by Sean O'Kane
Slowly the poles began to move and the whipmen yelled to their teams to straighten up. The whipping changed cadence as the teams were urged into straight line pulling and the sprint for the far end of the arena was on. The whips now fell on the girls’ backs and each team set up a rhythm so that the smacks became amplified into two distinct sound tracks, the Tykes setting a slightly faster rhythm. Gradually the straining lines of girls increased their pace down the arena and the heavy logs moved sluggishly behind them. As they moved so the whipmen set faster and faster rhythms as the lines tried to accelerate towards the far wall of the arena. Up on the screens the cameras roved from one sweat-soaked face grimacing under the lash to another and from one shining back and welted arse, quivering and jiggling from effort and the whips to the next.
Clive glanced across at the two owners next to him, Lord Barber was open mouthed and clearly just about to spend in his girl’s mouth, Neil had his girl sitting on his cock – her back to him - and he was cheering his team on as she wriggled and squirmed on him. As Clive watched, the climax of the first run was reached and he pushed her off him and stood up in triumph, a quite respectably sized cock standing rigidly to attention from his trousers. He was quite unabashed and once he had punched the air, he grabbed the girl’s hair and rammed her face down onto it. Clive had his girl climb up onto the seat beside him and kneel with her thighs wide spread. His fingers sank easily into the warm swamp of vaginal sap his mauling of her tits had engendered and he happily put four fingers up her, making her bite her lip to stop herself from moaning and disturbing him.
Down below the teams were turned around. While the slaves were unchained, both teams allowed the guards to let a few lucky girls get a mouthful of cock. It provided good pictures on the monitors for the crowd and it held out the promise of fulfilment to the slaves. It worked for the Tykes because they drew level by winning the second pull. A third and deciding pull was not the ideal outcome for either team as the slaves still had plenty left to endure before the games ended. But the crowd was delighted. Once again they got giant images of thick, shining cock shafts stretching soft and compliant lips and then a whole five minutes of mass flagellation as the teams staggered back along the arena dragging their brutally pointless burdens with them.
Beside Clive, the girl gave up the unequal struggle against her body and erupted into full orgasm as she was fingered relentlessly. Clive only had eyes for the screens and the close ups of welted backs and buttocks becoming ever more so as the cries and screams from the arena floor floated up and caressed his ears. When his girl had finished coming he pushed her face down on his lap and made her suck him off as the Tykes staggered across the line a foot or two ahead.
A couple of hours later, showered and refreshed, Clive left his room in the hospitality building and rode the lift down to the hospitality suites set behind the upper terraces of the arena.
Through the smoked glass of the windows he could see that the arena was empty now, men were raking over the sand readying it for the following day. That day had finished well, with lines of girls who had lost contests put to the whipping posts and receiving what the crowds had decreed for them earlier in the day. Even after the spectacle of the log pulls, the flagellations were spectacular and closely followed by the cameras. To rousing applause, he, Bob Barber and Neil Consadine had gone down into the arena and delivered the first few punishments. He had been given a lovely little blonde who had gone down in only the second round of a boxing bout. He got to give her forty satisfying lashes with a heavy flogger. He could see how helplessly she came as she writhed and he was aware of the cameras on him so he smiled and waved from time to time between lashes. Beside him the other two finished their punishments by shoving their hands into their slaves’ cunts, but Clive felt it wasn’t fitting for him to be filmed being that blatant – not yet at least. Then as they had made their way off, the lucky numbers had been called and from various parts of the stadium cheers arose as fortunate ticket holders began to make their way down to join in the fun.
But now a cocktail party was in full swing, his host was watchful though and came straight over to him to guide him towards the bar and to introduce him to the local great and good. Clive knew how important this was and was good at working social gatherings, but his eyes kept straying to the edges of the room. He could see groups of people standing around and laughing delightedly from time to time, and from what he could tell, it seemed as if slaves were at the bottom of things.
At last, he could restrain himself no more.
“Bob, I’ve pressed enough flesh for one night. What the hell’s going on over there? It looks like I’m missing out on something.”
Barber grinned at him. “I was wondering when you’d ask! We’ve got the new sDocks in.”
Clive looked at him in surprised delight. “Hey! I didn’t think they were on the market yet!”
“They’re not. We said we’d help test them. Come on, let’s go and look.”
They made their way to the front of one of the groups and Clive was delighted at what he saw. A hooded slave was mounted on the device and was being turned this way and that by a man who was quickly getting the knack of it. The device was a simple series of flexible, steel ringed pipes – like shower head hoses but with added rigidity – they followed the outline of a human form rather like a stick-figure. A pipe ran down the slave’s spine and from it branched off pipes that followed the arms and legs. At intervals the girl was strapped tightly to the pipes. At the back of her head a cradle was provided so that even if she was laid on her back, it wouldn’t be allowed to drop backwards, unless the person controlling the dock desired it. About half way down the girl’s back, the pipe that ran down it was pivoted on a ball joint that sat on top of a pole that ran down to the floor but which could be extended and reduced in height by the console that stood beside the girl. And it was this that was at the heart of the interest.
The console was entirely blank and about the size of a tablet and all the man currently in charge of the girl had to do was make passes in the air above it to manipulate the girl into any posture he chose. As Clive joined the group, the man had just made an expand and rise gesture over the pad and the device had extended the pole running up from the floor and bent back the arms and legs so that the girl was now presented at face height with her pelvis thrust forward but the rest of her body and her arms and legs bent sharply backwards, as if she was being launched skywards. There was some laughter and applause. The man made some more passes and lowered the pole, made bending back gestures at either side and low down on the console and with a quiet humming noise the sDock lowered its cargo, bending her legs back from the knees and he guided it to a halt – by holding his palm out to the console – when the girl was kneeling in front of him, her torso now upright and her mouth at the perfect height for cock sucking. Urged on by the onlookers, he freed his cock from his trousers and guided it to rub against her lips. Immediately she opened them and he slid himself into her.
“We’ve been training the slaves to it for a couple of weeks now,” Bob Barber told Clive. “They squealed rather a lot to start with but they’ve settled down to it now. They know that it won’t bend them in any way that’ll cause damage.” Just below her hood the men could see how eagerly the slave was hollowing her cheeks as she sucked and how much of him she was getting down her throat as his pubic hair almost brushed her nose.
Suddenly the man jerked his pelvis frantically at the girl’s mouth and clutched the back of her hood as he came and then stood back. His place was taken by a woman. She had obviously been watching carefully and made a revolve motion over the console and the girl was spun around so that her back was to the woman, then a quick upwards beckon at the far end of the console had the girl lifted and tipped back so that she lay face up. Demurely the woman lifted the front of her long skirt and stepped forwards slightly, spreading her legs as she did so. A look of utter pleasure softened her rather hard face as she felt the girl begin to tongue her.
She made the gesture of opening her fingers over the console and the girl’s legs were drawn wide apart. A man that Clive assumed was her husband – but at an arena one could never be sure – placed himself at her open cunt, unzipped his flies and began to fuck her.
The woman’s skirt was long enough and cut generously enough to hide everything that was going on underneath, it was a fashion that was beginning to catch on in quite a big way. Free women had begun to cover up as a direct reaction to the amount of naked female slaveflesh that was on show at the arenas, via the internet and increasingly on some streets in better off areas of British towns and cities. It wasn’t a prudish covering up – at the moment, necklines were daringly plunging, but it was a definite move away from free women needing to bare their legs in particular. It merely differentiated them from slavegirls but it didn’t in any way inhibit them from enjoying them, or from being enjoyed by their men.
Clive accepted another drink from a waiter as the woman flung her head back and climaxed noisily while her partner did the same at the slave’s other end. Then, smiling happily they stepped away from the splayed body and left it to the next customer. Clive looked on proudly as the console was manipulated again by the man who spun the girl so that she lay with her head away from him and he had her arms and legs stretched out fully and then slightly bent back so that she was arched up towards him as he moved in to fuck her, pausing only to have his own slave kneel and lick the last man’s sperm from her.
The company that had patented the sDock had been a company that Clive’s administration had helped with grants and loan guarantees. Now it was clearly ready for the market and it would secure Britain’s position as a world leader in slave technology, the chips having paved the way. He made a mental note to ring the MD and congratulate him during the week.
He and Bob meandered along the long wall admiring the ingenuity of the ways people were finding to splay and display the bodies provided for their entertainment. One party had found that it was possible to completely upend the slave and have her upside down with legs wide open. Inevitably, one of the floggers hung on the wall behind her was being energetically employed between the long, toned thighs and there was much laughter and lots of female giggles and squeals as the tails splatted rather than smacked and kicked up some spray and some sticky trails of vaginal secretion even as the slave moaned and yelped while she was being thrashed.
However, their attention was distracted from the delicious scene in front of them by a rise in the general hubbub at one end of the room but a quietening of the laughter. There was even some scattered applause as Bob disengaged himself from Clive and went towards the noise. Clive watched and Bob re-emerged from the throng holding a leather leash which ran up to the heavy tongue ring of an arena slave who followed him with her hands clipped together behind her back.
She had been decked out in full presentation kit; black, five inch heeled court shoes and a breathtakingly embroidered red and black basque that nipped her waist in to better display her sensational hips and bust. Her long legs and thighs were clad in black, hold up stockings that left tantalising pale, smooth thigh flesh on display and that led the eye up to the tiny triangle of black lace at her crotch. Above the softly rippling mounds of her breasts, at her neck she wore a black leather collar, her leash looped down to Bob’s hand from between her scarlet, glossed lips which were parted to reveal even, white teeth and the tip of her tongue with its glinting, heavy ring. Her eyes had been expertly made up and shone large and dark as she looked submissively downwards, calm and expressionless, taking only the occasional glance up to look around her. Her light brown hair had been painstakingly brushed and styled into a gently waving torrent of hair that tumbled down to frame her famous face and to lie on her wide shoulders. She followed her leash with long languorous steps that she had learned on the world’s catwalks, each foot was carefully planted in line with the other and she relaxed her hips so that they could sway bewitchingly as she moved. On one shoulder was the tattoo that had given her the name that she was known by around the world these days. The letters A and C intertwined, and originally they had stood for Anna Chatham but the arena crowds had run them together to form the name ‘Ace’. She had gone from being a fairly well known model and businesswoman to an arena slave through a catastrophic series of events which had been carefully stage managed in order to get her exactly where she was now. And it was Conor Brien – an arena owner who was now deceased – who had been her biological father via IVF, although Ace had had no knowledge of that fact, and it was he who had engineered it all. It was Conor who had enslaved her mother, the slave known as Blondie who had escaped from him with her trainer, Carlo. His revenge had been to try and control the daughter as he had wanted to control the mother.
But by the time everything had come to light, Conor’s plan had succeeded, she had been convicted under Mostyn’s Law, been chipped and sold, become a star in her own right and so much money and time had been invested in her, there was no question of untangling all that had been done. The only thing was, would it help or hinder her performances in the arenas to know what her family history was?
Bob brought the glamorous vision to a halt in front of Clive and opened a door in the side of a tall perspex cube which stood in the centre of the floor. He detached Ace’s leash and with a hand on her pert rear, guided her into the cube, then he shut the door and raised his hand in a signal. Immediately there was the familiar hum of an electric motor and the cube was raised on a plinth until it stood three feet off the floor. Ace had just enough room in it to stand upright and still, her feet planted a few inches apart. The party broke into spontaneous applause as they replenished their drinks and began to circulate again; quite a few of them forming groups around Ace and discussing her.
“I know she might be the main cause of us losing these games, but you’ve got to admire her as an object of beauty,” Bob said as they stared up at the impassive slave.
Neil joined them and the three men contemplated the vision of submissive sex displayed before them, while behind them the noises of other partygoers making full use of the slaves provided began to pick up again and the rhythmic thuds and smacks of whips and the cries of the slaves resumed.
“Thanks for letting us display her, Neil,” Bob said after an interval. “She makes a good centrepiece.”
Neil raised his glass in reply. “You’re welcome. It’s been a good show you’ve put on and tomorrow looks like being a fitting climax.”
“Have you told her yet?” Clive wanted to know, cocking his head towards Ace.
“No,” Neil sighed. “But I suppose we’ll have to. Even in a stable there’s gossip and sooner or later she’ll pick up on it, and that’ll be worse than us telling her.”
Looking up at the long legs and flanks, which both bore some dark spots from where a studded whip had caught her earlier on in the games, Clive wondered for the thousandth time what her half-sister would look like. He walked round to view her back and saw similar marks on her fabulous buttocks and across her shoulders, which also bore the marks of a single tail from the pursuit running. It was the mark of a really class performer to reach the end of the second day with so little damage to show for it.
Regretfully he looked at his watch and decided he ought to leave, he had to be back in London tomorrow but he would do what he could to catch the Demolition Derby. He smiled up at Ace as he went to find Bob. She wouldn’t get away from the Derby without some more souvenirs, that was for certain.
Downstairs his limo was waiting and Clive took a moment or two to savour the night air as he exited the arena. From back up behind him he could hear the sounds of play becoming more intense at the party he had just left. Bob and Neil would no doubt have their staff replacing worn out slaves with new stock to share the use and the marks around as equally as possible. Lights shone out from a long low building at the edge of the arena complex but no noise escaped it, the play rooms over there were well sound proofed but doubtless the good people of Ty
neside were getting their money’s worth inside and the coffers of both stables would be comfortably filled and the slaves would just have to cope somehow. They always seemed to. He smiled and stepped into the limo.
As it swept away, a slightly built figure stepped out of the shadows and was joined by another.
“Bloody hell! That was close! Give me the money and let’s both get out of here,” one whispered urgently and held something out.
Alex Tweedie proffered a wad of notes and the groom riffled through it quickly then passed over the package before disappearing. Alex didn’t blame him; it would mean instant dismissal and blacklisting by all stables if he was found out. And who in their right minds would want to get fired from a job like his? He could only think the man had got some pressing debts to pay off to make him run the risk he had. But then he turned his attention to the package the man had handed across. With trembling and reverential hands Alex unwrapped it and saw the stained leather thong that he had watched the groom tear down from Ace’s sodden groin directly after the race, earlier on. He had had to tug it down her thighs, suctioning it away from the wetness at her crotch. Alex held it up to his nose and inhaled the pungent perfume of Ace’s cunt and her sweat and the body oil the slaves were laved in before taking part in any event. It was still wet and fragrant as he stuffed it carefully into a plastic wallet and hurried home to go on the net and tell the others. He had Ace’s actual thong, still redolent and still wet! Whatever it was worth, he wasn’t taking any offers, it was going to be framed and take pride of place in his collection.
As he passed through the gates of the complex, he glanced into the police box and saw the sergeant who had inspected his pass earlier in the day, he was vigorously fucking a woman who was bent over the small desk in the box. She was clothed, her skirt carelessly thrown up over her back, so obviously she was not a slave, maybe it was his wife. The sergeant looked up and waved as Alex passed, then went back to his business.