by Syra Bond
'How dare Achilles defy my call to arms like this?' he roared, shaking the petrified girl.
'He is still angry that you took his prize, the slave Sappho, my lord,' said Menelaus. 'The army thinks it wise to return her.'
Agamemnon's face reddened in fury. He lifted the young girl off the ground by her long hair. She dangled, painfully spinning in his mighty hand.
'The army thinks it wise? The army thinks it wise?' he shouted. 'Does the army consider itself wise above its king?' He did not want an answer, and Menelaus did not give one.
Agamemnon drew his free arm behind her knees and held her horizontally in front of his face. He took one pert nipple in his mouth and sucked hard. She sobbed with discomfort and wriggled in his unbreakable grasp. He tightened his hold on her and sucked her throbbing nipple harder. She squealed again. He pulled his mouth away and she relaxed for a moment as she thought she was released. But as soon as he saw her relief he drew her breast to his mouth again. He took the same nipple, now reddened and extended, between his teeth and bit fiercely. She tightened suddenly, taken by surprise, hurting, filled with anguish from the shocking pain, struggling frantically to free herself. But he was too powerful. She could do nothing to resist him. She was helpless in his arms and she submitted to his overpowering domination.
He took his mouth away and lifted her higher. He held her across him in such a way that he could drive his hand between her thighs, against the soft flesh of her sex. She gasped as he pushed his fingers inside, stretching her, spreading her, slipping in on her fresh moisture. She tried to beg for mercy, but it was pointless. Even though her mouth opened and closed no sound came out.
He twisted her around like a doll, holding her on her back with her thighs parted and draped over his shoulders. He balanced her, holding her back and buttocks on his hands and forearms, and drew her to him. Her legs opened fully against his face. Her delectable slit widened, glistening at its delicious centre. He held her there, looking at the perfection of her young flesh. He poked his tongue out and pressed it flatly against her cunt. He licked at the delightful opening, covering it with spit. He lapped at its lips before driving the tip of his tongue deep inside. He moved her up and down in his powerful arms, sliding her vagina along his penetrating tongue. He held her still for a while and pressed his tongue against her clitoris. He probed its base and licked around its budding firmness. He lapped with his tongue, his irresistible intrusion parting the flesh easily and spreading it wide. He lifted her up. His tongue passed over the succulent centre of her silky flesh, licking it, tasting it, driving into the luscious channel. He lifted her higher and pressed the tip of his tongue into her anus - opening it, dilating it, entering it. He tasted the tang of her rectum. He kept his tongue inside as her anal muscle contracted, and when he thrust deeper it opened to let him in.
Suddenly he flung her down. She lay on her back, her legs wide apart, the flesh of her cunt shimmering with a mixture of his spit and her own fragrant moisture. She did not think of drawing her legs together, and naively ran a hand down between her thighs. She placed her fingers at her fleshy centre. She moved her other hand down and slipped a finger into her anus, wet and dilated by his tongue. She drove it in and raised up, supporting herself between her feet and shoulders. With only a few movements against her throbbing clitoris she convulsed in a jerking, shuddering and welcome release of pleasure. She kept her finger deep in her anus as, slowly, she lowered herself back to the ground. Another jerk of ecstasy passed through her. She did not resist it as she squirmed and rolled her head from side to side.
Agamemnon laughed indifferently and tossed his long hair back.
'Bring me the "prize". I want to see the one who can cause all this trouble for a king.'
Sappho struggled as they pulled her out of the cage. Although she was cramped, in a strange way she felt safe inside it. Although she hung in the glare of the sun all day, and she was a victim of continual abuse, she still felt protected by the bars that imprisoned her. The two soldiers who released her took hold of her arms and dragged her backwards. They hauled her naked and powerless to Agamemnon's tent. Her heels dug two furrows in the sand.
'So, our troublesome "prize" enters,' said Agamemnon, still angry, as Sappho was dropped to the ground at his feet.
'Perhaps she needs the hand of Agamemnon across her buttocks, my lord,' said Menelaus, getting up and pulling Sappho to her feet. 'And fine buttocks they are, my lord. They curve so well. And they are firm and supple. They would be a fine spring to a heavy spanking. Sometimes it is the hand that disciplines best. Even when the whip or the flogger fails, the palm of a hand can often bring success.'
Menelaus stroked her buttocks. He smoothed his hand from the small of her back, around their outward curve then back into the crease they formed at the tops of her thighs. He gripped one and tested the tension of her muscles. 'Yes, firm and springy. And youthful. She is the perfect candidate for such discipline, my lord.'
Agamemnon prowled around her, still enraged by Achilles, still hurt by his petulance and the threat he posed to the venture against Troy. He kicked his sandaled feet at the ground, only half listening to what Menelaus was saying. Suddenly he turned and grabbed Sappho around the waist. He dropped to his knee and bent her over it. She gasped as he pushed her forward, knocking the breath from her as her stomach fell heavily across his thigh. Her upturned buttocks curved perfectly as he pressed one hand against her back and held her head down. Her face lay against the sandy ground and she spluttered as she breathed some of it in. It made her cough and that only tightened her buttocks more.
Agamemnon flattened his huge right hand across the satiny skin of her buttocks. He parted her legs slightly, just enough to see the delectable shape of her pink slit. It showed between her buttocks; a perfectly formed and enticing oval of flesh, split by a pink line of glistering softness. He took aim by holding his hand against the highest point of the upturned curve. He raised his arm slowly and brought it down hard.
Her buttocks sprang against the contact; shuddering, depressing, then bouncing back. The mark of his hand was inscribed precisely on her pale skin. He raised his hand again and swept it down slightly to the left of where it had landed first. Again her buttocks bounced firmly against the impact. This time she tightened the backs of her thighs.
He held her firmly with his left hand and struck again. She tightened her thighs some more, her buttocks quivering tautly. He struck her again, and again. Her bottom reddened all over. Each smack brought the same springy response from her tightly curved buttocks. Each smack stung. She squirmed against the restraining arm on her back. He was overpoweringly strong, and she was pitifully helpless.
The blows rained down. Her pain increased, and soon her whole body was filled with it. But she experienced joy as well as anguish. She knew Menelaus was watching, that he could see her sex, and that gave her the delightful sensation of exposure. She knew she was being punished for a reason, that she was the centre of all the problems between Agamemnon and Achilles, and that filled her with a sense of power, and with pleasure. But the spanking was not enough. Even with the exposure and the knowledge of her wrongdoing, still it was not enough. She needed more. She had been spoiled by the humiliations endured at the hands of the cruel Greeks. They had set on fire a new appetite within her. An appetite that could only be quenched by ever higher levels of suffering, pain, and humiliation.
She squirmed against Agamemnon, not so much to escape, but to feel the strength of the hand that held her. She needed to remind herself of his power, of his greatness. He responded to her struggles, smacking her harder, bringing his hand down faster. She writhed and threw her head from side to side. She sensed his passion, sensed his need to punish her, sensed his desire to degrade her.
She fought on, struggling frantically. She felt the pressure on her back increasing, pressing her down more, holding her tighter against his sturdy thighs. She forced her buttocks higher, exposing them to his hand. She widened them, showing mo
re of her cunt; its softness, its wetness, its warmth. She hoped his hand would strike it. She wanted to feel a heavy spank against the tender flesh. She wanted to feel the shock of it. She lifted her buttocks as high as she could, but she was not rewarded by the smacks she wanted.
She began begging. Her words were stifled by the sand, but she did not stop. It stuck to her cheeks and lips. She called out to Agamemnon, imploring him to strike her harder. She beseeched him to make his punishment more severe. She begged him to sweep his hand down faster, to strike the soft flesh of her labia, to till her body with pain. But her cravings only fed her frustration. She twisted her head from side to side, coughing out sand, sobbing hopelessly.
Suddenly the spanking stopped. Sappho listened, as if she would hear what was going to happen.
Turning her easily in his hands, Agamemnon flung her over and draped her back across his knee. The back of her head hit the ground. She squirmed her feet into the sand. Her hips lay across his thighs, exposing the flatness of her stomach. The gentle mound between her thighs was exposed fully - open, pink, shimmering with moisture and warmed with desire.
Sappho gasped with pleasure at the exposure. She opened her legs more. She hoped he would continue smacking her. She imagined the slaps striking her sex; stinging, nourishing its hunger, feeding its frustration.
Agamemnon spread his right forearm across her knees to stop her lifting them. Menelaus stood above her gasping face. He placed his feet across her shoulders, pinning them into the sandy ground. Sappho gaped up at him, gasping, feeling the humiliation of her captivity, straining against it as it fed her desire for more. She saw his heavy testicles hanging between his legs and the tip of his cock, only half erect, laying between them. Menelaus took it in his hand and held it out towards her. She watched as a stream of golden urine spouted from its single eye. He directed it onto her tummy and it ran over her flesh in a warm flood. It streamed between the delicate petals of her sex and down the insides of her thighs. He aimed it at her breasts. Again she felt its warmth as it streamed around her erect nipples and her throat. She felt it under her chin, and then as she looked up she felt it on her face. It flooded her nostrils, her eyes and her mouth. She tasted its strong saltiness, absorbing its aroma. She was impatient. She wanted more. She lay beneath him as his urine streamed into her mouth. She let it flow and run down her throat.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, she felt the delightful shock of Agamemnon's hand as he spanked her vulnerable sex lips. The smack was startling, and for all her hoping she was not prepared. She choked on Menelaus' urine, the sting of the smack sending her into confusion. Another smack, another shock, and another struggle to drink the urine being offered.
Then everything blended into one. Her body felt hot, out of control, taken over. She felt the stream of urine turning into a trickle. She felt her disappointment. She felt the slaps stopping and was filled with unsatisfied yearning. But when she was lifted and placed on the large chair of Agamemnon, and soldiers were ordered to tie her back over it, she knew her frustration would be short-lived.
They bound her tightly, her head hanging back off the front edge of the seat, the backs of her knees bent over its wooden back. Her arms were pulled down until her hands reached the ground. Her wrists were bound with leather thongs to the heavy clawed feet of the mighty chair.
Agamemnon's urine streamed across her breasts, splashed onto the shoulders and down her throat. It covered her face in a deluge. It filled her mouth so much it overflowed from her lips before she could slurp it all down. She gulped heavily, not wanting to waste any. She felt some of it running into her hair before overflowing onto the ground. She wanted her hands free so she could cup them and scoop it up, save every drop, not allow any to run away. She struggled against the bonds that held her wrists. But it was impossible, they were too tight, she was held fast.
Menelaus' stiffened cock was in her cunt before Agamemnon's urine had finished flowing. She felt the penetration deep inside her aching flesh as she swallowed the stream of urine that filled her mouth. It was too much for her. She could hold back no longer. It had built up too much. She felt Menelaus' semen running across her stomach. She started jerking with a convulsion so strong she went rigid against the bonds of her captivity. She was completely stiff. And it did not stop, gripping every part of her, making her rigid with the fever of her ecstasy.
She was still moaning, unable to recover herself, as the two mighty warriors stood above her.
'Brother,' said Menelaus, 'I would advise you to give this slave back to Achilles. It would be a bad thing to keep her. The men are worried—'
'No, Menelaus, I will not return her,' said Agamemnon, sprawling back onto the couch. 'But send Achilles five young girls. The best we have. I think that will bring him around. But let him be reminded: he will not have his "prize" returned to him. She stays mine. Even the greatest warrior in Greece does not instruct his king.'
Sappho was dragged outside and secured face forward over a timber mast set horizontally on trestles. Her legs were bent fully at the knees, her ankles bound with leather thongs to the tops of her thighs. Her arms were stretched around the beam and her wrists secured to her knees. She was pulled so tightly against the timber that she could hardly breathe.
She hung over the spar in despair. Everything seemed hopeless. She had given up hope of ever seeing Troy or Chryseis again. She had given up hope of ever being free. All she could imagine was a life of captivity and humiliation. She craned her neck up and looked at the faces of the jeering men who surrounded her, but all she could see was a life of torment and shame.
She caught sight of Master Wang hurrying though the crowd. He looked furtively from side to side, as though afraid of being seen. Sappho shivered at the thought he might be coming for her, that Praxis had some new torture he wanted to try on her, or some fresh degradation he wanted her to suffer. But Wang scuttled through the square and disappeared into a narrow alley. She wondered where he was going. One of the men in the crowd approached her, grasped her cheeks and opened her mouth. She felt relieved that Wang did not give her any attention. As the man's seed erupted into her mouth she was filled with a strange sense of relief. She welcomed her humiliation and drank the semen hungrily, and when she had swallowed it she opened her mouth for more.
Chapter 17
Praxis takes revenge
Master Wang brought the message to Ajax in the night.
'My lord,' he said kneeling down by Ajax's spartan bed. 'My master, Praxis, says he has a speciality for you. An unsurpassable speciality. He says it will make up for all your disappointment in him. He bids you hurry. To come with me and savour what he has arranged for you. An unsurpassable speciality, my lord. Unsurpassable.'
Ajax sat up, rubbed his eyes, thought for a few moments, then jumped to his feet.
'Very well, Master Wang, you have my interest. But woe betide you and your master if this should prove a disappointment. Neither of you will see tomorrow if this is another hollow promise. Lead me to this unsurpassable speciality. Quickly!'
Wang bowed and held his hand out as Ajax entered the great tent. The black shrouds of its roof hung low, and several heavy poles supported its massive weight. A wide ring was inscribed in the sand and, around the ring, women stood closely together, at attention, in a circle facing inwards. Their nakedness was covered only by a shield in one hand and a twin-headed spear in the other. The spears, the type used in close combat, were held at an angle so that the tips were at the height of the women's shoulders. Each woman, her head shaved specially for her appearance, wore a plumed headdress of exotic feathers. The shimmering light from the torches placed near the walls of the tent shone on the iridescent plumage of the headdresses. It reflected frantic patterns of rainbow-coloured lights on the smooth skin of the women's naked bodies.
Ajax sat himself in a huge chair placed at the centre of the circle of women. He spread his legs wide and yawned as Praxis was led in by Master Wang.
'I have arranged such a
speciality to please you, my lord Ajax,' said Praxis as he cocked his head and sniffed the evening air. 'A speciality fit for a king!'
'I am here against my better judgement, Praxis,' Ajax replied. 'And I shall not be tolerant of more failure on your part. Take this as a warning. Your freedom, your life perhaps, hangs in the balance tonight.'
Praxis cocked his head the other way and stared around blindly. He reached out for Wang, who led him to the edge of the circle of young women.
'My lord Ajax, such is the wonder of what I have planned for you, I promise, you will not leave here unchanged.' Ajax nodded begrudgingly. He had not forgiven Praxis for his embarrassment in front of Agamemnon, and was set against letting him regain a place in his favour.
Wang held Praxis as the blind man again addressed Ajax.
'There is such a treat here for you, my lord Ajax. Not even such as you could bear to look on it without preparation. You must use your sense of touch first. By that means only will your sensations be sufficiently acclimatised for you to be able to take the sight in with your eyes.'
'Your talk of sight amuses me, Praxis. Yes, you have caught my interest. Your experiment has promise. I will undertake it as you wish.'
Ajax stood up. Wang took a wide red ribbon of cloth and wound it several times around his eyes. 'Praxis,' exclaimed Ajax, 'at last you have me blinded as well! You have your revenge! Now, where is this thing I cannot bear to set eyes on? Where is this speciality which if seen would weaken even the mighty Ajax?'
'Be patient, my lord. Listen, you will hear it approaching.' Sappho and Eva were brought in. They were both naked and strung beneath a pole to which their wrists and ankles were bound with leather thongs. The poles were carried by naked girls, two at the front and two at the rear of each pole. They wore crowns of yellow and white flowers on their shaven heads. The poles rested on their shoulders and they held them with their hands. They stood silently in the middle of the circle of women, waiting for instructions.