She opened her mouth and looked up at
the circle of men. She looked at their cocks, thickened and
pulsating. She watched the veins throbbing. She cupped her hands
beneath the bowl and held it out. She begged for their semen,
showing them she was waiting for her bowl to fill, showing them she
only wanted to drink, only wanted to feast on its nourishment.
She did not
blink as the first eruption hit her face, hanging from her
eyelashes, dripping down. She felt its warmth as it trickled onto
her cheek. She breathed deeply as it ran down into the corner of
her lips. She licked it. Its tang filled her with shivering
thrills. The next splattered into her open mouth. It covered her
waiting tongue, dripping down into the bowl. More came, some
spurting directly into the bowl, some running over its edge onto
her fingers. Some hit her cheeks, some in her mouth.
The last man
stood back and another took his place. It was Polydorus. His purple
robe was open. His cock throbbed in his hand. Sappho held the bowl
up to him. He looked down at her in contempt. She lifted it higher,
wanting him to fill it, wanting him to add his fluid so that at
last she could drink.
He lifted his
weighty cock and held it above her. He masturbated. The end swelled
and reddened. A sudden spurt of semen shot from it. It hit her
face, her cheek, both her eyes. It ran into her mouth and then, as
she held it up, it dripped into the bowl. She waited until there
was no more to come.
'Now,' said
Polydorus. 'Now you may drink, my little priestess. Do not stop
until your bowl is empty.'
The moment had
arrived. At last she could quench her thirst. She inhaled the scent
of the semen. She breathed deeply. Her master had told her what to
do. She wanted nothing else. She only wanted to follow his
instructions. There was nothing else in her life except her
master's will, the contents of the bowl, her thirst.
She lifted it
to her lips. She drew it into her mouth; soft, salty, slippery,
delectable. She tipped the bowl, emptying it, quenching her thirst
yet still not having enough. She tipped the bowl right back until
she had taken it all.
She looked up
at Polydorus. She opened her legs and exposed her wet slit.
'Take her,'
ordered Polydorus. 'Tie her. She can watch the beast chase. I have
had enough of her. I will decide tomorrow what to do with her.'
A rope was
tied to Sappho's ankles and, with her wrists still bound with the
leather thongs, and glistening with spent semen, she was dragged
back along the covered walkways.
She saw the
pony girls eagerly setting off with the trap behind them. They
looked so clean and bright, so eager and beautiful. Sappho felt the
bonds around her wrists and the rope tugging at her ankles. She
felt dirty, shamed and humiliated. She thought for a moment of her
time as a priestess. She pictured her own splendid robe, of
Chryseis beside her, of the worshippers of Apollo bending on their
knees before her. She saw their faces, waiting for her instructions
and, as she realised what she had sunk to, she felt a deep inner
sense of self-disgust and worthlessness.
She was
dragged through the gardens and secured with ropes to a post. Girls
draped in lion skins and wearing lion masks roamed on all fours
amongst the bushes. They stopped and cocked their heads to the side
if they thought they heard something. They dropped down if they
thought they had been seen. Sappho saw men with the skins of male
lions and masks with heavy manes. They stalked the lionesses,
prowling around the garden, sniffing the air, growling and roaring
and scratching at the earth with their hands. Suddenly one of them
charged towards a lioness. He wrapped his arms around her waist and
thrust his cock beneath her tail. She cried out, a screaming growl,
and he howled as he thrust into her. Another came and he too fucked
the lioness from behind. Another came, and another, until she was
surrounded. They clawed at her menacingly and she cowered before
them. Each one in turn clung to
the circle of men. She looked at their cocks, thickened and
pulsating. She watched the veins throbbing. She cupped her hands
beneath the bowl and held it out. She begged for their semen,
showing them she was waiting for her bowl to fill, showing them she
only wanted to drink, only wanted to feast on its nourishment.
She did not
blink as the first eruption hit her face, hanging from her
eyelashes, dripping down. She felt its warmth as it trickled onto
her cheek. She breathed deeply as it ran down into the corner of
her lips. She licked it. Its tang filled her with shivering
thrills. The next splattered into her open mouth. It covered her
waiting tongue, dripping down into the bowl. More came, some
spurting directly into the bowl, some running over its edge onto
her fingers. Some hit her cheeks, some in her mouth.
The last man
stood back and another took his place. It was Polydorus. His purple
robe was open. His cock throbbed in his hand. Sappho held the bowl
up to him. He looked down at her in contempt. She lifted it higher,
wanting him to fill it, wanting him to add his fluid so that at
last she could drink.
He lifted his
weighty cock and held it above her. He masturbated. The end swelled
and reddened. A sudden spurt of semen shot from it. It hit her
face, her cheek, both her eyes. It ran into her mouth and then, as
she held it up, it dripped into the bowl. She waited until there
was no more to come.
'Now,' said
Polydorus. 'Now you may drink, my little priestess. Do not stop
until your bowl is empty.'
The moment had
arrived. At last she could quench her thirst. She inhaled the scent
of the semen. She breathed deeply. Her master had told her what to
do. She wanted nothing else. She only wanted to follow his
instructions. There was nothing else in her life except her
master's will, the contents of the bowl, her thirst.
She lifted it
to her lips. She drew it into her mouth; soft, salty, slippery,
delectable. She tipped the bowl, emptying it, quenching her thirst
yet still not having enough. She tipped the bowl right back until
she had taken it all.
She looked up
at Polydorus. She opened her legs and exposed her wet slit.
'Take her,'
ordered Polydorus. 'Tie her. She can watch the beast chase. I have
had enough of her. I will decide tomorrow what to do with her.'
A rope was
tied to Sappho's ankles and, with her wrists still bound with the
leather thongs, and glistening with spent semen, she was dragged
back along the covered walkways.
She saw the
pony girls eagerly setting off with the trap behind them. They
looked so clean and bright, so eager and beautiful. Sappho felt the
bonds around her wrists and the rope tugging at her ankles. She
felt dirty, shamed and humiliated. She thought for a moment of her
time as a priestess. She pictured her own splendid robe, of
Chryseis beside her, of the worshippers of Apollo bending on their
knees before her. She saw their faces, waiting for her instructions
and, as she realised what she had sunk to, she felt a deep inner
sense of self-disgust and worthlessness.
She was
dragged through the gardens and secured with ropes to a post. Girls
draped in lion skins and wearing lion masks roamed on all fours
amongst the bushes. They stopped and cocked their heads to the side
if they thought they heard something. They dropped down if they
thought they had been seen. Sappho saw men with the skins of male
lions and masks with heavy manes. They stalked the lionesses,
prowling around the garden, sniffing the air, growling and roaring
and scratching at the earth with their hands. Suddenly one of them
charged towards a lioness. He wrapped his arms around her waist and
thrust his cock beneath her tail. She cried out, a screaming growl,
and he howled as he thrust into her. Another came and he too fucked
the lioness from behind. Another came, and another, until she was
surrounded. They clawed at her menacingly and she cowered before
them. Each one in turn clung to
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