THE SECRETARY’S LUNCH BREAK

“Do I take my clothes off now?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, leaning back in the leather chair. “Strip.”

Glaring at him, she allowed herself a thin smile as she reached for the top button of her blouse.

“No,” he said, “not like that. Dance for me.”

She hesitated, for just a second. Slow and sensual? she thought. Or sizzling raunchy?

Slow, she decided. She moved into the centre of the room, kicking off her shoes. The thick-pile carpet was voluptuous beneath her stockinged feet. Her body began to sway to the music inside her head. She untied her silk scarf, waved it above her head and let it go to fly in his direction. It missed and fell to the floor next to him. He ignored it.

She ran her fingers down her front, deftly popping each of the buttons in turn. When she’d gone all the way, she parted and closed her blouse, playing peek-a-boo as he nodded his approval. She performed a dainty pirouette. Her skirt swirled upwards, and the blouse slipped off her shoulders and down her arms. She let it fall but snared it with her heel, and kicked it towards him. He caught the blouse, sniffed its perfume, and dropped it on top of the crumpled scarf lying beside his seat.

“Don’t stop,” he said.

She unfastened the catch on her skirt and drew down the zip. She swung her hips and the skirt slumped around her feet. She stepped out of it. With a graceful curtsy and a sweep of her arms, she fetched it up and tossed it to him.

“Keep going,” he commanded.

She danced and pranced on the carpet, toying with her garter belt. Though she preferred pantyhose, she almost always wore sheer stockings and suspenders in the office. She knew he liked that.

“Take it all off,” he commanded. He swivelled in his chair to follow her movements around the office.

She slid her hands down her waist, across her belly and over the tops of her thighs. The suspenders were cute little white bows. She unclipped them, still moving to the silent rhythm. She felt the light pressure on her thighs ease as the stockings lost their support. She rolled them leisurely down her legs, all the way to her ankles. She spun about and kicked up her right foot, resting it in his lap. He removed the stocking, drawing it slowly down her thigh, caressing her slim calf and slender ankle. She was proud of her legs. She liked to keep in shape.

When he had taken both of her stockings, she moved in close, as he leaned forward in his chair. He undid the clasp on her garter belt and the stretch fabric sprang back, bouncing onto the floor behind her. She shivered as he ran his fingers over her thighs, tickling the insides with his manicured nails. His hands came to rest on her hips, over the flanks of her panties.

He looked up at her. She reached behind her back to unfasten her brassiere. She tugged the straps from her shoulders and let her bra hang for a moment on her swaying breasts. He reached up and wrenched it from her chest. He fondled the empty bra, like a trophy, before discarding it with the rest of her clothes.

She was panting slightly, from the effort of her dance and the tension welling inside her. She rested her hands on his broad shoulders. She felt the texture of his business jacket. It was sleek, fine-tailored and expensive.

He began to play with her panties. He inserted his fingers under the side bands and suddenly plucked them away. She gasped as she felt the elastic break. In a reflex she recoiled, but his hands had moved round behind her, seizing her bottom. He squeezed the flesh so hard that she only just managed to stifle a yelp as he pulled her back towards him. He parted his knees and she toppled forward into his lap.

For a moment she sprawled, naked, on top of him as he slumped backwards in the big leather office chair. She was still moving to the rhythm of her dance; he hadn’t told her to stop; and the lapels of his jacket rubbed provocatively against her bare breasts and aroused nipples. He kissed her forehead and the top of her head, as his fingers explored the cleft between her buttocks. Her breathing quickened and she felt a pleasurable tingling inside her.

He took her by the shoulders and pressed downwards, until she was on her knees. The dance ended, and she looked up into his eyes. He pursed his lips and stroked her hair. There was something in his other hand. It was her scarf. She lowered her head as he wove the silk around, covering her eyes and tying it securely at the back.

“You must feel...” he started to say, but she needed no explanation.

She knew what she was to do. She fumbled in his lap, to find the zipper. She felt his manhood, warm and hard, through his trousers. She opened his fly and dextrously parted the front of his briefs. He made no effort to assist her, except to caress her cheeks and nuzzle her ears, with whispered obscenities.

She carefully extracted his penis, erect and hot and gently pulsating, and held it between her fingers. She licked the end. She played with it between her lips before closing her mouth around it. She began to suck, delicately, rolling her tongue over and around the shaft. She felt his body stiffen, could taste the faintly pungent tang of his pre-cum. But he was not ready to go all the way, not yet. He tapped her lightly on the back and instinctively she knew. She pulled away and stood upright. She wished she could see him, to know what he wanted from her, but the blindfold remained in place.

She sensed that he had drawn his knees together, and so she straddled them, lowering herself into his lap. The twill of his trousers was curiously sensual against the bare skin of her rump and thighs. He patted her hips, and she raised herself slightly, steadying herself by placing her hands on his shoulders. Then she lowered her body again, feeling his penis against the lips of her vagina. She began to move, slowly, rhythmically, back and forward, massaging his erection against her tender flesh, inviting him to enter her. He held back, the ecstasy of arousal and the agony of denial tearing at her insides. His hands were on her bosom, squeezing and kneading. He drew her closer, wrapping his mouth around each breast in turn, fondling and teasing her nipples with his tongue and teeth.

The excitement welling inside her, she grasped the sides of his head and pulled it back with the strength of despair. He made a surprised sound, but she pressed her lips against his. She raised herself once more, and with one hand she explored underneath her, to find his apparatus. She let herself down, onto him, guiding his penis into her body. He slid inside her. He was big, and when she lowered herself, he was buried deep within her. She began to raise and lower herself again, picking up momentum and intensity as they reached climax together. She moaned and he groaned, and she felt the sudden gush inside her. She gasped and whimpered. He plunged his face between her breasts.

Exhausted she fell backward, still in his lap, propping herself with her hands on his knees. He was still inside her as they unwound. She felt flushed and her skin tingled with a film of perspiration. Her breathing was harsh and rapid. He brushed the sweat-moistened hair from her forehead, and tenderly stroked her heaving breasts. She began to unbutton his shirt, but he seized her hands and held them forcibly at her sides.

He spread his legs and she obeyed his unspoken command. She slid backward and once again knelt before him. She felt for his crotch, and pressed her lips towards it; but he leaned forward and slapped her hard on the bottom. Understanding, she drew back and carefully tucked his deflated penis back inside his pants, and raised the zipper. He nudged her breasts with his knees.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

She stood up.

“Move to the desk.”

Sightless, she fumbled and stumbled, hands reaching out, till she found the edge of the desk.

“Bend over it,” he snarled.

She did not move.

“You need to be punished,” he said.

She did not ask why. She felt a chill and a thrill as she heard the zipping sound of his belt being whisked out of the loops of his trousers. She wanted to protest, but dared not.

“No sound,” he commanded.

She thought he was telling her not to speak, but as he grazed the leather strap across her naked buttocks, taunting her, she realized what he meant. The rest of the staff would be coming back from their own lunch break at any time. It would not be helpful if they knew what the boss was up to behind the locked office door.

It came in a strange slow motion. First the hissing sound, then the sharp, sickening thwack, then a red blur bleeding into the blackness under her blindfold, then the pain, at first piercing, then burning. She stifled a scream. The second whack across her buttocks felt harder than the first, and the pain was tenfold. After the third her tears flowed, seeping through the silk binding. More followed, till she wanted to cry out for mercy. She stayed proudly silent.

“Stand up now,” he ordered, but his voice was milder, kinder. He ran one hand along her trembling shoulders and down her back, coming to rest on the throbbing welts that criss-crossed her behind. He gently massaged the tortured flesh. He removed her blindfold, and she blinked back the glare of an early afternoon sun peering through the half-open blinds.

They stood for a while facing each other. His lustful gaze coursed the length of her body, exploring each curve and crevice. His neat grey business suit was unrumpled. Without her blindfold, she felt doubly naked.

She moved towards him, opening her arms for an embrace. He just shook his head, like a stern master.

“Lunch break’s over,” he told her, and gestured towards the little heap of her clothes, lying on the floor beside the chair.

There was a look of disappointment, almost desperation, on her face, as she licked the salty taste of her sweat and the sweet taste of his saliva from her lips.

“Yes, of course” she sighed. She reached for her bra and stockings. She gathered up her skirt and blouse. Her panties were torn and useless. But she would not be feeling the cool slickness of the upholstery against her bare backside for the rest of this day. She would not be sitting for the rest of this day.

“Time to get back to work,” she said. She secured her skirt, smoothed out the wrinkles and finished buttoning her blouse. He took his seat at the desk and she envied him for that.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

She walked over to the window and looked out.

“Don’t forget to check my appointments,” she said.

“No, ma’am.”

“And remember, I need those reports by the end of today.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Roma Aeterna...Not!

Brennus and his share of the spoils

http://www.artcyclopedia.com/artists/jamin_paul.html

On their first invasion the Gauls… defeated the Romans and their allies in a pitched battle, and pursuing the fugitives, occupied the whole of Rome with the exception of the Capitol; but being diverted by an invasion of their own country by the Veneti, they made on this occasion a treaty with the Romans, and evacuating the city, returned home. – Polybius, The Histories, 2.18

ROMA AETERNA... NOT!

From Valeria, daughter of L. Valerius Potitus, Palatine Avenue, Rome

To Claudia, daughter of Ap. Claudius Arvina

Dearest Claudia, So much has happened since we bade each other farewell. This is the first opportunity I have had to write since our parting, which seems an eternity ago. When you and your family left for your ancestral home last summer, I felt a deep foreboding. Here, the city was aswirl with fear and trepidation, as the barbarian horde swept southwards from its alpine stronghold.

We lined the streets, cheered and wept as our heroic menfolk marched out to meet the foe, banners flying, armour glistening, shields gleaming, trumpets blaring, young hearts pounding with pride, manly chests swelling with bravado, defiant war cries chasing away the dread of impending battle.

Each day we gathered in the forum awaiting news from the front. When it came, our faith and hope turned to horror and despair. Our legions had been overwhelmed, our staunchest warriors annihilated on the banks of some nameless river, the rest of the army scattered. Rome, the glory of Italy and the pride of our race, was left undefended, at the mercy of a fierce and relentless enemy who knew neither mercy nor the arts of civilization.

There was little panic in the streets, just a mute, forlorn desperation. Our loved ones were dead or missing or in full retreat. Rumors abounded that the brave Camillus and his army was regrouping, but there was no relief from our sense of utter helplessness as the barbarians approached, unchallenged by gods or men. They entered our fair city and the worst of our imagined terrors came to be. The killing, the looting, the rapine and the burning swept like a sullen wave across the rooftops. The shouts of dying men, the screams of ravished women, the lurid glow of burning temples filled the air, a foul miasma of desolation, destruction and death.

Those of us in the inner suburbs, shielded from the worst atrocities by the slow progress of the pillage, awaited our fate calmly and with noble resignation. When finally the men from the north reached us, their passion had subsided. Though our home was plundered, my parents were spared, as was my brother, a mere child who posed no threat to the invader. My sister and I were the tribute our family must pay for their deliverance.

What has become of my poor sister I remain in dreadful ignorance. My worst fear is that she has been taken north; but if she is still here in the city, I am determined to find her. The family will be reunited, I swear before Jupiter, Juno and Minerva, the sacred triad.

As for me, I was taken with the other female captives to the market place. Naked and bound, we were mustered like cattle in the sale yards. The older women were apportioned among the lower ranks of the soldiery, and the young girls, weeping, bundled into carts for transport to the slave markets of alpine Gaul. We of the most desirable age were divided up amongst the officers and elders. Our fate, though kinder, was no more certain nor less inescapable.

The prettiest of us - oh, feminine vanity, there is venom in your sting! - were reserved for the fiend himself, the conqueror Brennus. We were taken to one of the mansions still intact near the Capitol, to await our new master’s pleasure. Above us loomed the ramparts of the citadel, where the last defenders of Rome’s solemn dignity held out against the barbarians in futile, magnificent defiance.

It was I who found favour and that evening shared the bed of Brennus himself. I wept and beat at him with my fists. He sneered at my feminine frailty. He threw himself upon me and thrust into my poor body. I writhed in my pain and misery, sobbed with outrage and fear. The coarse fabric of his tunic rasped against my naked breasts like stinging nettles. The pungent odours of sweat and oiled leather assailed my nostrils. The fire in my belly, which had not before known a man, burned more fiercely than the altar flames of our ancestral gods.

The morning came, and over the city a blood-red sun peered through columns of rising smoke. My defiler lay beside me, loudly snoring. Had I a dagger to plunge into his brutal heart, I would willingly have given my life to end his. But he awoke and called for bread and wine. He summoned me to his table, and together we broke the fast. Afterwards, he bade me walk with him, and we conversed. For a time, he appeared to forget the tumult beyond the garden wall.

It was as if this were not the same man who had torn my virginity from me. I was surprised by his sensibility and startled by his erudition. He spoke with the rough-hewn accent of the northerners, but his words were gentle and cultured. This was no rude beast. There was a tenderness in his manner that I could not have imagined in such a man as this. He had become smitten with me. Somehow, during that night of dreadful passion, his heart of flint had begun to soften. The man subdued the monster, as a mere woman had subdued the man.

Oh, Claudia, which auguries could have foretold this?

The hours and days sped by like fleet-footed Mercury, until my Brennus announced that it was time to depart for the north. His homeland beckoned and his army was growing restless.

“Master,” I cried, “You may deprive me of my freedom, stain my honour, steal my chastity, but never shall you take from me the love of my city, queen of Italy. If you carry me away I will surely die.”

I pleaded with him to leave me behind, but I was his. He could not depart without me. The captor was bound to his captive.

Then his ferocious visage softened, and his faraway stare, northwards, betrayed the decision he had made. I had separated the man from the barbarian, and he would not separate me from my beloved Rome.

“Valeria,” he declared, gently stroking my breast, “No greater devotion has any man for a woman than I have for you, and I know that, in time, you will grow to reciprocate my love. I will not abandon you, nor will I tear you away from your family and your city. It had been my plan to march north, to return to the fertile valley of the Padus and the quickening of the alpine snows. My intention had never been to remain here, on the sunny banks of the Tiber. But you have inspired me. This shall be where I plant my banner. Rome shall be my capital. Your beloved city is not to become a wasteland but shall rise again, the heart of a new empire and a great civilization, founded upon the courage, passion and ingenuity of the noble race of Gauls.”

In my heart I rejoiced at his words. I had conquered my conqueror, mastered my master. My precious Rome would not die after all, but would live to fulfill its destiny. A new beginning!

So my dearest Claudia, be safe and happy and prosperous. Perhaps one day you may return......

Editor’s note: The remainder of this letter is missing. The document was found in an inventory uncovered during recent excavations at Tarracina, one of the earliest extant examples of private correspondence between upper class women during the Late Roman Republic. It is noteworthy in shedding important light on the actions of First Emperor Brennus during his conquest and occupation of Italy. Rome was once an important city in central Italy, and a regional capital in the Gallic Empire for several generations following its capture by Brennus. Some scholars maintain that, given its natural advantages, Rome might some day have achieved greatness in its own right. Such “what if” speculation is not taken seriously by most specialists in the field. – Connach o’Gwynoir, School of Classics and Antiquities, University of Albion