Trojan Whores Page 19

  A beggar, drinking from one of the pools, himself garbed in a discarded lion skin, suddenly ran up to one of the women. He knelt behind her, lifted her tail and drove his cock into her anus. She yelped, surprised and pained by his penetration. He pushed deeper. He held onto her hips. He pounded her. She reared back then dropped her face to the ground, lifting her buttocks to allow him the deepest possible entry.

  Another beggar joined them. He waited until the first one pulled his cock out. He sprang forward and threw him aside. The first bared his teeth and growled. The second stared at him. He was more youthful and fitter. The first backed down. The second man prowled around the woman. She stayed on her hands and knees. She kept her face close to the ground. He stroked her back. She licked the ground. He lifted her tail. She responded by raising her buttocks even higher. He presented the throbbing tip of his cock against her anus. She allowed her buttocks to open. The muscle of her anus dilated. The first man's semen ran from it. The second drove his cock in straight to the base. The woman yelped. She stayed on her knees. She pressed back against him as he tightened in a shuddering orgasm. She fell to her side, gasping for breath, a stream of semen running into the fleshy folds of her sex.

  Sappho watched breathlessly. The sight heated her. She dropped her legs over the side of the pool and plunged her feet into the water. It was cool. It refreshed her. She leant down and began washing her toes.

  Another man prowled around the woman in the lion skin. She lay on her side gasping for air. He lifted her tail and began repeatedly slapping her buttocks. She jerked with shock at every blow.

  Sappho ran her hands up her legs. She drew the dirty water across her skin, bathing it, washing some of the smears of mud from it. She breathed in the aroma from the water. It was tangy, heavy, animalistic. She pulled her hand between her legs and splashed water on the insides of her thighs. Some of it splattered against her labia. It ran between them, cooling her heat, mixing with her own moisture, enlivening her.

  She listened to the smacking of the man's hand on the woman's buttocks. The sound inflamed her. The splashing of the water against her flesh, the trickling sound as it ran back into the pool, filled her with a desperate desire for satisfaction. The smacks echoed in her head. She rubbed her wet hand against her sex. It was open, available. She ran a finger against it. The flesh was soft and yielding. Her heart pounded in time with the smacking hand. There was another noise. A soft, low mewing. It reminded her of Calliope. She turned. It was Chryseis.

  Chryseis was on all fours. The lion skin was draped over her back. Her face was almost covered by the animal's head. Her long tail trailed out behind her and ended in a tassel of ginger hair. She crept forward. Sappho dropped her hands to her sides. Her legs fell apart. Her sex was fully exposed. It dripped with water and glistened with her own silky moisture.

  Chryseis crawled between Sappho's thighs. The rough animal hair prickled Sappho's skin. She shivered with excitement. The slapping sound filled her ears. She watched the lion's head forcing between her thighs, squeezing between them, driving them apart, opening her cunt, making her available.

  The smacking grew into a thunderous roar. She could see the man's hand coming down on the woman's buttocks. She saw the moment of contact, the sudden meeting of the two surfaces of skin. She jumped with every contact. It filled her mind. She was overwhelmed by it.

  Sappho reared back as the flat of Chryseis' tongue touched her exposed cunt. Chryseis lapped, lubricating the already wet flesh. She circled Sappho's clitoris with its tip. She massaged its pulsating hardness. She drew out its need.

  Sappho leant back and slowly slipped into the pool of water. It was shallow. It slopped around her buttocks. Chryseis followed. She kept licking.

  Sappho opened her mouth. She wanted to scream. But it was too human. She heard the smacks against the woman's buttocks building to a crescendo. She could not hold back. She let out a terrific roar - a lion's roar. Her body was overtaken by a massive explosion of ecstasy. Chryseis forced her tongue in as deeply as she could. Sappho clamped her thighs around Chryseis' head. She squeezed her in against her drenched sex. She threw her head back. She roared again.

  Sappho fell back onto her elbows. The water splashed against her hips. She was overcome. Chryseis lapped softly at her, drinking her moisture and the water that flowed with it, refreshing herself with Sappho's passion.

  At last there was silence. Chryseis drew back. Sappho stroked her head.

  'It is getting dark. We must find somewhere for the night.' They ran up the raised garden, past the pools and waterfalls, between the obelisks and statues. They came to the small temple at the highest point. Polydorus' statue had been desecrated and knocked over. It lay on its side, both arms broken off. Daubs of red paint were smeared across its face.

  They stood by the fallen statue and looked towards the setting sun. It hung in the purple sky, swollen and red. Between a yawning gap in the fallen city walls they saw the Greek ships setting out for home. Their square sails were unfurled from the broad cross-spars. Their oars were pushed out from the sides. The two women heard the distant pounding of the slave masters' drums as the time was beaten out. They stood in silence as they watched the oar blades dipping into the water and pulling the victors away.

  Sappho heard a noise inside the temple. They went inside to look. A man's form lay huddled in one corner. It was covered in rags. They thought it must be another beggar, a frightened inhabitant seeking safety for the night. Sappho approached. The sight of fear excited her. She straddled the body and pressed her hands between her thighs. A hand stretched out from beneath the filthy covering. She jumped back, shocked. A large ruby set in a heavy gold ring glinted on the forefinger. Sappho recognised it straight away. It was Polydorus. He was injured and in need of help.

  Sappho felt a great tide of anger flood over her. She remembered how cruel he had been. How he had thrown them out of the temple. How he had taken them into slavery and treated them with unforgiving savagery. She looked again and saw his predicament. She felt a sudden feeling of power. Polydorus, her cruel tormentor, was at her feet, broken and injured. She could do with him as she wished.

  His hand reached further. She took it in hers. She looked at his manicured nails, filed smoothly and buffed by the labours of attentive slaves. She looked at her own, dirty and damaged, uncared for and broken. She looked at his ring. A beam of light came in through the broken temple wall. The ruby reflected a shower of flashing rays. It spoke of wealth and power, of authority and control. Sappho saw, in its light, a future of pleasure and gain. This man, Polydorus, this one who appealed to her for help, this man who had savagely humiliated her, had lost his brothers and father. He was the inheritor of the power of Troy. It was a broken empire, she knew that, but it was an empire, and it was his. And its wealth was still somewhere hidden in its secret coffers. The height of the Greek boats in the water had testified to that. They had not set out laden with its weight. She had seen that with her own eyes. Yes, Polydorus was the new king and the power of wealth was still at his fingertips.

  Sappho drew his hand between her thighs. She took his extended forefinger and placed it against her moist sex. It opened at his touch. It slipped between the wet folds, into the warmth within. She rose on it. She gasped. She dropped down.

  She pushed herself around the huge ruby ring. It was cool. She felt it inside, his finger reaching and twisting, probing and searching. In her mind she saw the flashing red beams. She pictured them glittering inside her cunt, filling her with their promise, their power, their wealth. She bit her lip. Her body tensed. She held her breath, dropped her head and jolted with a shattering, gripping orgasm.

  Trojan Slaves

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  The belt swept down again. She strained to react, to save herself, somehow pull away, but she was so tightly secured at the wrists and ankles that all she could do was move her he
ad. The tautness of her body accentuated the pain and heightened her feeling of captivity. She felt completely under his control. She was his victim, and his to humiliate. She could only receive the pain he gave her.

  The army of the Greeks is encamped outside the walls of Troy and the legendary war rages all around. So when Sappho and Chryseis, two beautiful Trojan girls, are captured by their deadly enemies trying to flee the city, their situation is not a good one.

  The question of who will possess and dominate the two slaves becomes the source of friction within the Greek camp, and the two hapless captives can only pray that some miracle will help them escape from the cruel and warlike men into whose hands they have fallen.

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