Trojan Slaves (11 page)

They were all
made to run. Sappho, barely conscious, found it impossible to keep
up. The collar grabbed painfully at her neck. She was pulled
forward and back, jerking with every snatch, her stomach churning
with anxiety, her body reeling with pain. She tried to look around
but it was a flashing blur. All she could see was jeering men, some
holding their stiff cocks in their hands, some urinating, some
scooping up dust and throwing it at the captive, frightened
women.

Suddenly the
movement stopped. The women were lined up in the square. Several
men ran behind them, flicking captives with canes, making them
stand straight. Sappho felt the sharp sting of a cane across her
buttocks. It made her rear back. Her nipples were achingly hard.
They throbbed with pain; with uncontrollable, hidden, ridiculous
excitement. She breathed deeply, hoping her nipples would soften,
would stop throbbing, but her concentration on them only made them
worse. She looked around in fear of the men. Her robe was wrapped
around her waist and hung to her side across one of her hips. She
felt so vulnerable, so defenceless. Men pointed at her, threw dust
at her, spat at her. She felt her nipples hardening even more as
she realised her helpless exposure to the men's mockery and
taunting.

'Look at that
one there,' shouted one. 'Her nipples are so hard I could hang off
them!'

'And that
one,' shouted another, pointing at Chryseis. 'Her rosy cunt could
take us all. And she's a temple maiden too. Dark-haired and lusty,
like them all.'

Sappho glanced
at Chryseis. Her face was covered with dirt. Her pale skin daubed
with the sweat-drenched dust, her naked body striped with the harsh
marks of the searching canes. She looked fearful and cowed, as if
she could not suffer any more.

'I wonder how
long she could stand that,' a soldier shouted back, and they all
joined in, chanting and laughing at their powerless victims.

'Let's put
them to the test!' another shouted, running forward from the line
and standing in front of Chryseis. 'Here, I will take the first
turn. We will see how these Trojan women can stand the passion of
Greek men. I need two assistants!' Two men ran to his side. 'Lift
this one. Just enough for her to feel the collar. High enough for
me to reach her nipples with my mouth!'

The two men
grabbed Chryseis under her arms and lifted her off her feet. The
tangled chains pulled tight and the leather collar squeezed around
her throat. Sappho bit her lip as she saw the look of fear on
Chryseis' face, and before she knew it the extra tension on the
chains fed through to her, the collar pulling around her throat as
well, and she rocked from side to side to try and ease it.

The two men
held Chryseis. She squirmed but it was useless. Sappho watched as
the man in front of her leant forward. He stopped, his open mouth
in front of Chryseis' erect nipple. Mud was smeared across it and
he licked his tongue out and pressed it against the dirt. He licked
it away and swallowed heavily. The soldiers in the square cheered
loudly and the man bared his teeth and set them eagerly around the
stiff bud. Chryseis pulled back, trying to avoid his bite, but the
men holding her tightened their grip and kept her fast.

Sappho bit
harder on her lip. She sagged against her collar, feeling the
tension around her neck, enjoying the feeling of captivity. She
watched the man's teeth tightening around Chryseis' nipple and
dropped back more heavily. The man breathed in deeply and bit,
slowly at first, increasing the pressure gradually, then bit
harder. Chryseis opened her mouth at first, wide, ready to scream.
Sappho felt a heat between her legs and squeezed her thighs
together. The heat increased, and as she tightened the insides of
her thighs again she felt the moisture of desire oozing across her
swelling labia. She could not believe her excitement. She lolled
back further as the man bit harder. Suddenly Chryseis screamed out
- loud, penetrating, shrill. Sappho felt the surge of heat in her
sex and squeezed her thighs even tighter. Chryseis screamed louder
as the man bit harder, and the louder she screamed the more Sappho
squeezed her legs.

Chryseis
dropped her head forward when the man stopped. She gasped and
panted, trying to get her breath back, trying to recover. But the
men holding her did not let her down. They kept her off the ground,
the collar pulling, her other nipple exposed. The man took that one
quickly, biting it, not waiting, not restraining his hunger.
Chryseis screamed again as the man's teeth bit into her tender
flesh. She threw her head back, but it only served to tighten the
collar already straining her neck.

Sappho
tightened the muscles in her stomach; it helped her bear down on
the tightness at the top of her legs. She felt a building sensation
welling up inside her. She listened to Chryseis' pain. She could
not stand it. She was bursting with frustration. She opened her
mouth wide and she too started screaming.

Her scream
joined Chryseis', two voices in a harmony of agony; Chryseis' from
the pain or her suffering, Sappho's from the frustration born of
the absence of what Chryseis could not endure. More men ran
forward. Sappho felt hands beneath her armpits, lifting her up. She
felt the strain of her collar, pulling at her, holding her fast.
Then a man was in front of her and she looked down at her nipples.
They were so hard - stretched, throbbing, pulsating - she could
hardly stand it. Her breasts ached with the pain of the pounding in
her extended nipples. The man opened his mouth and bared his teeth
again. She watched him bring them close to her right nipple. She
felt herself stretching it out to him, not pulling away, not
shrinking back in fear, but pushing it towards his teeth, wanting
him to take it between them, wanting him to bite.

The pain went
deep when he did. It shot through her breast and penetrated her
body. She shrieked out, abandoned to her agony, unable to stop it,
incapable of holding it back. The pain went into her stomach and
down into the hot, throbbing flesh of her cunt. She rocked against
the bite, pulling herself away when she knew his grip was tight,
extending her nipple against his locked teeth - pulling it,
extending it, torturing it. She yelped like a dog as she was seized
by a pent-up pleasure that, for the moment, only wanted feeding
with pain.

Another man
took her left nipple between his teeth and pulled at it, biting
deeply, stretching it, drawing it out. Sappho screeched again, as
loud as she could. Bubbles of spit burst from her gaping mouth. She
clasped her hands tightly together and pulled against the bonds
around her wrists, increasing the tension, bringing herself closer
to the moment of release. Suddenly she felt it flow and jerked
wildly, spinning sideways, pulling herself against the men's
clasping teeth, descending into the fathomless depths of rapture,
into the exhilarating joy of complete, overcoming ecstasy.

They threw her
to the ground, still jerking, still squeezing her thighs against
the throbbing flesh of her swollen, wet sex. The two women on
either side of her fell as well, pulled over by the chain that
joined them. A man with a cane thrashed at the three of them. The
stinging pain cut into her and she opened her legs. She hoped the
cane would find its mark between them. But she was pulled up and
driven forward again.

Between the
two huge boats the men assembled a corral from spears forced into
the sand. The women were driven into it like cattle. They cowed
together, the chains that joined them tangled and wound in knots.
Sappho struggled to stand, not knowing which way to move to get
relief from the tightness of her collar. Her face was pushed
against the face of another woman. She saw fear in the woman's
eyes.

'Unchain
them!' someone shouted.

Men ran
between them, unclipping the chains from the collars. They pulled
at them roughly and Sappho was tugged sideways then knocked over.
The loose chains rattled around her, filling her head with noise,
her mind with apprehension.

They were
forced close together in the centre of the spear-lined corral.
Their wrists were still tied tightly behind their backs but, with
their chains removed, they could turn at will. They were forced
together in a cowering knot on the edge of the corral. Sappho tried
to dodge the cane as it was brought down repeatedly. But she could
not avoid its cutting slices and could not pull against the chain
enough to gain protection behind the others. The cane slashed at
the ones on the outside, cutting into their buttocks, or if they
twisted away their backs, and if they did not, their breasts.
Sappho, unable to turn quickly enough as it slashed down towards
her, felt its penetrating sting across both her breasts. She gasped
as it struck and elbowed two other women aside so that she could
get some shelter behind them.

The man with
the cane thrashed at one of the women and drove her out of the
cluster. He separated her, caning her viciously all the time, and
drove her to the centre of the corral. He forced her onto her knees
and thrashed her several times across the back. He returned to the
rest of them and drove out another. Sappho cowered in the centre of
the bunch, hoping she would not be chosen, hoping to remain unseen.
Another was driven out, shrieking as the cane found its mark across
her nipples. She too was made to kneel alongside the others. One by
one they were separated. Sappho was the last. She found herself
isolated, the only one left, exposed to the jeers of the soldiers
that stood around the corral, and to the cutting slashes of the
viciously wielded cane. She turned her back against it, running to
the edge of the square of soldiers and cowering against the spears.
She held onto one as the whip cut across her back then slashed
angrily across her buttocks. She tried to save herself by turning
sideways, but the thrashing continued against her thighs. One of
the men reached over the spears and pushed her forward. She fell to
the ground, her legs wide as she fell on her back. She clawed at
the ground with her tied hands but could not get up. The cane came
down between her legs against her swollen labia. She shrieked with
pain, but it swept down again.

The man drove
her to the end of the line of kneeling women. She scrabbled in the
sand, fighting her way forward, scratching at the ground, kicking
her legs, trying to protect herself. Sand filled her eyes and tears
streamed from them. She coughed and choked, and still the cane
thrashed her, flailing relentlessly, stinging her legs, her
breasts, her buttocks. The more she fought to get away the more she
was thrashed. The less able she was to get to her feet, the more
the cane punished her for her failure. Finally, gasping for breath
and striped all over with the marks of the furious cane, she
managed to take her place at the end of the row of kneeling
women.

She hung her
head. She pulled her legs tightly together, hoping the tension in
her muscles might stave off the pains the cane had inflicted. She
could not stop shaking, filled with fear and dread.

The men
chanted, banging their shields with their swords. The clamour
filled her ears. The spears were parted and two men came into the
corral. They struggled as they carried a large skin of water
between them. They went to the opposite end of the line from Sappho
and stood in front of the first woman there. They raised the skin,
held it above the woman then suddenly tipped the heavy contents
over her. It was a massive deluge, knocking her forward as it hit
the back of her head. Her long hair flattened against her face. The
water sluiced down across her back, onto the tops of her thighs and
splashed into a sandy pool around her legs.

They fetched
more and washed down the second woman. She fell face forward into
the wet sand. Most of the weight of the water splashed heavily on
her back. It sloshed between her arms that were fixed so tightly at
her wrists in the small of her back. She choked in the water as it
slopped around her face and, when she managed to lift her head, her
mouth was filled with wet, choking sand.

The two men
worked their way along the line, more men fetching replenishments
of water, more helping to lift and sluice it down over the
defenceless women. The one next to Sappho screamed out for mercy,
begging her torturers to spare her, to end her suffering. But after
they threw a first skin of water down over her and knocked her
forward with its weight, they fetched another and threw it onto her
as she lay in the wet sand. She coughed, but did not stop pleaded
to be set free.

Sappho tensed
herself, knowing the water would probably knock her down. She knew
what to expect. She tightened the muscles in her legs, pulling her
knees against each other, squeezing her thighs close together. She
hung her head low, hoping to take the force of water on her back.
She waited, her heart beating fast. She saw the shadow of the men
holding the skin of water above her head, and she closed her eyes
in anticipation. Suddenly she felt herself knocked sideways, then
onto her back. She struggled with her bound wrists but as she did
her legs were forced apart. Immediately the water came flooding
down. Then more, in her face, and she choked and coughed and could
not get her breath. And a third, again between her legs. She lay
there, open and exposed, now not wanting to draw her legs together.
She only wanted more. She wanted them all to see her. She wanted
them all to wash her down, to soak her, to sluice her. She dropped
her knees wider, inviting them, tempting them to give her more,
enticing them to fill her, pleading with them to bring on her joy,
begging them to release her pent-up pleasure.

Several men
came into the corral with brushes used for scrubbing the decks of
the ships. They dipped them into the sandy mud that surrounded the
women and scrubbed them roughly. The women wriggled and squirmed
under the harsh treatment. If they fell on their front the brushes
were pushed between their buttocks. If they fell on their back
their legs were pushed wide and the rough bristles were forced
against the tender flesh of their exposed cunts. Sappho fell on her
back - and not because she could have avoided doing so. It was
because the coarse bristles forced against her tender flesh served
to bring out the heat that had been stored for too long within her.
The sharp contact let it out, allowed it finally to burst, like a
torrent from a broken dam.