Read this post with a glass of wine in hand.

The due date for our erotic fiction competition has come and gone – but never fear, because we’ve got a few more finalists still to come.

So – what do you get when you combine Ancient Rome, togas and sex? You get “The Temple”, our ninth finalist, written by Rebecca Giono.

So go and make yourself a cup of tea or pour yourself a really, really big glass of wine and sit back and enjoy.

The temple was set high above the city of Rome.

As she ascended the steps from the west, she could feel the warmth of the sun on her back and see her shadow cast before her. A summer breeze lifted her hair and her spirits. It would be over soon.

The men were togate and seated in a half circle in their stone chairs. They all wore serious expressions, some even looked bored. It had been said this year’s crop had no surprises left in it.

The men were here to decide on a new bride for their Emperor. Each imperial candidate must be thoroughly inspected, certified pure and approved by the council before being brought to audience with the Emperor. The last wife had succumbed to treacherous deeds and had been charged, found guilty and crucified the previous market day.

As instructed by the sisters, when she reached the middle of the temple, she turned to face the elder councillors. She was dressed in layer upon layer of lightest cloth, dyed in gradual shades of blue. Then as gracefully as she could, she was to remove each layer until she was as naked as Venus. And it was as Venus she stood, a puddle of foamy blue cloth around her ankles like she too had been born from the sea.

The sight of her roused the men.

This was no highborn girl, frail and delicate of bone. This was a woman born. Dark hair fell in waves down her back, eyes fringed with long lashes, skin creamy, breasts large but supple and a waist most men could span with their hands. She kept no smile on her face and many contemplated if her pink lips were as dark and inviting as those nestled between her legs.

She bore their scrutiny with as much dignity as she could muster for she was a Roman and no Roman baulked at nakedness. It was the men’s reactions that weakened her resolve. Despite her best efforts, she found herself recoiling as she was inspected, seeing some men lick the spittle from their lips, others shift their immense girth for a better view, others again breathing heavily and fumbling under their togas.

After an age she was instructed to turn and she now faced the younger councillors. These men reacted differently. So keen were they to prove themselves, they would give her a careless once-over and then refer to their scrolls. She found it easier to make contact with their faces and her eyes roamed until she came to a man who was staring straight at her.

He wore a hard expression which captured her attention until being naked and in a room of strange men all fell away. Black hair cut short in the military style proclaimed him a commander of sorts which explained his physique; he was strong of arm and broad of shoulder. Unlike most of the others, and though draped with his toga as they were, his thighs were well-muscled, his calves shapely. Used to long marches after days and weeks of battle, she imagined.

She met his eyes. His stare was unrelenting. She could feel herself getting hot and a blush crept over her face and as always when she was aroused, infused her neck and breasts as well. She heard a gasp from her right and then a strangled cough. She returned the military man’s gaze with as much steadiness as she could muster and in that moment of strength his jaw clenched and she felt a deep hot wet tightening in her loins.

She had been dismissed. As she was being assisted from the temple, the men convened, speaking in low tones. The sisters draped a cloak about her shoulders and covered her head with its hood. She followed them, down the immense staircase, the sun in her eyes.

Her arm was grasped and she was suddenly tugged bodily between two huge marble pillars. Her mouth opened in surprise but shut as quickly when she spied her abductor. His eyes were such a deep mesmerising blue she forgot herself, who she was, what she could become and fell against him.

He spun her until her back was against him and removed the cloak with a flourish. She watched as the cloth floated to the floor and then felt the coolness of the marble against her breasts as he pressed her against the pillar. His hands roamed very deliberately over her shoulders, down her breasts and over her buttocks. She hugged the marble and gave in to the sensation.

He ran his fingers through her hair, jerked her head back and with a large hand, stroked her throat. With his other hand on the back of her thigh, he lifted her leg until it too was hugging the pillar. It was in this vulnerable position he entered her, without warning, without apology as if he knew he’d find her willing, welcoming and wet.

He plunged into her again, harder this time and she cried out, the echo satisfying to her ears. She reached up to wrap her fingers around the nape of his neck as his hand slipped from her throat to squeeze her breast. With deep, long strokes he drowned her body in waves of pleasure. She felt drunk and as the warmth flooded her belly, her legs turned to water.

With a grunt he finally fell against her shuddering, breathing heavily and she sighed contentedly, reaching for him again. He wrenched away and she stumbled but did not fall. In moments he had rearranged his toga and stood glaring at her. She boldly returned his gaze.

He gripped her chin and brought his mouth hard against hers. She relished his hardness, he didn’t compromise. As their kiss deepened, he slid his hand between her thighs and caressed her. She climaxed instantly and she fell to the floor, gasping, watching as he strode from the temple into the sun.

Enjoyed reading this?  You can read a few of other finalists here, here, here and here.