Trojan Whores (11 page)

He looked up
as Sappho was dragged forward. She felt ashamed of herself compared
to the fine pony girls. She looked down in embarrassment at her
filthy feet. She stared at the streaked dirt on her thighs where
the semen from her unknown lovers had been spread and smudged.

'Wash her
down,' shouted Polydorus. 'And be quick. My important guest will be
here soon.' He turned back to feeding his pony girls.

Sappho was
pulled along a covered walkway to an open door. She was too
confused and too weak to struggle as they dragged her inside a
high-ceilinged room.

Women hung on
ropes around the walls. Their strained bodies shimmered in the
dancing red light from spluttering flares set on poles in each
corner. Others were held cowering on their knees under the
overbearing threat of canes and whips. Some were hooded, some bound
by the ankles, some gagged. The guards held a cane or a flail above
their heads ready, at any time, to bring it down in punishment for
some transgression or simply to gratify their need to inflict
pain.

They pushed
Sappho down in the centre of the room. She looked at the captives.
On the one side of the room three women hung from ropes bound
around their wrists. They hung freely, swinging slowly in circles,
taut under the strain of their weight. All three drooped their
heads, but whether in shame, despair or exhaustion, Sappho could
not tell. One looked up weakly and stared for a moment at Sappho,
before dropping her head back heavily.

On another
wall three women had their wrists tied behind their backs and then
to their ankles. They were gagged with balls secured behind their
heads. A strap was fitted across each of their foreheads and this
was led back to the bindings behind their backs. In this way their
heads were pulled back, continuing the half circle described by
their bent bodies. Leather straps had been used to bind them. These
were wound into a metal ring attached to the end of a rope
suspended from the ceiling. The women spun around, their bodies
bent agonisingly, their breasts flat against their chests. Their
eyes were wide and dazed, unable to focus on anything.

On another
wall three women were each secured to a timber crucifix. Their arms
were lashed to its crossbeam, their ankles secured tightly to its
upright. The woman in the centre had her nipples pinched between
two wooden slats clamped together at each end by straps. The women
on either side of her had upturned buckets over their heads. Water
ran down and dripped from their feet to the floor.

On the last
wall three more hung suspended by their ankles on ropes. They had
hoods over their heads. One of the hoods had worked down over the
woman's chin until it rested against her nose. Her mouth was
visible. Sappho's heart started pounding as she recognised
Chryseis. She wanted to call out to her, to let her know she was
there, but as she strained forward she was knocked sprawling to the
floor. She wanted to help her friend, to rescue her, saving her
from the terrible ordeal, but she just lay there, looking away,
unable to move, too afraid to go to her aid.

'Wash her
down,' snorted one of the guards. 'She's filthy.'

Sappho
struggled to sit up and a heavy splash of water hit her in the
face. It knocked her over and she fell back. She gasped with the
shock and struggled to pull her legs together, to get up, to
protect herself. Another bucket of water sloshed over her. It hit
her full in the chest. She gasped for breath, trying to wipe the
water from her face. Another, between her legs, made her shiver.
She tried to bring her legs together, but two guards held them
wide. They pinned her ankles down and laughed as bucket after
bucket of cold water was sluiced over her. Her head was knocked
from side to side by the force of it. Her nipples ached, her skin
tingled, and she struggled to get her breath.

She was
dragged to her feet. They did not dry her. She was led dripping and
shivering through a door into the next room. She glanced back to
the hooded women. She saw the pitiful figure of Chryseis. Just to
know she was there reduced her loneliness. Perhaps Chryseis would
forgive her, understand why she could not help. As she stared her
face was gripped in powerful hands and turned away from the sight
of the friend she had let down.

The room was
dark. No torches lit it. 'Aha! At last, my little prize.'

Polydorus
walked towards her out of the gloom. 'Light!' he shouted.

Torches were
brought in hurriedly. Their flames reflected a turmoil of wriggling
shapes on the dark walls. Sappho shrank back in terror.

'Do not be
afraid,' said Polydorus. 'They are merely shadows.' He took her
face between his hands and pointed it towards the ceiling. 'Of
these!'

Sappho stared
upwards, terrified. Many ropes were suspended from the ceiling, all
different lengths, different thicknesses. Between them were leather
slings and tapes, some shining with moisture, others glistening
with silver studs and buckles.

Polydorus
laughed. 'Secure her. Make her ready for my special guest. I do not
want to disappoint my own dear brother.'

A guard lifted
her up in his muscular arms. He held her high, her sex close to his
face. First her arms were stretched out and her wrists secured to
leather slings. The pressure on her chest was almost unbearable.
She squirmed from side to side to try and relieve it. The guard was
so strong that for all her twisting and turning he held her easily.
Her legs were pulled wide and her ankles laced around with wet
leather loops. She felt her sex open as her legs were stretched
apart, and felt a warmth against it. The guard had drawn her close
to him, close enough to reach with his probing tongue. He drew the
flat of it against her sex lips. She allowed herself to drop onto
his hands, hoping to relieve the pressure on her wrists, hoping to
let him take the full weight of her body. But the slings on her
wrists were stretched so tight they kept her fast, stretched,
strained and wracked with pain.

The guard's
tongue lapped again. He drew it against her clitoris, pressing,
circling its base. He licked to the rear, stopping for a moment
before letting the tip enter her anus. She wanted to drop down onto
it, to wriggle herself over it, to take it in as far as possible.
She wanted him to taste her. She wanted him to feed on her, to
delve into her rectum, to feast on her. She wanted him to exploit
her exposure fully, to stretch her wider, to probe deeper with his
wet tongue. She wanted him to use her, to deny himself nothing, to
consume her completely in any way he chose.

She tightened
her arms against the leather at her wrists. She lifted herself. She
pulled against the tension of her own weight. She stretched herself
in an effort to make herself more open to him. He took the swollen
flesh of her cunt in his mouth, sucking it, drinking its wetness.
She felt her body filling with heat, consuming everything she was.
She tightened her buttocks and felt her nipples pulsing. She felt
the flood of ecstasy beginning to flow. She braced herself for it.
Then suddenly it stopped. The tongue was not there. The heat was
abating. The fear returned.

A slashing cut
across her stretched buttocks made her wince with pain. She
squirmed against her bonds, her legs wide, her arms outstretched,
her sex exposed. Another slash of the cane and she shrieked.
Another and she twisted hopelessly, contorting in confusion,
frustration and fear.

'Leave her
be!' shouted Polydorus. 'Save her for the wishes of my brother. Let
him decide her punishment.'

Sappho hung in
her bonds, the straps around her wrists cutting painfully into her
skin, the loops at her ankles stretching her legs wide. Her heart
was pounding as she gasped for breath. She blinked as the door
opened. A line of girls was marched in. Each was naked except for
white cotton pulled up between their legs. It was sewn to fit
tightly around their buttocks and pulled close between their
thighs. They all had their heads shaved and had a colourful garland
of flowers resting on their foreheads. They were bent forward and
their wrists held down to their knees, secured by thongs. The
thongs were led up around their necks so that they were forced to
stare down between their legs. A ring was attached to the strap
behind their neck and they were hauled up on ropes until they were
suspended, squatting, from the ceiling. They were pulled up in a
line from the door to where Sappho was suspended at the far side of
the room.

A figure
appeared at the door. 'What have you for me, brother?' asked a deep
voice.

'A rare
beauty, Paris. A girl from the temple. A priestess, no less. See
how she waits for you. See how she stretches her legs wide for
you.'

Paris looked
and smiled. 'And the others?'

'They all
await your inspection. But they have been there for several days.
They can wait a little longer.'

'Like fine
wine, brother Polydorus, they improve over time.'

They both
laughed.

'Yes, the
longer they suffer the more tasty they become.'

Two naked
girls starting removing Paris' tunic. They slipped it from his
shoulders and folded it carefully. They took his wide leather belt
and removed the garland of green ivy which was placed around his
head. He stood naked. Paris, the most handsome man on earth, envy
of the gods themselves. Paris, prince of Troy and lover of the most
beautiful Helen, princess of Sparta, wife of Menelaus and the
reason why the thousand ships of the Greek army were beached on the
shores of this foreign land.

'Here,
brother,' said Polydorus. 'As always the maidens of rain are ready
for you.'

Paris stepped
beneath the line of suspended girls crouching in their bonds. He
looked towards Sappho.

'Ah, brother.
She truly is a beauty, this priestess. You look after me so well.
You cater to my needs so precisely. I will walk to her through the
delectable rain of sensuality. I will approach her through the
golden rain that washes me and prepares me for my ultimate
delights. Yes, I need to bathe before my pleasure.'

Sappho stared
at Paris as he stepped forward. He stood beneath the first woman
and turned his face upwards. She watched the first droplet
squeezing through the tight thin cotton at the girl's crotch. It
fell gently towards him. Then another, before the first one touched
his face, appeared on the surface of the white cotton. Another.
Another. Then a shower of perfectly separate droplets rained down
on him. He turned his face into the shower that doused him. He
opened his mouth and licked his lips as the drizzling rain of urine
fell into it. He stepped forward a pace. Sappho watched the
droplets of urine coming through the next garment of cotton. It
rained down like the first, soft and slow. Individual droplets fell
gently onto the welcoming face and naked body of Paris. He walked
forward and savoured them all. He wiped his face with his hands,
washing himself in the delectable soaking. He opened his mouth wide
and drank from all of them as they showered him with their gentle
rain. Sappho watched his glistening body approaching. He was like a
golden statue; beautiful, shimmering - a god.

He stood
before her. His wet body glowed. Sappho felt herself shivering with
fear. She looked from side to side, as if there was some power
waiting in the shadows to save her.

'Do not be
afraid, my little angel. Yes, for that is what you are, a little
angel hanging in the sky, sent by the gods as their messenger. Yes,
a delectable angel, bearing your succulent gifts, your sensual
treasures. Do not be afraid, my little angel. It is I, Paris. The
one you have been waiting for.'

He held out
his right arm and waited. An attendant ran forward and placed a
spear in his hand. At its end, instead of a deadly tip, was a
leather phallus, its glans swollen and flared. Its shaft was ribbed
and veined, its length prodigious.

He held it out
in front of him. 'No, my little angel, do not be afraid.'

Sappho
quivered as he moved the spear towards her. She looked at its
ribbed surface, its bulging end, its rigid length. For a moment she
turned her head, afraid to look. But she could not take her eyes
away; it transfixed her. Even though its bulk was terrifying, its
shiny surface, its swollen globe and her exposure to it, made it
irresistible.

Paris lifted
it higher, raising it between her open legs.

'Are you ready
for it, my angel?' he said, smiling. 'I see you are open. I see you
are wet. But here, taste it first.'

He held the
leather cock up to her lips. He pressed it against them. She
smelled the leather, the scent of an animal. Her lips parted. She
could not resist it. The globe slipped inside her mouth. She closed
her lips around it. She sucked feverishly. It filled her. She
wanted it. She licked it. She covered it with saliva. Spit ran from
her mouth and down the shaft.

Paris drew it
back slightly. Sappho gripped it, sucking hard, using her lips to
encircle it, desperate to keep it there, unwilling to release
it.

'Ah, my angel,
you must let go. Your moisture has inflamed it. Your sucking has
filled it with a desire of its own. Release it. You will not be
without it for long. It will not disappoint you.'

She let it out
of her mouth, staring at it, unable to think of anything else.

Paris held the
tip against her wet sex. He rubbed it against her flesh, wetting it
more, lubricating its entrance.

Sappho felt
herself rocking in her bonds, swinging slowly forward and back. Her
sex lips touched the cock as she rocked forward, and pulled away
from it stickily as she rocked back. She was transfixed. She wanted
more.

Paris held it
more firmly against her. He allowed it in whenever she rocked
forward, but still let it out when she rocked back. She stared down
at him, hoping he would not pull it back, hoping he would allow it
to stay. Slowly he gave her more. Slowly he kept a little more
inside each time. Slowly she took it. Slowly her heat increased.
Her eyes blurred, her head spun, she was taken over by it. She felt
her heart racing, her veins pulsating. Her temples throbbed. She
was set on fire and nothing would cool it.