by Sean O'Kane
"Is she tough as well?"
"She's a tigress, Boss! Undefeated on the whole trip - except for one which I made her lose, just to get her going a bit!"
Gerd and Mark exchanged quick glances. Carlo was an experienced hand with slavegirls and they had never heard him so animated before.
"You know, I had her under the whip for an hour once! I've never seen one who can soak it up like she can!"
Gerd deflated him a little by breaking the news that the next consignment probably wouldn't be quite so good. For a moment his face fell but then he shrugged and drained his glass.
"Girls is girls, wherever they come from," he said philosophically and then left to get this consignment ready for inspection and to make sure that the barracks had been run properly in his absence. Gerd too drank up and left, taking Elena with him. The Philippino girl was still bent over, her bottom showing a thorough laddering of cane weals. Elena had kept the punishment up through the whole of the men's conversation and it was doubtful that this girl would make a similar mistake again. He told her to stand up and approach him. She came, hurriedly wiping her eyes and nose with one hand and rubbing her buttocks with the other. But once she was beside him she adopted the proper stance; eyes lowered, legs apart, hands behind her back.
Mark put his hand up beneath the brief pelmet of her tunic and felt her sex. It was warm and moist, the lips peeled apart and ready for his fingers to plunge up inside her. He amused himself for a moment before sending her off to refill his glass. She returned with four ice cubes clinking in the gin and tonic. He liked three. She knew that, but the caning and his handling of her had distracted her. He sighed.
"Three ice cubes," he said slowly and distinctly. "Three, not four."
The girl's face fell and she bit her lower lip. He patted his lap. "Over you go," he told her. Once again she lifted her tunic and then lowered herself to lie across his knees, toes and hands touching the floor, legs straight out behind her. She would get a lot of kudos in the dormitory that night, he knew. Getting a spanking or any kind of beating at the hands of the Boss was counted as an honour.
He ignored the raised lines striping her shapely little hindquarters and gave her a thorough beating with his hand, until even her dusky skin was glowing darkly and his palm stung. Then once again he delved between her legs, enjoying the feel of her inner heat and wetness, and the way her tight little channel clenched around his fingers. He could afford a few more minutes before he joined Carlo he reckoned, and after ten days travelling a man was owed some pleasure.
He let her stand and then guided her over to one of the settees and had her kneel on it, presenting her bottom to him, then he unzipped his trousers and took out his erect cock which had been rubbed into full hardness by the squirming girl's stomach during her latest punishment. She couldn't hold back a strained little cry as he pushed into her. She was well lubricated but even so her vagina had trouble accommodating his girth. It made for a pleasing fuck, with her tight little tunnel gripping every inch of his shaft and his thrusts pushing her forwards against the back of the settee. She would be the envy of the other girls now all right. He didn't begrudge her having her own orgasm as he achieved his, he was in a good mood on the whole. But when he slipped from her he had her stay kneeling while he fetched the surplus ice cube from his drink and pushed it hard against her anus until the muscles gave way and swallowed it up into her rectum.
"Keep it there, and learn from your mistakes," he told her as she straightened up and smoothed down her tunic. Then he left, feeling relaxed and at peace with the world. The girl would probably get further punishment from Elena later on for the state of her semen-leaking cunt and her dribbling anus. But all to the good, he felt.
Living the life he led, a man could be forgiven for believing that all any woman craved was a firm master and frequent punishment.
Tara and her companions were weary of all the jolting, and they breathed sighs of relief as the truck finally came to a halt in a sort of courtyard, surrounded by low stone buildings with small windows set high up in the walls. The guards' minibus pulled in shortly after them and they were taken down to stand in a line, tired and dusty. Carlo gave them one last look over and then left them in the care of a tall, sandy haired English guard who had stood in for him once or twice during their voyage. Surprisingly he led their coffle into one of the buildings on his own, and then set about releasing their chains but left their collars on. As soon as Tara was free the thought of escape popped into her mind but then better counsel prevailed. She was tired and hungry, and anyway where would she go? Instead, like the other girls, she looked round her. They were standing in a bare room with a long, plain refectory table and two benches on each side of it. Beyond the table the walls on either side came out into the room forming a sort of corridor between them. At the far end they could see a tiled room with a row of showers against what was the end wall of the building. The only familiar sights were the chains and steel loops on the walls and floor. Tara was quite certain that discipline was not going to be relaxed that much.
The guard settled himself against the table casually and addressed them.
"This is your accommodation. Your barracks. You will sleep, eat, wash and do what you want in here. You can even talk. And if you want to fuck each other, frig each other, lick each others' pussies out, then go ahead. You'll find there are two bunks to each cell, so you can get quite friendly. But when any man - any man at all - comes in here you stand to attention and don't say a word. Outside that door," and he indicated the heavy wooden door they had entered by, "you are dumb slaves. Understand?"
There was a slow nodding and he stood and left, locking the door behind him.
For a few moments there was silence and stillness, then gradually the girls' stances relaxed and they began to stare around them and at each other. Then Jet broke the silence, her voice sounding hoarse and strained after weeks of enforced muteness.
"Well, it isn't the Holiday Inn, but it beats that frigging ship!"
With that the floodgates were down and the pent up female urge to chatter and gossip with other females was given full rein. Tara immediately noticed that they all called each other by the names the men had given them. Not one of them bothered with the names they had had before. She felt no inclination to join in, she was genuinely shocked that the talk all seemed to centre around which of the guards was the best screw, which ones whipped the hardest and which ones were the best looking. There was much giggling and laughter about the size of some of their cocks and sympathetic noises were made about how much their initial buggerings had hurt. A surprising number of the girls had had prior experience, but expressed sisterly concern for those whose back passages had been virgin.
Tara felt her determination to be different become stronger as she listened to the chatter. They just didn't seem to object to what had been done to them and Tara found that astonishing at first, until she remembered their last morning on board and blushed at the memory of how she really had responded as a complete slavegirl. Confused all over again, she wandered into the corridor and found that it was lined with their cells, three on either side with steel bars fronting the corridor and stone walls between each cell. As the guard had said, they were doubles. Between the beds - and they were real beds at last, although they were the iron, military type with thin mattresses - stood a small cabinet, though what they were supposed to store there Tara couldn't think. At the foot of the beds was a flushing toilet mounted against one wall. It was just inside the bars and afforded no privacy whatever. There was a small window set high up in the wall and over the beds were steel rings set in the stone and from these hung rather longer chains than she had become accustomed to. She moved on and found that where the cells finished was not only a wash area, there had been some slight acknowledgement that even slavegirls needed some facilities. Apart from the showers, at right angles to them and running along the wall on Tara's left was a simple worktop, but above it there was a long mirror and lying on it
were hairbrushes, nail clippers and even some electric razors and hairdryers. Best of all there were towels.
When her companions caught up with her, there were squeals of delight at these discoveries and some of the girls immediately started showering off the dust of their journey. The water was hot and eventually even Tara succumbed to the temptation, though she just couldn't believe how the other girls behaved as if they were being treated like royalty. When she emerged from the shower and had towelled herself off she set about choosing a cell. It made no difference to her where she slept but she could see that some liaisons were already being formed. Once again Tara was dismayed. Sure enough she had enjoyed the symbolic submissions in the ring but she had no inclination to extend that to full blown lesbian relationships. Her companions seemed to have no such qualms though and she watched as Jet and Carrot openly embraced before settling down on one of the beds in a cell. There were some ironic cheers and laughter as the black girl opened her legs and Carrot began to squirm her way down towards that sex which Tara remembered so vividly. But then other couples began to form and Tara turned away. She found an empty cell back at the refectory end of the corridor and entered it by the narrow, barred door, set in the frontage and sat down heavily on one of the beds, leaning back against the cool stone wall and closing her eyes. Around her the noise of voices was dying down and was being replaced by busy rustlings and the sounds of bedsprings squeaking, punctuated with the occasional sigh of pleasure.
"Mind if I come in?"
Tara opened her eyes at the sound of the voice. Cherry was standing in the doorway. Tara shook her head and the girl came to sit opposite her, wincing slightly as she leaned back against the opposite stone wall, her back was still heavily marked from her flogging after their fight. When she was settled she drew one leg up and rested her foot on the edge of the bed. Tara could plainly see the dusky lips of her sex nestling in amongst her pubes.
"It's yours if you want it," she said, seeing Tara's gaze flick downwards. "And these," she added looking down at her breasts. Tara shook her head again. She didn't know how else to respond. Suddenly the girl rose and came to sit beside her, very close, thighs touching. The warm contact sent little shocks running through Tara's body.
"Listen," Cherry went on, "I enjoyed beating you, but I know it was only Carlo's whipping the shit out of you that let me do it. It was much better when you pounded me in the ring. Christ! You really put me through it and Carlo carried on the good work."
Tara stared at her. "You mean you like getting whipped and beaten in the ring?"
"Sure. Don't you? That's why we're all here isn't it? That big Irish guy knows a sub when he sees one. Mind you when he saw me, I was getting thrashed by my boyfriend at an SM party. The bastard must have sold me......." Cherry suddenly noticed the blank look Tara was giving her. "You never had the whip before?"
"No," she said simply.
"Oh, you poor thing. You've been on a real learning curve haven't you?"
Gently she pushed Tara's shoulder until she slid sideways and lay on the bed. Then Cherry's face was over hers, her thick brown hair falling in a curtain around Tara's.
"I fancied the arse off you the first time I saw you," she whispered, and then she moved down and Tara's breath caught in her throat as she felt a warm tongue begin to lick her nipples and sharp little teeth tease and pull at them. Then suddenly the warm mouth was breathing against her stomach and Cherry's body was forcing her thighs apart. In a sudden surrender to the need for pleasure, Tara reached down urgently and pushed Cherry's head further down. Down until she gasped at the feel of warm breath on her still whip-sensitised sex lips. Then she gripped her hands in the hair and ground herself against the clever little tongue until her hips were bucking and she was grimacing fiercely.
"Fuck me with your fingers, you bitch," she snarled and then cried out as Cherry did just that and bit at her clitoris.
When Tara woke she had no idea of how long she had dozed, but Cherry was lying beside her and both of them luxuriated in the warmth and companionship of their bodies. Gently Tara reached over and felt the girl's breast, for once she could explore its feel and soft warmth without having to maul or hurt it. She almost laughed as the nipple hardened under her fingers. So this was what a woman's body felt like to a lover she thought. This was how she would feel to a man. Always supposing the man didn't want to just beat her and fuck her. Again her confusion returned as images of hard-muscled bodies wielding stinging whips invaded her mind's eye.
But suddenly the main door banged open and the moment was shattered by Carlo's voice.
"All right, out here on the double, my lovely bitches!"
Tousled and bleary eyed the girls stumbled out of their cells and lined up against the refectory wall where Carlo indicated. Automatically they adopted the legs apart stance they had learned. Tara felt nothing but relief that a man was back in command, at least she didn't have time to question all her motives and attitudes; just obey and take whatever was coming.
There were three guards with him, whips in hand and the girls stayed stock still as he passed along the line feeling between their legs and sniffing his fingers.
"They've been busy lads," he told the other men. "Bet there's hardly an unlicked cunt in the room."
Like all the others, Tara kept her eyes down and made no sound or movement. They were used to being talked about in these crude male terms.
"Now," he continued, "your owner's coming to take a look at what he's paid for, God help him! He'll probably say 'Carlo, you've been too soft. Beat them harder! Work them harder!' And he'll be right. You've had your pleasure cruise and this is where the work starts. You're going to fight and fuck till you drop. Then you're going to get up and do it again! Day after day! And if you thought the thrashings you've had in the past were hard......they were love bites! Here we've got whips like you've never seen, and punishment cells."
Just as he finished a man came in through the open door from the courtyard. He was tall and slender and dressed in crisp, well-tailored trousers and shirt. He had a long and rather narrow face and his brown hair was thick and unusually long. But most of all he had the air of one who knows exactly what he wants and who will tolerate no obstruction to his desires.
This had to be her owner, Tara thought. The full import of that outlandish thought hit her like a sack of cement. She was owned now. She really and truly was a slave.
Carlo stood back respectfully and the man paced slowly along the line. He stopped now and then to examine a girl more closely. He would reach out and hold a breast, squeezing it until the soft flesh bulged between his fingers, or he would examine the muscle tone of a thigh. He seemed to be particularly interested in Jet and spent some time slapping her thighs thoughtfully before moving up to her breasts and lifting them by the nipples, then letting them fall. Tara watched from the corner of her eye in gathering nervousness as he approached her. And when at last he stood squarely in front of her, Tara could feel her heart pounding, but whether it was fear or excitement at being in the presence of the man who was ultimately responsible for every beating she had ever received, she couldn't tell.
Tensely she waited for him to touch her but instead he simply turned to Carlo, "This one?" he asked.
"That's her."
He reached out and lifted her chin but Tara was careful to keep her eyes down. She felt defiant but Carlo's warnings about this place were fresh in her mind. However he forced her head back until she had no choice but to look at him. He stared fixedly at her, his eyes were a curious flecked grey colour and Tara could read no expression in them at all.
"I'll see her in training tomorrow," he said at last and then moved on, leaving Tara almost panting with relief.
At last he finished and stood back beside Carlo.
"As usual, you've been far too soft Carlo," he said. "Make them sweat from now on. And double punishment for any slacking." Then he was gone and the men visibly relaxed.
Out in the courtyard where the evening
was coming on swiftly, Mark stood with Carlo as they watched the evening meal being carried in to the barracks.
"I mean it this time," Mark said. "We've got just over a month before the first show. Work them hard, them and the first squad as well. Conor's going to stay out hunting until he's got the third squad so he'll miss it, but the girls will be here soon after that."
"When'll you and the other owners finalise what events we're staging and with what weapons?"
"We meet in two weeks to deal with that. I want you there. Now, I've got an appointment with another slave. Are you sampling any of the goods in there tonight?" he indicated the barracks behind them.
"No, and I don't want any of the lads to either. They can have the first squad. I want these ones fresh up for it tomorrow."
Mark took his leave and walked across the courtyard, through an archway in one corner and emerged onto the training ground. It was really just a large expanse of well-trodden earth and sand, but on the far side, over against the wall of the pens, as they were called, stood a variety of frames, trestles and benches, as well as, anchored firmly in the ground, three tall whipping posts. In the twilight the pale form of Patti seemed to almost glow. She was hung by her wrists from the top of one of the rectangular frames but was also seated astride a trestle and as he approached her he could see how she was squirming and moaning in pain. Ali had done his usual highly competent job.
The slave's toes could barely touch the ground either side of the trestle which had a narrow top to it, no more than an inch wide. Her lips had been drawn either side of the top beam and weights clipped onto them. Four to each lip, he noted, which had distended them into thin flaps hanging down each side of the beam on which her open vulva rested. Of course she could always try and pull herself up by using her hands to grip the chains which held her wrists. But by the look of her she had passed that point and was now using the last of the strength in her legs, all the sinews of which were standing out in sharp relief as she strained to take some of the pressure off her crotch. Her breasts were pulled taut into smooth mounds rather than their usual prominent hemispheres and he could see that she was running with sweat. Altogether she looked wonderful, he thought, and the fact that she held a whip between her teeth completed the picture perfectly.
