Naked Ambition

by Sean O'Kane

  The grooms and the female guards passed among them fussing and nervous as the early evening wore on and the girls sat on the edges of their cots and waited. Their hair was combed, their nipples were rouged. Amelia and Seventy-six were separated off and given special attention as they were entered in the dressage. They wore eye make up and lip stick. Their cheeks had blusher brushed on. And then they were harnessed.

  It was the decorative, dressage harness, the bridles had delicate silver work on them wherever the straps were wide enough, the blinkers were beautifully tooled and decorated, their girths had wide, oval panels at the fronts, across their stomachs and in a silver panel mounted on the leather was a picture of an arena slave with a whip. Around the edge Sadia’s name and title were engraved with lavish decoration. Their cruppers had a row of silver studs running down the centre, drawing the eye to the way the straps spread their labia as they supported the dildos impaling them and then farther back kept the butt plugs firmly embedded. As the cruppers ran between their buttocks, they also supported a wire prong that rose up in a curve and in its turn mounted their tails, so that the hair would fall gracefully from higher up the buttock than if it had merely been hung from the plug.

  For dressage it was vital that the tits didn’t wobble and swing at different speeds and in different directions on each slave. Everything had to be choreographed to perfection and each stable adopted its own solution. Angel had decreed that each nipple was to be clamped with a small, polished silver, screw clamp. A slender, stainless steel bar ran between the clamps and chains ran up from each nipple to be clipped to the ring at the front of the high posture collar each slave wore. Thus a pleasing and decorative tri-angle was drawn on each girl’s chest and her tits were steadied.

  The groom who was tacking up Amelia and Seventy-six was an experienced woman who frequently played with them in the dungeons back home and often drove them. She took her time screwing the nipple clamps down onto the girls’ excitedly erect nubs; gauging when she had got each girl gasping and wide-eyed to just the right degree. The last part was to feed the bits through their tongue rings and clip them to the reins and the bridles, then they were ready.

  There was a sudden commotion as the stockade gates were flung open and the Girl Squad saw how they were to be paraded for the formal opening of the games.

  With a silken black and yellow sheet, embroidered with complex swirling patterns and glittering with seed pearls, thrown across its broad back an elephant waited for them. Just behind its mahout sat Sadia in a howdah, resplendent in a gold satin full length dress and from the animal’s flanks were draped many slender steel chains.

  While Amelia and Seventy-six were harnessed to their trap and their driver settled herself, the guards began to clip the squad girls’ wrists to the chains carried by the elephant.

  Angel rode in a six slave racing chariot at the head of the procession, her blonde hair loose and blowing in a gentle evening breeze. Behind her came the dressage traps and behind them came the elephant leading a great fan of almost a hundred naked women behind it.

  Slowly they made their way across the now-dry ground towards the floodlit bulk of the arena itself. Amelia’s heart was thundering as they approached and heard the crowd. Already the home team had entered and there was wild cheering. Above the din the compere’s amplified voice could just be heard and as they entered the darkness of the tunnel that led out onto the floor of the arena, Amelia just caught the words; ‘Girl Squad!’ being bellowed over the P.A.

  Then they were out and momentarily blinded by the floodlights. The home team were just turning at the far end of the arena as the Girl Squad entered and from the edges of her blinkers Amelia saw masses of black and yellow and orange scarves being waved from the terraces. Paying careful attention to keeping in step with Seventy-six, they made their way around the arena and back into the tunnel and then back towards the stockade. But at the last minute they were steered to the right and with the three other dressage rigs, made their way to the clearing Amelia had seen the previous night, where there was a grass track and a level, mown infield. There they waited patiently while the crowd made its way over from the arena and the action began.

  The final part of their preparation was to have their feet slipped into high-heeled ankle boots, which had been left off to minimise the risk of tripping during the parade.

  Under the unreal brilliance of the lights and with the heat making their skins shine with sweat, the two teams performed their prescribed routines and their free-style ones devised by their trainers.

  They backed their rig carefully between cones; turned it on a sixpence, traced curves and swerves on the grass in unison with other rigs as perfectly as they could, controlled by gentle taps with the carriage whip. They kept their necks arched and their plumes nodding as they gave a display of disciplined obedience that drew plenty of applause at its end. Then they stood, ankles tidily together at attention as the opposition performed. Inevitably the applause was greater for the home team but there was still the inspection. The judges came over and inspected the tightness of the girths and cruppers, looked at the polish on the studs and decorations, made sure the labia were parted as symmetrically as possible, ensured the tits were contained and controlled without any distortion of their shape. Female judges inspected their make up and grooming while the male judges stood back and Amelia heard them discussing the pertness of the buttocks and the shape of the thighs and how well, or not, the tits matched in each pair.

  In the end the Orange team shaded the actual dressage display but the Girl Squad rig next to Amelia won best turned out rosette and she and Seventy-six got second. Each of them pranced and received a stinging lash across the buttocks as the rosettes were pinned directly onto the upper swells of their left tits. Then all the rigs paraded around the fence at the edge of the track and excited spectators leaned over and stroked them as they passed.

  Then it was back to the stockade at a walk, and sleep as quickly as the grooms could strip them down. The next three days were going to be very crowded.

  Tony took his seat in the owners’ and trainers’ box just in time to see the start of the first full day’s first event. Eve was attending to the CSL stock held at the Girl Squad’s quarters and they weren’t needed just yet in any case. Angel and Amelia’s strategy might prove disastrous, or very successful. It was going to be an interesting day. He nodded across cheerfully to Brian who was sitting on the other side of the box with Craig Maddox, the Orange team’s trainer and their owner, a tall thin man with a greying moustache. He and Brian were honour bound not to contact each other in any way and had handed in their mobiles and notebooks as soon as they had arrived, but they exchanged tense smiles as they took their seats.

  The P.A. crackled into life and the compere announced the twenty-a-side melee. There were cheers and as Tony looked around the audience and up at the big screens, he could see the expectant and excited faces, waiting for the action that would fuel the orgies to begin.

  With a recorded blare of trumpets, the two teams marched out from the tunnel and into the brilliant sun. Each naked girl carried a small, lightweight shield and a heavy strap as her weapon. The straps were nearly a metre long and their blades tapered from almost six inches wide up by the ball handle, to a wicked point. The leather was heavy but very flexible. A strike with one made an excitingly loud noise but left comparatively little marking. However the clubbing impacts could drive a girl down fairly quickly and eventually raise some good weals but leave her able to fight again the next day. As the games went on though, so the weaponry became more testing.

  Four judges came behind the two lines, they were appointed by the Owners’ Council

  and would signal when a girl had been down long enough to be counted out.

  He checked the Orange line up and was not surprised to see Ayesha, Fiji, Ox and Trouble all lining up, pretty much as they had suspected. He had been in the dressing room where the slaves had been oiled and fitted up with their equipment
, and he had watched as Angel had gone from girl to girl, running her riding crop across their breasts and explaining what they had to do. He just hoped that enough of them had been English speakers to understand.

  Down on the sand of the arena floor the slaves had formed into two lines facing each other. The judges stood back and one of them fired a starting pistol. The two lines came together and the cameras greedily closed in on the shuddering breasts and parted thighs as the struggles began. The first overarm throws began to be exchanged and the smacks and cracks of leather on flesh were clearly audible above the cheering.

  Almost immediately the CSL contingent went into its usual routine that had vanquished nearly all opposition in the past. Ox and Trouble worked as a pair, guarding each other’s back, while Fiji and Ayesha worked close beside them, forcing their way through the enemy’s line in a kind of phalanx and beating down any girl who stood against them.

  Tony watched intently, ignoring the screens showing the first couplings and gropings on the terraces as the whips snapped at the naked flesh below. The Girl Squad fighters immediately in front of the CSL advance fell back and spread out, joining their sisters who were engaging Orange team fighters, several of whom now found themselves almost surrounded by enemies, all pounding them with their heavy straps. The CSL foursome had to split up to find opposition but every time they did, the Girl Squaddies faded away, preferring to bring down the Orange team first. And in little over a minute, one did go down, battered into submission by three of the Girl Squad. One of them stood over the fallen girl’s head and dropped, her thighs spread wide, over the fallen girl’s face. The girl didn’t struggle and the cameras caught her tongue licking up into her conqueror’s cunt. A judge blew his whistle and walked in to drag the fallen girl away, then the contest resumed. Once again the CSL contingent was frustrated and the Orange team members were hunted down. A blonde wearing the orange arm band was caught on the video screens surrounded by four of the Girl Squad. Her skin quivered as the straps hit her so fast she had no chance of fighting back, an uppercut from behind her doubled her over and her back took the full brunt of the whips until she went down.

  And while that had been going on, the CSL slaves had been kept just busy enough, split up and scattered; kept away from the main action.

  Tony smiled grimly as he recalled Amelia gesturing and pointing to get her message across that night on the veranda. But his loyalties were divided and he didn’t glance across at Brian.

  The cheering from the black and yellow supporters grew louder and louder. Another Orange girl went down. Two minutes later another two went down. Now the advantage began to tell ever more rapidly as the Orange team was increasingly outnumbered. The CSL contingent kept trying to bring their weight and strength to bear but the Girl Squaddies weren’t having any of it yet, and retreated quite unashamedly rather than get drawn into a contest they couldn’t win.

  But when there were twice as many Girl Squad fighters as Orange ones left standing, the brakes came off and joyfully they flung themselves at their foes. However the foes were far from finished and Ayesha took a girl down with an elegantly devastating uppercut. Ox and Trouble battered another one to the ground but before the judges stopped the action to remove the fallen, two more of the Orange team bit the dirt as well.

  The pause in the action was long enough for the conquerors to enjoy the fruits of conquest and so that the crowd could savour some salacious close-ups on the giant screens. Then it was back to business and there was no stopping until only the four CSL slaves were left, facing no fewer than twelve of the Girl Squad.

  Tony suddenly realised he was gnawing his knuckles. Whichever team finally won the whole games, CSL would come out with credit – but he could see that things might never be the same at The Lodge if Amelia’s and Angel’s strategy worked. He glanced across at Brian and saw that he and Craig Maddox were already anxiously scanning the events ahead.

  When combat resumed, the Girl Squad hunted in a pack and left just a couple of their number to fend off the remaining CSL slaves. They targeted Ox first and all the whip endurance training she had undergone at The Lodge couldn’t help her. Five or six foes crowded round her and the spectators were treated to the sight of her skin rippling under the rapid salvos of lashes. Her big breasts swung and collided as lashes wrapped her from both sides simultaneously. Lashes curled up between her legs and wrapped her thighs lovingly but she simply didn’t have time to fall. Desperately she swung her shield and lashed out herself but there was simply too much incoming for her to deal with.

  Tony’s eyes flicked up to the giant screens and took in the fact that on the terraces, women were being roasted and buggered everywhere. Others were on their knees, mouths full of cock, eyes swivelling sideways to miss nothing of Ox’s thrashing, their hands busily working at their own crotches.

  Down on the arena floor, Ox’s arms dropped in exhaustion and she stood with her head bowed in the centre of a ring of foes who kept up the beating relentlessly. She dropped to her knees and still she was lashed, then she crashed forwards onto her face in the dust. Even then the excitement of victory led several of the Girl Squad to continue to ply the lashes until the judges pulled them off and dragged Ox away.

  The compere addressed the crowds over the PA once the cheering had quietened sufficiently.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen! I think we can safely assume the Girl Squad have won this event, don’t you? I’m sure you don’t want to see the last three girls suffer unnecessarily!”

  The crowd gleefully joined in the pantomime and bellowed that, yes they did.

  “But it can only be a matter of time now! I think we should call it off!”

  The answering bellows nearly lifted the terrace roofing.

  Of course the pause had only served to give the girls a chance to catch their breath, thus ensuring a longer and slower defeat.

  Fiji was the next one targeted and like Ox, she was blitzed into submission. But not before she had flung away her shield and whip, and screaming defiance had flung herself bodily onto her tormentors. And while Ayesha and Trouble had been kept at bay, a furious wrestling match had taken place between her and three of the Girl Squad while whips had continued to lash the gleaming, dark skinned body, sending up sprays of sweat and oil into the bright morning air.

  Trouble lasted no longer than her lover, Ox, and at last only Ayesha was still standing.

  The arena was hushed. She had been almost as good as Blondie in her hayday but since leaving the Bakhtar stable had never really regained her form. Here she faced overwhelming odds. What would she do?

  All round the world, arena aficionados leaned closer to their screens.

  The whistle to resume combat sounded and she ran away. Black hair flying she streaked down the length of the arena floor. Behind her the squad leaped into action.

  But then Ayesha stopped suddenly and turned, crouching she sent her whip scything out towards the leader of the pursuing girls, catching across the backs of both knees and brought her down in a cloud of dust. Then she was off again, running faster than her pursuers. Again she skidded to a halt and this time took out the lead pursuer with an uppercut that lifted the girl off her feet and made her twist like a hooked fish in the air before she crashed down. The crowd surged to its feet but now the Girl Squad spread out and began herding Ayesha towards the fence. And once they had her there, cornered, the crowd was treated once again to the sight of a beautiful body twisting, flinching and spraying sweat as it was whipped until finally a series of uppercuts dropped her to her knees and while her sisters finished the job, the girl who had landed the coup de grace lasciviously licked Ayesha’s juice off her strap.

  Then there was the punishment ritual. It was rare for the CSL slaves to find themselves at the mercy of the crowd and the crowd knew it too; and was dead set on making the most of the opportunity. A judge went to the centre of the arena and held up ten fingers. The crowd’s thumbs came out pointing down. He snapped his palms closed and then open agai
n, signalling twenty. The thumbs pointed down again. He snapped his palms closed twice, some thumbs pointed up but the compere decided it wasn’t a majority. Only when forty had been signalled did the thumbs go up.

  That evening, they would be treated to the sight of the losing team having forty lashes added to what they had already taken. Amelia and Angel had started the savage logic of the arena working in the Girl Squad’s favour.

  In the holding cells beneath the arena, Amelia listened to the cheering and wondered. The only clue she got was the cheerful demeanour of the guards as they came to take the solo fighters out to compete in the first of the duels. It would be with three tailed martinets today, the tails had been carefully weighted to add thud and snap to the square cut lashes. She prowled around her cell with her companions, listening to the noises above them and imagining the scenes being enacted. But it wasn’t until almost the end of the first morning that she got to see daylight when they were taken out for the mass log pull.

  As the slaves were piled into the dressing room and the grooms and guards rushed about oiling them till they shone, Amelia saw two of the solo fighters helped back in and Doctor Hooper start checking them over on the medical bench. She reckoned the Orange team had struck back. It wasn’t unexpected and Angel didn’t look too perturbed as she stood behind the vet and watched her treat the welts and bruises.