Trojan Slaves (20 page)

Agamemnon had
Sappho kept in the small cage every day, tightly confined, swinging
on the chain in the glaring heat. Sometimes the constant movement
made her dizzy. Sometimes she felt so hot and claustrophobic she
thought she would faint. But although she suffered from the burning
heat of the sun during the day, she dreaded even more the evening
and its passing. After sunset Agamemnon allowed her to be taken
around the encampment so that any soldier who wished could use her
in any way he chose. His men enjoyed her as a bonus for their
allegiance, and were all the more unswerving in their devotion to
Agamemnon because of it.

She was abused
and humiliated in different ways each time. Sometimes she was
thrashed with a cane. Sometimes she was passed from one group to
another. They bound her and filled her with their cocks, sometimes
one, sometimes several at a time. They tied her to stakes, or a
crucifix of spears, and stuffed their cocks into her mouth. They
covered her face with semen. Often they used her for buk-ka-ke and
left her all night covered in their sticky fluid. Some nights she
was bound and hung from the side of a ship. Sometimes staked to the
ground and doused repeatedly with buckets of water. She was tied in
every way possible. Often she was left for hours with rope
contorting her body into strained and unbearable shapes.

One night as
she hung, bound to a stake, soaked and dripping with water which
had been thrown over her for hours, she heard some soldiers talking
in whispers. They spoke of Achilles' rage. How, angered by
Agamemnon's theft of his 'prize', he had returned to his tent and
sworn never again to fight alongside Agamemnon. The soldiers said
that without Achilles there could never be any victory at Troy.
They said that the Myrmidons, disheartened by Achilles' withdrawal,
were talking of leaving and, if they did, the campaign at Troy was
as good as over.

Agamemnon
strutted back and forth across his tent. His brother Menelaus
sprawled on a couch. Agamemnon flung his goblet to the ground and
struck a naked slave girl who tried to retrieve it. She dropped to
her knees and clung to his tunic, begging for mercy, asking what
she could do to please him. He looked down at her. She shivered
with fear, her long red hair hanging down to her small breasts. He
grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet. She shivered with
excitement and her nipples hardened at his touch.

'How dare
Achilles defy my call to arms like this?' he roared, shaking the
petrified girl.

'He is still
angry that you took his prize, the slave Sappho, my lord,' said
Menelaus. 'The army thinks it wise to return her.'

Agamemnon's
face reddened in fury. He lifted the young girl off the ground by
her long hair. She dangled, painfully spinning in his mighty
hand.

'The army
thinks it wise? The army thinks it wise?' he shouted. 'Does the
army consider itself wise above its king?' He did not want an
answer, and Menelaus did not give one.

Agamemnon drew
his free arm behind her knees and held her horizontally in front of
his face. He took one pert nipple in his mouth and sucked hard. She
sobbed with discomfort and wriggled in his unbreakable grasp. He
tightened his hold on her and sucked her throbbing nipple harder.
She squealed again. He pulled his mouth away and she relaxed for a
moment as she thought she was released. But as soon as he saw her
relief he drew her breast to his mouth again. He took the same
nipple, now reddened and extended, between his teeth and bit
fiercely. She tightened suddenly, taken by surprise, hurting,
filled with anguish from the shocking pain, struggling frantically
to free herself. But he was too powerful. She could do nothing to
resist him. She was helpless in his arms and she submitted to his
overpowering domination.

He took his
mouth away and lifted her higher. He held her across him in such a
way that he could drive his hand between her thighs, against the
soft flesh of her sex. She gasped as he pushed his fingers inside,
stretching her, spreading her, slipping in on her fresh moisture.
She tried to beg for mercy, but it was pointless. Even though her
mouth opened and closed no sound came out.

He twisted her
around like a doll, holding her on her back with her thighs parted
and draped over his shoulders. He balanced her, holding her back
and buttocks on his hands and forearms, and drew her to him. Her
legs opened fully against his face. Her delectable slit widened,
glistening at its delicious centre. He held her there, looking at
the perfection of her young flesh. He poked his tongue out and
pressed it flatly against her cunt. He licked at the delightful
opening, covering it with spit. He lapped at its lips before
driving the tip of his tongue deep inside. He moved her up and down
in his powerful arms, sliding her vagina along his penetrating
tongue. He held her still for a while and pressed his tongue
against her clitoris. He probed its base and licked around its
budding firmness. He lapped with his tongue, his irresistible
intrusion parting the flesh easily and spreading it wide. He lifted
her up. His tongue passed over the succulent centre of her silky
flesh, licking it, tasting it, driving into the luscious channel.
He lifted her higher and pressed the tip of his tongue into her
anus - opening it, dilating it, entering it. He tasted the tang of
her rectum. He kept his tongue inside as her anal muscle
contracted, and when he thrust deeper it opened to let him in.

Suddenly he
flung her down. She lay on her back, her legs wide apart, the flesh
of her cunt shimmering with a mixture of his spit and her own
fragrant moisture. She did not think of drawing her legs together,
and naively ran a hand down between her thighs. She placed her
fingers at her fleshy centre. She moved her other hand down and
slipped a finger into her anus, wet and dilated by his tongue. She
drove it in and raised up, supporting herself between her feet and
shoulders. With only a few movements against her throbbing clitoris
she convulsed in a jerking, shuddering and welcome release of
pleasure. She kept her finger deep in her anus as, slowly, she
lowered herself back to the ground. Another jerk of ecstasy passed
through her. She did not resist it as she squirmed and rolled her
head from side to side.

Agamemnon
laughed indifferently and tossed his long hair back.

'Bring me the
"prize". I want to see the one who can cause all this trouble for a
king.'

Sappho
struggled as they pulled her out of the cage. Although she was
cramped, in a strange way she felt safe inside it. Although she
hung in the glare of the sun all day, and she was a victim of
continual abuse, she still felt protected by the bars that
imprisoned her. The two soldiers who released her took hold of her
arms and dragged her backwards. They hauled her naked and powerless
to Agamemnon's tent. Her heels dug two furrows in the sand.

'So, our
troublesome "prize" enters,' said Agamemnon, still angry, as Sappho
was dropped to the ground at his feet.

'Perhaps she
needs the hand of Agamemnon across her buttocks, my lord,' said
Menelaus, getting up and pulling Sappho to her feet. 'And fine
buttocks they are, my lord. They curve so well. And they are firm
and supple. They would be a fine spring to a heavy spanking.
Sometimes it is the hand that disciplines best. Even when the whip
or the flogger fails, the palm of a hand can often bring
success.'

Menelaus
stroked her buttocks. He smoothed his hand from the small of her
back, around their outward curve then back into the crease they
formed at the tops of her thighs. He gripped one and tested the
tension of her muscles. 'Yes, firm and springy. And youthful. She
is the perfect candidate for such discipline, my lord.'

Agamemnon
prowled around her, still enraged by Achilles, still hurt by his
petulance and the threat he posed to the venture against Troy. He
kicked his sandaled feet at the ground, only half listening to what
Menelaus was saying. Suddenly he turned and grabbed Sappho around
the waist. He dropped to his knee and bent her over it. She gasped
as he pushed her forward, knocking the breath from her as her
stomach fell heavily across his thigh. Her upturned buttocks curved
perfectly as he pressed one hand against her back and held her head
down. Her face lay against the sandy ground and she spluttered as
she breathed some of it in. It made her cough and that only
tightened her buttocks more.

Agamemnon
flattened his huge right hand across the satiny skin of her
buttocks. He parted her legs slightly, just enough to see the
delectable shape of her pink slit. It showed between her buttocks;
a perfectly formed and enticing oval of flesh, split by a pink line
of glistering softness. He took aim by holding his hand against the
highest point of the upturned curve. He raised his arm slowly and
brought it down hard.

Her buttocks
sprang against the contact; shuddering, depressing, then bouncing
back. The mark of his hand was inscribed precisely on her pale
skin. He raised his hand again and swept it down slightly to the
left of where it had landed first. Again her buttocks bounced
firmly against the impact. This time she tightened the backs of her
thighs.

He held her
firmly with his left hand and struck again. She tightened her
thighs some more, her buttocks quivering tautly. He struck her
again, and again. Her bottom reddened all over. Each smack brought
the same springy response from her tightly curved buttocks. Each
smack stung. She squirmed against the restraining arm on her back.
He was overpoweringly strong, and she was pitifully helpless.

The blows
rained down. Her pain increased, and soon her whole body was filled
with it. But she experienced joy as well as anguish. She knew
Menelaus was watching, that he could see her sex, and that gave her
the delightful sensation of exposure. She knew she was being
punished for a reason, that she was the centre of all the problems
between Agamemnon and Achilles, and that filled her with a sense of
power, and with pleasure. But the spanking was not enough. Even
with the exposure and the knowledge of her wrongdoing, still it was
not enough. She needed more. She had been spoiled by the
humiliations endured at the hands of the cruel Greeks. They had set
on fire a new appetite within her. An appetite that could only be
quenched by ever higher levels of suffering, pain, and
humiliation.

She squirmed
against Agamemnon, not so much to escape, but to feel the strength
of the hand that held her. She needed to remind herself of his
power, of his greatness. He responded to her struggles, smacking
her harder, bringing his hand down faster. She writhed and threw
her head from side to side. She sensed his passion, sensed his need
to punish her, sensed his desire to degrade her.

She fought on,
struggling frantically. She felt the pressure on her back
increasing, pressing her down more, holding her tighter against his
sturdy thighs. She forced her buttocks higher, exposing them to his
hand. She widened them, showing more of her cunt; its softness, its
wetness, its warmth. She hoped his hand would strike it. She wanted
to feel a heavy spank against the tender flesh. She wanted to feel
the shock of it. She lifted her buttocks as high as she could, but
she was not rewarded by the smacks she wanted.

She began
begging. Her words were stifled by the sand, but she did not stop.
It stuck to her cheeks and lips. She called out to Agamemnon,
imploring him to strike her harder. She beseeched him to make his
punishment more severe. She begged him to sweep his hand down
faster, to strike the soft flesh of her labia, to till her body
with pain. But her cravings only fed her frustration. She twisted
her head from side to side, coughing out sand, sobbing
hopelessly.

Suddenly the
spanking stopped. Sappho listened, as if she would hear what was
going to happen.

Turning her
easily in his hands, Agamemnon flung her over and draped her back
across his knee. The back of her head hit the ground. She squirmed
her feet into the sand. Her hips lay across his thighs, exposing
the flatness of her stomach. The gentle mound between her thighs
was exposed fully - open, pink, shimmering with moisture and warmed
with desire.

Sappho gasped
with pleasure at the exposure. She opened her legs more. She hoped
he would continue smacking her. She imagined the slaps striking her
sex; stinging, nourishing its hunger, feeding its frustration.

Agamemnon
spread his right forearm across her knees to stop her lifting them.
Menelaus stood above her gasping face. He placed his feet across
her shoulders, pinning them into the sandy ground. Sappho gaped up
at him, gasping, feeling the humiliation of her captivity,
straining against it as it fed her desire for more. She saw his
heavy testicles hanging between his legs and the tip of his cock,
only half erect, laying between them. Menelaus took it in his hand
and held it out towards her. She watched as a stream of golden
urine spouted from its single eye. He directed it onto her tummy
and it ran over her flesh in a warm flood. It streamed between the
delicate petals of her sex and down the insides of her thighs. He
aimed it at her breasts. Again she felt its warmth as it streamed
around her erect nipples and her throat. She felt it under her
chin, and then as she looked up she felt it on her face. It flooded
her nostrils, her eyes and her mouth. She tasted its strong
saltiness, absorbing its aroma. She was impatient. She wanted more.
She lay beneath him as his urine streamed into her mouth. She let
it flow and run down her throat.

Suddenly,
unexpectedly, she felt the delightful shock of Agamemnon's hand as
he spanked her vulnerable sex lips. The smack was startling, and
for all her hoping she was not prepared. She choked on Menelaus'
urine, the sting of the smack sending her into confusion. Another
smack, another shock, and another struggle to drink the urine being
offered.