A Tale of Ties and Binds - Chapter 3

Chapter 3. A Tempest of Tidings

The dutiful Lydia stood guard outside the throne room, fondling her silver serpent-headed and five-tailed whip at her belt with an inquisitive finger. She remembered herself as she noticed her matriarch approaching. "Captain Penelope, what did the Queen desire of you?"

Penelope had just learned, and now informed Lydia, that the Queen suspected a traitor of telling the Trojans about the Greek invasion plans, thus dousing the flames of war in their enemy's favour. "Her Grace had just named me General of the Thessalian Army and Taker of Captives before the Celt interrupted."

The Celt's real name was Titania, but she was better known by her sigil and name of her bireme - the Celtic Knot. Originally a family of Illyrian slave traders, the household was soon favoured by the royals and had risen as quickly as a phallus in a whorehouse. The current matriarch was a stunning blonde, a remarkable politician and a ruthless warrioress. Her armour was some of the finest in Thessaly; a boiled leather bodice with iron trim in the intricate pattern of Celtic artwork, polished bronze bracers and grieves which caught the sunlight like none other, and the shortest leather skirt in all of Thessaly - a symbol of her bravery and prowess in warfare. With her blonde hair and the ornamentations on her armour, she almost perfectly resembled the maiden on her sigil who was locked in tight Celtic knotwork. Her crew had survived the battle with the Trojans unscathed, and had even managed to escape with prizes of their own.

"I noticed her arrive, Capt... General. The Matriarch of the Celtic Knot was carrying a Trojan captive hogtied and gagged on each shoulder. And congratulations on your appointment. May the goddesses bless you with many nubile slaves."

"I'm not the General yet, Lydia," corrected Penelope. She had never wanted to be the general, quite content to command her personal band of household sisters-in-arms and nobody else, but the Queen's decision had changed all that. "The Celt offered those captives as gifts to Her Grace. She threw them down into the soft fur rugs and had to stand on them to keep them from struggling. The Queen was so pleased with Her gifts that She offered the generalship to whoever brought Her the traitor. Needless to say, this was exactly the promotion the Celt had her eyes on for so long. If it had been anyone else, Lydia, I would have simply helped them find the traitor and let them become the next general, but too much power in one woman's hands is a dangerous thing. The Celt is already matriarch of the wealthiest household in Thessaly - maybe even all of Greece - and I can't let her become General too. Ambition like hers doesn't stop at General, Lydia."

Lydia's bright eyes regarded her young matriarch and older sister thoughtfully. "What is your command, Captain?"

"Run a message to the rest of the crew. Have Alexis the Binder investigate the training grounds and arenas, Daphne to speak with the city councillors, and the rest to disperse and investigate the whorehouses, slave markets and anywhere else. We'll reconvene at sunset back at the estate."

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The Household of the Scylla was a large stone and clay brick mansion nestled between a cliff and the bay. From humble beginnings as a fishing cottage centuries ago, it was now an estate that served as the headquarters of a vast and lucrative territory comprising of fisheries and olive fields that spread as far as the eye could see. The many sisters and slaves who were under the protection of the Household of the Scylla served tirelessly to keep the estate operating by day, and at night they would retire to the open-aired lofts for relaxing games of 'hide the hoe' and 'serpent's sacrifice'.

The sky was a deep reddish pink when Daphne finally returned, her matching hair looking aflame in the dwindling sunlight, where she found everyone seated at an oak table on a balcony overlooking the sea. The sisters had exchanged their constricting leather armour for softer linen chitons which allowed the cool salty winds to massage the bare flesh of their breasts. Several young handmaidens attended their charges by scrubbing their feet and massaging between their toes, eliciting delighted squeaks from the mistresses.

Of those seated, only the young Matriarch of the Scylla wore a shred of armour, her limbs still protected by bronze bracers and grieves but as bare-breasted as the rest of them. With all the sisters-in-arms present, Penelope began the forum. "What news have you brought me?"

The redhead shifted uncomfortably as she sat down in her chair. "Captain," Daphne began with gritted teeth, "The council chambers were..."

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"... full of highborn bitches with overinflated opinions of their own importance," were Daphne's first words upon entering the grand marbled structure. It was instantly apparent to her that she stood out like a phallic slave at a vegetable market. All the city councillors were prancing around like whores (not that Daphne disliked whores, quite the opposite) with their rich red tunics and expensive jewellery. Not a single one of these women has ever seen a battle, Daphne wagered. They've never felt the rush of freedom as sisters are being taken captive all around them, never unhorsed a Scythian rider with nought but a whip, never pounced on an enemy and felt her squirm and writhe for liberation between their legs, never had to hogtie a captive in the moments it takes for her blood sisters to notice her missing, never had the pleasure of an entire unit of captured barbarian cavalry in her bed after a battle.

These politicians were missing out.

A short woman with a juicy breast on show approached Daphne with obvious disapproval in her scowl. It was not the usual attire in the chambers to wear armour, which was exactly why the redhead elected to dress that way. The councillor recognised the sigil of the Household of the Scylla by the serpent head rivets on Daphne's skirt. "What is your business here?" she asked with a scowl.

The scowl was returned. "I serve the matriarch of my household who serves the Queen of Larissa. I do not serve the overfed likes of trumped up street sweepers." The rebuttal drew the attention of some passing slave girls, but they soon jingled off when they saw the whip and bolas at the soldier's belt and the fiery temper in her green eyes. "Captain Penelope needs to know if there have been any suspicious dealings in the council chambers since the turn of the season."

The juicy-breasted councillor was not accustomed to being treated with such disrespect, but thought it better to avoid the embarrassment of being trussed and gagged in the sight of her fellow politicians. "Suspicious dealings? Hmm. A shipment of Dacian slaves courtesy of the Macedonians, some merchants from lesser households both claimed ownership of a phallic slave so we enslaved the slavers and took their claim for ourselves... other than that... Oh!" she slapped herself (which made Daphne's fingers twitch in want of joining in). "There was also an emissary from a distant land across the sea. A curious thing."

"Go on," ordered Daphne.

"We instantly knew they were foreign. A company of dark-skinned handmaidens preceded their charge, all dressed in white linen from their shoulders to their hips but nought between their trim bellies and their golden sandals. A shameless people, we knew at once. They all had shiny black hair down to their necks and wore impressive tiaras of blue stone. All were chained, of course, hands before them, and were gagged with what we later found out were papyrus reeds tied between their lips. If we thought the handmaidens were irregular, we would have fainted from the scandal of the emissary. More handmaidens carried her in on their shoulders on a litter with ornate animal carvings in the woodwork. The emissary was sight to behold. Apparently, in the distant land of Egypt, all their highborn ladies and mistresses are held continuously in tight bondage, wrapped from shoulders to bare feet in long stretches of linen bandaging with the only breaks at their waists to expose the softness between their legs and at her breasts where their wrists are crossed on their chest with a jiggling tit on either side. The emissary seemed to drink us up with her bright eyes behind the dark eyeliner she wore."

"And what did she want?" asked Daphne impatiently.

"She had come to speak of trade agreements with the Greek states and perhaps an alliance. We told her of our hostilities with the Trojans and she informed us that the Pharaoh Jamila doesn't consider our enemies a threat to Her empire. So our talks were regarding trade and not alliances from then onwards."

This information might be useful, Daphne realised. "You spoke to a foreign emissary about our war plans with Troy?" The redhead sensed a reward of many slaves ahead of her.

"We didn't think it would do any harm," the plump councillor said. "The army had been gone for a time and you only arrived back two days later."

Daphne could feel her anger rising (not that it took much). She clenched her fists and imagined the night with the Scythian cavalrywomen between her legs. "This only happened two days ago?" she said through gritted teeth. "While we were on our return voyage?"

"Of course!" exclaimed the councillor as if it were obvious. "Why have you drawn your whip? And what do you think you're doing with that rope?"

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"... so now I'm banned from entering the council chambers." Daphne concluded. "I am sorry, Matriarch. I should have been more specific when the suspicious dealings had taken place."

Penelope leaned back in her chair, enjoying the sensation as a handmaiden under the table licked honey from between her thighs. "That's quite alright, Daphne. I'm impressed you managed to bind six of them before the guards arrested you."

"I will remember their faces, Matriarch," promised the redhead as she tended the ropeburn on her wrists.

The broad-chested Alexis the Binder cleared her throat, no doubt taking great pleasure as a pair of handmaidens massaged her back and shoulders with sweet-smelling oils.

"How did you fare at the training grounds, Alexis?"

"Captain," the former champion of the Thessalian games began, smiling, "it was as if I'd never left."

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Emerging from the vaulted tunnel into the open air and greeted by the symphony of cracking whips, whooshing nets, whistling bolas and feminine screams and grunts, Alexis the Binder remembered the glory of her teenage years. Less than a decade ago, a younger version of herself had been showered in rose petals and the loincloths of amorous fans as she soaked up her fame, having just defeated her final opponent and winning the games for her household. All in this very arena.

Back in those days, Alexis was chosen as the strongest and fittest in her household to compete at the games. Goddesses, she was tough back then! She could wrestle the sea an come out victorious. Her apex physique was much similar to then to how it was now, only now her breasts and hips were wider and more Spartan than in her youth. The crowds of Thessalian freewomen used to cheer her on, the slave girls would secretly pray to the goddesses to be her property, and the phallic slaves would grow as hard as iron when they saw her.

It was customary for competitors to be naked during the games. Not for any particular reason; it just made for a more interesting spectator sport. The merchants would sell dolls of her likeness and the young girls would dream of the famous Alexis the Binder of the Household of the Scylla as they slept.

Over there, by the cages that are full of the fastest running slaves, was the bola gallery. It was there that the contestant from Thebes was knocked out of the competition. Not technically because her bolas missed their mark, or because the slave she was targeting was running remarkable fast, but because the contestant from Corinth thought it would be funny to literally knock out another contestant. They were discovered together by the guards behind a tree, the Theban was unconscious and bound and gagged while her captor straddled her face. The Corinthian was sent kept in fetters for the remainder of the games as an extra trophy for the victor while the Theban woman was recalled by her city for being so easily captured. No doubt her queen or matriarch gave her a stern punishment of hard spanking and a tongue-numbing session under her furs. It was just the Athenian, the Elean, the Spartan and Alexis who remained.

The Elean was next to go. The netting competition did not work out in her favour. The aim of this sport was to charge the other competitors while both ahorse, each carrying a net. First to pull the other off her horse wins. Most of the time, it would take several rounds to declare a victor as competitors generally both threw their nets at the same time, causing them to tangle mid-air and leaving no woman captured in the dirt below. The Elean's strategy was to avoid this complication by throwing hard and long from at least three times as far as the usual distance. Her net was easily dodged, unfortunately for her, and the Spartan she was up against snagged her at close range. The Elean girl became the first trophy of victory as she lay gagged and hogtied with braided leather ropes in the Spartan's tent. Neither Alexis nor the Athenian could make a clean and uninterrupted throw after several rounds so their match was declared a tie.

The tie was broken in the next round. The long-haired Athenian girl was blinded by the wind when her hair blew into her face. She didn't see the Spartan girl charge her with her shield, but she sure felt it when she was knocked down to the ground. In war, that would usually result in her being taken captive - so that's exactly what happened. Alexis and the Spartan were too evenly matched to knock each other down so another tie was declared. It didn't look promising in Alexis' favour, however, as the Spartan had already won herself two trophies with a third up for grabs and Alexis hadn't even scored yet.

Then came the final round - the mud wrestling. The aim is simple. Contestants wrestle in hand-to-hand combat in the slippery mud, their fingers failing to grip their opponent's wet body, and the first to successfully hogtie their opponent wins.

The Spartans of Lacedaemonia bred some of the strongest women in all of Greece. Unlike their peers, the Spartans did not buy and sell phallic slaves at a whim, but took them in conquests and kept them all for themselves and their carnal needs. Only one exception was ever made for this when Queen Astrid of Thessaly sold one of her Royal sisters to the Spartan queen as a slave (which was when the Queen came to power all those years ago), and was traded for a phallic slave in return - a son of the Spartan queen herself and one of the most muscular slaves in the Greek cities. It was the lyrics of a popular bard's song that said the phallic slave was as strong as they came and came as strong as the gods. Only the most competent Spartan women could breed, and thus each generation was the result of success in warfare and not wealth. It gave the Spartans the most busty chests and widest hips in all of the Aegean and the known world, and the Spartan at the opposite side of the mud pit was a prime example of the Laconic physique.

Under the statue of Hera who kept her husband, Zeus, in unbreakable chains of lightning, the red-headed Spartan and the midnight-haired Thessalian battled. They were evenly matched, both as strong with equally well-toned bodies, firm chests and powerful legs. With no other sports to play, there was no chance to simply call a draw and move on. Only one teenage girl would walk out of that muddy pit, and she would be dragging her hogtied trophy behind her. Neither Alexis nor the Spartan could get a grip through the slick mud and they kept each other and the crowd on edge as the struggle lasted most the day.

The sun was just a distant flame on the horizon when the Spartan girl threw Alexis into the squishy mud below. Thinking she at last had the upper hand, she immediately pounced on the Thessalian. She didn't consider that Alexis had tied a slipknot in her braided leather rope, so she was quite surprised to find her hand captured as she reached for her foe. Alexis crawled backwards and yanked the Spartan's hand out from underneath her and she fell deeper into the thick mud. Then it was Alexis who pounced and caught the Spartan's other hand which she twisted back and tied up with its twin. Alexis used the Spartan's rope to bind her ankles to her elbows and emerged the victor of the wrestling and the entire games.

She was awarded the victor's title and became known throughout the Greek states as Alexis the Binder. Less than a decade later, she could still remember the satisfaction and pride as her trophies honoured her victory with their heads between her legs, the Athenian muttering on about sharing and the Spartan mumbling witty one-liners (classic Spartans).

But now the arena was full of the next generation of famous warrioresses. Some of them may eventually take the title of Binder and be honoured by their own trophies. One day, perhaps. For now they were only in training, loosing bolas at slaves, netting their classmates from horseback, knocking each other about with their shields and having a great time in the mud pit under the statue of Hera.

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"But did anyone have anything to say, Alexis? What news of strangers and suspicious-looking women?" asked Penelope patiently. She always enjoyed hearing tales of ties and binds.

"The trainers were all as loyal and as patriotic as they could be, Captain. I could feel it about them. The young athletes were headstrong and energetic, but such is the way of all teenagers with prowess - I was no different." Alexis the Binder looked longingly across the distant fields of olives, soaking in the warm sunset and bathing in nostalgia. "They're kept locked up in their dorms at night and not permitted to leave unless they're bound and accompanied by a trainer. All day long they train in the ways of binding and capturing so there's no time to hear or relay messages in the capital. I do not believe the spy we search for has anything to do with the games."

"We should serve the whorehouses and slave markets more thoroughly, Captain." Lydia stood with her backside pressed against the railings of the balcony, cupping a breast through her chiton and fingering a nipple thoughtfully. "I fear our sisters may have been distracted by the offers of sapphic lust and carnal pleasures. If there is one district in all of the capital best to go unnoticed, it is there."

Other sisters in attendance cheered, though likely for the wrong motives. Off duty, they would often frequent the district for some nocturnal mischief, and had probably taken their matriarch's search order as an invitation for more. But if they were to ever be caught taking advantage of those services while on duty, no amount of prayers to the goddesses could save them from Penelope's punishment of spankings, paddlings and ten-day bouts of continuous bondage.

"I shall sleep on this," Penelope stated. She reached her hand under the table to stroke a slave girl's cheek. "The forum is over for now. You may leave and go as you wish." With that, the sisters-in-arms rose from their chairs, some with an orgasmic gasp as the slaves between their legs finished them off, and went about their business. Penelope sat at the table deep in thought as the nearby candles grew smaller and smaller and the moon grew high in the sky.

Goddesses, Penelope prayed, give me a sign. Show me a direction and I shall walk, whisper a name and I shall shout it, hand me the chains and I shall clamp them down on this traitor. But the goddesses did not answer her. Perhaps the deities above were too busy enjoying their own climaxes to hear.

Continued in Chapter 4

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