Trojan Slaves (17 page)

The soldiers
dispersed. They climbed down from the boats and walked away from
the dunes. The captive women were led away. Calliope had her ankles
bound by leather straps with a long lead attached. She was dragged
away, her buttocks reddened, her flesh covered in sand which stuck
to her sweat. The naked girls left hand in hand, bending to pick up
coins. Sappho was left tied to the altar, the ram's fleece still
covering her back, her buttocks upturned, semen running from her
and down the insides of her thighs. Praxis bent to smooth his hand
across her buttocks before Master Wang led him away. Calchas was
the last to leave, walking silently between the boats. He nodded
slowly as he assured himself that everything had been done to bring
an end to the terrible pestilence bestowed on them by Apollo.

All the efforts
of the Greeks came to nothing. The plague continued; pangs of
hunger turned to pains of starvation, apprehension turned to raw
fear, confusion turned to desperation. Some of the soldiers banded
together and sailed home, some deserted into the hills. Fourteen
deserters were captured and hanged from ropes dangled from a ship's
oars. One of them survived for two days before he finally died,
still calling out for his home. The army of Agamemnon had lost its
will to fight. The Greek expedition against Troy seemed doomed to
failure.

A meeting of
the chieftains was called. A space was cleared and heavy chairs
laid out in the shadow of one of the great boats on the beach.

Agamemnon
arrived with his retinue. Chryseis was still wearing the iron
collar and was led on a chain pulled by a large-nosed dwarf. She
hung her head low. She was fearful of incurring Agamemnon's
displeasure, falling foul of which had already led to regular
beating and humiliation. The day before, when she had glanced at
him in a way he thought insolent, she had been made to suck the
dwarf's cock and drink his semen. She stopped too soon and
Agamemnon flew into a rage. She was beaten with a thin cane and
forced to drink the last drops.

Achilles
followed with Ajax. Sappho, wearing only a short skimpy vest, with
her hands bound behind her back, was made to kneel at Achilles’
feet. Praxis was led in by Master Wang and stood behind his
protector, Ajax. Praxis brought a small group of slaves including
Calliope and Eva. Calliope stood close to him and pawed at his cock
as he stood looking blindly around.

Agamemnon
settled into a chair and spread his hands wide on the claw-shaped
arms.

'Achilles,
there has been never-ending trouble for us since your last raid on
Troy. What is to be done?' he asked with a heavy sigh.

'I cannot
control the work of the gods, my lord,' said Achilles sternly. 'It
is the evil hand of Pelador, the Trojan priest of Apollo, that has
brought this scourge upon us.'

'I grant that
is at the root of it,' said Agamemnon, sitting forward. 'But there
is more. You have not been attentive to the rumours that fill the
camp, Achilles. Some say that the ritual performed by Calchas was a
mockery. That it was thwarted by the presence of the Trojan woman
you captured. Some even say it is this woman herself who brought
the plague.'

'Which woman
is this, my lord?' asked Achilles tersely.

'The woman you
call your "prize". It is said she has the better of you. It is said
she carries the plague with her. It is said she works with the gods
against us all, and that you cannot control her. It is said she
plots behind your back, and you are powerless to defend yourself
against her treachery. It is said you harbour the very evil which
threatens to destroy us. What do you say, lord Achilles? Do you
protect a viper?'

Sappho was
filled with fear. She could not believe she was being talked about
like this. That the great king, Agamemnon himself, was accusing her
of such things. And as she saw Achilles' anger boiling inside him
she could not believe her lord's rage was because of her. She
shivered, seized with anxiety and apprehension.

Achilles stood
and looked around angrily at all those gathered. He could barely
contain his fury.

'Who is it
that says these things? Who speaks against Achilles like this? Let
him show himself!'

He peered
accusingly at everyone. No one spoke.

'Lord
Achilles,' said Agamemnon, still sprawling back in his seat. 'The
answer is simple. You should show us that your prize is none of
these things. That she is under your control. Even as I look at her
now I see the curse of betrayal in her eyes.'

Sappho dropped
her head and stared at the ground. She knew all eyes were on her.
She flushed with fear and shuffled her feet pointlessly as the
dread of what was happening took hold of her.

Achilles
furrowed his brow, unused to being challenged even by the king. He
resented being put to the test like this. His natural conviction
was to challenge and fight but, even consumed with rage, he steered
the sensible course. He turned to his trusted comrade.

'Ajax!' he
barked. 'Have you heard these rumours? Let our king know he has
been misinformed!'

Ajax looked to
the king and nodded slowly. He turned back to Achilles.

'I have, my
lord. I have heard these things spoken. They are worth
heeding.'

'So even you,
my friend Ajax, turn against me. Very well. I will show you all
that this is nothing but the gossip of old women.'

Sappho shrank
back as he approached. She had never seen such anger. His teeth
were set tightly together, his broad mouth snarled, his muscular
frame was tense, his long hair flowed behind as if he faced a
terrible storm.

He grabbed her
bound wrists and dragged her into the open forum at the centre of
the cleared space. She stood just beyond the shadow of the ship.
She squinted against the bright sun.

'I will show
you who commands my prize!' Achilles shouted. He looked skywards.
'And I will show the gods that not even they can better the mighty
Achilles!'

He pushed
Sappho to the ground. She rolled several times, unable to stop
herself because of her bound hands.

'Look!' mocked
Agamemnon. 'Already, she escapes your grasp! Achilles, this "prize"
has you by the nose!'

Achilles
flushed with fury.

He took a
knife from his belt and held it above Sappho. He paused, then
slashed the leather strap that held her wrists. He pulled her up by
her hair and lifted her off the ground. He dangled her in front of
Agamemnon and the chieftains.

'I will show
you that my prize is nothing unless Achilles commands her!' he
ranted.

Sappho
wriggled in his grip, her feet dangling, her fingers grasping
hopelessly at his mighty wrist. She realised she could do nothing
against him. Fighting was pointless and ridiculous. She went slack,
dropping her hands to her sides and hanging limply from his
fist.

'See, already
she realises the great power of Achilles,’ he shouted. 'I will show
you, lord Agamemnon, that these rumours are a ridiculous fiction.
No one controls Achilles!'

Agamemnon
laughed and called for wine. A naked slave girl ran forward and
served him.

Achilles
dropped Sappho and she fell in a heap on the ground.

'Now kneel,'
he ordered. 'Kneel before your lord, the great warrior
Achilles.'

Sappho
struggled to her knees. She wanted to jump to her feet and run
away, to escape from his anger, but she knew that was impossible.
She was a captive, his slave, and she had no will of her own.

Achilles
called for his personal guard. Ten huge men ran into the area. They
looked from side to side as though they expected to protect their
lord from danger. He told them to stand in a circle around his
'obedient prize'. They did as they were told. Sappho looked up at
them, all large and muscular, gleaming with armour, ready to obey
their lord Achilles and carry out his every whim.

She bent her
head, not knowing what Achilles planned for her. She sensed the
accusing stares of the men that surrounded her as she knelt before
them. But even consumed with terror, petrified by their combined
gaze, and exposed by her near nakedness, she felt something else -
aroused by a sense of excitement. She felt it aching in her core.
It gnawed at her. But for the moment, even though she was aware of
it, it lay buried beneath the wave of fear threatening to engulf
her.

As she peeped
up she saw Achilles' men opening their tunics, exposing their
weighty cocks. Each one was stiff and venous. Each one throbbed
with potency and desire. Each one was so close to her that she
could feel its heat.

'Now, my
little prize,' said Achilles. 'You will fill this with the seed of
these mighty warriors. And do not waste a drop; it is the precious
seed of the greatest men of Greece.'

He held before
her a wide-brimmed bowl with one side flattened and secured in a
woven cradle of leather. He hung the straps attached to it around
her neck so that the flat side rested just above her breasts. She
did not know what to do and stayed kneeling, not moving.

'Already she
disobeys you,' mocked Agamemnon, running a hand carelessly over the
slave girl's trim buttocks.

Achilles
grabbed hold of Sappho's short dark hair and pulled at it
angrily.

'Fill it!' he
shouted, taking her hand and stretching it out to the cock nearest
her face. 'Here. I order you. Fill it!'

She wrapped
her fingers around the throbbing shaft. She could hardly encircle
it. The surface was heavily ribbed and the weighty glans was
swollen and red. She lifted her other hand and used them both to
hold it. She felt its heat and its need. She held its surface skin
and pushed it down towards the root. She felt the strength of it as
the skin slid along its rigid body. She pressed the base of her
palms against the man's heavy testicles, letting their heat soak
into her hands. After a second she drew back, pulling the skin up
the throbbing column back towards the tip, the glans expanding and
the opening at its crown dilating and widening. She gripped harder
and repeated the action, feeling the increasing firmness, the
increasing heat. She looked up at the man's face, opening her eyes
wide, fixing her stare on him as repeatedly she eased her hands the
length of his pulsating cock.

She felt it
swelling within her grip. Her fingers were forced apart by its
distention, but she kept on: labouring, slaving, working for his
pleasure. She went faster as she felt its throbbing increase. The
base of it was pounding with need, his heavy testicles swelling
with desire. She held the soft underside near the glans, the
fraenum, squeezing it tightly as her thumbs sensed the surge of
semen within. She watched him tense and stiffen as he realised his
body's needs were inescapable. She held his cock as tight as she
could. The meatus opened and a flood of semen streamed from within.
She directed it so that it flowed into the bowl at her neck. She
kept her grip on it, helping it empty, until there was nothing left
to come. She licked her lips, inhaling the scent, imagining the
taste, wanting to drink.

Sappho
shivered as she felt aware of her vagina; its warmth, its moisture.
She knew she had to turn to the next. She had been ordered by her
lord and she could not fight against his will. Achilles did not
have to instruct her this time. She shuffled on her knees, turning
to the side and faced the next cock. She gripped it immediately and
looked up into the eyes of the man that stood above her.

Again she
brought out his semen, emptying it into the bowl, inhaling its
scent as it flowed in front of her face, licking her lips as the
last dripped from its tip. And then the next, even larger than the
first two, and copious in its deluge of semen. Then the next,
massaging it slowly, draining it and watching the creamy stream of
semen running into her bowl. The next erupted almost as she took
hold of it, splashing into the semen already there. The next took
longer. She became anxious with the delay. She wanted so much to
take it between her lips and suck, moisten it with her spit and
draw it out. But she did not dare; her lord Achilles had not
commanded it.

Gradually she
moved around them all, staying on her knees, looking up at their
eyes, pumping their throbbing cocks until each one was completely
empty. She inhaled the delectable scent of their semen, and felt
her insides melting. She suppressed the desire to suck the cocks
and draw the last drops out onto her tongue.

'Now, my
prize,' ordered Achilles, 'drink the product of your labours.'

It was the
command she had been waiting for. A surge of pleasure ran through
her in an overpowering wave.

Agamemnon sat
forward on his chair as Sappho lifted the bowl away from her chest
and raised it to her hungry lips. She placed her bottom lip against
its edge and tipped the bowl back. She inhaled deeply though flared
nostrils as the - semen ran towards her open mouth. Her eyes closed
in delight as she tasted the first drop. She stopped for a moment,
not in hesitation but in delight. Even though she knew she had to
carry out Achilles' instructions she needed to savour this moment
of potential, the seconds before completion of her act. The scent
and salty taste of the semen filled her completely. She wanted to
take it down in one gulp. She tipped the bowl further and the semen
touched above her top lip. She drank - delicious, creamy, viscous.
She let it ooze to the back of her tongue. She swallowed. It went
down her throat smoothly, a delectable emollient, and she felt its
syrupy mass entering her stomach. It filled her with pleasure,
warming her, setting her senses aflame. She drank the contents of
the bowl; every drop, filling her mouth before swallowing
ravenously. When she could get no more she licked with her tongue
and ran it around the bowl until it was completely clean.