Trojan Whores (7 page)

The two women
who pulled it, their athletic bodies glistening with sweat, stood
nodding their heads. They wore the same leather strap pulled up
tightly between their buttocks and fixed to the leather belt at
their waist. Their chest harnesses had been freshly burnished, and
when Sappho had seen them before they were barefoot, but now they
wore black leather boots, reaching up their smooth thighs. They
wore sparkling metal spurs with rotating silver wheels, faceted to
reflect the sun as they spun. The fine plumage of their headdresses
shone like rainbows in the shimmering morning sun. They relaxed on
the loose traces, getting their breath back, kicking at the ground
in their eagerness to move on again.

Polydorus
marched over to the open door. 'Bring them,' he ordered. 'Tie them
to the rear of my trap. They will travel at the pace of Polydorus.
And pain will be theirs if they fail to keep up, or if they hold my
beautiful ponies back.'

He fed his
ponies from his hands as he watched Sappho and Chryseis secured by
their wrists on ropes tied behind the ornate trap. Sappho waited
fearfully as he took the reins from a blonde slave girl, and
removed the long whip from the brass retaining ferrule. He flicked
the whip. It cracked across the buttocks of the woman harnessed on
the left of the trap. She stiffened and bent her head slightly,
ready to move, waiting for her companion. Polydorus flicked the
whip again. It cracked across the tightened buttocks of the other
woman. He snatched at the reins and shook them. The women closed
their teeth onto the metal bits, lifted their heads and trotted
forward.

Sappho hurried
behind, afraid she would not keep up. Her wrists were snatched and
she was jerked forward. She nearly fell over, but just managed to
stay on her feet.

Polydorus
drove his trap beneath the covered walkways. The women's boots
clicked on the decoratively tiled surfaces beneath the shading
pantile roofs. The shiny wheels on their spurs scattered beams of
multi-coloured light.

Polydorus
peered in through some of the doors as they passed. At one
particular red one he stopped and entered.

As Sappho
stood struggling to get her breath she heard the cracking of his
whip and the cries of pain produced by its savagery. Again it
cracked. Again a fearful cry. Then it was silent. Polydorus emerged
from the doorway. His face was red with fury. He kicked the side of
the trap before stepping up into it. He shook the reins angrily and
flailed his whip across the women's buttocks. They both flinched
and reared back. Their buttocks pressed against the padded
breaching on the shaft outriggers and the trap jolted backwards.
Sappho and Chryseis shrunk back fearfully.

Polydorus
brought the whip down across the buttocks of the woman on the left.
A red mark appeared instantly on her skin. She made to move forward
just as his whip cracked across the buttocks of the other. The
women lost their sense of unified action. The trap lurched
unevenly. Sappho stumbled again, but this time Chryseis fell to the
ground. She hit the tiled surface of the covered walkway. The trap
slewed sideways and crashed into one of the marble columns.
Polydorus fell onto the front of the trap. The harnessed women were
yanked back. They struggled as much as they could, but were unable
to move the wedged trap. They breathed hard and whinnied in panicky
frustration.

Polydorus
jumped down. He strode over to Chryseis. She recoiled, holding her
bound wrists in front of her face and struggling to get to her
feet.

Polydorus
raised the whip. He flicked it. The leather strand bent backwards
in a slow curl. He lashed it forward and the tip cracked loudly. He
threw it back again, but this time working the tip closer to his
victim. Again it curled back. Again it cracked. This time even
closer.

'Hold her!' he
shouted. 'I could have been injured. My ponies are distressed. Let
her buttocks feel the heat of my fury.'

Two slaves
grabbed Chryseis' arms. They dragged her to a marble table and bent
her over it. They held her arms on its surface while another slave
bent and held her ankles.

Polydorus
struck immediately, and with complete accuracy. It snapped against
Chryseis' buttocks. A red mark appeared. She screamed in pain. The
whip came down again. Another mark, another scream, another tide of
pain. She pulled against the restraining hands of the slaves in
agony and panic. The whip came down again. A louder crack than
before, her howl of pain a tribute to her anguish.

Sappho watched
as Polydorus whipped Chryseis relentlessly. Her cries turned to
whimpers, her whimpers into silence. She slumped. Her legs bent and
buckled beneath her. Polydorus tired and stopped.

'Take her away
for more appropriate punishment,' he ordered. 'I do not want to see
her again until she is able to follow my orders.'

Sappho's heart
dropped as Chryseis was hauled away, her legs bent, her head
hanging down, her buttocks reddened and angry.

The trap was
released from the column and the progress continued.

They passed
two women being trained as ponies in a cleared ring in the
ornamental garden. They were both Egyptian, tall and noble with
smooth sallow skin. Although their pubic hair was shaved neither
had their head shaved. The dark straight hair of each was worked
into a heavy plait which fell down between their shoulder blades.
Both had golden rings piercing their nipples through which were
attached red silk tapes. A tall woman with a black ankle length
cloak held the tapes in one hand and a long whip in the other.

Polydorus
stopped to watch as the two women were led by the tapes around the
training ring. First they walked. The woman in the cloak coaxed
them with the whip, making them keep their heads up and their arms
by their sides. Then she made them trot. One lagged behind the
other for a moment, and the woman cracked the whip across her
buttocks. Finally they cantered, their heads high, their plaited
hair swinging against their sweating backs.

Polydorus was
pleased with their performance. He went to them and held out
something sweet in his hands. They bent their heads and took it,
nodding to him as eagerly they chewed their reward. He strode up to
the woman with the whip and thrust his hand between her thighs. She
rose stiffly. He took her whip and pushed it across her mouth,
holding her fast, her eyes wide, pinioned on his powerful hand.
Sappho felt her own sex moistening as Polydorus pushed the woman to
her knees and thrust his heavy cock into her mouth.

Further on
another door was open. The trap was stopped. The women were tied to
a hitching post. They knelt and drank thirstily from a large
earthenware bowl of water.

Polydorus went
inside and ordered Sappho released from the trap. She was led
inside too. A girl, an Abyssinian, lean and small breasted, knelt
in the centre of the room. She held a bowl in her hands, just below
her mouth. It was empty. Six men stood around her, holding their
stiff cocks in their hands. The girl looked up at them as they
masturbated. Her brown eyes dwelt on their cocks, watching them
throb and expand, seeing the skin tighten and redden. Behind them
stood more men, all naked, all waiting.

Sappho
shivered. Polydorus called for a chair. A large ornamented throne
was brought. He dropped into it heavily and motioned Sappho to sit
on his knee. She held back, unsure, but he waved his hand at her
insistently and she approached.

'Sit here, my
little priestess. Make yourself comfortable for the exhibition of
buk-ka-ke. I am interested to see how it affects you. Yes, sit on
my knee. I want to feel your squirming buttocks against my leg. I
want to feel the moistness of your crack against my skin.'

He lifted his
robe and exposed his naked thighs. She sat nervously across his
left knee. She felt her naked flesh squeeze down against his
muscular thigh. She felt fearful and embarrassed. She pressed her
hands between her knees.

The motion of
the men's hands was hypnotic. She watched their fists pumping their
stiff cocks. The bulbous domes swelled and reddened with the rhythm
of their hands. She stroked lightly the silky skin on the insides
of her thighs. She found herself moving her fingers in time with
the motion of the men's hands. Polydorus lifted his thigh slightly
and she slipped along it, closer to his groin and to the heat of
his own burgeoning erection. She felt the heat from his testicles
rising against her skin. She felt the teasing sideways tension of
his muscular leg against her sex, pulling at it, opening it a
little, allowing its moisture to run against his skin.

The first
spurt of semen splashed on the girl's cheek. She opened her mouth
in response to it, licking to catch any that ran down onto her
lips. She held the bowl out, ensuring the remainder was spilled
into it, collecting in a sticky pool at its centre. The next
spurted over her eye. She blinked as it stuck to her long lashes.
It too ran down her cheek, over her lip and onto her waiting
tongue. The rest she took in the bowl.

Sappho kept
moving her hands between her legs. She could not stop herself. She
watched Polydorus' cock engorging. It rose and strained against the
side of her leg. She wanted to grasp it. She wanted to work her
hand over it as she watched the men with their hands on their own
cocks. She wanted to keep up with their rhythmic movements and make
Polydorus ejaculate at the same time as them.

She could not
stop herself. She grabbed his thick cock in her hand. It swelled
more. 'Show me, my little priestess. Show me how you fill the bowl.
Show me how you nourish yourself on its contents. Show me your
taste for buk-ka-ke.'

Sappho
released her grip on Polydorus' cock. She eased herself on his
knee, getting ready to stand up. Her sex felt wet and the soft
flesh stuck to his skin as she lifted herself off. She stood and
moved forward. No one stopped her. She was acting under her
master's orders. It seemed as though she was in a dream; a dream
filled with discipline, joy and the overbearing excitement of
unknown pleasures.

She took the
bowl from the girl. She lifted it to her lips and drank. She let
the contents slip over her tongue. It stuck to her lips. She left
it there, glistening and gluey. The girl got to her feet and
stepped aside. Sappho slowly knelt. She held the bowl up, offering
her wrists, wanting them bound.

A slave
brought some wet thongs. Sappho did not move. The slave wound the
leather several times, increasing Sappho's excitement. Her nipples
hardened and ached. Her chest pounded in time with her racing
heart. The slave tied the thongs into a knot and stood back.

Sappho brought
the bowl up beneath her chin. She opened her mouth and looked up at
the circle of men. She looked at their cocks, thickened and
pulsating. She watched the veins throbbing. She cupped her hands
beneath the bowl and held it out. She begged for their semen,
showing them she was waiting for her bowl to fill, showing them she
only wanted to drink, only wanted to feast on its nourishment.

She did not
blink as the first eruption hit her face, hanging from her
eyelashes, dripping down. She felt its warmth as it trickled onto
her cheek. She breathed deeply as it ran down into the corner of
her lips. She licked it. Its tang filled her with shivering
thrills. The next splattered into her open mouth. It covered her
waiting tongue, dripping down into the bowl. More came, some
spurting directly into the bowl, some running over its edge onto
her fingers. Some hit her cheeks, some in her mouth.

The last man
stood back and another took his place. It was Polydorus. His purple
robe was open. His cock throbbed in his hand. Sappho held the bowl
up to him. He looked down at her in contempt. She lifted it higher,
wanting him to fill it, wanting him to add his fluid so that at
last she could drink.

He lifted his
weighty cock and held it above her. He masturbated. The end swelled
and reddened. A sudden spurt of semen shot from it. It hit her
face, her cheek, both her eyes. It ran into her mouth and then, as
she held it up, it dripped into the bowl. She waited until there
was no more to come.

'Now,' said
Polydorus. 'Now you may drink, my little priestess. Do not stop
until your bowl is empty.'

The moment had
arrived. At last she could quench her thirst. She inhaled the scent
of the semen. She breathed deeply. Her master had told her what to
do. She wanted nothing else. She only wanted to follow his
instructions. There was nothing else in her life except her
master's will, the contents of the bowl, her thirst.

She lifted it
to her lips. She drew it into her mouth; soft, salty, slippery,
delectable. She tipped the bowl, emptying it, quenching her thirst
yet still not having enough. She tipped the bowl right back until
she had taken it all.

She looked up
at Polydorus. She opened her legs and exposed her wet slit.

'Take her,'
ordered Polydorus. 'Tie her. She can watch the beast chase. I have
had enough of her. I will decide tomorrow what to do with her.'

A rope was
tied to Sappho's ankles and, with her wrists still bound with the
leather thongs, and glistening with spent semen, she was dragged
back along the covered walkways.

She saw the
pony girls eagerly setting off with the trap behind them. They
looked so clean and bright, so eager and beautiful. Sappho felt the
bonds around her wrists and the rope tugging at her ankles. She
felt dirty, shamed and humiliated. She thought for a moment of her
time as a priestess. She pictured her own splendid robe, of
Chryseis beside her, of the worshippers of Apollo bending on their
knees before her. She saw their faces, waiting for her instructions
and, as she realised what she had sunk to, she felt a deep inner
sense of self-disgust and worthlessness.