Last Slave Standing

by Sean O'Kane

  There was a ripple of appreciation as they entered and some applause. But the excesses of the day had tired people out and apart from a steady trickle of autograph hunters – mostly men wanting their subs to have Carlo’s name signed on their breasts or buttocks – they were allowed to drink in peace.

  The slaves were allowed to sleep in the following morning and Brian and Amelia decided to let Patti, Helga and Anne Marie do the donkey work. They were eager to see what Alberto had cooked up to part the punters from their money as they began to make their way home. Once again the immaculately turned out carriage was sent for and Amelia was bouncing with excitement as the driver whipped up the matching pair and the carriage rumbled back towards the arena. It was her first chance to ride in one of the larger ‘two in hand’ carriages that Alberto favoured and she adored the sight of two ponies being flogged simultaneously.

  The sound of fairground music drifted across the flat grassland as they approached the bulk of the arena and beside the pens, on the concrete concourse a bizarre fair was taking place.

  The brightly coloured awnings over the stands and rides flapped and rippled a little in the light breeze and competed gaudily with garish African and Oriental robes.

  Brian had seen some of the ‘rides’ under the tarpaulin but had not really got a true picture of how ingeniously and erotically cruel they were. The first thing that caught their eye was the big wheel.

  It wasn’t a full size one but then it didn’t need to be. Only five people rode this one and they were tied to its circumference, face outwards. Each of the naked slaves displayed had her labia and nipples gripped by big clover leaf clamps and from each one hung a chain ending in a ring, in addition each girl had a number scrawled across her stomach.

  After queueing for a while, Brian handed over some money and they were allocated Number Five and handed several heavy conical weights with S shaped hooks on the top.

  The object of the exercise was extremely simple. When a hooter sounded the wheel began to turn and, by leaning over the low railing which surrounded the contraption, five sets of punters tried to hang as many weights as they could on their allocated slave.

  The wheel made a very entertaining spectacle while people waited their turn. As the slaves descended the part of the rotation which had them feet first whatever weights they carried pulled downwards. As the rotation began to swing them towards the bottom of the circle, the chains hung away from their bodies and this was a good time to add more weights as the loops hung clear. Then while the bodies were carried through the bottom part of the rotation the chains dragged their weights along the ground to add a little extra touch to the discomfort. It hadn’t been thought necessary to gag the slaves and so the blare of music was rivalled by the outraged shrieks and moans. But then they started on the upwards part of the rotation - feet first. The noise was loudest here as the weights again swung outwards. As Amelia observed, the bigger breasted girls got a much closer look at their nipples than they would have wanted during this stage. At the top of the circle, with the slaves stretched on their backs, the weights hung in a variety of directions and did some interesting things to the breasts in particular.

  The competing punters jostled good naturedly at either side of the wheel, where the slaves descended or rose. Between them Brian and Amelia managed to increase Number Five’s torment by a total of seven weights by the time the ride ended, unfortunately for them someone hung eight on Number Three and walked off with a particularly uncomfortable looking butt plug as a prize. To cheer Amelia up they tried the spider.

  This was closely based on a familiar fairground ride, except that where the normal ride would have had eight chairs at the ends of the arms there were just long, rectangular platforms on which eight luckless slaves were tied, some face down, some face up. The entrance price bought them the use of a whip and a place to stand inside the enclosure. As the machine came to life and began to spin, its multiple arms making the platforms describe complicated patterns around the circular enclosure, each platform was brought into their reach for a few seconds. Amelia had to be alert to deliver a few good smacks before the platform was whisked away and then she had to look for the next one coming. She had to have three goes on the trot, she was so excited.

  A row of slaves tied down on their backs with tight straps constricting the breasts and making them stand up invitingly, formed a very enjoyable coconut shy. Each nipple was encased in a metal coil and on top of the coil was a cup which held a solid wooden ball. All the punters had to do was shoot, using a paint ball gun, to knock the balls off. The quivering, wobbling breasts were covered in an artist’s palette of different coloured starbursts from the guns, as was the black cloth which surrounded them. The girls’ heads had been chained down by the backs of their collars in order to stop them craning their heads up and getting in the way.

  However, that still didn’t make hitting the targets easy, as Brian discovered. The girls were some distance away and insisted on breathing, and not at normal steady rates either. They panted and started at nearby shots and screams, their chests heaved and they strained at their bonds, thus contributing to stray shots. To handicap the shooters further, and, Brian suspected, to lessen the possibility of having to part with any prizes, once they had failed to knock off any balls with four shots, they discovered that at the back of the stall the same slaves were earning their keep with the other end of their bodies. Their legs had been raised, parted and shackled at the ankles, for a very reasonable price they were available to fuck and cunt whip if so desired. It was no wonder they provided such elusive targets at the other end. Brian forked out enough for Amelia to flog one cunt with enticingly well developed inner lips and then he fucked it. Amelia giggled as the slave’s body bucked and writhed under the whip and then the pelvis ground passionately against Brian as he pistoned in and out of its cunt.

  “I bet no one’s shot anything off that one’s tits!” she said as he pulled clear and wiped his cock on a welted thigh.

  A little further on they found an enclosure where a single slave hung by her wrists from a gibbet, her body revolving slowly in the breeze as her wrists were fastened to a single ring. She was liberally sprinkled with bits of paper held to her flesh by steel pins piercing pinches of skin.

  “Come on now, ladies and gentlemen!” the man in charge was shouting. “A genuine test of skill! Each ticket carries a number from one to ten. You have six lashes with a driving whip, try to get as many tickets off the slave as you can, add up your score and win one of these lovely prizes!” He gestured to a table which was displaying a variety of whips, paddles, crops and some very substantial nipple and labia clamps with pronounced serrations to their jaws. Brian knew the minute he saw them that he had to have them. They would make Patti, Raika or any of the stable’s female staff squirm delightfully on the long winter evenings when he and Carlo would sit in the office and work on plans for the next show. He stepped forwards and the man clearly recognized him and began to try to refuse permission for him to partake saying it was intended as entertainment for amateurs only. But unfortunately for him, several of the crowd recognized Brian too and began to cheer him on; eager to witness an expert at work. Eventually the guard shrugged and gave in with good grace.

  Brian hefted the whip he was handed, it was one of the long driving whips he was used to wielding in chariot races but this one had a heavier weight to its tip, designed to tear the ticket off the pin. He flicked and snapped it in the air a few times to get a feel for it and fetched some excited squeals from females in the audience. The hanging slave was fully hooded but the cheers from the crowd must have penetrated the padding at the ears and Brian saw her head come up and move around as she tried to guess where the next lash would land. Even above all the havoc wrought in the arena, he could see the tell tale pits and craters where keen amateurs had sought to relieve her of her tickets.

  The clamps required a score of forty five, meaning he had to hit the top scoring tickets with no misses. Quickly he
surveyed the body. Ten was the ticket pinned to her clitoral hood, nine was at her navel, eight and seven were cunningly pinned at two points down her buttock crease, nearly hidden by the pillows of flesh. Six was pinned to the side of her left breast and five was pinned to her right nipple. The crowd fell silent as the guard stepped forward and grabbed the slave by her hips.

  “Round and round and round she goes!” he called and imparted a spin to the hanging body then stepped back. Brian knew that the knack was to land the weighted tip precisely on target, the lash would wrap her body twice over from where the line in the ground had been marked but only the tip snapping at the paper would dislodge it. Fortunately the guard was not vindictive and had not spun the slave as fast as he might have done, but even so Brian took a few seconds to pick his target; start easy he decided.

  He shook out the lash, aimed, waited for the breasts to come around again and snapped out the lash.

  The slave’s hooded head snapped back and her legs bicycled in the air, a stopple-muffled shriek escaped her as the lash thudded around her waist, wrapped itself lovingly about her, entwining her back and then the tip sank heavily into her right nipple.

  A cheer went up as the white scrap fluttered to earth.

  Brian waited a second more and then flicked out again, again he double wrapped her trunk but this time he struck when her body was at more of an angle to him and the left breast flattened as the weight slammed across it and dug into its side.

  “Ole!” some wag in the crowd called out as the second ticket fluttered down.

  Brian grinned. He was enjoying the challenge. Now it was time to concentrate on the buttocks and he settled himself again, judging the slowing spin and knowing he had to dig the tip right into the crack to dislodge the seven and eight tickets. He waited for the wriggling body to swing almost round to facing him and then drew back a little before letting fly. The lash wrapped the fronts of the spread thighs as they flailed in the air and the tip zipped around her hip and disappeared behind her. Despite the stopple in her mouth, a squeal so loud it made some of the audience jump escaped the slave as the tip bit deep into the crevice of her backside. For a fraction of a second nothing happened but then to wild applause a white scrap fluttered down once more. He repeated the stroke a little lower and again managed to penetrate right to her anus and take the ticket as well. He wiped a bead of sweat away from his brow and was only vaguely aware of the tense silence that surrounded the ring.

  The slave’s navel came round twice as he sized it up and then stepped back again before throwing out a curving strike like casting for trout, the body was revolving away from him, now nearly inert, and the lash didn’t make contact until it had encircled her and reached her right hip, then it smacked in beautifully and the tip snapped at her navel just as the breath was forced from her and her stomach contracted as her knees were lifted. If Brian had let the lash touch her even a split second earlier she would have moved enough to spoil his aim. There was delighted applause and then everyone settled down to watch the final strike to her crotch. The delta at the tops of her thighs was scattered with heavy lines and pits where earlier ambitious but inept strikes had scored her. Brian tried to relax. The body was spinning only sluggishly by now, the legs hanging slackly, the ribs heaving. But the crotch was steady. Again he dealt a throw with the whip, deliberately giving her no time to react before the weight slammed into her groin. The ticket flew up into the air and the slave nearly brought her knees up to her chest as she reacted. There was wild applause led by the guard.

  “To do it in sequence is superb! Let’s hear it for Brian Holden!” he cried. Brian waved and walked across to the table to claim his prize and was agreeably surprised to find that the clamps were not in any way cheap fairground gee gaws. They were solid and might even be silver, the springs on the jaws were strong and beside him Amelia shuddered as she watched his fingers strain to open them.

  Eventually they left with a rather finely embossed leather paddle as well. It was all for fun as the guard pointed out, and it had been a superb display of expertise. As they left, the needles were being replaced and an assistant from the crowd was holding the slave steady and preventing her from kicking as the guard pierced her anew for another, but probably less punishing attempt on her. Getting the tip to snap home cleanly and accurately was a skill that only came from long practice.

  They wandered happily on for a while, past a couple more big wheels, one of which was purely for the girls. Here the slaves were tied with faces in and presented backs and buttocks to the onlooker. As the wheel turned, long suffering submissives were given a chance to flog to their hearts’ content under their masters’ indulgent smiles as a never-ending conveyor belt of backs, buttocks and thighs went past. As the flagellators were only girls themselves armed with floggers, they were unlikely to inflict any further damage on the already scored flesh. Amelia, well used to disciplining slaves was not bothered with that attraction. Her attention had been caught by a Bouncy Castle.

  Once they had paid they had to wait in a kind of lobby just inside the tent until the previous occupants’ time was up. The couples stumbled out flushed and happy, one leggy, tanned girl announced in a harsh Australian accent that although she had shagged for three days solid, “That was absolutely the best thing ever!”

  Brian, Amelia and four other couples were ushered into a basic changing room where they stripped, then pulled aside a thick curtain.

  “Oh my God!” Amelia squeaked and Brian had some sympathy. What met their gaze was stunning. A standard, thick, bouncy castle floor had been inflated and tied across it, arms and legs at full stretch, on their backs was a living carpet of girlflesh, two girls deep in places. Their heads were encased in hoods from the nose upwards to give an attractive anonymity, the mouths were kept wide open by ring gags, their bodies had clearly been oiled and Brian soon found that it was possible to almost sledge naked across the convex, curving mass of bodies, each one tied immovably to mountings set in the floor on which the inflatable castle rested. The walls were padded to prevent anyone from hurting themselves as they slid over the soft flesh. Thoughtfully the slaves’ legs had not been tied together and one could arrest a slide by hooking one’s fingers into a cunt as one skated past. Brian loved it and threw himself joyfully into bouncing up and down on the bodies, palpating the heaving breasts and smacking the beautifully flat stomachs with the crops provided. Pretty soon the girls in the group discovered that by squatting over the slaves’ mouths and alerting them by strikes from the crop and taps on their cheeks, the slaves could be made to understand that their tongues were required. Soon the small area was loud with moans of delight as they squatted over various mouths, seeking out the longest and most prehensile tongues.

  But the castle’s main purpose was for fucking. Amelia went into orbit as Brian lay on top of her whilst underneath her a tongue lapped greedily at her anus and perineum. Brian quite enjoyed having his balls licked as well. The time passed all too quickly before ‘time up’ was called and the couples struggled back into clothes, laughing and joking happily.

  Brian was beginning to think that maybe they ought to get back and help when Amelia caught sight of a tent which proclaimed itself as ‘Guess-a-gasm’. She pleaded with him to allow her one more sideshow and in the glow of the previous day’s victory he agreed. They had to queue for a while before being ushered into a large tent where eight slaves were displayed in X shaped suspension within tall frames. Each had several colourful needles threaded through pinches of breastflesh. Between their legs several more needles had been stuck into labia and inner thighs. There was even a pair at each anus. Small crocodile clips were attached to the steel shaft of each needle and leads ran to transformers mounted at the bases of the frames. From there the leads ran to several more boxes, standing on low tables in front of each slave with the controls facing the customer who had drawn her number on their ticket. Brian and Amelia had been allocated number fifteen and they made their way round the circle of frames
until they found the girl with that number stenciled on her hip. Brian could hardly believe his eyes. The slave’s head was down when they first arrived at their station but she had a very familiar tousled mass of honey blonde hair and the build was familiar too. As couples filed in and took their places a guard walked around the inside of the circle, swatting at each girl’s buttocks with a crop. As he did so the recipient’s head jerked up and she looked round anxiously. The blonde in front of them took a hard swipe and like the others she threw her head back. It was the blonde from the final melee that he had so admired. She didn’t appear to recognize him and just stared balefully at her latest tormentors, her blue eyes heavy lidded but brightly malevolent towards them in the twilight of the tent, sweat shone on her body like oil and Brian reflected that she would have been mounted here for a couple of hours by then. Amelia commented on the fine shape and size of the breasts and her generally heavy boned but graceful form. She looked tough, she told Brian.

  “Welcome to the little game we call ‘Guess-a-gasm’,” the guard said as the last of the customers filed in and found their allocated slave. “Each of you has a dial above your controls. That is a measure of the electricity you purchased with your ticket money. Now the idea of the game is to be the first to make your slave orgasm before the electricity runs out. You might think that’ll be easy given the number of pins they’ve got stuck in them and the clips attached to them – each set of which has its own dial in front of you. But here’s where it gets interesting. Each slave has been wiped down from the last round so you’ve got no idea which slave won the last race and will therefore be more difficult to stimulate now. Nor can you tell which one was nearly there and is now desperate to be finished off. The reason I’m giving all of them a good stroke with the crop is to make them all breathe heavily – equally heavily.” He smiled and there was a ripple of laughter from the punters who were beginning to see that this could be quite a challenging contest. The guard made another circuit, cutting his crop deeply into the arses facing him.