by Sean O'Kane
“Don’t anyone rush to stop her!” the compère put in. “Blondie knows how to put on a show!”
Nobody did. And Blondie was allowed to deliver a full ration of loser’s punishment to the quivering and humping body at her feet.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen. When we come back we’ll have a really terrific final battle royal for you!” the compère’s voice boomed when the the two blondes had finally been led out of the arena.
Dazed and quivering herself, Amelia pulled her skirt on and shrugged into a blouse. She was about to button it when a passing man put out his hand and began stroking her tits. She grinned helplessly at Brian and sighed as the man twisted and pulled at the hard little nipples.
“Okay, one more before lunch,” she muttered, tucking her hair back behind her ears and getting down onto her knees.
Chapter 24
During the fiercest heat of the day a relative calm descended on the arena village. The crowds dispersed into the hotels and cafes for lunch and a couple of hours’ rest afterwards. The exhausted slaves were fed and rested as well. For a while all was bustle and hurry as they were washed, examined, then treated and finally chained once more. Then there was silence as the girls slept. Ayesha had stayed awake long enough only to ponder Miriam’s whspered aside that ‘the best was yet to come’.
In the Prince’s penthouse suite, Blondie was on display and her owners and trainer were keeping a careful eye on proceedings. Carlo was unhappy, he had forbidden any whipping or erotic torture, the blonde was due to fight in the Cage later on and he would rather she was getting some rest. However, as John had said, His Highness had paid handsomely for her services and they had to be gracious.
Having Patti stand in had been the best compromise he could get. Presently she was strapped down on a leather bench and was moaning as her freshly cropped breasts were being hot waxed. Her long legs had been raised and spread in stirrups. A steel kidney shaped dish rested on her heaving stomach and two of the men were working on her labia with needles.
It was a select gathering; a few of the Prince’s closest friends and associates mingled over liqueurs and coffees and had their photographs taken beside the famous gladiator. She was mounted on a dildo pole, her legs spread and her ankle restraints clipped to rings at either end of a spreader bar which ran across the pole’s base. Her arms were held behind her, bound at her middle back, wrist to forearm. Like any arena slave on the final day of a show, there was very little of her skin that didn’t display the traces of whip and stud. Those were what fascinated the guests most, particularly the men. Many fingers traced the lines of weals and prodded at the indentations. They also took the opportunity to weigh and stroke the heavy breasts, to have her open her mouth and display her famous tongue ring. The women entertained themselves by rubbing at her clitoris until she was forced to shaft herself on the dildo, rising onto her toes and sinking back down. The crowd would stand back, laughing and joking about how a big-breasted girl like her joggled such a lot and let her finish before moving back in.
The Prince handed his trainer a glass of very chilled champagne. “Congratulations, Peter. You’ve done the hard bit, the rest is for the punters!”
“Thank you, Your Highness. The whole squad performed very well but I was most impressed by the progress my prize has made. If she does well in the finale, with your permission I’ll donate her to your string of solo fighters and quarter her here.”
“Nothing would please me more, Peter. But you must have her tattooed with your name, not mine.”
“Thank you. Oh, that reminds me, Your Highness. I got a phone call a few minutes ago. Conor Brien will be flying in the day after tomorrow. He says he’s very interested in your proposal.”
The Prince smiled. “I’ll bet he is. We’d better make sure that John, Carlo and Blondie are well on their way home by then.”
The guards had been busy while the crowd had rested. As they filed in, Brian could see that a sort of curved rampart of packed earth had been thrown up towards one end of the arena, sectioning off that end. On its broad top were scores of tall wooden posts with shackles hanging from them and phalluses rearing up from about four feet above the ground. There seemed to be little doubt as to what they were for. It was just a question of how the home trainer intended the girls to get there.
The away team entered the arena from behind the rampart and got a standing ovation as they marched out carrying short multi-bladed whips, intended for close quarters fighting. Behind them came some of the guards - but from the home team’s stable - Brian noticed with a quickening of his interest. In a loose crowd the fifty naked gladiators stood on the top of the rampart and waited for what would happen next, the cameras picked up the nervous face and heaving breasts of women who know what they’ve been condemned to but don’t know when or how it will happen. Brian noticed they kept their distance from the sinister posts as best they could.
Ayesha and the home squad sat equally nervously in their dressing room. They all jumped as the door into the tunnel crashed open and their trainer himself entered.
“You’ve done well. But if I don’t get a good show out of you this afternoon, it’ll count for nothing and you can look forward to the cages when you get home! Understand?”
In her mind’s eye, Ayesha saw the barbaric shapes swinging over the walls of the fort and shivered.
“Now get out there and heaven help any girl who goes down too soon! Your job is to take the rampart being defended by the enemy. It’s that simple!” A cold smile briefly flashed across the Englishman’s face and Ayesha was certain that it wouldn’t be that simple at all. He stood to one side of the doorway as the squad filed out into the gloom of the tunnel and caught Ayesha’s arm as she passed.
“I’ll be watching you,” he said quietly.
It should have been a threat but she felt it was a compliment.
It came as something of a shock to realise that the men in the tunnel were from the other team, and they all carried coiled stock whips. There was a brief, crowded hush and then the doors were flung open and the blinding light and heat of the arena lay before them. The crowd roared as they trotted out.
“Charge, you bitches!” one of the men behind them yelled.
Squinting down the arena they saw the enemy on the rampart and began to run. Behind them whips began to snap and smack onto girls’ backs. They ran faster.
“Keep together!” Miriam called.
The rampart was about fifteen feet high and they could see the opposition gladiators gathering to meet their mass charge. The naked stampede gained impetus, around her girls were screaming with excitement, behind them came the men lashing them forwards.
Then, when Ayesha was just a few feet from the foot of the steep slope, the defenders began their own charge. Screaming themselves, they came pouring down the almost sheer gradient.
She just had time to see that they too were driven by whip wielding men - guards from her own stable - before the two masses of naked furies clashed together.
The combined momentums of the charging squads made for a juddering impact as they met. Ayesha was flung off her feet by one of her own side being knocked backwards. She lost her whip but it didn’t matter, there was no room to swing one; it was just one huge brawl. Ayesha tried to use everything she had learned but in the crush the noise was deafening, the heat was appalling. Bodies slipped and twisted sweatily against each other in the scrum. One moment she would dodge a slap only to find her hair being yanked forwards viciously. At last she forgot all her lessons and began to rely on knees, elbows, forearms, even her head - going back to street fighting. Once or twice she was forced to take a step backwards and immediately yelled and twisted under a hard stroke from the stock whips with frayed and knotted ends to their lashes. But gradually the press began to spill sideways across the arena and at last there was room to really engage an opponent. Ayesha found herself up against a black-haired girl slightly shorter than she was and managed to get in a throw, then follow up by
falling to her knees on the girl’s stomach. That kept her down but before Ayesha, flushed with triumph could look for another foe, she was knocked sideways by another furious struggle. It was Miriam tangled up with another black girl. The three bodies rolled in the dust and eventually Miriam and Ayesha came out on top, Miriam lying across the girl’s chest, Ayesha across her pelvis.
”Bitch!” Miriam spat, her lower lip bleeding and swollen, and punched her. The girl went limp and the two victors grinned fiercely at each other.
“It’ll get better yet!” Miriam whispered and was off even as Ayesha clambered to her feet. Another enemy came sprinting in and grabbed her by the waist, throwing her backwards onto the reviving girl Miriam had just stunned. Ayesha found herself outnumbered then and only by frantic kicking and thrashing did she break free and manage to twist one girl’s arm behind her back. The girl reached over her shoulder, grabbed her hair and threw Ayesha forwards, she landed hard and lay gasping for air. A kick between her spread legs, left her writhing for a few moments. But when she rose, her temper had cracked again. Screaming with fury she attacked.
Brian had taken his eyes off the fight to take advantage of a break in the queue for Amelia’s body. The girl was staggering with weariness but had a wide grin on her face as she leaned on the rail in front of the bench and watched the action below. Brian slid into the hot, morass between the legs of a woman who had been fucked more than any woman he had ever been with.
“I can hardly feel when I’ve got one in,” she remarked sleepily. But she began to rock and swing her hips nonetheless.
Down in the arena the melee was moving to its conclusion. As they watched, the last few pairs of struggling gladiators finally began to run out of strength and they joined their colleagues to lie, heaving, panting and spent on the sand. A hundred naked female bodies, taken to the point of collapse in the name of entertainment. Decadent, cruel, wonderfully erotic entertainment. Amelia moaned and began to move more urgently.
It was immaterial who had won. The finale was always purely for the sport it gave the onlookers.
Then the men moved in, unbuttoning their shorts and pulling them off they revealed hard, thick erections. Some of them had piercings and there were female shrieks as the cameras closed in, some had leather strapping criss-crossing the shaft and some had harsh clit raspers at the base of the shaft.
The men moved among the fallen, exhausted bodies and one by one picked their targets. As Brian continued to piston into Amelia he saw one man pick up a girl by her hair and thrust himself straight between her lips, leather and all. Another pushed a girl’s rump into the air, knelt behind her and thrust into the vagina. One girl staggered to her feet and he saw it was Ayesha, bruised and cut, sporting more whip weals than he would have thought possible but looking magnificent she pulled herself up proudly and swung a punch at the first man to approach her. He caught her arm easily, twisted it and pushed her to the ground, another man approached and they both took her simultaneously, anally and orally. A camera locked onto her face contorting as she was buggered, her mouth opening wide and then there was a cock by her face, seeming to dwarf it, the helm gleaming with pre ejaculate and a ring through the prepuce. Brian began to hammer Amelia as he watched Ayesha’s eyes close and her tongue come out to lap at the second cock. There was scattered applause.
The action began to pick up both in the arena and on the terraces. The squad girls began to revive and the fucks became more frenzied, the long days and nights of abstinence before the show now finally bearing a savagely erotic fruit. But even so, some fought, making the men expend some energy in subduing them and providing an exciting spectacle for the crowd; defeat was inevitable but the better for being delayed.
Under the men’s lean and muscled forms the girls bucked and thrust with their hips. Kneeling on all fours, their breasts swinging beneath them and their heads pulled back they screamed their ecstasy. Double, triple penetrations occurred, sperm was shot over faces and questing tongues, the curves of female bodies shone on the giant screens, gleaming with snail trails of spunk and sweat. Soft-lipped mouths opened and stretched wide to accept and worship the ever-demanding cocks. Buttocks were wrenched apart for anal penetration and everywhere were giant images of female entrances stretched wide around the plundering shafts. Then when the squads had once again been reduced to supine semi-oblivion and again the bodies littered the sand, they were dragged up to the posts.
When the whips finally fell silent, the two trainers came into the arena and were given heroes’ welcomes as they picked their way through the wreckage, waving to the crowd and shaking hands with the guards. Peter searched through the heaps of panting and gasping bodies at the feet of the posts until he found what he was looking for. Using his foot he rolled two of the visiting team’s slaves away to reveal Ayesha. Once again he put his foot out and turned her over by pushing at her ribs. She lay in a pose of complete abandonment, her legs apart, her arms flung back over her head, her mouth partly open in a smile of calm delight, her eyes closed and a soft murmur of contentment escaped her as her master caused her to lie on her ravaged back.
Chapter 25
It was dark and Carlo stood in the tunnel looking out into the now floodlit arena. After the climactic finale between the squads, there had been time for a few drinks and the crowd was back, restored and happy. Out on the sand The Cage waited. It was simply that, a steel cage, fifteen feet square and with an open top. Four chains ran up from the top to the boom of a mobile crane and two gladiators would go into it. Only one would walk out. It had been intended that it should form the decider between the two highest scoring solo fighters but on this occasion it was no more than an exhibition, the Prince’s team had already won convincingly. Absent mindedly Carlo reached out and patted Blondie’s flank, she shook her head irritably at a passing fly and tugged on her tongue leash.
The compère’s voice suddenly boomed out, introducing them and with a gentle tug he and his precious blonde were walking across the sand, the crowd was standing and cheering, Carlo waved.
“See? They love you Blondie,” he told her. As usual she made no reaction but he knew that she never ignored him.
He opened the door on their side of the cage and pushed her in before locking it and going to the table where the pre-selected weapons were laid out. There was one of each and it was up to the combatants to make the most of what they could, The Cage would not come down until one girl didn’t get up. A crop, a three foot strap which tapered to a point, a weighted boxing strap and finally a studded whip were on tonight’s menu. The brunette that the reds were putting up had entered the Cage and Heinz, her trainer, came to stand by Carlo.
“She’s a good enough fighter,” he said quietly, “but against Blondie, I don’t want to watch!”
There was a sudden roar from the crane’s diesel and the Cage was hoisted ten feet into the air. As an added thrill, Peter Lang had suggested that while the contest went on, the crane should extend its arm and spin round slowly, presenting the contest in close up all round the stadium. It should also make it more difficult to fight in as it swayed through the air and it would improve the entertainment. At pre-arranged times it would be lowered for the weapons to be thrown in.
On the terraces the atmosphere was calmer and more laid back. Most people were luxuriating in post orgy lassitude and in the mood to watch some high class gladiatorial action. It didn’t come any higher class than Blondie.
Brian settled himself against the warm stone behind him and Amelia snuggled into the crook of his arm, arranging her right breast comfortably where his hand was.
The cruelty of the subsequent half hour’s entertainment was exquisite. The contest was totally pointless but the blonde made her opponent suffer as greatly as if her life had depended on winning. The crowd had applauded the various holds and throws knowledgeably as the brightly lit figures swung overhead against the dark, the brunette’s despairing screams ringing out across the arena as she was thrown and punched, lashed and
thrown again. The blonde never gave her enough reason to go down irrevocably, always dishing out just enough to make her fly across the cage to land in a heap, but always leaving her conscious enough to stagger upright after a minute or so and totter back to take more punishment.
She had even let the brunette grab the boxing strap when that had been thrown in and briefly the girl had rallied, even landing a few punches on the blonde. She had made the most of it and even Brian had been a bit alarmed but after seeming to have been stunned and hurt, Blondie quite suddenly, dodged inside a swinging right hook, grabbed the girl’s arm and stripped her of the strap before she even knew what was happening. The arena erupted, no one had ever seen that done before.
The fact that Blondie didn’t even bother to take advantage of the strap herself only confirmed that the brunette was still in for some torrid times. The strap was hurled out and the blonde went back to stalking her victim.
By the time the studded whip was thrown in the brunette was only capable of hauling herself upright in the corners, then launching herself into staggering charges which the blonde calmly dodged, usually using the poor girl’s own momentum to throw her again. But the blonde let the final whip fall to the floor in front of the girl and desperately she crawled for it. The Cage swung up in front of the owners’ box and stopped for a moment. Blondie straddled the girl’s back and held her by the hair, her hand just inches from the whip. Having taunted her with a glimmer of hope, the blonde now reached down and took the whip herself, releasing the other slave while she walked around and waved at the crowd. Deprived of the last weapon and now facing the full torment of the studded whip the brunette squirmed forwards and put her arms beseechingly out to the owners’ box.