by W. S. Antony
Mostly it was men who fought, though a few of the contests pitted female gladiators together. When they did come to blows they proved just as brutal as the men and received as much applause.
Jeni wondered how could nominally civilised people enjoy such a nauseating spectacle. Yet she could not prevent herself snatching glances at the slaughter, lured by a terrible fascination she could not name.
One of the last contests was at least a little less bloody, though violent enough in its own way. It was also unique in that it was fought entirely between slaves.
Sixteen slave girls were brought into the arena mounted on the most unusual contraptions Jeni had ever seen. They sat on what could best be described as large pogo sticks, which lifted their heads half again their own height above the ground. Struts supported tubular metal rings around the base of the central sprung shaft, so they could be balanced upright without constant bouncing. The girls’ feet were strapped to footrests secured to the sides of the shafts and their hands cuffed behind their backs. Their only means of steering their mounts was to lean in the direction they wanted to go and start bouncing; ducking and twisting if they wanted to change direction or turn about. This sort of motion set their naked breasts wobbling prettily in sympathy.
Their appearance was made even more bizarre by the peculiar saddles they sat upon, which were mounted on a second section of sprung shaft above the footrests. The saddles were formed of narrow sprung metal strips curving upwards and outwards in front and behind the rider, rather like the arms of a bow. Elasticised cords ran from the tips of these saddle arms to rings in the front and back of the girls’ collars, presumably to help hold them in place and give them another point of resistance to work against when steering. The saddle tips were in addition capped with what looked like large rubber balls.
The first heat was a general melee. The girls were arranged in a circle, and at a given signal started attacking each other. They moved with surprising speed, each bounce carrying them as far as a running stride. Now the purpose of the rubber balls on the saddle tips became clear. The girls used them as clubs to try to knock over their opponents, lunging and twisting with remarkable agility as they crashed into each other. Reeling back and spinning about they attempted to strike a blow at the exposed sides of their adversaries to topple them, for once they fell they would be quite helpless and unable to stand again without help. The screens showed spraying sand, a mass of oiled limbs, straining thighs and heaving breasts.
A well-placed blow sent a girl and her strange mount crashing to the ground. The other girls continued to fight around her while she wriggled helplessly on the sand. A camera zoomed in on her angry face, and then panned down her body still bound to her mount, as though checking for any injuries. In doing so it revealed a detail Jeni had not appreciated before. To ensure she did not slide out of place on her narrow saddle and remained directly at the point of balance over the main shaft, twin dildos rose from the inner curve of the saddle and lodged in her vagina and rectum. Even though the girls were held against their saddles by their collar cords, every bounce must work the dildos inside them. They were fighting and masturbating at the same time.
When eight girls lay helpless on the sand the battle was halted. The fallen were removed and the remaining girls were divided into two groups and pitted against each other in paired combat. The winners of those heats fought again until there were only two girls left.
The crowd called out encouragement to the pair as they squared up to each other. One of them, looking very lean and muscular and with a determined set to her jaw, seemed to be the favourite and they chanted her name. ‘Selva, Selva!’ Jeni noticed even the Adamasees joined in, and it was then she realised of what the girls on their bizarre sprung mounts reminded her: knights on a chessboard. They were living chess pieces!
The girls hopped forward, weaving and dodging, trying to open up the other’s side. They clashed in a jumble of polished metal and flesh, grinding and swaying as they tried to topple the other with brute force, their mounts locked together. Then Selva reeled backwards, seeming on the point of losing her balance, teetering on the very rim of her supporting frame. Her opponent seized her chance and made a bounding charge at Selva’s unguarded flank, but at the last moment Selva twisted round, clearly in perfect control. Her forward club pounded into the other’s side and she crashed to the ground.
The crowd went wild. Selva rocked to and fro on her mount, panting and sweat-streaked, bowing in acknowledgement of their applause.
She was a slave sporting star, Jeni realised. How weirdly perverse. Yet had not something similar happened in Roman times? What reward did Selva get if she won enough contests? Was she given her freedom? But would she want to turn her back on such a sport at which she evidently excelled? Jeni’s head swam; after what she had witnessed she did not know what to think.
Back in the flying disk on their way home that evening, Lorthon noticed their subdued attitudes.
‘What’s the matter with these two?’ he asked his wife. ‘They look ill.’
Vandra prodded Rebecca with her toe. ‘What’s the matter, girl? Explain yourself. You may speak freely.’
Rebecca, still looking pale, said, ‘It was all that blood, mistress. And the... killing. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Vandra frowned. ‘What killing? Nobody died today, you silly girl, unless a medic was seriously incompetent.’
Rebecca blinked in surprise. ‘You mean, they can cure even those injuries?’
‘Of course. They’ll be ready to fight again in the next games.’
Lorthon was looking puzzled. ‘Anyway, I thought you barbarians would enjoy this sort of thing. Don’t you have similar sports?’
‘Not usually as bloody as that, master,’ Jeni answered. ‘Well, there is boxing, but the fighters are not allowed to hurt each other too badly.’
‘But surely you see plenty of blood. Aren’t you warring with each other all the time, anyway?’
‘There are wars, master, but we try to limit the harm they do. There are rules. We try to be humane.’
‘So you fight wars humanely, yet you avoid bloodshed in your sports.’ He glanced at his wife in evident bafflement. ‘What a strange land that must be.’
The Adamasees held a party. It was a small but exclusive affair, with a mere hundred and fifty or so carefully chosen guests.
Special catering had been arranged, together with musicians and a troupe of hired pleasure slaves. Leta and Keta had been relegated to serving drinks, and then instructed to pay special attention to another councillor the Adamasees wanted to please. Jeni and Rebecca were to be the star turn of the evening.
Their owners had told them a few days earlier what kind of impression they wanted to make and Jeni and Rebecca had prepared an act. Or rather, Rebecca had decided what they would do and told Jeni. And Jeni had felt the old familiar thrill within her as she shrank back into that delicious state of total submission, and acquiesced.
For the first hour or two of the party the girls trailed dutifully after their owners, Rebecca with Lorthon and Jeni with Vandra. They were identically decked out in webs of fine silver chains that tied back their hair, which matched their chain muzzles and chastity thongs, and the artfully loose chains that linked their wrists in classic slave girl style. For decoration they had tiny silver bells clipped to their ears, nipples and labia, so as they followed after their owners they rang out a delicate accompaniment.
The girls did, however, also serve a practical function. Fine silver mesh baskets were slung between their breasts so that they could carry their master or mistress wine glasses if required.
Vandra made the rounds of her guests, ensuring everybody who should meet certain other people did so, but were unaware they had been manoeuvred into doing so. It was a textbook example of manipulation, and no doubt intended to serve some subtle purpose only recognisable to somebody more intima
tely acquainted with the niceties of socio-political life in Pelaria than Jeni.
Vandra also received admiring comments about Jeni and Rebecca, which at first she passed off lightly. But as the evening progressed she slowly warmed to them, until finally she said, ‘Oh, would you like to see them perform?’
It sounded as though it had not occurred to her to show her new prize slaves off. But if her guests were really interested then she was too good a hostess to refuse, and of course was quite ready to have them put on a little impromptu show. And so the guests gathered about a natural grass amphitheatre in the grounds, backed by an arc of trees. Garden lights came on as the twilight deepened, and as though as an afterthought a house slave was sent off to fetch a few props for the performance.
Jeni and Rebecca were freed of their chains. Jeni knelt down in the middle of the grassy bowl while Rebecca wandered, apparently idly, around her. Background music started up from somewhere and filled the still air. From the corner of her eye Jeni saw some of the guests were holding tiny pocket cameras. Their performance, part stylised dance, part mime, but also entirely real, was going to be well recorded.
Rebecca began to circle Jeni as though seeing her for the first time. She brushed past her, stroking her hair. Jeni flinched away as though in shy surprise. Rebecca smiled and brushed her hair again, this time drawing out her long tresses.
Jeni tried to crawl away on her hands and knees, but Rebecca pulled her back by her hair, coiling it about her fist. A woeful expression crossed Jeni’s face as Rebecca pulled her to her feet by her hair, holding her tightly while she ran her free hand down her body, caressing her curves. When she reached Jeni’s pubes she droved her fingers sharply up into her cleft, making Jeni gasp. Twisting her fingers cruelly she pulled them out, inspecting and then sensuously sucking their shiny tips.
Jeni whimpered and shook her head. Rebecca smiled mercilessly and nodded.
Jeni tried feebly to pull away but Rebecca dragged her by her hair over to the props lying on the grass. She found a yoke bar and, pushing Jeni facedown onto the ground, clipped the middle to the back of her collar and ends to her wrist cuffs, so that her arms were stretched out wide on either side of her. As Jeni struggled clumsily to her knees Rebecca clipped a leash to her collar and started dragging her about, forcing her to stumble after her, bent almost double. She ran her round the circle of watchers, who clicked their cameras at the novel spectacle of one slave abusing another.
With a jerk, Rebecca pulled Jeni off her feet and onto her front. Continuing to pull on the chain she dragged her along on her breasts over the grass, flopping about helplessly. Rebecca heaved on the leash and Jeni was flipped over onto her back. As Jeni struggled to sit up, Rebecca picked up a spreader bar from the props pile, and catching hold of Jeni’s flailing legs she clipped the ends to her ankle cuffs. When she was done she let Jeni’s widespread legs drop, leaving her twisting and squirming on her back.
Then Rebecca made a lunge into the air and caught hold of something the guests had not yet noticed. A hook on the end of a suspended chain had been lowered silently over the middle of the amphitheatre. Drawing the chain down, Rebecca hooked it to a heavy ring in the middle of the spreader bar, and then the chain drew taut and effortlessly lifted Jeni off the ground until she dangled upside down with her hair trailing on the grass.
Rebecca spun Jeni round a few times until she moaned in confusion, and then set her swinging like a pendulum. Harder and harder she pushed her in ever greater arcs until Jeni’s inverted body was twirling over the grassy bowl, her long hair flying almost into the faces of the onlookers, who laughed and stepped quickly backwards.
Relenting, Rebecca steadied Jeni until her swings stopped and she was only rotating slowly, then selecting a light cane from amongst the props she began to deliver a series of horizontal blows that drew a pattern of zebra stripes across Jeni’s pale skin. Jeni moaned in renewed pain and confusion, her hips trembled and suddenly she lost control of her bladder. A fountain of urine sprayed from her, watering the ground like a garden hose as she twirled about. The crowd laughed uproariously at this fresh indignity.
Rebecca let the stream subside until the last dribbles ran down Jeni’s body between her inverted breasts, then produced two tube-like objects, which she sank into Jeni’s upturned vagina and anus, until they were tightly wedged into the intimate orifices. Then she stepped back.
The tubes began to pulsate and bang inside their fleshy sheaths, spewing showers of luminescent glitter over the audience. Jeni’s hips jerked as the tubes recoiled into her. She shrieked and spun helplessly, a picture of miserable confusion, knowing she had been turned into a living firework display.
The crowd cheered and laughed.
As the fountains subsided Rebecca stepped up to Jeni again, pulled out the empty tubes, and lifted her head and shoulders until she was looking between the spread ‘V’ of her legs. Trailing chains clipped the ends of the yoke to Jeni’s ankles, and she hung doubled up in mid-air.
Now she could see what Rebecca had put on while she’d been a firework. A huge, glistening plug-in dildo jutted impudently from between her thighs, and even as Jeni gawped at the monster in horror it began to pulsate and buzz with a life of its own.
Rebecca nodded questioningly, and broken, Jeni nodded back.
Rebecca grasped the spreader bar parting Jeni’s ankles and hauled herself up, hooking her legs over Jeni’s thighs and letting her bottom nestle between them. The tip of the dildo found Jeni’s pouting cleft, and Rebecca’s hips jerked as she thrust it home. Jeni squealed as she was stretched wide and their straining bodies joined together at last.
Then the phallus took over, whirring and throbbing, setting their groins rolling and grinding together. Like an improbable living bauble they twirled before the gaze of their cheering audience, lost in their primitive pleasure, and when they came it was with screams of helpless delight.
Through her tears of pain and joy, Jeni saw Rebecca’s flushed and triumphant face, basking in the appreciation of the onlookers. It was not a picture of Rebecca cynically performing as a means to an end; at this moment she was elated at being the focus of every eye, knowing she was dominating their attention even as she dominated Jeni. And Jeni wondered if this was a star slave in the making.
In the small hours, when Lorthon and Vandra finally climbed into bed, Jeni and Rebecca were already huddled in their privileged basket knowing they had pleased their owners.
Jeni was sore and tired and only wanted to sleep, but Rebecca was still alert for anything of interest their owners might let slip. They did not bother to guard their tongues in front of slaves, any more than one would in front of the kitchen table.
‘That was a great success,’ Vandra said with satisfaction.
‘Yes, dear,’ Lorthon agreed sleepily.
‘Jeni and Rebecca performed exceptionally.’
‘They did, dear.’
‘Now we can plan for the Prince’s reception.’
‘Yes dear, but please... tomorrow.’
Vandra laughed lightly. ‘As you wish.’
There came the sound of a kiss, and then the light went out.
In the darkness Rebecca put her mouth to Jeni’s ear and whispered, ‘Hear that? The Prince’s reception. We’ve got to start planning something extra special.’
‘Yes dear,’ Jeni mimicked sleepily. ‘But please... tomorrow.’ For a moment she hoped she would also get a kiss, but none came.
Chapter 15
They were woken from exhausted sleep by Lorthon and Vandra’s frantic voices.
‘Hurry, damn you!’ Lorthon was shouting.
‘I must take my jewels!’ Vandra protested.
‘There’s no time. Come on!’
Shouts and crashes sounded from elsewhere in the house, and through an open window Jeni saw a flight of three flying disks skimming over the treetops suddenly break formati
on and dive low out of sight. Then, ominously, came the distant crackle of gunfire.
Their owners ran round the foot of the bed. They looked dishevelled and half dressed, Lorthon dragging Vandra by one arm while she clutched at her unlaced gown. The door banged and they were gone except for the fading patter of running feet.
Jeni and Rebecca gaped dazed and confused into each other’s eyes. Their owners, not sparing them a second glance, had abandoned them.
‘What’s happening?’ Rebecca asked in a tremulous voice.
‘How should I know?’ Jeni said, trying to control her own mounting alarm.
In a few minutes all sounds from the rest of the house faded. It seemed as though they were completely alone. Desperately Rebecca pulled on her collar chain, but it was firmly locked to the frame of the bed. They were confined to their basket until somebody released them.
Yesterday that had not mattered; a few more minutes rest was welcome. But now it was very different. This was the most frightening aspect of slavery, Jeni realised. It was not how your master chose to use you, but how helpless you were without one.
For perhaps twenty minutes they huddled miserably together. Then what sounded like a number of heavy boots clattered into the reception hall. Doors began to bang throughout the house, as though being thrown back violently.
‘Who is it?’ Rebecca whispered fearfully.
‘I don’t know!’ Jeni hissed.
‘Maybe we can hide under the bed?’
‘No, we can’t risk being left here alone,’ Jeni said. ‘Supposing nobody comes back again for days.’
Rebecca went white at the thought.
‘Help!’ they shouted together. ‘We’re up here!’
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. The bedroom door flew open under the impact of a heavy boot and a pair of helmeted warriors burst in, holding guns at the ready.
They were dressed in battle armour, but their colours and insignia were not those of Pelaria. Jeni had seen something similar on Cath’s screen when she had taught her a little of the history of Elysium. These were the markings of Kladria.