Blonde Fury

by Sean O'Kane

  All the way home with her hogtied in the boot, which was where the auction house had delivered her, they had discussed how they would address her and what they would allow her in the way of speech. But when she had stood in their hallway, making no attempt to cover her nudity and asked if she could please play with herself till she came, they had realised that she was going to be easy to control and live with. They had had her lie on their lounge floor and masturbate to orgasm three times in quick succession. Her cries of passion were surprisingly deep and guttural but the amount of juice she spurted was very gratifying. After that they had no compunction in stripping off and the slut knelt in front of Ann and licked her out until she had had two loud and satisfying orgasms. Then George had fucked her right there on the floor in broad daylight, doggie style and Ann had experimented with handling another woman’s tits and found that she loved the feel of them.

  For that first week they had concentrated on using her to intensify their desire for each other and their desire for sex. The girl had been perfectly docile and had fucked George with great enthusiasm whenever he wanted her. Equally she proved an attentive lover for Ann who adored having her suckle at her breasts while George fucked the girl from behind. Then they started getting more adventurous. George bought them a strap-on, a flesh-coloured plastic monster of a thing and in mid afternoon one day, Ann lay on her back on their bed, having strapped it onto the slut. And the girl, who had plainly never used one, had lowered herself onto her mistress and penetrated her hesitantly. She had then been buggered by her Master. George had really plundered her arse and the girl had been thrust down onto her Mistress at each stroke. It had plainly hurt her and Ann had got her wish, she saw the big green eyes fill with tears even as she and her husband had orgasmed together, however they had been fascinated by how the girl’s chip had allowed her to climax even as she experienced pain. Later on they had tried it with the slut at the bottom and with George buggering Ann. That had been equally successful for them and the slut had come even more raucously.

  By the end of their first week of slave ownership, Ann was quite at ease with punishing the slut with the cane for clumsiness or failure to clean to her demanding standards, and George had indulged in whip and needle play with the girl tied to their bed, her eyes rolling up as she passed into subspace and then finally orgasmed again and again as her nipples were pierced. And things had gone on happily from then.

  On that particular Saturday, which was some six months into their ownership, they chatted about the forthcoming games as the slut busied herself between Ann’s raised and spread legs as she sat up drinking her tea in bed, her husband toying idly with her breasts to help matters along.

  “I think we ought to have a few people round tomorrow night,” Ann said. “I promised Angie and Doug they could play with the slut, they’re thinking of buying one too.”

  “Good idea. It’s time she was shagging our friends and Sunday’s good, we’ll be up for a good night after the pony and chariot racing.”

  “Then Monday night we’ll have her to ourselves and flog the little bitch raw after the finale and the Derby. Oooh, yes! Get your tongue right in there!” Ann put her head back and groaned her way through her first orgasm of the day while her husband gently caressed her nipples in just the way she liked. After that the slut was passed across to George and she gave him a blow job while Ann used a flogger on her between her legs. When they were dressed, they left her in the kitchen, a padlocked chain attached to one ankle cuff, a bowl of food on the floor and a vibrator. She had strict instructions about when she was allowed to feed and when she was to masturbate.

  As always she responded with purely; “Yes.Mistress. Yes, Master,” type answers. It really wasn’t like having another person in the house at all!

  They took a taxi to the arena. In George’s pocket were the signed votes for Mr Lloyd and they were looking forward to an entertaining day on the terraces – Ann, like most of the women hadn’t bothered with knickers – by the time they returned home that night they would have enjoyed a half-priced slave that George had booked for them in the playrooms and would be ready for more slave-play at home. Life was good under the current regime and it got their vote every time.

  Sergeant Rod Maple was on crowd control duty at the Tykes’ arena complex. The whole city force had had leave cancelled for this one. The Proteus stable was fielding Ace, there was going to be a Demolition Derby, the Prime Minister might drop by for a few hours on one of the days – it was going to be a biggie. Not that he minded particularly, the overtime was always useful. The crowds were good natured on the whole and watching the fighting, the racing and whipping that went on throughout the three days, seemed to release their tensions. There was always rivalry between the stables and their loyal supporters, but it rarely led to any trouble. It was the sheer numbers of people who needed to be shepherded around that required a police presence. With the rank and file squads of girls now numbering a hundred or more, plus the star fighters like Ace, events would go on in the main arena while more contests went on in the pens, ranged around the main arena, and people could choose which they watched. On Sunday the crowds would amble around between the pony racing circuit and chariot racing in the circus, then everyone would reconvene in the arena for the mass log pulling. On the Monday, in the morning there would be the finals of the pony racing and the chariots and in the afternoon of course there was the finale followed by a Demolition Derby – so for that part of the day at least the crowds would stay in one place.

  Of course some aspects of law enforcement had come to be relaxed, and within the arena complexes offences like Indecent Exposure just didn’t exist because nudity among the slaves was what the arenas were all about and the well known consequences among the crowds often led to joyful and abandoned exposure. The trick was to know how much fucking to allow! Sometimes he had to step in to stop a gang bang getting out of hand – and it was frequently a girl who had to be calmed down and persuaded that really she wasn’t in a fit condition to take on another fifty men. The thirty or so who had just had her, one after the other up against a wall somewhere in the complex, were quite adequate.

  He and his wife, Sue, had attended a few games in their time – usually when they were on holiday – so he knew the score and they had both enjoyed the casual couplings that the action out on the arena floor inspired in most onlookers. In fact they were saving up for a slave to occupy the stable they had built in their garage. They belonged to one of the circles that were springing up all over the country, devoted to the pleasures and the science of pony racing, hacking and dressage. Sue had got a ticket just for the racing in fact and would be attending with some of their friends. He was quite relaxed about that; the pony crowds tended to take their hobby very seriously, studied form assiduously and placed bets very carefully. Sue was most unlikely to get a hand – or anything else - up her skirt in that part of the crowd.

  By mid-morning he was happily watching the crowd file into the arena’s south gate, making the occasional greeting to those who acknowledged him. He checked a couple of IDs – only eighteens and over were allowed in – and when he felt the terraces above were nearly full and there was not going to be any bother, he strolled around to the tunnel that led under the Owners’ box and from which the gladiators all emerged from their team rooms and then moved into the arena itself. He had left a couple of younger bobbies on duty there and thought he’d check on them and make sure everything was going smoothly. He strolled past the parked up, huge trucks that transported the girls around these days. With their giant logos and their stable colours, they stood out a mile. He gazed in envy at the trucks which had delivered the sulkies and traps used in the pony racing and dressage, he would have to make do with borrowing his brother-in-law’s work van until he and Sue had saved up again after buying the pony.

  As he neared the entrance to the tunnel with its cordon of bobbies making sure that no one unauthorised got in, but that the slave-drawn carts could rumble in to re
trieve fallen comrades after some of the more extreme events, he heard the sound that always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was the huge, animal noise of a crowd getting what it wanted. The Games were underway and the first squads of slaves had been herded out from the dressing rooms into the tunnel and out onto the sands of the arena floor. Rod could see them as he approached the cordon, they carried short floggers and small plastic shields but were naked apart from that. There were about twenty from each stable being fielded. It was an hors d’oeuvre really, the whips would get more severe and the size of the squads thrown at each other would increase as the games went on. But this would do, he knew, to set the tone. As the girls exited the shade of the tunnel and emerged into the sun, their oiled skins glowed as they all turned and saluted their owners. Then the two groups made their way out onto the sands of the arena as the crowd settled down and waited for the owner of the home team to fire the starting pistol that would begin the games and two squads of naked slavegirls would charge each other wielding their floggers. In truth anything went, however. Shields could be used to sideswipe opponents, knees could be sharply brought up between a girl’s spread legs. Kicks were entirely permitted and of course her naked breasts were always a slave’s weak spot.

  There was a brief crescendo of noise as the pistol was fired and the girls charged, screaming at each other and the crowd yelled them on, then gradually everyone concentrated on the first marks appearing on the oiled and gloriously curved and fit forms of the girls as they began to struggle and suffer for the honour of their stables, their images projected in loving close ups onto huge video monitor screens.

  Rod took off his helmet to try and cool down. “Any problems, lads?” he asked.

  “None, sarge,” the nearest bobby replied. “Roll on Tuesday though!”

  The men began to grin at each other. Wives and girlfriends all knew about the perks. It was inevitable. After three days of patrolling and trying not to pay too much attention to the constant parade of naked femininity and the debauchery on the terraces, the police needed time to relieve themselves of their own tensions. A tradition had grown up whereby, on the day after the games had finished, the teams allowed the police free rein with both stables. The girls were bruised, battered, welted and well fucked by that time, but they were free to the boys in blue and that went a long way to making up for some lack of lively appreciation on the slaves’ part.

  “Yeah,” Rod said, looking out onto the sands and seeing the first slave go down to a scything lash across her breasts. “Roll on Tuesday!”

  High up in the stands Alex Tweedie divided his attention between watching the figures down on the sands and watching the delicious close ups on the huge monitor screens that hung from the edge of the roof around the terraces. He grinned as he saw one brunette with a fine pair of buttocks on her take a kick from behind, right up between them. She went down with a scream that could be heard up where he was. He loved everything about the arenas! It was nearly lunchtime on the first day and there had been three duels between twenty-strong squads, two solo duels with studded whips – one of them had been Ace’s first appearance and she had finished her opponent off in short order. Soon there would be a break so the crowd could eat and drink, then in the afternoon – he consulted his programme, there would be the first rounds of the chariot racing in the circus, wrestling and boxing in the pens, pursuit running in the arena and then paired and single log pulls. Then the day could be finished off under floodlights with a choice between the first rounds of pony racing and more studded whip duelling back in the arena proper. Even with a 50% reduction, he couldn’t afford a slave even for an hour in the evening, but he had something just as good; something that was his passion and the pony racing would provide it. And then just maybe his ticket could be a lucky one and if the number was called he could go down and help administer the lashes the day’s losers had been sentenced to by the crowd. He himself had kept his thumb down until Ace’s hapless opponent had been sentenced to forty lashes. Once a team started losing in the arena, there was a remorseless logic that was hard to break out of.

  Alex felt his pulse race and his cock swell as he contemplated the delights of the day ahead. He might not be able to afford a slave but that nice Mr Lloyd was going to get his vote, right enough. Beside him a woman was on her knees to her man, her head bobbing at his groin. Up on the screens, a camera was focussing on one girl who had a foot on her downed opponent’s buttocks and was belabouring her writhing back with her whip. Another screen was showing two girls wrestling frantically for one whip, nipples were being savagely twisted and pulled and Alex knew he needed what the arenas provided in such abundance. He turned to the man beside him.

  “Would you mind?” he asked.

  “No mate. Help yourself,” the man said and prodded the woman. “Get your arse up, Ann. This gentleman needs it.”

  Without missing a beat and with nearly a whole cock length in her mouth, the woman got her legs under her and stood up in a bent forwards posture, and all the time she continued to suck whilst now presenting her bottom, which was hidden only by a short skirt. Alex thanked the man and stood up, lifted the woman’s skirt and began to feel her cunt. He was sorry that she hadn’t been wearing knickers, she was very wet and he would have loved the feel of the juice-soaked cotton. But she was an easy and comfortable fuck, taking him in after only a few moments of fingering. Once he was safely lodged inside her, Alex turned his attention back to the screens, where now two of the Tykes’ girls were being hunted down by four Proteans. The action was getting hotter as the two fought a desperate rear guard action, as much to spare their own hides from the crowd’s love of harsh punishment for poor performances, as for their stable.

  “Reckon the Tykes can do it?” he asked the man who was now holding his woman’s head down and grimacing as he began to climb towards orgasm.

  “No,” he said, a little breathlessly, “the Proteus mob are too good! But it’ll be a good show!” He finished on a high note and groaned as he spent in her mouth. As she felt him spurt into her, the woman began to swivel her hips and grind against Alex in earnest and he came quite quickly. Apart from needing to spill himself he had business down at the tunnel and it looked like the slaves would be coming off shortly. There was only one Tyke standing now and she was being knocked from girl to girl by the stalking Proteus four. She kept trying to go down, but they kept her up and played with her for the crowd’s amusement, who kept shouting “Olé!” every time she tried to collapse but was held up and passed along to endure another slap or nipple twist or lash. Alex stepped away from the woman and thanked her man, then hurried for the exit just as the final Tyke was hoisted high in the air on a crotch hold, a girl’s thumb up her vagina and fingers in her arse. He looked back to see her yelling and teetering before the fingers were clenched inside her and the hand was snatched away cruelly to let her fall, writhing around the pain at her septum.

  He loved the arenas!

  Back at ground level he hurried around to the tunnel and approached the sergeant who was the senior officer present. The man looked at him knowingly as he withdrew the special pass that had cost him nearly a month’s wages.

  “Go on then, mate,” he said, standing aside. “There’ll be some good pickings for you at this show, I reckon.”

  “You’re backing the Tykes?”

  “Yes. Gotta be loyal haven’t you? But it’ll be a close thing and the slaves’ll be making some nice juice for you!”

  Alex carefully withdrew his special wallet as he hurried onwards, towards the doors into the dressing rooms. Already the slaves were coming back. Behind him he heard the sergeant admit two or three other men. There was a clique of them who communicated via the net and swapped trophies. He knew the stables called them Gropies – and it was a name they were all happy to be called by.

  The Proteus squad were walking off in reasonably good order. One or two were limping and being supported by their sisters. The Tykes however were in far wor
se shape. One or two were having to be carried by their sister slaves and it was with these that Alex had his business. The best trophies were to be garnered from the most extremely tested slaves.

  He hurried forwards and the exhausted girls halted by the door to their dressing room, obedience was so ground into them that any man was to be immediately accommodated in whatever way took his fancy. Alex took out a clean, white square of cotton and irritably gestured that those of the squad still capable of standing should part their legs. Carefully he wiped between the legs of those most harshly marked – one cloth to one girl, and then the cloth was dropped into a plastic wallet and sealed – the harder the slave had been used, the more juice and sweat congregated at her groin and it was the scent of suffering and excited slaves that he and his colleagues treasured.

  He managed to be the first to get to one of the slaves who had had to be carried off and carefully noted the fact on a label he stuck to the wallet that he dropped the stained and fragrant cloth into. The girl was coming round as he reached her and her helpers had been able to get her half standing on wobbly legs. Her thighs were deliciously whip-scored, right up to the vulva itself, which was puffy lipped and open, the clitoral hood withdrawn and the inner lips in full flower. There were sticky lines of juice hanging from them as she helplessly relished her pain and nudity and absorbed the fact that a man was touching her cunt. He took his swab of her juice gently, but probed well inside her to get as much of her essence as he could.