Free Trojan Slaves by Syra Bond Page A

the same position
she had been forced into in the cage. They struck her again and
slowly stretched herself until, with more kicking and beating, she
managed to stand up straight. Her tear-stained face was
expressionless and her mouth gaped in despair.
    Master Wang
kicked out at her and she scuttled into the centre by the timber
cylinder. One by one each cage was opened and all the women were
brought out. Some were so stiff they had to be beaten before they
stood up straight. Some squirmed on the dusty ground in fear,
crying and wailing. One urinated as she managed to get to her
knees, and one of the men lay beneath the stream and drank it. All
the women were naked and all had their hair cropped short. They
huddled together, some holding their forearms and hands over their
breasts. Others pushed their hands down between their legs, in a
pitiful effort to reduce their exposure or protect some hoped for
scrap of dignity that may still be left to them. Master Wang
instructed the men with the quirts to thrash the women's legs until
they dropped their hands by their sides. The men followed his
orders enthusiastically until all the women stood upright, to
attention, with the palms of their hands at the sides of their
thighs.
    Their exposure
excited Sappho. She imagined herself in their place, being driven
around the courtyard where there was no hiding place. Being unable
to cover herself or turn away. Being the victim of anonymous and
cruel men. Being thrashed and beaten and ordered to humiliate
herself. Being forced to submit to the peering eyes and mockery of
others. She felt a moistness between the crack of her sex and
pushed a hand down between her legs. Her fingertips slid inside the
satiny valley. She licked her lips as her flesh responded with a
gentle throbbing and an increased warmth. She pressed the palm of
her hand against her tingling, hardening clitoris.
    Chryseis saw
what Sappho was doing and, pulling Sappho's hand away, replaced it
with her own. The shock of difference sent an anxious thrill
through Sappho's body. She felt the heat of Chryseis' fingers
against the moist flesh of her sex, pressing herself against them,
welcoming them, inviting them to enter. Chryseis did not have to
press, the merest touch allowed her fingers to slip between the
swollen lips. Sappho stared down into the courtyard.
    Sappho watched
the women being bent over, each one in turn forced down onto her
knees. If one looked up she received a keenly delivered stroke from
a cutting leather quirt. Every time these double-ended strips of
leather smacked across one of the women's backs, or her buttocks,
or breasts, Sappho tensed and breathed in sharply. It was as if it
was happening to her. It was as if seeing the women punished
allowed her to feel their punishment. As the quirt hit flesh Sappho
felt it against her own. It felt so real. It made her jump with the
shock, recoil from the pain and sting with the heat of hurt as it
penetrated. And each time this happened she tensed her thighs, rose
a little and drew Chryseis' fingers further into her own wet
vagina. The image of pain and suffering that met her eyes mixed
with the ever-deepening penetration of Chryseis' fingers to form a
delectable blend of anguish and pleasure.
    Praxis paraded
amongst the women. He touched one with his rod. He dug it
forcefully into one of her breasts and made her stand. He held his
face close to hers and sniffed around her mouth and nostrils. She
whimpered and he grabbed her cheeks, as quickly and accurately as
if he could see.
    'I'll give you
reason to whine, my smooth-skinned beauty,' he said, laughing. 'You
will whine louder than ever you could have imagined.'
    He squeezed
her cheeks hard and sniffed inquiringly at her panting breath. He
let her go and ran his free hand down across her breasts to the
flat of her smooth stomach. He cocked his head to one side and
rested his hand at the base of her stomach. He attended to the feel
of her skin, sensing its warmth, its