by Syra Bond
Suddenly she screamed. She could not help herself. She knew she had it all. It was fully embedded. She belonged to it. She was the object of its desire. She was pinioned by it. Her ecstasy was released. It was as if a dam had burst, as if a tide was running inside her. There was nothing more to be seen of the huge cock. She was filled with it, overtaken by it. She was a slave to it.
Paris handed the spear to one of the attendants. 'Cut her down,' he said. 'Bring her to my bed.'
Sappho lay back on silk sheets. Their cool smoothness sent shivers across her skin. She breathed in deeply. The scent of frankincense filled her nostrils. She felt giddy with its heavy aroma. She reached out and felt the warmth of Paris beside her. He turned over lazily. A cup was placed in her hand. She sat up, startled. A girl in a pleated tunic knelt on the floor beside her.
'Do you need a drink, mistress?' she asked, smiling. Sappho took the cup and sipped from it. It was sweet and sticky, like fragrant honey. She sipped again and swallowed eagerly. The sweetness ran though her body. It filled her with warmth, with softness, with a sense of safety and ease.
She held out the cup for more. The girl filled it. Sappho drank again. She felt sleepy. She passed the cup back to the girl. She lay back on the bed. She could not keep her eyelids open. She licked her lips and let her head rest heavily on the bed.
A tall female figure appeared at the door. Her blonde hair framed her perfect face. She wore a long sheer dress of translucent silk that trailed lazily on the floor. It was Helen.
She took the cup from the girl and smelled it. She smiled. She motioned with a finger. Two guards came in and removed Sappho, then the naked Helen slipped into the bed alongside Paris.
'What shall we do with her?' asked one of the men.
'Throw her into the street,' said Helen, used to disposing of her lover's entertainment. 'We will hear no more of her.'
Chapter 9
The omen of destruction
Sappho was not sure what was happening to her. She felt hands grasping her arms, she felt herself being pushed, or carried, but nothing felt normal. Everything was a blur, a mixture of murky images, distorted sounds, flashing lights and shapes and forms she did not recognise.
She tried to concentrate on what had happened to her. She tried to picture the women suspended from the ropes, Chryseis, the golden shower of urine, Paris, the leather cock. But it was hopeless. She could not keep any images in her mind long enough to see them clearly. Every time she tried to form something it became misshapen, deformed into something else, or it slipped away altogether. She felt her heart pounding with anxiety. She felt the wetness of sweat on her arms and legs. She felt herself trembling with fear. At least that was real. But it was not a consolation; it only fed her terror.
She smelled the scent of frankincense in her nostrils. Her head filled with its thick aroma. She felt herself choking. She tasted semen in her mouth. She swallowed and felt the shape of a cock against the back of her tongue. She sucked it. She hoped to feel its bulbous globe distending her cheeks. She hoped to feel its throbbing mass against the back of her throat. But as she closed her lips around it and drew it in her mouth was empty, there was nothing there. She felt her vagina being filled. She felt the heat of a huge cock inside it. She felt her wetness running against it, drawing it in, allowing it to fill her completely. But when she reached down to grasp it, to feel its base, to feel its throbbing weight, there was nothing in her hands and she was empty.
She was in a panic.
She saw lights around her. Torches - red, flaming, sparking, smoking, dithering in drafts, burning higher, spluttering to smoke. She heard the voices of chanting worshippers - rhythmic, monotone, endless, hypnotic. She felt the heat of their bodies as they pressed around her. Their cloaks shimmered in the torchlight. She saw a naked girl borne on their shoulders. They carried her between their ranks, displaying her, holding her up for scrutiny. They pawed at her as she was carried past. Hands ran along her naked legs. Fingers poked. Her nipples were pinched and pulled. Her mouth was prised open. Her tongue was pulled and twisted. Hands stroked her shaved head, while others found the delectable curve of her pubic mound.
Sappho closed her eyes, but could not shut out the images. The dirge of the chanting worshippers filled her head. She shrank back as the naked girl was brought closer. She tried to crouch down, to hide, to make herself invisible, but it was hopeless. The crowd parted as the girl was offered alongside Sappho, who watched the pawing hands clawing at the girl, pinching her, poking her, invading her privacy. She saw that the girl was bound, her wrists held tightly together with leather straps and laid on her stomach. Her ankles, restrained by a single leather thong.
Sappho reached up and touched the girl, her skin smooth and silky, unblemished and pale. The girl looked at Sappho. Her eyes were dark and doe-like, her face calm and resigned. Sappho touched the girl's lips. They parted. Sappho let her finger inside. She felt the softness of the girl's tongue, its warmth, its fleshy wetness. She put her finger in further. She ran its tip along the inside of the girl's cheeks. She felt their tension, their velvety surface. The girl's eyes remained fixed on her, staring deeply into her, penetrating her with a vacuous stare.
Suddenly she closed her teeth on Sappho's finger. Sappho screeched and pulled her hand back. The girl would not let go. She bit harder. Sappho squealed in pain. She howled and yanked her hand desperately. The girl lay motionless, her eyes fixed on Sappho, her teeth clamped onto Sappho's finger.
The worshippers started shouting. Sappho was jostled. Suddenly, opening her jaws like a spring trap, the girl released her. Sappho fell to the ground, clutching her finger. Feet stamped around her in panic. She twisted to escape them. The noise of their frantic pounding filled her head. She felt as if it was going to burst. She thought she would get trampled. She panted breathlessly.
She fell onto her back. A man in a cloak bent between her legs and ran his tongue along her exposed crack. Another joined him and did the same. The first one poked his finger into her anus. She gulped as it went in deeply. He felt inside, twisting it against the lining, finding his way ever deeper. Still the second one licked at her sex. She felt his tongue around its wetness, spit dribbled from his mouth and ran down into her plugged anus. The finger plug twisted more. It went even deeper. She felt its tip in her rectum, exploring her innards, invading her completely.
Suddenly they were gone. She felt hollow, empty. Her sex was wet, cool, exposed. The worshippers were crowding around the girl. She was lifted down from the shoulders of the men. They pulled at her frantically. She stayed still, apparently not noticing their grasping hands, their probing fingers, their prying eyes. They dragged her towards a white marble altar.
Sappho rushed to join them. She jostled with the crowd, pulling at their robes so she could push her way to the front.
The girl was carried to the altar and laid on its smooth top. Still she stared at Sappho, as if beckoning her, as if she had a message. The clamour died down. The worshippers fell back. They lowered themselves onto their knees. They clasped their hands together and started muttering in fearful prayer.
Sappho worked her way closer to the altar. She reached up to the beautiful girl and touched her arm. The girl did not respond. Sappho climbed up and looked down at her. 'Speak to me,' she said.
The girl raised her head. She parted her sweet lips. Sappho leant down and placed an ear by the girl's mouth.
'I have a message,' she said. 'Troy will be destroyed. The columns of the temple will fall. Fire will consume everything. The women will be raped. The men killed. Only a few will be saved. There will be nothing left. But you will find your friend again and you will find new power in the kingdom.'
Sappho's heart pounded at the thought of finding Chryseis again.
'My friend. Tell me about her. Tell me about my friend.'
'You have seen her already. She needed your help, but you did not give it. She will come to you here, in the temple. That is where you will find her. It is
in the house of Apollo that you will be reunited. That is all I know.'
The girl dropped her head back and sighed. Sappho sensed something was wrong. The worshippers started wailing in a fearful dirge. One, brandishing a staff, started waving it at her.
'You have transgressed the law of the temple. You have broken our sacred rules and violated our sacrifice. The girl is worthless now. She has spoken. She has spent all her life in silence preparing for this moment. Now it is lost. The spell of silence has been broken. Only the wrath of the demon himself, the satyr of Apollo, can follow from this. Yes, he has been roused by your blasphemy. Listen! Already, he comes.'
Sappho climbed down hurriedly from the altar, but there was no escape. She heard the sound of hoarse breathing, like a dragon. She smelled the heavy aroma of frankincense. Her mind went into confusion. The columns of the temple seemed to bend as he approached. Smoke filled the air and then, as if stepping out of hell, he appeared.
He pounced up onto the rostrum where the marble altar stood. He had the head of a goat. Twisted horns curled out from each side of his forehead. His eyes were like red globes. His face was wrinkled and dark. His hands were horny and claw-like, his fingernails long and yellow. From the waist down he was covered in coarse hair. He had thin bent legs, a long tail and cloven hoofs. His erect cock stood out from his groin, bent upwards and bulbous at the tip. His testicles hung heavily in a pendulous scrotum.
The worshippers fell back as he moved around the altar. He sniffed at its edges, then at the girl.
'She has spoken!' he cried in a broken, hollow voice. 'I can scent that she has spoken! Who is responsible for this?' One of the men in robes edged forward nervously. 'Have you an answer?' asked the demon. 'Can you explain this sacrilege?'
The man bowed and dropped to his knees.
'Speak!'
'Master. It was all as you expect from us. The girl had been kept since childhood in silence. We bore her here as you instructed. She was placed on the altar for your delectation. Then...'
'Then what?' boomed the satyr.
'Then... my lord, she was approached. She was approached and questioned. And she spoke.' The man fell prostrate on the floor. 'Forgive us, my lord, forgive us our wrongdoing.'
Sappho quaked with fear. She had never seen anything like the satyr. She had heard of them, had seen images on vases, but she had never imagined them in real life. She hid behind a robed worshipper, clinging to his cloak, hoping she would not be seen.
'Then who is responsible?' demanded the satyr. 'Who has caused this blasphemy? Bring whoever is responsible to me. Deliver this blasphemer to me and I may postpone my wrath on you all.'
The man crawled forward on his belly. 'It is a woman, master. She is here. I have her ready to offer.'
The satyr pranced forward. His hooves clicked on the smooth marble floor. He screwed up his wrinkled face. 'Then bring her! Let me see her!'
The man scrambled to his knees and scanned the worshippers. They moved aside and exposed Sappho, who cringed with fear as the satyr's eyes fell on her. She fell to her knees and clasped her hands together beseechingly.
'Please, master,' she begged, 'I did not mean to—'
'Silence!' he shouted. He stalked around the altar and stood in front of her. He sniffed at her hair. He clawed at her breasts with his long yellow talons. She pulled back. He stamped his feet in annoyance. She dropped her face and stood still. Her heart pounded. She gasped for breath. She felt as if her chest would explode.
He bent his head and sniffed her nipples. He took one of them between his yellow teeth. He bit it. Sappho pulled back. She could not help herself. The satyr kept his teeth where they were, and looked up at her with huge red eyes. She froze with fear. He closed his teeth harder around her nipple. A rush of pain erupted from it. It ran through her like a scorching fire. It throbbed in her breast, filled her chest, flowed up her throat to her mouth. She wanted to open it, to let out a scream, but his red eyes were still on her. She was too afraid to act, frozen with fear.
He released her and sniffed down the front of her body. He stopped at her navel and circled his nose around it. He bent and ran his nostrils down to her sex lips. He inhaled deeply. Again he looked up and stared at her. He licked his tongue out. It was long and pointed, its fleshy form like a snake, angling itself in all directions. He laid its tip against her sex. She gasped. The heat from his tongue was intense. It was like a scorching fire. She felt as if she was being branded by it. She drew back. Instantly he grasped her buttocks with his claw-like hands. He dug his nails into her flesh and brought her sex back close to his mouth. He exhaled loudly. She smelled his acrid breath.
'You must punish her!' he shouted to the murmuring crowd. 'I will enjoy this slit with my tongue. But it is you who must punish her. Only then will your terrible sacrileges be forgiven.'
The satyr twisted Sappho in his hands. She felt like a feather in his beastly grip. He lay on his back, bracing his hooves against the side of the altar. He manoeuvred her open legs across his mouth, and her face fell against his huge, curved cock.
'Now!' he screeched. 'Punish her!'
She felt his talons digging into her buttocks as he pulled her onto his mouth. His fleshy lips sucked at it, wetting her labia with his spit, heating her succulent flesh with his own fire. His long tongue delved inside. She held her breath. It was as if it would never stop. It probed deeper and deeper. Its writhing body snaked, searched out her secrets. She rose on it then dropped down. She wanted him inside her completely.
The heat of his cock against her cheek was almost unbearable. It rose and fell as it throbbed. Its angular curve accentuated its stiffening beats. Its bulbous end swayed under its own prodigious weight. She rested against it, smelling it, savouring the promise of it, not knowing if she dared take it into her mouth. She knew she must; it was irresistible. His tongue stroked her cunt. She lifted her face back a little and placed her lips around the heavy tip of his pulsating cock.
It tasted sweet. She sucked it. A dribble of semen oozed from it. Its salty stickiness increased her appetite. She sucked harder. More semen oozed out. She closed her eyes, relishing it, feeding on it.
Her jaw tightened as a sudden smack came down across her buttocks. One of the worshippers brought the cracking end of a leather whip sharply across her skin. The satyr kept his grip, his clawing talons digging deep, his clasping arms not giving way.
Sappho gasped, but it was hopeless. Her mouth was filled with the satyr's cock and she could not draw breath. She dipped her hips and arched her back. Another crack hit her hard. It laced both her buttocks. She felt the fiery tip snapping at her skin, scorching her. The pain shot up into her chest. She gasped again, but it was an empty effort as the satyr pushed his cock deeper and she gagged as its bulbous dome entered her throat.
Another snapping crack and the pains of fire filled her once more. Her head spun as she fought for breath, but the satyr would not release her. He held her buttocks tight, exposing them to the snapping whip, opening them to its scorching fire. And he kept pressing his cock further into her throat. The further it went the more it expanded against its sides, the more it choked her.
The whipping stopped. The satyr gripped her tighter. His tongue delved further. His sloppy mouth sucked more eagerly at her dripping cunt. His cock went deeper. She swallowed on it again. She felt it swelling in her throat. He gripped her buttocks tighter, opening her to his mouth, exposing her for more punishment.
A lashing cane fell across her upturned buttocks. Its penetrating sting spread through her whole body. Its intensity filled her mind. She could feel nothing else. She could imagine nothing else. She had become a product of the pain itself. Another slash, another burst of pain, another breath-taking sting. She was saturated by it. Her head spun. She sucked harder. She tasted the satyr's semen. Another lashing crack across her buttocks. She rose as much as she could. Her body could not stop itself. She swallowed hard. Another burst of pain, another shudder of anguish as the suffering t
ook complete control of her.
She felt a moment of relief. There was a pause. The caning stopped. She let the satyr's cock as deep as it would go. It was inside her fully. She swallowed on it again. She felt its veined surface inside her throat. She did not gag any more; she simply fed on him. He was nourishing her with his seed. She was hungry for it.
She felt a heat against her anus. The satyr's clawing hand pulled her buttocks wide. The heat intensified. It burned against her. Suddenly it thrust inside, penetrating her completely in one surging entry. Her rectum filled with it and the cock filled her throat. She swallowed in shock and felt the scalding splash of semen from the satyr's cock. It ran into her stomach; a gluey flow. Her anus felt to be on fire. She swallowed and drank the satyr's flow, as her rectum was filled by the thrusting of his clawed finger.
She was released and fell to the floor. Her legs dropped open. Sticky flows of semen ran from her mouth. Her sex was available and wet. Angry red lines patterned her pale buttocks.
She stared up to the ceiling of the temple. It was glowing red. Flames licked around the massive columns. Braziers were overturned. Hot coals spilled on the floor, setting light to the drapes and curtains. Air was drawn in through the entrance in a powerful gust. It fed the flames which quickly raged into an inferno.
Everything was coloured by the fiery glow of the conflagration. Worshippers, their robes ablaze, ran in panic to escape. Others flung girls to the floor. They parted their legs and drove their cocks inside them. They thrust wildly, desperate to reach their ecstasy, desperate for fulfilment before they were consumed by the inescapable flames.
Sappho could not see the satyr. The altar sank into the floor. A hole appeared where it had been. Instantly it filled with muddy water. Fires broke out around it.
She was pulled into the filthy pool. Flames licked around its edges. The men who had dragged her there held her down. They pinioned her wrists and ankles and held her still. She choked as the muddy water splashed over her face and into her mouth. Worshippers jumped into the foaming pool and took their turn with her. Each one fed his stiff shaft into her - some in her cunt, some in her anus, some in her mouth. Sometimes two took her at the same time, sometimes three, sometimes four. The muddy water splashed around her, wetting her face, cooling her heat as the flames burned around her and the temple crumbled to the ground.
