Slave's Honour

by Sean O'Kane

  Brian noticed that although the woman was stabled like the arena slaves she was much more alert and was clearly listening to every word said about her. She obviously felt Brian’s eyes on her because she sidled along and pushed her breasts forwards to be stroked. He obliged and the woman closed her eyes in delight as his fingers explored the welts which covered the large orbs in dusty red lattices, the nipples swelling thick and hard under his hand.

  “Back up, Penelope!” Carlo ordered and opened the stall door so they could enter. She stood obediently still, her legs parted, her hands fastened behind her back and accepted Brian being given a guided tour of her body, which included the shaven cunt. The two hunkered down so more detail could be made out. Brian immediately saw why her master made her keep it shaved, the plump outer labia were beautifully, although unusually, red and well defined. It was as if she had had lipstick applied.

  “She’s well worth seeing when she’s been cunt whipped,” Carlo said. “She gets a real blush on then!”

  Brian ran his hand along the soft slit as he stood up and felt the lips part almost immediately. Although she must still have been sore from the beating she made no protest as he pushed up into her and found a youthfully tight and welcoming channel inside her.

  “Come on and I’ll show you the daughter,” Carlo said and reluctantly Brian withdrew his fingers but made a resolution to explore Penelope further at the first opportunity. Once out of the stall, Carlo clicked his fingers to one of the grooms and told her to finish the woman off.

  In the next stall they found a pony of a very different ilk. Where the dam was tall and striking, the filly - Amber, Carlo called her - was petite and dainty. Also she was sullen and resentful, curled up on her straw she made no move to rise as the men entered and approached her.

  “She’s sulking because she knows her master is in the house and enjoying himself in a dungeon probably. She’s never got the hang of her master being free to do as he wants,” Carlo said.

  The girl glared up through a fringe of sleek black hair, her eyes a disconcerting shade of violet.

  Suddenly Carlo reached down, grabbed a handful of black hair and wrenched the girl up. She shrieked and scrabbled with her feet desperately but Carlo held her, head pushed back, her eyes staring into his. And suddenly Brian realised that her expression had changed, gone was the tight lipped sulk, now her mouth hung slightly open and she gazed up at Carlo as a woman might who was expecting a kiss. What she got was a slap. She licked her lips provocatively as soon as she turned her face back to Carlo. He slapped her breasts hard and she sighed in pleasure as the heavy, for so slight a frame, tits swung back and forth.

  “You’ll need to watch the guests with this one when you’re patrolling the dungeons at night. She doesn’t know when to stop and she’ll keep urging them on. Any time she isn’t being flogged, fucked or both is time wasted as far as she’s concerned.” He let her fall back onto her straw and as they left the stall, Brian saw her give him a ‘come on’ smile.

  He found the grooms - all dressed like Patti, except for heeled sandals rather than thigh boots - extremely distracting until Carlo confirmed that they were fair game as well and from then on the conversation was conducted while Brian explored beneath the skirts and inside the blouses of any of them who came within range.

  Carlo also confirmed that Patti herself was available and explained that the grooms worked in two week spells and could easily find themselves back in the stables the following week as a pony - if a member (if she was a bought Housegirl) or her master (if she was a privately owned Housegirl) desired it. That meant the ponies received the best treatment possible as roles could very easily be reversed. The grooms had a dormitory above the office which was in the building which formed the rear wall of the yard. In the office Carlo kept all his records, a full range of whips, his mysterious substances for healing bruises and cuts and different ones for coating butt plugs in to stir up the slaves for races. Behind the crowded desk was a full anatomical poster, displaying the female body and indicating pressure points for massage and acupuncture. There was a shelf full of books on anatomy and the theory and practice of female discipline. On another shelf was a spirit stove and bowl for brewing up the spices for the butt plugs. Behind this room was the tack room where a groom was busy polishing a bridle. On the other side of the arch which allowed for a tarmac path to exit directly onto the parkland was Patti’s office. Here she kept precise records of the arena slaves’ diets and their individual training regimes as well as notes about any preferences any member might have for the way a pony was to be tacked up. In contrast to Carlo’s office it was pristine and neat. Carlo pointed out that that was so that there was always room to bend a girl over the desk or to hang her by her wrists from the hook in the centre of the ceiling. Patti blushed but gestured to an old hatstand in one corner where she had hung as good a range of whips and crops as she had been able to garner from around the place.

  “My bedroom’s up here,” Patti told him, starting to mount the stairs before he could make any reply. Carlo winked and went back out into the courtyard. Brian turned and looked up the steep steps. It never failed to amaze him how a woman - never mind how short her skirt - could contrive to keep an area of darkness at the tops of her thighs. Although he was perfectly certain that she was naked beneath the skirt, even as he set his foot on the bottom stair and looked up, he was unable to see her cunt. Somehow she managed to get just enough twist into her posture to shield herself from his gaze. As he climbed however, he kept his eyes fastened to the long, booted thighs and the lower slopes of naked buttock which at least were on full view. If her aim had been to have Brian arrive in her quarters sporting an iron hard erection so soon after giving El Tigre her seeing-to; she achieved it.

  Brian found himself in a small but pleasantly airy room with dormer windows set near the room’s floor overlooking the stableyard. Her bed occupied one wall and at its foot was a door that led through into a lounge. Between the two windows was a dressing table and he couldn’t help but notice, in amongst all the usual moisturisers, blushers, eye-liners and foundation creams, without which no woman can be expected to face the day, a steel dish containing needles still in their sterilised wrappers. He raised his eyes and Patti, who had clearly been watching him, lowered hers hurriedly.

  Brian clicked his fingers and made a beckoning motion with them. Obediently she came closer and he reached into the warmth of her blouse, scooping up a heavy handful of breastflesh and lifting it. She immediately unknotted the blouse and let it fall away. Now he looked closely he could see the remains of yellowing bruises scattered over the pale flesh, the tell tale signs of having been pierced.

  “As head groom,” Patti spoke, her voice a little uncertain as Brian’s fingers teased her nipples into full erection. “I am responsible for seeing that… … all the ponies and slaves give… …. the best service. And… …..and… ….. El Tigre didn’t finish cleaning you - I’d like to do that now, Sir.”

  Brian hesitated for a fraction of a second, he could see Carlo waiting in the yard beneath the window.

  “Oh very well. But be quick about it.”

  Patti grasped his hips and sank to her knees, then with practised ease she undid his zip and pulled the engorged shaft free. The shining dome of the helm seemed to dwarf her face but she moaned in appreciation of what she now held gently between her dainty fingers.

  She flicked her tongue at the side of the shaft. “If I cause you any inconvenience by taking too long, Sir, I am of course available for punishment at any time of your choosing.” The fact that as she spoke those words her breath was caressing the head of his cock nearly took the top of Brian’s head off, and as she finished she ducked her head and took him into the soft cave of her mouth with its clever tongue,.

  Patti gave a contented sigh and then surfaced for a moment. “Mmmm! I love the taste of El Tigre,” she said, licking her lips. “Blondie’s surprisingly gentle on the tongue, Jet and Cherry are okay, Ox is like li
cking battery acid - I sometimes punish slackers by making them tongue her - but Tigre’s just nicely animal without being too strong.” Brian was about to tell her to get on with it and cut the chatter when he saw her adopt the frowning, eyes closed, mouth open expression of all girls who are about to take a sizeable length of cock as far down their gullets as they can. As soon as he was in, he felt her tongue flick urgently and rasp against the sensitive underside of the helm, her fingers stroked gently and then began to grip him harder, her hand pumping as she relaxed her throat and he felt the pressure grow as he slid gently in and out, deeper and deeper into her throat at each thrust. He made no attempt to hold back his pleasure and threw himself into the delight of pumping his sperm into her with all his strength, while he held her head hard against him, making her swallow as fast as she could to keep up.

  Carlo turned and looked up, tapping his watch. Brian gave him the thumbs up and wrenched Patti’s head back; she had been busily encouraging the last drops out of him and he spilled some of himself onto her face and hair as he came free from her lips and his shaft sprang upwards. Patti laughed in delight but Brian was already zipping himself up and heading for the stairs.

  “If none of the guests want me, I’ll be here this evening!” she called after him.

  Brian made a mental note but was more concerned to keep his boss happy. Carlo merely smiled knowingly and then took him through the arch and along the tarmac path a little way before branching off on another one to the right. Thick bushes crowded this path and trees overhung it but after a few yards they came to a clearing and here a large grey steel building stood. It was purely functional and with no decoration at all but it stretched for maybe a hundred feet left and right of them. Straight ahead there were tall double doors and Carlo led him towards these.

  He pushed them open and Brian’s immediate impression was that of echoes. Voices reverberated so much that it was impossible to hear what they were saying. There were other noises too, grunts and shuffling sounds. He looked up as he entered and saw the place was strongly lit by fluorescent lights, then as he looked down again he realised that what he was in was an equestrian sports centre. Ahead of him, between descending banks of benches was a way into the central arena and whatever was happening, it was happening out there. Parked just to one side of the gangway was a large, motorhome-type vehicle with the initials CSL painted in gold italic script on its green sides. On the back it simply said ‘Ponies’. Brian laughed as he realised he was looking at how the arena slaves and ponygirls were transported if need be.

  “Sometimes we enter some ponies in gymkhanas. Sometimes we take the arena slaves up to Scotland, where several members have estates and they can get some tough cross country fitness training,” Carlo explained as he unhooked two heavy metal catches at either side of the rear of the truck and the whole back swung slowly down to form a ramp. Brian walked up it, fascinated. Inside were a total of eight human pony-sized stalls. Each was spread with clean straw, there was a water bottle in each and rings for harnesses or chains to be fixed to. There were two comfortable seats and a small table for the grooms up at the front and even a toilet.

  “There’s a place in Brittany a bit like The Lodge,” Carlo was saying. “Sometimes we hold races and this way we can get the girls there and back in good order.”

  Brian pondered that for a moment. Previously he had worked for Customs and Excise and he wondered how they managed to avoid inspections. But then he remembered how he had first stumbled across The Lodge while researching some very powerful and influential people and was suddenly quite certain that this little beauty would happily criss cross the channel thousands of times and no official would come near it.

  He gave Carlo a hand lifting the tailgate and refastening it before they went out into the sand floored arena itself.

  Two of the grooms were working with Jet and El Tigre. The gladiators had their hands free now and were shoulder charging padded shields held by the grooms in front of their bodies.

  “It’s part of their warm-up,” Carlo explained. “They’ll have run circuits a few times and gone through the routine of exercises I set them. They’ll do a few more minutes of this and then you and I’ll take over.”

  An hour later they broke for lunch and Brian was amazed at how tired he was despite his fitness. Boxing had been the first event of the day and Carlo and he had strapped small, padded shields onto their fists whilst Jet and El Tigre had had the weighted straps velcroed across their knuckles. He had been impressed by the slaves’ agility and the power behind their punches. Even with the weights slowing their movements they had still kept him on his toes and made him work to keep his guard up. He also began to fully appreciate the fact that in the arena they wore leather corsets with steel studs on the insides. He tried to imagine what taking a full blooded punch - the strength of which he was now aware of - would be like. Shouting out encouragements, they made the slaves work until sweat was spraying from them as they pummelled the shields and then tried to swing punches into the men’s bodies. Jet did manage to connect once or twice and Brian managed not to wince, although he was fairly sure he would carry the bruises for a while.

  For the last ten minutes before lunch, they warmed down by running the assault course. Brian and Carlo armed themselves with nicely whippy riding crops and shepherded the naked slaves outside. Back in the park it was raining again and a cold wind had sprung up, instantly the slaves’ skins began to goosebump, their already turgid nipples sprang even farther to attention and Carlo shouted everyone into a fast trot. They followed a path round the outside of the stadium and then further into the woods. Brian enjoyed the run. Beside him trotted the graceful nudity of Jet, their thighs occasionally touching. He was able to admire the depth and firmness of the breast meat, the smoothness of the stomach, although he now knew how well sinewed the body was, just below the soft feminine epidermis.

  She ran with her eyes fixed on the ground ahead and with a look of total concentration on her face. Whatever this girl did she would do to the limit of her ability. And she was always ready to be told that the limits could be extended. Brian recalled how she would have calmly run straight into a tree or a thorn bush, if she hadn’t been told differently. That was what a slave did and she was one of the best.

  Carlo took charge of El Tigre and Brian stayed with Jet, it was going to be a race to see which man could chivvy his slave round the fastest. The only stipulation was that both men had to run the course as well.

  “We’ll get a shower back at the stables,” Carlo explained and then allowed Brian to set them off. As soon as he shouted “Go!” both men swung their crops at the rapidly retreating buttocks and then set off in pursuit, yelling encouragement to the grimly silent slaves they chased. They swarmed up nets, swung out over mud pits on ropes, scrambled up covered in freezing ooze, and always they were followed by the stinging crops as the men landed close behind them. Brian found he hardly felt the cold as he ran and stumbled and squirmed after Jet. The sight of her firmly toned flesh quivering in exertion and under the crop spurred him on. They squirmed through half flooded concrete pipes then dived into the deep water to swim under a culvert. Then in a final chaos of spraying water all four of them charged along the stream, up the bank and crossed the finish line. Carlo and Tigre won by a head, the men grinned at the state they were both in as the slaves bent, hands on knees, chests heaving and breasts shaking, clouds of steam rising into the cool air.

  Carlo swatted Tigre across the buttocks with the crop and the quartet headed back for lunch. For the slaves it was the mid-day feed.

  In the stable all was bustle as Patti supervised the doling out of the thick stew which had been brought over from the kitchen and the refilling with fruit juice of the water bottles in the stalls. Blondie and Cherry had woken up and Brian found his eyes going straight to the graceful figure of the blonde prowling her stall. Jet and Tigre were led away for showering and Carlo dragged him away to get his bag and show him his quarters where he could
shower and change before going to the house for lunch. His quarters turned out to be much like Patti’s, and Carlo’s rooms were just the other side of his lounge wall. Before leaving him, Carlo pointed out an electric bell beside the bed.

  “If you need anything in the night, that rings in the grooms’ dormitory. One of them’ll be along just as soon as she can!” he said, grinning broadly.

  Brian luxuriated under the hot water and wondered if he’d died and gone to heaven. In the space of one morning he had whipped up his first ponygirl, flogged and fucked a gladiator, groped any girlflesh that came his way, been given a blowjob by the drop-dead gorgeous Patti and then sparred with two more naked fighting slaves.

  Changed and refreshed, Brian sauntered back down to the stables to see the gladiators kneeling before the troughs in their stalls and finishing their mid day feeds. Carlo was checking Patti’s diet sheets and while the grooms cleaned the food off their charges’ faces, settled them down for a rest, the order of exercises and sparring bouts for the afternoon was rechecked against the recovery rate of the recently returned slaves.

  Once the afternoon’s programme was confirmed, Carlo led him across the courtyard and into the main house via the kitchens.

  “The two cooks are some of the very few women who are off limits,” Carlo explained.

  The women in question were big, red faced and equipped with arms like thighs in any case. They looked up smiling cheerfully as the men came in and entered into some banter with Carlo, mainly concerning the fact that the Housegirls could use a new cock in the hen run. Brian could hardly believe his eyes as he got his first glimpse of a Housegirl on duty. After a morning spent with nude and nearly nude women, here were more, but dressed only to make a man long to undress them. They wore low cut bodices, some so low that the tops of their areolas showed, and they were cut so tight that the breasts mounded up deliciously, shaking and rippling as each girl moved. The full skirts were floor length and flared, the girls’ high-heeled shoes just peeking out now and then. Carlo clicked his fingers and one of the girls, a brunette sporting spectacular hills of breastflesh came across and bobbed a curtsy to both men.