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The Right Tool

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He and Lucretia had an unusual marriage, Batiatus reflected as he strode to the bedchamber. Rare, it was for a man to find his female match in cunning and drive who satisfied him on levels he wouldn't have imagined when his father announced his betrothal to a tall redhead with a hefty dowry. They had shared much – riches, failures, slaves – without any coming between them. Until Crixus. He never minded that she fucked him. He enjoyed watching.

It was the hold that the pig fucking dumb gladiator had on his wife's heart that made Batiatus grit his teeth. The time for letting the gods fuck him was over. He had realized the lion inside himself in the long days of the past year as his fortunes dipped low and his methods grew dark. Learning from his mistakes, he realized that one could change the tides if only the right tool was in hand. Ashur taught him that. A piss poor gladiator with no magnetism, but a sly man whose utility reached from beyond the arena and into the cunt of Capua. Crixus was the wrong tool. With Crixus removed, all could be as it was. Batiatus had a new champion with the dignity, honor, and mystique to be a true successor to Oenomaus that the bloody Gaul had never been.

Spartacus would lift the house up and his cock without weaseling his way into Lucretia's affections. The man still mooned over his dead wife. Yes, Spartacus was the right choice, Batiatus opened the door and found all as he had requested it.

Lucretia reclined on the bed in a green robe, tension in her jaw, as she peered at the nude Spartacus who stood, eyes downcast, before her.

They pretended well, Lucretia and Batiatus did, but he knew that they were unusual. Looking at his beautiful wife, he couldn't mind it. They were passed the hard times with the legatus's wife now in their pocket and the whole of Capua in his grip. It was time to enjoy himself. He smiled as he sat down in his high chair before gesturing them onward.

This would be fun.