by Syra Bond
Sappho wriggled in his grip, her feet dangling, her fingers grasping hopelessly at his mighty wrist. She realised she could do nothing against him. Fighting was pointless and ridiculous. She went slack, dropping her hands to her sides and hanging limply from his fist.
'See, already she realises the great power of Achilles,’ he shouted. 'I will show you, lord Agamemnon, that these rumours are a ridiculous fiction. No one controls Achilles!'
Agamemnon laughed and called for wine. A naked slave girl ran forward and served him.
Achilles dropped Sappho and she fell in a heap on the ground.
'Now kneel,' he ordered. 'Kneel before your lord, the great warrior Achilles.'
Sappho struggled to her knees. She wanted to jump to her feet and run away, to escape from his anger, but she knew that was impossible. She was a captive, his slave, and she had no will of her own.
Achilles called for his personal guard. Ten huge men ran into the area. They looked from side to side as though they expected to protect their lord from danger. He told them to stand in a circle around his 'obedient prize'. They did as they were told. Sappho looked up at them, all large and muscular, gleaming with armour, ready to obey their lord Achilles and carry out his every whim.
She bent her head, not knowing what Achilles planned for her. She sensed the accusing stares of the men that surrounded her as she knelt before them. But even consumed with terror, petrified by their combined gaze, and exposed by her near nakedness, she felt something else - aroused by a sense of excitement. She felt it aching in her core. It gnawed at her. But for the moment, even though she was aware of it, it lay buried beneath the wave of fear threatening to engulf her.
As she peeped up she saw Achilles' men opening their tunics, exposing their weighty cocks. Each one was stiff and venous. Each one throbbed with potency and desire. Each one was so close to her that she could feel its heat.
'Now, my little prize,' said Achilles. 'You will fill this with the seed of these mighty warriors. And do not waste a drop; it is the precious seed of the greatest men of Greece.'
He held before her a wide-brimmed bowl with one side flattened and secured in a woven cradle of leather. He hung the straps attached to it around her neck so that the flat side rested just above her breasts. She did not know what to do and stayed kneeling, not moving.
'Already she disobeys you,' mocked Agamemnon, running a hand carelessly over the slave girl's trim buttocks.
Achilles grabbed hold of Sappho's short dark hair and pulled at it angrily.
'Fill it!' he shouted, taking her hand and stretching it out to the cock nearest her face. 'Here. I order you. Fill it!'
She wrapped her fingers around the throbbing shaft. She could hardly encircle it. The surface was heavily ribbed and the weighty glans was swollen and red. She lifted her other hand and used them both to hold it. She felt its heat and its need. She held its surface skin and pushed it down towards the root. She felt the strength of it as the skin slid along its rigid body. She pressed the base of her palms against the man's heavy testicles, letting their heat soak into her hands. After a second she drew back, pulling the skin up the throbbing column back towards the tip, the glans expanding and the opening at its crown dilating and widening. She gripped harder and repeated the action, feeling the increasing firmness, the increasing heat. She looked up at the man's face, opening her eyes wide, fixing her stare on him as repeatedly she eased her hands the length of his pulsating cock.
She felt it swelling within her grip. Her fingers were forced apart by its distention, but she kept on: labouring, slaving, working for his pleasure. She went faster as she felt its throbbing increase. The base of it was pounding with need, his heavy testicles swelling with desire. She held the soft underside near the glans, the fraenum, squeezing it tightly as her thumbs sensed the surge of semen within. She watched him tense and stiffen as he realised his body's needs were inescapable. She held his cock as tight as she could. The meatus opened and a flood of semen streamed from within. She directed it so that it flowed into the bowl at her neck. She kept her grip on it, helping it empty, until there was nothing left to come. She licked her lips, inhaling the scent, imagining the taste, wanting to drink.
Sappho shivered as she felt aware of her vagina; its warmth, its moisture. She knew she had to turn to the next. She had been ordered by her lord and she could not fight against his will. Achilles did not have to instruct her this time. She shuffled on her knees, turning to the side and faced the next cock. She gripped it immediately and looked up into the eyes of the man that stood above her.
Again she brought out his semen, emptying it into the bowl, inhaling its scent as it flowed in front of her face, licking her lips as the last dripped from its tip. And then the next, even larger than the first two, and copious in its deluge of semen. Then the next, massaging it slowly, draining it and watching the creamy stream of semen running into her bowl. The next erupted almost as she took hold of it, splashing into the semen already there. The next took longer. She became anxious with the delay. She wanted so much to take it between her lips and suck, moisten it with her spit and draw it out. But she did not dare; her lord Achilles had not commanded it.
Gradually she moved around them all, staying on her knees, looking up at their eyes, pumping their throbbing cocks until each one was completely empty. She inhaled the delectable scent of their semen, and felt her insides melting. She suppressed the desire to suck the cocks and draw the last drops out onto her tongue.
'Now, my prize,' ordered Achilles, 'drink the product of your labours.'
It was the command she had been waiting for. A surge of pleasure ran through her in an overpowering wave.
Agamemnon sat forward on his chair as Sappho lifted the bowl away from her chest and raised it to her hungry lips. She placed her bottom lip against its edge and tipped the bowl back. She inhaled deeply though flared nostrils as the - semen ran towards her open mouth. Her eyes closed in delight as she tasted the first drop. She stopped for a moment, not in hesitation but in delight. Even though she knew she had to carry out Achilles' instructions she needed to savour this moment of potential, the seconds before completion of her act. The scent and salty taste of the semen filled her completely. She wanted to take it down in one gulp. She tipped the bowl further and the semen touched above her top lip. She drank - delicious, creamy, viscous. She let it ooze to the back of her tongue. She swallowed. It went down her throat smoothly, a delectable emollient, and she felt its syrupy mass entering her stomach. It filled her with pleasure, warming her, setting her senses aflame. She drank the contents of the bowl; every drop, filling her mouth before swallowing ravenously. When she could get no more she licked with her tongue and ran it around the bowl until it was completely clean.
She wiped her mouth, hoping to find some more of the glorious semen. She licked her fingers, sucking them eagerly, hoping for another taste of the delicious ambrosia. She stared ahead, her heart beating frantically, her head spinning, her eyes unable to focus. The dark shape of Agamemnon appeared before her. Her eyes widened as his heavy cock pressed forward against her wet lips. In one movement the throbbing glans speared between them and slid into her mouth. She took a hurried breath as it pressed over her tongue and against the back of her throat. She felt the venous shaft between her tightly stretched lips, then it went down, plugging her throat and expanding. It tightened against the insides of her throat; she could not breathe. She felt its heat as the glans expanded and she felt the veins along its length pulsating. Suddenly a huge stream of semen burst forth. It filled her throat, choking her. She could not pull back. He held her head fast. She just hung there, her face penetrated by his huge cock as it throbbed and emptied itself into her.
He held it there while his breathing calmed. When he pulled out she inhaled deeply, hoarsely. He released her head and stood back.
'Your prize is truly ravenous, Achilles,' he said. 'But whether she is in your control is still a question I cannot answer. Here, Praxis, ta
ke her and teach her some obedience. And take this one called Chryseis as well. They are both from Troy, and both carry the same germ of disobedience in their blood. Yes, Praxis, see to it.'
Achilles looked down angrily. He resented Agamemnon's interference but at the same time knew it would be imprudent to contest his decision. He held back, but it was difficult, and he did not disguise his begrudging assent to Agamemnon's intervention.
Master Wang brought soldiers to drag Sappho and Chryseis to the side of the dark ship that towered above them. Small iron cages were fetched. They had hinges on one end which allowed it to be opened. They were barely big enough, but first Chryseis and then Sappho was pushed inside their cramped confines. The hinged ends were locked. The cages were strung up against the side of the ship on heavy ropes led over the towering gunwales. They swung from their attachments, sometimes crashing into the wooden hull, sometimes colliding with each other. Sappho could not move at all. She was crouched down, her knees pressed up against her breasts, her elbows alongside her thighs, her hands clasping her face. Chryseis' arms had been pulled behind her and she could just move her head, but still her face was pressed tightly against the unforgiving bars of the restricting iron coop.
Agamemnon ordered water thrown down from the ships. 'Perhaps we can cleanse their pride with a dousing,' he shouted.
Men hauled buckets onto the decks, and at their king's instruction they poured a deluge on the caged women. It splashed onto them harshly, running over their bodies, soaking them. Sappho braced herself as it ran across her back and between her buttocks. The drenching accentuated her exposure, her nakedness, her humiliation.
As the cages swung precariously high above the ground she became aware of the eyes that were on her: the soldiers staring up and pointing, the other slaves gawping, Agamemnon and his chieftains laughing and joking. Her thin wet vest was pulled up around her neck, and the way she was crushed inside the cage, the way her buttocks were exposed, meant she was unable to protect herself in any way against the prying stares. But all the time she knew that even if she could protect herself, she would not. The fear of the tight confinement filled her with anxiety but it was weaker than the surges of joy which ran through her. The exposure of her humiliating confinement caused a seething joy to flow through her. And this joy, this pent-up desire, was more powerful than any apprehension she felt.
Water dripped from her chin, her knees and her feet. She gazed down from the confines of her incarcerating iron pen. She watched the angered Agamemnon ordering Eva to be whipped. She saw the suffering woman crying out as they bound her to a stake and flogged her repeatedly. But Eva had suffered too much.
Even the pain of the flogging did not bring out the level of suffering Agamemnon expected. He shouted angrily and threw things in all directions. He lashed out, slapping many of the slaves and having some of them tied by the wrists and hung from oars on a nearby boat. He turned his rage on Calliope. He dragged her over his knee and thrashed her with a cane.
Sappho saw the look on Calliope's face: desperation, fear, suffering. She heard her screams, her anguish, and she wished he would let her go, throw her down and end her torment. But she did not wish this for the sake of Calliope. She wished it only in the hope that Agamemnon would bring her down from her cage and set her across his knee in Calliope's place.
Still the plague continued. Neither the ritual, the anger of the chieftains, nor their cruelty to their slaves could turn it away. Three of the ships had been set alight by dissident Greeks. They burned like funeral pyres amid the moaning of the women and angry faces of the disenchanted soldiers. Agamemnon's chance of success at Troy looked in tatters. Calchas was summoned and told his own life was forfeit if he did not find a solution.
He stood before them all: Agamemnon, Achilles, Menelaus, Ajax and the great Odysseus.
'My lords. My king,' he said nervously. 'I have had a sign from Apollo himself. He has a favourite and she is amongst us.' Everyone turned to look, as though this woman would be revealed magically by their glance. 'And,' continued Calchas, 'Apollo has ordered her returned to the Trojans. He wants her to dedicate her life to his worship. Her name is Chryseis, my king. She is your prize from Troy. She must be given back to Troy. Only then will Apollo remove the terrible plague which is destroying us.'
'Then it is done,' said Agamemnon without a second thought. 'Have her taken immediately. I will not lose by it. My lord Achilles will surrender his little prize in her place. Chain this prize of his, the one they call Sappho, and bring her to my tent. She will stay there from now on. She will not have such an easy life with me, be assured.'
Achilles' eyes blazed. He wrinkled his brow deeply and stared hard at Agamemnon.
'My lord,' he protested. 'My—'
'It is done, Achilles,' interrupted Agamemnon. 'I will have it no other way. The decision is made.'
Achilles turned and left, swearing to take no further part in any battle led by Agamemnon. Ajax followed. The others looked at each other with troubled concern. Their hearts sank when they realised what had happened. They knew that without Achilles there would never be any victory for them here.
Chapter 15
Chryseis is returned to Troy
Sappho's heart sank as she watched Chryseis being taken away. It was as if her last hope was being removed. She could not imagine how she could ever be free again. And now she was the captive prize of the king himself, she trembled at what might lie ahead.
Agamemnon kept her in chains for many days after she was first taken. She hung, manacled in the dark hold of one of the ships, never seeing anyone or being fed. When she was released it was only to be bathed and imprisoned again in a small cage suspended on a tripod of spears behind Agamemnon's tent. She clung to the bars, hoping someone would take pity on her, but she was owned by the king now and unless he commanded it no one dared even look at her.
One night she heard some soldiers talking. They said that since Pelador's daughter Chryseis had been returned to Troy the plague had passed. Just the sound of Chryseis' name filled Sappho with excitement, and that night, as she crouched in the swinging cage, she thought of her lost friend. She fixed an image of Chryseis in her mind - naked, standing before the altar in the temple of Apollo. It was a beautiful sight; it sent thrilling shivers coursing through her confined body. She pulled her shoulders down towards her bent knees and, with her fingers deep inside her vagina, she made herself jerk with the ecstasy her own tender touch.
As she clung to the bars of the dangling cage she could just see through a chink in the wall of Agamemnon's tent. One day she watched as Ajax entered and sat by Agamemnon. Ajax clapped his hands once and, led by Master Wang, Praxis entered with some slaves for Agamemnon's approval.
'I have some beautiful Nubians for you, my lord,' said Praxis, staring blindly, unaware of exactly where Agamemnon sat. 'Bound as camels' toes for your delectation.'
Agamemnon furrowed his brow with interest.
Five girls were paraded in a row, their wrists bound with thin rope behind their heads. The tension of their pulled arms stretched their pert breasts almost flat against their chests. Their nipples were hard and prominent. Each one had a leather thong drawn tightly around her slender waist. From this, just below their navels, another thong was attached and pulled down between their shaved sexes, before being drawn up tightly between their buttocks. There it was attached again in the small of their backs to the waistband.
'See, my lord,' said Praxis. 'See how the thong in their naked cracks forms the shape of a camel's toes. I learned this trussing from the tribes of the desert who bind all their slaves in this way. The bedouins thrash their women bound like this. The method makes them exceptionally receptive, so they say.'
Agamemnon nodded his approval.
'And like this, my lord, they are particularly fine for the cane. The cane has a sharpness which matches the pull of the thong. And this pain, though severe, always releases their greater joy. I guarantee that like this no woman can keep bac
k her joy. Bound as camels' toes they are truly a pleasure to behold in their ecstasy. Shall I demonstrate, my lord?'
'You promise a lot, Master Praxis,' said Agamemnon, frowning. 'But yes, I am anxious to see.' He waved his approval.
Already excited by what she saw, and aroused by what she heard, Sappho gripped the bars of her cage, eager to watch.
One of the girls was brought forward. She stood shaking with fear, exposed in her nakedness, terrified by what might happen. She tried to smile, but it was hopeless. Large tears welled up in her eyes. She flushed with embarrassment and dropped her head. Her tears fell onto her stomach, flowed down to her thighs.
Wang led Praxis forward and put a thin cane, about as tall as his waist, into his hand. Praxis flexed it and slashed it through the air. Wang stood alongside the girl, facing the opposite way to her. He crooked his arm backwards around her waist and bent her over. Her head dropped low as he pushed her down. Her buttocks were upturned and taut. He smoothed his free hand across them, testing their tension, ensuring their exposure. He bent her further so that the delicate shape of her sex was revealed between her stretched rump.
He reached out and guided Praxis' cane so that it lay level, and at right angles, to the delectable curve of the girl's buttocks. He held it there for a moment so that Praxis could fix the image of its position in his mind. When sure he knew exactly where it was Praxis nodded to Wang, who removed his hand from the cane.
Sappho breathed in deeply as she waited for the first strike. She bit her lip and felt her heart beating faster. She breathed hard, gripped by the throbbing of her body and the heat building around the squeezed flesh of her aching sex.
She watched as Praxis lifted the cane away. He stopped when it was behind his head. He held it there, capturing the moment of potential, holding onto the period of expectation. The cane bent as he brought it down. It swished through the air as though cutting it in two. It met the girl's buttocks with a harsh crack. She winced against Master Wang's grip. Sappho saw her screw up her face. Praxis drew back again, held the cane high for a second, then brought it down even harder. The girl winced again. The cane laid a thin red stripe across her smooth skin. Again it came down and again she winced.