Trojan Slaves (5 page)

She had a
sudden feeling of embarrassment, of fear of exposure. She felt
freshly aware that everyone could see her nakedness. She tried to
bring her knees a little closer together, but it was impossible,
her ankles were tied too tightly. When she attempted to lift her
hips in the hope she could twist sideways, it was impossible. She
tried to swallow but that was impossible too; her neck was pulled
back too severely. She gasped, let out a weak cry, and felt lost to
the hopelessness of her despair.

The Chinese
man became increasingly urgent in his proclamation. 'Buk-ka-ke!
Buk-ka-ke! Buk-ka-ke!' he screeched. 'Buk-ka-ke! Buk-ka-ke!
Buk-ka-ke!'

Some of the
girls forced their tongues deeper, licked at anuses, delving the
tips into the muscular rings dilated by excitement and need. The
girls' blood-streaked bodies entwined the men, their eager hands
holding onto cocks, squeezing them, pulling them, wanting them.
Sappho saw one of the girls draw back, resting for a moment,
licking her tongue across her lips, tasting the man's anus,
savouring it, relishing it. Sappho watched the girl closing her
eyes again in ecstasy as she returned to the source of her joy.

Suddenly
Sappho felt heat on her face, and something was dripping across her
cheek. A burst of semen had spurted onto her. She watched the
pulsating cock, still in the young girl's hand, semen streaming
from it - copious, hot, sticky, white. She watched the glans
beating, throbbing heavily as it spurted again, and she saw the
girl's hand tighten on the shaft, milking it in time with its
contractions, making it flow more eagerly, letting it run more
plentifully.

Sappho tasted
the semen as it ran down onto her lips. It was salty and thick. She
licked it, timidly at first, then let it run inside her mouth. The
taste changed as it seeped further - it sweetened; the sweetest
liquid she had ever tasted.

Another burst
hit her face, this time alongside her nose. She smelled it first -
dry, almost bitter - then it ran into the corner of her eye. Again
she watched the girl's hand working on the stiff shaft; massaging
it, tightening on it, holding the throbbing burst back for a
second, then releasing it so that it squirted heavily and fast. Her
vision blurred as it ran into her eye, but seeing through it
somehow only increased the capacity of her vision, made it more
acute, more sharp.

Then she felt
more. This time a drenching. She could not see where it came from
but it covered her throat, heating her skin then cooling it as it
ran up under her chin. She wondered if it would run as far as her
lips, but her attention changed as a soaking burst splatted right
into her open mouth. It hit the roof first, then her tongue. It
poured in, filling her, covering her tongue, sticking to her lips.
It ran to the back of her throat, and as more came from another, it
oozed down her throat. She breathed heavily as it ran. She felt her
throat tightening, then closing as she gagged, but the tightness
passed and she relaxed and let it run freely into her.

Another burst
splashed into her other eye. Another one on her forehead then one
right into one of her nostrils. She choked as she sniffed it. It
burned her slightly as it ran up. The scent was so intense,
beautiful, and she inhaled it deeply, drawing it inside. More
spattered onto her neck and face and when she breathed out, even
with her mouth wide open, bubbles and frothing semen covered her
lips. She was drenched in it. It ran down her throat and back into
her nose. It ran from her nostrils and from her mouth. She was
covered in semen. She felt it on her breasts and on her stomach.
She felt it running between the crack of her cunt and on her open
thighs. She heard the Chinese man screeching, 'Buk-ka-ke!
Buk-ka-ke! Buk-ka-ke!' She saw more men congregating around her,
and more girls lining up behind them on their knees. She was
overwhelmed, covered in it, drowned by it.

Semen ran down
her body, along her arms, across her knees and down her legs. She
was covered in it. In some places it was thicker than others, but
all her skin was covered in the translucent sheen of warm and
sticky semen.

Finally they
released the ropes from the iron rings and she curled forward as
the tension eased. She went to wipe her face, to clear her eyes and
mouth and nose, but they did not allow her. They dragged her from
the altar, flung her to the floor and made her kneel.

She let her
head drop as she knelt, her arms by her sides and her wrists, still
trailing the ropes which had bound them to the iron rings, against
her hips. Semen ran from her nipples, dripping stickily in
glutinous strands onto the tops of her thighs. She felt deeply
shamed and humiliated. She opened her mouth and licked the semen
from her lips. It was warm and its salty tang made her draw in
breath. She licked some more. It sat in the hollow of her tongue.
She raised her head and let it run to the back of her throat. Its
scent filled her and she inhaled more through her nostrils. The
semen ran down her throat and she swallowed, pulling it down,
eating it, inhaling it, devouring it. She licked more, wiping the
tip of her tongue as far as she could around her mouth, onto her
chin. The odour absorbed her, the texture enraptured her and she
wanted more. She looked through her bleary eyes and hoped the men
that surrounded her would start again, would cover her again, would
drown her in their semen so she could satisfy her appetite for
it.

One of the men
raised her head, another offered her a silver goblet. He pressed it
against her lips and she parted them. She felt the syrup of semen
tipping into her mouth and she took it in and drank it deeply. It
was an elixir to her, bringing her back to life, filling her with
joy. She gulped at it, wishing her hands were free so she could
hold it herself and tip it back faster. It was a delectable sauce,
sweet yet salty, thick and pure. Her throat gulped heavily as she
took it in, and she drank deeply and eagerly until the goblet was
empty.

The goblet was
taken away. Sappho looked at the men around her. They stood in a
circle, naked, the enfolding arms of the girls wrapped around their
hips. Their cocks, now limper and more fleshy, still held in the
tight grasp of the naked girls that knelt behind them.

Then something
different splattered on her face, something more liquid, less
sticky, hotter. Then some more, across her cheek, and as some
entered her mouth she tasted the astringent tang of urine. The men
were urinating over her. It soaked her hair and ran down her face.
It splashed on her shoulders and flowed down her arms to her bound
wrists. It streamed across her breasts and stomach, and wanting
more she opened her mouth and caught as much as she could. The
semen was washed from her and her body sparkled brightly with the
pale lemon sheen of the crystalline urine.

As she was
cleaned, as she felt the full force of her degradation, she also
felt a strange heat boiling inside her. It started in her throat,
blocking it at first, tightening it, constricting it. It went into
her stomach and she tensed as it gripped her. She felt it on the
insides of her thighs, building quickly from a dull ache to a
screaming pain. Finally she felt it inside her sex as it probed
inside and gripped her very being. She could not keep her eyes
open. She could only think of what was happening, what she was
being put through, how she was a humiliated victim, how she was
merely an object for the humbling abasement of the men who
surrounded her. As their urine flowed she was filled with a sense
of joy she would never have thought possible. Her skin was inflamed
by their drenching liquid, setting it on fire. Their eagerness to
humiliate her filled her with pleasure. It was a fever that could
only dissipate with the release of her ecstasy. And she could not
hold it back. She opened her mouth wide. She slurped their
splashing urine. She cried out, screeching as loud as she could,
yelling to them for more, beseeching them to allow her orgasm to
flow.

She fell
forward, jerking, twitching, convulsing with its power. They
continued to urinate on her, and with every drop that fell on her
she twitched again with joy.

Again she was
lifted and this time tied facedown on the cold slab of the altar.
She dropped her head forward as they retied her. Tighter this time,
stretching her arms and legs around the corners of the marble slab,
exposing her back and buttocks, displaying her dark anus and her
sex.

The men and
girls stood aside as a beautiful young woman walked between them.
She walked erect, her chin held high and her square shoulders
draped with a white embossed robe. It was split at the front and
parted provocatively with each assured step she took. Her breasts
were full and rounded, and her hard, compact nipples pushed against
the thin robe. The sheeny material hugged her hips and dipped
tightly against her flat stomach.

Pelador stood
back and slowly removed the ceremonial mask from his face.

'Ah, my
daughter,' he said calmly. 'You are so beautiful, so elegant, so
chaste. You are indeed the glittering prize of Troy. Even Helen
cannot compete with you for beauty. And your purity is a tribute to
Apollo. All marvel at how you resist the temptations of the flesh
that others are so easily victim to. Daughter, Chryseis, how can I
honour you? What can I give to you? How can I honour your
beauty?'

Chryseis
walked over to the altar and looked down at the captive Sappho. One
of the naked men rushed forward and, grabbing Sappho's hair, lifted
her head to show to his priest's daughter.

'She is so
beautiful,' said Chryseis bending her head to look into Sappho's
face. 'And she has no slave mark. She must be free. I want her as a
friend. Yes, that is what you can give me, father. I will take this
beauty as my friend.'

'She is yours,
my virtuous darling,' Pelador said, and turned to the young men.
'Release her! We are done with her!'

'Bring her in
here,' commanded Chryseis.

The young men
carried Sappho's limp body into the opulent room, its high,
brightly decorated ceiling a panoply to fine furnishings, vivid and
expensive drapes and a deep, marble-edged bath. She was unconscious
from exhaustion.

'Put her near
the bath and send my girls in to bathe her. Now go! I will call you
again in a while. I think there are services you will need to
provide before the night is out.'

The young men
bowed and backed away, never for a moment daring to turn their back
on the beautiful daughter of their revered priest of Apollo,
Pelador. Chryseis giggled at their subservience, threw her mass of
dark hair back and turned away.

Sappho lay on
her side on the edge of the marble bath. Her arms trailed into the
water and the ropes which were still attached to her wrists floated
on its milk-coloured surface. Her long red-brown hair spread around
her face in wet tangles. It highlighted the paleness of her skin
and accentuated its smooth clarity. Ropes still hung from her
ankles and harsh red marks on the insides of her thighs showed
where she had been pulled down forcibly against the cold,
sharp-edged altar.

Her closed
eyes portrayed a chaste sweetness hard to attribute to a
mortal.

Chryseis knelt
down and stroked Sappho's forehead.

'You are truly
beautiful, Sappho, my new friend. I think Apollo himself must have
sent you for me.'

Chryseis
clapped her hands and six naked girls ran up beside her. Their hair
had been cropped short and their pubic hair shaved. Each wore a
golden necklace. One, Calliope, had a shiny ring piercing her
clitoris. Another two had golden rings through their pert, dark
pink nipples. All the girls knelt down beside Sappho, giggling and
looking to their mistress for instructions. With their knees
together their slits could not be seen, but the flats of their
stomachs, descending to the beautiful disguising V made by its
union with the tops of their thighs, told more of the hidden
delights in their absence than could ever be told by their
obviousness.

'This is my
new friend Sappho,' said Chryseis. 'When she wakes you must do
anything she wishes. You must take her instructions as if they were
mine. But first you must bathe her, shave her pubic hair and anoint
her body with scent and oil. When you have done that you can plait
her beautiful russet hair, and file and paint the nails on her toes
and fingers.'

The girls set
straight to their task. Carefully they released the ropes on
Sappho's wrists and ankles, first untying the knots then slowly
unwinding the encircling rope until it was free. Sappho's wrists
and ankles bore bracelets of red marks where the ropes had been.
One of the girls with rings in her nipples massaged Sappho's wrists
while one of the others massaged her ankles.

They lifted
her carefully into the marble bath. The water, milky with oil and
scent, enveloped her body and its warmth flushed the paleness of
her skin with a rosy sheen. They held her face out of the water
while they took large sponges and gently rubbed her whole body. Her
coppery hair floated on its surface, reaching out in lazy talons
and twisting like a mermaid's in the fragrant water.

Two of the
girls put their arms beneath Sappho and lifted her up in the water
until her breasts, stomach and the fronts of her thighs were above
the surface. Water lapped around the sweet lips of her cunt,
sometimes obscuring it, sometimes exposing it. When it was above
the water droplets ran between the pink labia, mixing with the
glistening of her own moisture, which shone on the delectable
flesh.

A tall girl
mixed some sudsy soap and spread it around Sappho's sex. She rubbed
it over her pubic hair and between her legs. As it foamed some of
it slid away into the water in tight bubbly masses. Calliope, the
girl with the ring in her clitoris, fetched a shiny blade set in an
oyster-shell handle and stepped into the bath. She stood alongside
Sappho, naked, as they all were, the milky water lapping just above
her own shaven slit. She leant forward and moved the shiny blade
along the top edge of Sappho's pubic hair. She worked slowly and
carefully, lifting the blade away and cleaning it in a bowl held by
another girl so that the cut hair did not go into the
bathwater.