Trojan Slaves (18 page)

She wiped her
mouth, hoping to find some more of the glorious semen. She licked
her fingers, sucking them eagerly, hoping for another taste of the
delicious ambrosia. She stared ahead, her heart beating
frantically, her head spinning, her eyes unable to focus. The dark
shape of Agamemnon appeared before her. Her eyes widened as his
heavy cock pressed forward against her wet lips. In one movement
the throbbing glans speared between them and slid into her mouth.
She took a hurried breath as it pressed over her tongue and against
the back of her throat. She felt the venous shaft between her
tightly stretched lips, then it went down, plugging her throat and
expanding. It tightened against the insides of her throat; she
could not breathe. She felt its heat as the glans expanded and she
felt the veins along its length pulsating. Suddenly a huge stream
of semen burst forth. It filled her throat, choking her. She could
not pull back. He held her head fast. She just hung there, her face
penetrated by his huge cock as it throbbed and emptied itself into
her.

He held it
there while his breathing calmed. When he pulled out she inhaled
deeply, hoarsely. He released her head and stood back.

'Your prize is
truly ravenous, Achilles,' he said. 'But whether she is in your
control is still a question I cannot answer. Here, Praxis, take her
and teach her some obedience. And take this one called Chryseis as
well. They are both from Troy, and both carry the same germ of
disobedience in their blood. Yes, Praxis, see to it.'

Achilles
looked down angrily. He resented Agamemnon's interference but at
the same time knew it would be imprudent to contest his decision.
He held back, but it was difficult, and he did not disguise his
begrudging assent to Agamemnon's intervention.

Master Wang
brought soldiers to drag Sappho and Chryseis to the side of the
dark ship that towered above them. Small iron cages were fetched.
They had hinges on one end which allowed it to be opened. They were
barely big enough, but first Chryseis and then Sappho was pushed
inside their cramped confines. The hinged ends were locked. The
cages were strung up against the side of the ship on heavy ropes
led over the towering gunwales. They swung from their attachments,
sometimes crashing into the wooden hull, sometimes colliding with
each other. Sappho could not move at all. She was crouched down,
her knees pressed up against her breasts, her elbows alongside her
thighs, her hands clasping her face. Chryseis' arms had been pulled
behind her and she could just move her head, but still her face was
pressed tightly against the unforgiving bars of the restricting
iron coop.

Agamemnon
ordered water thrown down from the ships. 'Perhaps we can cleanse
their pride with a dousing,' he shouted.

Men hauled
buckets onto the decks, and at their king's instruction they poured
a deluge on the caged women. It splashed onto them harshly, running
over their bodies, soaking them. Sappho braced herself as it ran
across her back and between her buttocks. The drenching accentuated
her exposure, her nakedness, her humiliation.

As the cages
swung precariously high above the ground she became aware of the
eyes that were on her: the soldiers staring up and pointing, the
other slaves gawping, Agamemnon and his chieftains laughing and
joking. Her thin wet vest was pulled up around her neck, and the
way she was crushed inside the cage, the way her buttocks were
exposed, meant she was unable to protect herself in any way against
the prying stares. But all the time she knew that even if she could
protect herself, she would not. The fear of the tight confinement
filled her with anxiety but it was weaker than the surges of joy
which ran through her. The exposure of her humiliating confinement
caused a seething joy to flow through her. And this joy, this
pent-up desire, was more powerful than any apprehension she
felt.

Water dripped
from her chin, her knees and her feet. She gazed down from the
confines of her incarcerating iron pen. She watched the angered
Agamemnon ordering Eva to be whipped. She saw the suffering woman
crying out as they bound her to a stake and flogged her repeatedly.
But Eva had suffered too much.

Even the pain
of the flogging did not bring out the level of suffering Agamemnon
expected. He shouted angrily and threw things in all directions. He
lashed out, slapping many of the slaves and having some of them
tied by the wrists and hung from oars on a nearby boat. He turned
his rage on Calliope. He dragged her over his knee and thrashed her
with a cane.

Sappho saw the
look on Calliope's face: desperation, fear, suffering. She heard
her screams, her anguish, and she wished he would let her go, throw
her down and end her torment. But she did not wish this for the
sake of Calliope. She wished it only in the hope that Agamemnon
would bring her down from her cage and set her across his knee in
Calliope's place.

Still the
plague continued. Neither the ritual, the anger of the chieftains,
nor their cruelty to their slaves could turn it away. Three of the
ships had been set alight by dissident Greeks. They burned like
funeral pyres amid the moaning of the women and angry faces of the
disenchanted soldiers. Agamemnon's chance of success at Troy looked
in tatters. Calchas was summoned and told his own life was forfeit
if he did not find a solution.

He stood
before them all: Agamemnon, Achilles, Menelaus, Ajax and the great
Odysseus.

'My lords. My
king,' he said nervously. 'I have had a sign from Apollo himself.
He has a favourite and she is amongst us.' Everyone turned to look,
as though this woman would be revealed magically by their glance.
'And,' continued Calchas, 'Apollo has ordered her returned to the
Trojans. He wants her to dedicate her life to his worship. Her name
is Chryseis, my king. She is your prize from Troy. She must be
given back to Troy. Only then will Apollo remove the terrible
plague which is destroying us.'

'Then it is
done,' said Agamemnon without a second thought. 'Have her taken
immediately. I will not lose by it. My lord Achilles will surrender
his little prize in her place. Chain this prize of his, the one
they call Sappho, and bring her to my tent. She will stay there
from now on. She will not have such an easy life with me, be
assured.'

Achilles' eyes
blazed. He wrinkled his brow deeply and stared hard at
Agamemnon.

'My lord,' he
protested. 'My—'

'It is done,
Achilles,' interrupted Agamemnon. 'I will have it no other way. The
decision is made.'

Achilles
turned and left, swearing to take no further part in any battle led
by Agamemnon. Ajax followed. The others looked at each other with
troubled concern. Their hearts sank when they realised what had
happened. They knew that without Achilles there would never be any
victory for them here.

Sappho's heart
sank as she watched Chryseis being taken away. It was as if her
last hope was being removed. She could not imagine how she could
ever be free again. And now she was the captive prize of the king
himself, she trembled at what might lie ahead.

Agamemnon kept
her in chains for many days after she was first taken. She hung,
manacled in the dark hold of one of the ships, never seeing anyone
or being fed. When she was released it was only to be bathed and
imprisoned again in a small cage suspended on a tripod of spears
behind Agamemnon's tent. She clung to the bars, hoping someone
would take pity on her, but she was owned by the king now and
unless he commanded it no one dared even look at her.

One night she
heard some soldiers talking. They said that since Pelador's
daughter Chryseis had been returned to Troy the plague had passed.
Just the sound of Chryseis' name filled Sappho with excitement, and
that night, as she crouched in the swinging cage, she thought of
her lost friend. She fixed an image of Chryseis in her mind -
naked, standing before the altar in the temple of Apollo. It was a
beautiful sight; it sent thrilling shivers coursing through her
confined body. She pulled her shoulders down towards her bent knees
and, with her fingers deep inside her vagina, she made herself jerk
with the ecstasy her own tender touch.

As she clung
to the bars of the dangling cage she could just see through a chink
in the wall of Agamemnon's tent. One day she watched as Ajax
entered and sat by Agamemnon. Ajax clapped his hands once and, led
by Master Wang, Praxis entered with some slaves for Agamemnon's
approval.

'I have some
beautiful Nubians for you, my lord,' said Praxis, staring blindly,
unaware of exactly where Agamemnon sat. 'Bound as camels' toes for
your delectation.'

Agamemnon
furrowed his brow with interest.

Five girls
were paraded in a row, their wrists bound with thin rope behind
their heads. The tension of their pulled arms stretched their pert
breasts almost flat against their chests. Their nipples were hard
and prominent. Each one had a leather thong drawn tightly around
her slender waist. From this, just below their navels, another
thong was attached and pulled down between their shaved sexes,
before being drawn up tightly between their buttocks. There it was
attached again in the small of their backs to the waistband.

'See, my
lord,' said Praxis. 'See how the thong in their naked cracks forms
the shape of a camel's toes. I learned this trussing from the
tribes of the desert who bind all their slaves in this way. The
bedouins thrash their women bound like this. The method makes them
exceptionally receptive, so they say.'

Agamemnon
nodded his approval.

'And like
this, my lord, they are particularly fine for the cane. The cane
has a sharpness which matches the pull of the thong. And this pain,
though severe, always releases their greater joy. I guarantee that
like this no woman can keep back her joy. Bound as camels' toes
they are truly a pleasure to behold in their ecstasy. Shall I
demonstrate, my lord?'

'You promise a
lot, Master Praxis,' said Agamemnon, frowning. 'But yes, I am
anxious to see.' He waved his approval.

Already
excited by what she saw, and aroused by what she heard, Sappho
gripped the bars of her cage, eager to watch.

One of the
girls was brought forward. She stood shaking with fear, exposed in
her nakedness, terrified by what might happen. She tried to smile,
but it was hopeless. Large tears welled up in her eyes. She flushed
with embarrassment and dropped her head. Her tears fell onto her
stomach, flowed down to her thighs.

Wang led
Praxis forward and put a thin cane, about as tall as his waist,
into his hand. Praxis flexed it and slashed it through the air.
Wang stood alongside the girl, facing the opposite way to her. He
crooked his arm backwards around her waist and bent her over. Her
head dropped low as he pushed her down. Her buttocks were upturned
and taut. He smoothed his free hand across them, testing their
tension, ensuring their exposure. He bent her further so that the
delicate shape of her sex was revealed between her stretched
rump.

He reached out
and guided Praxis' cane so that it lay level, and at right angles,
to the delectable curve of the girl's buttocks. He held it there
for a moment so that Praxis could fix the image of its position in
his mind. When sure he knew exactly where it was Praxis nodded to
Wang, who removed his hand from the cane.

Sappho
breathed in deeply as she waited for the first strike. She bit her
lip and felt her heart beating faster. She breathed hard, gripped
by the throbbing of her body and the heat building around the
squeezed flesh of her aching sex.

She watched as
Praxis lifted the cane away. He stopped when it was behind his
head. He held it there, capturing the moment of potential, holding
onto the period of expectation. The cane bent as he brought it
down. It swished through the air as though cutting it in two. It
met the girl's buttocks with a harsh crack. She winced against
Master Wang's grip. Sappho saw her screw up her face. Praxis drew
back again, held the cane high for a second, then brought it down
even harder. The girl winced again. The cane laid a thin red stripe
across her smooth skin. Again it came down and again she
winced.

Sappho could
only watch. She ached with the frustration. Her stomach churned
with the anxiety caused by frustrated need.

The thrashing
continued. The girl began shrieking, but as the red stripes on her
buttocks blended into a solid crimson daub her screams grew less.
Suddenly she drooped loosely in Wang's grip.

'She fails
us,' said Agamemnon, making himself more comfortable on his chair.
'You have brought out no pleasure in her, Master Praxis. Show me
your art. Show me how you draw out the desires of these beautiful
young things. Show me what you promised. Do not show me that you
can simply beat them into submission. I can do that with a
dog!'

He laughed and
nodded to Ajax, who was himself beginning to feel angry with
Praxis.

Wang released
the girl and she fell to the floor. He brought out a second girl,
but again the cane only overcame her with pain. She, like the
first, fell to the floor panting, not with delight, but with
exhaustion.

Sappho watched
and listened to the swishing crack of the cane, but she too felt
unsatisfied. The beating promised her so much and gave so little.
The girls' bottoms were marked with reddening stripes, but nothing
more. They looked beautiful as they were lined up for their
punishment, but their beauty fell aside as they were overcome with
the pain of Praxis' brutality.

Wang had one
of the girls suspended by the ankles on a tripod of spears. She
spun giddily on the rope that held her. When she was thrashed she
shouted out for mercy. But again, she collapsed under the terrible
thrashing before any of her own pleasure had come to the surface.
Her pain inflamed Sappho, brought her to the brink, but her
collapse under the strain of Praxis' harshness delivered only
disappointment. Sappho needed more, and it was not available.