“Better that you please me,” Cleopatra told him, matter-of-factly. “If you do not I can have you whipped?”
“If whipping me should be your pleasure, Highness,” Seth replied, “I will bring you a lash for my back.”
Cleopatra smiled inwardly. The boy has wit as well as beauty, she thought. Ra has good hands, but he is unschooled and dull to talk to. This boy, who seems mature beyond his years, might be worthy in more ways than one. She reflected bitterly that it been several months since Julius had been killed in Rome by those sons-of-bitches he thought were his friends. Forced into exile and removed from the comfort of the connubial bed, there was a void in her heart and a longing in her loins.
“If I remember history correctly, you are named for Sethikhopshjef, first born son of Ramesses 11, for I believe that is how he was called in the north of Egypt. You are from the north, are you not?”
“I am,” he replied. “I was sent south and sold into your household after my apprenticeship.”
Cleopatra moved her hips, minutely adjusting her position, and he could see the exquisite outline of her buttocks beneath the silk. His manhood began to stir.
“In ancient times, Cleopatra continued, “Seth was the god of wind and desert storms. He was said to be a dark and moody god although people worshiped him so he would grant them and their followers the strength of the storms. Are you dark and moody, Seth?”
“I think not, your Highness. I believe I reflect your Highness’s mood, which I divine at this moment to be playful, although I sense a need in you that massage alone will not satisfy.”
“Do you, indeed,” she said. She was well aware of the power she had over men and now she would test this arrogant boy. Casually she reached behind, casting aside the sheet that covered her. She settled back into position making herself comfortable, undulating her hips now elevated over the pillow.
“You may begin.”