by Sean O'Kane
The girl looked blank.
“It’s an independent stable operating out of England,” he explained. “They rent slaves out and they’ve got some of the best on the circuit. Heard of Blondie?”
The girl shook her head at first then stopped. “Yes, I’ve seen some mention of her on some site or other, before I plucked up courage to book a ticket.”
“She’s the best in the business and I think they’ve bought her in for this show. But she’ll be doing dressage now. These two are just additions to the Prince’s squad.”
They had arrived at the enclosure which was sectioned off by a fairly high rail positioned too far away to permit fondling or touching the slaves. The two stood so motionless as to appear almost like statues. They carried far more extreme decorations than the tattooed numbers of the other slaves. Their nipples were pierced horizontally by thin needles and these supported shiny steel U shapes. From these were slung thin silver chains so that the breasts were joined.
Instead of the usual leather collars, these slaves wore high steel ones with decorative work at the fronts, pointing down their chests and extending to between the breasts. Their upper arms bore complicated bangles and between their opened legs delicate gold filigree work extended up from the crotch almost to the navel.
On their right hips they bore a brand in the shape of a simple rectangle within which were the letters CSL.
A strikingly handsome woman with thick copper-coloured hair was in attendance and greeted them. She wore only a blouse knotted beneath large and heavy breasts and a very short skirt. Not only that, it was designed to ride low on her hips so that the observer could clearly see that she too bore a brand.
She handed Brian a couple of leaflets, smiled warmly and left them to read.
“Stable name; Ox,” Brian read, pointing to the blonde slave while the girl craned over his arm to see. “She is in great demand from stables wanting to strengthen their log pulling squads and add endurance in whip melees. She has fifty combats and contests to her name and has won thirty two. Apart from service in the arena, this slave is ideal for dungeon sessions in the evenings as she orgasms frequently but very quietly. She can safely be left ungagged without risking disturbance to your party.”
“Oh, yes!” the girl breathed.
Brian turned to the second leaflet, his blood pounding at the thought of the cruelty implied by the words and the utter completeness of the stable’s domination of its slave.
“Stable name; Cherry,” he read.
“Oh yeah. Look at her nipples!” the girl cried excitedly.
“A natural runner, Cherry is used for chariot racing and for assault course running. Her athleticism also makes her very effective in whip duels. She has an impressive record of landing considerably more lashes on opponents than they do on her. She has twenty combats to her name and sixteen wins. She has also run in thirty chariot races with only seven outright defeats. In assault course running she has accumulated seventy points in twenty races.
Very enthusiastic under punishment and provides best service if left ungagged. Her orgasms are entertainingly loud and she will frequently beg for more if used hard enough.”
Brian felt the girl’s breasts press against his arm, her breathing was loud and it was clear that both of them needed release. However, the redhead approached.
“Would you like to reserve either of them?” she asked. They had been asked before by several of the guards and declined. Brian was trying not to spend too much, but the stoicism of these slaves and the cruelty and self-assurance of the leaflets were very tempting.
“The CSL stable prides itself on the excellence of its product and both slaves have two slots left on the first evening. But I’m afraid their second evenings are fully booked.”
Brian knew that the first evenings were ruinously expensive as the slaves were still fresh and could take plenty of whip. It wasn’t uncommon for them to spend three slots of an hour each in the dungeons. The second evenings were much shorter and the use more limited.
Brian shook his head reluctantly and they moved away to place their bets with one of the bookies standing by the exit. He placed a hand on the girl’s buttocks as they went.
“I think we’ll entertain ourselves. Now let’s place a bet and find somewhere for a quick one before we head for the dressage,” he told her.
Using the chips they had bought at their respective hotels, they bet heavily on the Prince’s stable to win overall, to win the chariot racing and to win by a margin of more than ten points.
Having done that they slipped outside, found a quiet corner in the lee of the arena and had a nameless, urgent fuck, the girl’s back rasping against the stone, Brian’s legs supporting them both. Under his roughly mauling hands, Brain felt that the girl’s nipples were indeed up-tilted and she was pleasantly tight around his cock.
Afterwards the girl made to throw away her knickers rather than put them on again, she held them up once her skirt was back on, they were limp and soaked.
“Keep them,” Brian told her. “I might want to gag you with them later.”
Her laugh was throaty and excited.
Back around the main street, people were beginning to drift towards the race track and the booming of a PA began to warn people that the dressage would be staged shortly.
Down at the race track, Brian used his size and his elbows to get them to the front where they could lean on the rail and watch. They only just made it in time, all four of the red team’s ponies were already standing neatly in a row alongside three of the home team’s, their plumes nodding under the harsh glare of the floodlights. Occasionally one girl would stamp her shod foot impatiently and her driver would flick the cord of the dressage whip lightly across her shoulders. Dressage was the one event where the whip was applied only lightly.
As they squirmed their way into a comfortable position, Brian heard the girl give a soft whistle of appreciation. The ponies did make for a fine sight, the tight leather straps running between their legs, their long tails, the finely worked blinkers, the clicking of teeth on bits and the tight tit straps making the breasts stand proud on their chests, all combined to produce a highly erotic tableau.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the PA boomed suddenly. “His Highness Prince Hassan promised us all a very special show. And here’s why. He is proud to present; owned and trained by the CSL stable but running under His Highnness’s colours........the one.........the only.......the Queen of the Arena! Blondie!”
The entire crowd erupted into cheers and everyone craned to get a first glimpse of the slave as she was driven out. A spotlight was trained on the entry from the paddock onto the track proper and suddenly she was there.
From his researches Brian recognised that Carlo Suarez himself was driving her and he brought her in in an exaggerated gait that allowed the adoring crowd to get a good look at her and also demonstrated his control over her. He had her at a slow trot, each step involved lifting a knee high and then holding it steady for a split second before completing the step with a little prance and lifting the other knee. It demanded intense concentration on the part of the slave. Once he had her on the track he steered her on the customary first lap where the rigs came close to the crowd and people could reach out and touch the ponies.
“Why’s she so famous?” the girl beside Brian shouted over the noise.
“She’s only ever lost one fight and everyone thinks she threw it! And she once took four hundred lashes punishment in one day at one of the shows. It’s the most downloaded video in the world practically!”
Brian’s plan, such as it was, involved getting close to Carlo Suarez at some point and as a keen fan of the arenas, the chance to stroke Blondie’s flank as she passed was not one he intended missing. He leaned out and watched the rig approach.
In real life, the blonde was bigger than he had thought, but in her harness she was a picture of enslaved womanhood. Each exaggerated lift of her knees exposed the way her labia were bisected by her cro
tch strap and set her long, palomino tail swinging. It helped to know that the strap held a fat dildo in place and supported the tail which was itself attached to a butt plug. He explained as much to his entranced companion, who moaned when he explained about the wicked steel studs on the insides of the tit straps.
As Blondie came closer, ignoring the hands which reached and stroked respectfully, concentrating instead on the demanding gait her master required of her, the girl beside Brian squealed and grabbed his arm as she caught sight of the heavy tongue ring through which the slave’s bit ran and which made her tongue protrude charmingly from between the strong white teeth. The breasts shook a little in their strapping as she stepped as did the flesh of her proudly jutting buttocks and thighs. Each jolt of her body set the small silver bells on her harness to ringing, especially the ones descending from her pierced nipples. Her hair was brushed into golden perfection and tied back into a plait which bounced on the front of one shoulder to leave her back clear to feel every nuance of the whip. Above the complex web of her bridle the purple plumes of the prince’s stable, nodded and swayed
Brian managed to stroke her ribs and her left breast, the girl managing to touch the hip, as she passed in a scented cloud of leather and body oil, her harness straps creaking, her bells tinkling. Carlo Suarez, the most famous trainer on the circuit, sat, smiling and waving but keeping a careful eye on his steed, occasionally flicking at her back, just to let her know he was watching.
Chapter 20
Brian surfaced slowly from a deep sleep. He immediately felt his cock rise into a rock hard erection and it felt pleasantly sore from the night’s exertions. Without opening his eyes he smiled at the recollection. He and the girl had watched the dressage avidly, listening as the compère announced each manoeuvre and explained why it presented certain levels of difficulty. They watched as the four rigs from each stable described graceful patterns across the turf. The teams were judged for presentation, precision in formation and individual manoeuvring and the Prince’s stable won. The judge pinned the rosette directly onto Blondie’s breast. The crowd applauded and made its way towards the paddock where by tradition the ponies were exhibited for an hour or so.
The girl had had great fun stroking and exploring the slaves and their harnesses, making them stamp and fidget as her fingers teased their nipples or followed the tight crotch strap so that her nails just scraped the labia. The drivers smiled at her interest in their charges and flicked at the slaves’ backs when they cavilled or stamped. The crowd round Blondie was too deep to even try and penetrate so they had headed back to Brian’s room.
Once there the girl had bent over the bed and he had taken his belt to her backside and back. She had taken it very well, swinging her broad bottom seductively from side to side as he lashed it. She had made little yelping noises until he had carried out his threat of earlier and stuffed her knickers in her mouth. Forced to inhale and taste her own emissions, her bottom had swung even more enthusiastically until he could no longer resist it. He had pushed four fingers easily up into her soft and welcoming depths, then turned his attentions with the belt to her back.
Once he freed her mouth of her knickers, she reported two of the most intense climaxes she had ever experienced before he had turned her over and allowed her to take the full length of his cock inside her. Driving her to two more shrieking orgasms before spending himself inside her. Then she had slid down the bed and cleaned him with her tongue before sucking him back into full erection and keeping him in her clever little mouth until he came again.
Now as he lay there smiling contentedly, he felt her move beside him.
“Amelia,” she said. He opened his eyes in puzzlement and she smiled down at him. “I know we said three days, but I’m sure I want to explore lots of things with you and I reckon you’ve got enough of a vested interest in me to make sure I stay in one piece. So my name’s Amelia Johnson.”
They found seats about halfway up the terrace. Really they were just stone benches which ran round the arena floor in ascending rows, each row had a metal rail in front of it. Amelia had only put on a T shirt and a short linen skirt. There really wasn’t any point in wearing any more and she clung nervously to Brian’s arm as the stadium filled up and several men gave her lingering, appraising looks. In a change to the normal proceedings there was a parade to start with; the two owners waving to the crowds from the backs of the new six-girl chariots and leading out their full squads who were paraded naked and unarmed. The guards marched behind them dressed only in shorts and with coiled whips in hand.
Brian was startled to see that he had been right. Ayesha was there, so the hooded slave Amelia had tormented the day before had been her. He decided it would add some extra spice to watching the show, but beyond that he wasn’t really concerned with her any more. Almost unconsciously he put his hand on the smooth warmth of the bare thigh beside him.
Once the parade was over, the crowd watched the big video screens as the scenes inside the dressing rooms were relayed. Immediately the atmosphere in the arena began to crackle. The chariot racing teams were being tacked up. On the giant screens, the crowd could see the studded tit straps being buckled on, the straps being drawn slowly to full tightness before being fastened. The slaves pranced onto tiptoes and the whips snapped but then the cameras began to zoom in on the spread legs and the dildos and irritant-smeared butt plugs being inserted and held in place by studded thongs. Brian was amused as one camera actually caught Ayesha’s face grimacing as her plugs were driven home and the studs on the strap bit into her labia. Beside him, Amelia was demonstrating exactly the mixture of fascination and horror she had described the previous day and watched, wide-eyed with her hands over her mouth.
Brian ran a hand up her thigh and under her skirt, just as an experiment. She didn’t even look away from the scenes of strong masculine hands manipulating the tenderest parts of the female body into tormented bondage for the thrills it gave the crowd. When his hand reached the top of her thigh she simply shifted her legs open a little and he could feel the soft, moist, heat of her lips against the edge of his hand. He patted it and took his hand away, she had a long enough day ahead of her. But a quick glance around confirmed that the other women in the crowd were exhibiting the same symptoms of excitement.
By the end of the chariot races the man sitting on Amelia’s other side had his hand up her T shirt and was happily fondling her breasts. He had looked over interrogatively at Brian during the third race, when she was drumming her heels and screaming at the drivers of the sweating teams of slaves to; “Whip the lazy bitches!” Brian had nodded and Amelia hadn’t even paused as the hand had gone up and begun squeezing and fondling.
The four chariots raced four times; five laps each race and the points were totalled up at the end. Ayesha’s team had won two races and come third and second in the others. Brian was impressed, not simply by her but by the chariots themselves. The new design was a great improvement, providing more speed and more spills as the drivers managed to ‘drift’ their rigs at the corners and bring down competing teams, leaving them to be whipped up again in the dust and chaos. To make it even better the technical crew had managed to get miniature cameras mounted on the front of one chariot and right on the front crossbar of another. The camera on the front of the chariot gave a wonderful image of the rolling and trembling buttocks of the slaves and the whips curling across and welting them and their backs. The camera right up with the front two slaves gave a vivid impression of the speed and ferocity of the combat as the teams came alongside each other and the girls tried to fend their opponents off. Down on the sand itself, the audience could see the bigger picture and appreciate the tactics of the drivers as they tried to drive their opponents into the side fences or the centreboard. In between races the slaves were watered, their butt plugs removed and the irritant re-applied. Some brief first aid was applied if necessary but after a few minutes the hooter would sound and the slaves were tacked up once more and driven to the start
ing line. By the end, Brian felt almost sorry for Ayesha, despite what he knew about her, she was exhausted and sank to her knees at the first opportunity but she carried her weals beautifully, her strong back looked all the better for them. Her breasts had been made for the livid stripes that now adorned them. His thoughts were interrupted by a hand tapping him on the shoulder. It was a large man on the bench behind.
“She yours?” he asked, nodding at Amelia who was now sitting back, panting for breath and beginning to realise that her nipples were furiously erect and were being stroked by a complete stranger. Brian grinned at her and waved the man on. He leaned down, lifted her T shirt right up to her armpits and began to stroke her breasts as well. She leaned back a little further and parted her legs, her eyes heavy-lidded, her expression quite calm. The first man got to his feet and turned her so she lay along the bench, she put her legs up and let them fall open. Brian turned sideways and pushed her skirt up out of the way.
“Merci,” the first man said as he manoeuvred himself to lie on her, his fingers fumbling at his flies. The second man kept fondling her breasts while the first gave her a quick shafting. Then they changed places.
Brian stood up and leaned on the metal railing to give them a bit more room and so that Amelia could see him. She seemed to be coming quite energetically and was by no means alone. All round the arena, women were laid out on the benches, kneeling in front of them or were bent forwards over the metal railing whilst being shafted from behind. Just along from where he stood a black woman was sitting back with her legs wide apart. A man knelt between them and she was busily wanking two more, encouraging them to spend over her breasts.
Down on the sand there were eight whip duels going on and Blondie was fighting in one. Half keeping an eye on Amelia, Brian watched for a moment and saw why she was such a legend. The duels were with long, heavy lashed whips and each girl had a small shield. Blondie seemed capable of never being where her opponent thought she was. While most of the other slaves stood almost toe to toe and slugged it out, she leapt and twisted, bent and dodged so fast that hardly a lash landed on her. But she somehow got her own lashes off alright and her opponent was the first one down. She settled herself across the downed slave’s face and the cameras zoomed in as a busy tongue began to pay homage and disappeared up into the blonde’s quim.