A Tale of Ties and Binds - Chapter 9

Chapter 9. A Struggle of Spartans

Zia the Dacian descended the staircase at first light, tired, with an aching crook in her neck, noticeable rope burns, and a sorely overused tongue from the night before. Ceinlys Lachtnatorix rode the slave girl's face very hard last night, Penelope realised. As the Dacian knelt down to unbind her companions from their fur-wrapped cocoons, Daphne informed her of the plan in hushed whispers. Zia thought it was a fool's idea, as had Penelope when she'd first heard it. But also just like Penelope, Zia became more and more convinced that the plan might work. After all, what could Ceinlys do to them that she wasn't already doing to them on a regular basis? Zia would never be able to look at a broom handle the same way again. There was too much to gain from Daphne's plan for it to go unfulfilled. The risk must be taken, they all decided.

Adara and Penelope would have the hardest task of getting the disguises, while Daphne and Zia prepared a longboat for their escape.

The Greek slavers, Serena and Guard, had spent their time in the village impressing and disrupting the locals with their wrestling matches. So far, no Histri had been able to beat either of them, and neither Serena nor Guard were ever alone when they slept. Hogtied trophies lay with their heads buried between their champions' legs.

That morning, the two were sparring between the granary and the palisade wall. Many of the Histri had left at sunrise to worship their barbarian idols at the sacred grove, so the match was purely for practice and not for prizes, and the mud was fresh in the unused and secluded location. They wrestled naked, as per the tradition, save Guard wearing her helm as always. Their armour and weapons were neatly stacked against the palisade wall. Serena's body was in top form. She had the large firm bust and wide hips of a Spartan princess that gave her an advantage in her throws. Both were covered in a thin layer of mud from their match, and their tanned skin was a shade browner, and Serena's blonde locks had turned dark.

Nobody would know the difference.

Penelope and Adara watched the match from a distance. Their hands had been bound in furs before them and their limbs and loins were clothed in fur too. Penelope said a silent prayer to the goddesses and wished her companion luck. The Spartan's expression was as unrevealing as ever, but there was a darkness behind her eyes that sang songs of her lusts. She checked to make sure they were alone before she snapped her binds in one forceful pull and then helped untie Penelope.

The two split up, Adara taking the left flank and Penelope taking the right. It was a poor decision of the slavers to choose somewhere so secluded, on this day of all days. Penelope crouched low and walked as silently as she could, her path hidden behind a roundhouse. Only the sound of her feet squishing through the mud could give her away. She got as close to the slavers as she dared, hiding behind some crates. Looking slowly around the corner, she could see Serena and Guard sparring, little drops of mud being kicked up into the air. Adara was poking her head out from behind the wall of a roundhouse. She nodded to indicate she was ready.

Serena and Guard were still unaware, so it was the time to strike. Adara came bounding around the corner, gaining speed, gaining force, and charged a tackle straight into Serena and left them both crashing into the soft ground, pinning her down with all her Spartan strength. Guard's Corinthian-style leather helm was effective at protecting her face from whips, but the small eye slots narrowed her vision, and she did not see her attacker until after it was too late. Penelope pounced and wrapped herself around the slaver, trying desperately to keep the woman's arms at her sides.

Guard tried to shake her off, but Penelope held on as tight as she could. The pair of them stumbled along the ground until Penelope managed to pull them both down into the mud. The slaver broke loose of Penelope's grip with the added help of the wet mud, and she flipped herself around to wrestle with her attacker. They rolled and struggled in each other's grip in a blur of flesh and mud with neither woman taking the lead for more than a moment. Penelope realised she was naked when she saw her furs lying an arm's length away, though she didn't know when she'd lost them. Now it truly is a proper wrestle, she thought.

Then Guard was on top of her and wouldn't budge. She'd managed to grab both of Penelope's wrists and pinned them into the wet mud with one hand while the other desperately groped through the muck for something to bind with. Penelope thought back to the time in the Celt's dungeon, when she was knocked to the ground by her younger sister, Lydia, defeated. The eyes inside the helm seemed to glow with the pride of a soldier who knew they'd be well-rewarded for defeating a rebellious slave. Penelope couldn't let herself be beaten again. She struggled as hard as she could, but Guard kept her balance and her grip and there was nothing Penelope could do to throw her.

Then from nowhere, Adara the Spartan threw herself at Guard and the two tumbled in the mud. "Use the furs!" she yelled. "The furs!"

It took Penelope a moment to regain herself, but she was already groping for the material before Adara's words had registered. The Spartan girl was much larger than Guard, and seemed to easily keep the slaver pinned down. Within moments, Guard's hands were bound, then her ankles, and then all were tied tightly behind her in a strict hogtie. Not once did the Celtic soldier scream, but oh how she struggled.

Serena, the Celt's own younger sister, lay defeated and hogtied in the mud, panting heavily and glaring at her captors. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" she hissed. "You've just condemned yourselves. You know the rules - a slave who rebels is sent to the furthest corners of the world to suffer the bodily tortures of barbarians and monsters. Untie us now, and I will speak to Ceinlys for you. I will make sure you're both sent west where it's nice and warm." She continued to pull at her wrists, but it only caused the mud between the binds to ooze out.

Wiping some of the mud off her breasts, Penelope said, "I promised your matriarch that I'd have my revenge. I intend to keep that promise."

Serena sighed unconvincedly. "She's far away in Thessaly and you're here. You won't even get half way before the Histri recapture you. Just let me go. Now!"

She really is like her sister after all, thought Penelope. The family arrogance is there. "Then allow me to make you a promise, Serena. I will return to Thessaly, I will defeat my treacherous younger sister and reclaim my right as the matriarch of my household, I will take vengeance on your sister, and I will make right all of her wrongs."

The blonde only managed to reply, "You and what arm-mmph!" before Adara stuffed some sodden fur inside her mouth and held it in with a hand.

"You non-Spartans always talk too much," Adara said.

The two former slaves proceeded with their plan. They donned the armour of their captives after brushing off some of the excess dirt, and were joyous to find that Serena's armour was a perfect fit for Adara's Spartan bust and hips. Penelope welcomed the familiar feeling of the boiled leather bodice on her skin, the straps of the high skirt flapping against her thigh, the restriction of the belt, the supportive way the cups raised her breasts to perky twins. It reminded her of who she really was. She was not a slave, but a soldier, a Greek, and a matriarch at heart. The only things missing were the bronze bracers of her matriarch's armour and the sigil of her household. They each took a handful of mud and rubbed it through Adara's black hair. With the addition of the muck, nobody would be able to tell that the blonde slaver had been replaced with a brunette.

Penelope needed to disguise herself as Guard in order to walk the village without suspicion, so she needed the one thing Guard was known for - the helm. The slaver struggled as she realised what was happening, but there was nothing she could do while she was hogtied. The helm popped off and it became clear why Guard never spoke. She was already gagged. A thick twist of white linen had been knotted and tied into her mouth. Penelope could only assume the woman enjoyed the feeling because there was no reason why she should be kept silent. Aside from the gag, the lack of helm revealed Guard to be a short-haired blonde with blue eyes, pale skin and very rosy cheeks. She seemed understandably annoyed that she'd been defeated, but saddened by her loss of armour and sudden feeling of total nudity. Serves her right, resolved Penelope.

The two former slaves carried their captives down to the shoreline where Zia had been preparing the longboat under Daphne's supervision and expertise. The redhead had never been a patient woman at the calmest of times and her temper was bound only by the need for tact and quietness, but she was most certainly at the end of her rope. Penelope could hear her hissing orders at the Dacian, saying she's tying the knot all wrong, that's not how to roll a sail, don't use the oar like that. The sound of footsteps in the sand and the furious moaning of the slavers brought her attention to Penelope. "I hope they didn't put up too much of a fight."

"Let's hope they don't anymore," said Penelope as beckoned Zia to help load the captives into the longboat. They fitted snuggly under the seats so it was decided to retie their binds and hogtie them to the underside. Guard, if was apt to call her that anymore, took the bondage without too much fuss. She chewed on her gag and flexed her arms for nothing more than to stop them from going numb, but she didn't struggle for freedom. Serena hadn't yet accepted the turnabout in power relations and her fury had heated the mud coating to a flaky dryness and left her resembling an earthen statue - albeit a buxom, struggling and moaning statue.

Daphne spoke again, "There's still time to rub dirt in my hair and let me do it instead."

"No, Daphne," replied Penelope with a look as much as words. "We only want to leave her bound, not paralysed." It was Daphne's idea to escape, her idea to capture Serena and Guard and take them as hostages, her idea to don the armour, her idea to take revenge on Ceinlys, and her idea to steal a longboat. But Daphne's red hair was too lush and vibrant to disguise herself as Guard, and she may not have been able to stay as silent without cursing someone.

Penelope and Adara left the others to their struggling, their silent brooding, their temper and their naval incompetence, and made their own way back towards the village. The longhouse was the only building within the palisade that was still guarded by Histri freewomen while the rest of the population was away at worship. A pair of them stood outside the heavy double doors, their bodies covered in warm furs with only their breasts exposed. At the sight of the two Greek slavers approaching, they stood aside, and unwittingly permitted their mistress' avengers into her home.

They made sure to bar the door behind them. A fire burned high and warm in the central pit, shedding an orange glow through the darkness and landing on nets and furs and barbarian idols. The hall did not have the same feeling that it once had; no longer were Penelope or Adara prisoners in a foreign land. They were something else now. Rebel slaves? Liberators? It remained to be seen.

The barbarian warlady was seated on her crude wooden 'throne' - an old and misshapen tree trunk with spindly limbs curling out and piercing the air from all directions. Her crown with the bronze-cast phalluses was hanging from one of the branches, sparkling tantalisingly in the torchlight. She didn't seem to have a care in the world as she filed her nails with the rough surface of a seashell, legs crossed, leaning back, enormous breasts swaying with each pass of her hand. The warlady barely looked up at her visitors as she addressed them in her guttural barbarian speech. Of course, neither Penelope nor Adara knew what she was saying, but Ceinlys believed she was speaking to the multi-lingual Serena. The pair of Greek warrioresses marched forward. They needed to reduce the distance between them before Ceinlys saw through the armour and the mud and realised who they really were.

She grunted again, more agitated at the lack of reply and respect. The barbarian had always shown a disliking for Greeks, Serena had once said, with the only exceptions being her usual trade partners from the Household of the Celtic Knot. It was the assumption of Greeks that they were more civilised that Ceinlys disliked, and it was the reason she treated her Greek slaves with the utmost indignity. She grunted once more as she rose from her throne, glaring.  

It was not the way in this part of the world that the strong are given power. Nor are the wealthy, the wise, or the beauty-blessed given any special privilege. Power here goes to the most buxom, and Ceinlys was certainly deserving of authority. But it meant she was not necessarily the strongest or the wisest, though she did have a certain exotic allure. It was easy for Adara the Spartan to draw in close and pull her down to the soft furs on the floor. Ceinlys was halfway through a scream when a twisted fur rope was shoved between her gaping lips. The barbarian warlady was twice outnumbered and a hundred times outperformed within moments as she was quickly stripped and bound with shreds of her own clothing, hands tightly tied in the small of her back and her ankles tied to her thighs. It was a delight for Penelope to see such a cruel mistress finally overthrown, and no doubt Adara was happy behind her stoic Spartan expression.

"Revenge is sweet," smiled Penelope as she twisted the uncivilised nipples between her fingers, and it was only then that Ceinlys realised she'd been deceived by the armour and the muddy skin. How many times had the warlady twisted my nipples, Penelope tried to remember. Too many, she resolved, and made sure to twist twice as far and pinch twice as hard again for Daphne. Ceinlys was in obvious pain but refused to so much as whimper, such was the way of this barbarian warlady. But Penelope wanted to hear her scream because only then would she be certain that revenge had been served.

Then she remembered poor Zia. How many times had Ceinlys molested her with the broomstick? Penelope bade the Spartan to retrieve it. "Separate her legs," she said.

"Mmmpphh!!!" the warlady disagreed, or cursed, or grunted. It was unclear what she said. The only certainty was that it was not yet a plea for mercy.

Adara returned with the broom and forced Ceinlys' bound legs apart as though they were made of straw. The warlady flinched as Penelope dipped the wooden shaft softly against the barbarian's inner thigh with the same cautious delicacy as she would dip her toe into cold water. Ceinlys was sweating now, Penelope could see. It was a good start.

The fire had shrunken to dark red embers by the time Penelope believed her revenge had been served. Adara had stood by and watched silently while the broomstick was rammed again and again and again into the barbarian's most sensitive regions. Penelope had remembered there'd been more than one broom in the longhouse, so soon there was one pumping between Ceinlys' thighs and one pumping between the cheeks of her arse. The handles had both been dry to begin, but were soon glazed in a slick and slippery coating. She had grunted horribly in anger for a long time, and only when Adara offered to take over the ramming did Ceinlys' mood change. She became fearful and scared, the way her lot should always be. The Spartan's thrusts were much stronger than her Greek companion's and the warlady most certainly felt the difference. Her grunts turned to moans, moans turned to wails, and wails turned to quiet whimpers by the time the fire had settled.

Penelope determined that the buxom barbarian's soft cries were all she would get from her, so the Greeks shoved the two broomsticks as deep as they could go and left her there for someone else to find, impaled twice over and resembling a bound and gagged two-tailed beast. In the end, Ceinlys Lachtnatorix knew only a few Greek words to command her precious slaves, but she did not know the words to beg them for mercy.

The two Greeks unbarred the door and passed the two Histri guards who were both none the wiser to the goings-on within the longhouse. Some of the villagers were returning from their rituals so Penelope and Adara made haste to get back to the longboat before any of them discovered Ceinlys in her state of exhaustion and the alarms were raised.

They found Daphne straddling Serena's face on the deck of the ship while Zia was loading up supplies of food and water and wine. "It's time to go," ordered Penelope. It felt good to be in a position to give orders again, but she also knew what it was like to be completely powerless. She made a mental note to never forget it; the raw mentality of complete helplessness and servitude. "You and what army?" Serena had tried to ask when she'd been captured. What army, indeed?

The embarking was as smooth as could be hoped for and the longboat handled like the biremes Penelope and Daphne were accustomed to. The sea was calm and the sun was peeking through the clouds - a new day. They unfurled the sails and let the breeze carry them away to a different place to start a new adventure.

Before pushing off, Penelope had drawn a message in the sand; three small words written by a Greek hand, meant only for the eyes of Greek captives. The message was simple: Enslave the mistresses.

Continued in Chapter 10