by Syra Bond
TROJAN WHORES
by
SYRA BOND
Published by Chimera Books
ISBN 9781780804545
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This work is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The author asserts that all characters depicted in this work of fiction are eighteen years of age or older, and that all characters and situations are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright Syra Bond. The right of Syra Bond to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.
Preface
After the tragic death of Professor Harrington I stayed in Austin, Texas, with one of his colleagues, a senior lecturer in the Archaeology Department, Dr Wemer Harris. Dr Harris, for that is what he always insists I call him (and then only when he gives me permission), not only worked with Professor Harrington professionally, but also shared his interest in sexual experimentation and depravity. Before his untimely death, Professor Harrington had been thinking of handing responsibility for me over to Dr Harris. With this in mind, he had already passed instructions on how I should be dealt with, together with notes on how he had kept me since we met. He had also informed Dr Harris that, at times when he judged fit, I should be allowed to continue my work on the manuscript which he had translated, and from which I worked to produce Trojan Slaves. This manuscript, written in Attic Greek, had been recovered from the library of the Villa of the Papyri in Herculaneum, Italy, where it had been buried since the eruption of Vesuvius in AD 79. It dates from an era much earlier - the era of Homer - and gives an insight into the lives of the Ancient Greeks as they fought a terrible war against the powerful city of Troy.
Immediately after Professor Harrington's funeral, I went willingly to Dr Harris' house seventy miles or so north of Austin. I have remained there since that day.
Mostly, Dr Harris keeps me shut up in a heavy wooden wardrobe. I have to sit naked with my knees up and my hands folded around them. Sometimes he gags me with a leather strap, but not always. Most nights, if he leaves me there, he pulls a black hood over my head. It gets hot. My breath warms the skin around my mouth, and my cheeks flush with the moist heat. When I inhale through my nose, I can feel the hotness around the edges of my nostrils. When I am like this, in the middle of the night, I take my hands from around my knees and push them between my legs. I lay my fingers against my flesh - it is always wet and warm. I do not have to push my fingers in, I simply have to touch the soft flesh, or sometimes perhaps just the tip of my clitoris. That is enough. I have to be careful then, not to make any noise, not to gasp too loudly, or cry out. Once, when I did, he came to me, took me out and bent me over his knee. He held me down with one hand while he thrashed me with a cane. I squirmed and cried out but he only stopped when he was satisfied I had been sufficiently punished. I had to stand in the corner of the room for the rest of the night and, when it was light, he thrashed me again in the same way, before he would allow me to sit.
At other times he keeps me in a cage. It is hardly big enough for me. Sometimes the cage is suspended from the ceiling of the cellar beneath the house, sometimes he pushes it into the corner and drops a heavy cloth over it. He brings me food in a bowl, and I have to eat it without using my hands. He brings me milk in the same way, and I have to lap it up with my tongue. Sometimes he calls me his 'puppy'.
When he releases me I am allowed to work on the manuscript. It is hard, not knowing how long I will have until he takes me again and puts me into captivity. It has taken me nearly a year to complete this latest work. And there is still more to do. The Museum of Antiquities in Rome has sent Dr Harris the transcription of a further papyrus which records the events of the terrible return journey of the Greeks from Troy. There is still so much to be completed. I only hope I will be allowed the opportunity to do it.
This then, is the second part of my interpretation of the original manuscript. It covers the latter period of the Greeks' war on Troy. A war invoked by Paris' abduction of the beautiful Spartan princess Helen, wife of King Agamemnon's brother Menelaus. A war fated to lead only to destruction and death - the ruination of Troy, the loss of the Greeks' greatest warrior and, ultimately, the decimation of the whole Greek force.
Syra Bond
Waco, Texas. January 2007
Chapter 1
Sappho and Chryseis - priestesses of Apollo
Sappho stood back as the naked girl knelt and offered up her wrists for binding. She looked up at the young man who stood above her - her dark eyes wide with anticipation, her body shivering with apprehension. She waited for the wet leather thong to be brought forward. Sappho could see it was the girl's only wish - to be enslaved, tied, bound. It was as if she had waited all her life for this moment, and now, at last, it was here. The girl's chest rose and fell with her heavy, excited breathing. Her full lips trembled. The small pink nipples on her modest breasts hardened with every moment of expectation. Her slim body, shaven of all hair, glistened in the light of the torches which surrounded the sunken altar. She tipped her head back further. She kept her eyes fixed on the young man's face. She sighed helplessly and dropped her mouth open.
Sappho swallowed hard. She squeezed Chryseis' hand. Each of them stood decked in ceremonial robes and plumed headdresses, in front of the massive marble altar. She could hardly believe what was happening. She could hardly believe she was to be crowned as a priestess of Apollo. She could never have dreamt that, one day, she would stand with Chryseis at the temple altar. She could never have thought that there would be a time when the followers of Apollo would see her as next only to the god Apollo himself. She shivered with excitement at the thought, and squeezed harder Chryseis' hand.
Torches set on towering columns surrounded the glistening altar, itself raised up several steps for prominence, yet set on the lowest part of the floor at the heart of the temple. Naked girls, their shaven heads crowned with yellow and white flowers, surrounded it. They scattered petals from silver baskets, throwing them out in multi-coloured showers. Their bodies had been oiled, and they glistened as they moved. Some of the fluttering petals stuck to their gleaming skin.
Surrounding the steps to the raised altar more tiered steps rose to the columns like a theatre. On these worshippers were packed, some naked, some wearing ceremonial clothing, some standing with hands together, some kneeling, some lying prostrate. At the uppermost tier a row of columns formed a towering square, and between them stood statues of the gods Apollo, Hera, Zeus and Aphrodite.
Chryseis turned to Sappho and smiled. Her beaded headdress hung in heavy strands against her smooth cheeks. When she moved it swayed heavily against her skin. In her free hand she held a tall staff. It bore the emblem of her authority; a ram's head with huge curling horns. A golden robe draped from her shoulders. It parted at the front, revealing her firm breasts, her flat stomach, and the tight slit of her shaven sex.
'Sappho, we can do anything we wish now. No one will dare defy either of us. See, they treat us like gods. All our desires can be fulfilled. Never again will we have to serve as slaves to the wishes of others.'
S
he turned and held her hands out, blessing the grateful followers. Those that stood dropped to their knees immediately, clasping their hands together and praying as if their lives depended upon their obedience.
Chryseis smiled with pleasure.
'Look at all those men. They worship us, but their faces betray their desires. They have only one appetite. They are hungry for the bodies of young women, desperate to penetrate them, to abuse them, to treat them as their slaves. Look how they ogle the young girls. How they leer at the shaven clefts between their tight buttocks as they bend in unquestioning submission to their priestesses. See how they lick their lips at the thought of bringing a smacking hand down on them, or a cane, or a whip. Sappho, my flesh moistens at the thought.'
Sappho nodded, barely able to contain her excitement; the ceremony, becoming a priestess, all the men, the description of their desires. She licked her lips and trembled at the thought of it all.
Heavy perfume hung in the air. The naked girl kneeling at the altar urged her wrists forward. The young man dipped his hands in a bowl and drew out a dripping leather thong. He held it up and looked towards Chryseis for approval. Its wet, shiny surface sparkled with yellow flashes in the torch light. Chryseis nodded slowly. The man turned to Sappho. Sappho's stomach filled with nervous excitement. She did not know what to do. Suddenly she realised what was expected of her. He was waiting for her permission, and he would not act without it. She could hardly believe it. She bit her lip. All eyes were on her. Everyone was waiting for her approval. She flushed. She nodded. The man nodded back respectfully, and stepped a pace forward. The worshippers murmured with excitement.
Tears welled up in the girl's eyes as the man held out the soaking leather thong. At last it was her time of sacrifice, of submission. She only had a few moments of freedom left. Once she was bound she would no longer be under her own control. She would be a slave of the temple, a chattel of the priestesses, an object of pleasure, an acolyte, a plaything. Once bound she would have no mind of her own, no will; her subjugation would be total, her life prescribed by the will of others.
Sappho imagined the girl's fate, bound by the leather thongs, led by her new master, no will of her own, dedicated only to pleasure, to submission, to the bidding of another. It excited her; the thought of being in another's power, of being controlled. She imagined being tied up like the girl. She felt her throat tightening at the idea of being controlled in every way, in everything she did. Her heart quickened, she felt it pounding in her chest. She sensed the tension of her hardening nipples, pulling stiffly at her breasts, aching, pulsating with her growing expectation.
The young man draped the wet thong over the girl's wrists. He pulled it around in a binding. The slimy leather slipped around the girl's skin, sticking to it, enveloping it. Water dripped onto the ground. Sappho imagined it was the girl's blood seeping away, running around her feet as her will was drained and her life with it.
The girl held her breath. It was as if the wet confines of the leather were smothering her. The man pulled on them. He folded the ends into the beginning of a knot. The girl winced, tightened her buttocks and rose up on her knees. She dropped her head, but all the time she kept her doe-like gaze on the young man. She pushed her wrists forward more. She needed to show him she did not mean to react against him, that she was completely willing, that she wanted the binding as tight as he could make it.
'She will soon feel the pain of the tightening leather,' said Chryseis to Sappho. 'When it begins to dry she will know for certain that she has been enslaved. There is no other pain like it. It creeps over the body like a slowly burning fire. It increases all the time. It never eases.'
'Have you felt its pain?' asked Sappho, still unable to take her eyes off the girl.
'Yes. When I was brought into the priesthood. I had to suffer the pain of the shrinking leather.' She held up her wrists. 'And I still bear the scars. They are reminders of my suffering, my penance, my obligation.'
The young man knotted the leather tightly around the girl's wrists. She got up, her head bowed, and waited for his instruction. He reached forward and took hold of her nipples. She tightened her shoulders and bent slightly as he increased the pressure. He squeezed harder. Sappho watched the girl biting her lips, trying to hold back the pain. The man rolled the girl's nipples between his thumbs and fingers, pinching them hard. The girl bent forward, unable to stand still as the pain in her breasts intensified. He did not let go. She let her shoulders drop forward, trying to soak up the pain, trying to absorb the fiery tongues now penetrating every part of her.
Sappho was suddenly seized by her own passion. She let go of Chryseis' hand. She pulled the front of her robe aside, exposing fully her breasts, her hard nipples, her flat stomach, her shaved slit. She looked around. All eyes were on her. She was not embarrassed. The worshippers' stares only filled her with excitement. She drew her right hand across her hip and let her fingers rest near the base of her stomach. She trembled. The feeling of everyone watching was setting her senses on fire. She moved her fingers down to the inside of her thigh. Shivers of joy ran through her.
She watched the man leading the girl by her nipples, drawing her back down onto her knees, guiding her, commanding her with pain. She followed his command unerringly. She could not escape, and did not want to escape, the control he now had over her was her only desire.
Sappho touched her swollen flesh. She felt its heat, its throbbing, its expectation. She pressed her fingers further, into the silky crack, into the moist valley that lay between the two fleshy lips of her delectable cunt. She glanced at the eyes of the worshippers - fixed on her, watching her every move. She inhaled deeply and bit her lip.
The young man pulled on the girl's nipples, making her bend forward. She reached out her bound wrists in utter submission, and laid her elbows on the ground. The man released her. She stayed there, silently waiting for her next command.
Sappho looked at the form of the beautiful girl, oiled and glistening in the torchlight. She was so slender. She described a perfect shape, bent over, her back straight, her buttocks rounded and taut and held high. Sappho looked at the girl's slit, squeezed between her firm buttocks, a succulent oval which glistened with beads of shiny moisture. The girl stretched more, reaching her bound wrists as far forward as she could. When she could stretch no further she inclined her face gently down towards the ground, stopping when her nose and chin touched it.
Sappho pressed her finger into her sex. The flesh opened easily at her touch, welcoming, peeling apart, inviting entry. She touched the tip of her clitoris; throbbing, heated, swelling, hardening with every second. Thrills of excitement shot through her. They filled her stomach. They tightened her throat. She struggled to breathe.
Two naked men stepped from behind the altar. A heavy sheep's fleece hung in their hands. The young man who had bound the girl's wrists motioned for them to approach. They stood either side of the girl, holding the fleece over her back. The girl remained still. Another signal and the two men lowered the fleece slowly over the girl. They let it down onto her back, draping her with it, only leaving exposed her upturned buttocks and the delectable lips of her sex which squeezed between them.
Sappho pressed her clitoris. It was on fire. She took it between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed. She imagined the young girl's nipples in the man's grip. She imagined herself being led by him, his fingers pinching her clitoris, forcing her wherever he wanted, taking her under his control. She pictured herself bending before him, like the girl, submitting to his will, his control. She saw herself on her knees before him, bound and enslaved, waiting for him to demand whatever he wanted. She imagined the feel of the sheep's fleece on her back, heavy and warm, pressing her down, accentuating the exposure of her upturned buttocks. In her mind she felt the glare of the worshippers on her sex, peering at it, squeezed and tight, moist at its centre, waiting to be used.
'Look,' whispered Chryseis. 'They are coming. They have the scent. Look, Sappho!'
>
Sappho kept her fingers between her thighs. She still touched her clitoris, but did not dare to squeeze it for fear of losing control.
At first she saw some movement between the crowds of worshippers near the top of the tiered steps, in front of the statue of Apollo. It was a man covered in a ram's fleece. A ram's head shrouded his face. Its curled horns shone in the torchlight. His muscular arms strained as he worked his way down the steps on all fours. He looked from side to side, seeking out his victim. Then another, descending from behind the statue of Zeus, the father of all gods. Another worked his way around the effigy of Aphrodite, the goddess of passion. Then a last, emerging from the back of the statue of Hera, the ox-eyed goddess. The worshippers stepped aside as slowly the fleece-covered men worked their way down the steps.
Sappho again pressed her pulsating clitoris. She could not hold back. It was impossible. She held it between thumb and forefinger and pressed her other fingers deep into the open flesh of her wet vagina. They slid inside, penetrating her as deeply as she could get them. She panted in short gasps. She felt the fire of delight blazing out of control through her burning body.
The four men gathered around the girl by the altar. Still she had not moved. They sniffed around her in turn. They pressed the noses of the ram's heads between her buttocks. They inhaled her scent. They licked her succulent sex.
Sappho imagined how the girl must feel; waiting, anticipating and yet unsure what would befall her. Holding still, not daring to move because her master had not instructed her otherwise. Keeping her nose and chin against the ground, opening her mouth, filled with fear. Feeling the cold noses against her sex, wondering what would happen. Gasping as her heart beat loudly in her chest.
