Trojan Whores Read Free Page B

great
plain of Troy in entrenched stalemate. There was no going forward,
and there was no going back. The beautiful Helen was still within
the Trojan walls. Helen, lover and ally of Priam's handsome son
Paris. Helen, the object of Agamemnon's mission to gain the return
of his brother's wayward wife. Helen, the cause of this dreadful
conflict.
    During this
time the alliance of Praxis, the blind slave master, and Calliope,
the former slave, had firmed. Now Calliope was never out of the
company of Praxis, never excluded from his confidence, always in
his favour. She shared in his plans, his hatred of Ajax, and his
desire to gain increasing power. With her strengthened influence
and standing she had become more beautiful. She kept her dark hair
cropped short. It contrasted with her pale smooth skin, itself
aglow with the satiny gloss of youth. Her head was perfectly
formed, smooth and oiled. She stood erect, her body always held to
its full height, her square shoulders pressed back, her arms
trailing loosely at her sides. Her breasts were firm and her dark
nipples always erect. She had a noble bearing and usually went
naked. If she did wear clothing it was only a silk scarf around her
waist, or a leather belt slung diagonally across her chest. Her
pubic hair was carefully shaved and her labia was tight and pink.
By day the faceted gold ring in her clitoris glittered in the
bright sunlight, by night it reflected the shimmering torches or
flickering lamps. As she walked, confidently thrusting each hip
forward in turn, the crease at the base of her buttocks deepened
slightly and directed the eye into the dark crevice that lay
beyond. Sometimes, as she strode forward, the lips of her sex could
be seen; a beautiful silhouette outlining the perfection of the
moist flesh. Her statuesque form was at once alluring, divine and
bewitching. The blind Praxis called her his 'angel'. She stood
before him when he requested, so he could run his hands up and down
her body.
    Master Wang
still attended Praxis and led him everywhere, but now he was not
his master's only aid, for Calliope was always clinging to Praxis'
muscular arm.
    The longer the
deadlock with Troy continued, the more the bored soldiers sought
entertainment and distraction. Praxis made it his business to
supply their needs. He had several large tents set up between the
beached ships. Each was joined by a covered walkway. Banners and
flags fluttered from poles near the entrances to the tents.
Multi-coloured bunting hung from the centre poles on ribbons pegged
to the ground.
    At the end of
the largest tent were two huge claw-footed chairs. Calliope sat
naked in one, Praxis, resplendent in burnished armour, in the
other. Calliope sat with her knees slightly apart. The golden ring
in her clitoris gleamed in the lamplight. When the flaps of the
tent were drawn aside to allow customers to enter or leave, the
facets of the ring caught the rays of the evening sun and flashed
with coloured beams of light. No one who entered could avoid the
captivating lustre of golden brilliance.
    Eva was
dragged in through the entrance. Since being abandoned to the
beggars and vagrants at the gate of Troy by Sappho and Calliope,
she had been enslaved to Praxis. He had brought her back to the
Greek encampment as part of his booty, and humiliated her with
torture and suffering every day of her captivity. But no matter
what depravity she was subjected to, she managed to assert her
pride as a northern princess of noble birth. Her defiance was
indomitable, her resistance to suffering inexhaustible.
    Eva spat dust
and sand from her mouth. She had been agonisingly bound. Her arms
were pulled behind her back, her legs bent back and her ankles and
wrists bound together. She was dirty and dishevelled. A torn cotton
smock hung loosely around her shoulders. Her long red hair was
knotted and tangled in a mass of dishevelled curls. Her skin was
pale and covered in reddened scratches and smudges of caked mud.
Her elbows