by Sean O'Kane
“This is Yolande,” Carlo told him. “She’s pretty typical of the bought Housegirls - comes from Lithuania, got into some trouble and fell in with some nasty men. John bought her at auction in some Godforsaken hellhole. She speaks five languages fluently, can discuss economics and politics over dinner with ambassadors and then comes like a rabid mink under the whip.”
Carlo was smiling as he talked and his brown hand stroked over the unmarked, milky pale swells of her breasts. The girl blushed prettily and kept her eyes lowered but Brian could see a proud little grin on her lips. Carlo then had her turn around and demonstrated that the skirts were split at the back and that this allowed the girls to be groped quite easily between their stocking-clad thighs. Yolande’s backside was beautifully marked by a cane and she shivered as both men ran their fingers along the tramlines carved into the smooth flesh.
“As a member of staff you’ll be responsible for fining any member you find doing this while she’s on domestic duty,” Carlo told him as Brian watched his hand delve deep between the thighs. Yolande gasped and her feet shuffled apart a little further. Carlo chuckled.
“So you’d better get a feel of what you’re guarding,” he said, withdrawing his hand and beckoning another girl over to lick his fingers clean.
Brian pushed his hand into the dark warmth just beneath the caned buttocks and felt his way into yet another cunt. This one was equipped with very well developed labia minora and repaid the exploring fingers by providing a tantalising landscape of soft, complicated folds around the vaginal hole, which itself was invitingly moist and hot to the touch.
“Come on,” Carlo said. “Let’s get some lunch. There’s plenty more cunt where that came from.”
Chapter 4
The slave known only as Snake watched the headlights move up the hill towards her, a jeep’s engine growling as it jolted over the rough ground. Male voices called and laughed in the darkness, they rang with the careless arrogance that set the blood racing in her veins. It was the tone of voice they would use when they lifted her sweat-sodden hair and face away from the whipping post - her body a blaze of fire from an eternity under the lash. They would stare impassively into her pain - glazed face and then make her quim jerk into full flood by the cheerful judgement that she could ‘take another twenty before she’s turned round’.
Now she could hear them as they came for her again.
“Close up on the left there! She could sneak through the line!”
“No chance, Boss. I’d smell her pussy a mile off!”
The men laughed and Snake smiled as well. After the amount of time she had been living rough, they probably would, even if she wasn’t already tingling and moistening at the thought of what they would do to her when they inevitably caught her. They had all been through this ritual many times since she had been brought here by Conor Brien after he purchased her for a penny from the Prince of Bakhtar who had originally enslaved her. The harder she made them work for their sport, the more sport they would have with her. Hugging her rags to her and reluctantly leaving the scraps of food she had scavenged earlier from the only village on the island, she crept away into the dark, aiming to go wide and circle around behind the men. There was a stream half a mile away to her left. If she could make it that far then maybe she could swim past her pursuers and make the hunt last all night. That would make them angry and that was how Snake liked her masters.
However, they were waiting for her with nets when she emerged, soaking and gasping from her swim downstream. Struggling and squirming she was thrown into the back of another jeep and taken back to the estate.
Conor Brien strolled over to the bedraggled form, clothed in rags, hooded and tied hand and foot lying on the otherwise spotless parquet floor of the dining room.
“How long did we leave her this time?” he enquired of Gerd his slave trainer.
“Three weeks,” the German said, leafing through his notes.
“And all she’s been able to scavenge is that pathetic excuse for a blouse and what looks like a dishcloth for a skirt. Jeez, she stinks!” He put his immaculately shod foot out and rolled the slave onto her back. He used his foot again to push back a fold of filthy cloth and reveal the spectacular snake tattoo that gave her her name.
“What d’you reckon, Mark?” Conor asked his second in command, Mark Cavanagh.
“We’ve got an ‘away’ show next month and then one here two months after that. I reckon we give her one more good session now, let her go until we get back and then we’ll get her into training and introduce her at the arena here.”
“Gerd?”
“Yes, I think she should be ready.”
Conor thought for a moment. “No,” he said. “We’re being too soft on her.”
The other two men glanced at the limp form of the slave and then stared at Conor in disbelief.
Coner Brien clicked his fingers and two of the household slaves scurried forwards.
“Take this away and clean it. Then let the guards have it tomorrow night.”
The white-clad slaves bent and hauled Snake out by her armpits. He watched as the trussed body was dragged away.
Mark Cavanagh eased his chair back from the table and waved a petite Chinese looking girl across to him. Like all the household slaves on Conor’s and his island estate, she was dressed in a simple white tunic with kitten heeled sandals, her golden tanned skin contrasting prettily with the material. She immediately went to her knees between his spread thighs and began to free his cock from his trousers, licking her lips in anticipation.
“You reckon she’ll be up to what you’ve got planned, Conor?” he asked.
“’Course she will by the time I’ve finished with her. You ever see such a glutton for punishment?”
Both Gerd and Mark smiled and shook their heads. When the arenas had first started, their stable had been the most successful. Under Carlo’s tutelage and with the phenomenon of Blondie, the Blues had swept all before them. But Blondie had nurtured her hatred of Conor until she had deliberately thrown a fight. Carlo had made off with her to save her from Conor’s wrath and then John Carpenter, the owner of The Lodge, where Carlo and Blondie had sheltered, had challenged them to a series of contests, just as a diversion between arena events. It turned out that he had only one slave - Blondie - and she had defeated four of the Blues’ remaining best, winning them for the CSL stable. The Blues were still recovering and Conor had, as a further part of the lost wager, to take John Carpenter to any slave sales he attended so that The Lodge could be kept supplied with fresh blood. But now they had Snake and there was a feeling that the Blues had turned the corner. Snake was the most dedicated masochist any of them had ever come across and she had been so spectacularly decorated by the tattooists in Bakhtar that she would provide a figurehead for the other arena slaves to unite behind. Conor had decided that her unique talents required a uniquely harsh regime in which to flourish fully.
To that end, once she had been brought to the island she had been left to live rough, scrounging and scavenging for food and clothing. There was no way off the island and the climate was not given to extremes so she was safe; just permanently hungry and dirty. Every now and then she was hunted and caught, cleaned, given to the guards, played with and returned to the wild. But now she was nearly ready.
Snake wedged herself into a corner of her cell. Sunlight from the tiny window set high up in the wall, was falling just there and she basked in its warmth. Her belly was full, she had slept well and she had been hosed down and now felt clean. She reckoned she had about six hours to enjoy the feeling and then those conditions would no longer pertain. She smiled to herself, secure in the knowledge that there was nothing a man could do to her that she wouldn’t take some pleasure in. Idly her fingers stroked over the savage images on her stomach and breast. A nest of venomous snakes boiled out of her vulva, even her inner labia had been tattooed, and spread out across her pubic mound. Two snakes reared higher than the others and the shorter of these reac
hed as far as her navel. The taller one’s head decorated her left breast. Even her nipple had been tattooed black as part of the snake’s throat.
Eyes closed, Snake recalled with crotch-tingling pleasure, the pain of the procedure. That was a clear memory, but what was fast becoming much more remote was the memory of her previous life as Karen Fitzgerald - wife of Sir John no less. Her erstwhile lover, Ayesha, had blabbed to the Prince of Bakhtar about their little scheme to rob Sir John and she had been kidnapped, enslaved and tattooed as a punishment. But instead of that having the effect she thought the Prince wanted, it had had the opposite. It had hardened her submissiveness into a sort of blue steel core. Any time she wasn’t spending being tested by a man, she was merely waiting for the next time. All marks, welts, scalds, bruises and cuts were marks of pride, she was aware that that much she shared with all other submissives, but what set her apart was her sheer eagerness to experience absolutely everything the minds of dominant men could devise for her.
She speculated pleasantly about the night ahead. Would they play ‘what-can-Snake-get-up- her-cunt’ before they began the real playtime - or afterwards? Would she be given ‘The Grand Tour’ as the men called it? She hoped so. Her hands delved between her legs and in the wake of the small orgasm she brought herself to, she fell asleep.
It was dusk when she was led out and to her delight it appeared that she was to be given The Grand Tour. The adapted jeep stood waiting, four or five of the guards lounged around, grinning.
“Hi, boys!” she called. “I hope you’ve got what I need!”
“Good to see you again, Snake,” one of them replied, standing up and stretching. “We’ve got everything you want all right. But I don’t think you’re going to get it tonight.”
Snake stopped in her tracks.
“Oh no! You couldn’t do that to me! Not again!” The men standing on either side of her grabbed her upper arms and propelled her forwards as she began to struggle and beg.
“Sorry, Snake it’s orders,” the guard who had spoken earlier said. “Get her mounted lads, we’ve got a long night ahead of us!”
A rectangular frame of crudely welded tubular steel had been mounted on the back of the jeep, leaning backwards at a forty-five degree angle. From each corner hung a restraint already chained to the steel. To start with the men mounted Karen facing away from the jeep and upright, but she knew that she could be hung upside down, facing in or out or left swinging by her ankles or wrists. It was probable that by the end of the evening she would experience all of them. She was in for a night of repeated beatings and every humiliation the men could devise for her, and she would love every minute of it. But she was terribly afraid that Conor Brien had ordered the cruellest of all torments for her, one she had only experienced once before.
Still begging for mercy, she was driven away and the tour began. Every jolt of the jeep as it traversed the rough tracks jarred her stretched form and soon her appeals became incoherent and periodic yelps. Fairly quickly they reached the first stop however. The jeep drove round the outside of the main house’s grounds and then through an archway on the far side. The driver turned the vehicle right round in the courtyard and Karen was able to see what she had expected. She now hung over the side of a swimming pool, in its floodlit waters were Conor Brien and Mark Cavanagh, attended by the household slaves. All were naked and the men’s erect cocks were being gently massaged by the women as they stood in the shallow water just beneath her. Conor Brien was grinning widely at her and she snapped her mouth shut on her incipient plea for mercy, settling instead for a defiant stare.
“Give her twenty to start her off and bring her back here when you’ve finished.”
One of the guards jumped out of the jeep and stepped back just enough to shake out the long braided lash of his whip then he swung it in across her stomach, curving outwards as she hung in the frame, it carved a hot, stinging trail across her flesh. Snake adjusted her grip on her chains and bit down on any moans or cries as the tally mounted and the stinging in her stomach and breasts grew more intense and her limbs ached more fiercely. Below her the men sipped cocktails and the women masturbated them.
On the eighteenth lash she gave in and allowed a groan to escape her. Mark Cavanagh’s impressively long cock suddenly began spurting its thick creamy fluid between the fingers of the girl ministering to him. Snake couldn’t help licking her lips between lashes as she watched the trails float in the water before the lucky girl bent to get a taste, direct from the still-oozing helm.
Conor Brien himself came as the beating concluded. Snake’s eyes misted with tears of frustration as the massive shaft which she had writhed so sweetly on the end of so often, jerked and pumped over the small hand manipulating it. He didn’t allow the slave to taste a drop however, making sure instead that Snake watched the thick emission gradually extend from globules to trails in the blue water.
“Take her away,” he said before turning back to his drink.
Snake blinked away her tears and gritted her teeth against the pain of the next journey. She was taken to the stableyard where they took her down, turned her to face the jeep and hung her by her wrists. They whipped her back and then let her listen and frantically try to crane her head around to watch as the solo gladiators and the grooms were all fucked by the guards. The true extent of her ordeal, had she needed any confirmation, was provided by one of the men stripping off and standing just in front of her in the back of the jeep. One of the gladiators was passed up to him, her hands were freed and she was turned towards Snake and made to brace her arms on the sides of the frame. Then she was fucked from behind, her face just inches from Karen’s, the breath of her orgasmic cries caressing her face with exquisite cruelty. For a further turn of the screw, once the guard had finished with her, the gladiator was made to scoop his emission out of her and smear it on Snake’s face, but nowhere where her tongue could get at it.
For the whole of the night she was to be the cause of pleasure for everyone on the estate but apart from what pleasure she could extract from the beatings, she was to be given none herself.
She was taken down occasionally to rest but always her hands were kept chained above her so she couldn’t touch herself. She was driven around all four of the barracks and whipped at each one then made to witness the squad gladiators and the guards. They fucked in front of her, contriving to position her on her knees so that the lucky slave’s buttocks were right in front of her face, the dusky red of the cock shaft plainly visible pistoning in and out of her and making the buttockmeat wobble. When the slave was finished with she would turn around and let Snake catch a sniff of the aroma emerging from her glistening cunt. The gladiator would catch her by the hair and let her get really close, her tongue shamelessly hanging out, before pushing her away, laughing. Another slave would kneel to slurp at the oozing cunt and Snake sobbed brokenly. Only slaves could really torment another slave.
They pushed her down onto her face and had themselves screwed with their buttocks grinding her face into the dirt, once the guard had spent himself they lay where they were until the sperm leaked onto the back of her head.
Hung by her ankles from the frame, her hands tied behind her, she was crotch whipped in front of the third barracks, her face hanging just above two gladiators engaged in a sixty-nine. Then both girls were fucked to ecstatic orgasms, the guards’ buttocks actually touching her hanging face as they thrust into the slaves.
It was full dark by the time Snake’s circuit of the arena outbuildings was complete. The gladiators had been shooed back to their cells and the men, replete after their carnal feast, were relaxing and drinking, she lay huddled on the dirt of the training ground, her hands still tethered where they could do her no good. Her body was caked in sperm and cunt sap but not a drop was anywhere she could get her tongue to. The whippings had been fairly light and even orgasms from the pain had escaped her, she just felt an all over burning sensation. But in between her legs the furnaces were roaring, in her mind’s ey
e she replayed all the scenes of delicious sex she had witnessed. All the mouths she had watched filled to overflowing with hot, tasty spunk, all the times her face had been held alongside a lovely pair of buttocks, between which a cock was delivering a deep buggering. Inevitably it would withdraw before it spent and the slave would squirm round so that her face was beside Snake’s and the gleaming cock would be welcomed into the mouth. She had had to watch, smell and hear everything, firmly held so there was no chance of any pleasure at all. She had even stuck her own tongue out hopelessly when the slave had, to lick at the last drops of cream adhering to the meatus of the cock. She whimpered in her agony of frustration at the memory, knowing full well that her ordeal was far from over. Away to her right where the men sat she heard corks being hammered back into bottles and then footsteps approaching. Hands gripped her under her arms and stood her up. Her own hands were still raised but she had some slack and she knew what they were going to make her do.
“Where shall we let her try first?” one man wondered aloud.
“Just grab her leg!” another said.
In a few seconds Snake found herself with one foot on the ground and one on the back seat of the jeep. Between her spread legs was the narrow ridge of the seat back. Without a further thought and in front of the crowd of smiling and cheering men, she lowered herself and began rubbing her aching cunt along the aged leather which barely covered the sharp steel beneath. Looking down she manoeuvred herself so that she could get her clitoris under her and give it some serious punishment. The first hard rasp made her cry out in relief as sharp pain mingled wonderfully with humiliation and arousal. She ground harder and the men laughed louder as she moaned in pure delight. Suddenly she began a headlong race for a climax, rubbing herself frantically, ignoring the pain and revelling in it all at the same time, then crying out in anguish as she felt strong arms lift her clear.