The Torture of Paris

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Surely they did not intend to insert this horrid device into his tender rear entrance. Paris could only imagine where they had found it. Probably in the lowest chambers of the palaces in Greece, where the evil kings ruled their subjects much as a master would rule his slaves: with a cruel hand a merciless heart.

Agamemnon held up what looked like a gold chain. The only unusual thing about this chain was that instead of links, it was fitted together with large golden balls. And the balls were no ordinary balls. They had blunt spikes sticking out of them from all angles. Perfect to wreak havoc upon a person's hole. The balls did not look sharp enough to cut skin, but they looked as though they would put undue pressure on his already stretched opening. The gold balls themselves were large and Paris wondered if he might tear as the chain was inserted into his rectum.

"No, please...," he sobbed. "Please."

Agamemnon and Menelaus laughed loudly at his pathetic cries for clemency. This was too good for words. They wanted to draw out the insertion of the chain to make it even more painful for Paris. Menelaus grabbed a bottle of heavy oil from a nearby table and began to dribble it down over Paris' exposed hole. The young prince could feel the warm oil coating his opening, then dripping onto his cock and balls, warming them all over.

Fingers rubbed into his tight opening, pushing, prodding, forcing the unyielding ring of muscle to accept the fingers that were shoved unceremoniously inside of Paris' shaking, trembling form. Hot tears ran down his tanned, defined face and he sobbed loudly into his pillow. Where was Marishka?

He tried desperately to clench his cheeks together in order to possibly expel the hateful fingers, but it only served to allow them more access to his rear. He didn't know how wide he could be stretched until now. It seemed that the fingers were searching for his prostate yet again and Paris hoped that he didn't become hard again. If they noticed this, they would put that hated cock ring on him again.

"Look at how tight this prince still is," he heard Menelaus say to his brother. "Like we hadn't just had our pleasure with him."

A snort was Agamemnon's reply as he examined the golden chain that would soon be inside of Paris. "This little device is only reserved for our most special guests." He stepped up to Paris' sweating, tear-streaked face and held the chain right up to his dark brown eyes. "Every time you move, these little spikes will push around on that soft skin of yours. But trust me, it won't feel good at all. You see, there is a special little something on the tips of these spikes that will come out of the top when you move." He showed Paris the tips of the spikes and Paris watched as he moved his finger over the tip ever so slightly, then pulled back. A brown liquid came out of the hole and spread over the spike.

"That, boy, is a little itching liquid for you. Whenever you move, more of it will come out. And since you're tied up, you won't have any means of scratching or relieving yourself from that constant sensation."

Paris' heart was in his throat now. The cruelty of these two knew no bounds. They had no regard for human life whatsoever, and delighted in seeing their fellow man suffer. He sobbed even harder, not caring anymore about feeling fear, rage or anger. He was frightened and alone. No one was going to rush in and save him. No one was going to stop them from inserting the cruel device into his rear.

Crying loudly now, Paris clenched his cheeks together around the fingers still in his anus. It seemed they wanted to stay there. He was in so much pain from the stretching of his small hole that it literally felt as though he was being ripped apart. Surely they wouldn't drive the thing so far up inside of his body that it touched his prostate...would they? Paris didn't think the answer was too difficult to produce.

"Keep working him, brother," Agamemnon laughed to Menelaus. "We want him nice and ready for this."

"He's trying to hold himself shut," Menelaus answered, trying to keep his fingers inside, though Paris was pushing forcefully to get the offending digits out of his trembling, weak body.

Agamemnon was not having this. He grabbed Paris' hair and yanked his head backwards so hard that Paris thought his neck would snap. A sharp pain shot through his head as he found himself staring right into Agamemnon's ugly face. The king's foul breath found its way into his nostrils and he had to swallow to keep from vomiting.

"You'd best unclench that firm little hole of yours," he sneered at the terrified young man, pinching his nipples painfully. Paris let out a howl of agony and the twisting of his nipples made him momentarily release the muscles in his channel, allowing Menelaus to push more fingers inside of him. A scream erupted from Paris as he felt rough fingers playing with his prostate. He could feel his cock growing hard against the sheets again. He knew somehow that they would make sure he did not achieve release this time.

"That's better," Agamemnon laughed, slamming Paris' face down into the pillow. Another throbbing wave of pain shot through his face and he groaned loudly. Turning his head to the side, he looked out of the corner of his eye at the golden chain laying next to him on the bed. If he could scoot himself over a little bit and knock it off the bed with his hip...maybe the fluid would leak out and the chain would be of no use.

Apparently Agamemnon knew what he was trying to do when he started to slowly move his hips, trying not to cause any disturbance. Menelaus' fingers were still in his ass, but the pain had gotten to the point that he could barely feel it anymore.

Agamemnon smacked him across his face and then did something so embarrassing Paris' face burned bright red with humiliation. He spanked him! Bringing his heavy, calloused hands down on the prince's tender flesh, he left a crimson handprint on the white flesh of Paris' buttocks. Paris cried out more from shock than from the actual hurt. He was being spanked.

He was hit again, this time the pain in his buttocks being felt more. Menelaus pulled his fingers out and joined his brother in spanking the young, naked prince. He could feel the flesh swelling up on his rear and knew there would be serious welts there the next morning. Then they stopped abruptly and picked up the golden chain.

"No!" Paris screamed as he felt the cold end of the chain brushing his stinging anus. His cheeks were pulled apart by rough hands and he felt the chain being shoved into him. It was frighteningly cold and hard. And large. He knew he was being torn, literally. His hands were still tied, but he clenched them into fists and sobbed into his pillow. His cock was painfully large already and his balls were retreating into his belly.

Laughter was heard from behind Paris' shaking, weeping form as the object slid into him. It touched his prostate and then remained there, pushing on it mercilessly. He would have no relief, no matter the position he stayed in. Pain was enveloping him from every aspect of his being: his anus, cock and balls, his head was throbbing and his nipples were still sore from having been pinched.

When the object was finally all the way inside of him, Paris could feel the end of the chain draped sideways across his buttock. Then he was aware he was being turned over onto his back, his wrists and ankles twisting in the bonds and cutting. Blood began to drip from the cuts and Paris moaned quietly. He was feeling very ill now, and then he felt something he had never felt before.

His anus was itching. Very badly. He longed to tear the hated thing out of his channel, but it was no use. He tried his best not to move as the kings surveyed his bound body. His cock touched his taut belly and smeared pre-cum over his navel. His balls were tight and drawn up to his body and his nipples were a pink color from having been roughly fondled.

"Look at our lovely bound captive!" Menelaus jeered as they watched Paris' chest rise up and down quickly as he tried to regain control of his breathing from the arousal that he was experiencing with the chain deep inside of him.

Paris glared through his sweaty mop of dark, curly hair at them. It hung in his eyes and burned them. The itching in his passage was almost unbearable now and he whimpered slightly, losing his composure of anger. He was truly suffering. More laughter erupted from the two as his penis spurted a small wad of cum onto his stomach.

"We can't have him releasing, now can we?" Agamemnon said out loud. With that, he grabbed a piece of leather and wrapped it around the base of Paris' cock, tying it tightly so as to stop any more large amounts of cum from spurting forth.

Paris cried out at this new restraint on his body. Why was this happening to him? He was beginning to lose the will to fight anymore. It was useless; he would only be tortured and abused more. And what had Marishka told him? That they would kill him when they were done tormenting him? He believed it with his entire broken heart.

He longed for her compassionate touch, even if she did seem uninterested in him sexually. He wanted her to come and wash his wounds and wash away the hurt and pain and embarrassment he was suffering at the hands of these two evil men. She hated them; that he knew. But why hadn't she come this time? Surely she could hear his screams. The entire palace could, he was sure.

The fluid continued to ooze out over his tortured rear entrance, making him groan and try shifting his weight to relieve the unbearable itch in his channel. This only succeeded in coaxing more fluid out of the large spiked balls and making him more miserable. It felt as if tiny ants were crawling over his body, tickling his anus with their small, prickly legs.

Tears ran freely out of his eyes as he watched the warriors exit the room. He heard the door locking behind them and was left alone with his own thoughts. He lay there, listening to footsteps heading towards the door, then fading away as a palace royal approached his room, then turned sharply in another direction, not caring about the terrified young man in the chamber before him or her.

***

Marishka knew something had been done to Paris more awful than anything previously. She thought she knew what had happened as well. The golden chain had been inserted into his body, the vile itching fluid contained in the balls.

She was in her sleeping gown in her room. Sleep evaded her. Paris' screams of agony could be heard throughout the palace. Never before had Agamemnon and Menelaus resorted to stooping this low. All of the other prisoners were put in the dungeon after about a day. The kings tired of their fun usually after the first or second round. This was not so with Paris. They seemed to relish torturing him more than any other unfortunate human being to suffer their wrath.

Marishka thought of the handsome prince just down the hallway from her and couldn't help but feel warm and aroused when she thought of his naked torso. He had the most perfect rounded nipples that she longed to lick up and down with her tongue, tasting the salt of his skin. She longed to put her hands on his penis and feel the hot skin twitch beneath her slender fingers. If only she could nuzzle her dainty nose into that graceful column of his throat.

She mentally shook herself, but couldn't turn her mind away from the curls that hung in his face, sweating and damp with perspiration, the small spattering of freckles on his high, defined cheekbones and the lively brown eyes that burned with a passion she had never seen before. She knew of his fight with Menelaus months earlier to the fall of Troy and remembered hearing about the deep gash that the foul king had given him in his left thigh. She wished inside that she had been the one to mend his wound and cuddle him close, whispering words of comfort and love in his ear.

Marishka never disliked Helen; rather, she was a smidgen jealous of her. Helen was a lovely woman; always caring and kind but she ran away with Prince Paris and now this was the price they were to pay: she with her life and he with his soul.

Closing her green eyes, she realized that all noise from down the hall had stopped. It was deadly silent this time of night. It was nearly midnight and most of the palace was asleep. She doubted that anyone else had been bothered by the tormented screams of the young man. To others, he was a mortal enemy and deserved what came to him.

Not that Marishka condoned his taking of Helen. But he was in love with the beautiful Spartan queen and he had rescued her from what could have been a lifetime torment: being married to Menelaus. All he wanted any woman for was sex, sex, and more sex. Whenever he wanted it. And if she refused, he would beat her until she screamed for mercy.

Opening her eyes again, she stood, drawing her robe around her body. No longer wishing to sit in her room and be tormented by thoughts of the unfortunate prince, she headed down the hallway towards his chambers.