Trojan Slaves (3 page)

Another blow
and she felt the wetness from her cunt on the insides of her
thighs. Another and another. Each stroke of the belt, each wave of
pain was filling her with increasing joy. She bit down on the
mouth-cock, sucking at it, drawing it in. She felt hungry for it.
She wanted it in her throat. She wanted to swallow it, to consume
it. Another blow and her excitement built even more. She was filled
with pain and joy at the same time. She was consumed by her
violation and yet lifted by the sensation of her degradation. She
wanted another stroke, another lash, another burning surge of pain.
She wanted to hear the smack. She wanted to feel the tension of her
body. She wanted to be humiliated.

She bit down
harder on the mouth-cock, and sucked at it as much as she could.
Spit ran from her mouth, then as a rain of blows cut across her
taut buttocks she tightened her legs together and let her pent-up
ecstasy run through her. She shook and quivered and, as Ajax kept
whipping her with the belt, she drew the mouth-cock in as far as
she could and was overcome by a convulsion of breathless
ecstasy.

Ajax tightened
his belt back around his muscular waist.

'Surely you do
not think she has had enough,' gibed Achilles.

'Of course
not. Her pleasures have only just begun, my lord.' Ajax called up
to the men straddling the oars. 'Cut them down!' he shouted. 'Now
we shall have some real pleasure!'

Eva's legs
were released and she bounced up quickly on the rope at her wrists.
The man sheared the ropes that held the women to the oars and they
all dropped to the ground with a jolt. Eva fell sideways, still
biting the mouth-cock, still jerking with the convulsions of her
orgasm.

Ajax grabbed
her roughly and untied the mouth-cock. It burst from her lips,
covered in spit. Eva let her legs fall wide apart and gasped for
breath.

She was not
given time to recover. She was grabbed and carried to a narrow
wooden rail, supported by two posts about knee high. She and the
other women were forced onto their hands and knees before it. She
waited, still panting, not knowing what would happen, wondering if
she could stand any more.

The men
gathered behind the women, kicking at them, pushing them, smacking
them. The women edged forward towards the rail.

'Tie up our
ponies,' commanded Ajax.

One after
another the women were taken to the rail. The first had her mouth
put against it. She was ordered to open up. When she did she was
made to grip the rail in her mouth. It pulled at its sides,
stretching it wide. Thin ropes were used to fasten her against the
bar. They were wound around her head until she was so tight she
could not move. The next woman was tied in the same way, and
finally Eva was made to grip the rail and was secured like the
first two. They waited, motionless, their elbows slightly bent,
their heads fixed to the rail, their buttocks raised.

Eva stared
ahead, letting her spit dribble from the sides of her mouth. She
raised her buttocks higher, exposing the shape of her cunt, its
pink crack and swollen, fleshy lips. She relaxed and showed her
anus, feeling the air against it, allowing it to open slightly.
Still heated by her pleasure from the beating, she felt aroused, in
need.

The first lash
surprised her; a multi-tailed flail struck across the soles of her
feet. The next stung deep and she bit harder onto the rail. The
next made her tighten her body. The next made her part her legs.
The other women groaned as each was whipped across the soles of
their feet by a different man. Their moans only inflamed Eva more
and, as the punishment continued, she felt again her cunt
moistening with desire, its flesh swelling with the urgency of her
growing pleasure.

When the
flails were turned onto her buttocks she opened herself more. She
allowed her anus to dilate and her cunt to spread. She took the
tails of the flail against her anal ring and labia as much as she
could. She was filled with excitement, the pain transformed into
total pleasure. When finally the whipping stopped she writhed for
more. She bit into the rail and moaned like an animal. Then, when
she felt the heat of a throbbing cock entering her cunt, she forced
herself back onto it. She squeezed it tightly, pressed herself down
on it. When she brought out its splashing rush of semen she
tightened her cunt onto it and consumed it thirstily. She took the
next one in her anus, pushing back and drawing it deep into her
rectum. She pulled its venous heat into her bowels, riding it then
consuming its copious splatter of semen like a starved beast.

Each man took
a turn, until all had experienced the pleasure of all the women's
cunts and anuses. When they were exhausted, and when Ajax gave them
permission, they cut the women free from the rail and threw them
onto the ground. Eva fell back and her eyes filled with tears. She
was overwhelmed with despair, and yet it was the very hopelessness
and the mistreatment she had received which had stirred in her
needs more than she could ever have dreamed. Her violation had
inflamed her. Her punishment had drawn her into an ecstasy like no
other she had known. Her body ached, and as she pulled her knees up
to her chin and held her legs for comfort, she felt the wetness of
semen dribbling and running between the smooth skin of her
buttocks.

One of the
soldiers, inflamed by the sight of her exposed flesh, pulled her
legs wide and pushed his face between her thighs. Her eyes rolled
as he licked her, poking his tongue around her sore clitoris and
delving deep inside her semen-filled cunt. She felt her stomach
tensing, and without warning she jerked, widening her legs then
gripping them around the man's head as her orgasm burst like a
breaking dam. As she convulsed she pulled his face onto her flesh.
She tightened her legs around him, pulling his tongue in, sucking
in his spit, mingling it with the semen that ran from her. She
opened her buttocks and let the delectable fluids run onto her
anus, and she tightened her grip, even more so that he would not
leave her without delving his tongue deep in there as well. She
rode on his face, panting and gasping, yelling and screaming. She
would not let him go, gripping him and pulling his tongue in ever
more deeply, wriggling on it, opening her anus to it, using it,
fulfilling herself on it, being everything for it.

Another
soldier dragged the man free and cast Eva down. She lay on her
back, her hips still writhing, her cunt still glistening and open,
her anus dribbling and her skin gleaming with sweat. She knew, even
as she fought for breath, she'd not had enough. She could not
imagine ever having enough.

In the end the
women's wrists were unbound. They lay on the beach, pained and
exhausted. Fine yellow sand stuck to the sweat on their skin,
covering their breasts. Some of them groaned, some of them cried
out, but Eva, who had suffered more than any and had reached
greater heights of pleasure than any, remained silent.

Ajax
instructed his men to drag the women to their feet and give them a
final thrashing.

'And do not
spare our wanton northern maiden,' he shouted back. 'I can still
see defiance in her eyes.'

Eva took her
place in the line, got down on her knees and waited her turn.
Through tear-filled eyes she watched Achilles, with Ajax behind
him, walking away. Beyond them, in the reddening sunset, lay the
plain of Troy upon which so many battles had already been fought.
Beyond that the great walls of the city, the defeat of which was
the pledge of Agamemnon in his undertaking to rescue his brother's
wayward and beautiful wife Helen from the arms of her magnificent
lover, Paris, son of Priam, king of Troy.

The great city
of Troy sat behind its towering walls, impregnable, unviolated by
the outside world, immersed in its own pleasures, degraded only by
its own depravity. Its inhabitants made a study of gratification
and pursued delights of the body and mind with insatiable
eagerness.

The beautiful
young Sappho ducked down behind the statue of Hera, the ox-eyed
goddess. Pelador, the priest, wearing a ram's fleece on his back,
his face covered by a mask, chanted rhythmically. He held a sharp,
glinting knife to a ram's throat. The air was thick with incense
and myrrh. White-robed acolytes, the palms of their hands pressed
together at their chests, recited prayers and bowed low. Naked
girls danced around them throwing flowers. When their baskets were
empty they stooped down and filled them from the floor, tightening
their buttocks and exposing between them the shape of their naked
cunts. Young men ogled them with eager eyes, occasionally grabbing
one by the breasts or between the thighs, and fondling them harshly
before releasing them to the sound of mutual laughter.

Sappho loved
watching these ceremonies. They excited her so much. She squatted
low behind the statue. She drew up her loose robe and gathered it
between her knees. She felt the draught of cool air from the inner
temple against her exposed buttocks. It made her shiver and she
felt goose flesh on the silky softness of her labia. She ran her
fingers between her legs. For a second she closed her eyes,
imagining her sex, picturing the sweet pinkness, shaved and oiled.
She pictured the glistening moisture at its centre - sparkling,
sweet, available. She thought of her fingers, poking her flesh. She
imagined them steadily working their way beneath her robe, across
the front of her thigh then slowly, nervously, finding their way
into the sweet valley that lay at the base of her stomach. She
touched her slit and felt her clitoris hardening. She pressed
slightly, and felt the petals of flesh that surrounded it opening,
inviting, yearning. She licked her lips and opened her eyes,
looking around quickly to see if anyone was watching. No, there was
no one. She was safe.

Last week when
she had been here, at the same place, doing the same thing, a young
man saw her. He had crept up behind her and grabbed her roughly by
the shoulders. She'd fallen back on the cold stone floor, her hands
outspread, her fingers still sparkling with her wetness. He glared
at her, embarrassing her, humiliating her with his stare. He had
threatened to tell Pelador, to expose her. She said she would do
anything to stop him. She fell to her knees and begged him. She
said she could not bear the idea of public humiliation. The young
man had taken her into an alleyway behind the temple and thrashed
her with a stick. He made her bend over and hold her ankles so that
her buttocks were taut and her sex lips were exposed between them.
It hurt so much. But even as he continued her punishment she did
not pull away or beg for mercy. Even when the thin stick cut across
the swollen flesh of her cunt, and the pain stung deeply inside
her, she felt something within that drove her to submit to more.
The fear of humiliation - of exposure - mingled with the pleasure
of subordination to his control, with the joy of the punishment he
was inflicting. As the beating went on she widened her legs a
little and thrust her buttocks higher, exposing her fleshy slit to
the cutting strokes, increasing the pain, heightening her
humiliation and intensifying her pleasure. After he had finished
with her she lay in the alleyway, her fingers pressed between her
stinging flesh, gasping, panting, recovering from her overwhelming
joy.

Sappho got
down lower behind the statue of Hera. She bit her bottom lip. In
her mind she still felt the sting from the young man's stick and
winced as she remembered it. It had burned her, scorched her flesh,
and she ran home with tears flowing from her eyes. But it had not
stopped her coming back. Indeed, the idea that she might be
discovered again filled her with a fresh flush of excitement.

She loved
watching others like this, feeling herself, suppressing her cries
of ecstasy as she brought herself first to the edges, and then to
the depths of jerking ecstasy. This place was so exhilarating; the
scents, the worshipping followers, the sacrifice, the howling of
the ram, the chanting of the priest, and always the fear of
discovery, of humiliation. The delectable exposure to the glare of
others made her shiver with delight. The fear of being found made
her heart pound with thrilling expectation. She delighted in being
where the threat of being found was always present. And she was
here again, doing that.

Sappho
squatted down behind a statue of Aphrodite. She liked this
position; it opened her buttocks and squeezed her sex lips. She
pulled up her robe and hitched it around her waist. Now anyone who
came past, who discovered her, would see her nakedness, see her
crouching as though she was urinating, and they would see whatever
it was she was doing. She parted her knees and felt again the cool
draught of air on her flesh. She placed the flat of her hand
against her fleshy sex and massaged it gently, feeling its warmth,
its wetness, its heat. She felt the hardness of her clitoris and
ran her fingers around its base, squeezing, provoking, making it
yearn.

Pelador thrust
the blade of the knife into the ram's throat. It squealed loudly,
gurgling, bleating, crying out for release. He twisted the knife
and the animal was silenced. He held his arms up high and allowed
the blood of the sacrifice to run in red streams down his wrists
and arms.

The young
girls danced around him, reaching up high in imitation of him,
stretching their firm breasts and tightening their already taut
bodies. They touched his blood-soaked arms and rubbed themselves
with it, smearing their pale skin with wide red lines, rubbing it
around their breasts, down their flat stomachs and onto their
thighs.

Two dropped to
their knees and began smearing each other with the blood. They
seemed in a trance, rubbing each other's faces and breasts. They
embraced each other, kissing and squirming wildly as excitement
seized them and took control. Another girl joined them, holding
onto the first two, licking them, smearing their blood-soaked
bodies with her spit, pressing her cheeks against their
breasts.