Trojan Slaves (8 page)

Her body
twisted as a drenching bucket of water was emptied between her
wide-open legs. It splashed against her sore, dilated sex, flowing
around it before rushing down her stomach and between her buttocks.
Eva gasped in shock and held her breath. By the time she was
breathing again through her nostrils the water was gurgling past
her nose. She sniffed some of it in without realising, and choked.
Its acrid saltiness burned her throat. Another splash as another
bucket of water was thrown against her already soaked sex. Its flow
took the same route, but this time quicker, reaching her nose in
copious amounts and running straight into it without her inhaling.
She twisted again and brought her hands up to her face, as if she
had only just realised they were free.

She tried to
shield her face but it was impossible. Each new deluge of water ran
faster than the first, got to its goal quicker.

She felt the
full force of it against her sex and anus. The natural reaction of
her body was to close itself against the torrent, but Eva did not
want that. And even had it been possible she would not allow it to
happen. The feeling of the warm salty water flowing inside her
vagina and into her anus was something she did not want to avoid.
Slowly she let her hands fall away from her face. She watched them
trailing down towards the wet sand beneath her head. As they
dangled loosely before her wide open eyes she saw, with their
surrender, her own yielding, her complete submission to the
controlling power of her cruel torturers.

Eva did not
resist them as they took her down and stretched her out on her
back. She was too exhausted, too used to do anything to save
herself. She lay on the hot sand limp and soaking, her skin
glistening in the bright light of the sun, her hair as radiant as
its fiery rays. She dropped her head to one side and pressed her
tongue against the back of the stone ball that still gagged her
mouth. She was not exhausted by the men's humiliation of her, nor
of the pain they had inflicted on her. No, if it was only so simple
she would not be so confused. She was exhausted by her own delight.
The shocks of her ecstatic convulsions had filled her body until it
overflowed. She was exhausted by her own passion. Worn out by her
own uncontrollable ecstasy.

Crios and Abas
pulled her arms and legs wide using the ropes which still dangled
from them. They drove some spikes into the sand and fixed her to
them by the ropes. They kicked sand over her before leaving,
laughing and pushing at each other. The gritty sand stuck to her
wet body. It darkened for a few seconds as it soaked up the
moisture, but quickly returned to its bright silvery colour as the
heat from the sun dried it again. Some dogs came around, sniffing
at her, licking her, whining their attention, growling possession
of their new prize. She tightened her muscles and stared up into
the blue sky. She thought of home, of freedom and a life without
pain - and she thought of her pleasures and how they had been born
of captivity and suffering.

Chryseis and
Sappho crouched behind the iron grill in the wall of the disused
prison cell above the training area of Praxis' slave house. It was
here he kept his slaves, and here he trained them to provide
pleasure to anyone who would pay enough. Anyone searching for the
most beautiful women or men, trained in the most extraordinary
sexual practices, knew that Praxis could oblige. He would provide
slaves that were disobedient or obedient, young or old, versed in
every technique, or chaste and unknowing. He would make sure that
whatever was wanted could be fulfilled, whatever was imagined could
be had.

Although
Praxis' eyes had been put out by Ajax years ago, he was no less
aware of everything that went on. He prowled around his training
camp with a brass-tipped rod in his fist, the ever-present Master
Wang acting as his eyes and his informant. If anything displeased
Praxis he struck out at it with his rod, punishing anyone who acted
against him or who, for whatever reason, he did not consider
warranted his continuing patronage. Instead of his sense of sight
Praxis used his sense of smell. He smelled things wherever he went.
Sometimes it was objects, sometimes it was simply suspicion. He
would hold out his rod and stop, then sniffing the air until he was
satisfied it was in order to move on, bring his rod down and
continue. Sometimes he reached out, grabbed people and sniffed
them, inhaling their scent as he ran his nose across their faces,
their hands and feet, or their genitals. If he could not get what
he wanted from scent, he touched, mauled with his large sinewy
hands, and licked; there was nothing that escaped the unseeing
Praxis. His slaves lived in fear of his knowledge and his vicious
temper, knowing that if they crossed him or displeased him their
future was both dark and short.

Chryseis came
here frequently, to this small cell with the iron grill. She
usually masturbated as she watched the suffering slaves. Sometimes
she brought one of the men in her service so she could use him as
well. There were old bits of rope, thongs and unrepaired whips
littering the tiny room. Sometimes she would get the man to
masturbate her, instructing him carefully on the method first. She
liked him to rest his finger at the top of her sex, just inside the
lips, and move it up and down so that he squeezed the flesh of her
sex which put pressure on the tip of her clitoris. Sometimes she
would masturbate him. She liked to hold a cock when it was stiff;
she revelled in its venous texture, its heat, its hardness. She
liked to watch it thicken and deepen in colour when it was about to
eject its semen, and she liked to drink the semen when finally, as
she held the shaft tightly, it spurted from the pulsating cock.
Usually when she did this she kept one finger in the man's anus and
did not take it out until it had stopped contracting with delight.
Once she kept it there and the man's cock hardened again, so after
holding and massaging it in the way she liked, she sucked more
semen from it and still had not removed her finger. Sometimes she
would tell the man to tie her as he wished and as tight as he
wanted. Sometimes, and against her protestations, he would leave
her there, bound and unable to escape, until the next day.

Chryseis
smiled at Sappho and pulled her face down close to the grill.

'Look! It is
Praxis. How evil he looks,' she said, barely able to control her
excitement. 'Look at the ugly scars where his sockets were sewn up
by Master Wang. They say he never made a sound as it was done.'

Praxis marched
into the courtyard with Master Wang at his side. He stopped and
held up his rod.

'Wang! Bring
me the new girl! And the others you have been collecting. I must
find out what we have. We have clients to satisfy!'

Master Wang
waved to some men carrying short, double-tailed leather quirts.
They ran forward and took his instructions.

At the far end
of the courtyard were two heavy wooden doors to the outside. In
front of them were three iron braziers, alive with sparking red
flames. Along the one wall was a row of small cages stacked three
high. On the opposite wall was a timber scaffolding with a water
tank at the top of it. On the wall directly below where Chryseis
and Sappho huddled behind the grill was a row of beautiful naked
girls, chained together through rings in tight leather collars
around their necks. In the centre of the courtyard was a large
timber cylinder, an axle through its centre resting on a crossed
timber mounting on each side.

'Sappho,'
whispered Chryseis. 'Have you ever seen anything so exciting?'

Sappho, her
eyes wide with amazement, shook her head but could not answer.

Chryseis
grabbed Sappho's shoulders and pulled her down closer against the
grill. Sappho felt the cold of the rough iron grating on her face.
Its metallic smell excited her and she inhaled deeply. She peered
down into the courtyard. The men Master Wang had instructed went to
the cages stacked against the wall. Sappho could hardly believe it.
Each one had a young woman inside. There was barely enough room to
accommodate them. Each of them was crouched down tightly, their
arms between their legs and their faces pressed down against their
knees. One of the cage doors on the top tier was opened and the
woman was pulled out. She fell to the ground and shouted out in
pain. Two of the men struck at her with their quirts. She screamed,
but could not stand up. She remained huddled in the same position
she had been forced into in the cage. They struck her again and
slowly stretched herself until, with more kicking and beating, she
managed to stand up straight. Her tear-stained face was
expressionless and her mouth gaped in despair.

Master Wang
kicked out at her and she scuttled into the centre by the timber
cylinder. One by one each cage was opened and all the women were
brought out. Some were so stiff they had to be beaten before they
stood up straight. Some squirmed on the dusty ground in fear,
crying and wailing. One urinated as she managed to get to her
knees, and one of the men lay beneath the stream and drank it. All
the women were naked and all had their hair cropped short. They
huddled together, some holding their forearms and hands over their
breasts. Others pushed their hands down between their legs, in a
pitiful effort to reduce their exposure or protect some hoped for
scrap of dignity that may still be left to them. Master Wang
instructed the men with the quirts to thrash the women's legs until
they dropped their hands by their sides. The men followed his
orders enthusiastically until all the women stood upright, to
attention, with the palms of their hands at the sides of their
thighs.

Their exposure
excited Sappho. She imagined herself in their place, being driven
around the courtyard where there was no hiding place. Being unable
to cover herself or turn away. Being the victim of anonymous and
cruel men. Being thrashed and beaten and ordered to humiliate
herself. Being forced to submit to the peering eyes and mockery of
others. She felt a moistness between the crack of her sex and
pushed a hand down between her legs. Her fingertips slid inside the
satiny valley. She licked her lips as her flesh responded with a
gentle throbbing and an increased warmth. She pressed the palm of
her hand against her tingling, hardening clitoris.

Chryseis saw
what Sappho was doing and, pulling Sappho's hand away, replaced it
with her own. The shock of difference sent an anxious thrill
through Sappho's body. She felt the heat of Chryseis' fingers
against the moist flesh of her sex, pressing herself against them,
welcoming them, inviting them to enter. Chryseis did not have to
press, the merest touch allowed her fingers to slip between the
swollen lips. Sappho stared down into the courtyard.

Sappho watched
the women being bent over, each one in turn forced down onto her
knees. If one looked up she received a keenly delivered stroke from
a cutting leather quirt. Every time these double-ended strips of
leather smacked across one of the women's backs, or her buttocks,
or breasts, Sappho tensed and breathed in sharply. It was as if it
was happening to her. It was as if seeing the women punished
allowed her to feel their punishment. As the quirt hit flesh Sappho
felt it against her own. It felt so real. It made her jump with the
shock, recoil from the pain and sting with the heat of hurt as it
penetrated. And each time this happened she tensed her thighs, rose
a little and drew Chryseis' fingers further into her own wet
vagina. The image of pain and suffering that met her eyes mixed
with the ever-deepening penetration of Chryseis' fingers to form a
delectable blend of anguish and pleasure.

Praxis paraded
amongst the women. He touched one with his rod. He dug it
forcefully into one of her breasts and made her stand. He held his
face close to hers and sniffed around her mouth and nostrils. She
whimpered and he grabbed her cheeks, as quickly and accurately as
if he could see.

'I'll give you
reason to whine, my smooth-skinned beauty,' he said, laughing. 'You
will whine louder than ever you could have imagined.'

He squeezed
her cheeks hard and sniffed inquiringly at her panting breath. He
let her go and ran his free hand down across her breasts to the
flat of her smooth stomach. He cocked his head to one side and
rested his hand at the base of her stomach. He attended to the feel
of her skin, sensing its warmth, its smoothness, its pliability.
Then, with a suddenness that made her jump, he continued until his
hand reached her sex. He prised the soft flesh open and wedged his
fingertip beneath the curved entrance the pressure of his fingertip
caused. He pulled it upwards, stretching it, and she raised herself
on it, unwilling to show him her distress yet unable to stand any
more mistreatment.

'A fine one,
Wang!' he shouted. 'She has the flesh of youth. And the moisture to
go with it! And she responds nervously, afraid of what might happen
to her. Yes, she is perfect for a client who needs a frightened
fawn. Wash her down. We will keep her for training.'

Master Wang
grabbed the girl from behind. He pulled her elbows together and
marched her to the side of the courtyard. He pushed her against the
timber gantry and she cried out as she thumped against it. He leant
against her, his body pushed between her shoulder blades, and held
her in place. She struggled but her breasts were pressed hard
against the timber upright of the gantry, and Master Wang had
pinned her so tight from behind it was impossible. She looked up
appealingly towards the grill where Sappho and Chryseis
crouched.

They both
ducked down in case the young woman saw them. Sappho tensed her
muscles and Chryseis fingers were suddenly enclosed more tightly by
her succulent flesh. Straight away Sappho pushed herself down on
Chryseis' fingers. She lifted herself up then pushed down again,
opening her thighs and spreading the entrance of her sex to let in
more.