The Torture of Paris

Here it is, as promised! I know some of this is not factually accurate, but it's just fiction.

Odysseus glanced over from his position in a large comfortable chair as Paris was shoved unceremoniously into his chambers. The king observed the young man lying on the floor on his belly, blood dried and caked to the backs of his legs, the unruly dark curls falling every which way.

The youth managed to right him self and Odysseus could see he was still in a permanent state of arousal. The cock was standing rod-straight and oozing pre-cum. Obviously, the soldiers had not allowed Paris release before dragging him away from the garden in which they had taken their turns with him.

Paris's face was covered in bruises, as was the rest of his lean, emaciated body. It pained Odysseus to see that, even after only a few days in the hands of Menelaus and Agamemnon, the boy was already losing weight quickly. His nudity only enhanced the collarbones sharply cutting against golden-bronzed skin. His legs were almost bird-like in appearance and there were no doubt insects in his hair.

Odysseus knew that the Greek princess, Marishka, was dead, but he had been told she poisoned herself. This of course, he thought of as folly, knowing in his wise heart that she had been murdered in order to keep Paris from receiving any care or kindness. A shame it was, as her father was also dead, having been killed by soldiers sent by Agamemnon and Menelaus specifically to make sure he never returned.

It seemed the only place the kings didn't rule with their heartless tyranny was Odysseus's home of Ithaca. The thought crossed his mind of taking the boy back home with him, but he dismissed it. What would his wife say? What would Ithaca say? Moments after those thoughts crossed his mind, however, he realized he didn't care. This young man was suffering and Odysseus wanted to get him away from a life of torment.

But how? There was no way he could sneak him out that night. The plan had been brewing in his mind ever since he had laid eyes upon the savagery in the garden. No man, no matter what his crime, deserved to be treated worse than an animal.

Odysseus stood and Paris immediately cowered. He sank back onto the floor and began rocking and sobbing. "Please...allow me one night of rest, my lord. Tomorrow I shall be ready to service you as you see fit."

The king of Ithaca stood over the pitiful sobbing wretch and then knelt before him. "I'm not going to hurt you, boy. It is the furthest notion from my mind."

Paris looked up, his face soiled and streaked with tears. He seemed not to believe what Odysseus said and then glanced down at the state he was in. "It hurts so..."

"Remedy it." Odysseus stood back up and walked outside onto his terrace. Paris sat dumbfounded on the floor. Was this some kind of trick?

When he realized the man wasn't going to move or harm him, Paris did what he had first done when Marishka had washed him the first night. His hands found himself and began to stroke the hard skin in a rapidly paced fashion. Paris did nothing to conceal his moans, figuring if any guards were stationed outside the door, they wouldn't be suspicious of what was occurring inside.

When he came, the hot semen spilling over his chest stung him badly, working itself into the cuts and scrapes he had received from being bent over the couch and jerked to and fro. Paris could not hide the cry of anguish that escaped his lips.

The king re-entered his chambers. "I am Odysseus, king of Ithaca. I already know you are Paris of Troy and I intend to take you to safe harbor as soon as the opportunity presents itself."

Paris stared at him, dumbfounded. He was going to be taken out of here? No, it wasn't possible. Marishka had tried to save him and she couldn't. Why was this man any different?

It seemed Odysseus read his thoughts. "She could not get you out of here because she did not have the power that I do."

He spoke of her in past tense. It didn't take Paris long to realize what that meant. "She's...dead..."

"Yes, she was murdered by your captors, Paris. A beautiful, kind and gentle woman she was. I swear by my life I will kill those two pigs before I am laid to rest."

Tears ran silently down Paris's cheeks at the loss of his Grecian princess. Deep in his heart, when he had been tormented and raped countless times, he had thought of her, of the possibility of freedom and a lifetime with Marishka. Now those hopes were dashed.

"She would not want you to dwell on her death."

He was right. Paris had to check himself in order to keep what little strength he had left reserved for escaping. If that would ever even happen.

Sorry it's short guys but hopefully the next chapter will be longer.