by Sean O'Kane
Blonde Fury II
By
Sean O’Kane
Author’s Preface
The Arena project started out as a single novel idea – it was back when female wrestling was growing in popularity and SM was generally being much talked-about - but once I had got hold of Tara as a character I knew she wouldn’t be tamed and trained within one set of covers! She was going to take two, so along came The Gladiator and then the other ideas just spread off the main one so naturally that The Prize arrived almost without my realising it. And then of course the whole of CSL had to be developed and Slave’s Honour – with all the ponygirl action that was great fun to write – just had to be written. Then Blondie had to be really tested in Last Slave Standing once Snake had wriggled her way onto the pages…
And so here we are at the eleventh and final volume in the journey, in the company of characters who I never knew when I set out.
It’s very rare that a writer in this genre gets to have any contact with his – or her – readers, but I was always thrilled by the letters that Silver Moon received, with thoughts about the last book and suggestions for plot lines in the future, there was one in particular who can take a lot of credit for the last three books. And there was the reader who suspected I was employed at a ponygirl ranch, because of all the detail I went into. If only! Oh, if only!
There are a lot of people whose enthusiasm has been immensely helpful, and a lot who probably didn’t even know they were helping, but here are a few names and if I miss anyone out, please do write to Silver Moon and let me know!
Thanks to; Francine for unflagging and cheerful friendship and suggestions beyond count – and one very major suggestion in particular! Thanks to ‘d ‘ for a lot of things. Thanks to ‘filly’ for her enthusiasm. Thanks to Tony and a whole host of SM people. Thanks to ‘G’ who’ll never read this but who was important.
And lastly thanks to all the readers who came along for the ride! This one’s for you!
Part One Synopsis
Sophie Suarez is the daughter of the famous gladiator Blondie; star of the modern arenas. But she is trying to live down her parents’ past and becomes involved in the student protests against slavery which is being introduced by the government. Unbeknownst to her she has a half-sister who is already a star of the arenas; ‘Ace’ or Anna Chatham as she was before she was enslaved (see Bound for Glory).
When Sophie’s parents are killed in an air crash the arena that owns Ace starts promoting her as the heiress to Blondie’s prowess, but some people start asking where her half-sister is and soon Sophie’s identity – although she has changed her name by deed poll- is discovered. Suddenly she is on the run in Paris, travelling on a forged passport. She splits up with her boyfriend but finds a new friend in Martha, with whom she begins a lesbian relationship. The two women start work with an Escort Agency. But one night Sophie sees one of the men from an arena who had tried to kidnap her in London and she takes fright and flees to America where her parents had a company that she hopes she can work for and lose her identity. However, passport control in America spot that her passport is a fake, as they are always on the lookout for good looking women passing through, and double check to see if they’ve got anything to hide. They are handsomely paid to do so by a local multi-millionaire who runs a ponygirl ranch.
He offers girls like Sophie a chance to evade the law by serving him for two years. At the end of that time they can go free if they want. Sophie is horrified to find herself in a situation almost like the one her mother faced when she was first abducted, but realises that after two years most people will have forgotten about Sophie Suarez and she might stand a chance of living a normal life, so she signs up to be a ponygirl with all that that entails....
Chapter One
Her wrists encased in thick leather suspension cuffs, the slavegirl hung before Martha. She was suspended from a chain run through a steel loop mounted in a beam that traversed the ceiling of a luxury apartment at the CSL slave training stable.
The apartment belonged to Brian Holden who was part-owner of the stable and he stood to one side of Martha, leaning casually against a wall, watching her with a slight smile playing around his lips. For her part Martha was lost in heart-stopping surges of unfamiliar but thrilling sensations. The girl had been hung with her back towards her and now Martha ran her eyes lovingly over the fully available and naked body. Like any arena slave she was strong and the suspension showed her athletic form off to perfection. The pads of sinew beneath the feminine curves at the shoulders tapered smoothly into the back which in turn faded gracefully into the narrow waist. From there the hips swelled out spectacularly to the sides and the buttocks jutted towards Martha. They were almost perfect hemispheres and were tight and perky, sitting at the tops of the powerful, long thighs that were parted just slightly, allowing Martha to glimpse the cleft of the lips that hid between them. Lips which, Brian had assured her, would be extremely wet and eager at the end of a whipping.
And it was the whipping which was making Martha breathless with excitement. Brian had given her a braided single tail whip about six feet long with a tassel at its end.
“I’d normally suggest starting with a flogger, but I get the feeling you’ll settle in better with one of these,” Brian had told her as he had handed it to her and then told her how to sweep it forwards and to adjust her stance to allow the full length of the tail and the tassel to land across the back and buttocks or to leave the tassel to wrap around the chest or hips to bite at the breasts or delta.
“When the slave is upright in front of you, you have to swing the lash hard or it’ll just go slack before it hits,” he told her and came to stand close behind her so that he could reach out and clasp his hand around hers. She could feel his body pressing against hers and in her lower back there was the tell tale hardness of his cock. She was not surprised, the erotically displayed body in front of them had got her feeling very hot and damp and the thought of being able to do just anything she pleased with it was making her heart thunder and her pulse race.
When he had first got her into bed in Paris and she had decided that she could give him some indication of Sophie’s whereabouts in return for this invitation to visit a real arena slave training stable, she had had the feeling that it was something she was meant to do. And as she swung the lash forwards and felt Brian’s strength pushing her arm through the barrier of reluctance and conscience and the tail had smacked home across the slave’s shoulders, making the girl flinch and twist in her bonds, Martha knew that she had been born for this. She felt a warm flood of arousal at her belly and her breasts suddenly felt tight against her bra cups. She threw another lash and again Brian helped her to abandon all fear and strike as hard as she wanted, and then he let her go and stood back.
Now she was some thirty lashes into the beating and the slave’s body was beginning to pendulum back and forth as Martha really found her range. Biting her lower lip in sheer excitement, she altered her aim and her stance and threw the whip forward around the hips. Immediately the slave’s legs bicycled and her body twisted. The tow coloured mane of hair flung back between the raised shoulders and a cry escaped her for the first time.
“Nice shot!” Brian said.
Martha grinned across at him, swept her own hair back and repeated the stroke. Once again she registered a hit and the slave’s body swung more freely as both legs kicked helplessly and her torso twisted. She went for a third and fetched a loud yelp from her victim, whose legs kicked more vigorously in the air. Martha coiled the lash and went to inspect her handiwork.
“Give it a couple of minutes for her skin to show the marks,” Brian told her. “This one marks quite slowly. Others show almost immediately. Sometimes it’s the ones who mark quickest
who bruise the longest, you just have to know your stock.”
Martha savoured the word ‘stock’. These slaves were legally owned nowadays and the stable could do pretty much as it wanted with them. The only rein to total power over them was the substantial resale value of a good arena slave. To that end each stable now had a vet to keep an eye on the livestock’s welfare. Martha put her hands on the slave’s hips to steady her and looked up into her eyes.
When Brian had led the girl in; her leash clipped through the heavy tongue ring that kept all arena slaves virtually mute, Martha had avoided eye contact, almost ashamed of what she was about to do to another female. But now Brian’s confident objectification of her and the calm acceptance the slave had displayed as she was tied and then suspended, had emboldened her. She, Martha, was a free woman and this was a slave; a chattel, wholly owned ‘stock’ whose only purpose was to give pleasure.
The slave hung with her feet six inches off the floor so Martha could easily look up into the grey eyes that stared fixedly down at the floor and refused to meet hers. Martha realised it was probably some sort of standing order, so she reached up and took the girl’s face between the thumb and forefinger of her hand, forcing her head up. She was a presentable enough girl, she thought. Her full lipped mouth hung open a little as she still panted in the wake of the beating, her ring gleamed between even white teeth, but there were no tears and the face was calm and expressionless.
“Whatever you’re looking for you won’t find it there,” Brian whispered, coming close behind her and reaching forward to embrace her round her waist and pull her back against him. “There’s only one place a slave does her talking.”
Martha’s breath caught with excitement but she managed a husky laugh and took her hand away from the girl’s face and instead plunged it straight between the thighs. The girl parted them immediately and Martha’s fingers were easily able to slide across a slippery, hard clitoris and then up into the vagina itself. The inner lips were the kind that erected around the vaginal entrance itself and the small clitoral hood had retracted so the cunt was neat and every bit as wet as Brian had said and Martha had to resist the urge to plunge her face into it and lap up the thick juice that was already squelching around her fingers.
As she kept working them inside the girl and Brian’s hands glided up to her own breasts and began to brush her nipples through the fabric of her sweater, she saw the pink line of the whip strikes begin to appear on the tanned skin of the girl’s delta and she laughed in delight as she saw how accurate her first strike had been. She could see how the tassel, travelling faster than the actual lash had bitten into the flesh in a sloping line down across the girl’s right hip and stopped just at the start of the labial cleft. As she watched, fascinated, and the slave began to gasp and moan as she kept her fingers working inside her, Martha saw the other two strikes appear and darken, almost following the same trajectory.
“She could do with some from the other direction to even things up and make a nice pattern,” Brian said. Martha giggled with excitement at the way the slave was treated purely as a canvas to paint on with the lash. The only response from her that mattered at all was what was going on in her vagina, and Martha realised that her cries and wriggling had become more urgent and she was close to coming. Instinctively she withdrew her fingers and inspected the glistening secretions that coated them. In front of her the slave’s body trembled with disappointment and Brian gave her a squeeze and stood back.
“Well done,” he said. “She needs to know she’ll only be allowed pleasure on your terms. Start as you mean to go on and control every bit of pain and pleasure they experience.”
“Can she take more?” Martha asked. She had heard friends discussing watching arena videos online but had never done it herself and was still finding it hard to accept the erotic reality hanging in front of her.
“Of course!” Brian snorted. “You’re only sweeping the whip, not cracking it at full length, so you won’t break the skin. She’s used to taking a hundred or more like this. It’ll be her shoulders that’ll need a rest before she’s whipped out.”
Martha looked up at the slave again and noticed the heavily ringed tongue clicking against her teeth as the girl swallowed. Impulsively she reached up and wiped her fingers clean of vaginal fluid on one breast and then paused to admire the soft, fleshy ovals stretched just inside the sinews of the raised arms, the nipples deep red and hard, the areolas swollen with excitement.
“Wrap a few round her ribs and onto those and you’ll get a reaction sure enough,” Brian told her.
Martha resumed her position behind the girl while Brian strolled over to the bar and helped himself to a glass of wine. The memory of the soft vulnerability of the breasts stayed in her mind and she started the second part of the beating by experimenting with wrapping her rib cage as Brian had suggested, before she went back to developing the tracery of long thin lines across her back and delicious buttocks and hips. And eventually she did get a reaction from the wrapping strokes. The slave cried out more loudly and wriggled frantically at several of them as the tally mounted to over sixty lashes and when Martha switched her target back to the delta, she was rewarded with some particularly convulsive twists and thrusts of the hips into thin air before she slumped in her bonds and swung limply under the ensuing lashes until Martha stopped as she could see the inner thighs gleaming with discharge in the wake of the orgasm.
“D’you know?” she said. “I never really believed they could do that – come under the whip I mean. That is really hot!”
Brian came forward, his face intent and his eyes locked on hers. He reached out before he came close and put one hand directly on her right breast. Again she caught her breath, unaware of how excited she had become and transfixed by the desire she saw in his eyes. She tilted her face up to his kiss and thrust her chest forward, offering up her breasts to him as his tongue pressed between her open lips and penetrated her mouth.
The bedroom was on the same floor as the lounge, which doubled as playroom and Brian wasted no time in grasping the slave round her waist and unbuckling the suspension cuffs, then throwing her over one shoulder and carrying her into the bedroom at the same time as he led Martha there.
The bed was a four poster with exquisitely carved posts and Brian set the slave down at the foot of the bed, facing away from it and tied her wrists to the tops of the posts and her feet to the bottoms so that she was spreadeagled. Then he put her in a hood which left only her mouth unimpeded.
“There,” he said as he turned and found that Martha was naked and kneeling on the bed waiting for him. “She’ll keep for if we need her later.”
Brian had left Paris a few days before Martha had been able to get away to join him and in the hired car she had taken from Heathrow she had fretted about what she was doing. She could just about square giving Brian some indication of Sophie’s whereabouts with her conscience, but she wasn’t sure about Brian or about herself. As he had told her about his work at the stable and how it all worked, she had found herself getting more and more excited. His conversation was so different from the scandalised and girly gossip which had been her only previous contact with the arenas. He was calm and matter-of-fact and she had found herself looking at his strong, competent hands, thinking of them working on smooth, vulnerable girlflesh and had shivered with lust. But she couldn’t figure out where exactly she fitted in. She had loved having some limited domination over Sophie. And while she drove, Martha’s thoughts turned again to her lovely blonde Sophie, recalling how she would lie next to her after they had made love. Sophie would prop herself up on one elbow and gently riffle and stroke Martha’s soft pubic fuzz, carefully shaved into a tidy little bush. Slowly the afternoon would wear on and the light and shadows would shift across the bedroom as Martha’s libido was revved up again by the soft, insistent fingers playing with her. And then;
“Please may I lick you again, Martha?” And it struck Martha that Sophie had always asked permission
before doing anything. Maybe it was a case of ‘like mother, like daughter’ after all and Brian was right; Sophie belonged to the arenas and, more particularly, to The Lodge.
Eventually she had arrived at the gates of the most secretive and exclusive SM club in the country and been allowed in. Brian had met her at the car park in front of the main house.
“I want to show you the CSL stable before you see the rest of the place,” he had told her before guiding her quickly through a stableyard and then along paths that ran through woodland and skirted a steel building that Brian told her was the indoor training ground and then they had found the complex that housed CSL itself. It was dusk and the slaves were being given their evening feed. Everything was busy; girls dressed in short kilt-type skirts and blouses knotted up beneath their breasts dashed back and forth with steaming bowls of food. In one shed Martha glimpsed two rows of naked girls sitting on either side of a long table all tucking into their food as it was ladled out for them, in the background several men stood watch over them.
“We used to be a small stable that trained specialists and hired them out, but now the stables are so big there’s not quite as much demand for that. Now we mainly train up squad girls for the big stables so they don’t have to bother, but we still keep a core of specialists who do get hired out. They’re in here,” he told her, opening the door of another low building a little further along. Martha had never seen girls stabled before but here there were fifteen of them. They were chained up in their stalls but able to walk about within them. The grooms were just settling them down after their feed and a small, very attractive Indian woman was anxiously scanning a clipboard, flicking back and forth through the papers on it. She was dressed in a simple tunic in a sari-like fabric that stopped only a few inches down her exquisite legs. Below it her satin smooth thighs were naked apart from her high-heeled court shoes. Martha thought she looked gorgeous.