by Sean O'Kane
They rushed up as soon as the squads had been let out into the arena and were immediately grabbed. Amelia found herself sitting on Conor Brien’s lap, her skirt rucked up and his thick fingers between her legs, fumbling with his zip. Without taking her eyes off the arena, she reached down and helped him free an amazingly thick cock. With a sigh of pleasure she raised herself and then let herself sink down onto it. Beside her Raika was kneeling, trying to watch the arena from the corner of her eye and suck off one of the Prince’s bodyguards.
A small excavator had piled and packed earth in the centre of the arena into a small hill and dug a moat around it. Water had been pumped in and now the hill was surrounded by thick mud and wet sand. The Blues had won the toss and Conor had decided his slaves would defend the mound while the Purples attacked it. It was a sublimely pointless battle as everyone knew that it didn’t matter who won. When the females had whipped, wrestled, kicked and trampled each other for the crowd’s enjoyment, the guards would charge in and take full advantage of all the slaves, regardless of which team they represented. Raika and Amelia shrieked with excitement as they watched their slaves charge the hill, splashing through the mud to be met by a counter charge from the defenders. As the trainers had intended, it quickly became a glorious mass catfight. Mud slicked bodies struggled and fell, rose and fell again. Whips sprayed thick mud as they fell, clearing small patches of flesh as they tore into the bodies. Breasts were squeezed, nipples pinched, punches were thrown as the brown and pink horde of over a hundred naked females fought and suffered for their masters.
On the terraces a ferocious orgy gripped the entire place. In brief breaks between her own usage, Amelia could see that every woman in the arena was undergoing multiple penetrations. And when one scene ended they were desperately seeking another. Amelia’s own hands were sticky from sperm she had wanked from men in the owners’ box, her mouth was full of the sour aftertaste of spunk and her thighs were slick with the stuff oozing out of her anus and vagina. Then, as only ten or twenty slaves were left standing and the majority of the slaveflesh was piled in writhing heaps; the men charged.
It took over an hour before they finished. Amelia cheered her master on as she watched him become a priapic creature of gleaming brown, the stiff shaft of his beloved cock wagging in front of him as he plundered slave after slave, hauling them up to take a bit more whip before he let them go down and serve him. At last the men acknowledged the cheers from a sexually drained crowd as they stood amidst the carnage of panting, fucked and whipped slaves.
And then the compere announced the special treat as the slaves were being carried or dragged away.
Groaning with frustration in case they missed anything, Raika and Amelia rushed back down to help hose down and stable the squad.
Ayesha stood in the dark, trembling. She was hooded and hadn’t been hooded since the first traumatic days of her training. Her arms were stretched out and shackled to a pole across her shoulders. Two of the Prince’s personal guards had come for her, prepared her and led her away, stumbling in her darkness and placed her where she could hear and see nothing at all. She jumped when she felt a hand touch her right breast and then fingers dug in cruelly hard. She felt someone lean close and then heard her master’s voice whispering loud enough to penetrate the leather of the hood.
“I don’t care if you win or lose. You know that. I just like seeing you fight for me, so put on the best show you’ve ever done today. And if you lose; then take a long time about it. Understand?”
She nodded and then felt him lead her somewhere.
Brian, Raika and Amelia just made it back to the owners’ box as the compere was explaining the finale.
“These two are special,” he was saying. “They used to be lovers and they swindled the husband of one of them and would have seen him ruined while they lived comfortably off what they had stolen from him. But they were discovered just in time. One of them blames the other for her enslavement. And for her part the other will be consumed by guilt when she meets this bit of her past. So let’s sit back and watch a real grudge match!”
The arena had been left as it was but scattered around were stock whips, crops, boxing straps and studded whips. Now two figures were led out. Both of them were hooded and yoked. Brian immediately recognised Ayesha’s long black hair. But it was the other figure that everyone watched. She was the savagely tattooed figure they had seen in the parade. The one with snakes boiling up out of her crotch and over her breast. The two guards fumbled with the buckles at the backs of the hoods and then checked with each other. Simultaneously they whipped the hoods off and the two slaves saw each other.
For a second or so Ayesha didn’t know what she was looking at. But suddenly she realised that it was a harder, more good looking Karen. It was her erstwhile accomplice and lover. Floods of hot shame and guilt erupted inside her. She remembered how she would have dumped her once they had escaped with Sir John Fitzgerald’s money. But somehow Karen had been in Bakhtar; nowhere else could she have got that brutally erotic tattoo. But Karen’s shriek of rage interrupted her thoughts.
“Fucking bitch! You ran off and bloody left me! Then you grassed on me and look what they did, you cow!”
Quickly the two men undid the shackles and withdrew. Karen flew at Ayesha, fingers clawed, nails raking and the contest began. Karen was pure fury; Ayesha was shocked and guilty but that guilt made her want to wipe Karen out - to expunge her - along with the rest of her past that she had thought she had left behind.
To start with Ayesha was easily in control. She ducked and threw Karen casually, time and again, grasping her breasts and twisting them for the crowd. Throwing not-too-hard punches between her legs when she could, making her stop and double over. She took possession of a crop and began to lace Karen with it as the other girl, her face a rictus of fury, lunged in clumsily again and again. But there came a time when they faced each other, Ayesha calf deep in the mud at the foot of the mound, Karen crouching at its edge, mud caked herself and with a trickle of blood running down her chin from a split lip, where the balance of power shifted. Ayesha noted a strange look of mixed guile and mad excitement come into the girl’s eyes. Suddenly she stood up and walked confidently forwards. Ayesha was taken completely unawares and the crop was pulled from her grasp. She struggled backwards and out of the mud. Karen strode forwards with casual confidence and slashed the crop down onto Ayesha’s thighs. Then they were both clear of the mud and now Ayesha was crouching, looking about for new weapon.
“Take this, bitch. You can’t hurt me with it,” Karen sneered and tossed the crop over. Ayesha automatically swung it hard across the girl’s breasts and then back across her hips.
“Mmmm! Not bad! You always did a good beating Ayesha. I guess you must be pretty good at taking it by now. Wonder if you’re good as me?” Before her stunned gaze, Karen turned away and waggled her shapely behind at her. Ayesha’s training kicked in and she swung in another four hard lashes, scoring the skin instantly and making the buttocks swing and ripple. Karen looked over her shoulder flirtatiously. She wagged her arse again; Ayesha lashed her again. Karen laughed, whirled like the snakes whose images she wore and tore the crop from her hands. Suddenly she found herself scrambling backwards up the hill as Karen - a bizarre harridan in mud and tattoos, breasts swinging - strode after her. Ayesha’s own breasts took several stinging lashes, then Karen went low and scored the fronts of her thighs. Ayesha bent forwards and took the opportunity to somersault back down the slope and into the mud. She emerged spluttering and floundering but she saw a studded whip lying on the sand to her right and half crawling she scurried towards it. She whirled around when her hand closed on the wooden handle. Karen was just behind her and smiling lazily.
“Ooh! I hope you’re good with one of those, “ she cooed and turned her back.
Grunting with effort Ayesha swung her arm up and over, the heavy lash with its clubbed end, armed with the steel teeth, curled down and impacted on Karen’s back with a t
hud that quietened the whole stadium.
Ayesha watched as a pattern of small craters was revealed on her opponent’s shoulders but she made no reaction for a moment. Then she settled her feet a little further apart, put her hands on her hips and turned again.
“That’s good! Give me another, honey. You know how much you like to make me suffer.”
Ayesha was aware that the arena was totally silent. Desperately she pulled her arm back and with another grunt of effort she swung the lash in again. This time there was an “Oooo!” from the crowd as the whip thumped into Karen in almost exactly the same place. She staggered slightly this time and then as Ayesha watched the skin split, Karen reached over her shoulder, wiped her fingers over the whipped skin and then licked them sensuously.
“Mmm! The more scared you get, the harder you whip… ….I’d better scare you some more then!” Karen turned and faced Ayesha, smiling in pure delight. One hand was beginning to rub at her clitoris.
Ayesha felt the first stirrings of real fear. She began to realise that Karen’s natural masochism had been forged by her owners into something so extreme that there was nothing Ayesha could do that Karen wouldn’t enjoy having done to her. She was literally staring defeat in the face and all she could think of was that she somehow had to uphold her master’s honour and go down bravely.
She drew her arm back and lashed Karen again, this time snaking the whip around her hip and hearing it impact solidly on the buttock. Karen’s eyes closed briefly as she tasted the pain and savoured it. Then she undulated forwards, mincing like a catwalk model. Ayesha tried to strike again but again Karen was too fast and the whip was wrenched from her grasp.
“Now, let me show you how it’s done, lover. Conor once had me whipped with it every day for a week you know,” she said dreamily.
Ayesha turned to try and find another weapon but was stopped in her tracks by the first lash. It was far harder than Karen looked to be capable of delivering but it seared her back like no other slave-wielded whip ever had. She staggered breathlessly and took another stroke which drove her to her knees. Karen stood over her from behind and reached down to grasp a breast and dig her fingers into it until the flesh bulged out around them. Ayesha closed her eyes, knowing what was coming and hoping her master would enjoy it. She reached up and over her shoulders, touching her lover’s skin for the first time since they had both been enslaved, Karen’s thighs and buttocks were smooth and warm. As she gripped the buttocks, she felt one was slicked from where she had hit her with the whip which was even now about to strike her.
Karen steadied her by her hold on the breast and then flicked the studded whip downwards. Ayesha arched and screamed as it bit into her right breast. Another flick and it impacted on her mons. Again she shrieked and arched but somehow refrained from bringing her hands round to shield herself. Karen flicked again and the inside of her left thigh exploded into white hot pain. The grip on her breast tightened just enough and Ayesha began to spiral upwards into orgasm as another flick took the right breast. This time Karen stepped back a little and as Ayesha arched she found her face slipping between her tormentor’s thighs and her mouth was pressed against the slippery cushions of labial flesh while her nose felt the pucker of her anus. She held on tight with her hands and held her arched position as she began to lick and probe with her tongue into the tangy outpourings of the cunt. She held the position long enough to scream into it when two more flicks caught her own cunt. But even as she collapsed backwards she was applauding Karen’s instinctive understanding of how to flick so as to prolong the spectacle and keep the opponent just on the cusp of orgasm. She hit the sand hard and lay there dazed as Karen disappeared for a second then came back to stand over her, smiling down at her and holding a leather tailed flogger in one hand while with the other she was masturbating.
“This is going to be so good, Ayesha. And it’s going to be sooo slow!” she said.
Ayesha watched her whip arm rise and was just able to roll over in time to take it on her back and begin the long descent into defeat at the hands of someone who was a natural born arena star.
She woke in darkness and groaned. Every inch of her ached and stung. Her hands were free for once and she began exploring. Her cunt was particularly tender and gradually she recalled scenes of lying in exhaustion on the arena sands with her legs splayed, taking whatever Karen dealt out and knowing her master would want her to keep her legs open. The crowd would want to see the whip land and hear her squeal. She had done both, over and over. Karen had driven her mercilessly, sometimes letting her orgasm, sometimes making her take her to orgasm. She vaguely recalled staggering to her feet only to walk into perfectly timed lashes, punches or kicks which had her down in a heap again and always there was the sight of Karen’s cunt settling over her face and her soft voice whispering, “Eat me out, you bitch!”
The door opened and a weak light was switched on. Ayesha saw she was in a windowless cell and tried to kneel up in the presence of her master.
“That was a good show you put on. The Prince was very pleased by how long you held out and so was I,” he told her.
Groaning with effort, Ayesha managed to get to her knees and her master took her face in one hand and looked down at her, calm and dispassionate as ever. Then he shattered her life.
“However, that has not altered my decision to sell you. Your new owner will be here shortly, in the meantime I will enjoy your mouth.”
In a shocked daze, Ayesha opened her mouth wide and felt the familiar, beloved instrument of male mastery slide into her, the helm ripe with the taste of other slaves. But this time she washed the shaft with her tears of baffled misery as she devotedly sucked him and invited him to achieve his pleasure in her mouth.
He pumped several spurts of hot sour spunk into her and then left with no further word and Ayesha wept in the dark. But slowly she began to pull herself together. She was his property after all, he was entitled to do whatever he liked with her. If he wanted her to serve a new master then it was up to her to serve him in such a way as to make him proud. However many owners she would have in the future, she knew that really she would only ever have one real master: Peter Lang. She would serve him through the medium of however many men wanted her, it was the only way a slave could express her devotion - even if the object of that devotion neither knew nor cared. Ayesha’s sore cunt began to moisten and stir at that masochistic thought.
The door opened again and she struggled up onto her feet to meet her new master. He flicked on the light and she gaped in astonished horror.
“Hello Ayesha.”
“Sir John!” she whispered finally.
Chapter 19
Brian was genuinely shocked.
“Your Highness is most kind but if you pay for CSL slaves, they are yours for the full duration of the show. Carlo and Mr Carpenter would feel dishonoured if their property was not taken full advantage of by their client.”
Prince Hassan nodded and smiled in appreciation of this evidence of an Englishman’s sense of fair play. He was in high good humour; Ayesha’s pounding at the hands of Snake had lost him the show by one solitary point. But all three days had provided excellent sport, already people were saying that it was the best ever spectacle and he was proud that his stable had been part of it. He wasn’t in the slightest bothered that it would be his slaves who would be displayed and available for hire for the fourth morning and had offered to allow Brian to fly his contingent home.
“Very well, Brian. I would be pleased to offer your slaves alongside mine.”
Brian left the other guards busily erecting the frames, trestles and crucifixes on which the losing team would be displayed and went to alert Amelia and Raika that their slaves were needed one more time.
It was a tradition that had begun at the Bakhtar stadium and Brian remembered it well. On the morning after the show, the losing team were offered to the crowd - for a price - to fuck and beat as they chose. It was a highly effective way of redirecting any winnings
the punters might have made by bets, back into the stable owners’ coffers.
In the chill morning air and with the arena rising out of the heat haze behind the training ground over fifty slaves were soon in full X shaped extension, bent over forwards or bent backwards, butt plugged or dildo stuffed with whips beside them and a guard in attendance to take the money and judge when the already sorely welted bodies could take no more.
By ten o’clock the whole area was reverberating to the sound of whips and groans and shrieks of pleasure and pain. Brian strolled around happily, watching approvingly as Raika wiped between Jet’s legs as yet another man finished fucking her on the rack she was stretched out on and then turned to the cross which supported Cherry’s sagging form. She took money from another punter, handed him a whip and then pinched the slave’s buttocks hard. Cherry yelped and suddenly jerked upright again.
“Ready for you now, sir,” the little Indian chirped happily and moved on to ensure that Ox was capable of taking another customer. He felt that his first expedition in charge of CSL property had gone well and that Carlo would approve of his decisions.
He was also still coming to terms with the shock of recognising the slave who was now known to all arena fans as ‘Snake’. When her hood had been taken off he had seen Karen Fitzgerald, the woman who had taught him the meaning of - and the pleasures of - submission and dominance. It was she more than anyone who had brought him to the arenas and the fulfilling of all his dreams. Her ruthless demolition of Ayesha, who at the end had been dragged out unconscious, would be talked about in clubs and pubs for a long time to come and Brian wondered how she had been so radically altered from the meek but keen submissive he had known. However, that was a question he could ponder later. For now there was the exquisite sight of welted slaveflesh and the sounds of the last dregs of pleasure being wrung from it to enjoy.