Briseis

Briseis struggled tearfully against the metal cuffs on her wrists and ankles that bound her to the large bed. She was nude, perfumed with Greece's finest scents, and her hair was done in the lovely, loose curls she had been known for in Troy. The sheets were satin - fit for a King, and that's exactly what they were intended for.

"Hello, Priestess," Agamemnon said, walking into the dimly lit room. Briseis shuddered and turned her face away from him. The tears stopped, as they always did when he came to her. Sometimes she would go into cold shock and sometimes they would come back as he coaxed them out of her. Agamemnon reveled in the fearful sobs he could provoke out of his captive, especially when she started begging. When he was in a rush or just plain irritated with his day, however, sometimes he would just let her go silent as he used her body to vent his frustrations.

This was not one of those days. Briseis could hear him removing his armor piece by piece, slowly so as to enjoy the small, defensive cringes that coursed through her system no matter how much she tried to control herself. Almost a year after the Trojan War, Briseis was still not used to the violence which surrounded her. She still begged for mercy, and unbeknownst to either of them, that alone kept her alive.

"You'll be interested to know, Priestess, that Achilles visited today," Agamemnon said casually. Briseis closed her eyes. She wanted to know. Would have killed to know. But Agamemnon wasn't going to give her more than that small crumb of hope that Achilles would rescue her. Achilles had no idea she was alive. Briseis was sure, had he known, he would have murdered Agamemnon on the spot and taken her away - as they had always planned - to his home by the sea.

"I said," Agamemnon's tone darkened, "that impertinent brat Achilles visited my castle today. Doesn't that interest you, darling?" A weight fell suddenly on the bed next to her and a firm hand grasped her chin, jerking her face so she was looking at a dark, thick thigh. Agamemnon's hand went down to her neck and Briseis gaze shot up to look him in the eyes - what she knew he wanted.

"Yes," she said, barely above a whisper. She hated nights like this - the nights when he forced her to admit her love for Achilles. The humiliation of being this man's sexual plaything she could stand, but knowing that Achilles - her love - was just out of reach killed her. More, the horror that haunted her day and night was the fear that Achilles would find her - would see what Agamemnon had taken from her - and wouldn't want her anymore. Wouldn't love her.

"Isn't that sweet," Agamemnon chuckled darkly, and Briseis snapped out of her reverie to find that tears were running down her face. She started to close her eyes, but when Agamemnon's grip tightened she left them open. There was no point. There was nothing to defend her. She kept her open, loving, helpless gaze on the man who tormented her, begging him not to hurt her even as she knew he would.

Agamemnon leaned down and kissed her, hard, taking his time tasting her lips before forcing his tongue into her throat. He no longer really had to force anything - Briseis was beaten into submission by the physical and psychological force he wielded over her - but Agamemnon enjoyed hurting the last Trojan Priestess almost as much as he enjoyed evoking pleasure from her. And he did enjoy evoking pleasure. The times when she submitted to him completely - those were the times he gave her as much as he could. Once, when she had moaned his name by accident, Agamemnon had pleasured her for three hours before they both collapsed from exhaustion.

But these times were rare, and Briseis only gave up every night out of fear or helplessness. She was helpless in chains, of course, but what ultimately defeated her were the nights he released her from the chains. The nights he made her fight. She would fight as hard as she could, and when he ultimately forced her on her back, or to her knees, he would whisper low, humiliating things before and while he took her.

Agamemnon pulled back from the kiss, breathing a little more rapidly than before. He looked down into Briseis' eyes. She was waiting, he knew, to see what sort of night this would be. Looking down into those soft, brown wells of compassion and beauty, he knew that what he wanted from her, he would never get. He couldn't make her want him. Couldn't make her love him. A pang of hurt filled his heart and he blinked it away with a surge of hatred. He would make her fear him; he would hurt her. It was the next best thing.

"Achilles wasn't alone this afternoon," he said roughly, placing his arms on either side of Briseis' body. She flinched, both at the words and the intimidating gesture. Agamemnon continued. "He had a young woman with him," he said, "some young slave named Ayla. She was quite pretty. A few years younger than you, with lovely blonde curls."

Briseis' eyes narrowed and she glared openly at Agamemnon. Her heart burned. The man was probably lying. He was smiling at her discomfort, at her fear that Achilles had forgotten her. She bit her lip to keep from spitting at him and Agamemnon leaned in closer to her, one rough hand grasping her breast casually.

"She was also a virgin," he said, emphasizing virgin in its opposite intent. Briseis was hit with a wave of revulsion and self-loathing, as Agamemnon had intended. She was not a virgin. She would never be a virgin again, in Achilles' eyes or anyone else's.

Briseis' eyes filled with tears and before she could stop herself, she was sobbing. Agamemnon, grimly victorious, shifted onto the bed and crouched over her. He did not take her, as she had expected, but rather reached back and unlocked the cuffs separating her legs and then those holding her wrists. Instinctively, Briseis scrambled back so she crouched on her knees against the bedpost.

"You want to hurt me," Agamemnon acknowledged, his smile humorless. Briseis' tears slowed and she looked at the man crouched across from her.

"I hate you," she whispered. Desperately she flung herself at her tormentor, fists flying. She was weak from captivity, nevermind that all her life she had been weaker than the warrior, and she was on her back underneath him in seconds. He wrenched her arms above her head, pinning them there with one hand. His knees forced her legs apart and his free hand adjusted himself so that he could thrust into her. Before he did, he brought his hand up, grasping her hair, forcing her to look at him.

"Achilles doesn't love you anymore, slave," Agamemnon said, and thrust into Briseis, hard. She cried out, squirming against him, unable to do anything at all as the big man took her. "He'd be disgusted if he saw you," he growled, thrusting hard to emphasize every couple of words. "Even I'm disgusted by you." Briseis felt a cold shiver run down her spine at that last and her eyes focused on Agamemnon. He was watching her, gauging her reaction to this new humiliation. She wanted to cry, but the cold shiver was coursing through her veins and she couldn't pull her gaze away from Agamemnon. Nothing existed but the two of them in this bed, and she couldn't survive if he left her like this.

"Please," she whimpered, unable to express herself otherwise. "Oh, god!" Agamemnon's eyes hardened in a triumph Briseis had never yet seen. He kept thrusting into her steadily, but that only served as a tool for his intent.

"What are you begging me about?" Agamemnon asked darkly. Briseis had never seen him so cool, so aloof and controlled, and it frightened her to the core. He was a dark force that she could not fight; the man who had defeated Troy and at whose mercy she would always be.

"Please... don't be disgusted," she said haltingly, hating herself for what she was giving. For what she had not given before. Agamemnon, however, swelled with an unknown power and began fucking her harder than before. Experimentally, he released her wrists and hair, and found that she remained looking directly at him, transfixed. When she went to move her arms down, he shoved them harshly back up and she didn't try again.

"What is my name, slave?" Agamemnon spat the last word. Briseis shuddered again, and this time the force of it wracked her entire body.

"Please," she said again, her voice weak. Agamemnon, sensing victory, pushed through his captive's submissive haze.

"Now," he ordered darkly, "Say it." Briseis crumbled underneath him.

"Master," she said, and her eyes closed.

For Agamemnon, it was enough that she had said it. She could close her eyes if she had to. Within moments he came hard and then lay, gasping, over his beautiful captive. Briseis had not reopened her eyes, and barely registered Agamemnon's finishing. After another long moment, he pulled out and rolled over onto his back next to her.

Briseis didn't move. Her face was streaked with tears; her pride beaten into the bed. Agamemnon stared at the ceiling. They breathed together for a long moment, then Agamemnon got up from the bed and walked to the door. He turned.

"Achilles did come in today," he said. "but he didn't bring a slavegirl. He hasn't forgotten you." With that, Agamemnon walked through the door, then shut and locked it behind him. Briseis lay unmoving for several moments, and then she cried.