Kassandra AC Odyssey: Hero Worship (Part 2)

“Oh yes,” the Bacchus rubbed his hands together, “Anything that comes into my house uninvited is mine. And you will make a delectable dish.”

He paused, his grin fading slightly as he seemed to consider something. Yet the eager glint never left his eyes.

“Alenos,” he said, “Close the door, if you please. Our evening plans have just changed.”

Alenos, the brute with the eyepatch, turned to do as he was told.

“I’ve never enjoyed a demi-goddess before,” the Bacchus took a small step back, “Cletus, Phillipus? She won’t be needing clothing for our games. Help the Eagle Bearer to be more comfortable.”

Cletus and the crooked-nosed man, Phillipus, shared a grin then crouched down beside Kassandra, beginning their pleasurable task.

“Helios?” the Bacchus looked around, “Oh, right. Unconscious. Adrastos? Come with me. I’ll need you to help me set up the necessaries.”

The smug criminal turned and strode away, still rubbing his hands, Adrastos following behind.

“Let us see…” the Bacchus mused, strolling past several ominous-looking devices, “The Vultures of Prometheus would suit her physicality… but I would love to see how the Sisyphus Stone makes her use her legs…”

Alenos pushed the heavy door until it banged shut, then lifted the bar with a grunt to lock it in place.

Phoibe hardly noticed them. Her eyes were on Kassandra.

The demi-goddess didn’t move as Phillipus lifted her leg, resting her calf on his knee to undo one of her greaves. He undid the catches, slipped it off and set it to the side, then began untying her sandals. Once done, he pushed her leg off, letting it plop to the floor, then moved to the other side to repeat the process.

At her upper half, Cletus unbuckled her bracer, then lifted her muscular arm to work it free.

“So much for the Eagle Bearer,” he grinned, letting Kassandra’s bare arm flop down, “All that talk about her and she’s just another pretty face.”

The white-bearded thug slipped the circlet off the woman’s brow, then tossed it down where he’d placed the bracer.

“It’s the same with all so-called heroes,” Phillipus smirked, “They’re unstoppable in tales. But in real life, they fall like leaves as easy as anyone else.”

He patted thigh, feeling the thick shape jiggle, then pushed it off his knee.

“Hnh,” Cletus nodded in agreement, “Here, sit her up so I can get the breast plate.”

As Phillipus took the heroine’s wrists, Phiobe’s nose crinkled in confusion.

The brute pulled on the limp arms, drawing her lazily up to a sitting position and Kassandra didn’t fight back. Once she was upright enough, her head nodded forward to rest on her chest, but otherwise she didn’t move as Cletus undid the buckle of the strap that held her bow and quiver. He set them aside, removing the last of Kassandra’s weapons, then began undoing the buckles on her breastplate. And still she didn’t move!

Phoibe sat up a bit straighter in her basket, her heart beginning to pound. What was Kassandra doing? Why wasn’t she fighting back? Didn’t she know these men were undressing her?!

Cletus undid the last catch and lifted the armor from Kassandra’s chest. Beneath she was shining with sweat, wearing only a white cloth wrapped around her breasts, the tips poking through.

“Heh,” Phillipus sneered at her chest, “That’s a lovely sight.”

“Like ripe apples,” Cletus chuckled, setting the gleaming breastplate aside, “I heard all Spartan women are like this. As fit as Artemis and beautiful as Aphrodite.”

Phoibe clenched her eyes closed, waited a moment, then blinked them wide open. It wasn’t a dream. The men laid her hero back down on the floor, then rolled her onto her side to undo her skirts. Kassandra remained limp, letting the men strip her, take her armor, her dignity. Why was she letting them do that?!

They slipped the garment out from under her, leaving her in a cloth undergarment that bundled around her rounded flanks.

“Well, she’s definitely got the ass of Artemis,” Phillipus patted the swollen shape, “Feels like a racehorse.”

“Better get those too,” Cletus said as he unwrapped the cloth on Kassandra’s chest, “Sadly, the master says we have to take it all.”

“Yeah,” Phillipus grinned, “Sadly.”

The men drew off the last of Kassandra’s garments. Cletus drew the wrap from her chest and her bare breasts were freed. Phillipus unwrapped the cloth from her hips, then slipped it free to reveal her bared backside.

Phoibe’s eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat.

Kassandra’s bottom was full and protruding with muscle, the two globes capturing a smooth, deep shadow between them, slightly lighter than the rest of her skin. It jiggled slightly as Phillipus yanked her underwear free. It was smooth, shining, but so… unheroic. An embarrassing secret, the same one everyone had. Prettier than most, but that’s all. Mortal. Human.

A hole felt like it had been punched in Phoibe’s stomach. On reflex she tried to shake the feeling away, to deny what she was seeing. This was the champion of Pankration, the slayer of the Medusa, the Cyclops, the Minotaur, undefeated in the arena. The blessed of Zeus, the heir of Leonidas, the Eagle Bearer.

But she wasn’t moving.

Phillipus enjoyed giving the Eagle Bearer’s butt a few smacks with his palm, then captured a cheek and squeezed. Cletus let his hand roam over her chest, then closed his fingers over a breast and hefted it gently, as if guessing its weight. They were allowed to do this, with no struggle or even a protest from their victim.

Phoibe found herself trembling, an icy fist gripping her heart.

Had Kassandra just… lost?

The light inside the chamber brightened as Adrastos lit a wall lamp with his torch. Once the first was lit, he moved to the next, wiping away the room’s shadows.

Phoibe didn’t notice. Her fists were clenched so tight it hurt and she bit her lip, staring desperately at her fallen hero.

“Kassandra…” she whispered, “Get up, Kassandra…!”

At one side of the room, the Bacchus turned the crank on a strange device of planks and metal. It was stained black and artfully carved to appear like numerous snakes, writhing together to form a pair of cranes, side by side. The carvings were much too elaborate for a simple construction device, a pair of shackles hung from each crane’s arm, and there were numerous other posts and straps that seemed to serve no purpose. It was a machination of the slaver’s design, meant for a very specific use.

“The Serpents of Laocoon,” the Bacchus stroked one of the carvings fondly, “You haven’t gotten to have any fun lately, have you, my slithering friends?” he turned to Cletus and Phillipus, “Gentlemen, bring my newest toy here, please. I believe it’s time my serpents were introduced to an eagle.”

The two brutes grinned at each other.

“And pick her up, please,” the Bacchus continued, “I don’t want her dirtied. Alenos, get the oil, if you would.”

Phillipus looped his arm under Kassandra’s knees, while Cletus just grabbed her braid like a handle, then the pair lifted her from the floor and carried her towards their master’s device. It looked extremely uncomfortable, half her body weight supported by her hair, craning her neck and pulling at her scalp, but Kassandra didn’t struggle. Her arms dangled, fingers almost dragging the floor, but the most resistance she put up was to make a pained face and let out a soft groan.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes…” the Bacchus was rubbing his hands together again as his men brought her to him, “Her body is perfect for the serpents. So strong in the flanks! So supple!”

He stepped aside to let his men put her in the machine.

Phoibe bit her lip until it hurt. Kassandra could still win, she tried to tell herself. Yes, she had been disarmed and stripped naked, but she wasn’t entirely helpless yet. As long as she fought free before they restrained her in that scary machine, she had a chance. She just had to start fighting.

“Come on, Kassandra…” she whispered, “Come on… fight…”

The men turned Kassandra around and moved her to the machine, manipulating her limp body into it with the ease of practice.

There were two sides of the machine, completely symmetrical. They set the Eagle Bearer on the left side, first laying her waist across a thick post, letting her drape over it like a wet rag while they placed her feet together. A strap attached to the base was pulled around her ankles and cinched painfully tight, Phillipus jerking on it with all his weight to ensure there was no wiggle room.

Kassandra groaned again, stiffening slightly at the discomfort the strap caused. She began trying to grope around with her hands, but before she could do anything productive, or even lift her head, Cletus fitted her wrists into the manacles that dangled from the crane. He locked one first, then the other, then gave them a quick tug to make sure they were secure.

“Come on!” Phoibe hissed with more urgency, “Do something!”

With the Eagle Bearer’s feet secured to the floor, Phillipus moved to her waist, drawing another strap across her lower back, cinching her against the post. He gave this one another hard jerk, making Kassandra grunt and then cough.

At the same time, Cletus turned the device’s crank, reeling the chain attached to her manacles back into the arm of the crane. Her wrists rose steadily as gears inside the machine clanked.

The device left Kassandra in a very awkward position. She was held bent at the waist, feet locked still with her legs straight, but as the chain pulled her arms higher, it forced her chest to rise up, bowing her back and forcing her hindquarters to stick out further.

Even in her dazed state, Kassandra began to realize something was very wrong. She shifted and tried to lift her head, blinking glazed eyes.

The Bacchus strode around to her front as her arms were gradually pulled higher and higher. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head up, grinning into her dim, unfocused gaze.

“Hssss…” he flicked out his tongue, “The serpents have you, Eagle Bearer. They yearn to taste your firm body.” His eyes narrowed, “And so do I.”

His grip on her hair keeping her in place, he lunged in and forced his mouth to hers, his lips capturing, tongue plunging. It was invasive, violent, working his head around to go deep, gnashing, growling and making other hungry sounds.

“Kassandra!” Phoibe said, slightly louder.

Abruptly the top was yanked off her basket. The little thief jumped with a sharp gasp.

Above her, squinting into her basket, was Helios, the fifth henchman that Kassandra had knocked out earlier in the battle.

Phoibe froze. Eyes wide and mouth gaping, she stared almost directly up into the giant’s face. Her heart clenched as his annoyed scowl slowly spread into a grin.

“Heh,” the brute narrowed his eyes, “Well, well…”

With no possible room to squirm away or run, Phoibe could only shrink down into the basket as far as she could as the man’s massive hand reached in to grab her.

The Bacchus and the other goons didn’t notice Phoibe’s shriek of fear, being too busy with her older friend.

Alenos, Adrostos, and Phillipus were greatly enjoying rubbing oil onto Kassandra’s body, grinning at each other as they occasionally dabbed on a few more dollops, then spread it along her thighs, over her breasts, or polished around and around on each side of her rump. Cletus enjoyed how each turn of the device’s winch put further strain on the Eagle Bearer’s arms, stretching them up and forcing her to arch all the more passionately.

“Nrff… nhhmmm!” Kassandra began to struggle more coherently as the pull on her arms grew painful. She wiggled and tried to pull her head back, blinking her eyes wide. Not yet understanding what was stifling the air to her mouth, she breathed sharply through her nose, gray eyes slowly coming into focus.

Wise to such things, the Bacchus broke his forceful kiss before she could bite him. He licked his lips, grinning wickedly.

“Maybe you are part goddess,” he sniggered, “You taste divine. I will have to have another sample after you’re more tamed, my healthy-hipped heroine.”

Kassandra shook her head, blinking her eyes rapidly.

“Wh-what in…” she shook her shoulders and pulled at her wrists, “What the—AAAAAH!”

The men all laughed as the crane pulled her arms taut, stretching them to their limits. Her joints popped, fingers curling into claws, body stiffening as she tried to resist the pull.

“Oh, what a lovely, full throated cry!” the Bacchus chuckled, “More will be coming very soon.”

He circled around the device to a copper vase. Rather than a plant, inside the vase were the handles of numerous slender tools. He took one handle, drew it partially out to reveal a flexible wooden rod, then pushed it back in and drew out another with a slightly different texture and shape.

“I’m going to learn all your cries by heart tonight,” the slaver said as he perused the selection, “The bellow of agony, the little wails of despair, the gasping groans of passion… every single note.”

Cletus turned the winch one more click then stopped before it dislocated the heroine’s shoulders. He locked it in place then joined the others as they prepared to enjoy the show.

“Y-you… fucking…” Kassandra’s voice was tight with discomfort, “Cowardly… goat-fucking shits!”

In her attempt to struggle, she clenched and tossed her head, but was pulled so taut she could do little else. She twisted her wrists in the manacles, gritted her teeth, couldn’t even buck with putting painful strain on her back or arms. Almost completely immobilized, body forced to display all its curves, she snarled in fury, then let out a yell of pure frustration.

“FUCK!” she roared, “I’m going to kill every last ONE of you MALLAKAS! I’ll TEAR your ARMS off! I’ll rip the eyes from your HEADS!”

As the Eagle Bearer cursed and threatened, the Bacchus sidled up behind her with his chosen tool: a slender, leather whip, the end of the lash forked in two. He ignored her angry cries, instead eyeing her presented bottom, which shone with fresh oil. He squinted one eye shut and canted his head, an artist eyeing his canvas.

“Yes,” he mused, “I think it’s only suitable that you feel the tongue of the serpent first. After that, we’ll see where we are, hm?”

He drew the whip back.

“Shit eating weaklings!” Kassandra roared, “My eagle will peck the—!”

CRACK!

The first lash of the whip was so painful and sudden that Kassandra’s throat clenched tight, leaving her unable to cry out. Her head bucked up and her mouth gaped, eyes bulging with shock, but she was unable to do more than make a strangled squeak.

The men behind her almost saw the pain rush through her. The way her flanks rippled, then everything seemed to shoot out straight, from the tips of her toes to the tips of her fingers, muscles clenching tight. It left a long, crisp mark across the unmarred heart shape of her backside, quickly pinkening.

They chuckled and before Kassandra could fully unclench, the whip cracked again, crossing another pink welt across the first.

Kassandra did cry out this time, much shriller than the men had expected. Her body went taut once more, fingers clenching into claws, but she couldn’t otherwise move. She was a perfectly stationary target, a piece of marble ready for the touch of the sculptor.

The whip cracked again and again Kassandra couldn’t restrain a humiliating shriek. She gritted her teeth, preparing for the next one, but still cried out again, girlish and open mouthed.

“Did you think you knew pain, Eagle Bearer?” the Bacchus spoke gently.

His whip bounced her ass once more, the crack a stark contrast to his soft words.

“You know how to kill, but there are so many nuances to the feelings burgeoning inside your body,” he struck again, drawing another feminine scream, “We will explore together tonight. See just how much feeling you’re capable of.”

While the others watched the master ply his trade, Helios strolled towards them with his arm outstretched. Dangling from that arm by her hair bob, Phoibe grabbed at his fist and pedaled her feet, squirming about as much as she dared.

“Let—OW—me GO!” she squealed, sounding like a mouse compared to Kassandra, “Put me—AH! Put me down! Put me down!”

Helios ignored her kicking and fussing, marching towards his comrades with a broad grin. In one hand was the girl, the other was the script, taken from her with ease.

“Hey, I found the little thief!” he chuckled, “She had the list too! Know where she was hiding?”

There was another crack and Kassandra let out a particularly shrill cry. The other four men chuckled and elbowed each other, eyes gleaming as they watched the show.

“Hey!” Helios said again, “I said I found the little—SHIT!”

As he bounced the little girl higher to get the others’ attention, her hair bun gave away. He quickly tried to grab her again, but her silky hair slipped through his fingers.

She landed and immediately started to run, but Helios caught her by the arm before she could get far. She jerked at his grip and shrieked, still trying to run. Her legs pumped and pedaled, but her feet simply slipped, scampering without getting traction; the man’s grip was too strong. The little adventurer might as well have been running in place.

“Not so fast, brat.” Helios chuckled drawing her back towards him.

“Let me go, you malaka!” Phoibe shrilled, continuing to tug at his grip.

“I don’t think so,” the brute sneered, “We enjoy catching squeaky little street rats. Master always has fun games we can play with them.”

Phoibe quickly saw her twisting and pulling was getting nowhere. There was another tested and true method to get free if someone grabbed her like this, but it was risky and required more skill than one might think. Still, with no other option, she went for it.

She lunged back and bit down as hard as she could on one of his thick, sausage fingers.

Helios roared. She hadn’t even managed to draw blood, but the surprise of it made him immediately recoil his hand.

In fact, he let go so suddenly that Phoibe lost her balance and fell to the floor.

The little thief grunted in surprise of her own, quickly scrambling up, but not fast enough.

“You little--!” Helios lunged down, grabbing her by the ankle.

“Nyee-EEK!” Phoibe squealed as she found herself yanked up into the air, hanging upside down.

Even as she was pulled upwards, she was already struggling like an angry cat, but her skirts fell down as she did, revealing her small, lamb-skin underwear. Seeing this, she squealed again and tried to clamp her skirt down to her thighs. It was a losing battle. If she tried to hold them in place in the front, they fell down in the back and her struggles only made it worse.

“No!” she blushed, alternately squirming and trying to protect her modesty, “Stoppit, you goat-brained hog’s ass! Let me go!”

Helios lifted her to his eye level and glared; Phoibe glared back, hands clamped jealously on her skirts. His scarred, lumpy face was more intimidating as it narrowed into a scowl, but the girl’s pixie features crinkled right back at him, angrier and more embarrassed than he was.

“You little Tartaros spawn.” the big man growled, “Where are you going to run now?”

Phoibe wrinkled her nose and gave him the most furious expression she could manage, while at the same time trying to hold her skirts over her bottom.

“I-I’m not scared of you!” she cried, “When Kassandra escapes, she’s going to c-cut all your heads off! Or—or kill you in another nasty way!”

To show just how scared she wasn’t, the little adventurer stomped at his wrist. She gave it several good thumps with her sandal, which didn’t hurt the brute one bit.

“Hmph,” Helios sneered, “Is that so?”

“Yes, it is VERY so!” Phoibe shouted in his face, “She is the chosen of Zeus! She is almost a goddess herself!!”

Even as the girl kicked and threatened him, her large captor took hold of her belt, changing his grip so she dangled from it instead.

“She killed the actual cyclops!” Phoibe shouted and thrashed, “Th-three actual— actual cyclopses! Five! Your think you’re big?!”

Helios carried her by her belt to a nearby table, like she was a picnic basket.

“You’re an ant compared to a cyclops!” she continued to cry out, “Kassandra killed them e-easily! She’s won thousands—ten thousands of battles! By her—olff!”

She was cut off as he dropped on the edge of the table, tummy first.

“—her—herself! She’s slain kings! A-armies!”

Pinning her to the table with one hand, Helios undid her belt with the other, yanking it out from under her and tossing it aside.

Phoibe’s voice grew louder.

“You haven’t even begun to see her power! She has more strength than—neek!”

He grabbed a handful of her hair so he could yank her chiton up over her back, exposing her from the shoulders down.

“Listen to me! LISTEN! She will make you very sorry!” Phoibe’s voice squeaked with desperation.

Helios let go of her hair to plant a hand on her bare back, then paused. The little thief was lithe and slender with youth, not as round in the hips as her mentor, but clearly not a boy either. Her legs were faunish, skinny in places, but surprisingly filled out in others, shaping into a perky bottom. As she kicked, the little cheeks worked against each other, shifting and bouncing beneath her tan underwear, slightly lighter than her olive complexion.

“Sh-she—will punish you!” she shrieked, voice strained, almost pleading, “Badly! TERRIBLY!”

His hand rose.

“Even Zeus himself will—AAAIIEEEEEE!”

Phoibe’s frantic threats were cut off when his broad palm clapped down on her bottom.

“ZEUS WILL—AAAAAH-AAAAAH!”

His hand rose and clapped down again. Her head bucked and legs shot out at the shocking pain, but before she could brace herself, he smacked her rump again and again.

“ZEUS—AAAIIIIEEEE—” she squealed, “YOU CAN’T—AAAAOOOWWW!”

Helios chuckled, smacking her over and over, picking up a jaunty rhythm. Each blow made the globes ripple and every time the rest of her body tried to spring up beneath his pinning hand.

“Zeus doesn’t answer the prayers of mouthy little urchins,” he sneered as he continued to paddle her, “I AM Zeus to you, girl. And THIS is my lightning bolt.”

He gave her a particularly hard smack. It drew a pealing, broken cry.

“By morning, your great Eagle Bearer will be another whimpering slave,” Helios grinned, “And you will be right beside her.”

* * *

Kassandra’s naked, well-oiled body smacked into the marble floor and her portly opponent laughed in triumph.

“Ha HA!” the man’s belly wobbled as he threw his fists into the air, “Another fall for the Eagle Bearer!”

Applause pattered from the small audience. Seated on nearby cushions, they were mostly this man’s entourage and that of the Bacchus, whose villa they were using for this little gathering. The slave trader had many special rooms in his palatial estate and this one he’d cleared out for a specific purpose upon his capture of the Eagle Bearer.

Kassandra groaned from her stomach. Arms shaking, she tried to push herself up to all fours, but she was so slippery with oil that one hand squeaked out from under her and dropped her back on her face.

Her chubby opponent, red faced with exertion but grinning eagerly, stomped towards her.

“You’re not so strong!” he laughed, “Here! I’ll show you!”

Bending down, he grabbed a handful of her braid and dragged the dazed former misthios back to her feet.

Drunken, Kassandra pawed clumsily at the hand grasping her hair, but was clearly helpless to stop him. Once back on her feet, she stumbled, her mouth agape as she rasped for air, eyes cloudy and vacant. Her head rolled around unsteadily on her neck, her strong features now haggard and slack. It was all she could do to stand up, much less put up a fight against this admittedly unimpressive man.

Still holding her up by her braid, the man snuck a hand under her arm and squeezed one of her bare breasts, mugging towards his audience. They dutifully tittered and applauded, especially the Bacchus. He knew how to give his customers what they wanted.

After a moment of molding her glossy breast, the man turned Kassandra around by her shoulder. Sagging, zombie-like, she obediently stumbled about to face him and stood there, swaying like a wet reed. He bent down to put his shoulder into her stomach.

“Up… you go!” the man grunted, face further reddening as he picked the muscular woman over his shoulder.

He got her up over his shoulder, her bare, shining rump facing the crowd, though it clearly wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be. He stumbled back, his eyes widening as he almost lost his grip, but managed to right himself. Panting, but wearing a big grin, he gave the former champion’s butt a hard smack for the benefit of the crowd.

“Now…” he gasped, “Take… this!”

Reaching beneath her legs, he bent his knees, leaned forward, then threw himself back. It was far from a proper wrestling move and the effort made him fall backwards and land on his posterior, but he succeeded in dumping Kassandra off his shoulder to the floor. Her oily body hit the marble with another wet smack, flat on her stomach once more.

As the audience applauded once more, Phoibe kept her head down and tried not to watch. She’d seen this same event happen over and over the past few months and she knew it would only end one way.

Kassandra’s chubby opponent was so red-faced he looked like he was about to have a heart attack, but that didn’t stop him from continuing the match. He clambered off his butt, slipped and fell, clambered up again and managed to drop himself onto the naked heroine’s back.

Phoibe didn’t know much about this man other than he was some kind of rich merchant. He, like dozens more before him, had paid the Bacchus handsomely to enjoy a wrestling match with the famous Eagle Bearer. It was never a fair fight, Kassandra being drugged to the gills and sometimes even chained, but for the right to say they’d beaten the great demi-goddess herself, pampered men who had never seen a battlefield were more than willing to pay whatever was asked.

Once on her back, the man wrapped his hands under Kassandra’s chin.

“Feel my… power!” he roared, then pulled up on her head.

Kassandra’s back arched and she let out a drunken wail of pain, her bare feet smacking into the marble floor.

There had been a time when Phoibe had thought her hero was unbeatable, but after that one traumatic night she’d seen the Eagle Bearer beaten just like this, over and over again. She never gave these men any trouble and they toyed with her, taunted her, humiliated her. Sometimes she was dressed in her armor, sometimes they fought with wooden swords and spears, but inevitably she always lost. Just like now.

“You are no… match…” the man rasped, “For me… woman! Submit!”

Kassandra squirmed underneath him, choking. Desperation gave her eyes more focus, but there was clearly not much thought behind them. She made no intelligent attempts to free herself, only wriggled and kicked her feet, slapping clumsily at his grip on her chin.

She could never beat them; she always lost.

Kassandra’s struggles grew weaker as she ran out of whatever energy she had left. Her kicking slowed, her pawing hands growing feebler until they both fell to the floor. Finally she just went slack, still conscious but no longer fighting. Even in her drug addled state she knew resisting did her no good. She simply gave up.

And worst of all, Phoibe knew now that Kassandra would always lose. Her hero was as helpless as any mortal.

Whether due to the Eagler Bearer’s stillness or his own exhaustion, the man finally let her go. Kassandra’s head thumped back to the floor with a grunt.

“Vic…” the man threw his fists into the air, “Victory! I… am tri… umphant!”

Still sitting on the slumped woman’s back, he wobbled with his hands in the air, panting heavily. The audience gave him the biggest cheer yet, the Bacchus even standing up to applaud. The man beamed and accepted it as his due, but the way he was swaying in place and gasping for air, it looked like he might pass out.

Quick to avoid such a calamity, the Bacchus looked to two of his men and jerked his head in their customer’s direction. The goons nodded and hurried over to help him up.

“Well done, Kizacheus!” the slave trader continued to applaud, “Masterful! You handled her like a true champion!”

Kizacheus grunted as the men helped him up off the beaten misthios. He attempted to step over her and accidentally stepped on her shoulder, his foot slipping on her oily skin. He would have fallen if the men hadn’t caught him, but only laughed like he’d done it on purpose.

“Glorious!” the chubby merchant chortled as the men righted him, “You know… I was a champion wrestler not so long ago!”

The Bacchus strode towards him with a drink in hand.

“Clearly!” the slave trader gushed, “It’s rare that we see someone beat the Eagle Bearer so soundly!”

Phoibe sighed. If only that were true.

“Yes, well…” Kizacheus accepted the drink, “Not everyone has had my training.”

While the portly merchant brought the goblet to his lips and downed its contents, the Bacchus’ men were already cleaning up the mess. Several of them were already on their hands and knees, wiping up any excess oil or sweat with towels, while two more took care of Kassandra.

They settled beside her and rolled her over, flopping her onto her back, then gathered at her head and legs. Without expression, without bothering to watch how her breasts jiggled from the motion, they took her under the arms and by the ankles, then stood up, picking her up like an animal carcass. She groaned faintly, head hanging down between her arms as carried her away.

Once she was out of the way, they tossed her aside. She flopped to the floor and landed on her side, a discarded wreck.

Kizacheus turned to look at the fallen body for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he admired her muscular legs, the swell of her flanks, the way her body glistened from the oil.

“So…” he grinned, “How much to bed her?”

Phoibe didn’t bother listening to the negotiations. The merchant would be astounded by the price at first, then the Bacchus would explain what it meant to ravish a demi-goddess, cajoling. They’d haggle over a price, go back and forward, but eventually the Bacchus’ men would drag Kassandra to one of the bed chambers while the greedy merchant followed.

It was always the same.

Phoibe looked down at her own feet, hardly even heartbroken. She had seen this scene happen too many times to be too upset. She was no longer embarrassed by the costume she had to wear, a filmy loincloth with fake leaves over her breasts. This was just the way things were now. It had been a hard lesson, but she’d learned it well.

Soon enough, the Bacchus and Kazecheus struck a bargain and Kassandra was dragged away. Kazecheus followed with an eager grin, rubbing his hands together, and they disappeared into one of the nearby bed chambers. Before long, Phoibe knew grunts and moans would begin coming from that bed chamber, the sound of the merchant’s girth clapping against Kassandra’s flanks. The Bacchus would have another satisfied customer.

“Now then,” the Bacchus called, “Where is my dryad?”

Phoibe perked up at the call. Knowing he wouldn’t want to be kept waiting, she skipped to him as quickly as she could, not caring how her small loin cloth flipped up from the motion. Vines made of cloth twirled around her bare legs and arms, her cheeks flushed with make-up, golden glitter making her skin sparkle. He liked her as a water nymph and made sure she looked, and played, the part.

She bounced to a stop in front of him, batting her eyelashes.

“Here I am, mortal master!” she chirped, beaming hopefully.

She knew she would dance for him now. Perhaps she would fetch him some fruit, or if he was feeling particularly feisty he might spank her. She wouldn’t enjoy it, but would be rewarded later with better food and time to rest. That was all there was to her life now. No one was coming to save her.

There was no such thing as heroes.