Trojan Whores

by Syra Bond

  She nodded. He brought the cane down quickly. It struck Calliope's smooth buttocks with a sharp, cutting snap. Calliope tried to rear back, to act in response to the sudden shocking pain. Eva held the leash and Calliope could not move. Eva gasped as she felt the shock passing through Calliope's body. She felt the thrills of excitement surging through her as she realised she had Calliope under her control. She shivered as she saw she could restrain her, hold her close against her cunt, prevent her even from rearing back from the pain Eva herself was responsible for inflicting.

  The cane came down again; another slicing cut as it fell against Calliope's exposed buttocks. Again the shock, the suddenness, the penetrating pain. Again Calliope reared back against the restraining collar. Again she was held in place, forced to stay with her face buried between Eva's thighs, her tongue lapping inside Eva's tight channel.

  The cane struck repeatedly. Each shock of pain it brought was a demand for Calliope to rear back. Each tensing response from its victim was a reason for Eva to hold the leash that much tighter, to restrain her captive that much more.

  Eva closed her eyes as she felt the rush of oncoming ecstasy. The slave held the cane above his head, waiting for the next command.

  'Do not stop until I tell you.'

  She held Calliope in place. She kept her thighs firmly around Calliope's head. The leash pulled tightly against the collar at her neck. Each blow of the cane brought more thrills, increased the pressure of her building joy. Each prevented reaction from Calliope brought the resolution to Eva's effort that much closer.

  Eva opened her mouth and gasped as it finally flowed. She held the leash and groaned, jerking, panting, listening to the cracking cane, the stinging blows against Calliope's upturned buttocks. Eva screamed as it ended; a final rush, a final clenching of pressure inside her quivering body. She fell back listening to the sound of her gasping breaths. Then, like an accompanying orchestra, the cries of the brazen bull came back into her head. Its angry bellows were still issuing from its fiery nostrils. It filled her again and she reared up, drawing the leash tight as another wave of ecstasy surged through her.

  Finally she relaxed the strain on the lead. Calliope did not pull back. She stayed where she was, licking the moisture from Eva's sex. She purred, pushing herself against Eva's thighs, wallowing in the joy her mistress had succumbed to, drinking from its source, quenching the thirst she had for her own satisfaction. Calliope was a willing pet.

  Chapter 8

  Suffering in Polydorus' brothel

  Sappho held her hands up to her eyes as the doors to her cell were opened. For a moment she was confused, she did not know where she was.

  Blinking against the dazzling light of the sun outside she saw again the women in lion skins being chased by the men, themselves covered in the skins of beasts. She felt the thrill it had aroused in her. She saw again Chryseis cowering beneath the ferocious whipping Polydorus had given her. She saw again Chryseis' reddened buttocks. Her stomach filled with nerves as she realised her friend had been taken away from her, and that she was alone.

  'Bring her out!' shouted a guard. 'Polydorus wants to see her. And he is impatient.'

  A hand grabbed Sappho's arm and pulled her to her feet. Another forced itself between her thighs. She felt a silky line of moisture on her sex lips, and she felt it being squeezed onto the probing fingers.

  'Quickly, bring her!' shouted the guard. 'She has seen enough pleasure from us, and she did not even wake. Quickly, our master will be furious if we keep him waiting.'

  Sappho stumbled forward. She ran her own hand down her stomach and between her thighs. Her fingers slipped. She took her hand away and held it against her nostrils. She smelled the aroma of semen on her fingers.

  'Yes, come my sleeping beauty,' urged the guard, 'your master is waiting.'

  They pulled her into the bright sunlight. She wiped her bleary eyes. She inhaled the musky aroma. She realised what had happened. Even as she slept she had not been safe from the attentions of her guards.

  She saw Polydorus standing between his pony girls. He fed them titbits from his upturned hand. They nuzzled against him, pushing gently at each other for a position closer to their master. He stroked them as they fed. He ran his free hand down their backs and across their rounded buttocks. Their plumed headdresses shimmered in the sunlight. Their leather harnesses gleamed. Their slightly sweaty skin glistened. Their eyes burned bright with enthusiasm to serve their master.

  He looked up as Sappho was dragged forward. She felt ashamed of herself compared to the fine pony girls. She looked down in embarrassment at her filthy feet. She stared at the streaked dirt on her thighs where the semen from her unknown lovers had been spread and smudged.

  'Wash her down,' shouted Polydorus. 'And be quick. My important guest will be here soon.' He turned back to feeding his pony girls.

  Sappho was pulled along a covered walkway to an open door. She was too confused and too weak to struggle as they dragged her inside a high-ceilinged room.

  Women hung on ropes around the walls. Their strained bodies shimmered in the dancing red light from spluttering flares set on poles in each corner. Others were held cowering on their knees under the overbearing threat of canes and whips. Some were hooded, some bound by the ankles, some gagged. The guards held a cane or a flail above their heads ready, at any time, to bring it down in punishment for some transgression or simply to gratify their need to inflict pain.

  They pushed Sappho down in the centre of the room. She looked at the captives. On the one side of the room three women hung from ropes bound around their wrists. They hung freely, swinging slowly in circles, taut under the strain of their weight. All three drooped their heads, but whether in shame, despair or exhaustion, Sappho could not tell. One looked up weakly and stared for a moment at Sappho, before dropping her head back heavily.

  On another wall three women had their wrists tied behind their backs and then to their ankles. They were gagged with balls secured behind their heads. A strap was fitted across each of their foreheads and this was led back to the bindings behind their backs. In this way their heads were pulled back, continuing the half circle described by their bent bodies. Leather straps had been used to bind them. These were wound into a metal ring attached to the end of a rope suspended from the ceiling. The women spun around, their bodies bent agonisingly, their breasts flat against their chests. Their eyes were wide and dazed, unable to focus on anything.

  On another wall three women were each secured to a timber crucifix. Their arms were lashed to its crossbeam, their ankles secured tightly to its upright. The woman in the centre had her nipples pinched between two wooden slats clamped together at each end by straps. The women on either side of her had upturned buckets over their heads. Water ran down and dripped from their feet to the floor.

  On the last wall three more hung suspended by their ankles on ropes. They had hoods over their heads. One of the hoods had worked down over the woman's chin until it rested against her nose. Her mouth was visible. Sappho's heart started pounding as she recognised Chryseis. She wanted to call out to her, to let her know she was there, but as she strained forward she was knocked sprawling to the floor. She wanted to help her friend, to rescue her, saving her from the terrible ordeal, but she just lay there, looking away, unable to move, too afraid to go to her aid.

  'Wash her down,' snorted one of the guards. 'She's filthy.'

  Sappho struggled to sit up and a heavy splash of water hit her in the face. It knocked her over and she fell back. She gasped with the shock and struggled to pull her legs together, to get up, to protect herself. Another bucket of water sloshed over her. It hit her full in the chest. She gasped for breath, trying to wipe the water from her face. Another, between her legs, made her shiver. She tried to bring her legs together, but two guards held them wide. They pinned her ankles down and laughed as bucket after bucket of cold water was sluiced over her. Her head was knocked from side to side by the force of it. Her nipples ached, her
skin tingled, and she struggled to get her breath.

  She was dragged to her feet. They did not dry her. She was led dripping and shivering through a door into the next room. She glanced back to the hooded women. She saw the pitiful figure of Chryseis. Just to know she was there reduced her loneliness. Perhaps Chryseis would forgive her, understand why she could not help. As she stared her face was gripped in powerful hands and turned away from the sight of the friend she had let down.

  The room was dark. No torches lit it. 'Aha! At last, my little prize.'

  Polydorus walked towards her out of the gloom. 'Light!' he shouted.

  Torches were brought in hurriedly. Their flames reflected a turmoil of wriggling shapes on the dark walls. Sappho shrank back in terror.

  'Do not be afraid,' said Polydorus. 'They are merely shadows.' He took her face between his hands and pointed it towards the ceiling. 'Of these!'

  Sappho stared upwards, terrified. Many ropes were suspended from the ceiling, all different lengths, different thicknesses. Between them were leather slings and tapes, some shining with moisture, others glistening with silver studs and buckles.

  Polydorus laughed. 'Secure her. Make her ready for my special guest. I do not want to disappoint my own dear brother.'

  A guard lifted her up in his muscular arms. He held her high, her sex close to his face. First her arms were stretched out and her wrists secured to leather slings. The pressure on her chest was almost unbearable. She squirmed from side to side to try and relieve it. The guard was so strong that for all her twisting and turning he held her easily. Her legs were pulled wide and her ankles laced around with wet leather loops. She felt her sex open as her legs were stretched apart, and felt a warmth against it. The guard had drawn her close to him, close enough to reach with his probing tongue. He drew the flat of it against her sex lips. She allowed herself to drop onto his hands, hoping to relieve the pressure on her wrists, hoping to let him take the full weight of her body. But the slings on her wrists were stretched so tight they kept her fast, stretched, strained and wracked with pain.

  The guard's tongue lapped again. He drew it against her clitoris, pressing, circling its base. He licked to the rear, stopping for a moment before letting the tip enter her anus. She wanted to drop down onto it, to wriggle herself over it, to take it in as far as possible. She wanted him to taste her. She wanted him to feed on her, to delve into her rectum, to feast on her. She wanted him to exploit her exposure fully, to stretch her wider, to probe deeper with his wet tongue. She wanted him to use her, to deny himself nothing, to consume her completely in any way he chose.

  She tightened her arms against the leather at her wrists. She lifted herself. She pulled against the tension of her own weight. She stretched herself in an effort to make herself more open to him. He took the swollen flesh of her cunt in his mouth, sucking it, drinking its wetness. She felt her body filling with heat, consuming everything she was. She tightened her buttocks and felt her nipples pulsing. She felt the flood of ecstasy beginning to flow. She braced herself for it. Then suddenly it stopped. The tongue was not there. The heat was abating. The fear returned.

  A slashing cut across her stretched buttocks made her wince with pain. She squirmed against her bonds, her legs wide, her arms outstretched, her sex exposed. Another slash of the cane and she shrieked. Another and she twisted hopelessly, contorting in confusion, frustration and fear.

  'Leave her be!' shouted Polydorus. 'Save her for the wishes of my brother. Let him decide her punishment.'

  Sappho hung in her bonds, the straps around her wrists cutting painfully into her skin, the loops at her ankles stretching her legs wide. Her heart was pounding as she gasped for breath. She blinked as the door opened. A line of girls was marched in. Each was naked except for white cotton pulled up between their legs. It was sewn to fit tightly around their buttocks and pulled close between their thighs. They all had their heads shaved and had a colourful garland of flowers resting on their foreheads. They were bent forward and their wrists held down to their knees, secured by thongs. The thongs were led up around their necks so that they were forced to stare down between their legs. A ring was attached to the strap behind their neck and they were hauled up on ropes until they were suspended, squatting, from the ceiling. They were pulled up in a line from the door to where Sappho was suspended at the far side of the room.

  A figure appeared at the door. 'What have you for me, brother?' asked a deep voice.

  'A rare beauty, Paris. A girl from the temple. A priestess, no less. See how she waits for you. See how she stretches her legs wide for you.'

  Paris looked and smiled. 'And the others?'

  'They all await your inspection. But they have been there for several days. They can wait a little longer.'

  'Like fine wine, brother Polydorus, they improve over time.'

  They both laughed.

  'Yes, the longer they suffer the more tasty they become.'

  Two naked girls starting removing Paris' tunic. They slipped it from his shoulders and folded it carefully. They took his wide leather belt and removed the garland of green ivy which was placed around his head. He stood naked. Paris, the most handsome man on earth, envy of the gods themselves. Paris, prince of Troy and lover of the most beautiful Helen, princess of Sparta, wife of Menelaus and the reason why the thousand ships of the Greek army were beached on the shores of this foreign land.

  'Here, brother,' said Polydorus. 'As always the maidens of rain are ready for you.'

  Paris stepped beneath the line of suspended girls crouching in their bonds. He looked towards Sappho.

  'Ah, brother. She truly is a beauty, this priestess. You look after me so well. You cater to my needs so precisely. I will walk to her through the delectable rain of sensuality. I will approach her through the golden rain that washes me and prepares me for my ultimate delights. Yes, I need to bathe before my pleasure.'

  Sappho stared at Paris as he stepped forward. He stood beneath the first woman and turned his face upwards. She watched the first droplet squeezing through the tight thin cotton at the girl's crotch. It fell gently towards him. Then another, before the first one touched his face, appeared on the surface of the white cotton. Another. Another. Then a shower of perfectly separate droplets rained down on him. He turned his face into the shower that doused him. He opened his mouth and licked his lips as the drizzling rain of urine fell into it. He stepped forward a pace. Sappho watched the droplets of urine coming through the next garment of cotton. It rained down like the first, soft and slow. Individual droplets fell gently onto the welcoming face and naked body of Paris. He walked forward and savoured them all. He wiped his face with his hands, washing himself in the delectable soaking. He opened his mouth wide and drank from all of them as they showered him with their gentle rain. Sappho watched his glistening body approaching. He was like a golden statue; beautiful, shimmering - a god.

  He stood before her. His wet body glowed. Sappho felt herself shivering with fear. She looked from side to side, as if there was some power waiting in the shadows to save her.

  'Do not be afraid, my little angel. Yes, for that is what you are, a little angel hanging in the sky, sent by the gods as their messenger. Yes, a delectable angel, bearing your succulent gifts, your sensual treasures. Do not be afraid, my little angel. It is I, Paris. The one you have been waiting for.'

  He held out his right arm and waited. An attendant ran forward and placed a spear in his hand. At its end, instead of a deadly tip, was a leather phallus, its glans swollen and flared. Its shaft was ribbed and veined, its length prodigious.

  He held it out in front of him. 'No, my little angel, do not be afraid.'

  Sappho quivered as he moved the spear towards her. She looked at its ribbed surface, its bulging end, its rigid length. For a moment she turned her head, afraid to look. But she could not take her eyes away; it transfixed her. Even though its bulk was terrifying, its shiny surface, its swollen globe and her exposure to it, made it irresistible.
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  Paris lifted it higher, raising it between her open legs.

  'Are you ready for it, my angel?' he said, smiling. 'I see you are open. I see you are wet. But here, taste it first.'

  He held the leather cock up to her lips. He pressed it against them. She smelled the leather, the scent of an animal. Her lips parted. She could not resist it. The globe slipped inside her mouth. She closed her lips around it. She sucked feverishly. It filled her. She wanted it. She licked it. She covered it with saliva. Spit ran from her mouth and down the shaft.

  Paris drew it back slightly. Sappho gripped it, sucking hard, using her lips to encircle it, desperate to keep it there, unwilling to release it.

  'Ah, my angel, you must let go. Your moisture has inflamed it. Your sucking has filled it with a desire of its own. Release it. You will not be without it for long. It will not disappoint you.'

  She let it out of her mouth, staring at it, unable to think of anything else.

  Paris held the tip against her wet sex. He rubbed it against her flesh, wetting it more, lubricating its entrance.

  Sappho felt herself rocking in her bonds, swinging slowly forward and back. Her sex lips touched the cock as she rocked forward, and pulled away from it stickily as she rocked back. She was transfixed. She wanted more.

  Paris held it more firmly against her. He allowed it in whenever she rocked forward, but still let it out when she rocked back. She stared down at him, hoping he would not pull it back, hoping he would allow it to stay. Slowly he gave her more. Slowly he kept a little more inside each time. Slowly she took it. Slowly her heat increased. Her eyes blurred, her head spun, she was taken over by it. She felt her heart racing, her veins pulsating. Her temples throbbed. She was set on fire and nothing would cool it.

  She looked down at the black shiny mass between her legs. She saw it enter bit by bit. She watched less of it come out. She saw less of it exposed.