A Tale of Ties and Binds - Chapter 14

Chapter 14. A Battle of Brutes

She thought it was part of her dream, reliving glorious battles from a past life, but she opened her eyes and it only became clearer. The smell of smoke wafting through the window was real. The screaming in the streets was real. And the alarm bells ringing were no illusion either.

Penelope rose from her bed, excusing her hostage's head from her breast. The night air was cold and still against her skin as she looked out the window. What she saw was apocalyptic.

Women and children ran screaming in fear through the streets. "They're here!" they shouted. "They're here!" Tentacles of smoke drifted up into the black sky, blushing with the orange hue of the burning city below. Flames the size of houses danced across the rooftops from one building to another as their tendrils licked at stone walls. Glowing embers drifted around to start their own music elsewhere. Apparitions dashed along the city walls under torchlight, their shadows long and demonic.

To her side, Adara and Daphne had joined her at the window. She hadn't heard them get out of bed. Serena had woken up too, mmphing into her gag with curious worry. The girl was barely nineteen - hardly old enough to have ever seen a real battle. But who were the attackers? Who were the shadows on the walls?

"Arm yourselves," Penelope ordered. The sisters-in-arms donned their armour - bodices of black boiled leather with bronze studs and rivets and matching skirts. They tucked their whips into their belts and Daphne slung a net over her shoulder. Penelope found her new thong on the floor where she'd left it the night before and glided it up her legs. Black silk, to match the rest of her armour. It felt cool against her skin.

The city is under attack, that much was obvious. But who were they and what were their intentions? Penelope hadn't intended on getting caught up in another battle, but the goddesses have a strange sense of humour when it comes to the intentions of mortals.

Phallic slaves, Penelope realised as she remembered her arrival in Velzna. They're the ones attacking the city. They've progressed from raiding villages to storming walled cities.

Serena lay bound on the bed, gagged with linen and tied hand and foot with leather cords. In the glow of the flames, the blonde hostage with a buxom physique resembled her sister more than ever, but the resemblance stopped with the physical. The Celt's proud and arrogant grin had haunted Penelope's dreams. There was none of that here though. Serena was helpless and afraid. "Mmpph?" she asked.

"The city's under attack," Penelope told her. "We're going to do what we can, and we'll be back. I promise." She made a point of keeping her promises. With her sisters-in-arms ready, the three soldiers made their way out and locked the door behind them.

The civilians seemed to have a plan in case of attack. Either that or their chaotic scrambling was highly synchronised. They were all funnelling through the streets towards the city centre - the courtyard wherein the strapping ceremony took place only the day before. Prisis was still lying bound and naked across the altar on the steps of the temple, a group of girls hurrying to lose their maidenhood on her phallic chastity belt before they succumbed to the battle.

Etruscan soldiers filtered through the crowds, their pink plumed helms easily recognisable in the dark. They were dressed in bronze armour that shone beautifully with the reflections of distant flames and each warrior held a phallic-tipped spear half a head taller than they were. Under their plumed helms, they suspiciously eyed everyone who passed through their ranks.

A familiar voice echoed through the crowds, full of zeal and righteous piety. "The goddesses are angry with us!" Semla the Wise was yelling from on top the base of a statue. "They are raining destruction down from the heavens to cleanse us from our crimes! All those who have blasphemed must be punished! Repent! Repent! Before it's too late!"

That's not what they need to hear right now, thought Penelope. The priestess was being all but ignored, unfortunately. Scores of women were crowding around her, raising their palms high as if to take hold of her pious words. Some were so convinced that they hastily bound their hands using their teeth and began flogging themselves. Others started binding others and flogging them instead.

"This is madness," said Adara the Spartan.

"Praying won't help them now," Daphne agreed. "They need to fight!"

Penelope caught the arm of a passing soldier. "Who's in charge here?" she asked.

The soldier eyed her carefully, perhaps considering the armour and weapons Penelope was carrying. After a few moments, she replied, "General Crisitha is yet to report to duty. She lives in the shadow of the city wall and we fear she's become entangled in the chaos. Until she reports, our orders are to hold the courtyard."

"I thought the gates were defended."

"They are... they were," replied the soldier. "The phallic slaves didn't come through the gates; they scaled the walls."

Penelope sighed. The priestess was still calling for compulsory flogging - everyone but herself - and the fawning crowd below her was growing quickly. Every moment that passed drew more screaming civilians into the already packed courtyard, and the soldiers were just standing around being useless.

Something needed to be done.

"Daphne," Penelope called, "silence the priestess. She's not helping anyone with her prophecies and pessimism."

The fiery-haired nymph grinned. "With pleasure, Captain."

"And after that, convince the soldiers to follow your orders. You'll lead the city's defence."

"Captain? Why me? Why not you?"

Penelope tightened the lacing of her armour. "Adara and I are going to find the general."

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The streets were eerily quiet, save for the crackling of burning wood and the distant high screams of women and deep roars of rebel phallic slaves. The smell of fear lingered heavily in the air, fused with the scent of smoke.

The two Greeks stuck close together. Phallic slaves sprinted all around them, but never too close. They darted from one building to another, over balconies, past windows and across the streets, quite content with the women they had already captured in their beds - women who had no doubt been caught unawares as they slept, a strong hand over their mouth to silence them, a rope to bind their hands to the frames of their beds, and a throbbing serpent crawling up inside their chalice.

Most of the phallic slaves avoided Penelope and Adara, but a few of the braver, or perhaps stupider, ones tried their luck. With rope in hand they charged, and with rope around their wrists they fell. They'd be found later, still struggling in their bondage, as vengeful Etruscan women washed over them and punished them in ways bound only by their imaginations. It's good to have a Spartan with me, Penelope reflected. She's of a height with most of the rebels and just as strong, if not stronger.

They kept the city wall on their left as they followed the directions given to them by the soldiers. The general's mansion was half aflame, half scorched stone and charred wood. The general herself was on her knees in the street outside it, hands bound in the small of her back, ankles tied beneath her voluptuous arse, and luscious lips curled around a phallic slave's meat. The rebel held his hands tightly on either side of the general's head, guiding her mouth back and forth along his length. Just like Alpan in the stories. His green eyes shimmered with the reflection of flames and his black hair was darker than the night.

Around him, another pair of phallic slaves raped their captives. One bearded rebel had bound his prize in a strappado beneath the ashen rafters of what had once been a brothel specialising in highly sought-after phallic slaves. Unlike his companion, he was content to slap his meat against his captive's face. She squirmed and screamed into a gag, but it only seemed to excite him further.

The other companion was a beast, nearly the height of both his friends combined. He was hairless, barrel-chested, broad of shoulder and thick of brow. He had somehow managed to bind his captive suspended under a crane, hanging from her wrists as the brute thrust himself in and out from between her arse cheeks. She surely would have screamed in pain had it not been for the fact that the entirety of her clothing had been stuffed inside her mouth.

Green eyes, Penelope remembered Prisis' confession. "Tuniur!" she yelled. "Let her go."

The green-eyed phallic slave noticed he had company and his mouth twisted into a sharp-toothed smile. It was a grin that reminded Penelope of the rival matriarch who haunted her dreams and her past. "Who are you?" yelled Tuniur in reply. "And what right do you have to order one who is free?"

She unslung her whip from her belt. "I am Captain Penelope of Thessaly, rightful Matriarch of the Household of the Scylla, Slaver of Slavers, and the woman who'll put an end to your rebellion."

"Is that so?" he scoffed as he cast General Crisitha to the ground. She landed with a groan and immediately began struggling to loosen the ropes binding her. "I'd like to take you seriously, but we are three and you are only two. I'm no mathematician, but I think the numbers are in our favour." He tilted his head and ran a tongue slowly between his lips, eyeing her closely.

She began to feel quite aware of the way her bodice emphasised the mass of her breasts, and the way her skirt fanned out around the shape of her toned arse. "I've beaten the odds before." Though I had help from sleeping potions. "But what do you say to a duel? Your finest against my finest." Adara gave her a look, then looked at the brute still raping his suspended captive. The Spartan failed to supress a gulp.

Tuniur shook his head. "Uh-uh. You're in no position to be making deals, Penelope of Thessaly." He turned to his companions. "Tyrrhenus, Rath, I think I've decided who will be the mother of my children. Try not to damage her face. Penelope of Thessaly, I hope you've enjoyed your life of freedom and feminine privilege."

"I hope to keep enjoying it."

The brute named Rath advanced towards them. Penelope and her companion reacted in tune, flicking their whips at his wrists in a hope to pull the phallic slave to the ground. He was surprisingly quick, unfortunately for the Greeks, and caught the ends of the whips in his massive hands. He pulled sharply and launched Penelope and Adara closer towards him, gripping the Spartan by the neck and brushing Penelope to the side as though she were made of nothing but feathers.

She struggled to catch her breath as she lay on the ground while Adara kicked at Rath's legs and beat her hands across his arms. The brute barely seemed to notice.

Penelope was still gasping for air when Tyrrhenus and Tuniur attacked her. They leapt on her, keeping her pinned down on the ground with Tyrrhenus holding her legs and Tuniur straddling her hips.

She threw her fists at him. He slapped them away as he laughed at her helplessness. Grabbing both her wrists in one hand and pinning them down above her head, he used his free hand to unlace and unclasp Penelope's leather bodice. "Get off me!" she yelled for what it was worth. She could hear Tyrrhenus laughing too. "Get! Off!"

She tried rolling from side to side, hoping to throw him off. With the other phallic slave pinning her legs down, her struggling only seemed to make it easier for Tuniur to tear the bodice cleanly away. Penelope's breasts popped out, exposed and jiggling. Only the silk thong remained. It was so thin that she could clearly feel his meat growing thicker and stronger as he pressed his entire bodyweight down on her, his chest brushing agasint her soft twin mounds.

She screamed curses at them. It was the only thing she could effectively do while her limbs were held tightly in their grips. But even that power was stolen from her when Tuniur reached down, painfully tore the silk thong from her crotch and shoved it between her lips, muffling her threats and insults. He clamped a strong hand down across her mouth and leaned in close.

"You must have quite a story to tell, Penelope of Thessaly, a Greek soldier fighting a former phallic slave so far from home," he whispered into her hear. His meat caressed the inside of her thigh as it edged closer and closer to her chalice. Struggling only seemed to enlarge it. "You can sing it to our children."

Not if I can help it! "MMMPPPHH!"

Penelope was struggling ferociously, but with little to show for her efforts she was growing exhausted. She looked to the side to find Adara, hoping desperately to see the Spartan racing to her rescue. It wasn't to be. The brute she was fighting had pinned her against a wall, feet clear off the floor, legs forced apart, and a thick-fingered hand gripping her neck and turning her face a pale shade of purple. He nibbled his blunt teeth across one of her nipples and slapped a serpentine meat against her crotch, searching for the opening to slither into. She was still struggling though, still fighting, still making it difficult for him. She dragged her nails across his arm, leaving thin trails of blood in his flesh.

The captain's mind raced at what could happen. Unable to fight back, the rebel phallic slave would plough and plough until he'd planted his seed inside her. They'd flip her over, bind her more effectively since she'd be too exhausted to struggle, hands tightly behind her back and maybe more ropes to pinch her breasts as punishment for resisting. She probably wouldn't be screaming anymore, though they'd gag her all the same. Then Tyrrhenus would have a turn at her arse while the unconscious Adara was raped by Rath.

They'd be carried away amidst the burning city, through the sky blue gates and down the causeway. Moons would cycle through the night sky and seasons would come and go, then they'd bring infants into the world - conceived in such a foul way. Tuniur would likely have her again, and the nightmare would start over anew.

But nor was that to be.

"Soldiers!" Tyrrhenus bellowed moments before a phallic-tipped spear hit him in the nose, causing a loud cracking noise and a sudden spurt of blood. It was the first of many spears to follow, and each battered against the rebel until he fell down, bruised and bloody, motionless and silent save a pitiful wheeze.

Another spear hit Tuniur in the side of his head. He scrunched up his face, groaned, and fell unconscious across Penelope's naked body. She shoved him off, punched him in the gut, and forced her sodden thong into his mouth. "Bitch." She flipped herself around to see the end of the street full of Etruscan soldiers, marching in spearwall formation.

More spears flew from behind the impenetrable wall and crashed against Rath. It got his attention, though it seemed to cause more anger than pain. He haphazardly dropped Adara to the ground to swat the spears out of the air as though they were flies. The Spartan gasped for air, still kicking pointlessly at the brute's knees.

The Etruscans broke formation and spilled forth like a flock of birds to swoop down on him from every direction. They thrust their spears at ribs, arms, legs and back, but he kept swatting away the ones he could and barely cared about the hits he was taking. In the havoc of it all, Penelope was certain she could hear him chuckling a deep and rolling laugh. Doubtless, he found their attempts amusing.

A loud voice rung out above them all - the familiar battle cry of the hot-tempered nymph. Daphne charged through the ranks of soldiers, weaponless. She jumped high, off one shield, then another, and jumped higher again until she was flying through the air. Her flame-coloured mane flared out around her as she roared like the lioness she was at heart. She landed square on Rath's chest, wrapped an arm around his neck and dug her sandals into his legs for a foothold. With her spare hand, she launched a fist with astonishing speed and fury into his face again and again and again until his teeth were splintered and half missing and his face was a ruin of blood and broken skin.

Only after he'd fallen to his knees did she stay her fist and step aside, whereupon Rath fell forwards into the scorched rubble of a brothel without a single utterance of emotion.

Penelope crawled to where General Crisitha was still struggling in her bonds and helped to untie the knots. Tuniur seemed an expert at such things, so the process was slow. Once free, the general stood up in her naked glory, her dark brown eyes full of anger and a lust for revenge. She requested armour, a shield and a spear for herself, dusted off the dirt and shook out her hair. She cleared her throat. "Soldiers! Our foes are larger and stronger than us. This is a test from the goddesses; let us not fail them."

With that, they cheered and fought through the night until the sun was peeking over the eastern wall and the flames had dwindled to smoking embers.

Continued in Chapter 15

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