by Sean O'Kane
She had known they wouldn’t let her finish herself off but she had had no choice but to try anyway. They let her stagger round at the end of her chains for a while, sobbing and pleading and then drove her to the other side of the training ground. They just let her body drag along behind for the short distance. Then they hauled her up and sat her astride a wooden pony. It had a cruelly serrated top edge and she gave them good sport as she desperately rubbed herself back and forth along it, screaming and crying. Again she was lifted clear just short of her climax and rehung in the frame upside down. A final crotch whipping finely judged to provide a degree of pain that stopped short of providing pleasure and she was ready to be returned to Conor Brien.
As soon as she was lowered to the ground she made an attempt to get her hands between her legs but Conor Brien was too quick. Clothed in a towelling robe and standing beside the pool he simply placed his foot on one of her wrists and bent to hold the other. Presently one of the guards buckled another set of restraints onto both and however hard she struggled she couldn’t prevent him from clipping them together behind her back. Behind her someone kicked her legs apart and she cooperated willingly.
“Can we play with her for an hour or so, Boss?” she heard one of the men ask. “We’ve been saving up some great things to see if she can get ‘em up that twat of hers.”
The elasticity of Snake’s cunt was legendary and a feature of these hunts and the subsequent captures was often her being presented with a formidable array of items like hammer handles, aerosols - even a cactus once. She had never failed yet.
“Please!” The word escaped her before she could help it. Blearily she looked up at Conor Brien as he towered over her, smiling.
“Not this time, Snake!” he said. “You’re going to go into the arena in a few weeks’ time, more pumped up than any slave has ever been. And you’ll need to be, I promise you! In fact I don’t think we’ll chuck you back out into the wild. You’ll only finger fuck yourself till you’re blind.” He turned to Gerd. “Put her in a cell and make sure her hands are kept raised and tied. Take out the bed, make sure there’s nothing she can rub herself on. She’s to be kept in absolute solitary confinement! Is that understood? Any man I catch even touching the slut will be off the island by nightfall. Gerd, your wife will see to Snake’s food and empty her slops. Her hands are to be kept restrained even when she shits and pisses.”
Suddenly sobered by the intensity of their boss’s outburst, the guards dragged Snake away. Her mind was in a dazed whirl. That Conor Brien was capable of cruelty that fulfilled even her darkest desires, Snake was not in the slightest doubt. But this surpassed anything she had experienced at his hands. It was to be weeks before she would make her debut in the arena and to not have any pain, pleasure or sex in any form for that long was unthinkable.
They took her to a plain stone walled cell in one of the underground corridors. To make matters worse it was just along from the dungeon where Conor Brien had frequently played with her in the past. Now, however, the guards took out the narrow bed and chained Snake’s hands together after they had sat her on the cold floor. They made her stand and found that there was a risk that she might be able to step over the chain which fastened her restrained wrists to the wall and get it between her legs. They thought again. In the end she was made to kneel in the middle of the floor and her wrists were pulled up behind her and the chain fastened to a hook in the ceiling. They were pulled up so hard that she had to rest her forehead on the floor to get anything remotely resembling comfort.
Then they left her.
Chapter 5
“Ay-ee-sha! Ay-ee-sha! Ay-ee-sha!”
A deafening rhythmical chant grew inside the arena until it reverberated with the noise. For once the orgiastic frenzy that normally accompanied the fights out on the sand were absent. Ayesha, almost the only slave in the arenas to be known by her real name, a tall, full breasted, black haired figure stood surrounded by her fallen adversaries. There were no fewer than ten of them. Staggering slightly, welted on almost every square inch of her skin, bleeding a little here and there, she turned to where her owner and trainer sat, then she knelt. The audience erupted and Peter Lang stood to acknowledge the applause and wave.
As a precursor to the final melee, in which traditionally both squads of slaves, about a hundred girls, were flung at each other and allowed to scrap until the men appeared and finished them off, Ayesha had been tethered by one ankle to a ring set in the arena floor and then pairs of the opposing stable’s slaves had been set onto her. They had been armed with floggers, studded whips, quarterstaffs, weighted boxing straps and Ayesha had only been given a two tongue dog whip. She had fought her way through five pairs. Sometimes she had been reduced to wrestling, scratching and kicking on the ground, rather than elegant whip duelling but now ten, bruised and scratched slaves around her were picking themselves up ruefully and awaiting their punishments. But first they would have to acknowledge their conqueror.
Peter Lang resumed his seat and his boss, the Prince of Bakhtar, leaned across.
“Well done, Peter. Another splendid display!”
“Thank you. She’s certainly repaying all the effort I put into hardening her up.”
“Yes, we all admired your dedication. What was it? A hundred lashes every day on top of any she got in training?”
Peter made a ‘so-so’ gesture. “Sometimes I had to work a bit harder if I thought she was getting conceited. But she always fucked well afterwards, so there were compensations along the way.”
“She’ll get the chance to prove how well she can fuck, I think.”
Down below, Ayesha had regained her feet and was standing with her legs spread while the guards held her opponents on their knees as they licked their conqueror’s cunt. The big video screens around the arena were showing loving close-ups of soft, obedient lips and probing tongues delving into the saliva-shiny and whip-scored vulva. The bulges in the shorts of the guards were also plainly evident and once the last defeated gladiator had paid her dues and was secured to a post for her punishment beating, the men divided the tasks. Some of them began to whip, others closed in on Ayesha. The video screens began to show close-ups of female backs and sides taking lashes from the braided stock whips. The crowd had only given the thumbs up when the tally had reached thirty lashes for each defeated girl. The arena crowds, while realising that Ayesha was a formidable opponent, were not about to miss out on the chance of a good flagellation spectacle. The hiss and smack of the whips, the yelps and cries of the slaves worked their usual spell and the orgy resumed on the terraces. Meanwhile some of the screens began to show Ayesha’s strong thighs and buttocks thrusting up from the sand to meet the lunges of the guard whose cock was buried to the hilt inside her.
The Prince leaned back and watched as Ayesha was pulled up by her hair and her face was crushed against the next man’s groin.
“Where next for her, Peter? This is her fourth show and she wins whatever you put her in for.”
“To be honest I think I might sell her.”
“What?” The Prince sat forward immediately. “Why on Earth would you do that?”
“She was a challenge. Now I’ve made her into what I wanted her to be, she bores me. I want to do it again. I want to pay big money to take in a girl of my choosing from anywhere in the world, not just from meat markets, and mould her just like I did that one.”
“Well if you sell her, you’ll certainly have plenty of money! She’s the second hottest property on the circuit.”
“Would you mind, Your Highness?”
“Of course not, Peter. She’s yours, you won her fair and square after all.”
“I have a buyer in mind and we can still stage the spectacle we always intended before she’s sold.”
Down on the arena sands, Ayesha was being penetrated at mouth and anus while the whips rose and fell on her vanquished opponents. Peter studied her face on one of the video screens. Her cheeks were hollowing as she sucked vigorously on
the cock shaft which was stretching her lips wide. Her eyes were closed in delight and white sperm from previous ejaculations glistened and dripped from her chin. She was a beautiful creature, Peter admitted, and a devoted and talented slave, but ultimately she was boring. Her very obedience, which would make her so valuable on the open market was what lessened her appeal for him. He recalled fondly the charge he had got from reducing the cunning, manipulative and promiscuous hedonist that Ayesha had once been to a humble and grateful slave who would thank him if he allowed her to lick his sperm from the floor. It was time he repeated the experience with adequate funds to take a girl from anywhere in the world and erase her previous identity completely.
Up on a screen he watched as a thick, gleaming shaft was withdrawn from her gaping anus and its load was shot in glutinous spurts over her welt-laced back.
Brian breathed out a thick cloud of aromatic cigar smoke, settled happily back in his seat and gazed around him. The Common Room at The Lodge was in full, after-dinner flow. He had been guest of honour that night to celebrate the end of his apprenticeship and the signing of his full contract as deputy slave trainer to the CSL stable. In the two months he had been at The Lodge he had settled in well, quickly learning his duties around the house itself, demonstrating care for the Housegirls as well as maintaining strict discipline. He had won the respect of the members through his quiet efficiency in preparing the girls for dungeon sessions and his unobtrusive supervision of them. He had developed a high degree of skill with a cane and could make a girl take far more than she could normally tolerate. With the gladiators he had proved an invaluable asset to Carlo, his training as an agent for a government department meant that he was able to teach his charges some new holds and throws. The slaves were worked harder and more consistently now they had two handlers, and their status as mere instruments of male pleasure was more constantly drummed into them by increased sexual use and more constant beating.
His own submissive, Amelia, had been introduced to The Lodge and as the property of a member of staff rather than a paying member, she had been given the equivalent rank of a Housegirl who had been purchased at auction. After a week of training under Madame Stalevsky, she had settled in quickly as well and was in residence as frequently as her work in the City permitted. Beside Brian, John Carpenter, the owner of The Lodge and Carlo’s partner in the CSL stable, was tapping cigar ash down the décolletage of a giggling Housegirl who was kneeling beside him. Madame Stalevsky, the feared and loved Madam of the club looked on indulgently from across the table. Carlo was enjoying the attentions of a Housegirl whose head was buried between his thighs and bobbing up and down urgently. Out in the centre of the floor one of the members was putting on a show in Brian’s honour and as he called for quiet, slowly activity ceased. Beside Brian, Carlo sighed and relaxed as the Housegirl swallowed his ejaculation and settled back on her heels to watch the show as well.
The member’s submissive was a fairly well known ballerina and stood beside him entirely naked apart from her collar, lead and ballet pumps. Once the room was quiet, the member clicked his fingers. At the signal the girl went up onto points and once she was settled swept her arms up and out, then slowly she curved her torso forwards and lifted her left leg out behind her and slightly to the side. With her head thrown back, her arms wide and even her fingers elegantly spread, she balanced right on the tips of the toes of one foot. Between her shapely but immensely powerful thighs, her pubic mound was plainly visible with the soft slit of the vulva plain to see. The audience applauded and her master took a bow, then produced a heavy, leather bladed flogger and went to stand behind her.
“Madame Stalevsky, Gentlemen and Housegirls; if you would be so good as to keep count… ….”
With short, downward flicks of the whip the beating began. The blades landed meatily on the sexflesh and a fascinated audience dutifully called the count. The ballerina even managed to hold her set, stage smile until the count went above ten lashes, then small strained grunts of effort began to escape her. Brian could see her biting her lower lip and her eyes screwed tight shut as the heavy whip shook her with each lash and threatened to upset her fragile balance. After the seventeenth lash and with sweat pouring off her she finally had to come down off points and bring her other leg down, while her hand rubbed at the stinging flesh between her thighs. She got a sympathetic cheer and applause but her master would have none of it.
He held up his hand for silence. “She is trained to take a minimum of twenty lashes,” he announced. “She has failed me in public and must be punished!”
There were resounding cheers and Brian noted a blush suffuse the ballerina’s cheeks as she contemplated further public discipline.
In the event, she was taken into the middle of the room and suspended by her ankles, then the master called Brian out.
Smiling and blushing himself a little, Brian joined the master beside the gracefully hanging body.
“I laid the lashes on much more heavily than usual to make sure she’d fail,” the master whispered under the ribald cheers and suggestions from the members as to what Brian should do with the girl. “Now she can really show you a trick! You’re in for a blowjob like you’ve never had before!”
Brian stood a couple of feet behind the girl’s head. Like a circus ringmaster her master commanded “Hup!” and smacked her again between the legs with his whip. Obediently and with immense strength the ballerina arched her back, holding her arms out at right angles to her body, slowly her head came up to the level of Brian’s groin. The men in the audience immediately cheered wildly. He unzipped himself and took out his cock, shuffling forward a little to slip himself into the waiting mouth. With no support at all from her arms and using only the strength of her back she lifted and lowered her head, bringing Brian gently to his climax while all the time her master’s whip tormented the soft sexflesh between the superbly toned thighs.
Once the show was over and Brian had been cheered to the rafters as he ejaculated into the ballerina’s mouth and then over her face, the room sprang back into action. He felt it was probably the best evening of his life as he gazed round at the multitude of nude and nearly nude females being prepared to serve their masters. Carlo clapped him on the back.
“I’ll keep an eye on the dungeons tonight. So you relax and have a good time.” He took a cigar from his pocket and offered it to Brian. “Go and have a stroll outside, I think you’ll enjoy it.”
There was a glint in his eye as he lit Brian’s cigar for him and Brian felt that there might be something worth going out for. Besides, although he loved every inch of The Lodge and all it contained, he felt truly at home out in the stableyard with the arena slaves. In the next couple of days he would be accompanying Carlo on an expedition to purchase two new slaves - the first that CSL had bought rather than won. It was a measure of his success that Carlo was taking him along.
He strolled down the huge staircase, turned and wandered through the maze of ‘below stairs’ corridors and finally felt the mild night air on his face as he stepped out onto the cobbles. He took a long draw on the cigar and looked up at the night sky. It was clear enough to see the Milky Way and he really felt that if only Amelia had been able to get away from work, then he couldn’t have asked for any more.
Humming a tune to himself and still revelling in the glow of the blowjob, Brian strolled towards the stables.
Chapter 6
At the door of the stableblock he paused. He could hear the sounds of breathing as the slaves slept deeply, recovering from the day’s exertions, occasionally there was the rustling of straw as one or other of them stirred in her sleep. He dropped his cigar butt and ground it out before entering the stable, mindful of the strict rules which applied with so much straw about. He glanced in at Ox, her blonde hair fanned out and glimmered faintly in the twilight. Then he paced softly along, ignoring Cherry in her stall and finally admitting to himself why he was there. The blonde. Blondie herself.
She was the icing
on the cake. He was surely the envy of every other young handler and trainer on the circuit. He helped train the legendary blonde gladiator. Not that nowadays she needed much in the way of training, it was more a question of keeping her in prime condition. But early morning runs with her in harness, pulling a specially weighted trap and watching that superb body strain at its work and sweat under the lash, while envious guests stood and watched, made Brian feel that he was one seriously lucky young man. Usually, on those days Carlo let him exercise Blondie, he would finish by having her bend forward, still harnessed between the shafts and then he would stand behind her and take her. There was never any need for any preliminary fingering. The blonde’s cunt was always open and slicked after tasting the first whip of the day. Smiling in the twilight, Brian leaned on the stall’s half door and then straightened up in shock, his heart racing. The stall was empty.
He spun round towards the door, ready to raise the alarm but there was a female silhouette framed in the moonlit rectangle. It was Patti. She chuckled huskily and lifted a hand to proffer a glass of champagne.
“Congratulations Mr Hilton, sir. I took the liberty of removing Blondie to provide a little celebration on the occasion of your becoming fully qualified to whip every female in the place.” Brian grinned and stepped forwards to take his glass from her. “Of course,” Patti went on, her voice becoming more and more husky, “there were those of us who always knew you could flog and fuck with the best of them.”