Theadora’s seduction was carefully planned. One evening, Alexander sent his regrets that he would be unable to join her for their chess game. She was disappointed, for the games had become an almost daily pleasure, and she enjoyed them. He sent, by way of apology, a round crystal bowl filled with Gold of Ophir roses, a small flacon of golden Cyprus wine, and a silver dish of green grapes. Theadora, feeling sorry for herself, sent Iris to bed and drank all the wine herself. Then she fell into a deep sleep.
She dreamed a strange dream. Sightless, for she could not seem to see, she was led from her bed. Then, suddenly, she could see again. A silk had been bound about her eyes. Looking about she saw that she was in a windowless square room. The walls and ceiling of the room were black. One quarter of the way up the wall was a gold border in the ancient Greek key-and-scroll design. Above it were beautiful paintings of men with women, women with women, men with men, and men and women with animals-in various attitudes of sexual play. Above the drawings was another gold border.
The room was lit by flickering hanging lamps, burning a musk-scented oil. As Theadora stood there two young women appeared at her side and began to massage her body with a scented cream that left her skin tingling, both hot and cold. Slowly, sensuously, they caressed her until the exquisite sensations assailing her flesh threatened to cause her to faint.
Before her, on a raised and carpeted dais, amid multicolored silk and velvet pillows, reclined the three favorite ladies of Alexander. They were, as was she, completely nude. Smiling, they beckoned her to join them. Moving slowly forward, she allowed them to draw her down among them. They were so kind to her, and it didn’t seem at all strange when they began to caress her body. It was the loveliest dream! Their hands were so soft. They fondled her breasts, kissing and nuzzling at the nipples, then sending a painful ache through her as they sucked hard on the coral points.
Cerika’s hands strayed downward and stroked the insides of Theadora’s thighs, playfully touching at her womanhood. Theadora sighed deeply, trembling when her friend lowered her blonde head and kissed her within the soft, sensitive cleft of her sex. Now the three women held a cup of wine to Adora’s lips, urging her to drink. When she did so her feeling of wellbeing increased.
Then, from the darkness, Alexander appeared. Naked, he looked like the marble statue of the ancient God, Apollo. Tall, with well-muscled legs and a flat torso, he was deeply bronzed by the sun. Between his powerful thighs was a triangle of gold hair, and springing forth from the tight gold curls was a long, swollen manroot.
Theadora felt no fear, for she wanted him. And as this was but a delightful dream, she felt free to indulge. Two of the other women spread her legs wide. Smiling, Theadora opened her arms to him. For a moment he stood spread-legged above her, a smile of triumph on his handsome face. Then, kneeling, he straddled her so that he might enjoy the full breasts, and she felt his maleness against her belly. Gently he played with her, pulling the long nipples out, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. She tingled all over with the full pleasure of it, and rubbed her navel against the pulsing muscle that throbbed against her.
He nibbled on her lips, placing little kisses at their corners and on her closed eyelids. For the first time, she heard his voice, and for a moment she was frightened. She did not recall ever hearing a voice in her dreams. But the sensations assailing her were so intense they banished fear. “What do you want me to do, beauty?” he said.
Slowly, she opened her heavy-lidded eyes and said in a sweetly serious voice, “You must make love to me, Alexander. You must make love to me,” and then her eyes slowly closed again.
She could feel his hands grasping her buttocks, and she smiled with delight as she felt him drive deep into her willing body, raising her to the pinnacle of passion. He was enormous. He filled her to overflowing, and she thought she would surely die, for in truth she had never been so satisfied.
But soon the sunlight was in her eyes, and the sound of Iris’ voice woke her from her deep sleep.
Her mouth was sour, and her head ached horribly. She had had such a strange dream…but she could not quite remember it. When she tried to concentrate, her head ached.
“Draw the drapes,” she ordered her servant. “The wine that Alexander sent me last night has come close to assassinating me. God! My head hurts unbearably.”
“You should not have drunk it all, my lady,” scolded Iris. “You are not used to strong wines.”
Theadora nodded regretfully. “I will stay in bed today,” she said, “for to tell the truth I do not think I can get up.” She lay back amid her pillows to doze in the cool, darkened room.
But sleep was restless, with wild and obscene images floating through her troubled mind. A dark room with flickering golden lights. Alexander’s three favorites-nude, caressing her naked body. Cerika kissing her on the mouth and on the- Oh, Christos! No!
Now she lay back, her clear camellia skin a startling white against the rainbow pillows. Above her, the ceiling was of Venetian glass, and she could see Alexander between her spread legs. She moaned desperately, trying to escape the dream, but she could not. In the dream he took her once, then took each of his favorites in turn, dismissing them afterward. She watched with amazement as he performed with his women. The man was a stallion and did not seem to tire. Alone now, he took her a second time, and turning her onto her stomach took her again in that manner.
She struggled to escape these images and woke to find that it was already late afternoon. Her headache had gone but she felt confused and tense. Although her skin was now cool, the sheets were soaked with perspiration and were badly tangled. Again, she knew she had dreamed but she could only remember that it had had something to do with Alexander. They had made love together. She blushed with shame. How absurd!
Shrugging, she called to Iris to bring her a carafe of pomegranate juice and some food. After she had eaten she entered her bath, and the skillful fingers of her slave soothed away the last of her tensions. When Alexander arrived for their chess game she greeted him warmly.
“I missed you last night,” she said. “I enjoy our games. Instead I drank that vicious wine you sent me, and I spent a restless, impossible night. When I awoke today I had a monstrous headache. I have been in bed all day.”
He chuckled. “I should have warned you. The golden wines of Cyprus are deceptive, beauty. They appear to be sweet and mild but in actuality are wicked and potent.”
“Could you not have warned me?” she said somewhat sharply. He chuckled again.
While they played she stole little looks at him from beneath her lowered lashes. He behaved no differently toward her. Surely if what she had imagined had really happened, they would not be carrying on in the usual manner! No! It had been a wild dream, brought on by the strong wine. What was the matter with her, to make her imagine such things? But she knew the answer to that: she longed for a man’s love, and as long as her elderly husband lived, she was not apt to get it. Sighing, she made a careless move and heard her captor say, “Check and mate, beauty!”
She looked down at the board and made a little moue with her mouth. “Oh, Alexander, how stupid of me!”
He laughed at her distress. “It is not like you to give me a game, beauty.” Then in a more serious tone, “What is it that troubles you?”
She shook her head. “Bad dreams, Alexander. Such very frightening bad dreams.”
“Can you tell me? Talking often puts such dreams in their true perspective.”