Trojan Whores (26 page)

Chryseis
crawled between Sappho's thighs. The rough animal hair prickled
Sappho's skin. She shivered with excitement. The slapping sound
filled her ears. She watched the lion's head forcing between her
thighs, squeezing between them, driving them apart, opening her
cunt, making her available.

The smacking
grew into a thunderous roar. She could see the man's hand coming
down on the woman's buttocks. She saw the moment of contact, the
sudden meeting of the two surfaces of skin. She jumped with every
contact. It filled her mind. She was overwhelmed by it.

Sappho reared
back as the flat of Chryseis' tongue touched her exposed cunt.
Chryseis lapped, lubricating the already wet flesh. She circled
Sappho's clitoris with its tip. She massaged its pulsating
hardness. She drew out its need.

Sappho leant
back and slowly slipped into the pool of water. It was shallow. It
slopped around her buttocks. Chryseis followed. She kept
licking.

Sappho opened
her mouth. She wanted to scream. But it was too human. She heard
the smacks against the woman's buttocks building to a crescendo.
She could not hold back. She let out a terrific roar - a lion's
roar. Her body was overtaken by a massive explosion of ecstasy.
Chryseis forced her tongue in as deeply as she could. Sappho
clamped her thighs around Chryseis' head. She squeezed her in
against her drenched sex. She threw her head back. She roared
again.

Sappho fell
back onto her elbows. The water splashed against her hips. She was
overcome. Chryseis lapped softly at her, drinking her moisture and
the water that flowed with it, refreshing herself with Sappho's
passion.

At last there
was silence. Chryseis drew back. Sappho stroked her head.

'It is getting
dark. We must find somewhere for the night.' They ran up the raised
garden, past the pools and waterfalls, between the obelisks and
statues. They came to the small temple at the highest point.
Polydorus' statue had been desecrated and knocked over. It lay on
its side, both arms broken off. Daubs of red paint were smeared
across its face.

They stood by
the fallen statue and looked towards the setting sun. It hung in
the purple sky, swollen and red. Between a yawning gap in the
fallen city walls they saw the Greek ships setting out for home.
Their square sails were unfurled from the broad cross-spars. Their
oars were pushed out from the sides. The two women heard the
distant pounding of the slave masters' drums as the time was beaten
out. They stood in silence as they watched the oar blades dipping
into the water and pulling the victors away.

Sappho heard a
noise inside the temple. They went inside to look. A man's form lay
huddled in one corner. It was covered in rags. They thought it must
be another beggar, a frightened inhabitant seeking safety for the
night. Sappho approached. The sight of fear excited her. She
straddled the body and pressed her hands between her thighs. A hand
stretched out from beneath the filthy covering. She jumped back,
shocked. A large ruby set in a heavy gold ring glinted on the
forefinger. Sappho recognised it straight away. It was Polydorus.
He was injured and in need of help.

Sappho felt a
great tide of anger flood over her. She remembered how cruel he had
been. How he had thrown them out of the temple. How he had taken
them into slavery and treated them with unforgiving savagery. She
looked again and saw his predicament. She felt a sudden feeling of
power. Polydorus, her cruel tormentor, was at her feet, broken and
injured. She could do with him as she wished.

His hand
reached further. She took it in hers. She looked at his manicured
nails, filed smoothly and buffed by the labours of attentive
slaves. She looked at her own, dirty and damaged, uncared for and
broken. She looked at his ring. A beam of light came in through the
broken temple wall. The ruby reflected a shower of flashing rays.
It spoke of wealth and power, of authority and control. Sappho saw,
in its light, a future of pleasure and gain. This man, Polydorus,
this one who appealed to her for help, this man who had savagely
humiliated her, had lost his brothers and father. He was the
inheritor of the power of Troy. It was a broken empire, she knew
that, but it was an empire, and it was his. And its wealth was
still somewhere hidden in its secret coffers. The height of the
Greek boats in the water had testified to that. They had not set
out laden with its weight. She had seen that with her own eyes.
Yes, Polydorus was the new king and the power of wealth was still
at his fingertips.

Sappho drew
his hand between her thighs. She took his extended forefinger and
placed it against her moist sex. It opened at his touch. It slipped
between the wet folds, into the warmth within. She rose on it. She
gasped. She dropped down.

She pushed
herself around the huge ruby ring. It was cool. She felt it inside,
his finger reaching and twisting, probing and searching. In her
mind she saw the flashing red beams. She pictured them glittering
inside her cunt, filling her with their promise, their power, their
wealth. She bit her lip. Her body tensed. She held her breath,
dropped her head and jolted with a shattering, gripping orgasm.

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The belt swept down again. She strained to react, to save
herself, somehow pull away, but she was so tightly secured at the
wrists and ankles that all she could do was move her head. The
tautness of her body accentuated the pain and heightened her
feeling of captivity. She felt completely under his control. She
was his victim, and his to humiliate. She could only receive the
pain he gave her
.

The army of the
Greeks is encamped outside the walls of Troy and the legendary war
rages all around. So when Sappho and Chryseis, two beautiful Trojan
girls, are captured by their deadly enemies trying to flee the
city, their situation is not a good one.

The question of
who will possess and dominate the two slaves becomes the source of
friction within the Greek camp, and the two hapless captives can
only pray that some miracle will help them escape from the cruel
and warlike men into whose hands they have fallen.

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