"You are a captive," said the Admiral, "but you are not my slave. We don't believe in slavery the way you do. It is counterproductive. You are actually a present for my wife. You will be a part of our family. I think you will enjoy your time in Atlantis. You will be much better off than if you had remained in Athens."

Diapaxia had to admit that his life would be easier here in this land untouched by war than if he had stayed in his city. His home was burned to the ground. His fortune was lost. His family was scattered and his father was dead. He had no wife. "I look forward to meeting her." He wondered what she would be like. He knew she was a n.o.ble lady, but, was she tall, short, skinny, fat, old, young, pretty, ugly, smart, stupid, educated, ignorant, kind or mean spirited? He wondered.

The Atlanteans had a loose family structure. Trontarow had told him a little bit about it. Apparently, both men and women were s.e.xually adventurous and took more than one lover. Sometimes a man would have more than one wife, and sometimes a woman took more than one husband, but once the commitment was made, it became exclusive within the group. Promiscuity outside the group was not encouraged. Neither was h.o.m.os.e.xuality. These people appeared to be exclusively heteros.e.xual, to the point of being h.o.m.ophobic. They didn't seem to understand the physical relationship and, yes, love, between Greek soldiers and comrades.

Diapaxia had had many close relationships with his fellow soldiers. The Atlanteans thought such relationships were disgraceful. They especially despised the Spartans who flaunted their h.o.m.os.e.xual tendencies, living in their barracks and only visiting their wives to procreate.

He hoped he could get along with Trontarow and his family. He had agreed to become a hostage to help insure the peace between Athens and Atlantis. If required, he would live out the rest of his life here. As a present for Trontarow's wife, he wondered if he was expected to be her lover. In any event, he was prepared to be treated as a slave. They kept saying that they didn't keep slaves, but that's what he figured he was. He had no other frame of reference.

Vyllia climbed the circular staircase to the widow's walk atop her house. It looked like it would be a glorious day. The Sun peeked up over the horizon into a brilliant blue sky. It had been red the night before-a good sign. She remembered the old nautical saying, "Red Sun at night, sailor's delight, Red Sun in the Morning, sailors take warning." She knew her husband would be home soon. She hoped it would be today. He was a hero. He was being acclaimed as the savior of Atlantis.

But she wanted him home because he was her partner, her lover, and her best friend. She wanted to hold him in her arms and feel his body against her own. She wanted to have his flesh enter hers and she wanted to share her pleasure with him. And she wanted a child. As accomplished as he was, they were both relatively young.

She stood there alone as she had for several days since the news had arrived that the war was over and the men were coming home. She searched the eastern horizon, hoping to see a ship, his ship, sailing toward her. The chill air of the morning and the sea breeze chilled her flesh. Her body was covered with goose b.u.mps beneath the flimsy, transparent garment she wore. Her long brown hair blew around her head and tangled. She turned to descend into the house to get ready for breakfast, but something caught her eye.

She turned back to peer across the sea. Was that a sail on the horizon?

She heard a shout from another house across the way.

It was. And there was another one, and another. It was the fleet She hugged herself and squealed with joy.

She couldn't help jumping a little. Very un-dignified for the wife of an Admiral, a hero and the Savior of Atlantis.

She gained control of herself, but couldn't help smiling.

She skipped down the stairs to get ready for breakfast.

The triumphant fleet sailed into the port. The Admiral's flagship was towed up the ca.n.a.l to the inner-most ring. The Kings were there- the son's of Atlas shared power and administrative duties, but they were acclaimed as Kings-to meet their victorious Admiral. They were aware of the Athenian hostage and his role in the peace. He was a Prince in his homeland. Athens professed a democratic political structure, but they still had a n.o.bility.

Trontarow knelt before the Kings and offered up his sword, the symbol of his command. Now that the war was over, he wished to return to private life and retire from the military. Life in the Navy or the Army when there was no war to fight could be tedious and boring. He wished to return home to his wife, build a family, manage his lands and live a long peaceful life.

The Kings accepted his sword and graciously released him from service.

Trontarow walked home, accompanied only by Diapaxia.

"Aren't you afraid I might try to harm you, or to escape?"

Trontarow looked at him and smiled. "Where would you go? What would you do? You were a skillful warrior, but you have no other skills that I know of."

"Uh..." Diapaxia didn't know what to say.

"Diapaxia, when I said we do not keep slaves, I wasn't kidding. You are free to go wherever and whenever you please. You will find it difficult to leave Atlantis, but no one would try to stop you. I have invited you into my home, to become a part of my family. I grew to respect you as an opponent and I genuinely like you. I think you will like us and you might even think about asking the King to grant you citizenship. I can help you if you wish it."

The Athenian could not understand a society without slaves. "How do you get things done?"

"Without slaves?"

Diapaxia nodded.

"We pay people for their services. Some people ask to become a part of a wealthy or powerful family, like mine, and serve us. But they have no obligation to stay. We have many servants in my household, but any one of them is free to leave at any time they please."

Diapaxia couldn't understand this man and his society. Every other civilization he had ever known kept slaves-all the Greek cities, Troy, Persia, Egypt, Crete. Wars were fought just to capture slaves, sometimes. It was very confusing.

They walked along the busy streets. People came up to Trontarow and greeted him, thanking him for his great victory, but no one showed the kind of deference usually accorded a great hero or a n.o.ble.

"We are all equals here," said Trontarow. "Every man and woman in Atlantis is due the same respect as any other citizen. You will see. Even you, a captive, a former enemy, will be given the respect due any other man."

Eventually they arrived at Trontarow's house. It was a large, two story structure with a widow's walk atop the roof. It was built of stone. There was a small patch of gra.s.s in front of the door which was flanked by banks of flowers.

A man tending the plants looked up from his work. He rushed to his feet. "Trontarow!" he exclaimed.

"Ortiz!"

The man ran towards them and embraced Trontarow.

"Ortiz, this is Diapaxia, a n.o.ble Athenian. He will be joining our family. I brought him home for Vyllia." Trontarow turned to Diapaxia. "This is Ortiz. He is our gardener. His father was a gardener before him."

"And my grandfather before him," said Ortiz with a large grin on his face. "Welcome to our family, Diapaxia."

The Athenian was bewildered. Here was this lowly gardener, performing the kind of work only a slave would do in Athens, and he had just embraced Trontarow, probably the most ill.u.s.trious and powerful man in the world, calling him familiarly by name and treating him as an equal.

Ortiz smiled at them.

Diapaxia followed Trontarow up the stairs to the front door and into the house. He removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm.

"Trontarow!" A young girl wearing a short skirt and a flimsy halter top squealed. "Vyllia told us she saw your ship. She's upstairs in your chamber waiting for you."

"h.e.l.lo Mia, my dear. This is Diapaxia."

"h.e.l.lo Diapaxia." Mia looked him up and down.

Diapaxia stood there, exposed as he was. He was a little embarra.s.sed, but she was very pretty and his c.o.c.k began to stiffen. He covered his crotch with his hands.

"I'm the chamber maid. If you need anything, just let me know." She smiled broadly. "Anything." She had noticed his excited state and he was very comely and muscular. Mia thought she might like to spend some time with this Athenian.

"He's a gift for Vyllia."

"Oh," said Mia. She smiled. "Well, I approve." Then she turned and pa.s.sed through a door beneath the staircase.

Trontarow started up the stairs. Diapaxia followed him. At the top, they entered a large airy chamber hung with gauzy fabrics from the ceiling and surrounded by windows, letting in the bright light of the day. At the far end was a large bed strewn with pillows and quilts. In the center of the room stood a tall woman with long brown hair, bright red lips and piercing green eyes. She had a gilded scallop sh.e.l.l arranged in her hair. Her gown was transparent and revealed her lovely, voluptuous body.

Diapaxia was stunned. He stood, staring at her, his mouth half open, but no words emerged.

Trontarow and Vyllia smiled at each other, then she looked at Diapaxia.

"My G.o.d, you're beautiful!" he exclaimed. He had never seen a more beautiful vision of womanhood.

She broke out into a grin. "h.e.l.lo, my beloved husband," she said softly. As she strode toward Trontarow, she dropped her gown to the floor. She embraced him and kissed him pa.s.sionately, molding her body to his hard, muscular, soldier's frame. "Who's this?"

"A gift for you, my dear. Diapaxia, a n.o.ble Athenian. He has voluntarily come as a hostage to insure the peace."

She turned to Diapaxia. She took his helmet from him, turning and placing it on a table. She knelt before him and reached out to remove his greaves and sandals. Diapaxia's c.o.c.k stiffened and he could no longer conceal it. She brushed his hands away and looked at it. She looked up at her husband, then she kissed the end of it, caressing the delicate b.a.l.l.s beneath the shaft.

Trontarow had dropped his light garment and stood, naked, next to them. His ma.s.sive c.o.c.k pointed at his wife. "Do you accept my gift?" he asked.

She stood and leaned against him. "Thank you my love. He's very nice." She took both their hands in hers and led them to the bed. She turned and sat on the edge, then she reclined and rolled to the center. She beckoned to both of them. "It's been four years...four long years."

"I know," said Trontarow. "I've missed you so." He joined her on the bed.

"Join us, Diapaxia, won't you?" she beckoned to him again, reaching out her hand to him. He took her hand and she pulled him down on her other side.

Trontarow was sucking on her left nipple.

She had such a marvelous body. Those large, beautiful b.r.e.a.s.t.s with those dark, firm nipples were so perfect. Diapaxia dropped his lips to the one on the right. She held the two men to her. She moaned softly.

Trontarow was stroking her thigh and slowly reached up to gently cup her mons. He caressed her moist p.u.s.s.y and slowly stroked her quivering c.l.i.toris.

She shuddered. "Oh my love..." she whispered.

That had always been her signal to him. He crawled down between her marvelous silky thighs and buried his face in her crotch. His tongue searched for, then found her delicious c.l.i.t.

She shuddered again. Her legs wrapped around his neck and she reached down with her left hand to hold the back of his head firmly in place. His tongue slipped down between her nether lips and thrust up into her v.a.g.i.n.a. "Oh, my love, I've waited for this for so long." Her hips moved rhythmically against his face.

Then Diapaxia decided to really partic.i.p.ate. He kissed his way up her breast to her throat, licking around to the nape of her neck. Between the two of them they produced a ma.s.sive o.r.g.a.s.m that shook her entire body.

"Enter me, my love," she whispered.

Trontarow climbed up and positioned his c.o.c.k between her thighs. He slowly slipped it into her warm slippery v.a.g.i.n.a, gradually thrusting further and further into her on each stroke. She reached down and pulled him to her, thrusting up at him.

Diapaxia pulled back and, sitting up, looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them and looked up at him.

She tilted her head towards him and licked her lips.

He understood. He slid closer and let her take his c.o.c.k between her lips. She swirled her tongue around it and sucked it into her mouth. He couldn't help himself. He thrust into her, into her throat.

Her eyes rolled up and closed as her husband and her new lover pleasured her. Faster and faster, the two men thrust into her. Their actions changed from gentle lovemaking to uncontrolled animal f.u.c.king. Vyllia moaned as her body was wracked by wave after wave of o.r.g.a.s.m. She bucked and twitched and shuddered uncontrollably. In spite of the cool breeze from the open windows, the three of them broke out in a feverish sweat.

Faster and faster, deeper and deeper they both thrust into her. Then Trontarow tensed and finally exploded. A vast amount of s.e.m.e.n squirted deep into her v.a.g.i.n.a as he continued to thrust into her over and over. It triggered another o.r.g.a.s.m in her and her throat swallowed the Athenian's c.o.c.k. That was all it took. He exploded, too, deep into her throat.

She almost choked, but she was well trained. She knew her husband enjoyed oral lovemaking, and his c.o.c.k was bigger and more ma.s.sive than the young Athenian's. She had practiced until she became an expert. She sucked and swallowed him whole. The three of them rocked against each other as they all climaxed together as one.

Then, as they gradually slowed, their bodies began to relax. The two c.o.c.ks lost their stiffness and the men withdrew them from inside her.

They collapsed onto each other. The breeze cooled them. Vyllia pulled them to her and cradled their heads on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Thank you, Trontarow, my love," she said, "thank you. You, too, my n.o.ble Athenian."

Diapaxia thought he was going to enjoy living in Atlantis. He might even want to stay here forever. He said a little prayer to Athena, then another one of thanks to Poseidon. My G.o.d what a beautiful, pa.s.sionate woman. And Trontarow wanted to share her with him. The G.o.ds must be smiling on him.

THE WHIP FESTIVAL.

Jackie Rose "I believe we are sailing past Atlantis right now," the captain told them.

Hearing that name, Merilee Jenkins sighed in dismay. The lifeboat drill had been bad enough under the tropical summer sun. Now the captain was setting her uncle off on his favorite topic...his obsession, in fact. Who knew how long they'd have to stand here? Sure enough, when the captain asked if there were any questions, her uncle eagerly waved his hand. He did not even seem to notice the other pa.s.sengers' dirty looks.

"If it is here, why has no one ever seen it?" Uncle Hubert inquired.

"Perhaps the Atlanteans do not want us to," the captain answered, with a shrug. "But if you look really hard, you may catch a glimpse."

Not surprisingly, her uncle was the only one who peered out over the sparkling blue horizon. The others just went from one foot to the other, in obvious frustration.

Merilee herself was among them. She knew that that sun must be making her straight brown hair hang down beside her long, pale face, while adding even more freckles to her cheeks. Uncle Hubert's skin was almost as delicate as her own beneath his wild white mane, but he didn't seem to notice the heat. "I don't want to interrupt this conversation," she felt forced to say at last. "But no one can leave until you let us go, Captain."

"Oh, of course!" Captain Torkelson exclaimed. "You are certainly all dismissed!"

As they were standing in line for the elevators, most of their fellow pa.s.sengers were already pulling off their life jackets. Merilee's uncle stopped her with a touch of his thin hand.

"Please leave that on for a moment," he said. "I want you to show me how to remove it back in my cabin. I am afraid I am no longer learning things as easily as I once did."

"Of course I will help you," she answered gently. As soon as they were safe in his air-cooled cabin, she decided that he really was a sweet old man. He had been her only relative since her parents died in that car crash, and now he was taking her on this cruise. On her own office manager's salary, she could hardly have afforded to pay for it herself. Even with his pension as a retired history professor, it must have cut into his savings.

As soon as they closed the door behind them, she started fumbling with the Velcro straps. "It really is harder than it looks," she said. "But I agree we should get in some practice, taking the jackets off and putting them on."

"Can we go out to the balcony?" he asked. "It seems a shame to waste the view."

With a sigh, she obeyed him. As soon as she had shed that life vest, she could join everyone else in the dining room where she might even meet a single young man. At age twenty-eight, that was no longer an easy task. "If you can just wait a moment," she said, as she started to remove the straps.

"Of course," he answered.

Then, with a strength that amazed her, he threw her over the railing. Before she could fully grasp what he had done, he jumped over after her. "But why?" she gasped, bobbing up and down in the warm salt water. "Did you want to be a hero by rescuing me?"

"Not at all," he a.s.sured. "I believe someone else will soon save us both. Or you, at any rate, and that will answer my question. I will be able to die satisfied, knowing that my lifelong quest is done."

"Your quest for Atlantis!" she cried. "You think we will find it now. More likely the sharks will find us first."

"I doubt that very much. I believe the Atlanteans have killed them all."

"Oh, my G.o.d!" she wailed. "You think someone from Atlantis will come out here and save us."

"If I am not very much mistaken, he is doing so right now."

Managing to turn in the water, she saw that he was right. Someone was indeed rowing a small boat towards them. From the swift sure way he pulled the oars she could tell he was a very powerful man. He proved it once again, when he came up beside them and pulled them into the boat...first herself, then Uncle Hubert after her.

Since the stranger was wearing nothing more than white linen swimming trunks, she saw that his broad, tanned chest was just as impressive as his muscular arms. He was a very handsome fellow, too, she noticed, as she stared up at him while stammering out her thanks. The sun had bronzed his square face with its high, wide forehead and jutting chin. His red-gold hair tumbled over his startling blue eyes, which were staring at her in confusion.

"I don't think he knows what you are saying," Uncle Hubert pointed out.