‘Are you afraid?’ she murmured.
‘Spartans fear nothing.’ Lysandra’s habitual response was a whisper. She looked up, her gaze locked with Eirianwen’s and she found she could not break it.
‘But you are trembling.’
‘No I’m not…’
Her words were cut short as Eirianwen’s lips found her own. The kiss was soft and Lysandra’s mouth yielded to its caress. The trembling inside her melted away at the Silurian’s embrace, fading to a warmth that she had not felt before. She felt herself drifting, surren-dering to bliss. Eirianwen’s mouth brushed slowly downward, paying exquisite attention to Lysandra’s neck, causing her body to tingle.
Somewhere, at the back of her mind, Lysandra knew she must put a stop to this before it went too far. Certainly, she knew her sisters at the temple often practised Sapphic love, considering it was not a breach of their vow. In the ludus too, all the women released their tensions in such a manner. But never before had she been prey to the weakness of her flesh — that she should succumb to her lust so easily shamed her.
But even as she thought this, she found her arms lifting above her head, as Eirianwen pulled her tunic gently from her. She sat before her, naked and suddenly shy of her body in a way she had never been before. She made to cover her breasts with her arm, but Eirianwen’s hand intercepted her movement. Looking into her eyes, she placed her fingers on Lysandra’s shoulders and ran them lightly downwards. Lysandra’s lips parted in anticipation as Eirianwen’s touch drew closer to her almost painfully erect nipples.
‘You are beautiful, Lysandra.’
These words caused a lurch in Lysandra’s heart and she reached out tentatively to touch the tribeswoman. Eirianwen lowered her head, her lips seeking the swell of the Spartan’s breasts. Lysandra let her head fall back, succumbing to this delicious ministration, her whole body, her whole being becoming alive with sensation.
She heard herself sob with pleasure as the warm wetness of Eirianwen’s mouth closed over her nipple, drawing it in, tongue rolling over it with maddening intensity.
When she drew away, a moan of disappointment escaped Lysandra’s lips. But then she looked up to see Eirianwen lifting her own tunic to reveal such magnificence, such faultless beauty that Lysandra thought she would weep. She had thought the large breasts of the Celtic women unattractive but, as her eyes drank in the sight of Eirianwen’s flesh, she knew that she had never seen anything as lovely. A fierce desire seized her and she pulled Eirianwen close, seeking her lips with her own. They kissed, and Lysandra felt a delerious passion flood through her, so strong that it threatened to break her heart.
Then, almost imperceptibly, Eirianwen pushed her onto her back and moved up her body. She lay on top of her, her breasts swaying tantalisingly close to Lysandra’s mouth. She lifted her head to taste the proffered bounty and tried to do as Eirianwen had done to her, alternately teasing the areola with her teeth, then paying soft attention to the delicate bud of her nipple.
‘Am I doing this right?’ she whispered urgently, suddenly fearful.
‘Is it good for you?’
Eirianwen laughed softly. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, easing her body lower so that Lysandra could reach her without lifting her head. ‘You are wonderful.’
They lay like that for some time until Eirianwen began to journey downwards, tracing her tongue ever lower. Lysandra stretched out her arms, tensing the muscles in her shoulders as she felt the tease of teeth on the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
Her lover’s lips moved slowly, maddeningly inwards, only to brush over the wetness of her sex and then continue onwards. She bit her lower lip and her hips began to move slowly, not of her volition. Eirianwen continued her game, tormenting her with the promise of the ecstasy to come.
‘Eirianwen, please…’
She was silent then, as Eirianwen relented, kissing the wet warmth of her nether lips. Lysandra gritted her teeth, the tendons in her neck standing out in thin cords, her hands clawing at the blanket. Eirianwen moved her tongue languidly up and down her now soaking furrow, making love to it with her mouth.
Lysandra was lost in joy; sweat pearled all over her body, warming her, then cooling her. She cried out as Eirianwen found the sensitive apex of her sex, her tongue circling it, tasting it, each pass more wonderful than the last. She reached down, her hands finding the spun gold of Eirianwen’s hair, twisting it in her fingers. Lysandra felt a pressure, soft at first, on the flesh between her sex and her anus. Eirianwen’s tongue moved faster now, her finger pressing rhythmically, more urgent and firmer than before.
Fire began to burn in Lysandra’s stomach, spreading out to consume her entire body, a breathtaking pressure building inside her. She became rigid, every muscle in her body tense as she teetered on the brink of an unknown abyss. Eirianwen’s finger moved lower, resting on the bud of Lysandra’s anus for a moment, before sliding it into her. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her body threshing and twisting in a paroxysm of lust as this last act sent her tumbling helplessly over the precipice of ecstasy. A sound was loud in her ears, and she dimly realised it was her own cries of pleasure. Wave upon wave of agonising bliss burst through her, years of restraint exploding free in a cleansing fire.
As it subsided so it began anew, each time taking her higher, before finally leaving her quivering and spent.
Her chest heaved with exertion, hair damp and plastered to her forehead. Eirianwen moved up and smiled, her lips glistening.
As they kissed, Lysandra tasted herself there and felt no shame.
Eirianwen kissed her cheek, her neck, before she herself lay back, her legs parting. Her small hand began to stroke herself and, for a moment, Lysandra was mesmerised.
‘Well,’ Eirianwen’s voice was gently teasing, breaking her gaze,
‘I think I deserve something in return.’ She pulled Lysandra to her and soon it was the sound of the Silurian’s cries that filled the room.
XVIII
Eirianwen left after some hours, though Lysandra entreated her to stay. She had the strangest sensation in her heart, unfelt before. It was as if there was now a physical need within her to have the Silurian close by her. But Eirianwen would not be moved and, with soft words and kisses, she left her alone.
Lysandra lay back on her bunk, forearm across her forehead, her body still tingling with remembered passion. Never before had she felt such abandonment, such lust. It was unseemly to act with such wantonness, but she was suddenly aware of why people so craved the sexual act. She smiled wryly as she realised that it was certainly preferable to self-pleasuring.
The door to the cell swung open with abruptness, and Lysandra looked around sharply, hoping against hope that Eirianwen had returned but was keenly disappointed when her Hellene companions struggled in. They were, despite her admonishments, a little the worse for drink, but at least none were wildly in the clutches of Dionysus.
‘I’m telling you,’ Penelope enthused as she entered. ‘It was like a baby’s arm holding an apple.’
‘Spare me the details.’ Thebe waved her away, but Penelope would not be stayed.
‘Massive.’ She sighed happily. ‘Big balls on him like a bullock, big muscles. A real man.’
‘What was his name?’ Danae wanted to know.
‘What’s in a name?’ Penelope shrugged and made her way to her cot. ‘I was only interested in one thing and I got it. Had me moaning like the lowest whore in an instant.’ She glanced over at Lysandra who had sat up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Did we wake you?’