Trojan Slaves Page 3

  Sappho got down lower behind the statue of Hera. She bit her bottom lip. In her mind she still felt the sting from the young man's stick and winced as she remembered it. It had burned her, scorched her flesh, and she ran home with tears flowing from her eyes. But it had not stopped her coming back. Indeed, the idea that she might be discovered again filled her with a fresh flush of excitement.

  She loved watching others like this, feeling herself, suppressing her cries of ecstasy as she brought herself first to the edges, and then to the depths of jerking ecstasy. This place was so exhilarating; the scents, the worshipping followers, the sacrifice, the howling of the ram, the chanting of the priest, and always the fear of discovery, of humiliation. The delectable exposure to the glare of others made her shiver with delight. The fear of being found made her heart pound with thrilling expectation. She delighted in being where the threat of being found was always present. And she was here again, doing that.

  Sappho squatted down behind a statue of Aphrodite. She liked this position; it opened her buttocks and squeezed her sex lips. She pulled up her robe and hitched it around her waist. Now anyone who came past, who discovered her, would see her nakedness, see her crouching as though she was urinating, and they would see whatever it was she was doing. She parted her knees and felt again the cool draught of air on her flesh. She placed the flat of her hand against her fleshy sex and massaged it gently, feeling its warmth, its wetness, its heat. She felt the hardness of her clitoris and ran her fingers around its base, squeezing, provoking, making it yearn.

  Pelador thrust the blade of the knife into the ram's throat. It squealed loudly, gurgling, bleating, crying out for release. He twisted the knife and the animal was silenced. He held his arms up high and allowed the blood of the sacrifice to run in red streams down his wrists and arms.

  The young girls danced around him, reaching up high in imitation of him, stretching their firm breasts and tightening their already taut bodies. They touched his blood-soaked arms and rubbed themselves with it, smearing their pale skin with wide red lines, rubbing it around their breasts, down their flat stomachs and onto their thighs.

  Two dropped to their knees and began smearing each other with the blood. They seemed in a trance, rubbing each other's faces and breasts. They embraced each other, kissing and squirming wildly as excitement seized them and took control. Another girl joined them, holding onto the first two, licking them, smearing their blood-soaked bodies with her spit, pressing her cheeks against their breasts.

  Sappho realised her fingers were deep inside her cunt. She felt the heat of her flesh around them, and the wetness that ran from her on the upturned palm of her hand. She dropped her head forward as, gasping with delight, she drove them further. She parted her knees, allowing room for her hand, and thrust her hips to gain every bit of her delving fingers. She rode them, using them to heighten her pleasure, sucking them in, moaning as she enveloped them, gasping, panting, biting her lips. She rose slightly as she felt her orgasm approaching, and she opened her eyes, to take in just one last glimpse of the young girls. She watched them, their legs widespread, licking each other, stroking each other's cunts with their tongues, and Sappho felt the urgency for release burning within her. As she bit harder her lip and felt the muscles of her body tensing with an irresistible wave of joy, she saw someone standing in front of her. He had appeared from nowhere. He must have been watching her all the time.

  She stopped suddenly, her orgasm held back, her hand frozen where it was, her fingers still deep inside her. She felt a dribble of spit in the corner of her mouth, but did not dare lick it away. Her face flushed uncontrollably.

  'What are you doing here, girl?' asked the man sternly.

  'I...' faltered Sappho, shaking nervously. 'I do not know sir.'

  'If you do not know what you are doing we should ask Pelador. I'm sure he will be able to give you an answer.' The man laughed and grabbed Sappho by the hair.

  'Please sir, no. I could not bear to be shown up like that. Surely there is something I could do to change your mind. Please sir, do not take me to Pelador. The shame would be too great. I will do anything.'

  The man, himself young and handsome, looked down at the shamed Sappho. Slowly she withdrew her fingers. They glistened with wetness and she flushed even more as she saw the young man staring down between her legs.

  'It looks to me as though you like the games Pelador lays on for his girls. Is that true?'

  'It is, sir.'

  'Would you like to be amongst them? Would you like to do what they are doing?'

  'Oh no, sir. I only like to watch. It would be too embarrassing to take part. No, sir, I could never do that.'

  'And what will you offer me to save you from Pelador's anger?'

  'Anything sir. Anything you want.'

  Sappho shivered when she heard herself saying this. She could hardly believe she had spoken the words. But her fear of being taken before the priest Pelador drove her to it and she repeated, 'Anything, sir. Anything.'

  The young man pulled Sappho to her feet. Her robe hung down over one shoulder, exposing a breast. Her pale pink nipple was hard and the young man took it between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled her forward by it. She drew her shoulders together slightly as the pain dug into her breast, but still she allowed herself to be led. He brought her out, in front of the statue. She looked around anxiously, in case anyone else could see. He brought her to the edge of the raised balcony on which they stood. From here it was easy to see everything that was happening below and, if they chose, anyone below could look up and see Sappho.

  'Here you can watch, but also may be watched. Now, squat down as you were before. That's right. Now open your knees, let me see that beautiful slit. I want to see its wetness.'

  Sappho did as she was ordered. Trembling, she crouched at the edge of the raised balcony and opened her legs. Her sex was still wet and, as she opened her knees to the scene below, she felt the warm wetness on the swollen lips of her exposed slit.

  'Now, continue what you were doing,' he said. 'Push your fingers in. Yes, like that, deeply.'

  She slid her fingers into her vagina. They went in easily; she was so wet, so silky. Immediately she felt a wave of pleasure come over her. The penetration unlocked the joy of watching the scene below, the exposure and the instructions of this unknown man. She was overwhelmed. She did not think she could hold her orgasm back. It was all too sudden. She threw her eyes up, her head went back and, as she tightened all over, she was shocked by the explosive convulsion which ran through her. It was as if she had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Her jaw dropped. She cried out - loudly, uncontrollably. She sank her fingers as far as they would go. She tipped forward.

  The young man grabbed her and stopped her falling. He held her as the shocks of her orgasm ran through her. She felt his hands against her skin as she let her ecstasy break over her and flow.

  Sappho stared at the scene below. Pelador walked amongst the girls, their bodies intertwined, blood streaking their pale skin, flowers sticking to them. As he stepped between them they raised their hands towards him, clutching at the fleece that covered his back, reaching up to his thighs, rubbing themselves against him. He bent down to one and drew her up to her feet. He looked at her beautiful body then pushed her to her knees.

  She remained motionless as Pelador summoned three men. They stepped between the other girls and stood around her. He motioned to them. Two of them took her arms and bent her forward. The third raised a long cane and held it over her back.

  Sappho panted as she watched, aware of her own subjugation to the young man's will, her exposure, her overflowing pleasure. The man gripped her tightly and she yielded to him without question as he bent her forward.

  Pelador nodded to the man with the cane and slowly he drew it back. Still the girl did not move. The girls around her became still. Everyone went silent. The man held the cane high and waited for Pelador's instruction.

  Sappho bit her lip as she waite
d. She felt herself bending forward as more passion within her started to be released.

  Pelador shouted loudly and, to gasps from the worshippers, the man brought the cane down across the girl's buttocks. They cut across her skin and she fell forward with a piercing scream.

  'Again!' shouted Pelador, and for a second time the cane was raised and brought down cruelly onto the girl's taut skin.

  As Sappho watched the punishment she could not stop her fingers moving up and down between her thighs. The action flowed like music within her. The crack of the cane as it came down against the girl's skin coincided with Sappho's fingers penetrating as far as they could. The relief as the man lifted the cane and the girl was saved for a moment from punishment came at the same time as Sappho withdrew her fingers almost completely. She rested them against her throbbing clitoris, allowing them to hold her fleshy, swollen, pulsating labia.

  The cane swept down repeatedly. Each time the girl's legs bent and she fell forward. Each time she fell the men propped her back again, forcing her legs straight and bending her at the waist. Sappho listened to the girl's screams and they fed the fire of her own desire. She wanted the man who held her to grab her hair. She wanted him to throw her down and smack her across the breasts with the palms of his hands. She wanted him to bend her forward like the girl she was watching, and smack her buttocks as hard as he could. She wanted to scream out like the girl. She wanted to fill the air with the sound of her suffering. She wanted to froth at the mouth with spit. She wanted to screech with pain until, finally, unable to stand any more, she would fall forward and, still with his hand spanking her buttocks, she would let her orgasm go.

  Suddenly it was silent. Sappho lolled against the young man's grip, her eyes closed, her hand hanging loosely between her legs. She was dissipated, exhausted. Her ears buzzed in the silence. She heard her heart beating wildly. Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath as she struggled to regain control.

  But her relief was short-lived.

  A sudden flurry of activity below brought shouts and the sound of running feet.

  'Who is there?' men shouted. 'Who is watching our private ceremony?'

  'Who has dared break the code of Pelador?'

  Within seconds Sappho was surrounded by angry men. They pushed the young man aside and grabbed her roughly. She tried to struggle free, but it was hopeless. They ripped her robe from her, exposing her nakedness to the eyes of all, and holding her arms they marched her between the staring congregation and down to Pelador.

  Chapter 4

  Pelador's anger

  Sappho stood naked amidst the blood-smeared girls. She trembled as Pelador approached. His mask was in the image of a ram's head. It had empty eyeholes and huge, rough, curling horns. The ram's fleece covered his back and was tied at his neck. Otherwise he was naked. His genitals were large, a pendulous penis hanging between two huge testicles supported in a stretched and venous scrotal sack. Sappho shivered when he stood close before her.

  He cocked his masked head from side to side, looking her up and down, sniffing at her like an animal, prodding her with a bloodstained, outstretched finger.

  No one spoke. No one moved. Pelador stepped back and angrily shook the glinting knife in the air.

  'You dare to defile our ceremony to Apollo?' he screamed. 'You have tainted our sacrifice. Our god, Apollo, will be angry. He will need something more to placate him for this sacrilege. What is your name?'

  'I am...' she hesitated. She could not speak. She was too afraid. The men holding her tightened their grip and shook her insistently. She took a deep breath and tried again. 'I am, Sappho, sir. Daughter of Philoctetes. Sir, I meant no harm. I—'

  'Meant no harm?' screeched Pelador. 'You have entered the sacred ceremony of Apollo! You have caused grave harm. And you will be punished. Here and now, you will discover what harming the god Apollo means! Bring her! Fetch the Chinese Master Wang. Prepare for the ceremony he learned from the Japanese of the east. Inform him that we wish the ceremony of Buk-ka-ke.'

  Sappho was dragged to the centre of the sunken temple floor. The dead ram was removed from the altar block. Glistening pools of blood soaked the smooth marble surface, and shone in the twinkling light of the candles that surrounded it. Sappho trembled as she was led to the altar. She did not know what to expect, and the unexpected filled her with fear.

  She struggled as they lifted her onto the altar block. She felt the now cold blood against her back as they forced her down. Her legs bent at the knees and hung over the end of the short altar. Her arms trailed at the sides. Her head hung backwards over the other end, stretching her throat and allowing her long hair to touch the ground. The men parted her knees, opening her legs to expose her slit. They tied ropes around each ankle, winding them methodically and carefully six times before knotting them, then pulling the free ends into iron rings that were bolted to the floor. They pulled her wrists down at the side of the massive marble block, wound ropes around them, this time eight times, and pulled them down into more iron rings at the side. They pulled her full auburn hair together and wound it tightly into a rope. They led it back and pulled the end securely into another iron ring. It held her head firmly in place, hanging down over the edge of the altar.

  Everything she saw was upside down and the flickering lights, the scents, the chanting and the weaving naked bodies of the blood-smeared girls all added to her confusion and dread.

  A small man, dressed in an embroidered silk robe, came and stood at the head of the altar. His long, twisted moustache reached down onto his chest and his talon-like fingernails were as long again as his fingers. He reached into the air and cried out in a shrill, high-pitched screech.

  'Buk-ka-ke! Buk-ka-ke!'

  Sappho sensed the air of excitement around her and shuddered with fear. She saw the men rushing around the altar, shouting wildly as they threw off their robes. The naked girls gathered close, and as the men formed a circle around the altar the girls dropped to their knees behind them, waiting eagerly for what was about to happen.

  'Buk-ka-ke! Buk-ka-ke!' the small Chinese man shouted again.

  Each of the girls, their faces now pressed against the men's buttocks, circled their hands around the men's hips and took hold of their cocks. Some were already hard, reaching out and throbbing, others needed coaxing and the girls pulled them gently, stretching them, gripping them, stroking them, as they responded to their touch.

  Sappho gasped. Her mouth fell wide open at the sight which surrounded her. She could not believe this was happening, and yet she knew she could not doubt it.

  The young men stepped closer to her and the girls followed, some licking between the men's buttocks as they continued to massage their cocks. Sappho could see five of them, but she knew the circle of men surrounded her completely. Her nostrils filled with the scent of incense and, for a moment, she gagged as the acrid fumes filled her throat. She watched the cocks in the hands of the girls. Their ends were swollen and hard and, each time the girls brought their hands up the shafts the ends swelled more fully, reddened more deeply, and throbbed more heavily. The veins stood out as they stretched with excitement and desire. Sappho wanted to cry out, but her throat was too dry. Her eyes were wide and she could not close them. When she tried to lift her head, and she felt the tightness of her hair secured by the rope into the iron ring beneath her, her tenor only increased.

  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!'

&n
bsp; 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.