by Sean O'Kane
Chapter 13
Tara woke from a deep sleep to find herself in unfamiliar surroundings. Her right wrist was chained to a loop in a stone wall and she had been sleeping on a narrow bed jammed into the corner of this new cell. High above her sunlight was streaming in through a small window, and judging by the angle of the beam it was late in the day. For some reason she had been left to sleep - and where was she?
She moved and whimpered a little at the pains which erupted all over her, even on the soles of her feet. She felt sperm crusted and cracking on her inner thighs and realised that her mouth and chin were surrounded by the stuff. She licked her lips and tasted the fragrant residue of female and male bodies. One memory swam up to the surface of her mind; her owner's hands on her, holding her breasts, weighing them, commenting on them and instructing the guests on how best to use her.
Immediately she felt a comforting warmth between her legs and she sat up slowly, turning half sideways and putting one foot cautiously on the floor, resting her sore back against the cool stone. She relished the cool air against her stinging vulva and smiled lasciviously as she began to recall the ways she had been taken the previous night. Suddenly the key turned in her cell door and a guard entered with some food in a bowl and a jug of water. He was exactly what she needed.
She didn't even look at his face, just at the plated abdominal muscles and the broad pectorals of his torso. But most of all she focused on his shorts as he came to stand over her. She reached out a hand to touch them at the place where she could see the bulge of his sleeping sex, and only then looked up at him through the curtain of dishevelled hair over her eyes. She ran her tongue over her lips in silent invitation and supplication.
He smiled down at her. "Greedy slut," he said simply.
He put down his burden and allowed her to undo his flies and reach in for his rapidly swelling cock, she ducked her head forwards and gave a contented moan as her lips touched the still soft side of the shaft and her tongue began to lick him. By the time she was ready to take him into her mouth he was stiff and urgent, he grabbed her hair and pushed her face down, making her relax her throat to let the shaft slide along over her tongue and the bulbous helm lodge right at the back. Slowly she moved up and down, as far as he would let her, then she increased her tempo as he was urging her to, letting him slide in deeper and deeper as her own need grew until at last she felt him swell to jaw cracking dimensions and he began to pump. But he pulled her off him and instead held her face so that she could watch him spurt all over her face. And as each milky gout erupted from him to splash on her cheeks, her nose, below her eyes, she reached for it with her tongue. Like a shameless bitch on heat she told herself happily as he finished.
"You can have that with your breakfast, Blondie," he told her, before he wiped himself in her hair, zipped up his shorts and left her.
She leaned back contentedly. That was exactly what she was going to do. The events of the previous day had returned to her memory completely now. Sperm had lots of protein in it and she needed as much as she could get. She had seen what she wanted her future to be the previous day and had to set about making sure she got what she wanted.
As she wiped her face and licked her fingers carefully she recalled the enthralling sight of the solo gladiators racing as ponies, she recalled the tension in the dressing room before the contests and how Jet had flinched as the studded corset had been laced on and then grinned over at her. And then how she had limped back in, so badly beaten. Then for her there had been the heavenly feel of sheer nylon sliding up her thighs and the feel of a basque around her torso. It was something she had never worn before but the feel of clothing of any sort was so wonderful! To know that she was displaying her body subtly instead of blatantly offering its nudity to whoever wanted it had allowed the huge dildo to slide up into her at the first attempt. And as she had been led out she had seen that her owner sat at the head of the table and was watching her intently. Then there had been the familiar thrill of the fight, the pain and the excitement and finally the intoxication of having power over a defeated opponent but this time it had been concentrated, amplified by the cheers and applause of the crowd of diners to whom they were nothing more than a very decadent floorshow.
But even as she had knelt over her defeated foe's face, she had sneaked a look at the man who owned her and thrilled to his stare of admiration.
And then they had been taken outside by Carlo.
Their night still had a long way to go.
They were shackled once again and led, out from the room next to the dining room, back onto the colonnade, turned to their left and then turned left again through an arch which led into a kind of passage through the house itself until it emerged into a big atrium, in the centre of which was a swimming pool. They went past it and out through another passage until they emerged onto more grassland which was lit by floodlights mounted on the buildings which ran up either side of it and on the wall along the far side, in which the main gate was set. Laid out on the grass were six curiously shaped trestles, set in three widely spaced groups of two. Immediately she saw them, Tara's stomach tightened and lurched. They were in for a lot more usage before they were going to be allowed to sleep, she realised. Carlo stopped them by the first pair of trestles and released two of their number, ordering them to their knees between the higher crossbar, which ran at waist height when the girls were kneeling in front of it, and the lower one behind them. First he had them bend forwards over the higher beam, released their wrists and re-shackled them to clips set in wooden pegs driven into the turf a few feet in front of each girl. This left them with their arms stretched forwards and apart, their breasts hanging and swaying underneath them like ripe fruit, their hair spilling forwards and down onto the grass. Then he moved behind them and lifted each foot until it rested on the beam behind them, only a foot or so off the ground. He had them shuffle their knees well apart and then used the attached ankle restraints to anchor them there. This left the soles of their feet horribly vulnerable, resting upturned on the sinister, low-level crossbar.
When Tara herself had been mounted, she found that only her knees and her hands touched the ground, the soles of her feet were up on that wretched little bar behind her, her bottom was nicely displayed, as was the whole expanse of her back. To confirm her worst suspicions two more men arrived, one was Ali, another was one Carlo called Gerd, and these two placed small heaps of disciplinary items in front of each girl. Raising her head and peering forward, Tara made out a cane, two whips; both multi-lashed, but one short bladed the other longer, together with weights, clamps, chains and several dildos and vibrators. With a despairing shudder she realised that the fighting had left her in a state which really didn't need those last items. A few touches with the cane or whip from a man would have her helplessly aroused, but if those items were being provided it meant that this was going to be a long session.
And so it proved.
Presently the diners joined them and Tara heard the whistles and applause as the guests saw and appreciated what was laid out for their pleasure. But her heart soared when she heard the voice of her owner; and even better, he came to stand right in front of her. Tara thrilled to the thought that maybe this time he would do more than simply examine her.
She heard him address everyone and confirm her suspicions that many present had never had slaves at their disposal before. He told them that as these slaves had been kept barefoot for weeks now, the soles of their feet were very tough and would provide an ideal area for them to practise with the canes.
"Thirty or forty lashes to each foot shouldn't matter," he told them. And then went on to say that Ali and Carlo would provide guidance on how the whips could best be employed, which whips would produce which results on which parts of the bodies displayed before them and so on. He finished by saying that the guests should need no instruction on how to enjoy other aspects of the slaves. This got a laugh and the festivities got underway.
Tara, as usual, was caught
between fear and excitement at the punishment to come but the fear evaporated when the Boss himself stayed where he was and began to instruct the guests gathered around her. Above her bowed head she heard him hand the cane to a woman who moved behind her and began to beat the soles of her feet.
"The Spanish used to call this 'bastinado'," he informed his audience. "She's got tough soles, so don't hold back. And anyway, always remember that however much a slave wriggles and screams, the more she experiences at your hands, the more she'll abase herself at your feet."
Tara gritted her teeth and tried not to flinch at each cut to her feet. Although once she got over the unexpectedness of the area selected for punishment she found that the pain was not as intense as she had expected. She felt the impacts alright but the pain itself was a dull burning, like embers being coaxed into life in a hearth, rather than the full-scale blaze such a caning would ignite in her buttocks.
However, as the cane was passed from hand to hand with her owner offering helpful hints on stance and grip and the beating went on and on, she found that eventually the stinging got under the hard skin and sent sharp lances of pain through her which caught at her throat and made her eyes water. At last she began to wriggle her toes desperately and fight her restraints, making little yelping noises as the cane relentlessly rose and fell behind her.
"Should I stop now?" a woman's voice asked.
"Certainly not," her owner retorted. "She's only just begun to react. Give her another twenty and then see how much she's enjoyed it."
The woman went back to work, thwacking the cane down across Tara's curling and clenching feet. Tara dug her fingers into the ground and gritted her teeth as she felt the insidious spread of warmth through her body as she responded to her owner's cruelty. But for the last few strokes she couldn't help putting her head back and crying out loud as the fires at last blazed into full life in her feet. Then, for the second time in that long evening she felt a stranger's fingers enter her and discover the truth about her.
"My God!" the woman exclaimed. "She's flooding!"
Tara heard the amused laughter above her and as her owner led the group around to stand over her head, she felt someone kneel behind her in between her spread legs and then there was the unmistakable feel of a man's sex nudging at her vagina. Someone grabbed her hair and wrenched her head up as the man behind her thrust into her and she gasped in pure delight as pain and pleasure merged into the familiar blur inside her. She was only vaguely aware of the faces grinning down at her as she bucked and moaned her way to a shattering, humiliating, orgasm as the unseen man behind her filled her with his spend.
Her head fell forward as the grip on her hair was released and the group around her seemed content to let her rest for a minute. As her mind cleared, Tara became aware of the sounds around her, from close beside her came the regular smack of a whip and answering moans, while from farther away she could hear the sharper reports of canes and shrill yelps as perhaps one or two of the girls continued to experience the slow burn of the bastinado. Above her she heard the clink of glasses and realised the pause was not for her benefit but for that of the guests.
When they felt adequately refreshed they returned to work and her already caned bottom got a heavy beating from the longer of the whips while her owner again gave hints to the wielders on how far back they should stand so that the blades would fall on the inner curves of the buttocks and 'stimulate' her sex by slapping hard on its lips. It worked, and she was taken to another climax by yet another unseen man before the group's attention turned to her upper body.
She was panting and gasping by then, nearly completely spent when suddenly she was brought fully back to alertness by her owner squatting down beside her and gripping her left breast. The shock of his touch alone was enough to clear her head and she gazed down entranced by the sight of the hand which cupped and weighed the freely swinging orb. His fingers were long and strong and they gripped her hard, making the flesh bulge between them, just as they had before, but this time she was already fully aroused and the feel of her nipple against his palm sent wonderful shocks racing to her core. It didn't matter to her that he was telling the guests how to wield the whip over her back so that it would wrap her ribs and set the breasts swinging beneath her. She didn't care that he clamped her engorged nipple and had them notice how she yelled as the teeth slowly bit into the tightly engorged flesh and how the weights he hung from the clamp distended the nub into a long red tube. All she cared about was that he was taking the time and trouble to work on her himself and she made sure that when he repeated the procedure on her right breast, she gave a truly agonised shriek when the clamp was applied.
In her mind she was replaying Carlo's words of earlier in the evening. The Boss liked his solo gladiators so much he administered their daily beatings himself. She wanted that. She wanted to be the best gladiator in his stable and like a bird of prey she would rise to any challenge he set her at, and return victorious to him.
After the guests had finished whipping her back and had been well pleased by the way they had set her breasts swinging under her heaving chest, the weights sometimes colliding and clanking dully as the whip bit into the sides of her breasts and set them rippling and swaying, they set about wringing the last bits of pleasure they could out of her exhausted body. Her wrists were freed and she was able to use her hands to caress the rigid cocks which presented themselves before her mouth as she was allowed to kneel up. She also used them to delve into the soaked quims of the women who required her to lick them and bring them to their orgasms. And when she was bent forward again she reached behind her and pulled her own throbbing buttocks apart to invite entry into either of her passages. And there were plenty of takers for both. But all the time she kept her eyes open, looking for her owner, trying to see his expression and convey to him how ready she was to service anyone he wanted her to, wanting nothing for herself but his approval.
At long last it seemed as if every appetite had been sated and everything went quiet. Then for one last time her head was hauled up and blearily she gazed at the Boss himself. Behind him stood a beautiful copper-haired woman who was regarding her with open hostility. But he didn't seem to notice.
"She's quite a find, eh Patti?" he said. The woman said nothing. For a fleeting moment Tara dared hope that he might now at last sample her for himself, but instead he let her head drop and moved away. "If it wasn't for the prospect of having you, I might be tempted to see how she shags myself," she heard him tell the woman as they moved away. The last thing Tara could remember of that night was how much she suddenly hated the copper-haired beauty.
For the rest of the day following the entertainment, Tara was allowed to sleep in the strange cell to which she had no recollection of being brought. But it was more than likely, she thought, that she had been carried there and that she had passed out once everyone had finished with her.
In the evening she was woken by a different guard bringing her more food. Again she made her mute appeal but this time it didn't work so well. He only wanted her mouth to lubricate him before he turned her to face the wall and eased himself into her anus. It wasn't what she had intended but she made the best of it and used her free hand to rub at her clitoris to bring herself off as the guard climaxed into her rectum and slid out of her as quickly as was usual with all of them.
She was disconsolate as she ate once he had gone. The damp patch on the bed under her backside was a waste which irritated her.
It was fully dark when the door was opened again and this time her wrist was unchained from the wall and she was led out into a corridor. On either side of her stood the five other girls who had been used in the display, and once again they were linked together by chains to their collars and led away back to their barracks. Once they had been freed and the guard had left, Channel, Jet and Tara were subject to frantic questioning from the others. Jet undertook to give them as much of an account as she could, with Channel describing her wrestling bout and Tara briefly
giving an account of her cane duel. It was Jet's account of the boxing and the corset and thong she had worn which attracted most interest and there were feverish examinations of Jet's body as Carrot in particular searched for traces of the studs. Against her dark skin they weren't easy to find but once she opened her legs, then little punctures to her labia became clear and Carrot immediately knelt down and began to kiss them better.
Jet pushed her away impatiently. "You can kiss my ass later. That's where I need it. I got forty with the cane for going down too soon," she said.
There were horrified gasps and even Tara who had been occupied with her own thoughts looked up as she turned around and displayed her prominent, high buttocks. Even against her skin the dark, raised weals stood out quite plainly.
"You've got to watch those frigging corsets girls," Jet said ruefully. “The pain is really sharp when you get hit and if you're not ready for it, you can go over the top before you know it. Half the reason I got caned was because my pussy was too busy creaming for me to fight. And when they get you between the legs.......it's fireworks time!"
Tara had noted how, as the weeks had gone past and the girls had submitted more and more completely to their masters, a similar structure of dominance and submission had began to assert itself within the barracks. Cherry had appointed herself Tara's personal slave, Carrot belonged to Jet and so on. So that night, before she finally slept, Tara had Cherry give her sex, her back, buttocks and breasts rather more tender treatment than they had received at the hands of the guests. And only when her head had finished bobbing up and down between Tara's wide-flung legs and she lay beside her did Tara tell her everything that had happened. The girl rubbed herself up and down one of her thighs and moaned as Tara described the bastinado, the clamps, weights and the whips which had been used on her.