by Syra Bond
Sappho was dragged to an open door. She stopped when the tension on the lead was slackened; she had already learned to respond to its commands. She peered inside. A young Nubian woman, slender and tall, sat bound into heavy wooden stocks. Her ankles were fixed on the outer edges with brass clamps, her wrists secured inside them, and in the middle, in a larger hole, her neck was framed by the heavy timber.
'She did not please my brother as he expected. She was too slow to respond. She will stay there for a few more days until she is tried out again. If she does no better she will return to the stocks.'
He went to the next door. A woman, her head shaved, was hanging upside down, secured by her ankles to a hook in the ceiling. Her mouth was gagged with a large leather ball and firmly secured with thongs tied behind her head. A huge slave stood next to her, twisting the rope to ensure she revolved slowly. Another slave held a short whip and struck her reddened buttocks each time she turned.
'And here, another miscreant,' said Polydorus. 'She was only expected to take a whipping in silence. What could have been easier? But she too failed. She will stay here for a week. She will learn that silence is easily attained if one is taught the lesson in the right way.'
Sappho gaped at the woman, strung up, gagged and beaten. The thought that her suffering was set to continue for a whole week more made Sappho shiver. Her breath quickened. The collar was tugged at her neck. She hung her head. In the corner of her eye she could see the woman turning on the rope. She heard the smack of the whip against the woman's buttocks. She felt dazed by the emptiness of the enforced silence that followed. She dropped her head completely and looked down at her own nipples. They were throbbing and hard. The collar was yanked and she moved forward on her knees. She felt the moisture in her vagina as her flesh was squeezed between her thighs. A tingling heat spread into her stomach. Her nipples ached.
Another door was opened. A red-haired girl with pale skin was tied back over a revolving wheel. Her body strained against the arching curve, accentuating the rising mound of her crotch, stretching tightly her sex lips, flattening her breasts against her chest, exposing the prominence of her hardened nipples. The wheel turned slowly. The girl gaped. Her eyes rolled dizzily as on each revolution she tried to orient herself. A black male slave threw a bucket of water over her face each time she came into view. She choked and gasped. It ran down her chin onto her chest. It streamed across her stomach and ran eagerly into the fleshy valley of her sex. As she was turned on the wheel the water dripped from her chin, her nose and her nipples. When she was brought up again more water was thrown over her.
'How long?' asked Polydorus.
'Three days, master,' said the slave.
'Then give her three days more. Her lesson will be over then.'
He turned to Sappho and Chryseis. 'Pay attention, my little priestesses of Apollo. Let these women be a warning to you. Fail Polydorus and only punishment will follow. Whatever pain you are expected to suffer in my service will be nothing compared to the pain you must endure for failing me.'
Sappho's stomach filled with a rush of nerves. But her anxiety was a mixture of fear and excitement. She had never seen such things, never imagined such things. Yet what overcame her trembling body was not simply the terror of what she might suffer, it was the anticipation of the pleasure that might accompany it. Her mind was filled with images of pain and suffering, but at the same time each one produced a wave of need and delight. Everything was mixed up. Her sore knees, the tightness of the collar at her neck, her dirty body and tear-streaked cheeks, all conspired to deliver a sensation of perverse delight. Every pain, every anxiety, every feeling of sullied shame filled her with self-disgust. At the same time it also inflamed in her a desperate need for pleasure and fulfilment. All she had seen, even though it left her shaking with apprehension at the thought of the suffering it might bring, also left her panting with desire for the delights it might hold.
It was dark when She and Chryseis were thrown into a small stall, used to bed animals. The floor was bare and cold. There was a drinking bowl on the floor. It was dark.
'This will be your home from now on, my little priestesses,' Polydorus called after them. 'I will have you cleaned up tomorrow. Then we shall put you to the test. We shall see what pleasures you can bring to my guests. I have a special one here who I know will be interested in you. We shall see if you please me or fail me.'
The door was slammed and they were thrown into darkness.
Sappho reached out for Chryseis. She touched her face and moved closer, clinging to her tightly, sobbing and shaking with fear and excitement.
'Dear Sappho,' said Chryseis, unable to hold back her tears. 'At least we are together. We will be each other's strength. No matter how bleak our future seems we must trust in Apollo. He is the only one who can save us. Sappho, hold me close.'
Sappho ran her hands across Chryseis' shoulders. They were smooth and shapely, square and proud. She squeezed them, and felt Chryseis' warm breath against her cheeks. She let her fingers find their way to Chryseis' breasts. She encircled their roundness and her erect nipples. She felt safe, so close to Chryseis. She opened her legs and Chryseis squeezed a hand between them. Sappho's sex opened at her touch. Without applying any pressure its moistness allowed the tips of Chryseis' fingers to penetrate. Sappho moaned and rose up. She stiffened and held her breath before dropping back, her legs apart and ready for Chryseis' eager tongue.
Chapter 5
Sappho's humiliation
Sappho sat up, her eyes wide. A noise outside had woken her. Chryseis lay by her side, still asleep, her eyelids dark.
Sappho nudged her insistently.
'It is Polydorus! He has returned. Quickly! We must be ready or we will be punished.'
Sappho helped Chryseis to her feet. They stood in the darkness, unable to see the door, frozen with fear at the sound of fast approaching footsteps.
The heavy iron bolt was drawn back and the door flung open. Sappho and Chryseis rubbed their eyes and stumbled back. Sappho peered out of the door into the light. She could just make out Polydorus descending from his pony trap.
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.
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br /> 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 pound
ed 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.
