Slave's Honour

by Sean O'Kane

  Paolo saw his boss approaching and waited for him smiling.

  “Did you get the extra girls we want?” he asked.

  “Yes, I got them. How’s this lot doing?” Peter put out a foot and prodded a still-prone blonde girl.

  “Getting there. Conor’s island’s pretty hot so I thought I’d drill them in this heat so’s they’ve got an advantage.”

  Three of the guards appeared with water bottles and began distributing them, the hose was turned off and in a few minutes a line of dirt and sweat smeared girls were sitting with their backs against the perimeter fencing, their knees raised and carelessly spread with their forearms resting on them.

  Peter strolled along the line as they squinted up at him, breasts till heaving as their breathing only slowly came back under control.

  “We go into action again in three weeks’ time,” he announced. “We’re away to the Blues.”

  He let that sink in. Inevitably there was the initial stir of excitement, some heads tilted to look up at the tiers of seats and remember how the crowds generated an almost tangible atmosphere of sexual excitement as the naked gladiators fought and were punished for their pleasure. But then came the recollection that prior to any show the training got harder and there was absolutely no sex allowed. Being the away team meant that that regime would start now and there would be a long journey in the hated crates before the show got underway.

  “However, after training today the guards will make sure that no one goes into pre-show training… …..unsatisfied.” He allowed himself a smile as an excited ripple ran through the squad, there were some stifled giggles and some bottoms squirmed excitedly. Some of the slaves gave lascivious glances up from under eyelashes towards their favourites among the guards. Peter let the excitement grow for a minute or two.

  “Paolo! Flog any girl not giving more effort than she has ever given before. Minimum of forty lashes at the post! Work them hard!”

  It was carte blanche to have any girl he cared to flogged to the blood. The girls knew it and so did the guards. They would train till they fell and then watch avidly as punishments were handed out. And later on there would be the traditional orgy before the stable buckled down to hard work. Peter stayed to watch the first few wrestling and whip matches, then went to claim Ayesha back once he was sure that he had set things up just right and the girls weren’t holding anything back.

  She had been placed where he had left her, still tethered in the shade and was now looking considerably fresher. Her hair had been brushed out thoroughly and her skin gleamed with freshly applied oil. But beneath the gleam Peter could see that she had been liberally welted and his cock twitched eagerly at the thought of how much a beating usually excited her. The tattooed girl reappeared and asked if he was pleased with her work.

  “You’ve done well,” he told her, squeezing one of Ayesha’s breasts hard. “Report to my room tonight.” Her salaam was unperturbed although she must have known she was in for a long, hard night.

  He drove Ayesha at a brisk trot out past the pens and heard the sounds of hammering away behind the arena on his left. The apparatus for the parade before the show at Conor’s stadium was taking shape. Peter grinned to himself and whipped Ayesha into a run. Down at the race track he found that the rest of the solo fighters were being drilled well in the dressage routine he and Paolo had worked out. When he left her, dribbling helplessly around her bit, her chest heaving for air, he found the lightweight traps being backed into enclosures marked out on the turf by cones - not singly but in formation. A guard stood at one end of the line and surveyed the backing rigs critically.

  “Number three, your pony’s two feet slower than the others!” he called.

  Three meaty cracks sounded from up the line then all the rigs pulled forward and tried again.

  “Number four! Yours was half an hour ahead!”

  A riding crop sounded again, four hefty swipes this time and then they tried again.

  “Better!” the guard reported. “Water them and then we’ll practise the figure of eight!”

  Seeing Peter the guard came over.

  “They’re not looking too bad, Joe. We’ve got time to knock ‘em into shape and we’ve got some CSL backup if we need it,” Peter told him.

  The guard brightened until Peter told him that sadly it wasn’t Blondie. However, he did get to drive Ayesha for the rest of the afternoon while Peter took over as ringmaster. By the end of the day the troop was capable of forming a perfect figure of eight with rigs criss crossing at the juncture of the loops with metronomic regularity. There were one or two crashes before that was achieved however and four of the ponies were limping badly by the end. But there was time enough yet and Peter retired happily to his quarters above the stables, built into the arena itself and found the tattooed girl waiting for him, naked.

  Snake tore at the metal with desperate frustration. It was a fucking chastity belt! She had no idea why they were doing this to her. Even Conor Brien couldn’t be this cruel. But he was. For weeks she had been held in agonising bondage, fed by hand, taken to the toilet and even cleaned up by hands that weren’t her own. Not the slightest bit of relief had been allowed her and she was almost mad with frustration. Her cunt ached for filling with anything. Her clitoris throbbed and tingled with anticipation at each fantasy that increasingly popped into her fevered imagination.

  And then the guards had entered her cell, attached this infernal thing to her and freed her hands. Immediately they had flown to her crotch and tried to tear away the metal strapping that ran between her legs and bisected her buttocks before joining the waist belt - also of padlocked steel. There were holes to allow for her basic functions but there was no way she could get anywhere near her clitoris and no way she could get anything thick enough to satisfy her up her cunt. That left her nipples, the fools had left her her nipples. Chuckling with delight at her own cunning she raised her still-stiff hands and began a frenzied frotting at them, twisting them, crushing them, squeezing the breasts themselves back against her chest - just as she liked men to do - but without the stimulation from between her legs, it was poor fare and tears began to course down her face as she nevertheless continued to torment herself as best she could. There was laughter from outside her cell.

  The bastards! They were watching her agony through the hatch above the lock. Then the door was thrown open and Conor Brien strode in.

  “I told you I’d have you hornier than any slave who’s ever gone into the arenas didn’t I? You’ve got three weeks’ training like that my girl. And any little pleasure you can get from your nipples will be good fun to watch but it won’t keep a whore like you happy. No, Snake, by the time I let you loose at the show, you’ll be halfway mad!”

  With that he turned and left her, the door slamming closed after him. Screaming defiance and pleas for mercy simultaneously, she threw herself against the door and began to rub her nipples against the rough wood. She squeezed her breasts and rasped the nipples, bathing in the lances of hot pain that speared through her - straight down to her crotch. Groaning she collapsed onto the floor, realising that Conor Brien had condemned her to miserable scraps of pleasure from red raw nipples that would only inflame her lust further the less they satisfied her.

  Laughter from outside her cell door faded as the men left her.

  Raika couldn’t believe that she was actually going to be allowed to wear a slightly longer skirt and accompany Mr Brian when they transported the slaves.

  Mr Carlo had summoned her and Miss Patti to his office and told them that in two weeks’ time, Ox, Cherry, Trouble, Jet and Tigre would be going to fight in the purple colours of the Bakhtar stable against Conor Brien’s Blues. Then two weeks after that Blondie would be going to the Horstkoff stable in Central Asia. He and Patti would go with Blondie; Brian, Raika and Brian’s own sub, Amelia, who would join them along the way, would go with the other five. Amelia had completed several stints at The Lodge as a pony and as a groom so knew the drill well enough t
o be of some help.

  Brian found that he was looking forward to the show far more than he would have believed possible. It would be the first time he had been behind the scenes at an arena and responsibility for the wellbeing of five of the best slaves on the circuit rested squarely on his shoulders. With Amelia unable to get away from work until the day of departure itself and with Carlo imposing a complete ban on sex in the stable prior to the show, he took to using the grooms and Raika. Patti might have declared that she had not learned her lesson in the aftermath of Carlo’s flogging, but nevertheless she was more circumspect with Raika than in the past and was more frequently to be seen climbing the stairs to Carlo’s rooms.

  Perdita started training once her skin had healed and her previous feistiness soon resurfaced once she had her master and was let loose in the arena. Already she was looking set fair to match Ox and Trouble in terms of endurance. Her running wasn’t as quick as Jet’s or Cherry’s but she displayed dogged determination which marked her out for log pulling and pursuit running. It was as a wrestler that she really looked to make her mark however. All her old aggression and guts combined perfectly with her figure to make her an immediate hit with the spectators and provide Blondie and Jet with unexpectedly fierce contests. Her breasts were the perfect handicap. Even if she easily won a contest, it was inevitable that an opponent would be able to do some damage to her tits before she went down and the members would throng the benches to watch as Ox or Tigre would wrestle her down and then get a knee into her back before reaching round and dragging the heavy mounds up by the nipples, making her arch her back to try and minimise the pain. As a bonus she seemed to understand that her master required her to suffer a bit before winning, and to prolong winning as long as possible. In the dungeons she quickly became acquainted with the breast presses and the long needles under Brian’s watchful eye.

  Raika, Trouble and Purdy had all been branded on the same day but Raika was spared the tongue ring. Brian himself had had the privilege of pressing the iron onto Purdy’s left hip and holding it while she tried to writhe, screaming into her gag. Trouble had been perfectly docile, needing only her beloved Ox led out to stand where she could see her while the hot iron was applied. She couldn’t help the agonised writhing but hardly any noise escaped her. Raika had passed out.

  The tongue ringing had been done on the same day and again Brian had applied the piercing gun to Perdita’s tongue and passed the metal of the ring through the hole. An anaesthetic had been swabbed on previously so her large eyes had remained locked onto his all the time. He could read nothing but devotion in them. A week later and all three slaves were wearing their marks proudly.

  On the morning of departure the slaves were roused early and not fed but taken straight to the toilet area where enemas were delivered by Patti if any failed to make a motion. Trouble and Jet were the only two made to go onto all fours while Patti stood astride their haunches and shoved the huge syringe deep into their guts before letting them up to squat over the gutter which served as their toilet. Every stool was carefully examined by Patti and Raika was now being inducted into the techniques of knowing what to look for. It was Brian’s least favourite part of the day and he was glad when the noises and smells were past and the hoses could be played as usual and the grooms could get on with hair drying and combing, tooth brushing and nail trimming. He and Carlo carried the six foot long crates in from storage in the tack room and placed them in the stalls. The slaves were already nervous and frisky as they knew what the change in routine meant and they hated the crates. But with both men working it took only a few minutes to get them down on their faces and truss them into the hogtie that they would remain in for the duration of the journey. Blondie kicked at her stall wall when she realised she wasn’t going and bit the groom who had brought her her breakfast. Carlo laughed and promised her a special seeing-to and while Raika looked after making sure that each crate, with its slave now neatly pushed inside, was equipped with a full water bottle, Brian went to say goodbye to Perdita who was sullen and resentful until he promised her a special thrashing on his return.

  The crates were loaded into the horsebox for a relatively short trip by road to a quiet airfield just north of London, Raika and Patti, armed with numerous checklists and clipboards made a frantic last minute check that all the tack was packed and finally they set off. Brian suddenly quiet at the thought of the responsibility he now had while beside him Raika bounced up and down with excitement.

  John Carpenter had worked his usual magic and the horsebox was smoothly diverted to a remote part of the airfield and two silent men helped Brian move the tarpaulin covered crates aboard a medium sized cargo plane and just as they finished loading, Amelia joined them having driven straight from work.

  The cabin was fairly roomy and shut off from the cargo hold, it was equipped with a galley and a bar and had six seats and a couch along one side.

  The captain welcomed them aboard via the intercom and they belted themselves in. Once the plane was clear of the English cloud cover and was droning along in level flight above the billows of blinding white, they were advised that they could remove their belts.

  Brian watched as the girls stretched and relaxed, Amelia took her jacket off and Raika went over to the bar immediately ready to serve.

  “Ladies,” he said, relishing the piece of news he had to impart. “I’m afraid that your work begins straight away. Mr Carpenter negotiated a very cheap fare in monetary terms. You yourselves make up the remaining fare, so may I suggest you strip for action as the flight crew will be taking it in turns with you both and I expect they’ll be starting shortly.”

  Amelia chuckled throatily and Raika gave a little shriek of excited horror. But in a few moments they were both stark naked and sitting demurely beside each other, wearing only high heels and broad smiles of anticipation.

  The captain, when he entered, was a fairly short and rotund man with a florid face and white hair.

  “Ah, Mr Carpenter was as good as his word then,” he said, looking with blatant lasciviousness at the goods on offer.

  “The one on the left is Amelia,” Brian said. “Nice little tits, I think you’ll agree, and a delightful mouth. The one on the right is Raika, bigger tits,” and here Raika proudly thrust them forward, “very keen to please. Both are available to be fucked in any passage you like, they’ll perform if you want to watch and of course they can be disciplined.”

  “That’s quite a menu! Well, it’s quite a long flight so I’ll start by sampling Amelia’s mouth - after I’ve examined both items in a bit more detail… ….”

  He sat back on the couch and both girls approached him obediently. Raika sat beside him while Amelia knelt astride him, pushing her up-tilted breasts into his face. Brian helped himself to a beer from the bar and made his way aft to check on the cargo.

  The co-pilot was a tall dark haired man who took Raika from behind while she bent over the couch and he chatted casually with Brian as he did so. It came as a bit of a surprise when it turned out that the plane carried a navigator too, and more of one when it turned out to be a thin lipped, blonde lesbian who wanted to smack Amelia hard before having her eat her out and wanted to watch Raika being fucked by Brian. She wore trousers and would only let Amelia drop them a little way down her thighs but nevertheless she did as well as she could. Afterwards they slept for a while then the flight crew paid another visit. They checked the slaves again on waking up before a refuelling stop.

  Then the flight crew changed.

  By the time the plane began to bank and the instruction to fasten seatbelts came through, both girls were looking a bit rumpled and were quite glad to dress again. There were groans beginning to emanate from the crates and it was high time the contents were allowed out. As the plane banked, below them they could see a green dot set in an endless expanse of azure. Several minutes later they were low enough to see a port with quite a few large, modern buildings which Carlo had told Brian were hotels. Set further back, to
wards the mountains was the airfield they were heading for, the one from which Patti had tried to make her escape, and beyond that, under the central mountains was Conor Brien’s and Mark Cavanagh’s estate and arena.

  The undercarriage rumbled down and the plane seemed almost to stall before continuing its descent. Then finally the wheels screeched and bounced once and they were down. Brian felt a knot of excited tension form in his stomach. The next days were crucial to his future with Carlo, John Carpenter and CSL.

  Chapter 16

  “You’re not joking it’s a bloody good price!” Conor sat back and blew a cloud of cigar smoke up towards the ceiling, then while he listened to the person on the other end of the phone, he lifted his foot and rested it against the pegged vulva of the slave tied down to the top of his desk. Her knees had been drawn up so that her heels just rested on the top and then her calves had been bound back to her thighs, the ropes tied off to the edges of the desk, preventing her from closing her legs. Between her legs he could see the gently sloping mounds of her breasts. Her arms had been spread along the far edge and her head hung down beyond. It was a view of a slavegirl he was particularly fond of; thighs, cunt, stomach and tits. All the best places for playing with and the head tucked neatly out of the way but available for cocksucking if required. The cunt lips with only a neatly trimmed covering of pubic fur bore four clothes pegs each, the brightly coloured plastic giving the slave a cheerful carnival air as they mercilessly squeezed the soft flesh. The application of the final one to the clitoris itself had made her stomach clench and flutter prettily as she had absorbed the pain, gasping and whimpering and making the colourful display on her tits wobble as well. He pushed a little harder with his shoe and made the girl’s breasts heave once more.