A Tale of Ties and Binds - Chapter 13

Chapter 13. A Reversal of Roles

Many years past, a scandal shook Etruria (or so the story goes).

A wealthy and powerful household with lands and slaves aplenty controlled much of the northwest corner of the republic. There was little that transpired in their territory that the household did not know about.

The matriarch of a nearby lesser household wanted to secure herself against the ever growing expansion of her wealthy and powerful neighbour, and so decided to strike a deal.

"I will keep my lands," she said, "and I will keep all that I currently own."

The wealthy and powerful matriarch rose from her seat and asked, "Who do you think you are that you may make demands of me?"

The lesser matriarch only smiled and beckoned forth her son - a handsome young phallic slave with eyes as blue as sapphires and muscles as defined as the waves of the sea. "I will give you my son, Larth, to give to your daughter, Alpan."

No eyes were as wide or as full of hope as Alpan's. She had never seen a phallic slave as strong or one as handsome as him. He had never seen a woman as sweet and beautiful as her, with hair like spun gold and soft lips meant for kissing. Larth made his happiness plain to all as his meat tented beneath his loincloth such that it tore a whole right through it.

The wealthy and powerful matriarch pondered the match. She knew she could easily buy out the lesser household, or raid their lands and take this phallic slave by force, or simply take him now and enslave his matriarch mother, and nobody could stop her. But she saw the glint in her daughter's eyes, saw how the girl had already fallen in love with the slave, and decided to spare her daughter's feelings.

Alpan and Larth were paired that night under the stars with the cool ocean breeze brushing their naked flesh.

As the full moons came and went through the southern skies, their love for each other grew. Moons turned to seasons and seasons turned to years, and still their love was strong.

One day, in the throes of lust and carnal passion, Alpan unbound her lover from his cot. "Bind me," she whispered through soft lips. "Tie me down and show me the meaning of power."

Larth obliged, as a phallic slave would, and indeed made the most passionate and powerful love to Alpan that had ever been made since the dawn of time, so the story goes.

She confided in him that she had always wanted to be taken in such a way. Bound and helpless, gagged if her screams could be heard, reduced to nothing but the plaything of a phallic slave. Such behaviour is unfitting for even the lowest of society's low, let alone the heiress and future matriarch of a wealthy and powerful household.

Larth, likewise, confided in her his true feelings. All those years he trained as a phallic slave, learned the words and moves and the philosophies of slavery, suffered the roughness of rope and coldness of chains. Yet, in his mind, he was free. He dreamt of being the one who held the leash. He dreamt of being the one who tied the final knot.

Etruria's most beautiful match kept their lifestyle a secret as they slowly drifted into sexual depravity. They knew others wouldn't understand. They knew others would hate them for their forbidden love.

Moons turned to seasons and seasons turned to years, and Alpan spent every night tied up and down in her lover's embrace. Larth was a generous lover, as per his training and kind heart, and never left her without her climax.

But all good things must come to an end.

One day, their world came crashing down around them. A handmaiden in attendance found them together. Alpan was kneeling before her slave, hands bound in the small of her back, feet tied together beneath her, and soft lips wrapped around his bulging meat. To service a phallic slave in such a way, while she herself was bound in his place, was the ultimate insult to the goddesses.

The wealthy and powerful matriarch learned of her daughter's behaviour and blamed the phallic slave for luring her into perversion. Alpan tried to reason with her mother; she tried to convince her of the truth of her lifelong urges to surrender, but her mother would hear nothing of it.

"The slave has ruined you," she said "and you have brought shame to our family and name. There must be retribution."

The wealthy and powerful matriarch called her captains and marched upon the lesser household that caused it all. Their lands were seized, their slaves stolen and repurposed as whores, the sworn sisters of the household were clapped in chains and dispersed all throughout Etruria as a caution to those who would test the wealthy and powerful matriarch, and the lesser matriarch was taken by her superior as a personal pet and plaything to mock and torment and offer canal service.

Alpan and Larth were torn from each other's arms. She was sent away to a temple of worship to train as a priestess of Turan, the goddess of tits and wine, as repentance for her blasphemy. Larth was retaught to be a slave and given to the household's sworn sisters to do with as they pleased, whenever they pleased. Never again was Alpan bound and gagged with a phallic slave's meat inside her, and never again did Larth hold the chain or tie the final knot.

Penelope placed the scroll down on the table, leaning back in her chair. "How much of this is true?" she quietly asked the librarian.

"Some aspects are true, we know, though others are written with poetry in mind." The librarian shuffled the scrolls in her hands as she placed them back into the right order on the shelves. She scowled threateningly at a patron across the room who was talking too loudly before turning back to Penelope with a smile. "The name of the wealthy and powerful household is true. So too is their matriarch. We unfortunately have no record of the lesser household mentioned or the names of Turanic priestesses dating back that far. Phallic slaves are not recorded for obvious reasons. My guess is that it is nothing but a story created by the wealthy and powerful household to boast of their... well... wealth and power. A story can be just as effective as the truth if it captures your imagination."

True, thought Penelope. Many years of her youth were spent picturing the five-headed serpent on her household's sigil. The sailors used to tell stories of monsters in the ocean, snatching women off their ships in their jaws and stealing them away to their undersea lairs where dozens of others were trapped in bondage. True or not, sailors were always on the lookout for the mythical Scylla, and every story has an element of truth to it.

The librarian continued. "No doubt you have seen the phallic slaves chained alongside their mistresses. They're all over the city."

"Their mistresses?"

"Yes," the librarian replied. "They so enjoyed the story of Alpan and Larth that they tried to set their phallic slaves free. Some succeeded and now those phallic slaves are running wild through the countryside. Those that failed were recaptured and put on display as a warning to others. The high priestesses thought it would be an ironic punishment to enslave the mistress too, seeing as how she wanted her phallic slave to be an equal. They're equals in slavery now." She suppressed a giggle before shooting another glare at the noisy woman across the room.

"Running wild through the countryside?" She makes them sound like horses, Penelope thought. Although, you can ride them much the same way. "What do they do?"

"Any number of things. Some try to return to the lands from which they were taken many years ago. Others are recaptured by farmers and forced into milking their udders. Most join with Tuniur, I'd imagine."

It's one question after another. "Who's Tuniur?" Penelope whispered.

"A leader, of sorts," shrugged the librarian as though she didn't believe her own words. "He unites most of them and leads raids from village to village. He harasses trade caravans, steals anything from food to clothes to women. They eat the food, wear the clothes and rape the women. 'Justice' they no doubt call it, for all the years they were forced into sexual slavery. A violent and destructive bunch, the lot of them. The high priestesses are blaming Tuniur's former mistress, Prisis, for all the troubles he's caused. They're performing the strapping ceremony on her later today on the steps of the temple, but I have a library to run. Curses."    

Strapping ceremony? "That sounds worth a look." Penelope smiled as she rose from her chair. "Thank you for your help." She quietly made her way towards the library entrance.

Meanwhile, the librarian was busy shoving a cloth into the noisy woman's mouth. "Quiet in the library," she hissed.

The rest of Penelope's company were waiting on the stone steps of the library. They had taken to playing a game to pass the time, and though it was only between Adara and Daphne, Serena had the most important role. She would be laid on her back with her perky breasts jutting upwards while the other two would take turns flicking at her nipples. The aim of the game was to see who could make Serena squeal the loudest. To date, Adara had won every round, but Daphne didn't play to lose and would flick the nipples as hard as possible. Serena was relieved to see Penelope approaching and had tears in her eyes from overjoy.

"I win again," said Adara matter-of-factly, to which Daphne groaned.

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The bells were tolling throughout the city like slow thunder rumbling across the clouds. Loudest of them all were those echoing from within the Great Temple of Turan, the Etruscan goddess of tits and wine, and matriarch of the people's religion.

A crowd had formed in the courtyard before the temple - a courtyard named after some long gone heroine and surrounded by old mansions and minor shrines with their own decoration of slaves. The phallic slaves were those who wished for freedom and the women being those who tried to give it to them. The crowd was a heated mass of women as thick as the scent of aroused anticipation in the air. Every woman, from the old and wrinkled to the young and nubile, looked towards the temple's high steps where the spectacle was soon to take place.

Penelope and her companions followed the sounds of bells and the crowd, arriving too late to find an advantageous spot in crowd. The only things they could clearly see were the backs of women's heads. Adara, the black-haired Spartan who was taller than most, had a clear view. "Something's happening," she informed as she looked towards the temple.

"Curses," Daphne muttered, tugging angrily on Serena's crotchrope. "I don't want to have to listen to you describe what's going on. If I asked you to describe the weather, you'd call it 'dry' and that'd be all." She shuffled on her feet. "Let me climb on your shoulders."

The Spartan gave her a look. "My shoulders?"

"I can't see! Kneel down."

Perhaps because she was feeling generous, or perhaps because she knew Daphne would only pester her for the entire ceremony, Adara rolled her eyes and complied, allowing the redhead to climb on her shoulders.

Daphne kept a tight grip on the leash and on Adara's head, combing her fingers through the Spartan's thick black hair. "I never thought I'd get you between my legs," she giggled. Adara grunted.

But Penelope was still without a view. As fortune would have it, the courtyard was full of statues. Some were perhaps heroines from epic tales, others famous Etruscan women from generations ago, and some were goddesses. This particular one was undoubtedly a goddess, a beautiful and voluptuous figure with four breasts and four arms. One hand was nestled between her marble legs - perhaps for shyness, perhaps for self-pleasure. Another hand held a wineskin just up to her lips where a fountain trickled water down her chin and across her divine bosom. The remaining two hands were spread stretched across her chest, thumbs and forefingers pressing into her four hidden nipples. "Turan", Penelope read on the inscription. "The goddess of tits and wine", and with good reason. The statue looked climbable.

A jump, a lift and a firm foothold later, Penelope could see the whole courtyard and the spectacle on the steps of the temple. Serena whimpered into her gag below. She was looking forward to seeing someone else being tortured, for once.

A silence washed over the crowd as a procession of plume-helmed soldiers emerged from within the temple, passing through the large bronze-plate doors and into the sunlight. Two-by-two they filed out and separated to form a line down each side of the steps. All but one bell were silenced, leaving a solitary long and hollow echo from inside the temple itself.

Then a woman emerged. She was in her late fourth decade, perhaps early fifth, with long black hair tied in a braid and coiled tightly atop her head like a beehive. Her garments were streams of blues and reds and rich purples and about her neck was a golden necklace adorned with emeralds the size of pigeon eggs. She had a certain passion in her eyes, a mix of power and righteous anger, and lifted the palms of her hands up for all to see. Semla the Wise, a woman in the crowd whispered in reverence. She took her place halfway down the stone steps before a slab of white and black marble serving as an altar.

"Sisters," she called, "we have been betrayed! Our goddesses have been blasphemed! The foundation of our civilisation has been cast aside!" The crowd booed. "Sisters, it has been the way of our world since the dawn of time, since the great goddesses above first formed the world of clay and gave life to womankind, that women have had domain over all." The crowd cheered, and many beat their chests.

"Is it right, sisters, that a herdswoman would allow her cattle to eat from her plate and sip from her cups? That a sailor allow her ship to take her wherever the wind is blowing instead of binding the forces of nature in such a way that gives her the power to choose to what port she is sailing? So why, I ask, should a woman allow her beast to roam free?"

"Bind them! Bind them!" roared the crowd.

"Phallic slaves are bigger than us, stronger than us, but we tamed them like we tamed the beasts in our fields and the wind in our sails. This is the will of the goddesses!"

"Bind the phallic slaves!" the crowd sang. "Bind them all!"

"But some of us have betrayed the goddesses, sisters! Some of us have set our phallic slaves free and unleashed a wild beast that now roams the countryside and burns our homes and steals our women. Who is to blame?"

"Prisis Hathisna! Prisis Hathisna!"

Having whipped the crowd into a furore, Semla the Wise dropped her hands and pondered. "Aye, sisters. Prisis of Hathisna is to blame." She turned her back to the crowd. "Bring forth the traitor!"

Traitor. The word still left a sting in Penelope's heart.

Three figures emerged from the temple - two Etruscan soldiers and a prisoner. The captive was undeniably gorgeous. Her eyes were large and bright, the colour and shape of almonds and spoke of honesty. Hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of chestnut and tapered off just shy of a firm and sculpted arse. Around her neck was a thin iron collar which held an almost see-through white gown over olive skin, partially hiding small round breasts. Her hands were bound before her in iron manacles connected by a short chain, but elsewise she was free from bindings.

The crowd booed as Prisis was led forth to join Semla the Wise by the altar. "You stand accused of blasphemy, Prisis of Hathisna. Releasing a phallic slave from bondage is the ultimate affront to the goddesses. Do you admit to your crime?"

Prisis tugged on her manacles half-heartedly. "I do," she said, "but only because I was tricked into loving him. Tuniur treated me like no other phallic slave could. He was concerned about me. He made me laugh when I was sad, he made me warm when I was cold. One day, when I was cold and sad, he told me he could make me happy and warm, but he could only do it if I untied him from the bed."

"Foolish girl," Semla the Wise scorned, and the crowd agreed.

"He held me in his arms, and I was happy and warm like he'd promised. Lost in his bright green eyes, he wrenched my arms behind my back and bound my wrists before I knew what was happening." The crowd gasped again. "He forced be down on my knees... and made me suck on his meat. I know it's blasphemy to pleasure a phallic slave; I know they're meant for our reproduction and pleasure. But I'm ashamed to say I enjoyed it."

The crowd booed again, yet there was a distinct hint that they were unconvinced by their own contempt.

Penelope thought back to when Queen Astrid sent her a phallic slave, all those moons ago. A great beast he was. Logical Phallusy was his name. Muscles like chiselled stone to dig her nails into, a bristly black beard to tickle her lips (at either end), and a serpentine meat between his legs. She could remember how his snake consumed her and filled her with warmth, how it was sticky and slippery all at once. She could remember the pulsing sensations as he filled her with his seed. But she had never once imagined what he would taste like, down there.

It was pointless to do it, after all. Phallic slaves are meant for the recreation and procreation of women, as Prisis said. What the beasts enjoyed was not of concern. A mistress could take neither pleasure nor pregnancy from taking a phallic slave in her mouth, so there was no reason to do it.

But the image stuck in Penelope's mind. This phallic slave, Tuniur, was being serviced by the beautiful girl now on trial. He had bound her with ropes meant for him, knelt her on her knees, and she had serviced him. Penelope could imagine Logical Phallusy's beard tickling her most sensitive region, and how good that felt, but it was strange to imagine how it would feel to wrap her own mouth around such a snake as he had that morning in her estate, sliding her tongue across it, exploring its size and tasting his seed a drop at a time before the overwhelming gush.

Penelope coughed slightly, feeling light-headed. She realised hadn't taken a breath for a while.

"... I was unable to stop him climbing out my window, bound spread across my bed and gagged with his loincloth."

"Strap her! Strap her!"

Semla the Wise raised her hands to the crowd, beckoning for silence, before turning back to the accused. "Prisis of Hathisna, your reckless actions have brought ruin to our lands. Your phallic slave escaped and now leads a band of rebels that threaten us all. Before mortals and divines, you have been sentenced to strapping."

"Strap her!" the women screamed, clapping. "Strap her!"

Prisis didn't resist as Semla the Wise tore the see-through gown from her breast, leaving her olive skin bare for all to see. The soldiers lifted her onto the altar where they pulled her arms up to one end and locked her hands down against the cold stone. Her ankles were shackled likewise to the far end. The crowd's approval was a constant roar.

"For committing a crime, Prisis of Hathisna, you are sentenced to nipple screws." The pair of soldiers each produced a small iron nipple screw and tightened them around the captive's small brown buds, forcing a shuddered gasp from her lips.

"For the crime of blasphemy against the goddesses, you shall be fitted with a chastity belt, so that you cannot be pleasured for the entirety of your sentence." Semla the Wise held a rounded and closed bronze ball with three large holes in it and strapped it around the prisoner's midsection.

"And finally, for the disastrous consequences of releasing such a dangerous phallic slave upon our lands..." she revealed a boiled leather phallus - the length of a forearm and almost as thick. Every woman in the crowd held their breath. "... you shall serve your sentence by serving freewomen as a phallic slave." She locked it into place in Prisis' lap, facing upwards invitingly. The prisoner was, for all intents and purposes, fully a recreational phallic slave. "Sisters!" she called to the crowd, "form a line!"

The crowd released a deafening roar. Some of the women at the front of the mass rushed up the temple steps to be the first to have a ride on the leather phallus, and Prisis was defenceless to resist.

"Wow," said Daphne. "Captain, permission to take leave?" she asked with a glint in her green eyes.

"Granted," Penelope replied. "Meet us back at the inn. Try to be back before sunset."

Continued in Chapter 14

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