Trojan Whores (22 page)

Her nostrils
filled with the scent of semen. She inhaled it deeply. She allowed
its aroma to fill her whole body, to incense her, to feed her
burning desires. She felt the edge of the bowl against her lips.
The liquid touched them. It ran, like a velvet glue into her mouth.
She held it on her tongue. She tipped her head back. She closed her
mouth and swallowed. She tasted it all the way down her throat. It
was ambrosia; the nectar of the gods themselves. She opened her
lips and felt the bowl tipping again. She drank it down, satisfying
her thirst, feeding her rising tide of pleasure. She was filled by
it. Her thirst was satisfied, but her need was not. Her desires had
risen to the surface, she was ablaze with them.

Now she wanted
the god Chryseis had invoked. Now she wanted Apollo himself. Now
she wanted their lord, their saviour, the seer of the future,
Apollo. She brought her hands together again as semen ran down her
chin. She cried out to Apollo. She pleaded with him. She begged him
to come to her, to penetrate her, to deliver her. She offered
everything that she was; her needs, her hopes, her life itself.

She stopped
and listened. She rested her hands on the ground and leant forward.
She heard a heavy footfall behind her. She smelled his delightful
aroma. She saw him in her mind, glowing with the radiance of his
godliness, his robe flowing to the ground, his huge cock, hard and
throbbing. She parted her hands and bent forward in
supplication.

She felt his
godly heat, the burning fire of Olympus that was flowing in his
veins. She widened her buttocks and opened herself to him. The
throbbing tip of his cock touched her anus. It pressed. She would
let it run as deeply as he wanted, into her rectum. She wanted to
feel him filling her completely. She wanted to be stuffed by his
bulk, scorched by his heat, rent by his thrusting godly mass.

It entered.
She gasped. She fell forward, knocked over by its power, its
weight. She lifted her buttocks against it. She dug her elbows into
the dusty ground so she did not fall.

She kept her
buttocks high as he thrust. Behind the blindfold she could see only
flashing stars of light. They dazzled her, filled her head. His
cock swelled. Its bulbous end expanded inside her. She felt as if
she would burst. She sensed its increased heat. She felt the veins
against the lining of her rectum. It filled. His hands gripped her
hips. He held the burgeoning shaft inside. Her anus tightened onto
it. Its searing fluid ran into her in an outpouring river.

She dropped
her face into the dust. She choked and gasped for air. Her
blindfolded eyes saw only confusion. She could not bear it as it
retreated. She gasped, frustrated and disappointed. It left her
cool and empty. Hands gripped and held her buttocks high. Semen
dribbled from her anus. She felt it running down the insides of her
thighs. She was completely dissipated. She relaxed. She slumped
against the hands that supported her hips.

She screamed
as the cane came down across her buttocks. She had not expected it.
The shock disguised the pain. As the shock passed the pain
increased. It stung her deeply. Her flesh was scorched by its heat.
Another slashing cut. No shock this time, just pain. She jerked.
She screamed. She gasped. Another cutting slash. She twisted and
turned as her body was wrenched by the agonising anguish. Another
slash. Her skin ignited with its heat.

Each time the
cane struck she was shaken forward, jolted by its force, agonised
by it. The cane continued to inflict its merciless cuts. She could
not separate them. They blended into one. There was no gap between
each stroke. Her body was on fire. Its flames raged out of control.
The stars she saw in her mind were the stars in the sky. The
heavens were ablaze. She was consumed by it. She felt her muscles
tightening. She felt the pressure of pleasure within her. She saw
only flashing lights. She felt only the fire inside her. She heard
only the thrashing of the relentless cane. She wanted to offer her
sex to it. She lifted herself as much as she could. She felt the
cane cutting into the exposed flesh. She gave a sudden scream. Her
pent up ecstasy broke from her. She was released by its final
escape.

She dropped
forward; she had no strength. It had been taken from her. She fell
unconscious.

'I will take
them all,' said Praxis. 'Brand them with my mark.'

As night fell
the women were lined up. A brazier stood in the centre of the
compound. Irons were poked into its red-hot coals.

'Bend them
here,' a guard ordered. 'Lift their rumps up high. If they are to
bear the brand of Praxis it must be clearly seen. And where better
than the part of their body they will show the most. No female
slave in Greece goes a day without turning her rump for a
thrashing.'

He laughed and
walked to the brazier. He pulled a heavy glove onto his hand and
lifted one of the irons from the fire. A splutter of red sparks
flew from its end. They danced on the floor in a frantic sparkling
shower.

'Bring the
first!'

Sappho watched
as Chryseis walked into the light of the brazier. Her naked body
glowed in its heat, her short dark hair flickered. She stood
proudly before the iron.

'Ah, the proud
priestess. Bend her over. Let me see her rump taut and ready. Let
me see her pink cunt drawn tight between those shapely buttocks.
Bend her over!'

They forced
Chryseis onto her knees. They pressed her head forward until her
face touched the ground. She kissed it. It was her earth - Trojan
earth.

'Lift her
buttocks and hold her tight. Even she will jolt as the brand chars
her noble skin.'

Sappho watched
Chryseis bend low. She watched her buttocks rise and tighten. She
saw the oval of her labia in the cleft they made. She looked at it
glistening, moist and ready. She felt her own heart pounding, her
throat tightening, her breath quickening.

She watched
the brand getting closer. She winced as it touched Chryseis' skin.
Chryseis inhaled deeply. She raised her face towards Olympus, fixed
her jaw and absorbed the pain.

Sappho knew
she was next. She only hoped she could stand the cauterising pain
as well as her friend. She shivered with fear. The thought drew
images of suffering into her mind. She eased her hands between her
thighs. Her sex was moist, swollen and hot. She bent forward and
was gripped by a wave of uncontrollable pleasure.

A great burial
mound was built in the sand dunes behind the beach. Achilles' body
was burned and his bones mixed with those of his friend Patroclus.
Agamemnon decreed that Achilles' armour should be offered to the
winner of a competition for the best orator. Ajax, long envious of
Achilles' heavenly armour, vied against the great speechmaker
Odysseus for the prize. Odysseus beguiled the audience with his
tales of courage and valour. Some were moved to tears. Votes were
cast and Ajax lost. He bowed gracefully to Odysseus as Odysseus
claimed his reward from King Menelaus. In his heart, however, he
was tortured with a burning turmoil of anger and jealousy.

As Odysseus
celebrated his victory Ajax, resting his hand on the shoulder of
the slave who now guided him, wandered into the compound of women.
Eva lay back in a large chair, a wine goblet hanging loosely in her
hand. She was overcome by her indulgence and unaware of the world
around her. Her tired eyes were tightly closed. Her long red hair
was tangled about her face. Her legs were stretched out and open
wide. Calliope knelt by her side, alert and watchful of all that
was going on.

Ajax stumbled
clumsily amongst the women. Some of them giggled at his unseeing
awkwardness. Any that did were immediately grabbed by the guards.
They tied them by the wrists and ankles, face forward to heavy iron
grills propped against the wall. Any that had clothing had it torn
from them and were thrashed cruelly with long canes.

Ajax listened
to their cries with pleasure. Each stroke drew his attention
afresh. Each screech of pain, each numbing jerk of their bodies
against the iron grill increased his interest, captured his
imagination. When the guards thought the women had been punished
enough they threw down the canes and left their victims hanging
against the iron grills. Ajax was led to them. He ran his fingers
along the raised lines that crisscrossed their buttocks and the
backs of their thighs. Some were slumped in their bonds and did not
respond to his touch. Others winced as he pressed his fingernails
into their agonising cuts. These he dwelled on. He followed the
lines of the raised wheals that marked out their wounds. He
savoured their squirming flinches. He enjoyed their captivity. He
relished their hopelessness.

Sappho looked
at him. She saw on his face the pleasure aroused by the women's
torture and suffering. She saw his taste for pain, its infliction
and the product of serving it out. But she saw something beneath
this. She also saw the lines of anger etched by years of
disappointment and failure. This great warrior seethed with regret.
She understood the conflict that arose within him. She knew that
regret and a taste for the suffering of others was a powerful
combination. It was a combination which weakened Ajax, but one
which could work to her own advantage. She realised that behind
this chink in Ajax's armour there was a chance for freedom.

She moved
closer to Ajax's muscular body. She rubbed against him. She did not
know what to expect. Perhaps he would brush her aside like an
irritating fly? Perhaps his guards would pull her away and punish
her for impertinence? Her heart pounded. Nothing happened. It fed
her courage. She knew she must take the risk. If she did not act
nothing would be gained. She ran her hand between his thighs and
cupped his weighty testicles in their palms.

Ajax lifted
his face and sniffed. He inhaled her scent as if he was a beast and
she his hapless prey.

Sappho held
her breath. There was no turning back. 'Can you smell my fragrance,
lord?' she whispered. He widened his nostrils and breathed
deeply.

'I can. It is
sweet.'

Sappho felt a
wave of relief flood through her.

'It is for
you, my lord.' She pulled his hand against her sex. 'See how my
flesh moistens at your touch. Breathe in my aroma, sire. It is
there because of your magnificence, your stature as a warrior and a
chieftain. Here, bring your nostrils against its source. Press them
against the wellspring of my flavour.'

She pulled her
hand behind his head and tipped it forward. His slave pushed her
back. She froze, suddenly filled with fresh fear. Ajax pushed the
slave away. Sappho continued. She squeezed his testicles. She felt
them throbbing. With her other hand she pressed his finger against
her flesh. It opened to his touch. His fingers slipped inside. She
widened her thighs and dropped against them, allowing them in,
warming them with her heat, wetting them with the flow of her
fragrant moisture.

Sappho looked
imploringly to Chryseis, who walked over and knelt between Ajax's
sturdy thighs. Without saying anything she bent and took the
swollen tip of his cock between her dewy lips. He breathed in with
delight.

With one hand
Sappho clung to his testicles. She felt them pounding in her grip.
With her other hand she pressed his fingers deeper into her soft
wet sex.

'You are so
powerful, my lord. I feel it in your body like a fire. I suffer
pain just being so close to you, just touching you. And I sense
your frustration, your need for revenge. I am excited by the power
of it.'

Chryseis
dropped fully onto his cock. She drew the shaft deep inside her
mouth.

Ajax lifted
his head and inhaled heavily. 'What are you saying? What are you
telling me?'

'I am saying
that I and my friend can help you. That the two priestesses of
Apollo can help you take your revenge on your sworn enemy, Praxis.
You need wait no longer, sire. We are your angels of Apollo. We are
here to serve your need for retribution.'

Chryseis drew
his cock deeper. She gagged and drew back. Spit ran from her lips.
She pressed down again and sucked greedily the veined shaft that
plugged her mouth.

'How is such a
thing possible?'

Sappho pushed
his fingers even further into her cunt. Her moisture ran across his
palm and onto his wrist.

'Bring the
downfall of his lackey, Eva, my lord, and Praxis too will
fall.'

Chryseis moved
her head up and down his massive cock. Her mouth was wide, her lips
stretched tight. She swallowed hard and the throbbing tip was
pulled to the back of her gagging throat.

'And how can
slaves perform this miraculous feat?'

Sappho milked
his testicles. She gripped them tightly in her fingers, feeling
their pliability under her grasp. She felt his cock throbbing in
Chryseis' mouth - hardened into a rigid staff by her warm tongue
and the talk of revenge. She felt the surging of his semen; the
need for relief from the pleasure he was suffering.

'In matters
like this, my lord, slaves are the most powerful. Because our
enemies do not suspect us they do not see the threat we carry.
Those held in contempt are often the most dangerous, my lord.'

'Does that
mean I should not trust you either?'

'No, my lord.
We ask only one thing. It is our only wish. And it is a wish you
can grant with no effort or sacrifice.'

'And that
is?'

'Our freedom,
lord. Our freedom.'

'And how will
this victory you speak of be accomplished?'

'With guile,
my lord. With guile. The lady Eva will bring about her own
downfall. She will inflict her own suffering. She will bring defeat
upon herself. And with her subjugation your enemy, Praxis, will
topple.'