A Tale of Ties and Binds - Chapter 16

Chapter 16. A Song of Sirens

"A ship?" Penelope had asked. "I don't want to be a burden."

But the Etruscan general was insistent. "If it weren't for you, I would be half way across Etruria with ropes around my wrists and my lips wrapped around a phallic slave's meat. The wind in your sails will carry you faster than your legs. The goddesses sent you to us. It would insult them for you to not accept this gift."

Penelope and her companions left for the port city of Gravisca that morning, taking their few belongings (including Serena) and memories of a violent battle with them. With the leadership of General Crisitha, the soldiers had quickly recaptured the gates and the staircases up to the walls. The phallic slaves could neither retreat nor bring reinforcements, and hence were trapped within the confines of the city walls. The three Greeks did their part, and Adara seemed to have taken to using one of the phallic-tipped spears.

Most surrendered when they realised escape was impossible, falling to their knees and carefully placing their bound and gagged female captives on the ground beside them. Those rebel phallic slaves were given the lightest of punishments - suspended upside-down by their ankles from the many columns of the many shrines and temples, hands chained behind the pillars, and all the blood rushing to their heads and their meats dangling solitarily against their midsections. Women were free to play with them, for torture, but they were not allowed to bring them to climax. They would spend several moons feeling their meats swell with lust without ever having the release they so craved, and how the streets were filled with their unanswered pleas.

For the rebels who did not surrender, or whose treasons were deemed especially heinous, their punishments were more severe. They were inverted like their peers, but their entire bodies were corded with thin twine, rubbing irritatingly against their flesh and leaving a lasting mark on their re-education. Between each section of knots, the flesh grew purpler and purpler, spanning from olive-skinned chests to pinkish arms to purple fingers and crimson meats.

Tuniur and his gang were among this latter group, on display high above the city gates as a warning to those rebels still hiding in the nearby countryside. If they were wise, they would surrender themselves. If not, they would soon be joining their former leader in sexually frustrated inversion.

Penelope and her companions passed under the gate on their way south to the coast. She spied the man that would have planted his seed in her belly, crimson red from head to toe. Amidst the clip-clopping of the horses, she could hear him groaning. His once bright green eyes were clenched shut. Perhaps he thought that if he concentrated hard enough on something else, he could ignore the pain of the twine cutting into his skin. But who cared, really? A phallic slave - a rebel one at that - deserved neither pity nor consideration. She was about to wave good bye to him before she realised he wouldn't see, so she yelled it instead and laughed jovially the entire trek down the causeway.

All over the known world, phallic slaves had been the possessions of women to enjoy for carnal pleasure and as a means of reproduction. Without a healthy economy of phallic slaves, a civilisation would fall through a decline in births and eventually become weak. For this reason, women the world over were encouraged to take phallic slaves by whatever means. Wealthier women owned them as assets of their households, a freeborn woman could pay for a night in a brothel with meat between her legs, and slave girls bred at their mistresses' behest.

Phallic children were sold back to the brothels or were kept as heirlooms for the next generation of girls. Often, the phallic slaves were used as practice for ropeworking skills. They were trained to a certain standard of length, girth and stiffness, all the while being taught the proper mannerisms and civility that come with a good coming.

It was a good half a day before they arrived in Gravisca, a bustling port with many goods arriving from distant lands. Though the port had little but a palisade wall on one side, the naval presence had been enough to keep the roaming rebels at bay.

The thin streets were lined with traders from across the Mediterranean. In one corner, an dark-skinned and darker eyed Egyptian was advocating the relaxing nature of mummification. Her land was a strange one. It was mistresses, not slaves, who spent their time in bondage. Slaves would feed them, service them, wash them, all without mistresses ever having to lift a finger - though they couldn't if they tried. The Egyptian had an assistant with her, wrapped from neck to feet with gaps at her crotch and breasts. Small metal plates covered her nipples and strings of beads were laced through her hair. Between passers-by, the saleswoman would slip a hand down between her assistant's legs to rub out another knee-quivering climax.

In the intersection between lanes, a slave auction was taking place. Red-headed and buxom girls from the tribes of Gaul were collared and chained to a central hitching post. Wealthy women from Etruria, Latium and Carthage were jingling purses of gold high in the air. The Carthaginian was noticeably most eager, shoving her rival bidders aside not too subtly. Truly red hair was rare in these parts, but non-existent in Africa. Slaves were as much a symbol of wealth as gold, though gold couldn't keep you warm at night and satisfied between the legs.

As she and her companions neared to docks, Penelope was approached by a merchant carrying two dozen iron rings around her arms. "Buy some Greek collars?" asked the woman as she inspected Serena's lack thereof.

"This one doesn't need a collar," said Daphne, tugging harshly on the crotchrope acting as a leash. The buxom blonde hostage squealed in shock into the linen gag as the rope bit in, giving Daphne a look that said she'd not enjoyed it despite the sound that had suggested otherwise. "It's more fun for everyone this way."

"I have rope too!" insisted the merchant. "Freshly spun and unused."

Penelope dropped her hand to the coils of rope at her belt. They were slightly frayed, maybe a little rougher than they'd once been, but they'd served their purpose well and she couldn't help but be a little sentimental. Thinking back, she'd taken those ropes from the Histri longboats in the Picene village. She'd used those same ropes to truss the barbarian women in hogties and leave them struggling and mewing between the legs of the Picene victors. She had a lot of good memories with those ropes. "No thank you, we're fine." She continued walking.

The merchant was persistent and followed at her heels. "You can never know when you'll need more rope! I have many different lengths and colours!"

"Colours!" said Daphne. She was trying to sound as annoyed as her captain, though her artistic side was showing through. It was not every day one comes across rope with which to truss a captive with every colour of the rainbow.

Adara the Spartan seemed indifferent, unsurprisingly.

"We can do without, thank you," Penelope said again.

"To be sure, they are the finest ropes I've ever stocked. And leather ropes too, if you prefer the grip and the softness that only leather offers."

The merchant was trying Penelope's patience. Perhaps she would be in need of ropes sooner than she'd thought. "Our own ropes are perfectly fine. Go bother someone else, please."

"Of course," said the merchant with a falsely solemn tone. "I'm sure there are many other travellers who would be joyous to purchase some of the finest coloured ropes Thessaly has to offer, and at a price that's practically theft."

Penelope stopped in her tracks. "You've come from Thessaly?"

"I have," grinned the merchant, expecting a sale. "Larissa is a beautiful city almost as wondrous as-"

"What news do you bring?" Of my homeland and my enemies?

The trader suddenly realised she was not to be selling her wares and was also the bearer of bad news. "Last I heard were words of war. The Trojans across the Aegean had allied themselves with the Thracians to the north. They had crossed the Hellespont and were marching along the coast into Greece. Whatever battle ensued is now surely resolved."

A Thracian-Trojan alliance was the fear in the back of every Greek's mind. The Thracians despised Greeks, but hated each other enough that they'd never unified into a single fighting force. They were fierce fighters and favoured using lassos above all else. Having trained on each other from a young age, Thracians could hurl a lasso as far as the rope would reach and snag a feather from a swan's tail without the swan knowing about it. With the Thracians' consent to cross their lands, Troy's reach across the Aegean was unmatched.

And then there was the matter of the Celt. She'd conspired with the Trojans by warning them of the attack on Mytilene - she'd surely have something to do with the invasion. Being the general, there was little hope the battle had gone well for the realm. Penelope feared for her household, her queen, and even her foolish younger sister who'd betrayed her.

Daphne was as shocked as Penelope and stood in silence. No doubt her mind was focused on the same fears. Serena giggled into her gag to the annoyance of the two Thessalians. It was her older sister who had arranged it all and her household that would benefit most from a Trojan victory. She was enjoying the news until Daphne tugged on her crotchrope and reminded her who was in charge. "Mmph!"

It was Adara who spoke first. "An attack on Thessaly is an attack on all of Greece." She stamped the butt of her spear into the ground as she chewed her lip. "They'll bring the war to Sparta eventually. I should be there when they do. There's glory and captives to be had."

Penelope tried to reassure her. "We'll return soon. It should only take two moons at most to-"

"No!" said Adara stubbornly. "Not with you. You have a habit of getting distracted. I can get there quicker if I go by myself. I'll take the land route south through the Roman lands and hire passage from Messapia. Sparta was not a part of that war; the Messapians should harbour no ill will towards me."

"Is there any way I can convince you to stay with us any longer?" Penelope asked, though she knew Spartans weren't known for being easily swayed.

"I stayed by you to protect you as a soldier. You have a noble heart and a vengeful spirit. But I failed to protect you in Velzna and we were both nearly raped. It was Daphne who saved you, not I." The Spartan took a deep breath and spun on her heels. She started walking, phallic-tipped spear in hand. "May the goddesses guide you, Penelope, Slaver of Slavers, and Daphne, Basher of Brutes. Until we meet again." With that, Adara was gone.

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The waves were lashing at the hull like a frustrated mistress punishing a clumsy slave girl. There was an unwelcome amount of seawater finding its way over the edge of the bireme, and with a crew of only three, the pace was slow between rowing and bucketing.

Penelope had been sure to not raise her hopes too high when the Etruscan general offered her a ship. But something that was mildly seaworthy hadn't seemed like too much to expect. And Penelope had only assumed there'd be a crew waiting.

The ship was old and poorly made. The hull wasn't sealed properly and the spar atop the mast had become infested with termites. They were expecting the sail to fall down on them at any moment and, ironically, the sailors were praying for a windless day. The goddesses were cruel mistresses, however, and took joy in providing a strong gale.

With a crewless ship, Penelope and Daphne had discussed the possibility of untying Serena and giving her an oar to row or a bucket to clear the water. The redhead was sure it was a bad idea and the captain was sure it was their only choice. They decided to meet half way and instead retied the hostage's hands to an oar and bound a bucket between her feet. She could do both tasks without posing a threat. Penelope and Daphne were happy with their choice, even if Serena was furiously growling. Daphne laughed as she told the blonde to redirect that anger into her oar.

The sun was high in the sky when the wind finally died, to the relief of the Greeks. The waves disappeared as the sea grew calm and flat, giving Serena a well-needed rest from bucketing the water.

It was a most curious thing when a fog crept up on them. None of them had seen it coming and there had been nothing around but clear skies and blue water moments earlier. They were blinded before they realised it was upon them.

A cliff loomed out of the fog mere paces ahead of the ship. If not for Daphne's frantic paddling and Penelope's quick thinking of pushing against the cliff with an oar, they'd have surely crashed. "We'll take it slowly from now on," the captain said. "We don't want a repeat of last time."

There was an eerie silence in the fog. The sound of oars slicing the water echoed off the invisible cliffs and created the trickery that the Greeks were not the only ones lost in the darkness.

To their surprise, they weren't.

A heavenly voice danced across the still water, curling through the mist and whispering in their ears. It appealed to them in such a way that they found their bireme steering towards it, to follow it, to look upon the lips that formed the lyrics.

As they drew closer, they could hear instruments too that tickled their senses. The closer they paddled, and clearer the words became.

Before our kind were made of clay, in a time 'fore yesterday,
Monsters ruled the world we know from desert sands to mountain snow.
They walked the lands that we now own. They built their homes from earth and stone.
They thought their world would never fall; but like all beasts, we tamed them all.
We came towards them thick and fast. We tied the knots and made them last.
We stripped them of their dirty rags and turned them into dirty gags.
It was only yesterday that we turned monsters into prey
For our sweet fun and their sweet sorrow. But heed our words: beware tomorrow.

There was a deafening crunch as a huge rock smashed up through the bow of the ship, suddenly launching the sailors forward. Penelope was on her hands and knees, though she'd not remembered falling. She blinked her head clear and saw a pair of silhouettes through the fog - a woman strumming her fingers across a lyre and another woman with her lips to a flute. They sat atop a boulder so large that Penelope wondered how she hadn't seen it sooner.

Daphne lay sprawled on her back across the deck, one soft breast having escaped from her tight bodice, moaning in light-headed confusion. Serena was nowhere to be seen.

Another loud crack, this time above her. Penelope looked up just as the spar atop the mast snapped in two, sending a rotten beam falling down and crashing into her head. She fell again. In her dwindling moments of consciousness, she realised that Adara had been right - she did have a habit of getting distracted.

Then everything faded to black, and Penelope was lulled to sleep by the song of sirens.

Continued in Chapter 17

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