Chapter 3: The Baths of Agrippina

Evening, 54 CE, Agrippina’s Private Bathhouse in Baiae, Roman Bay of Naples

The private bathhouse in Baiae shimmered under the glow of bronze oil lamps, their flames dancing on the marble walls veined with sapphire blue, the air thick with steam, rosewater, and the distant crash of waves from the Bay of Naples, the evening sky beyond the open skylight a deep indigo, flecked with stars, the year 54 CE a tense whisper in Rome’s shadow. Agrippina the Younger (Charlize Theron), 39, stood at the edge of the caldarium’s steaming pool, her pale skin flushed from the heat, her black hair unbound, cascading over her shoulders, her body bare, heavy breasts swaying, pink nipples stiff, her trimmed auburn bush framing a glistening slit, her violet eyes sharp with power and paranoia, her scent of myrrh and amber a regal lure, her voice a low command as she summoned her attendants, the steam curling around her, the marble floor cool beneath her feet, the night a canvas of decadence and danger, her son Nero’s looming betrayal a shadow on her mind, the bathhouse a sanctuary, a stage for her defiance, the stars above a silent witness to her reign.

Nero (Tom Glynn-Carney), 17, lingered at the chamber’s entrance, his lean frame draped in a crimson tunic, gold embroidery glinting, his pale skin unmarred, his blonde hair slicked back, his green eyes cold, calculating, his cock stirring beneath the fabric, his scent of cedar and wine sharp, his voice a sneer, “Mother,” as he watched her, his role as emperor a fresh wound, his desire for Poppaea a fire Agrippina could not extinguish, the steam thickening, the rosewater scent a veil, the waves a distant rhythm, the night a clash of power and lust, his fingers flexing with suppressed rage, his body tense with anticipation, the air around him charged with the promise of betrayal, the stars above a canopy to his ambition.

Poppaea Sabina (Sydney Sweeney), 24, stood beside him, her golden hair piled high, her alabaster skin glowing in the lamplight, her sheer stola clinging to her curves, her pert breasts high, small pink nipples tight, her blonde bush matted with sweat, her slit dripping, her amber eyes glinting with ambition, her voice a whisper, “My lord,” as she pressed against Nero, her role as his mistress a dagger in Agrippina’s heart, the rosewater scent mixing with her own lavender, her body a weapon, a seduction, the night a promise of primal connection, her fingers tracing Nero’s arm, the air thick with the promise of their shared desire, the stars above a silent witness.

A young slave, Theron (Jacob Elordi), 19, stood in the shadows near a marble column, his tanned body clad only in a linen cloth, his dark hair damp with steam, his hands trembling as he held a silver tray of oils and a clay lamp of melted beeswax, his cock hardening beneath the cloth, his breath shallow, the scent of rosewater and myrrh mixing with his own sweat, his role to serve the imperial family, his presence a silent witness, the lamplight casting his shadow on the wall, the waves a backdrop to his racing heart, the night a forbidden spectacle, his gaze fixed on the trio, his body tense, his mind a whirl of shame and desire, the bathhouse a world beyond his own, the stars above a canopy to his silent longing, his fingers gripping the tray tightly, his chest heaving with each ragged breath, the sight before him a torment he could neither join nor escape, the air around him charged with their tension, the night a tapestry of forbidden beauty.

Agrippina’s voice softened, her violet eyes on Nero, her hands sliding over her heavy breasts, fingers circling her pink nipples, her touch a spark, Nero’s sneer tightening, “You dare watch me,” her slit dripping, the steam curling around her, the rosewater scent sharp in the humid night, her body trembling under his gaze, her lips parted in a silent challenge. She stepped into the caldarium, the hot water lapping at her thighs, her slit glistening, her moan low, “Mmm,” as the heat enveloped her, Nero’s green eyes darkening, his tunic shifting, desire a pulse, the chamber watching, voyeurs to her play, Agrippina’s bath a spell. Poppaea shed her stola, her alabaster body bare, pert breasts high, blonde bush soaked, her slit gaping, her amber eyes hungry, joining Agrippina in the pool, her voice a purr, “Let me serve,” her hands roaming Agrippina’s thighs, her scent of lavender sharp, her body trembling, her ambition a fire, the rosewater scent a veil, the steam thickening, the waves a distant hum, her blonde hair catching the light, her skin flushed with arousal, her fingers digging into Agrippina’s flesh, her breath hot against Agrippina’s skin, her own slit dripping into the water, her body aching for Agrippina’s favor, the night a canvas for their shared desire.

Agrippina pulled back, her heavy breasts heaving, her slit dripping, her myrrh scent sharp, as she retrieved a polished ivory dildo from a silver chest, its surface carved with vine motifs, glistening with rose-scented oil, its scent earthy, primal, her voice a command, “For you, Poppaea,” her eyes on the mistress, her hands guiding Poppaea closer, Poppaea’s gasp loud, “Oh gods,” her slit dripping, her blonde bush soaked, her asshole twitching, the marble floor cool beneath her knees, the waves a distant rhythm, the night a tapestry of lust, power, connection, Theron’s eyes wide, his tray trembling, his cock throbbing beneath the cloth, his breath hitching, the forbidden sight a fire in his blood, the stars above a silent judge, his body frozen in the shadows, his erection a painful reminder of his exclusion, the air around him thick with their shared lust.

Agrippina reached for the clay lamp on Theron’s tray, its beeswax melted from the flame, the warm golden liquid pooling, its honeyed scent mixing with rosewater, her fingers dipping into the hot wax, her voice a whisper, “Feel this, my rival,” as she dripped the wax onto Poppaea’s pert breasts, the heat searing, Poppaea’s scream sharp, “Oh fuck, it burns,” her slit dripping harder, her juices splattering into the water, her blonde bush matted, her asshole clenching, the sensation a fiery contrast to the hot water, the lamplight harsh, the waves crashing, the steam thick, the wax cooling into golden trails on her skin, her body shuddering with each drop, her pleasure heightened by the pain, her moans echoing through the bathhouse, her fingers clutching at Agrippina’s thighs, her amber eyes locked on Agrippina’s, the night a blaze of primal connection. Agrippina slid the ivory dildo into Poppaea’s slit, the polished ivory stretching her, fucking her slow, then hard, the rose-scented oil slick, Poppaea’s juices squirting, her moan raw, “Oh gods, deeper,” her slit gaping around the ivory, her body trembling, the hot wax cooling on her skin, leaving red marks, her pleasure a fiery edge, the waves a witness, the night a blaze of primal connection, Theron’s hands shaking, the tray slipping slightly, the oils spilling onto the marble, his cock leaking, his breath ragged, the sight a forbidden dream, the bathhouse a world of gods, the stars above a witness to his shame, his body trembling with the weight of his arousal, the air around him charged with their moans.

Agrippina turned to Nero, her fingers dipping into the wax again, dripping it onto his chest as he shed his tunic, the heat searing his pale skin, Nero’s growl sharp, “Mother, fuck,” his cock throbbing fully, his body trembling, the wax cooling into golden trails, his pleasure a fiery edge, Agrippina’s fingers plunging into her own slit, stretching herself, her scream louder, “Oh gods, it burns,” the dual sensations of wax and self-pleasure overwhelming, her power a fire, the rosewater scent a sultry pulse, the lamplight flickering, the waves crashing, the steam humid, electric, her black hair a dark cascade, her pale skin marked with wax, her body arching under her own touch, her slit dripping into the water, her moans a desperate plea, the night a canvas for their shared desire. Nero grabbed the dildo from Poppaea, its ivory slick with her juices, and slid it into Agrippina’s slit, the ivory stretching her, fucking her hard, Agrippina’s scream loud, “Oh fuck, yes,” her clit throbbing, her juices squirting, her heavy breasts bouncing, her myrrh scent sharp, her nails digging into the marble edge, the waves a witness, the night a blaze of primal connection, their bond a dance of power and lust, a defiance of norms, Theron’s gaze locked, his cock throbbing harder, the sight of the wax a new torment, his breath ragged, the bathhouse a temple of lust, the stars above a silent judge, his body trembling with the weight of his arousal, the air around him thick with their shared lust.