Trojan Slaves (14 page)

'Now you see
the magic of Praxis' jewel, my lord,' said Ajax. 'The tightness on
her tongue can only be relieved by her pressing back against the
clasp. But when there are so many good reasons to come forward -
like relieving a little pain - it is so hard to stay back.' He
laughed and reached out to snatch the cords himself. 'The jewel is
both the bringer and the taker of pain. It is a miraculous
invention. Worthy of the gods themselves, my lord.' He turned back
to Sappho. 'Here, little prize. Let me see which pain you prefer:
the pain that Ajax offers you, or the pain of Praxis' jewel.' He
pulled the cords. Sappho fell forward, unable to do anything except
try to reduce the pressure, but as soon as she did she felt the
dreadful constriction of the clamp on her tongue. She did not know
what to do, which way to go. Each pain opposed the other. It was an
unsolvable dilemma. She moved forward again as Ajax once more
snatched at the cords, but the constriction on her tongue was too
much, she could not stand it. She stopped moving, stood against the
pain the cords were inflicting on her nipples, and gradually,
steeling herself, hoping she could stand it, moved back against the
post. Bit by bit she edged back. Each small movement increased the
pain in her nipples, each small step brought her closer to relief
of the pain in her tongue. Finally she stood against the post. Her
nipples were stretched on the cords. Her body was filled with the
fiery pain in her breasts. At last she was able to gasp with some
relief, the agony in her tongue at least held at bay.

Time and again
Ajax or the others pulled the cords. Each time she lurched forward,
only to drag herself back again, fighting with the pain in her
nipples in order to get relief from the clasp on her tongue.
Despair welled up. She could only choose one pain against another.
She could not stop her suffering. She could not escape. She could
only suffer. She was suffocating in an overload of unresolvable
conflict.

Ajax tired of
the game. He told Crios and Abas to amuse themselves as long as
they wished. He sat with Achilles, who still petted the slave
girl's buttocks. They both watched as Sappho struggled repeatedly
to reduce her pain. Achilles opened the slave girl's thighs and
exposed the delightful shape of her moist pink slit. He ran a
finger around it and the silky flesh glistened in the
lamplight.

'Her mouth is
dry,' chuckled Ajax. 'She needs something to wet it!'

Crios and Abas
pulled Sappho forward. This time they did not allow her to go back
against the post. They held the cords low, encouraging her to bend.
They kept her there, bowed before them, her mouth pinned open by
the jewel.

Crios was the
first, easing his cock into her open mouth, pushing the swollen tip
between the metal shields that covered her teeth and over the clamp
that held her tongue.

Sappho felt
the throbbing glans against the back of her throat and gagged,
involuntarily tightening her throat around it. She felt the
throbbing tip expanding, and she felt the swell of semen flowing to
it. Suddenly her throat was filled - creamy and wet, sticky and
salty. She pulled back, but again she was pulled forward and Abas
filled her mouth. His cock was throbbing and stiff, its tip pressed
against the back of her throat. She coughed, but it was suppressed
by a burst of semen. The flood filled her, inundated her, then
leaked, overflowing, from her wide-stretched lips.

When they had
finished Ajax ordered her release. Crios cut the thongs from her
wrists. Her arms fell to her sides and she dropped her head. Ajax
unclipped the clasp at the back of the jewel and removed it from
her mouth, and despite the pains that racked her body she sighed
with pleasure at the alleviation the jewel's removal brought. She
drew back her tongue and tasted the semen that lay upon it. She did
not hesitate. She closed her mouth and swallowed. The semen ran
down her throat like nectar, and she looked at Crios and Abas in
the hope that they could provide her with more.

Abas cut away
the thongs at her ankles and knees. He clipped a heavy ring to one
of her ankles, secured it, and fixed a chain to it. He led her
outside and locked the chain to a heavy post driven into the ground
as an anchor. Sappho crouched down on the sand and rested her hands
between her thighs. She breathed heavily, recovering from her
ordeal. She felt her heart calming, her breathing becoming regular
again; she also felt her searching fingers slipping between her
thighs. They probed her sex, searching out the delights that lay
within its delectable darkness. The images of her suffering came
back into her mind. She thought of herself pressed against the
post, holding back the pain in her tongue as her nipples burned.
She sensed again the moisture of her cunt, wetting her flesh and
covering her fingers with silkiness. She thought of her mouth held
wide, her tongue clamped and the men's semen flowing into her mouth
and down her throat. She was overcome. She could do nothing except
rise on her fingers and allow her ecstasy to take its irresistible
course through her jerking body.

Achilles walked
amongst his men on the beach; it was his way, asking about their
lives, showing his knowledge of them, encouraging them. He leant on
his spear, his golden skin glowing in the flickering light of the
fire, as he listened to a soldier's story of battle and bravery.
His attention was caught by a whimpering groan and he looked behind
a nearby tent.

Sappho was
crouched there, naked, her fingers deep inside her. She panted,
breathing harder as they went deeper, sighing as they emerged. She
was thinking of Chryseis. She was imagining her watching, imagining
the worshippers at the temple staring at her. She was imagining
herself crying out as she was filled with pleasure. She was
imagining being thrown on her back as she was discovered. She was
imagining being whipped, caned, and thrashed until she could no
longer stand it. And as she thought of these things she thought of
having them again, and again, and she moaned with the ecstasy of
pleasure and the anticipation of more to come.

Achilles
stared down at her. She saw him and came with an overpowering
convulsion of pleasure.

'Take her away
and chain her with the others,' he said. 'I will keep her. She is
my prize. But she needs more restraint. Yes, chain her with the
others.'

Soldiers
dragged her away. She was still shivering with her ecstasy when
they strung her up, her arms and legs spread wide, bound in chains
to the side of one of the boats.

They left her
there and she hung in despair, now hopeless and alone. Another
captive hung beside her, her head bent forward, her flame-red hair
falling in a tousled mass, her naked body, taut and athletic,
stretched tight in the imprisoning chains.

Sappho was
unable to speak. The female lifted her head.

'My name is
Eva,' she said. 'I have been here since the Greeks pulled their
ships up on this accursed shore. I do not think I will ever be
free. I will never tread on the soil of my homeland again. Surely,
it is over for us both.'

Agamemnon
strutted through the Greek encampment. Chryseis was led by a heavy
chain locked into an iron collar clamped tightly around her neck.
She had been hard to control, and Agamemnon had her whipped every
night. Still she remained disobedient, resentful and hard to
subdue. The collar had been fitted so that at any time, day or
night, she could be taken easily to her lord Agamemnon for further
punishment or discipline. When he went somewhere he took her with
him, having her led behind him on her chain, stopping sometimes to
have her whipped or thrashed with a cane.

Chryseis spent
her nights thinking of Troy, the temple, the naked girls and the
young men. She lay on the ground which was her bed, her eyes filled
with tears, and a hand between her thighs, as she imagined her old
home and all she had been forced to leave.

Everyone went
silent as Agamemnon entered Achilles' tent. Achilles stood to greet
him. They clasped hands and stared unyieldingly into each other's
eyes. Agamemnon needed Achilles and his army of Myrmidons if he was
to be victorious at Troy. Achilles needed the cause, the war which
Agamemnon provided, to show his great skills and live the life of
an indomitable warrior. The two great men were mutually dependant,
mutually fearless.

Sappho and Eva
had been put to work as serving girls. They had been dressed in
light silk smocks which reached below their knees and were open at
each side. As they bent to pour wine for the guests their robes
opened wide and their nakedness was revealed. Some of the
high-ranking chieftains who were Achilles' company grabbed at them
as they leant over with the wine jugs. Eva pulled away from them,
but they easily dragged her back. Sappho had more guile. She
slipped their grasp and, pretending to be needed by someone else,
ran to another guest, her jug held high. This allowed her to escape
more often than Eva but still, sometimes, she was caught.

Sappho
stopped, wide-eyed and shocked, as Chryseis came in. She could not
believe it. She smiled nervously, and without thinking went to
towards her. She was stopped by Agamemnon's brother, Menelaus. He
ran a powerful hand up inside her smock and drove it between her
thighs. She tried to turn away, lifting her wine jug as if someone
had ordered her over, but Menelaus would not let her go. He pushed
his hand up the insides of her thighs and rubbed his fingers around
the soft flesh of her cunt. It was moist and warm and, as he
applied pressure to it, the lips opened and the silkiness folded
around his fingertips. He smiled and thrust. She rose to reduce the
depth of penetration, but as she did she also tightened herself
around them. She bit her lip and looked around anxiously.

'This is a
fine prize you have found yourself, Achilles. Perhaps you would be
interested in trading her?' said Menelaus, using his other hand to
restrain Sappho.

'Menelaus, you
are the brother of my king and very wealthy, and very powerful. But
even though this prize of mine does not please me at the moment, I
will not let her go. You have nothing to trade that would be
compensation for her loss.'

'Why does she
not please you, lord Achilles?' asked Menelaus.

'She is
wilful, Menelaus. But I will tame her eventually, in the end, and I
am sure she will provide all the pleasure I would wish.'

Menelaus
laughed and pushed his fingers even deeper into Sappho. She gasped
as they stretched her and looked around frantically, hoping someone
would help her. She caught sight of Chryseis standing behind
Agamemnon. They stared at each other. Chryseis, pitiful as she was,
naked and chained by the heavy iron collar at her neck, smiled
uncomfortably. Sappho opened her mouth, as if she wanted to speak,
but she was snatched away from Chryseis' gaze as Menelaus flung her
down across his knees.

'Perhaps you
have not taken a strong enough hand in her punishment, Achilles,'
he mused. 'Perhaps the hand of a king's brother will make her
obedient.'

Sappho draped
Menelaus' knees. Her head hung almost to the ground, her toes
clawed vainly to get a grip in the sand. He pressed his strong left
hand in the small of her back and held her down. She felt captive
to his power. His huge hand controlled her easily and when she
tried to rise against its pressure it did not move at all.

'Yes, show us
the skill of Menelaus. Show us how he brings slave girls under his
control,' said Achilles, leaning forward, propping his chin in his
hands and his elbows on his knees.

Sappho
wriggled beneath the weight of Menelaus' hand but her pathetic
efforts only made him laugh. The back of her smock had fallen to
one side and one hip and leg were completely exposed. Menelaus
reached down and took hold of the hem. He lifted it slowly, peeling
it up so that Sappho's buttocks were fully bared. He dropped the
light material so that it fell over her head.

Sappho tried
to pull it away. It trailed around her neck and got tangled so she
could not free herself from it. Menelaus lifted his knees, forcing
her buttocks higher, exposing the perfect shape of her sex, its
soft swollen lips, the nub of her clitoris. He smoothed his right
hand across the graceful curve, stroking her satiny skin, taut and
welcoming, cool and enticing, perfect and unblemished. He rubbed
her buttocks again, firmly, feeling their flexibility, their
tension. The muscles of her buttocks responded, tightening, fixing
their sumptuous curve, inviting more attention. Starting below the
small of her back he trailed his finger between them, letting it
slip into the delightful crack, onto her moist lips.

She closed her
eyes as he touched her. The heat from his fingers caught her
unawares, unprepared. Suddenly she realised her exposure, lying
across his lap, her buttocks bare, everyone looking at her,
everyone expecting something from her shame. He stroked her again,
and again she closed her eyes. This time fully realising her
situation, fully knowing her position. This time fully aware of the
delight it promised. Again he stroked between her upturned
buttocks. This time he pressed deeper. He found her anus and
touched it with his fingertip, pressing it only lightly, letting
her know he knew of its existence, its potential. She tightened as
he touched it, she felt it closing against the tip of his finger,
reacting to the contact, welcoming it, expecting more from it,
hoping for something deeper, something more penetrating. Menelaus
stopped with his right hand on her buttocks. He pressed them
slightly, feeling their responsive tension. Sappho felt the strain
of his holding back, the anxiety of not knowing what was about to
happen. She was suffocating in the potential of the moment. She
looked sideways, as though she was going to see something which
gave her a clue to her future. But there was no answer. All she
could see was the mighty Greek chieftains lying back on the heavy
chairs and sofas, pointing, leering, waiting.