wasn't something he should make a slave do, notwithstanding law. In a sense, she was seeking a less servile route to his mercy--vaguely hinting at her former personhood.

Lucia was aware that by doing so, she was opening the door to inquiries about her former status, but Lucia also understood that she had few options left outside of full-on begging or crying. Neither were an option. No, she was above that. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction if she had to reveal or confirm her identity and past. The island of dignity was quickly cleaving, becoming smaller and smaller by the moment, leaving Lucia's fight for the remainder all the more dire.

It was clear that he wanted to make good on his implicit promise to her in the courtyard--for what reason she wasn't sure. Given her performance, she was certain that her master--or her domina for that matter--were not driven by reason. Perhaps she had been a fool to appeal to either of them with the virtues of her character.

Despite her resolve, she felt a foreboding lump form in her throat; thinking about not crying already brought the threat of crying that much closer. In some ways, she felt betrayed; she had tried so hard to avoid the attention of her dual masters, to avoid being here now with Cassius having some score to settle with her. The lump got thicker as he neared her, but she did not let the obstruction translate to her face--she chose to directly watch him approach rather than feel him approach in her periphery. She would meet this head-on. She locked her eyes firmly with his as he cajoled her--his almost doting tone jarring given the setting--as if his request were a thing of play and light.

She glanced to the cup, still waiting innocently now abandoned by Cassius. Lucia reached for the cup with less deliberateness than she had intended. Too, she had designed to stare him down as she drank again. Yet, as she brought it to her lips, she felt her eyes close again, unable to look at him as she gave in. She took a bigger sip than before, yes--the alcohol burning brighter against the back of her throat this time--but she determined to not "drain the cup" as fast as Cassius might want. The reality was that she was not used to drinking, didn't have the same low-bred beginnings as some slaves might.

She took a second smaller sip shortly after the first, holding the cup in fake repose. Only then could she return her gaze back to him. She paused, forestalling the greater effects of the drink as much as she could manage. Lucia could already feel it warming her stomach and her cheeks. If Cassius had not been so close to her--if she had been enjoying the wine in a deserted dining room with her father describing his travails--she might have felt slightly more relaxed, might have exhaled long and slow. But, there Cassius was, watching her as intently as she was watching him. She scraped her ring-fingernail nervously under the bottom curve of the cup--a placeholder for a call for help that she would keep hidden. She knew no one could or would help her. Simply, he wouldn't have the pleasure of her panic.

That was what he wanted, her servitude, the admittance of her servitude to him.
She was slow in bringing the cup to her lips, obviously nervous of the effects the drink would have on her. Unlike before, she did not meet his gaze, her red eyes closing as she took another sip from his cup. Clearly she was tormented by her situation, deeply conflicted by the unfairness of it all.

Cassius stood watching as she paused after the next sip, she was obviously trying to slow the process down by faking a repose. He noted that she did not gulp it down like any commoner might. Even her simplest actions were poised. He nodded, no matter how humiliated and cornered she might feel, she was not going to let him know. Cassius found some admiration in that strength. Strength being the only quality he recognised in others. Yes, she would not betray her emotions to him under these trying circumstances. He would change that.

"Was that so hard?" Cassius questioned her, moving next to her, invading her personal space once more. Placing his arm around her shoulders, he put his left hand over hers, keeping her form lowering the cup from her face.
"The next will be even easier," he whispered in her ear, guiding the cup to her mouth once again.
How many more sips would he coax her to take? It did not matter so long as she began to submit.

Lucia felt Cassius' arm snake over her shoulder. The swiftness and unabashedness of his movement made her hyperaware of the stillness that otherwise rested in the room. He had mocked her--was that so hard--as if she were some willful child. In a different life, she would have supplied some backhanded remark from the deep safety of her status and the public that would have surrounded them during an exchange. Then, she could afford to be subtly rude.

But now, there was no public, she had no status, and he was already inappropriately--and even dangerously--close to her. His form was as solid as she remembered it from the near memory of him pulling her close in the courtyard. She remembered how easily he had physically overrode her clear protests to be free of him, that ultimately the only thing that had saved her that day was the presence of the youngest and Cassius' own apparent self-control to not alert the entire estate to his advances. He had made himself clear enough on that day--he intended to take her. Perhaps to punish her for having lost her cool in a weak moment, perhaps to sate his own carnal desires, perhaps just because he wanted to and could if he chose--maybe all three.

Before Lucia could attempt to return a self-righteous barb, she felt his broad, enveloping hands guiding the cup back up to her mouth. She felt her shoulders rise slightly, her neck reflexively and slightly incline away from his whisper, to create a small, worthy space there. With the cup so close and his body even closer, she understood as heat of the alcohol flared in her nostrils. He was treating her like a child, his tone totally discordant with his obvious intentions for her. He would force her to drink then, would watch her finish the cup--just like a child who did not understand what was good for her, who had no control over her care.

She ignored his question and commentary. Already the consistent fume of alcohol emanating from the cup made her wish it were empty. Funny how something so pleasurable in one's hands could be so noxious if under another's control. She allowed the cup to float up into her mouth and felt Cassius' hand closely behind hers. She took another sip, at first determined to hold her breath, to keep her lips shut. But then she heard her nervous breath echo in the space of the cup, felt sickened by the shallow breath full of alcohol she had to take. Cassius did not need to hear that very direct translation of her panic. To her surprise, Lucia gulped at the wine--anything to get the cup out of her face. The jammy berry flavors, the musky warmth normally in wine were all gone; the liquid felt hot and bitter on her palate, the whimsical and welcoming scent of alcohol now just stench. The swallowing of the stuff was made harder by the lump of would-be tears now firmly lodged inside her throat. That lump also meant that she would not give him the benefit of seeing her cry; she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t.

Still, that twisted monster did make her drain the cup. Only when her nervous exhale filled a sufficiently hollow cup did she sense the implicit threat of Cassius' hand reside. To be honest, she could not be certain how close his hand actually was--his surrounding presence and her over-analytical self-humiliation were enough to make her comply with his earlier demand.

Pausing for breath, the bottom of the cup now parallel with the floor, she wiped her lips with her other hand, inhaling deeply as she did so. She peered in the bottom of the cup, waiting for the effects to kick in, at once feeling sick to her stomach due to the sudden intake and due to her general terror that despite her best efforts, she would not be entirely as sharp as she might be sober.

She continued to look at the cup, refusing to look at Cassius' inevitable glee hidden beneath his stone face. She couldn't bear it--she had given in to him, and he hadn't even tried. She waited for his next condescending affront. She vowed to herself to be stronger this time.

Cassius let her lower the cup from her lips, empty of its contents. She had followed his forceful direction, she had no choice but to. She had gulped the wine surprisingly quickly, Cassius noted, as if she had wanted to get the awful chore finished as quickly as possible.
As she wiped her lips, Cassius saw her pause to regain her breath after the long draught, the rich aroma filling his nostrils a short distance from the top of her head. It occurred to him that she may not have eaten much that day, at times the slaves often did miss meals due to the busyness of their schedules.

The momentary swaying in her fragile form soon confirmed his suspicions. She regained her characteristic composure quickly, forcing herself to stand still and erect. The rebellious and defiant fire was still burning inside of her he could see. Although smothered by her ordeal, still burning.

Cassius was pleased. The event was going perfectly. Her quick response to the alcohol was better than he cold have anticipated and still resistant body language signaled her intent to continue to defy him. The very thought caused a stirring within him, mentally and physically. The time had almost come, to take, to enforce what he so desired.

Taking the cup from her hand, he set it down on the table before them, freeing his hands to work.
Cassius placed his hand under her chin, guiding her eyes to his own.

"There," he said, "it suits you well to obey your master." He pulled her into him, letting his hands slide down her back till they rested on either cheek of her ass. Their bodies were now pressed hard against each other, harder than they had been previously in the courtyard.

It was done, now that he had made his first move there was no going back. There was a hardening in beneath the layers of his clothes, not yet at its full glory but enough for her to certainly notice given how close they now were. It would take more to fully arouse him, however. Her expected resistance, Cassius knew, would be enough to awake his body to his purpose.

It had been some time since he had fucked a woman, his passion for control offering greater pleasure to him than that of flesh. However, Cassius had relished in this domination before and found it satisfactory. How often did one get a chance to combine mental as well as physical stimulation?

His fingers began to move around the supple flesh of her ass, brushing the layers of clothing that concealed her youthful form.

"I have a new task for you, slave. One I expect you to submit to."

A new task? Lucia could feel his excitement rise with his words. He was holding her close, had made sure that their eyes were connected as he spoke to her. He wanted her aware (enough) for this "task"; he wanted her to know that he knew what he was doing--would be doing.

There was not any ember of warmth in his eyes like she might expect from a husband or a lover, just cold sternness. In fact, she couldn't be certain that he was actually motivated by a carnal desire born of his attraction to or curiosity about her. What desire she could see in his eyes was simple, matter of fact, apparently about proving a point--that he desired to completely dominate her.

Of course, Lucia had little experience in what men's eyes meant; she had seen young men in her social circle and outside of it look at her appreciatively, even what she imagined to be lovingly, but she had barely talked with them. Her father had been slow to marry her off, so even stilted conversation with some old patrician or wealthy plebian that might have appreciated her youth and fertility were unknown to her. A thought dashed across Lucia's mind about how a potential suitor for her could have even been someone like Cassius--had her life not changed so drastically.

Even so, here Cassius was, touching her not entirely unlike the way a husband would touch his wife, especially as they began to know one another, when the ember in the eye might still be cold. As he began to fondle her, forcing her ever closer on him, she felt her right knee falter a little. No, she had been intended for better, she wasn't supposed to be wasted like this, she was supposed to be adored and to be dutiful in return.

Embarrassed at her inability to hold herself tight and loose-lipped from the alcohol already, she struck again with her words, her eyes narrowed on his, defiant, "A task better suited for your wife, I would think." She put her hands on his chest as if she intended to push him away but holding for the moment. She continued almost bitterly, commenting on the family's obvious failing, "I am sure she is anxious to give you a son." Cassia the younger was four and the only child of the domina. Another should have been close behind--unless, of course, the domina were not fruitful or Cassius had simply stopped visiting her bed. Lucia tried to stop herself at the next, but the thought was beyond her tongue's grasp, "I imagine all of Rome's best talk about it."

What Lucia had said was correct. Though Lucia's family had been on the fringe of the "best," she had certainly heard the domina's name floated around with the word infertility and rumors about Cassius himself being unmanned by his work, maybe a lesser lover. Rumors were rarely ever all true, but some kernel of truth was always at the center.

For a brief moment, Lucia felt empowered, restored to her former status, doling out her derision in quiet implication. For a moment, Lucia did not feel so afraid.