Slave's Honour

by Sean O'Kane

  “Open those lovely legs, Raika.” It was Mr Brian’s voice and she obeyed him with heartfelt delight.

  She concentrated so hard on taking him for a good ride and offering up her ridged and bruised breasts for his carelessly harsh hands that she didn’t achieve an orgasm but took a lot of pleasure in his roar of release when he pumped himself empty inside her. A few feet away from her she could hear Patti being taken by another man who climaxed at almost the same time. Without a further word being exchanged both men climbed off them and disappeared into the darkness.

  “Come on. The men will see to the slaves, there’s no time to lose!” Patti’s voice was an urgent whisper in her ear and she was pulled to her feet and led hurriedly away back to the stableyard, Patti’s body was warm and soft beside her. She draped an arm round her shoulders and squeezed her affectionately.

  “Breast suspension is just the worst and the best thing, eh?”

  Raika smiled as they approached the door to Patti’s quarters. “Yes, Mistress.”

  “You sleep with me tonight,” Patti was firm and led her straight upstairs, flung the duvet back and pulled Raika down beside her before turning out the light.

  “Now run your fingers round my tits,” Patti’s breath was warm on Raika’s cheeks and she sighed with desire as she felt the deep furrows still perfectly retaining the grain of the rope imprinted into the soft flesh. And when Patti’s cool fingers touched her own marks she felt the long delayed orgasm begin to rise within her. Patti and she spent some further minutes caressing their marks and kissing each other’s perforated nipples until the need to go farther, faster, became too great and Patti pushed her down onto her back. In the dark Raika heard Patti turn herself and lift herself off the bed, then her shins were planting themselves either side of her face and above her she caught the scent of the aroused vulva. Smiling broadly into the dark she spread her own legs and felt the soft fluttering of Patti’s breath approach her quivering lips and seeping vagina with exquisite slowness.

  “I had to hurry before you had leaked Brian all away,” Patti explained, making Raika whimper with need as she spoke into her crotch. Still her own hovered just above Raika’s questing tongue. “You’re gonna get a mouthful of Carlo by the way.”

  Raika groaned with lust at the thought of licking Mr Carlo’s very own sperm out of Patti’s cunt. She arched her neck to stretch and meet the descending quim, oozing its thick cream of magisterial spunk and submissive sap. She took a long luxurious lick and savoured the pungent mixture on her tongue as well as the feel of Patti’s thick and soft labia peeled open and ready to reveal the mysterious depths of the vagina within.

  “Enjoy yourself. They’ll beat the shit out of us in the morning!” Patti said and buried her face in Raika’s core, nibbling so hard at the clitoris that she opened her own mouth wide and had her cry stifled by the way Patti pressed herself down onto her and the taste of a master flooded onto her tongue.

  “Lapses of discipline on that scale will not be tolerated!” Carlo snarled as he walked up and down the line of nervous grooms; Raika and Patti standing a little apart.

  “Turn around, bend over and hold your ankles!” he snapped. Brian’s cock immediately began to take an interest as nine pert bottoms, some already sporting decent sets of tramlines after the previous night’s activities were presented atop nine sets of shapely thighs. Carlo gestured at him and he passed along the line carefully raising the little skirts so that they lay neatly on the smalls of the backs and wouldn’t interfere with the forthcoming punishment. The waiting was an important part of any punishment as he well knew. And of course a master was entitled to a stroke and feel as he went; it was none of his concern that the unfortunate girl was about to suffer and wouldn’t welcome the attention.

  When all was properly presented Carlo started at the left end of the line and delivered four scorching licks to each bottom. There were no teasing flicks and flirtatious dalliance. There was just whippy rattan wielded hard against errant female flesh, which flinched and rippled charmingly, Brian thought. The yard filled with the sound of sobs and sniffing as Carlo worked along the line towards a visibly trembling Raika and a pale Patti. Beyond the line of bent over criminals, the gladiators sat with their backs against the stone wall of the stable and watched impassively. Their breasts still bore some reddening from the suspension and Brian could clearly make out the little scabs where the needles had been. Their day would be harsher than usual after this punishment, the hoses would be turned on them at greater pressure, the scrubbing would be harsher and some illicit cropping might be indulged in if he and Carlo weren’t around. The grooms didn’t like being taken down a peg in front of those they considered not much more than mere animals.

  “Raika, you allowed yourself to be seduced by this whore!” Carlo was saying and Brian drew his attention back to the business in hand. “You are her assistant and should have alerted us to her failure.”

  Miserably, Raika nodded and on the command turned and bent. Brian went and lifted her skirt, giving one buttock an affectionate squeeze before leaving her to face the cane. Six echoing strokes rocked the slightly built girl and several times she had to fidget herself back into position. The tramlines seared across her flesh with almost visible intensity and Brian was willing to bet that she would be a lot harder for Patti to play with from now on. Tearful and rubbing at her bottom frantically, Raika stood and apologised meekly for her offence. That left Patti.

  Unafraid she stood with legs apart and hands behind back as Carlo approached.

  “You will not be whipped at the post on this occasion, Patti,” he told her and she couldn’t help registering a split second’s surprise. “Instead, after training you will report naked to the training ring for full body flogging at the beam. All staff will witness.”

  The beam was a device that Carlo and he had constructed to aid them in examining the arena slaves for signs of strains, sprains and ligament and tendon damage, as well as for logging bruises and cuts. It consisted of two horizontal beams which could be placed across the ring, one at ground level one at about eight feet. At either end they slotted into two uprights. Evenly spaced along both were rings with short lengths of rope attached and the entire stable could be spread in X configuration for examination relatively quickly. Brian realised that if Carlo meant Patti was to be flogged there, there was only one whip he would be using; the long driving whip. But whereas he had mainly flicked at Perdita with it, he didn’t think Carlo would be flicking. To judge by Patti’s expression he didn’t think she thought so either; and she had all day to savour the prospect.

  Nevertheless, she presented herself proudly naked at five o’clock, wearing only her high-heeled sandals - her boots would cover too much for a full body whipping. Brian and Carlo were just dropping the top beam into place and Carlo wasted no more time in having her stand under it while he raised and shackled her wrists before spreading and tying her ankles. As always Patti cut an impressive figure, mature womanly curves and strength combined well in her and she had even put her hair up to ensure it didn’t impede the lash. Carlo flicked out the full length of the four-in-hand driving whip, allowing it to lick at her ankles. No one apart from the gladiators had ever felt its full venom. As the day had worn on, word had spread and the benches were fairly full of intrigued members with Housegirls; the grooms stood by the entrance to the ring.

  Brian knew from experience that the trick for getting the tip of the whip to smack home satisfyingly was a combination of distance and timing. Carlo produced a masterclass in both. Brian counted fewer than twenty lashes which didn’t wrap the victim at least twice before the weighted tip slammed into her. These lashes were set aside and repeated. The arena was hushed apart from the echoing reports of the impacts and Patti’s grunts strained through gritted teeth or her occasional full blooded yells when Carlo changed targets with no warning and the crowd were treated to the sight of the lash scything through the air, whistling as it wrapped round Patti and then snapped hom
e while her body leapt and twisted in shock, the thighs trying vainly to close and the pubic mound showing a clear indent at the extremity of the welt. At last she hung exhausted, her legs no longer supporting her, her arms stretched taut and made no acknowledgement of the lash. She was spectacularly striped and every man in the place was achingly hard. Carlo furled the lash and went to stand beside her, then he took a handful of hair and dragged her dazed face up.

  “Have you learned your lesson?” he asked softly.

  Patti licked her parched lips and swallowed. “No, sir,” she whispered. Applause greeted the spirited response and she and Carlo exchanged conspiratorial smiles. She would be back for more and he would always be there to hand it out.

  They left her for about half an hour and it was Brian who came to release her at the end. He tethered Perdita to one of the uprights before he went to the bedraggled figure hanging from her wrists. He freed them first and Patti collapsed to her knees, then he knelt beside her and freed her ankles, admiring Carlo’s handiwork from close quarters. Patti too, once she could move, traced her fingers along some of the more spectacular welts, smiling proudly.

  “Tit hung one day, then thrashed with that bloody thing the next,” she whispered. “It’s getting so a girl can’t keep track of the orgasms! Christ! That whip is something else!”

  Brian smiled and then stood up, undoing his flies. Patti was not in the slightest surprised and knelt up immediately. Brian glanced over to Perdita, it was important that he drove home the lesson he had begun with Penelope; that although he was her master, she was not the only slave he would possess when the mood took him. Shackled to the post, she merely shifted position a little uncomfortably when she saw Brian’s erect cock disappearing between Patti’s wide open lips. He made a great display of energetically fucking Patti’s face, not caring about her but watching Perdita’s reaction. He was pleased with what he saw, there was nothing but a calm acceptance that a master is free to pleasure himself wherever he wants.

  Chapter 15

  “If Your Highness is in agreement I would suggest hiring in three squad girls. That gives us leeway for replacements for any damages sustained during the show and will, in any case, also allow us to field our strongest squad for the final day if the points are close.” Peter Lang glanced at his boss the Prince of Bakhtar who nodded quietly so he continued. “I would also suggest hiring in one or two of the solo fighters. I’m not entirely happy that we’re strong enough in the studded whip duels and in the pursuit running.”

  “Show me the brochure.”

  Peter handed him the glossy CSL brochure with its picture of Blondie in full dressage tack, her figure enhanced by a leather basque which made her haunches and thighs look as though they were capable of providing a man with endless pleasure in any way he chose to find it. Peter found his cock twitched and tingled each time he looked at it. His boss seemed to react in a similar way and after flicking through the pages which advertised the stable’s wares he returned to the cover.

  “Is Blondie available? The last time we had her she was worth nearly a third of the points the rest of the solo fighters scored put together.”

  Peter squirmed uncomfortably. He was aware that Blondie had played a very large part in winning that particular show.

  “But we have brought on a lot of talent and with Ayesha fully trained now, we have won every show we’ve competed in since,” he said.

  The Prince smiled. “Don’t worry Peter. I know you run a good stable. It’s just that that blonde draws the crowds like no other slave and Conor wants this show to be the biggest and most spectacular ever staged.”

  “I spoke to Carlo last week and apparently Blondie is fighting in the Horstkoff colours in a fortnight’s time so he won’t let her out so close to then. Besides, I don’t think he would ever agree to let her set foot on Conor’s island again.”

  “True. Oh well, let’s have number four and number three again. They were good value.” The Prince indicated the pages which displayed photos of Ox standing over a defeated foe in some arena or other and Cherry running lead in a six slave chariot.

  “Agreed, Your Highness. I would also like to hire in the one they picked up at Salazar’s auction. According to Carlo she’s showing tremendous promise – that’s number six. And I would suggest numbers two and five for the pens.”

  The Prince ran an eye over the photos of Jet delivering the finishing blow in a boxing contest and Tigre throwing an opponent across her hip. Both slaves carried clearly visible welts but were obviously still capable of earning their keep.

  “Agreed.” The Prince closed the brochure and ran a finger over the image of Blondie on the front. “Pity though.”

  Peter bowed and left the room. It was the office the Prince used when he visited the arena in up-country Bakhtar and was built as part of a penthouse suite on the top storey of one of the hotels in the village that lined the road from the harbour up to the stadium. At present it was deserted and Peter’s footsteps echoed as he descended the steps at the front of the building and walked over to where his Surrey waited. Ayesha, harnessed and tethered by her reins to a ring in the wall stood between the shafts. The fabric roof of the rig which overhung and protected the driver from the ferocity of the sun cast a shadow onto the wall beside her head but obediently she had made no move to shift into it. She knew to wait where her master left her. She was wearing a network of leather strapping in the royal purple, even her nipples were covered by purple cones, her richly embroidered blinkers and the plumes in her bridle were also purple.

  He settled himself on the leather seat and then pulled her round, heading up the road towards the arena. Ayesha’s back showed its sinews as she toiled in the heat and it was impossible to tell what was sweat and what was oil on her gleaming skin. He wondered idly, as he flicked the whip at her rolling buttocks, how she would react when she was sold off after the upcoming show. Not that it mattered especially of course, it would simply take her new master a few weeks of meting out the kind of hard usage she was used to and she would easily be broken in to the new regime. It would be nice if she could leave his ownership with a win but with what he and Conor had cooked up for her, it was by no means clear that she would. Again it didn’t really matter as her price had already been set and a buyer found.

  By the time he steered her into the arena compound she was dripping foam from around her bit and sweat was pouring from her. As he reined her in at a hitching rail in the shade of the arena itself, he imagined how the sweat would be stinging maddeningly as it trickled down over her welts. One of the stablegirls, from one of the local hill tribes, given to the Prince in return for some favour or other by her family, came out with a parasol for him. She wore only a kind of sarong of translucent voile slung around her hips. In her navel a jewel winked and shone as she moved and gold rings in her nipples set off the almost plum coloured areolas of her neat little breasts. Above the whiteness of her teeth another ring through her septum glittered. Peter vaguely recognised her and recalled that he had seen her flogged a few weeks ago for some minor offence. It had only been memorable because her back was tattooed with a climbing plant. The twin stems emerged from her buttock crease and wound up both sides of her spine until the blooms spread in great crimson heads across her shoulders. By the time the flogging had finished, Peter recalled, the flowers looked as though their colour was running down her back. The Prince, however had had her sent to his room and had later reported that she had provided one of the most spectacularly athletic and enthusiastic fucks he had ever experienced. From a carnal gourmand like the Prince, that was praise indeed.

  Peter tugged one of the nipple rings and turned the girl slightly, sure enough it was the one with the tattooed back, the skin now restored to silky perfection.

  “Clean this one up, re-harness her afterwards and leave her back here for me,” he instructed as the girl accompanied him, holding the parasol aloft, towards the arena entrance. They wove their way between the low concrete walls which su
rrounded the sunken slave pens where the crowds could watch individual contests close up, leaning on the waist high walls. Beside Peter the girl’s simple skirt rustled softly as her hips swayed and undulated invitingly. Maybe it was because of how prettily her back had twisted and flexed under the whipping, but for whatever reason, as she left him at the start of the tunnel leading into the arena he felt moved to tell her she could enjoy Ayesha however she wanted before she re-tethered her.

  “I’ll drive her down to the dressage practice, but it won’t matter if she’s showing a few more welts,” he told the girl.

  “The master is too kind!” she exclaimed and salaamed gracefully before adding, “I would not dare to do other than I am commanded.”

  Peter smiled as he strode into the welcome gloom of the tunnel. She would be very concerned to show that she had indeed enjoyed Ayesha and the pain of being re-harnessed over fresh welts would be good for Ayesha before final training began.

  Ahead of Peter the arch leading out onto the floor of the arena beckoned with almost blinding brilliance. After even a few scant yards of coolness the heat took his breath away as he emerged and he took his sunhat off to mop his brow and squint ahead. Paolo, his assitant trainer was working the squad girls and the empty stadium echoed to shouted instructions and whip cracks.

  He was making the squad sprint from one side of the arena to the other, stop after two sprints and then do two more and repeating the dose. He had plainly been running them for some time. As he approached the exhausted fifty or so girls of the squad set off another pair of widths. Their sweat soaked hair swung in heavy mats around their dripping faces. Their arms swung wide of their bodies as with all women running, their legs pumped and beside them ran their guards, urging them on with maddening flicks of the whips. Their feet on the hardened earth sounded like a stampede but they ran in silence, conserving every last ounce of energy. They staggered to the end of the second width and collapsed in heaps of sweating, panting and groaning femininity. They lay sprawled with arms and legs splayed shamelessly and only began to struggle upright after one guard unhitched a hose pipe, turned it on and started dousing them.