Bred by the Spartans (6 page)

Where was she? Truly it did not matter, for she had never been in the lands of men before, and the only reason she might need to know where she was would be so that she could return to Olympus, which she could now never do, and, frankly, feeling as she did now, free and ready for whatever would happen next, never wanted to.

Thaleia stood up, wincing slightly, and stepped forward so that she could touch one of the massive columns of this temple of Zeus. She was naked, but had she not heard that in some of the cities of men the girls were naked frequently? That city called Sparta—didn’t the girls, like the boys, train naked there?

That was when she saw the swineherd.

* * *

Clemaeus had not had a good morning. His mother had grumbled him awake before the sun, to take the fattened swine to the priests at Olympia. The priests had given him less than half of what the swine were worth. Now he faced the prospect of returning to his mother with a sum that would make her grumble all the rest of the day.

When he saw the naked girl, though, the new sun seemed to brighten around him, with his mood. Leaning against the column like a return gift from Zeus himself to his faithful servants—such men as raised the pigs that were sacrificed to him from time to time, like Clemaeus—her red hair in beautiful disarray, was the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen, entirely naked and waiting, it seemed just for him.

Clemaeus could scarcely tell why, but the urge to have her immediately, to show her that even if he could not get a good price for his pigs, Clemaeus of Olympia knew how to fuck a beautiful young woman, came irresistibly upon him. He strode toward the temple of Zeus, across the sacred precinct. At first, he thought the girl looked happy to see him, but he supposed he could not keep the hunger from his face, so greatly did the need to fuck lie upon him, and he watched the fear enter her eyes.

“Good morning,” she said, uncertainly.

“Turn around, girl, and get ready for a fucking,” Clemaeus said, though he wondered at his audacity.

“What?”

“You heard me, girl,” the swineherd replied. “Do you need me to make you cut a switch from the trees over there, so I can whip your backside before I fuck you?”

“Oh, please… I’ll… I’ll serve you… I’ll go with you…”

“I don’t need a servant,” Clemaeus said, “and when I marry I’ll surely marry a good girl and not a hussy like you who’s clearly been lying with the priests all night in the temple and profaning the sanctuary.”

The girl still stood, frozen in place, touching the column, achingly beautiful and desperately—it seemed to Clemaeus—in need of ravishment. Clemaeus stood now only a step below her. When the girl put her feet on the top step and her hands on the floor of the temple, her backside would be perfectly positioned for Clemaeus to drive his cock, rock-hard now, into that lovely, hairless cunt that seemed to have taken control of him entirely.

“Must I?” she whispered now.

“You must,” Clemaeus said gruffly.

The girl turned around, and Clemaeus could not suppress a gasp at the beauty of her bottom and her shapely legs. “Put your feet on the top step.” He put out his hands and seized her roughly. She cried out as he pulled backward, and obeyed him. “Bend over, with your hands on the floor there. Knees bent just a little bit.”

The girl obeyed.

“Spread those feet. I want to see that sweet little cunt of yours.”

An idle wonder that Zeus had chosen a poor swineherd like Clemaeus for the sacred gift of that glistening furrow, and the tight grotto he knew must lie inside, went through his mind, and then he had raised his chiton, and he was inside her with his hard length.

But… there was resistance there, and the girl cried out.

“Girl,” he said, hearing how strained his voice was in the extremity of his pleasure, “are you a maiden?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, with a sob that he could tell held pleasure, and willingness despite herself, in it.

Somehow, through all the blind lust the girl had incited in him, Clemaeus found a certain graciousness, for Zeus’ gift, and the girl’s. He said, “Thank you, girl,” and then he took her maidenhead, holding her hips fast and fucking harder than he had ever fucked a woman before. Clemaeus was not a cruel man, though he could often be a rough one. As he fucked this beautiful virgin, a part of him told him to be tender, to have a care for her feelings, but something about her seemed to make it impossible to heed any softer emotion than the need to master her completely.

The girl cried out in pain at the ravishing, but also in pleasure at the thrusting. Clemaeus couldn’t resist spanking the little bottom as he rode her, either, saying, “Such a bad girl—a virgin—here for a swineherd…”

And he could tell that the spanking made her ever more ready for his thrusts. Then, to his astonishment, she started to find bliss, and she found it, screaming, again and again, before at least Clemaeus himself found his, and shot his seed into her grotto, then ceased to move, shuddering and panting. As the lust came off him, Clemaeus’ gentler nature began to take hold, and he stroked her caressingly, trying to soothe her, to say that he did not know what had taken hold of him.

But then a voice came from behind him. “I would call this a profanation, if I did not know the girl to be a gift of Zeus, for us all this morning.”

* * *

Bulutes, the high priest of Zeus continued, “Still, I can see that the girl’s backside could do with chastisement. Swineherd, you had better go about your business and leave her to me.”

“Leave her to us, you mean,” said Zoegon, beside him. Bulutes sighed. It had been too much to hope for that his co-priest would fail to notice what was going on.

“Very well,” said Bulutes, “but perhaps we should get her to the hierion before we enjoy her?”

They watched the swineherd, looking guilty and confused, lower his chiton and run away, as the girl sank down upon the temple steps, in a kind of holy reverie.

“Very wise,” said Zoegon. “Our priest-brothers are probably not far behind us.”

Pretending to be kind, they raised the girl up. Zoegon threw his himation around her, and they led her away to the house of the priests and into Bulutes’ own study. Neither of them asked the other why chastising and enjoying this girl had suddenly become the only thing in which either of them was interested. Her beauty, and the look of come-hither innocence in her eyes seemed to say it all, and had they not seen the swineherd Clemaeus, of all people, enjoying her on the temple steps?

Zoegon took the himation from her, bound her over a stool with leather straps, and Bulutes got the thick leather strap that he used to chastise the pupils he took from the aristocratic families of nearby Elis. His mouth watered as he surveyed the wonderful prospect of the lovely backside presented for his punishment.

The girl had been silent as they had helped her up, and as they had walked her to the hierion, though, still pretending that ravishing her was not the most important thing in the cosmos to them, they had asked her questions like, “What is your name, child?” and “From where did you come?”

“Truly she is a gift from Zeus,” said Zoegon, “and we must not question it.”

“And yet,” said Bulutes, “she allowed the swineherd to enjoy her first. We must… chastise her first, must we not?”

“Truly you are the high priest for good reason, Bulutes,” Zoegon replied. “Your wisdom speaks for itself.”

“Zoegon, would you care to begin her chastisement? I cannot tell why, but I feel the need to humiliate this girl as much as I can, and I should like her to take me in her mouth while she is beaten.”

“That,” the junior priest replied, “must merely be because she humiliated herself so thoroughly, finding bliss under the loins of Clemaeus the swineherd.”

That was when they heard the girl’s voice for the first time.

“Please…” she said.

Bulutes and Zoegon looked at each other in consternation.

“Please,” the girl said again, “my name… my name is Thaleia.”

The priests looked at Thaleia, her wrists and ankles bound to the legs of the stool and her red hair falling around her face. They looked at her bare little sex peeping between her thighs.

“How did you come to be in the sanctuary, girl?” Bulutes asked her.

“I… I came from Mount Olympus.”

Zoegon laughed. “She is a liar, as well!” He put his hand down between her thighs. “Oh, but she is wet, sir. I think we must begin at once to chastise her properly.”

Bulutes felt a part of himself hesitate, wondering about Thaleia, but his lust overcame it easily.

“Have you ever had a cock in your mouth, Thaleia?” he asked.

She shook her head, raising it and looking around. When she found Bulutes’ eyes, as he began to raise his chiton to expose his raging erection, she said, “No… no… I…”

Then Zoegon began to strike her bottom with the strap, and she cried out, “Oh, Zeus!”

“And here is Zeus’ priest, for you to take upon your tongue,” Bulutes said.

To his surprise, the girl opened her mouth for his cock, as if she were eager for it, as he moved himself around so that he was in front of her. He lost no time in letting her have it. Bulutes could tell that Thaleia was indeed inexperienced, because she could not take him deep without gagging, but the sight of his manhood sheathed inside her pretty mouth, as the tears from the beating and the gagging streamed down her cheeks, made the pleasure of being there greater than any he had ever felt.

He thrust in and out a few times, murmuring, “There you go, Thaleia, sweet Thaleia,” but he could not bear to hold himself from his bliss, and he found himself withdrawing, and pumping his cock as Zoegon dropped the whip and plunged into Thaleia’s little cunt. Only a few moments later, Bulutes watched in a transport of delight as his seed spurted from him and onto Thaleia’s face. At the same time, deprived of course, like Bulutes, for several days because of his need for purity during the discharge of his duties, Zoegon shouted, “Lord Zeus!” and shot his own lightning into the girl’s cunt, holding her hips firmly and pressing against her punished bottom so that she cried out herself.

Bulutes looked at Zoegon, and saw in his assistant’s eyes the same wonder he had felt. “Surely the power of the lady Aphrodite is upon this girl,” he said.

“What shall we do with her?” asked Zoegon.

“She must be sold into the service of that lustful goddess. Summon the attendants, and have her sent today to the market at Corinth.”

“With the proceeds to the temple, of course,” said Zoegon.

“Of course,” replied Bulutes.

The two priests looked down at the beautiful girl still bound over the stool. To Bulutes’ astonishment, she seemed to be moving her hips frantically, if in very small motions, against the stool. Her panting breathing turned to little whimpers.

“Aphrodite is inside her, beyond doubt,” Bulutes said. He took the strap from where Zoegon had dropped it, and began to beat Thaleia’s backside with it once again.

“Will you defile my study, girl, with your wanton pleasure?” he asked, his voice raised to a near-shout.

He struck her, and struck again in the same place, right in the center of her bottom. She gave a long cry, straining against the straps that bound her and, to Bulutes’ chagrin, seemed clearly to find her blissful reward.

“Disgusting,” Zoegon.

“The sooner she leaves for Corinth, the better,” Bulutes agreed.

Chapter Seven

Argeia waited, naked, upon the sleeping couch of Lord Apollo. When she had arrived, a few minutes before sundown, Calliope, chief of the Muses and Apollo’s housekeeper, had said, “Argeia, isn’t it?”

Calliope led Argeia through the sanctuary of Apollo to the palace that lay beyond it. “We all think it’s very brave of you,” she said to Argeia. “You’ll find him a very gentle god, I think, but a girl’s first time is always hard. Just remember to do as he asks you to do.”

When they reached Lord Apollo’s sumptuous sleeping chamber, Calliope said, “Time to get out of your chiton, sweet nymph.” Argeia unpinned her shoulders and let the garment fall to the ground. Calliope bent to pick it up. “I’ll bring it back to you after Lord Apollo leaves in the morning.”

Argeia trembled at the Muse’s implication that Apollo would keep Argeia in his bed all night. She supposed the implication was entirely natural, for Argeia knew gods and goddesses spent their nights together in the deeds of Eros very frequently, but the idea that she had arrived here, in this room and upon this bed, at the end of her maidenhood, frightened her more than she had thought it would. Argeia looked at the vast sleeping couch, and swallowed.

“Onto the couch, now,” Calliope said, kindly. “As soon as you hear us Muses singing the welcome song, turn on your side facing away from the door, and then over a little onto your front, and pull your knees up so that he will see you that way, ready for him, when he enters. Lord Apollo likes to
see
above all things.” Then Calliope had left.

Only a few minutes later, Argeia heard the nine-fold harmony of the Muses ring out to welcome their lord home from the West, where he had driven the Sun’s chariot through the gates of evening, and then been borne with magical swiftness under the lands of men and up through the special lift made by Hephaestus for him inside Mount Olympus many eons past. The words of the song consisted entirely of “Welcome, Lord Apollo, to your Olympian home,” but the Muses’ voices were so achingly pure that the music conveyed to Argeia’s ears a vast, golden treasure of the light that clung to the god wherever he went.

The sound of that song seemed to bring the god himself into Argeia’s mind, in all his handsomeness and eternal youth. She still had a knot of fear in her stomach—for she did not really know what the deeds of Eros were—but the thought of beautiful, tall Lord Apollo initiating her into these mysteries, together with the thought that she was going to help Thaleia, seemed to make part of her fear melt away. Willingly, as she listened to the song of welcome, she arranged herself half on her side, with her knees up to display her backside, as Calliope had told her.