by Syra Bond
Ajax ran up to him.
'And the other one, my lord?' He looked back at Chryseis. 'What will you have done with her? Should she be shared amongst the men?'
'Send her as a gift to Agamemnon. He did not join us in battle today. Perhaps this woman will help make sure his muscles do not ache too much from fatigue!'
Ajax looked around the courtyard. His eyes fell on Praxis, cowering behind the gantry and holding onto Master Wang's shiny green robe. He strutted over to him, recognising him immediately.
'And here, we have an old friend from the past. Praxis, I see you have fared well since we last met. Do you not recognise me?' he said mockingly. 'Can you not see it is I, your lord Ajax?'
'My lord Ajax? Is that truly you?'
'It is indeed, Praxis. And I have decided, this moment, to take you back with me. You will be far more use in the Greek encampment than you are here. Come, gather your flock together. I look forward to benefiting from your skills.' He pointed to Calliope. 'And do not forget that one. She seems spirited. I am sure she will be no match for Ajax, even though she may have defeated the mighty Praxis.'
All the slaves were collected. Sappho had a tight leather collar, with Achilles' emblem on it, clipped around her neck. Chryseis had the same, but with the mark of Agamemnon blazed along its edges. Naked or clothed, they were all paraded out of the courtyard and into the streets outside. It had only been a raid, and the Greeks were keen to escape before the Trojans mustered their resources and came in force to meet them.
Together with the others Sappho and Chryseis were bundled through an opening broken into the massive wall of Troy. They looked around amazed as they found themselves in the open. Neither of them had ever seen the world outside the city before. The great plain of Troy stretched before them. Bodies of fallen soldiers lay in the sun waiting for the evening when they would be collected by their comrades. Sappho and Chryseis were not allowed to pause as they were driven out across the wide field between the high walls and the Greek encampment of ships. They gasped for breath as they were hurried across the exposed area of ground and Sappho, glancing back only quickly, wondered if either of them would ever see their home in Troy again.
Chapter 9
Dividing up the spoils of war
The women were marched into the Greek encampment. They had their wrists tied tightly behind their backs with leather thongs. Some walked upright, their breasts thrust forward, proud and disdainful. Others hung their heads, fearful of their futures, shamed by the humiliation of their nakedness, degraded by their captivity. Short chains were clipped to their collars and strung together in a long row. They were so close together that it was difficult for them to walk and some of them tripped on the heels of those in front. They were dirty from their journey across the dusty plain. It clung to them in muddy smears. The dust mingled with their sweat and stained the smooth skin of their breasts and buttocks. It was as if they had been roughly daubed by a defiling hand.
The Greek soldiers stood around their boats and jeered and shouted as the women shuffled and stumbled past. Some of the men prodded at them, some spat on them, one lashed out with a thin cane. It caught Sappho on her bare buttocks and she winced as the sharp pain penetrated her. The man laughed and struck her again. This time she did not react, hoping he would leave her alone.
'A dirty bitch indeed!' he shouted and struck her again. 'We cannot allow such unclean women into our camp.'
Sappho hung her head in shame. Chryseis walked in front of her and looked up, but when one of the soldiers spat on her she dropped her head again and fixed her eyes to the ground.
They were driven into a clear area of smooth yellow sand. It reflected the heat of the sun from its surface. Large wooden boats towered above them on each side. Banners, flags and armour hung from their black sides and soldiers lined up in four rows to form a square.
Sappho felt the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet. She screwed up her toes to try and reduce the burning, but as she was pushed forward she lost her balance and fell. She dropped heavily on the collar around her neck, hanging on the short chains which led in front and behind her. She gasped and fought to get back to her feet, but as she was dragged along by the other women it was impossible to stand up. She heard the soldiers laughing at her, and felt a sharp stick poking in her side. She twisted on the collar, coughing and choking, falling backwards and being hauled along by the neck with her heels trailing in the sand. She looked up at the hot sun as with her mouth wide open, but unable to breathe, she felt her eyes rolling up and the warmth of unconsciousness sweeping over her. The men's laughter turned into distant echoes. The collar around her throat felt so heavy she thought she would be dragged beneath the earth. She felt hands around her ankles, lifting, suspending her by the neck on the collar. She felt herself swaying from side to side. The sun flickered in front of her eyes. Suddenly she was back on her feet, running, struggling to keep up, as the women were driven inside the square of men.
They were all made to run. Sappho, barely conscious, found it impossible to keep up. The collar grabbed painfully at her neck. She was pulled forward and back, jerking with every snatch, her stomach churning with anxiety, her body reeling with pain. She tried to look around but it was a flashing blur. All she could see was jeering men, some holding their stiff cocks in their hands, some urinating, some scooping up dust and throwing it at the captive, frightened women.
Suddenly the movement stopped. The women were lined up in the square. Several men ran behind them, flicking captives with canes, making them stand straight. Sappho felt the sharp sting of a cane across her buttocks. It made her rear back. Her nipples were achingly hard. They throbbed with pain; with uncontrollable, hidden, ridiculous excitement. She breathed deeply, hoping her nipples would soften, would stop throbbing, but her concentration on them only made them worse. She looked around in fear of the men. Her robe was wrapped around her waist and hung to her side across one of her hips. She felt so vulnerable, so defenceless. Men pointed at her, threw dust at her, spat at her. She felt her nipples hardening even more as she realised her helpless exposure to the men's mockery and taunting.
'Look at that one there,' shouted one. 'Her nipples are so hard I could hang off them!'
'And that one,' shouted another, pointing at Chryseis. 'Her rosy cunt could take us all. And she's a temple maiden too. Dark-haired and lusty, like them all.'
Sappho glanced at Chryseis. Her face was covered with dirt. Her pale skin daubed with the sweat-drenched dust, her naked body striped with the harsh marks of the searching canes. She looked fearful and cowed, as if she could not suffer any more.
'I wonder how long she could stand that,' a soldier shouted back, and they all joined in, chanting and laughing at their powerless victims.
'Let's put them to the test!' another shouted, running forward from the line and standing in front of Chryseis. 'Here, I will take the first turn. We will see how these Trojan women can stand the passion of Greek men. I need two assistants!' Two men ran to his side. 'Lift this one. Just enough for her to feel the collar. High enough for me to reach her nipples with my mouth!'
The two men grabbed Chryseis under her arms and lifted her off her feet. The tangled chains pulled tight and the leather collar squeezed around her throat. Sappho bit her lip as she saw the look of fear on Chryseis' face, and before she knew it the extra tension on the chains fed through to her, the collar pulling around her throat as well, and she rocked from side to side to try and ease it.
The two men held Chryseis. She squirmed but it was useless. Sappho watched as the man in front of her leant forward. He stopped, his open mouth in front of Chryseis' erect nipple. Mud was smeared across it and he licked his tongue out and pressed it against the dirt. He licked it away and swallowed heavily. The soldiers in the square cheered loudly and the man bared his teeth and set them eagerly around the stiff bud. Chryseis pulled back, trying to avoid his bite, but the men holding her tightened their grip and kept her fast.
S
appho bit harder on her lip. She sagged against her collar, feeling the tension around her neck, enjoying the feeling of captivity. She watched the man's teeth tightening around Chryseis' nipple and dropped back more heavily. The man breathed in deeply and bit, slowly at first, increasing the pressure gradually, then bit harder. Chryseis opened her mouth at first, wide, ready to scream. Sappho felt a heat between her legs and squeezed her thighs together. The heat increased, and as she tightened the insides of her thighs again she felt the moisture of desire oozing across her swelling labia. She could not believe her excitement. She lolled back further as the man bit harder. Suddenly Chryseis screamed out - loud, penetrating, shrill. Sappho felt the surge of heat in her sex and squeezed her thighs even tighter. Chryseis screamed louder as the man bit harder, and the louder she screamed the more Sappho squeezed her legs.
Chryseis dropped her head forward when the man stopped. She gasped and panted, trying to get her breath back, trying to recover. But the men holding her did not let her down. They kept her off the ground, the collar pulling, her other nipple exposed. The man took that one quickly, biting it, not waiting, not restraining his hunger. Chryseis screamed again as the man's teeth bit into her tender flesh. She threw her head back, but it only served to tighten the collar already straining her neck.
Sappho tightened the muscles in her stomach; it helped her bear down on the tightness at the top of her legs. She felt a building sensation welling up inside her. She listened to Chryseis' pain. She could not stand it. She was bursting with frustration. She opened her mouth wide and she too started screaming.
Her scream joined Chryseis', two voices in a harmony of agony; Chryseis' from the pain or her suffering, Sappho's from the frustration born of the absence of what Chryseis could not endure. More men ran forward. Sappho felt hands beneath her armpits, lifting her up. She felt the strain of her collar, pulling at her, holding her fast. Then a man was in front of her and she looked down at her nipples. They were so hard - stretched, throbbing, pulsating - she could hardly stand it. Her breasts ached with the pain of the pounding in her extended nipples. The man opened his mouth and bared his teeth again. She watched him bring them close to her right nipple. She felt herself stretching it out to him, not pulling away, not shrinking back in fear, but pushing it towards his teeth, wanting him to take it between them, wanting him to bite.
The pain went deep when he did. It shot through her breast and penetrated her body. She shrieked out, abandoned to her agony, unable to stop it, incapable of holding it back. The pain went into her stomach and down into the hot, throbbing flesh of her cunt. She rocked against the bite, pulling herself away when she knew his grip was tight, extending her nipple against his locked teeth - pulling it, extending it, torturing it. She yelped like a dog as she was seized by a pent-up pleasure that, for the moment, only wanted feeding with pain.
Another man took her left nipple between his teeth and pulled at it, biting deeply, stretching it, drawing it out. Sappho screeched again, as loud as she could. Bubbles of spit burst from her gaping mouth. She clasped her hands tightly together and pulled against the bonds around her wrists, increasing the tension, bringing herself closer to the moment of release. Suddenly she felt it flow and jerked wildly, spinning sideways, pulling herself against the men's clasping teeth, descending into the fathomless depths of rapture, into the exhilarating joy of complete, overcoming ecstasy.
They threw her to the ground, still jerking, still squeezing her thighs against the throbbing flesh of her swollen, wet sex. The two women on either side of her fell as well, pulled over by the chain that joined them. A man with a cane thrashed at the three of them. The stinging pain cut into her and she opened her legs. She hoped the cane would find its mark between them. But she was pulled up and driven forward again.
Between the two huge boats the men assembled a corral from spears forced into the sand. The women were driven into it like cattle. They cowed together, the chains that joined them tangled and wound in knots. Sappho struggled to stand, not knowing which way to move to get relief from the tightness of her collar. Her face was pushed against the face of another woman. She saw fear in the woman's eyes.
'Unchain them!' someone shouted.
Men ran between them, unclipping the chains from the collars. They pulled at them roughly and Sappho was tugged sideways then knocked over. The loose chains rattled around her, filling her head with noise, her mind with apprehension.
They were forced close together in the centre of the spear-lined corral. Their wrists were still tied tightly behind their backs but, with their chains removed, they could turn at will. They were forced together in a cowering knot on the edge of the corral. Sappho tried to dodge the cane as it was brought down repeatedly. But she could not avoid its cutting slices and could not pull against the chain enough to gain protection behind the others. The cane slashed at the ones on the outside, cutting into their buttocks, or if they twisted away their backs, and if they did not, their breasts. Sappho, unable to turn quickly enough as it slashed down towards her, felt its penetrating sting across both her breasts. She gasped as it struck and elbowed two other women aside so that she could get some shelter behind them.
The man with the cane thrashed at one of the women and drove her out of the cluster. He separated her, caning her viciously all the time, and drove her to the centre of the corral. He forced her onto her knees and thrashed her several times across the back. He returned to the rest of them and drove out another. Sappho cowered in the centre of the bunch, hoping she would not be chosen, hoping to remain unseen. Another was driven out, shrieking as the cane found its mark across her nipples. She too was made to kneel alongside the others. One by one they were separated. Sappho was the last. She found herself isolated, the only one left, exposed to the jeers of the soldiers that stood around the corral, and to the cutting slashes of the viciously wielded cane. She turned her back against it, running to the edge of the square of soldiers and cowering against the spears. She held onto one as the whip cut across her back then slashed angrily across her buttocks. She tried to save herself by turning sideways, but the thrashing continued against her thighs. One of the men reached over the spears and pushed her forward. She fell to the ground, her legs wide as she fell on her back. She clawed at the ground with her tied hands but could not get up. The cane came down between her legs against her swollen labia. She shrieked with pain, but it swept down again.
The man drove her to the end of the line of kneeling women. She scrabbled in the sand, fighting her way forward, scratching at the ground, kicking her legs, trying to protect herself. Sand filled her eyes and tears streamed from them. She coughed and choked, and still the cane thrashed her, flailing relentlessly, stinging her legs, her breasts, her buttocks. The more she fought to get away the more she was thrashed. The less able she was to get to her feet, the more the cane punished her for her failure. Finally, gasping for breath and striped all over with the marks of the furious cane, she managed to take her place at the end of the row of kneeling women.
She hung her head. She pulled her legs tightly together, hoping the tension in her muscles might stave off the pains the cane had inflicted. She could not stop shaking, filled with fear and dread.
The men chanted, banging their shields with their swords. The clamour filled her ears. The spears were parted and two men came into the corral. They struggled as they carried a large skin of water between them. They went to the opposite end of the line from Sappho and stood in front of the first woman there. They raised the skin, held it above the woman then suddenly tipped the heavy contents over her. It was a massive deluge, knocking her forward as it hit the back of her head. Her long hair flattened against her face. The water sluiced down across her back, onto the tops of her thighs and splashed into a sandy pool around her legs.
They fetched more and washed down the second woman. She fell face forward into the wet sand. Most of the weight of the water splashed heavily on her back. It sloshed between her arms that were fixed so
tightly at her wrists in the small of her back. She choked in the water as it slopped around her face and, when she managed to lift her head, her mouth was filled with wet, choking sand.
The two men worked their way along the line, more men fetching replenishments of water, more helping to lift and sluice it down over the defenceless women. The one next to Sappho screamed out for mercy, begging her torturers to spare her, to end her suffering. But after they threw a first skin of water down over her and knocked her forward with its weight, they fetched another and threw it onto her as she lay in the wet sand. She coughed, but did not stop pleaded to be set free.
Sappho tensed herself, knowing the water would probably knock her down. She knew what to expect. She tightened the muscles in her legs, pulling her knees against each other, squeezing her thighs close together. She hung her head low, hoping to take the force of water on her back. She waited, her heart beating fast. She saw the shadow of the men holding the skin of water above her head, and she closed her eyes in anticipation. Suddenly she felt herself knocked sideways, then onto her back. She struggled with her bound wrists but as she did her legs were forced apart. Immediately the water came flooding down. Then more, in her face, and she choked and coughed and could not get her breath. And a third, again between her legs. She lay there, open and exposed, now not wanting to draw her legs together. She only wanted more. She wanted them all to see her. She wanted them all to wash her down, to soak her, to sluice her. She dropped her knees wider, inviting them, tempting them to give her more, enticing them to fill her, pleading with them to bring on her joy, begging them to release her pent-up pleasure.
Several men came into the corral with brushes used for scrubbing the decks of the ships. They dipped them into the sandy mud that surrounded the women and scrubbed them roughly. The women wriggled and squirmed under the harsh treatment. If they fell on their front the brushes were pushed between their buttocks. If they fell on their back their legs were pushed wide and the rough bristles were forced against the tender flesh of their exposed cunts. Sappho fell on her back - and not because she could have avoided doing so. It was because the coarse bristles forced against her tender flesh served to bring out the heat that had been stored for too long within her. The sharp contact let it out, allowed it finally to burst, like a torrent from a broken dam.
