Blonde Fury

by Sean O'Kane

  The Morrison’s dinner party was going very well, after the meal the slut had been blindfolded and made to suck off every man there and identify her owner by taste alone. She had performed the first part very satisfactorily but had failed the second part miserably.

  Ann had intervened before the men could begin a punishment and suggested that the slut should try the same with all the women – double or quits. Again the slave had done the first part well enough but had failed the second. Now the room was loud with laughter as she was strapped down across the dining table and a heavy leather strap and a studded paddle were lined up for the first part of the punishment. Already some of the men were erect again at the sight of the naked and vulnerable girl, pale against the mahogany of the table, her legs spread wide and her breasts bulging out beneath her at each side of her chest. Two couples were brazenly making love, one on the sofa and one on one of the chairs. Another of Ann’s girlfriends came up to her as her husband and one of his friends began to belabour the girl’s back and bottom from both sides.

  “Thank you so much, Ann!” her friend cooed. “What a lovely evening it’s turning out to be. It’s really opened our eyes to what you can do with one of those things!” she gestured towards the table where the writhing form of the slave was beginning to moan and cry out. “We’re definitely going to get one, and when we do you must come round and enjoy it too!”

  “Thank you, Mary!” Ann said, preening at the compliment and looking at her friend’s rumpled dress and shining eyes; her breasts were still heaving from some recent excitement and Ann wondered if it had been her own husband or her friend’s husband who had been the cause. It made absolutely no difference to her nowadays, and in fact she began to see that her friend was considerably more attractive than she had ever realised before. Ann’s mind began to race with possibilities, all of which involved the slut as a catalyst.

  “We’d love to!” she said, “But in the meantime, why don’t you drop around one afternoon this week? I can show you, in slightly more detail, just how much use you can get out of them.”

  Her friend gave her a lascivious smile. “A girls only afternoon?”

  “Oh, yes! I think that would be perfect. Just two girls and one slut,” Ann said, returning the smile.

  Behind them the slavegirl began to orgasm loudly under the beating.

  Chapter Four

  Scott Holroyd was out of sorts. He stalked between the pairs of naked girls rehearsing various moves with their whips; responding to the shouts of his lieutenants as they were drilled in the various lunges, spins and parrying manoeuvres they needed to have drummed into them for the next games. They were using the training whips, with just a single lightweight, suede tail. It would leave a short-lived mark so that trainers could see how a girl had been doing but the mark faded within minutes. As he made his way through the couples he noted that nearly all the squad girls were back in training, some still bore traces of the playrooms and the contests at the Tykes’ arena with fading ladders of tramlines across quivering buttocks and scabbing over cuts from chariot racing. But on the whole the victory had not been too costly and the victory in the Demolition Derby had been the icing on the cake.

  All in all, he should be feeling pretty content with life but he wasn’t. And thoughts of the Demolition Derby brought the reason why sharply into focus. Ace. The bosses wanted to talk to her. Talk to her! Scott nearly said the words out loud, he was so annoyed. Instead he covered it by unshipping his service whip, a heavy strap of soft leather about two feet long and giving the nearest girl a stinging lash across her buttocks. She yelped and spun round to face him, immediately her sparring partner jumped in and rained blows down on her unprotected back.

  “Never turn your back!” he growled as the girl he had struck spun back to face her opponent and walked into a backhand slash across her breasts which made her double over to try and protect them. Scott sighed, he knew he had been the cause of the girl’s imminent defeat and although fairness was not a big part of a slave’s life he knew he ought to even things up. He stepped sideways and scythed a lash in across the other girl’s buttocks. This one had seen him coming however and knew not to turn her back on her opponent under any circumstances, so Scott gave her two across the middle back to even up the score enough to allow the first girl to straighten up and return to the fray. Then he stalked on in an even worse mood.

  That was what happened when the bosses intervened, he told himself furiously. They upset everything! No doubt they were very good at all the money stuff, but it was his job to keep the Proteus stable and its complement of over a hundred slaves ticking along smoothly. And you didn’t do it by talking to them! He had spent months training them to think of themselves as creatures of pure physicality. They were bodies to be moved, enjoyed, employed and used as their owners decided. They existed to give pleasure in whatever way was required and in return the chips gave them orgasms that were sometimes awesome to behold and he made sure they got plenty of them.

  But you didn’t achieve all that by talking to them! He had Ace perfectly balanced and attuned to her role as the stable’s star performer in several events and as the Pass Receiver in the Demolition Derby. She would feed from his hand, go docilely to any playroom she was directed to, but give her a whip and she would fight like a wildcat out on the arena floor. She was a pampered, groomed and gorgeous thoroughbred.

  And the bosses wanted to talk to her! He sighed again as he entered the stable block and went to Ace’s stall where she had been left since breakfast at the bosses’ orders. The tall slave was pacing up and down nervously, her hobble chain rattling and slithering behind her and Scott sighed again. Already she was unsettled as she hadn’t been exercised or taken out for training after her morning feed. His chief groom came up beside him with her clip board and joined him at the half door at the front of the stall.

  “She’s in good condition, Mr Holroyd. Ate well this morning, stiffness from the last games wearing off, no cuts scarring. She’ll be ready to go again by the end of the week.”

  “Aye,” Scott replied gloomily. “She’ll have to be, we’ve got two Games in the next two months and then they’re off to the States for a Derby, and you know how they’ll fight not to lose on their home turf!”

  “She’ll be fine, Sir,” the girl said. “But why hasn’t she been taken out today?”

  “Because the bosses want to talk to her!”

  The groom frowned. “What on earth would they want to do that for?” She knew her charges perfectly well and knew you spoke about them, but you didn’t talk to them. You geed them up and whipped them on if necessary and petted them and told them they were good. You flogged them if they were bad. But you didn’t talk to them!

  “Just get her on her leash and I’ll take her over to the house,” he said and gave her rump an absent minded slap as she opened the door. The girl was Yorkshire born like him, and although she came from a ‘county’ family – unlike Scott - the pair often had great sessions in the stable’s playrooms; sometimes using a slave, sometimes not. Scott watched her jodhpur-clad buttocks sway as she walked and thought that, once this day’s work was done, striping them with a cane might provide the relief he would need.

  With Ace attached by her tongue leash, Scott headed back across the training ground and towards the main house. He kept the leash short so that she was walking almost beside him. Her eyes were bright and wide as she saw where she was being taken. A journey to the house usually meant a session in one of the many dungeons and as many orgasms as a slave could handle.

  “Not today, lass,” Scott told her and sighed again but he brightened up when it occurred to him that a session or two might be exactly what she would need later on.

  He reached out and tweaked a nipple, making it instantly stand up thick and red on her quivering breast and fetching a soft gasp from her, followed by a rattling of steel against teeth as she swallowed.

  Once inside he led her up the stairs instead of down into the cellars where
all the fun was to be had and she looked increasingly nervous as she padded across carpets and rugs. Naked, collared and on a leash she was almost comically out of place in rich surroundings. Scott could see her suddenly becoming aware of her nudity and felt her shrink against him. He reached down and patted her bottom.

  “Steady girl. We’ll soon have you back in your nice comfy stall,” he told her as they approached a massive door at the end of a long, richly carpeted corridor. He led her through it and by now she was pressing against his shoulder, half trying to shield herself behind him. This was no place for a slavegirl, he told himself for the thousandth time. Normally a slave was proud of her body – it was the sum of all she was and what all those around her wanted of her, using it for others’ pleasure was what they were tirelessly trained for. But here, in the high ceilinged office with portraits on the walls and light pouring in through tall sash windows and a table with fully dressed people sitting behind it; here, she was just a naked, bewildered girl.

  Scott brought her to a halt in front of the table, behind which sat the members of the consortium which owned the stable. Neil Consadine sat in the middle and addressed her.

  “That was a terrific performance last week….er…..Ace. That final pass you took in the Derby was a very fine piece of work!” he began nervously.

  Scott nearly laughed out loud. What did he think she was going to do? Give him a curtsy and say thank you kind sir? Oh sure the bosses could all acquit themselves well with a slave in a dungeon but they didn’t fully understand how intense the conditioning had to be to get a girl to be that submissive – even with a chip.

  The urge to laugh finally relaxed Scott as he realised how hopelessly out of their depth the bosses were. He reached into his pocket and fetched out a packet of mints he kept as treats for good girls. He took one out and held it on the palm of his open hand in front of Ace. Even with her tongue ring and leash she was able to nibble it up into her mouth and chew it happily, her ring and clip making soft clicking noises as Neil Consadine tried to talk Ace through the history of her parentage, who her real father was and what had been done to her mother and to her.

  When he finished she ignored him and nuzzled Scott’s shoulder asking for another treat.

  Neil Consadine leaned back and sighed. “Well we tried,” he said, as he saw that he hadn’t made the slightest impression. “And at least we now know that even if she picks up any scuttlebutt, it won’t upset her.”

  “And she’s a credit to your conditioning Mr. Holroyd,” the woman said. “I’m sure you know how best to settle her back down, so we won’t detain you.”

  “Thank you,” Scott said and clicked his tongue as he dragged Ace’s head around and led her back to the slave quarters. But not to her stall. He had a better idea and one that would restore her tranquillity.

  Ace paced the cell impatiently, absent mindedly she rubbed at her wrists, from which her cuffs had been removed. Her cuffs were only ever removed when she was about to perform on the training ground or in the arena. And she had no hobble chain. And this wasn’t her stall.

  Ace liked her stall.

  Was she being punished? Although she would never dream of being deliberately disobedient, Ace quite enjoyed being whipped at the post outside the slave quarters. Ace liked the attention.

  But they had won the Demolition Derby only a few days ago, so it was unlikely her trainer would punish her. Ace smiled as she recalled the feel of soft girlflesh yielding against her as they flew round the track on thundering skates, the way she had tossed her opponents over the rails and briefly seen the bodies tumbling out of sight into the floodlit night. She revelled in the memory of her team mates whipping her forwards so that she squatted down on her skates and zipped between their opponents’ spread legs so fast they couldn’t stop her. She heard again the applause and felt her team mates hug her as she brandished the ball after the last, winning pass had been safely made.

  Ace didn’t know what those strange people had been telling her. It didn’t concern her.

  Ace didn’t know what was going to happen next. She didn’t like that. Ace was not having a good day.

  The door to this strange cell opened and a girl was pushed in, she was followed by their trainer, who undid her cuffs and then took them off.

  “Go on, you daft bitch!” he said, prodding the blonde newcomer in the back. “You’ve got all day to shag each other!”

  He left, slamming the heavy door behind him and Ace threw herself into the blonde’s arms. It was the girl who had once been called Tracey, and who was her best friend and frequent stall mate, when the trainer felt like rewarding them both. She was also the Pass Maker in the Demolition Derby team and they were the two lynch pin positions.

  The cell had a narrow bed against the back wall and as soon as the girls had finished greeting each other with tongue ring-clinking kisses, they adjourned to it. Ace almost threw Tracey down onto her back and the girl immediately let her legs fall open.

  Ace looked down at her thick outer labia and the coral inner lips that were engorging and opening before her eyes. Savouring the moment she lowered her face and kissed up the last few inches of Tracey’s left thigh, teasing both of them by stopping short of the cunt that was now glistening with discharge. She paid similar attention to the right thigh, loving the softness of the girl’s skin and drinking in the scent of her excitement. Then suddenly she plunged her face into the girl’s vulva, searching for the vaginal opening with her tongue and bathing in the juices that flooded over her. Tracey gave a sharp intake of breath as she was caught by surprise and then her hands were tangling in Ace’s hair and incoherent grunts were urging her on to bring her off. It took hardly any time and only a few tongue lunges into the pungent, flooding sheath of the vagina before Tracey’s cries were getting more and more frantic. Ace withdrew just enough to move along and start lashing the hard little nubbin of the clitoris with her tongue and she broke. Her body bucked and thrashed under her, Ace lowered her head and drank in the juice that flooded from her and sobbing cries from above her announced that Tracey had come. For a moment they lay, Tracey splayed out and wrecked, Ace with her head resting on one of her thighs, her hands still under Tracey’s buttocks, then she slowly began to make her way up her lover’s body, stopping to kiss the deep cushions of breastflesh on the way. Tracey was always just on the cusp of being overweight and was frequently removed from the rest of the squad for special training but her good humour and resilience to suffering in the arenas meant she had value to the stable, besides she was a superb pass maker on the Demolition Derby track. Tracey groaned softly under the caresses and Ace knew that the endorphins released by the chip would be beginning to stir again with the stimulation of having her lover lying on her. The need to climax again would grow until she would have no choice but to bring herself off if there was no outside stimulation. They were sex addicts and now it was Ace’s turn for a fix.

  Tracey wriggled her way down Ace, pausing to lick her breasts and keeping her hands there to twist and pull on the nipples. Ace pressed her hands to Tracey’s urging her on to hurt them and crying out in relief when she did. She felt her belly melt as the pain speared through her deliciously and Tracey’s mouth arrived at her cunt.

  The ascent to heaven was so rapid and devastating that Ace was almost taken by surprise by the onrush of ecstasy as Tracey’s tongue lashed her clitoris mercilessly and her fingers clawed into her breasts. She cried out again and again as wave after wave of overload engulfed her, then the small windowless room was silent except for the deep, contented breathing of the two slave girls. Gradually faint noises from the outside world filtered through and they could make out the sounds of practice chariot races being run, the voices of the trainers were just able to penetrate the stone walls, as were the smacks and thuds of the whips.

  Tracey slithered her way up Ace’s body, both of them now slicked by post-orgasmic sweat and the two grinned at each other before settling as best they could on the narrow bed. An arena
slave soon developed almost cat-like abilities of relaxation when she wasn’t needed and soon they were drowsing, relaxing until the chips kicked in again.

  It just seemed natural for two fugitives to gravitate towards the Left Bank in Paris. Sophie and Tom found a small but clean hotel and paid with cash for a room for a couple of days while they tried to think ahead. They had emptied their accounts of cash at an ATM outside a hub station on the Tube back in London, hoping to leave no clue as to their direction of travel. Now they had a small window of opportunity to try and regroup.

  They wandered the crowded streets, their senses assailed by the smells of cooking drifting from countless small cafes and bars. The people they brushed against and jostled were from widely different racial backgrounds and in all the hustle and lights and traffic, no one gave them a second glance.

  It was the evening of their first full day in Paris and Tom had guided them into a bar for a drink after they had had a frugal supper of baguettes, salami and chorizo in their room at the hotel. They sat hunched over their drinks, trying to keep their faces in shadow.

  “It’s no good, I just can’t walk away! I’m going back, Sophie,” Tom said at last. “I’ll get a flight to Cork and take a ferry back to Wales. Hopefully they won’t be looking for me coming in that way if they still think we’re on the run over here.”

  Sophie felt she ought to try and talk him out of it, but the truth was that she had been thinking they ought to split up in any case. Firstly, the minute they left the raffish and shady, melting pot area of the left bank, they would stand out a mile; she virtually six foot in stockinged feet with a full blonde mane of hair; he even taller and broad shouldered.