Trojan Whores

by Syra Bond

  Praxis gripped Sappho's arm and pulled her close against him. She smelled his aroma; cinnamon and frankincense. Its sharpness stuck in her throat. It made her choke.

  'Quiet, little beast!' he ordered. 'Listen!'

  Sappho followed his order. She had no option. She reached out blindly, hoping to regain her balance. Praxis snatched her wrists and drew her against his chest. She gasped as he held her there. Her heart drummed. Its beating pounded in her ears. The pounding turned to a clatter. Sappho's head spun. The clatter to a heavy rattle. She realised the chains at Chryseis' wrists were being unlocked and dropped to the ground.

  'Bring her to her knees!' shouted Praxis.

  His booming voice made Sappho jump. She would have shrunk away but he held her too firmly in his muscular grip. Her helpless straining increased the tension in her body. Fighting against him, trying to oppose his will and yet knowing all the time it was futile, incensed her. She felt the heat of effort in the muscles of her arms and legs but, as well as the fire of exertion, it was also a heat of passion, a blaze of frustrated desire.

  The chains went silent. There was a pause. Sappho stopped her struggle. She listened to Praxis' thumping heart. She waited in the darkness behind the blindfold.

  'Bring her close,' ordered Praxis. 'Make her kneel before her master.'

  Sappho heard them pulling Chryseis forward. She imagined the look on her face; frightened, anxious, unknowing. She imagined the tension in her body as she struggled against her captors. She pictured her nakedness, her skin gleaming with sweat, her dark hair dirtied with soil and dust. She heard her panting breaths and breathed in time with them. She sensed her terror and was herself filled with it.

  Sappho listened intently as they forced Chryseis to her knees. She smelled the cloud of fine red soil as it was kicked up by the struggle. She saw in her mind the image of Chryseis' face; her mouth wide open, dust settling on her lips and clinging to her sweating cheeks. She pictured Chryseis' erect nipples. She licked her tongue across her lips. Her mouth was dry. She was parched. She gasped with expectation and fear.

  'Ah,' bellowed Praxis, 'it is feeding time.'

  Sappho turned her head. She heard Chryseis trying to speak. She knew they were squeezing her cheeks between fingers and thumbs. She recognised the stifled attempts at words, the strained voice of fear.

  She heard Chryseis splutter. It was a glutinous splutter, a sticky slurp.

  'Is the bowl full, Wang?'

  'Yes, master. It is full. So full it slops over the edges.'

  'And she must drink it all, until it is empty. Tell me. Is it at her lips now?'

  'Yes, master. They are tipping the bowl back. Its rim is against her lips. Her mouth is open because they are holding her jaw.'

  'Is she taking it willingly?'

  'No, master. She is refusing it. They are tipping it more so she has to drink or choke.'

  'And now? What now?'

  'She cannot stop its flow, sire. It is running into her mouth.'

  'And is she drinking it?'

  'No, master. It is bubbling over her lips. She will not swallow.'

  Sappho licked her dry lips again. She imagined the semen on them. She licked again, trying to taste the salty tang, imagining it being poured into her hungry mouth.

  'And now. Is she taking it now?'

  'No, lord. It is running down her neck. It is glistening as it runs across her breasts. It drips from her nipples, but still she will not drink.'

  'What now? What is she doing now?'

  'Now, lord, she holds her hands together.'

  'Is she praying?'

  'Yes, master. She prays to her god, Apollo. She begs him to come and deliver her. She begs for his intervention. She pleads with him to liberate her.'

  Sappho heard the prayer. It was one they had said together; a prayer of invocation, a prayer to conjure up a god. She joined in, she could not resist. She imagined Apollo behind Chryseis. She saw Chryseis bending for her master, offering her buttocks for his pleasure.

  Her delight turned to frustration. She could not bear the idea that it was Chryseis and not her. She could not bear having to listen. She must take Chryseis' place. It must be her, Sappho, who should feed from the bowl.

  She tore herself from Praxis' grip. Still chanting the prayer she flung herself forward blindly. She gave no thought to what was before her, to what may threaten her.

  She dropped to her knees. She brought her hands together in supplication. She begged for Apollo to appear. She felt a hand grasping her jaw. It squeezed and forced her mouth open. She did not resist.

  Her nostrils filled with the scent of semen. She inhaled it deeply. She allowed its aroma to fill her whole body, to incense her, to feed her burning desires. She felt the edge of the bowl against her lips. The liquid touched them. It ran, like a velvet glue into her mouth. She held it on her tongue. She tipped her head back. She closed her mouth and swallowed. She tasted it all the way down her throat. It was ambrosia; the nectar of the gods themselves. She opened her lips and felt the bowl tipping again. She drank it down, satisfying her thirst, feeding her rising tide of pleasure. She was filled by it. Her thirst was satisfied, but her need was not. Her desires had risen to the surface, she was ablaze with them.

  Now she wanted the god Chryseis had invoked. Now she wanted Apollo himself. Now she wanted their lord, their saviour, the seer of the future, Apollo. She brought her hands together again as semen ran down her chin. She cried out to Apollo. She pleaded with him. She begged him to come to her, to penetrate her, to deliver her. She offered everything that she was; her needs, her hopes, her life itself.

  She stopped and listened. She rested her hands on the ground and leant forward. She heard a heavy footfall behind her. She smelled his delightful aroma. She saw him in her mind, glowing with the radiance of his godliness, his robe flowing to the ground, his huge cock, hard and throbbing. She parted her hands and bent forward in supplication.

  She felt his godly heat, the burning fire of Olympus that was flowing in his veins. She widened her buttocks and opened herself to him. The throbbing tip of his cock touched her anus. It pressed. She would let it run as deeply as he wanted, into her rectum. She wanted to feel him filling her completely. She wanted to be stuffed by his bulk, scorched by his heat, rent by his thrusting godly mass.

  It entered. She gasped. She fell forward, knocked over by its power, its weight. She lifted her buttocks against it. She dug her elbows into the dusty ground so she did not fall.

  She kept her buttocks high as he thrust. Behind the blindfold she could see only flashing stars of light. They dazzled her, filled her head. His cock swelled. Its bulbous end expanded inside her. She felt as if she would burst. She sensed its increased heat. She felt the veins against the lining of her rectum. It filled. His hands gripped her hips. He held the burgeoning shaft inside. Her anus tightened onto it. Its searing fluid ran into her in an outpouring river.

  She dropped her face into the dust. She choked and gasped for air. Her blindfolded eyes saw only confusion. She could not bear it as it retreated. She gasped, frustrated and disappointed. It left her cool and empty. Hands gripped and held her buttocks high. Semen dribbled from her anus. She felt it running down the insides of her thighs. She was completely dissipated. She relaxed. She slumped against the hands that supported her hips.

  She screamed as the cane came down across her buttocks. She had not expected it. The shock disguised the pain. As the shock passed the pain increased. It stung her deeply. Her flesh was scorched by its heat. Another slashing cut. No shock this time, just pain. She jerked. She screamed. She gasped. Another cutting slash. She twisted and turned as her body was wrenched by the agonising anguish. Another slash. Her skin ignited with its heat.

  Each time the cane struck she was shaken forward, jolted by its force, agonised by it. The cane continued to inflict its merciless cuts. She could not separate them. They blended into one. There was no gap between each stroke. Her body was on fire. Its flames raged out
of control. The stars she saw in her mind were the stars in the sky. The heavens were ablaze. She was consumed by it. She felt her muscles tightening. She felt the pressure of pleasure within her. She saw only flashing lights. She felt only the fire inside her. She heard only the thrashing of the relentless cane. She wanted to offer her sex to it. She lifted herself as much as she could. She felt the cane cutting into the exposed flesh. She gave a sudden scream. Her pent up ecstasy broke from her. She was released by its final escape.

  She dropped forward; she had no strength. It had been taken from her. She fell unconscious.

  'I will take them all,' said Praxis. 'Brand them with my mark.'

  As night fell the women were lined up. A brazier stood in the centre of the compound. Irons were poked into its red-hot coals.

  'Bend them here,' a guard ordered. 'Lift their rumps up high. If they are to bear the brand of Praxis it must be clearly seen. And where better than the part of their body they will show the most. No female slave in Greece goes a day without turning her rump for a thrashing.'

  He laughed and walked to the brazier. He pulled a heavy glove onto his hand and lifted one of the irons from the fire. A splutter of red sparks flew from its end. They danced on the floor in a frantic sparkling shower.

  'Bring the first!'

  Sappho watched as Chryseis walked into the light of the brazier. Her naked body glowed in its heat, her short dark hair flickered. She stood proudly before the iron.

  'Ah, the proud priestess. Bend her over. Let me see her rump taut and ready. Let me see her pink cunt drawn tight between those shapely buttocks. Bend her over!'

  They forced Chryseis onto her knees. They pressed her head forward until her face touched the ground. She kissed it. It was her earth - Trojan earth.

  'Lift her buttocks and hold her tight. Even she will jolt as the brand chars her noble skin.'

  Sappho watched Chryseis bend low. She watched her buttocks rise and tighten. She saw the oval of her labia in the cleft they made. She looked at it glistening, moist and ready. She felt her own heart pounding, her throat tightening, her breath quickening.

  She watched the brand getting closer. She winced as it touched Chryseis' skin. Chryseis inhaled deeply. She raised her face towards Olympus, fixed her jaw and absorbed the pain.

  Sappho knew she was next. She only hoped she could stand the cauterising pain as well as her friend. She shivered with fear. The thought drew images of suffering into her mind. She eased her hands between her thighs. Her sex was moist, swollen and hot. She bent forward and was gripped by a wave of uncontrollable pleasure.

  Chapter 17

  Sappho and Chryseis plan revenge

  A great burial mound was built in the sand dunes behind the beach. Achilles' body was burned and his bones mixed with those of his friend Patroclus. Agamemnon decreed that Achilles' armour should be offered to the winner of a competition for the best orator. Ajax, long envious of Achilles' heavenly armour, vied against the great speechmaker Odysseus for the prize. Odysseus beguiled the audience with his tales of courage and valour. Some were moved to tears. Votes were cast and Ajax lost. He bowed gracefully to Odysseus as Odysseus claimed his reward from King Menelaus. In his heart, however, he was tortured with a burning turmoil of anger and jealousy.

  As Odysseus celebrated his victory Ajax, resting his hand on the shoulder of the slave who now guided him, wandered into the compound of women. Eva lay back in a large chair, a wine goblet hanging loosely in her hand. She was overcome by her indulgence and unaware of the world around her. Her tired eyes were tightly closed. Her long red hair was tangled about her face. Her legs were stretched out and open wide. Calliope knelt by her side, alert and watchful of all that was going on.

  Ajax stumbled clumsily amongst the women. Some of them giggled at his unseeing awkwardness. Any that did were immediately grabbed by the guards. They tied them by the wrists and ankles, face forward to heavy iron grills propped against the wall. Any that had clothing had it torn from them and were thrashed cruelly with long canes.

  Ajax listened to their cries with pleasure. Each stroke drew his attention afresh. Each screech of pain, each numbing jerk of their bodies against the iron grill increased his interest, captured his imagination. When the guards thought the women had been punished enough they threw down the canes and left their victims hanging against the iron grills. Ajax was led to them. He ran his fingers along the raised lines that crisscrossed their buttocks and the backs of their thighs. Some were slumped in their bonds and did not respond to his touch. Others winced as he pressed his fingernails into their agonising cuts. These he dwelled on. He followed the lines of the raised wheals that marked out their wounds. He savoured their squirming flinches. He enjoyed their captivity. He relished their hopelessness.

  Sappho looked at him. She saw on his face the pleasure aroused by the women's torture and suffering. She saw his taste for pain, its infliction and the product of serving it out. But she saw something beneath this. She also saw the lines of anger etched by years of disappointment and failure. This great warrior seethed with regret. She understood the conflict that arose within him. She knew that regret and a taste for the suffering of others was a powerful combination. It was a combination which weakened Ajax, but one which could work to her own advantage. She realised that behind this chink in Ajax's armour there was a chance for freedom.

  She moved closer to Ajax's muscular body. She rubbed against him. She did not know what to expect. Perhaps he would brush her aside like an irritating fly? Perhaps his guards would pull her away and punish her for impertinence? Her heart pounded. Nothing happened. It fed her courage. She knew she must take the risk. If she did not act nothing would be gained. She ran her hand between his thighs and cupped his weighty testicles in their palms.

  Ajax lifted his face and sniffed. He inhaled her scent as if he was a beast and she his hapless prey.

  Sappho held her breath. There was no turning back. 'Can you smell my fragrance, lord?' she whispered. He widened his nostrils and breathed deeply.

  'I can. It is sweet.'

  Sappho felt a wave of relief flood through her.

  'It is for you, my lord.' She pulled his hand against her sex. 'See how my flesh moistens at your touch. Breathe in my aroma, sire. It is there because of your magnificence, your stature as a warrior and a chieftain. Here, bring your nostrils against its source. Press them against the wellspring of my flavour.'

  She pulled her hand behind his head and tipped it forward. His slave pushed her back. She froze, suddenly filled with fresh fear. Ajax pushed the slave away. Sappho continued. She squeezed his testicles. She felt them throbbing. With her other hand she pressed his finger against her flesh. It opened to his touch. His fingers slipped inside. She widened her thighs and dropped against them, allowing them in, warming them with her heat, wetting them with the flow of her fragrant moisture.

  Sappho looked imploringly to Chryseis, who walked over and knelt between Ajax's sturdy thighs. Without saying anything she bent and took the swollen tip of his cock between her dewy lips. He breathed in with delight.

  With one hand Sappho clung to his testicles. She felt them pounding in her grip. With her other hand she pressed his fingers deeper into her soft wet sex.

  'You are so powerful, my lord. I feel it in your body like a fire. I suffer pain just being so close to you, just touching you. And I sense your frustration, your need for revenge. I am excited by the power of it.'

  Chryseis dropped fully onto his cock. She drew the shaft deep inside her mouth.

  Ajax lifted his head and inhaled heavily. 'What are you saying? What are you telling me?'

  'I am saying that I and my friend can help you. That the two priestesses of Apollo can help you take your revenge on your sworn enemy, Praxis. You need wait no longer, sire. We are your angels of Apollo. We are here to serve your need for retribution.'

  Chryseis drew his cock deeper. She gagged and drew back. Spit ran from her lips. She pressed down again and sucked greed
ily the veined shaft that plugged her mouth.

  'How is such a thing possible?'

  Sappho pushed his fingers even further into her cunt. Her moisture ran across his palm and onto his wrist.

  'Bring the downfall of his lackey, Eva, my lord, and Praxis too will fall.'

  Chryseis moved her head up and down his massive cock. Her mouth was wide, her lips stretched tight. She swallowed hard and the throbbing tip was pulled to the back of her gagging throat.

  'And how can slaves perform this miraculous feat?'

  Sappho milked his testicles. She gripped them tightly in her fingers, feeling their pliability under her grasp. She felt his cock throbbing in Chryseis' mouth - hardened into a rigid staff by her warm tongue and the talk of revenge. She felt the surging of his semen; the need for relief from the pleasure he was suffering.

  'In matters like this, my lord, slaves are the most powerful. Because our enemies do not suspect us they do not see the threat we carry. Those held in contempt are often the most dangerous, my lord.'

  'Does that mean I should not trust you either?'

  'No, my lord. We ask only one thing. It is our only wish. And it is a wish you can grant with no effort or sacrifice.'

  'And that is?'

  'Our freedom, lord. Our freedom.'

  'And how will this victory you speak of be accomplished?'

  'With guile, my lord. With guile. The lady Eva will bring about her own downfall. She will inflict her own suffering. She will bring defeat upon herself. And with her subjugation your enemy, Praxis, will topple.'

  She tightened her hand around his testicles. She felt the pounding throb of his semen as it streamed into the shaft of his cock. She sat heavily on his hand. She watched Chryseis plunge her head down on his cock until her lips were pressed against its base. Sappho tensed her buttocks. She forced her soft flesh against his knuckles. He tensed his body and pressed his hand against the back of Chryseis' head. His semen splattered into her throat and filled her with its scorching flow.