She stretched, trying to free her head. A voice warned her to stay down and a whip cracked against her leg. She lay still, confused, wondering where she was going, wanting to struggle and try to spit the foul tasting gag from her mouth, but knowing it would only earn her further blows of the whip.
The cart moved on, bumping along an uneven road. Three times it turned, before it finally stopped and Cianna heard the creak of a gate being opened. Her interest rose, her fear too, as the cart moved in under an arch, then out of the sunlight. She heard the driver dismount, and a moment later the blanket was pulled from her head. A man was standing over her, hugely fat, in leather trousers like the ones Gaidrhed had worn, but dyed a brilliant scarlet and held up by a thick black belt.
He was grinning, with no anger or malice in his face, just satisfaction, and Cianna felt an immediate wave of relief. Looking down on then, he reached into a pocket, extracting a long tube that appeared to be made of leaves. In shape it looked uncomfortably as if it might be made to go up girl’s tuppennies. Cianna felt her apprehension rising again. Digging in his pocked once more, he produced a small stick with a yellow tip, which he struck smartly on the wall, causing a puff of flame and an odd smell. Cianna’s apprehension turned to fear as he lit the end of the roll of leaves, only to fade as he stuck the other end into his mouth and took a long suck on it, blowing smoke out through his nose. Stepping closer, he tweaked the gag from Cianna’s mouth, then Babalyn’s.
‘Twenty standard the pair!’ he said with immense pleasure as his eyes wandered down their naked bodies. ‘Now that is a bargain! Well, I’d better untie you then, if you’re going to behave?’
‘I will, Master,’ Babalyn said immediately, Cianna nodding agreement.
‘You will indeed,’ he said, ducking down to start on Cianna’s bonds.
He hummed to himself as he untied them, happily, then helped them from the cart. They were in a high room, open to the air at one side, through which a courtyard could be seen, with a wall beyond, trees and distant hills beyond that. The man attended to the cattle which had pulled the cart as Cianna and Babalyn rubbed the circulation back into the limbs. Finished, he came to lean on a squat wooden frame, on top of which had been fixed a broad leather saddle. Cianna glanced at it with new apprehension.
‘A horse and saddle,’ he said, gesturing with the roll of leaves, ‘both for the sake of discipline and my entertainment.’
‘Have mercy,’ Babalyn answered. ‘We’ve been whipped, terribly!’
‘Oh I’ve no mind to whip you, he answered, just to introduce myself, to your cunts. Up on the saddle, both of you.’
‘Both?’ Cianna asked, looking doubtfully at the thing.
‘Just do as he says,’ Babalyn said quickly. ‘You first.’
Puzzled, Cianna climbed onto the saddled, parting her legs around the broad seat to leave her thighs well spread and her bottom pushed up, the highest part of her body. The man watched, puffing smoke and grinning as Babalyn climbed on in turn, mounting Cianna and pushing her down onto the soft leather. The man laughed at the sight and put his hand to his belt, pulling it free. Cianna winced, expecting her thighs beaten again, only to have him wrap it around the horse, herself and Babalyn, buckling it to fix them firmly in place.
‘That’s to make sure you stay were you’re put,’ he said. ‘Now, some cock for you to share. Get me hard.’
His trousers had fallen, and he kicked them off, lifting his smock to expose a huge, hairy belly and an ample set of genitals. Stepping to near their heads, he pushed his cock at Babalyn’s face. She took it, sucking as Cianna reluctantly began to kiss his balls, then to lick at them as he grew in Babalyn’s mouth. As they sucked he fondled as much of their breasts as he could get at, and also Babalyn’s bottom. In no time he was hard, and after making perfunctory use of Cianna’s mouth with his cock, he stepped behind them.
‘What a sight!’ he crowed. ‘Two fat cunts, one above the other. Arseholes too, and all with a fat cigar! I don’t know where to put it first.’
Babalyn gave a little gasp and the man chuckled. A moment later Cianna felt something firm press to her sex and up, oddly warm, until she realised that he had put the unlit end of the cigar in her tuppenny. The smoke was filling her sex, hot enough to have her gasping until he took the cigar out and substituted the head of his cock. She sighed despite herself, but the attention was immediately transferred to Babalyn.
In no hurry, he amused himself with them, rubbing his cock against their sexes. Again and again the head of his cock was popped into one hole or the other, smacked in the wet flesh of their vulvas, or pressed to their bottom rings to taunt them with sodomy. He used the cigar as well, poking it into all four holes, ever deeper as they became more slimy. After each instertion he took a puff, enjoying the taste of the their vaginas and bottom holes. As he did it he masturbated, tugging at his big cock left handed.
At last, when Cianna was wondering if she was actually going to get fucked at all, he had put the cigar down and put his cock in properly. It was big, stretching her tuppenny, and she sighed despite herself, taking a firm grip on the horse as he began to fuck her. Her welts smarted, but her pleasure was rising, the pain growing dim with the feel of the cock inside her. Again she sighed, relaxing, only to have it pulled out and put up Babalyn instead, fucking her, with his balls now slapping on Cianna’s flesh.
He began to grunt, then to gasp, slamming into them, his fat stomach squashing over and over against their flesh. His cock went up Cianna again, hard, unexpectedly, but was pulled out after only a few thrusts. An instant later wet, hot sperm splashed across her buttocks, and between them, on Babalyn too, to drip down and pool in Cianna’s anus.
‘Fine,’ he grunted, ‘fuck them well on the first day and they’ll eat out of your hand, that’s my way.’
He undid the belt, allowing the girls to climb off. Feeling stiff and sore, Cianna went to sit on a pile of sacks, to which the man made no objection. Leaning on the cart, he waited until both of them were ready, then spoke.
‘I am Jelkrael, your new owner. By profession I am an impresario, of a specialist nature. I run fighting girls for pits both public and private, a sport you may know something of?’
‘A little,’ Babalyn admitted carefully.
‘It is not important,’ he continued. ‘What is important is that both of you are now part of my stable, and will shortly be taking part in a tour. Cianna, you are to be a fighting girl…’
‘Who do I fight?’ Cianna asked. ‘And what with?’
‘Other girls, nude, with nothing but your bare hands, this is entertainment, not some barbarian brawl,’ he answered. ‘Babalyn, you will announce the rounds and assist me with the books. You can do math, I trust? Good. All will go well, I am sure, but above all things I require the loyalty of my staff and girls. Is this clear?’
‘Naturally,’ Babalyn said, ‘we are your property. Yours to command as you please.’
‘Exactly,’ Jelkrael replied, ‘but in case of doubt, note that the horse and saddle over which you have just been fucked can work equally well when girls need to be whipped. The rules are these. Obey me, and the staff also. Speak to nobody outside the camp, ever, and if somebody should attempt to speak to you, report it immediately. Dalliances with outsiders are forbidden, absolutely. I and the staff will fuck you as we please, but if you want sex at other times, amuse each other. Now come, I wish to introduce you to your stablemates.’
They followed as he made for a low door, into the interior of the building, a structure much like the house of Assivetes but plainer. Passing along a short passage, he pushed his way through a beaded curtain to where three people sat on mats around a low dais.
‘Here,’ Jelkrael said, indicating a thin young man, ‘is the crafty Yufal, adept in all matters pertaining to the placing of bets. And here, Klia, my seasoned warrior, and here, my last acquisition, who I intend to make a champion.’
Cianna turned to the last person indicated, finding herself staring
at Yuilla.
For two days Cianna remained in Jelkrael’s house, never once stepping outside. Jelkrael himself had gone, to arrange a contest, leaving the house to be managed by Yufal, the two males slaves he kept as guards and the girls. Of these, Klia was friendly, Yuilla cold, issuing orders as if she herself were free until she became put off by Cianna’s failure to respond. Sexually, they were left largely unmolested, Yufal generally preferring Klia and Yuilla apparently determined to keep both the male slaves permanently satisfied. Glad of the respite, both Cianna and Babalyn spent much of their time on their pallets, allowing their bruises to heal.
On the third day the girls found themselves growing bored, and determined to explore. It had been made clear that they should not leave the compound, and Babalyn had managed to convince Cianna that escape was pointless, but there was a substantial garden, which seemed likely to contain fruit trees. Leaving by a side door, they came out into a yard, bathed in bright sunlight, and empty except for a squat kennel, outside which a large black and brown dog lay dozing. Cianna gave a delighted exclamation and walked quickly over. The dog looked up, eyeing her suspiciously, then snuffling at her hand as she bent down beside it.
‘Do not touch it!’ Babalyn urged. ‘It is a horrible thing!’
‘No,’ Cianna answered, stroking the dog’s huge head. ‘He is lovely. Aren’t you, boy?’
‘You do not know what you do!’ Babalyn insisted. ‘That is a cunt dog, trained to run down girls and mount them! They do it for sport, and to punish runaway slaves. Leave it, Cianna!’
‘He wouldn’t hurt me,’ Cianna answered, tickling the dog behind one ear. ‘Look, he’s just a big baby!’
The dog had rolled, a huge pink tongue lolling out of its mouth as it showed off its belly. Cianna continued to stroke and tickle, laughing as the pink head of the beast’s penis emerged from the hairy sheaf. Babalyn gave a gasp of horror, backing against the wall.
‘He’ll fuck you, Cianna!’ she gabbled. ‘One chance and he’ll fuck you! Quick, come inside!’
‘No he won’t!’ Cianna replied, rubbing the dog’s belly, which made its cock extend yet further from the prepuce. ‘Well, perhaps he would, but it would be no worse than old Assivetes.’
‘Cianna!’
Cianna laughed, and continued to tickle the dog, only to rise as the compound gate swung open. Jelkrael appeared, smoking a cigar and grinning more broadly than ever as he waved them over.
‘I see you’ve met Glaucum,’ he said, ‘who is trained to provide naughty slave girls with a punishment I find more effective than even the saddle and whip. Run, and he will track you down, should you flee to Kea itself. And when he does… But we need not talk of such things, need we? No, you are loyal slaves, both, and you at least, Cianna, are to play an important part in my coming venture. Inside, and gather the others, I intend to explain.’
They went, calling out for Yufal and the other slaves, who quickly gathered in the main chamber. Presently Jelkrael entered, rubbing his hands in satisfaction.
‘Attend carefully,’ he began. ‘I have arranged bouts in Port Utis and in Ioto. The first will introduce Cianna, who will win against Klia, thus sparking her reputation. The second will be for Cianna to be beaten in turn by Yuilla, whose victory will then seem all the more spectacular. From there, I intend to build her reputation as we travel around the coast towards Kea, with a series of victories over ever more redoubtable opposition from other stables, bought, naturally. Presently, the bookmakers will realise that she is being built up to challenge Moloa, the champion in Kea itself. They will know the matches are being thrown, although the majority of the public will not. Odds on Yuilla will become prohibitive, those on her opponents increasingly long. Now, and here is the clever part. Instead of building her up to a challenge with Moloa, and taking a sixth share of a good gate, I will allow another impresario to buy the last match before we challenge Moloa, probably in Kea itself. Thus I will recoup my expenses in providing Yuilla with her opponents and make a true fortune by the judicious placing of bets. For now, she needs an initial and spectacular victory to set matters afoot. Cianna, is this clear?’
‘Yes,’ Cianna answered, quickly snatching her attention back from where she had been watching clouds drift past the high windows. ‘I am to fight Klia, then Yuilla.’
‘And you will lose,’ Jelkrael went on. ‘You should know, as well, that each fighter has a trademark humiliation to inflict on her victims, a signature. Moloa, for instance, shaves their cunts, lights a splint on the rough bristles and smokes a cigar while sat on their heads, which is effective but somewhat slow. Yuilla, I have decided, will pull her victims up by the hair and urinate in their mouths, then make them lick her to show that they are truly conquered.’
‘I thank you for warning me of this,’ Cianna replied.
‘It is best to be prepared, for the sake of the spectacle,’ Jelkrael answer. ‘So, we will need to provide you some colour, a name for one thing. You are from the northlands, yes?’
‘From Boreal, in Aegmund, on the continent Kora,’ Cianna replied.
‘Few have even heard of Kora,’ Jelkrael answered. ‘Still, let me, see… the Snow Demon, no… Cianna, the Barbarian Princess…’
‘I am not a Princess.’
‘No matter, it is how it sounds that is important. Still, it’s no good, too soft. We need something to imply savagery. Show me your teeth again.’
Cianna bared her teeth.
‘Impressive, yes, the Ice Cannibal, perfect.’
‘I am not a cannibal!’
‘Moloa is not a she troll, for all that she resembles one. It is a good name, we’ll stick with it. Yuilla is to be Lady Waterfall, on account of her signature. Klia is the Warrior, and cuts a lock from the hair of her victims, each of which is added to her necklace. On which topic, what exactly is your necklace made of?’
‘The teeth of my ancestors.’
‘Splendid! You’ll make the Ladies’ blood run cold. We need some savage act as your signature, but nothing too bloody. Humiliation is the key. Hmm, at present nothing comes to mind, but doubtless it will. In any case, get ready, we leave for Port Utis in the morning.’
Cianna sat by the side of the road, Klia beside her, Yuilla a little way to the side. For an hour they had practised, and their bodies glistened with sweat. Behind them was an area of flattened grass, on which Cianna had repeatedly thrown both of the other girls, or held them down, her speed and strength far outweighing either’s abilities.
In the afternoon they were due to arrive in Port Utis, where they would wrestle, and Cianna now realised why everyone seemed so certain she would win. Klia was too slow, and reacted poorly to pain, as well as being inclined to elaborate moves and postures. Yuilla was slower still, if more vicious. Cianna had overcome both easily, despite having her mind more on the situation she was in than the wrestling. Being with Jelkrael offered no opportunities for fulfilling her duty to Sulitea, and she had once more begun to consider the option of trying to be sent to the powdermills. Klia was friendly, and talkative, and as a life long slave seemed likely to know what sort of offence would warrant the punishment.
‘Tell me,’ Cianna asked. ‘For what would a girl be sent to the powdermills?’
‘Sent to the powdermills!’ Klia laughed. ‘Has someone been scaring you with tales of what happens there?’
Cianna nodded.
‘Jelkrael has never sold a girl to the powdermills,’ Klia went on. ‘Although he threatened me once or twice, when I was first with him. Not that he would do it. It is just a tale used to scare girls into easy obedience. After all, he would lose money, which he cannot bear to do.’
‘It happens though?’
‘It happens, yes, I suppose. Not often. Male slaves alone work at the powdermills. Save perhaps for a few girls for the pleasure of the staff. Still, it would be a bad place to be, with much opportunity for cruelty. The mills are remote. Life must be dull, and the torment of female slaves one of the few possible amuse
ments. I have seen the great mills at Julac in the wetlands to the south of Kea, with four great buildings, each surrounded by a wall some five times the height of a grown man. Once inside, a slave never leaves.’
‘Why such precautions?’ Cianna asked.
‘They are remote in case of explosion. As to the walls and restrictions, there was a revolt, years ago, among male fighting slaves. Since then great care has been taken to be sure no male slaves learn fighting skills. That is why only girls now fight.’
‘What if I ran?’
‘Don’t. Glaucum would be set on your trail. He would catch you and hold you by the neck in his jaws as he fucked you, then herd you back to Jelkrael, drag you if you resisted. You would then be whipped, hard, maybe branded. For men, yes, persistent runaways could well end up in the powdermills, or the salt mines, or a dozen other awful places. Not girls, they like to fuck us too much. Besides, you are a good fighter. If you were also a runaway, Jelkrael would only use it to add glamour to your image. In fact, say nothing of this, or he might stage it and you will end up fucked by Glaucum in the dock market at Port Utis.’
‘He would do this?’
‘He would do anything to gain attention to us, and thus more money. Tonight, before we fight, we will be paraded through the streets. Remember you are supposed to be a savage. Snarl and spit, show your teeth. As Jelkrael says, nine parts in ten of our trade lies in showmanship.’
‘I know nothing of this. I know only how to wrestle.’
‘So I see. Where did you learn?’
‘Playing with my brothers. In Aegmund all low-born men wrestle. It is fine sport, and there is much honour in it. There is a prize, a girl, or a purse of money, both sometimes. The men wrestle, and the victor enjoys the girl or takes the purse. It is also the way when two men seek the same wife. Thus the strongest achieves her. The girl must fight back, to show the man worthy of her. That was my role with my brothers, to pretend to be the prize. Also they would practise their holds and moves on me.’
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