I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Caesar’s hips snapped forward again with a force that made Johanna scream—a wet, raw sound torn straight from her throat, a ragged “Haaaan! Yesss!” echoing off the stone walls as her body jolted with each hard, hungry thrust.

Her sweat-slick breasts bounced violently with the rhythm, jiggling with no modesty, only need, the nipples flushed, stiff from stimulation and the cool kiss of the air. Her skin glistened, thighs trembling as they braced against the stone slab beneath her, every slap of Caesar’s hips against her soaked folds sending another ripple of motion through her.

He wasn’t gentle. He had no intention of being. His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into the soft meat of her ass as he dragged her onto him harder, faster, driving into her soaked pussy with the merciless rhythm of a conqueror. Her moans grew more desperate, her body jerking with every brutal thrust, her mouth hanging open in a daze of lust and helpless euphoria.

Her face had long since lost all semblance of control. This wasn’t the composed, calculating woman who stood beside her students with scholarly resolve. This was a woman utterly undone. Drool escaped the corner of her lips, her eyes crossed and glassy, her cries high-pitched and breathless.

“More! Gods, Caesar—harder! Fuck me harder!!” she cried, clawing at the stone beneath her, her nails scraping it like she could anchor herself in the chaos of the overwhelming pleasure.

“You have quite the appetite for a woman,” Caesar growled between thrusts, his voice like a dark purr, teeth bared in amusement. “Are all the women from your world such insatiable whores?”

He laughed, deep and full, then rammed into her again, the slap of their bodies echoing, loud and rhythmic. He leaned forward, lips brushing her ear as he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her throat.

That was when Nathan stepped into view.

Caesar didn’t stop. Not even for a moment. He looked up, still thrusting, sweat gleaming on his chest. His grin widened.

“So it was you, Septimius,” he said, voice casual but laced with challenge. “Peeking like some nervous boy behind the curtains?”

Nathan said nothing at first. He was remembering Servillia, her tear-streaked cheeks. She was the one watching them before she ran away crying probably seeing Caesar this intimate toward another woman while not even minding her since his return.

“What?” Caesar asked, gripping Johanna’s hair and pulling her up until her back arched. “You were interested in this bitch? Is she yours?”

Johanna barely seemed to register the conversation. She was too far gone. Bent over, used like a beast, her body trembling, mouth open in a steady, whining moan, “Hnnnn~ haaahh~ hnnnnghh~” her thighs shaking, ass reddened from Caesar’s palm. Her eyes locked onto Nathan’s—she saw him, recognized him—and didn’t stop. She didn’t try to cover herself. She didn’t even flinch.

“Look at her,” Caesar said, grabbing one of her breasts, squeezing it tight before twisting her nipple. She squealed like a toy broken open, leaking every humiliating sound. “You think she gives a damn who’s watching?”

He rammed into her again, hips slamming with renewed intensity, slapping wet and loud.

“If you want her,” he added, turning his head slightly toward Nathan, “I can give her to you after I’m done. Consider it a reward. You’ve earned it.”

Johanna’s head lolled, panting, a weak little, “Haaahn~” sliding out of her lips like steam from a kettle.

Nathan stared, voice flat but decisive. “No. I’m not interested in her.”

He paused. “I only stumbled upon this.”

“Hm?” Caesar slowed, but didn’t stop. “You want others, then? Virgins, maybe? There are plenty. I can have my men find some perfect little flowers for you to ruin.”

Nathan’s eyes darkened. He shook his head once, calmly.

“I’m looking for the Heroes.”

At that, Caesar finally stilled. For a heartbeat, silence buzzed between the men—broken only by Johanna’s desperate breathing, the slick noises of sex, the twitch of her overstimulated body.

“Oh?” Caesar’s grin curved wider, eyes glittering with mischief. “That’s what this is about? You want one of those fresh girls? One of the pure ones from another world?” He chuckled, then pulled Johanna up by the hair again, mouth at her ear. “And what does her teacher think about that?”

He twisted her nipple cruelly. She wailed.

“T-They’re all yours…” she panted, voice weak, dreamy, lost.

Nathan’s stomach turned. What kind of teacher said that?

His mind wandered to Amelia.

She was clearly miles ahead of Johanna as a teacher. Protective of all of them.

He missed her. Needed her. Wanted to be buried in her again, slowly, lovingly, every inch a testament of how far he’d come to be with her again.

But not now.

He couldn’t afford it yet.

“Where can I find them?” he asked, Johanna not bothering to clear the misunderstanding.

Because Nathan was here for Elin Berg. He needed her to heal Fulvia—quickly. Once Fulvia recovered, she would take him to her family. If they truly wanted to see Caesar fall, they’d have to act now.

“I… In the northern part… just the highest floor…” Johanna managed between ragged breaths, her voice trembling as Caesar thrust into her once more. Her words dissolved into a pleasured cry, her body jolting. “Haaaan!”

Nathan’s eyes remained steady, unmoved. He’d heard enough.

He was about to turn and leave when a voice, rich and commanding, called out over Johanna’s increasingly desperate moans.

“Septimius.”

Nathan paused mid-step.

Caesar didn’t miss a beat. Still locked in his rhythm, he barely looked away from Johanna’s sweat-slick back as he spoke.

“I want you present for Pompey’s judgment,” Caesar said, his tone casual, as if discussing an afternoon stroll rather than an imperial proceeding. “You’re the one who brought him in, after all. The Pope will be there too.”

Nathan inclined his head. “Understood.”

He stepped away, closing the ornate door behind him as Johanna’s cries echoed one last time into the corridor.

The Church…

As Nathan walked, he recalled again that the Roman Empire was no longer merely a state—it had become a symbiosis of politics, lust, and faith. The Church had grown into a power of its own, rooted in Rome’s heart, its influence spreading quietly but decisively.

And they worshipped Minerva.

Or rather, Athena, cloaked in her Roman name. The ancient goddess of wisdom and war had become the spiritual figurehead of this gilded empire. Her cult had taken deep root in both the hearts of the people and the pockets of the Senate.

Thinking of her left a bitter taste in Nathan’s mouth.

Their last encounter still burned in his memory. The Trojan War—the battlefield soaked with blood and divine egos. Things between him and Athena had not ended well. And he did not wish to see her again… not now.

For the next ten minutes, Nathan climbed. The stairs seemed endless, curving and winding like a serpent, always climbing higher. The air grew colder and thinner the further he ascended, the old stones groaning softly beneath his steps.

Finally, he reached the topmost level—the floor reserved for only the most unique guests. Royals. Diplomats. Living legends. And, by necessity, the Heroes of Amun-Ra.

There were fewer rooms here, spaced far apart and walled in with decadent silence. Yet despite the prestige, Nathan felt a more sinister rot clinging to the place than even the hedonistic floors below. Perhaps it was the silence—the echo of unspoken deals, of masks worn too tightly.

His enhanced hearing caught whispers and noises through the walls. Far-off screams. Laughter too forced. The wet slap of flesh. Somewhere deeper in the hall, an orgy was still underway, echoing with laughter and cries that had long since lost their humanity.

The Heroes’ quarters were pushed deep into the most isolated wing of the upper floor—a precaution, no doubt. Better to keep foreign heroes away from the drunken arrogance of Roman nobility. A clash between ideals and indulgence would be inevitable otherwise.

Upon reaching their wing, Nathan paused. The hallway split into several branching paths. It was clear now—this castle had been designed as a labyrinth, both physical and political. Finding Elin here wouldn’t be easy.

He took a moment, scanning his surroundings, then chose the nearest corridor.

The moment he stepped inside, he noticed the change.

Warm, humid air clung to his skin, curling around him like a living thing. The temperature rose drastically, and the heavy scent of steam filled his lungs.

A bathhouse? Up here?

It wouldn’t be surprising—Romans considered bathing a sacred ritual, equal parts cleansing and politics.

The corridor was quiet, unnervingly so. No footsteps. No voices. Only the subtle sound of trickling water echoing through the tiled walls. Nathan moved forward with caution, his instincts humming like drawn wire.

He almost turned back.

But curiosity tugged at him.

What if someone was here?

A few steps deeper, and he caught sight of a vast bathing chamber—a cavern of white marble and polished silver. The ceiling arched high above like a cathedral’s dome, and the baths themselves stretched wide, with a central pool large enough to accommodate thirty people, flanked by smaller, more private compartments.

Steam drifted like ghosts across the surface, making it hard to tell if the place was truly empty.

He scanned the room, eyes sharp, senses open.

There seemed to be no one—at least, that was Nathan’s first impression.

But as he turned to his left, his keen senses caught the faint sound of shifting water and the subtle rustle of cloth against damp skin. His eyes narrowed, adjusting through the drifting veil of steam that curled and danced through the air like misty phantoms.

And then he saw her.

A young woman stood at the edge of one of the smaller baths, a pristine white towel wrapped tightly around her figure. Droplets of water clung to her pale skin, glistening like tiny jewels in the soft, golden lamplight. Her ash brown hair was damp, clinging to her back and collarbones, giving her the look of some ethereal water spirit caught out of place in a den of mortal stone.

It was Freja.

Nathan remembered a bit. He had seen her before in passing, during the feast briefly. She had stood among the others. She had a SSS rank Skill.

Now she stood just a few meters away, blinking at him with stunned disbelief.

Her lips parted, then closed again. Then parted once more, as if she were trying to speak but couldn’t find the words. She looked almost like a fish gasping for air, and the steam swirling between them only added to the surreal image.

When it finally dawned on her that she was not hallucinating, her eyes widened in alarm. A brilliant crimson hue surged across her cheeks, spreading quickly to her ears and neck.