“I object, your
honour. Ms. Pennington’s point is not
only lame, it is nonsensical. I swear,
she must have received her law degree through a correspondence school. Is she really this stupid?”
turned her most vicious gaze on the opponent who was busy slagging her off in
open court. She was accustomed to hating her legal opponents, feeling that she
was a more effective litigator when she enjoyed crushing the other side. When they were broken, financially and
emotionally, she experienced a churning within her veins as if her blood had
turned to molten lava. If one sobbed or
shuddered with dismay, she felt moisture accumulating in her loins, partially
held back by her panties as if the thin silky cloth was a delicate dam.
But the sensations of
the battle were quite distinguishable from those associated with the inevitable
victory. In the midst of the sparring,
Andrea generally felt nervous and upset.
She utterly despised the fact that the court system permitted her
adversary to talk without interruption.
This time, with Mary
Mahoney, it was the worst ever.
Something about Mary rankled Andrea to the marrow. She felt nauseous every time she saw
her. When Mary spoke, Andrea nearly
Perhaps what Andrea
loathed about Mary was the fact that she was so very much like her.
They were both
beautiful. Andrea was thirty-six, with
long, auburn hair. Mary was thirty-two,
with a short blond mane, well-coiffed at all times. They were both quite well endowed,
physically, in a feminine sense, although Andrea was petite–five two and quite
slim–and Mary was not–almost six feet and big boned. They both had lovely faces, although they
tended to wear frowns, scowls and expressions of utter disgust most of the
time. They were two aggressive, baiting,
loud and obnoxious lawyers. She had to answer
the challenge Mary had thrown out, whether she liked it or not.
“I went to Harvard
Law. My undergrad work was at Yale. My point was not unintelligible, your honor,
rather it was too subtle for the dim to see.”
Andrea really didn’t
like referring to judges as “your honor”.
She particularly felt ill at ease when the judge was another
female. What had Silvia Johnson, the
Judge sitting high on the bench in front of Andrea, done to earn such
respect? She had gone through law
school, passed the bar and now she was making about a tenth of Andrea’
Silvia was close to
fifty years old. She was quite
attractive, with long black hair, although her age was starting to show and she
was obviously, in Andrea’s perception, struggling with her weight.
“The objection is
sustained, counsel. I don’t understand
your point, either.”
snickered just a bit, then smirked openly.
glowered, disdainfully, powerfully and arrogantly.
The atmosphere in the
court crackled with humour and interest, female protagonists usually gave the
Andrea sighed with
the full capacity of her lungs. She
released it audibly, expressing her contempt in a way which would not land her
in jail for the night. Then she closed
her eyes and took a five second vacation from the current discomfort of her
life, the sight of her hated opponent, a Judge she detested and a case which
wasn’t going well. She had developed
this skill to a fare-thee-well. It meant
a brief trip into fantasy, into the past which was an escape, a refuge from all
that beset her.
Here Mary was a
princess in ancient Troy, a spoiled brat.
Silvia was Queen Hecuba. Andrea
herself was a stunning Mycenaean princess who had recently been captured by a
Trojan raiding party and was being held to be sold as a slave to a people she
utterly detested. She spied Mary and
Silvia and immediately hated them more than anyone else. It was late at night and the awful,
celebrating Trojan scum had just pulled the huge wooden horse left by the
Greeks into their city walls. The air
was thick with fumes of food, ale and the mixed scents of trees and exotic
Oh, how Mary and
Silvia danced for joy and openly taunted the captives of the war! They insulted and threatened, with Mary
loudly describing in great detail that she planned to claim Andrea as her own
slave, how she would work her, punish her and freely lend her for the sexual
pleasures of others. Andrea felt in her
daydream as she felt standing in court, hating Mary and Silvia so badly that
she could have put their eyes out with her own thumbs and not felt the
Night fell in the
first second of Andrea’ daydream. The
awful Trojans had slipped off into drunken stupors, falling down alongside
hastily lit fires, the overturned tankards of ale adding to the smell. As silence fell, the belly of the wooden
horse opened and ropes dropped out like entrails. Greek soldiers shinnied down and in a short
time opened the gates. An enormous army
rushed in, primed for the fight. The
noise was fantastic, clashing of swords, yells of the triumphant soldiers,
yelling of women. The drunken Trojans
were overwhelmed before they were fully conscious. Only the slaves stood, hoping for freedom,
scared to draw too much attention to themselves.
Andrea was set free
by a Greek soldier. She used her freedom to grab some food and then go
searching for Mary who had been claimed by one of the soldiers. Her arms were bound in front of her by a rope
and she was being yanked along behind his purposeful stride in a recalcitrant stumble. Her pretty face, which had been gloating and
smirking so gleefully not five hours before, was now frozen in an expression of
unspeakable horror. Andrea revelled in
She followed the pair
down to the harbor where Mary was unceremoniously loaded into the dark, dank
hull of a huge ship. The Captain saw Andrea standing on the quayside and
offered a ride in his quarters, something she gratefully accepted.
By noon they had set
off for Greece. Safe in her new
position, replete with food and ale, Andrea inquired of the Captain about the
conditions for the prisoners. The
Captain smiled. “Prisoners? Oh, you mean the slaves. Come.
I’ll show you.”
As she followed the
Captain down a long spiral set of rough wooden stairs, Andrea heard, felt and
smelled the scene before she saw it. She
touched the Captain’s arm gently, indicating that she wanted to pause and
wallow in the sensations before she witnessed the circumstances.
Every thirty seconds
there was a loud smacking sound followed immediately by a muffled yelp. That noise gave way to the loudest yell that
Andrea could imagine. The word bellowed
was an extended “pulllllll!” She heard
whooshing and other smacks, emphasised by anguished female screams. The heat emanating from the hull was
horrendous and baleful. It was like an
oven, the stench sickening in the extreme.
Satisfied with her
preliminary impressions, Andrea smiled and nodded and the Captain led the way
The haughty female
nobility and royalty of Troy had been turned into a galley of slaves doing
their utmost to propel the heavy ship.
They were sweating profusely, each and every face reflecting the agony
of over-exertion. They were naked and
chained in place. There were a hundred
female breasts of different shapes and sizes, fully exposed, bouncing, twisting
and contorting with the immense effort of the bodies to which they were
Andrea giggled. It was a very funny sight and a fulfilling
The slaves were
seated on rough wooden benches, two to a bench and one bench to each side of a
long walkway down the middle. They
tightly grasped the long, thick, obviously heavy oars. There was a wooden railing just in front of
them that confused Andrea. The centre
walk-way was occupied by three young women pacing back and forth, attired in
scanty outfits, ominously brandishing canes, scrutinizing the rowers and
laughing delightedly. Andrea knew
them. They had been mistreated slaves of
the Trojans not a day in the past.
At the back end of
the vessel, raised up slightly and sitting on a comfortable chair, Andrea saw
Helen. Helen, whose abduction had
instigated the war, had fallen out of favour in Troy and had been treated most
vilely and with humiliating disrespect for years, particularly by Queen Hecuba. Andrea supposed that Hecuba had committed
suicide during the debacle or, if captured, was being treated well, if not
kindly, as befits a Queen.
Next to Helen stood a
large Nubian woman with very black skin and hair. She had thick muscles which were glistening
with perspiration. She had undoubtedly
been a slave in Troy since there had been no free Nubians there. She was naked above the waist and held a
short flat sword in her hand. Before her
was a bright red drum of sorts, extending up from a wooden cabinet. The drum skin was rounded in an odd way.
Helen nodded. The Nubian swung her sword in a huge arc and
brought it down with great strength onto the drum. A muffled yet desperate wail was heard from
the cabinet. Helen beamed happily and
shouted out “pulllllllllll!” triumphantly, angrily and spitefully.
The rowing slaves
groaned as one as if they had practiced their line together. Each pair of slaves grunted and lifted their
heavy oar straight up, obviously out of the sea water. They slowly and with obvious effort pushed
the oar forward, lifting up in their seats until finally they had pushed the
oar so far ahead that they had to lay their bellies on the wooden rail in front
of them. Their arms were shaking
violently with the strain until, when they were completely out of their seats
and leaning forward as far as they could reach, they let the oar drop back into
the water with a simultaneous collapse.
Andrea glanced at the
wooden wall of the hull. Each oar
followed an oblong slot which permitted it to be lifted entirely out of the
water, pushed forward, dropped down and pulled back
in the desired rowing
The three former
slaves in the middle of the current slaves sprung into action. They snapped out insults. “You’re lazy, bitch.” “You’re not doing your part, Trojan
noble.” “Look at that fat butt of yours,
slave.” The points were emphasised by
lifting their canes from their sides above their heads, until they stepped
forward and swung the implements downward with all their strength. Each one struck a Trojan bottom. Each Trojan howled with agony and a fresh
welt appeared on the flesh. Andrea
looked around and noticed that all the Trojan bottoms were well marked.
The Trojans paused to
gather their strength. Then they pulled
back on the oar, rolling off the beam in front of them, sitting back on the
hard wooden benches and pulling the paddle through the water until they had
laid fully back, parallel with the deck and with the portion of the oar that
they held pulled up between their breasts and their armpits. It was maximum rowing effort.
The three slaves who
had been struck all winced and yelped when their freshly sore bottoms hit the
hard wood. Andrea laughed at the
spectacle. Then she saw Mary. She
gloated and smirked. Mary turned, saw
her and shivered with dismay. Andrea
watched through the next cycle of rowing and, when one of the former slaves saw
where Andrea was staring, aimed the stroke of her switch at Mary’s tormented
It was like a song to
“How did that feel,
slave?” she shouted.
Uh.” It was a moaning response.
“That’s it, Trojan,
wriggle your sore bottom. It looks like
an obscene silly dance.”
The Captain chortled
at the taunt.
Andrea called out,
more generally: “Just think, slaves, with all your efforts up to now, we are
about a mile or so out of your former harbour.
You have fifty or a hundred times more than that to go.”
slumped. The Captain laughed out loud,
appreciating the wit.
“And, when you finally arrive in Greece, you will be herded off of this ship,
run through the streets naked, displayed on an auction block and sold to the
highest bidder. You spoiled, bratty
bitches, who never worked a day in your lives!
It’s just starting. You’re
learning what’s in store for you forever.
You’ll clean toilets and stables.
You’ll work the mines and fields from before dawn until well after
dusk. In between your labours, you’ll
spread your slutty legs and lips at the whim of others and suffer beatings and
tortures if you don’t satisfy them just perfectly. You’ll get down on your hands and knees and
lick the sweat from the feet of your masters and mistresses and even their
smelly, stupid children. You’ll eat disgusting
gruel out of bowls like a dog on the days you are lucky enough to eat at all.”
Andrea punctuated her
tirade with a raucous laugh. Most of the
slaves sobbed overtly. The Captain
bellowed his appreciation. Andrea was encouraged
to ask a question.
“Whatever happened to
Queen Hecuba? Is she receiving special
treatment on account of her status?”
treatment? In a sense. She was the highest, most esteemed of all
Trojans. That makes her the lowest of
The Captain motioned
for Andrea to follow him. He walked over
to the cabinet near Helen and opened a door in the front of it. Andrea gasped with sheer joy.
Hecuba was not being
treated as a former Queen. Instead, she
was the drum. She was secured upside
down, naked, her bottom being used as the drum skin. Further down, the Greek soldiers were taking
turns lying underneath her red face. She
was orally stimulating them. Each time
her sore bottom was smacked by the heavy sword wielded by the strong Nubian,
Hecuba’s scream was muffled by the male member on which she dutifully continued
about. She could see Greek men lounging
off to the side and could tell by their posture and demeanor that they had
already had their way with the former Queen.
Yet she didn’t see a drop of the product of a male ejaculation. Andrea smiled. She knew where it was. It had settled, uncomfortably no doubt, in
the belly of Hecuba.
“Counsel, why are you
just standing there? You’re wasting the
Hecuba had spoken in
a most disrespectful tone - only it wasn’t Hecuba. It was Judge Silvia Johnson. They weren’t on the high seas. They were in court, in 21st Century Los Angeles. Mary was giggling and
almost dancing. Andrea had permitted her
daydream to run a bit too long.
“May we have a short
recess, your honour? I, um, need to, well,
break, if you know what I mean.”
Andrea hated to sound
so meek and respectful to someone like Silvia.
“You have to use the
How dare the bitch
identify Andrea’s bodily function requirement for so many strangers!
“Fine. We’ll take a brief break. Don’t dawdle, counsel.”
God, how Andrea
despised Silvia and her arrogance! God,
how she hated Mary and her obnoxiousness!
She walked quickly, almost running to the ladies’ room, where she sat in
a stall and masturbated.
It occurred to her
that she had probably been born about two, three or maybe even four thousand
years too late. She would have loved to
live in barbaric times, the more primitive the better. She would have made a fabulous ancient Queen
although her sniveling pathetic little slave girls wouldn’t have thought so.