Atlantis Allure

by eXtasy's Collective Mind

  It had been a brutal struggle. When he had left these waters four years ago in command of the Fleet and the Army, it had been far from a sure thing that they would be coming home at all. Athens had struck out at Atlantean colonies and trading ports. They had raised an armed force greater and more competent than ever before, and the other Greek States had joined the Athenian cause—even Corinth and Sparta.

  Cocky, after military success against Persia and Troy, they had made it their mission to drive out any other challenges to their authority. In a word, Atlantis. They had always been envious of Atlantean technical superiority. The peaceful Atlantean traders were taken unawares. The Athenians slaughtered them and plundered their outposts.

  Atlantis had no choice. Attacks like that were acts of war that had to be crushed. Athens was gathering her strength for an assault on Atlantis itself. Trontarow had risen to the challenge. Four years ago he had sailed east with the finest fighting force ever gathered. They were not as numerous as the Greek forces, but they were more disciplined, better equipped, and led by Atlantis’s greatest military leader, Admiral Trontarow.

  One more look to the west and the Admiral joined his Captain and went below. They were met in the wardroom by the ship’s officers and Trontarow’s chief lieutenants.

  “Good morning, Sir.”

  Trontarow looked around. All good men. Not the same group he had begun the campaign with, but all good men. Maybe better than the original bunch. The breakfast even smelled pretty good.

  “Roast mutton, Sir,” said the Steward. “We’ve been saving it for this day. There’s enough for all hands.”

  Trontarow couldn’t help smiling. They knew he would have chastised them if they had presented him with something special and served the rest of the crew nothing but the stale ship’s biscuits and water.

  He went to the head of the table and sat down. The rest of them then sat. The conversation was all about home, loved ones, and “what will I do first?”. He didn’t say much. They knew he wouldn’t. He never did. He ate slowly, savoring the feast. Tonight most of them would be in their homes. The Captain didn’t have a family. He would remain aboard his ship. Too bad about the Captain. His family had been wiped out by an Athenian raiding party at an outpost on Crete.

  He looked around at them. These battle hardened men who had fought for him and for Atlantis. How would they fare in peacetime? The Athenian-Greek alliance was broken. Their cities in ruins. Their ships at the bottom of the Aegean Sea. They were no longer a threat and wouldn’t be for a long time to come.

  Atlantis was a peaceful land, peopled by a strong, proud race, not interested in conquest. But peace has a price— it takes eternal vigilance and overwhelming strength. The world would see peace for years, maybe decades, but eventually, some new ambitious demigod would rise up and challenge Atlantis and the status quo. Hopefully, there would be men like these who would once again fight to preserve the peace.

  The men chatted and ate their meal as the ship rose and fell over the waves.

  “Land ho!”

  The ancient hail from the masthead that proclaimed the approach of a ship to dry land excited them all.

  The officer of the deck responded, “Where away?”

  “A point off the port bow.”

  The men in the wardroom all looked nervously at their Admiral. He rarely permitted anything to interrupt his meal, especially breakfast. Trontarow permitted himself a little smile. “Go ahead,” he said.

  They all scrambled to exit the cabin and climb the companionway to the deck.

  Mixius lingered. “We’ve a fair wind. We’ll be home in time for the mid-day meal.”

  The Admiral looked at his Captain. “Take us home, Mixius. I want to sleep in the arms of my wife tonight. And I know I’m not the only one.”

  “Aye, Sir,” said Mixius. He was gone, his footfalls going up the companionway and thudding across the deck.

  Trontarow wiped his mouth with his napkin. He stood and nodded at the steward. When he appeared on deck he saw nothing but grins and smiles on the men. Half of them had climbed into the rigging, hoping for a glimpse of home. He couldn’t help smiling himself. “Mixius,” he said, “would you please have your Master at Arms bring the Athenian to me?”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  The very tip of the tallest peak was just becoming visible over the horizon. Trontarow felt a little thrill and his heart fluttered when he actually saw that. He was still watching as more and more came into view, when he heard a “harumph” behind him. He turned. It was the Master at Arms with the Athenian. “Ah, Diapaxia. I wanted you to see this. You’ve never seen Atlantis.”

  “No Sir, I haven’t.”

  The Athenian stood before the Admiral, clad as in battle in only his helmet, greaves and sandals. The Greeks fought naked. They believed it gave their bodies more freedom.

  “There it is. It’s not like Greece, all rocky and hilly, but we do have our mountains. Our cities are larger and more spread out. And we don’t have all those walls you people are so fond of building. We’ve never needed them. We don’t fight among ourselves.”

  “Sparta doesn’t have any walls.”

  Trontarow smiled. “That’s true. I’ve heard their boast that every Spartan is a part of the wall around their city so they don’t need one made of stone. But we just have never had a need for walls. The Sea isolates us from those who would harm us and, like I said, we don’t fight among ourselves.”

  “Fighting makes us strong.”

  Trontarow frowned at him. “It also makes you weak.”

  The Athenian opened his mouth as if to retort, then he closed it without saying a word.

  “You are a captive,” said the Admiral, “but you are not my slave. We don’t believe in slavery the way you do. It is counterproductive. You are actually a present for my wife. You will be a part of our family. I think you will enjoy your time in Atlantis. You will be much better off than if you had remained in Athens.”

  Diapaxia had to admit that his life would be easier here in this land untouched by war than if he had stayed in his city. His home was burned to the ground. His fortune was lost. His family was scattered and his father was dead. He had no wife. “I look forward to meeting her.” He wondered what she would be like. He knew she was a noble lady, but, was she tall, short, skinny, fat, old, young, pretty, ugly, smart, stupid, educated, ignorant, kind or mean spirited? He wondered.

  The Atlanteans had a loose family structure. Trontarow had told him a little bit about it. Apparently, both men and women were sexually adventurous and took more than one lover. Sometimes a man would have more than one wife, and sometimes a woman took more than one husband, but once the commitment was made, it became exclusive within the group. Promiscuity outside the group was not encouraged. Neither was homosexuality. These people appeared to be exclusively heterosexual, to the point of being homophobic. They didn’t seem to understand the physical relationship and, yes, love, between Greek soldiers and comrades.

  Diapaxia had had many close relationships with his fellow soldiers. The Atlanteans thought such relationships were disgraceful. They especially despised the Spartans who flaunted their homosexual tendencies, living in their barracks and only visiting their wives to procreate.

  He hoped he could get along with Trontarow and his family. He had agreed to become a hostage to help insure the peace between Athens and Atlantis. If required, he would live out the rest of his life here. As a present for Trontarow’s wife, he wondered if he was expected to be her lover. In any event, he was prepared to be treated as a slave. They kept saying that they didn’t keep slaves, but that’s what he figured he was. He had no other frame of reference.

  * * * *

  Vyllia climbed the circular staircase to the widow’s walk atop her house. It looked like it would be a glorious day. The Sun peeked up over the horizon into a brilliant blue sky. It had been red the night before—a good sign. She remembered the old nautical saying, “Red Sun at night, sailor’s delight, Red S
un in the Morning, sailors take warning.” She knew her husband would be home soon. She hoped it would be today. He was a hero. He was being acclaimed as the savior of Atlantis.

  But she wanted him home because he was her partner, her lover, and her best friend. She wanted to hold him in her arms and feel his body against her own. She wanted to have his flesh enter hers and she wanted to share her pleasure with him. And she wanted a child. As accomplished as he was, they were both relatively young.

  She stood there alone as she had for several days since the news had arrived that the war was over and the men were coming home. She searched the eastern horizon, hoping to see a ship, his ship, sailing toward her. The chill air of the morning and the sea breeze chilled her flesh. Her body was covered with goose bumps beneath the flimsy, transparent garment she wore. Her long brown hair blew around her head and tangled. She turned to descend into the house to get ready for breakfast, but something caught her eye.

  She turned back to peer across the sea. Was that a sail on the horizon?

  She heard a shout from another house across the way.

  It was. And there was another one, and another. It was the fleet

  She hugged herself and squealed with joy.

  She couldn’t help jumping a little. Very un-dignified for the wife of an Admiral, a hero and the Savior of Atlantis.

  She gained control of herself, but couldn’t help smiling.

  She skipped down the stairs to get ready for breakfast.

  * * * *

  The triumphant fleet sailed into the port. The Admiral’s flagship was towed up the canal to the inner-most ring. The Kings were there— the son’s of Atlas shared power and administrative duties, but they were acclaimed as Kings—to meet their victorious Admiral. They were aware of the Athenian hostage and his role in the peace. He was a Prince in his homeland. Athens professed a democratic political structure, but they still had a nobility.

  Trontarow knelt before the Kings and offered up his sword, the symbol of his command. Now that the war was over, he wished to return to private life and retire from the military. Life in the Navy or the Army when there was no war to fight could be tedious and boring. He wished to return home to his wife, build a family, manage his lands and live a long peaceful life.

  The Kings accepted his sword and graciously released him from service.

  Trontarow walked home, accompanied only by Diapaxia.

  “Aren’t you afraid I might try to harm you, or to escape?”

  Trontarow looked at him and smiled. “Where would you go? What would you do? You were a skillful warrior, but you have no other skills that I know of.”

  “Uh…” Diapaxia didn’t know what to say.

  “Diapaxia, when I said we do not keep slaves, I wasn’t kidding. You are free to go wherever and whenever you please. You will find it difficult to leave Atlantis, but no one would try to stop you. I have invited you into my home, to become a part of my family. I grew to respect you as an opponent and I genuinely like you. I think you will like us and you might even think about asking the King to grant you citizenship. I can help you if you wish it.”

  The Athenian could not understand a society without slaves. “How do you get things done?”

  “Without slaves?”

  Diapaxia nodded.

  “We pay people for their services. Some people ask to become a part of a wealthy or powerful family, like mine, and serve us. But they have no obligation to stay. We have many servants in my household, but any one of them is free to leave at any time they please.”

  Diapaxia couldn’t understand this man and his society. Every other civilization he had ever known kept slaves—all the Greek cities, Troy, Persia, Egypt, Crete. Wars were fought just to capture slaves, sometimes. It was very confusing.

  They walked along the busy streets. People came up to Trontarow and greeted him, thanking him for his great victory, but no one showed the kind of deference usually accorded a great hero or a noble.

  “We are all equals here,” said Trontarow. “Every man and woman in Atlantis is due the same respect as any other citizen. You will see. Even you, a captive, a former enemy, will be given the respect due any other man.”

  Eventually they arrived at Trontarow’s house. It was a large, two story structure with a widow’s walk atop the roof. It was built of stone. There was a small patch of grass in front of the door which was flanked by banks of flowers.

  A man tending the plants looked up from his work. He rushed to his feet. “Trontarow!” he exclaimed.

  “Ortiz!”

  The man ran towards them and embraced Trontarow.

  “Ortiz, this is Diapaxia, a noble Athenian. He will be joining our family. I brought him home for Vyllia.” Trontarow turned to Diapaxia. “This is Ortiz. He is our gardener. His father was a gardener before him.”

  “And my grandfather before him,” said Ortiz with a large grin on his face. “Welcome to our family, Diapaxia.”

  The Athenian was bewildered. Here was this lowly gardener, performing the kind of work only a slave would do in Athens, and he had just embraced Trontarow, probably the most illustrious and powerful man in the world, calling him familiarly by name and treating him as an equal.

  Ortiz smiled at them.

  Diapaxia followed Trontarow up the stairs to the front door and into the house. He removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm.

  “Trontarow!” A young girl wearing a short skirt and a flimsy halter top squealed. “Vyllia told us she saw your ship. She’s upstairs in your chamber waiting for you.”

  “Hello Mia, my dear. This is Diapaxia.”

  “Hello Diapaxia.” Mia looked him up and down.

  Diapaxia stood there, exposed as he was. He was a little embarrassed, but she was very pretty and his cock began to stiffen. He covered his crotch with his hands.

  “I’m the chamber maid. If you need anything, just let me know.” She smiled broadly. “Anything.” She had noticed his excited state and he was very comely and muscular. Mia thought she might like to spend some time with this Athenian.

  “He’s a gift for Vyllia.”

  “Oh,” said Mia. She smiled. “Well, I approve.” Then she turned and passed through a door beneath the staircase.

  Trontarow started up the stairs. Diapaxia followed him. At the top, they entered a large airy chamber hung with gauzy fabrics from the ceiling and surrounded by windows, letting in the bright light of the day. At the far end was a large bed strewn with pillows and quilts. In the center of the room stood a tall woman with long brown hair, bright red lips and piercing green eyes. She had a gilded scallop shell arranged in her hair. Her gown was transparent and revealed her lovely, voluptuous body.

  Diapaxia was stunned. He stood, staring at her, his mouth half open, but no words emerged.

  Trontarow and Vyllia smiled at each other, then she looked at Diapaxia.

  “My God, you’re beautiful!” he exclaimed. He had never seen a more beautiful vision of womanhood.

  She broke out into a grin. “Hello, my beloved husband,” she said softly. As she strode toward Trontarow, she dropped her gown to the floor. She embraced him and kissed him passionately, molding her body to his hard, muscular, soldier’s frame. “Who’s this?”

  “A gift for you, my dear. Diapaxia, a noble Athenian. He has voluntarily come as a hostage to insure the peace.”

  She turned to Diapaxia. She took his helmet from him, turning and placing it on a table. She knelt before him and reached out to remove his greaves and sandals. Diapaxia’s cock stiffened and he could no longer conceal it. She brushed his hands away and looked at it. She looked up at her husband, then she kissed the end of it, caressing the delicate balls beneath the shaft.

  Trontarow had dropped his light garment and stood, naked, next to them. His massive cock pointed at his wife. “Do you accept my gift?” he asked.

  She stood and leaned against him. “Thank you my love. He’s very nice.” She took both their hands in hers and led them to the b
ed. She turned and sat on the edge, then she reclined and rolled to the center. She beckoned to both of them. “It’s been four years…four long years.”

  “I know,” said Trontarow. “I’ve missed you so.” He joined her on the bed.

  “Join us, Diapaxia, won’t you?” she beckoned to him again, reaching out her hand to him. He took her hand and she pulled him down on her other side.

  Trontarow was sucking on her left nipple.

  She had such a marvelous body. Those large, beautiful breasts with those dark, firm nipples were so perfect. Diapaxia dropped his lips to the one on the right. She held the two men to her. She moaned softly.

  Trontarow was stroking her thigh and slowly reached up to gently cup her mons. He caressed her moist pussy and slowly stroked her quivering clitoris.

  She shuddered. “Oh my love…” she whispered.

  That had always been her signal to him. He crawled down between her marvelous silky thighs and buried his face in her crotch. His tongue searched for, then found her delicious clit.

  She shuddered again. Her legs wrapped around his neck and she reached down with her left hand to hold the back of his head firmly in place. His tongue slipped down between her nether lips and thrust up into her vagina. “Oh, my love, I’ve waited for this for so long.” Her hips moved rhythmically against his face.

  Then Diapaxia decided to really participate. He kissed his way up her breast to her throat, licking around to the nape of her neck. Between the two of them they produced a massive orgasm that shook her entire body.

  “Enter me, my love,” she whispered.

  Trontarow climbed up and positioned his cock between her thighs. He slowly slipped it into her warm slippery vagina, gradually thrusting further and further into her on each stroke. She reached down and pulled him to her, thrusting up at him.