Into The Arena

by Sean O'Kane

  By the time he reached the training ground, the third contest of the morning was underway. He felt thoroughly relaxed and ready to face the demands of running his empire by then. The Italian girl had bent over the table on the balcony so readily and taken the sound cropping and the subsequent fuck with such compliance that no man could have asked for more. He went to stand by Carlo and surveyed the struggling mass of girlflesh out on the dusty expanse. It was clear that they were nearing the point of utter exhaustion. A few guards moved among the sweating pairs encouraging some of them to one last effort with well aimed flicks of their own whips. Most of the girls were unable to raise their arms above shoulder height, some pairs were simply standing and trading lashes with the last of their strength, not even bothering to try and use their shields. Some others, by contrast, were leaning against each other, pushing with the shields and trying to use the whip hafts as clubs. Only one pair were still displaying any energy. Carlo pointed to them. One was the new, tall blonde girl, the other was stockier and black haired.

  But even these were staggering after every lash they managed to get off, but they were still putting some real venom into their work, the blonde's hair was flying as she swung her whip arm and then raised her shield. Her opponent suddenly tried to break the stalemate and ducked under a lash, bringing her shield up into the blonde's stomach and pushing her back. But the blonde twisted sideways, making her stumble forwards under her own impetus, then she followed on, raining lashes down on her back until she went down.

  "Hold!" Carlo shouted.

  Instantly every girl still standing went down, some onto all fours, some collapsing onto their forearms, leaving their bottoms shamelessly sticking up. Some simply fell onto their backs, their chests heaving.

  "That blonde," Carlo said as they walked out, threading their way through the prostrate and panting female forms, most of whom hadn't yet moved. "When I put her squad up against the first one, she still won. Her and the black girl. But the blonde was on her way to taking out two more of One Squad when I stopped it. She took out more in the second combat and the one you saw her finish there was the one I had my eye on for squad captain in the show."

  Mark was impressed and gazed down thoughtfully at the girl who lay before him. Sand stuck to the sweat which coated her, and underneath it she was laced with weals. At present she lay on her face and he gently put his shoe under her ribs. She rolled over when she felt the pressure and he studied her. Despite the fact that her thick blonde hair was matted and hung in rats' tails over her face she was undoubtedly a beautiful creature, broad shouldered, big breasted, with a trim waist and good sturdy hips. And yet very graceful and athletic. The previous night, although he hadn't touched her, he had noted the muscle tone in her arms and legs. She had obviously been supremely fit even before she had been taken and he made a mental note to ask Conor how on earth he had found this one.

  The girl's breathing was calming and her eyes were open, but he noted that she was very careful to keep them averted from his and Carlo's. He decided to probe a little further and reached out with his foot again. This time he prodded at her right thigh and she obediently opened her legs, though he noted that she closed her eyes. It was a familiar reaction in a new slave, they tried to shut out the shame - both of their exposure and their willingness to open themselves. He bent slightly and examined the sex and its blonde fleece, now darkened and matted with sweat. Although to judge by the turgid state of the nipples, he suspected that there was another, quite different liquid involved. He nudged her thighs wider apart with his shoe again and then squatted between them, letting her know that he was examining her, but not touching her. The sex lips were very fleshy and her cleft went unusually high up her belly. They were slightly open, just enough to reveal hints of the soft inner lips within.

  "You fuck her yet?" he asked Carlo, lifting his eyes to the girl's face and noting the faintest wince as she heard herself discussed like this.

  "Of course, Boss."

  "And?"

  Carlo shrugged. "She fucks like she fights. Puts everything into it."

  "At the end of this week I've got some people coming. I want to start getting some publicity out for the show. I want a display for them, up at the house. Pick out six of the best ones, and start with this one."

  He stood up and walked slowly back through the tangle of female bodies now gradually picking themselves up, aided in some cases by the guards dousing them with water. He had twenty four gladiators now - plus of course there were three solo ones, the very first ones he had had. Together, matched by the same number from the opposing stable, they would provide plenty of entertainment for two days devoted to the joys of watching female combat and competition. And it would be the first time a full arena with a large complement of slaves had been used.

  "What's your schedule over the next couple of days?" he asked Carlo.

  "Quarterstaffs this afternoon, Boss. Whips again tomorrow morning. Mud wrestling in the afternoon. Then boxing for a full day, that'll keep them busy." He grinned at Mark. The refinements they had made to the boxing contests made it one of the most taxing events.

  "Sounds good. Any punishments tonight?"

  "No, Boss. I don't want them whipped to shreds now. They got plenty of that coming their way in any case."

  "Okay. But I want the blonde put in one of the pens with two of the best out of One Squad. Give them all whips."

  "She'll cope," Carlo said confidently.

  Chapter 10

  Tara and the rest of her squad sat under the showers in their barracks. They had limped off the training ground more bruised, exhausted and dazed than they had ever imagined they could be and had simply slumped in a line along the tiled wall and let the blessed hot water pour over them.

  For a long time there was silence. Then Channel broke it, "If that was the morning, then what the fuck are they going to do to us this afternoon?"

  "And the worst of it is," Jet added as she eased herself forwards and gasped as the water scoured her whip-striped back clean, "whatever they do, we'll go right along with it. We'll do exactly what we're told like the good little slavegirls we are."

  "But suppose we all just refused....." Tara suggested.

  "Can you begin to imagine what they'd do to us then?" put in someone further down the line.

  Beside Tara, Cherry shivered and laughed softly, "Well it'd start with the whip until we bled, I reckon. Then it would be clamps and weights, followed by needles....."

  "........and then we'd beg them to screw us and do whatever they told us to anyway," a girl called Pinky finished for her.

  There was some rueful laughter before Tits voiced all Tara's own confused thoughts and emotions, "Anyway, I want to see what happens next. They're planning something, I overheard two of the guards talking about some sort of show."

  By the time they had climbed painfully to their feet and washed themselves down, the door to their refectory had crashed open and a guard had entered, bringing their lunch with him. As soon as a man was present, all thoughts about anything other than obeying him fled from all the girls and they filed along past their cells to line up silently and await orders.

  They were to be waited on by two girls who wore short white tunics and delicate little high-heeled shoes. They laid the table under the guard's watchful eye and then served each girl once they had all been told to sit.

  These were the first clothed females the squad had seen in weeks and Tara found herself envying them and scorning them in equal measure. She envied the neat and attractive uniforms which were undeniably feminine and alluring, and which made her feel crude and even more naked than she already was. But on the other hand she knew she was stronger and tougher than these pampered playthings. Strangely she found herself adding that she bet she could fuck better than them too, and would look much better than they did if she was only allowed some clothes.

  The food was good and the meal was taken in complete silence, except for the sounds of one of the serving girls
performing an enthusiastic fellatio on the guard. Once again the seamless net of combat, submission and sex, engulfed Tara and she watched the girl's mouth avidly as it slid up and down the smooth, gleaming pole of erect maleness until it jerked convulsively between her soft lips and all the girls saw her throat working as she swallowed. Tara felt Cherry's hand on her thigh, under the table and opened her legs enough for it to finger the cleft between her lips.

  Once the bowls were empty and the glasses of water drained, the serving girls cleared the table and left.

  "Now get some sleep," the guard told them. "Siesta. You've got three hours then it's back on the training ground."

  He locked them in their cells but didn't bother with the chains, and even before he left, the food and the exhaustion were telling on all of them and Cherry fell asleep with her head on Tara's shoulder and with one of Tara's hands clamped tightly between her thighs.

  Even three hours later the sun was still blistering as they limped stiffly back outside. But Carlo was prepared and they lathered themselves in sunblocker - except Jet who did the same with moisturiser - the result was very erotic, Tara felt as she looked around. Twenty four, fit, naked and gleaming slavegirls waiting for their next orders.

  To start with the afternoon was not as testing as the morning had been. The staves were five feet long polished lengths of some very light wood and Carlo showed them various set moves, like lunges and parries, spins and strikes. Tara found that it was reminiscent of fencing as he set them to choreographed rehearsals of the moves with the girls opposite and she took to it quite easily. They were given leather gloves to protect their fingers but found that a whack on the thighs, stomach or ribs, while painful was not as bad as a whip strike. After an hour or so of rehearsed movements followed by lectures from Carlo, then practising the next move, Tara was getting bored. Her muscles had all loosened up again and she longed for a real challenge.

  They had been set to practising a particular set of parries and strikes, culminating in the members of Two Squad changing their grips on their staves so that they held it two handed down at one end and wielded it like a club to strike down on their opponent's stave, which was held across their chests. Tara grinned fiercely as she practised the sequence for the third time. She had spotted an obvious weakness and couldn't resist exploiting it. The girl opposite her was standing with her legs open, feet firmly planted well apart. Tara brought her staff down hard, jarring the other girl's hands, as instructed, but then she flicked her staff aside and then up, striking the girl in the groin, just at the top of one thigh. She gave a high-pitched yelp and whirled away out of line.

  Carlo halted the others and came to look. He examined the girl who was rubbing the spot where she had been struck, and then looked at Tara. She gulped when she saw his expression and realised that she had got carried away. If Carlo had wanted her to take the girl out, he would have said so.

  "Stand out from your line!" he shouted.

  Nervously she did so. Carlo turned to the other girls. "When I want you to try something different, I will tell you! Otherwise you do only what I tell you. And nothing else!" He managed to control the anger in his voice but inwardly he was seething. He had no choice but to punish this stupid bitch, the trouble was that she had no idea of how hard things were going to get. Now his best fighter was going to have to train with a whole new handicap. The trick she had used was one he had been going to show them in a couple of days' time. But by pre-empting him, she had forced him to assert his authority and make an example of her. But then again, he thought, if she could cope with her punishment and still go on winning, he would know he had a real champion on his hands.

  "Put your stave behind your legs and hold it!"

  Tara did as she was told, her mouth dry and her knees trembling, holding the stave behind her thighs.

  "Hold on tight, you silly bitch," Carlo whispered to her through clenched teeth as he came close and swept her hair back off her chest. Tara bit her lip. It was going to be a tit whipping, and with Carlo delivering, it would be no joke.

  "Right! If this bitch moves or makes any sound during her punishment, I'll have her over on the whipping post, thrash her to the blood and leave her out here all night! Remember, you do only what you are told!" he shouted to all of them.

  Then he turned and faced her, shaking out the thongs of his whip. Tara tried to keep looking down but that meant that she was staring at her poor breasts. Never had they looked so big and proudly curved, gleaming with oil under the bright sun, such a juicily vulnerable target for a whipmaster like Carlo. Her very own demon of aroused terror began to uncoil in her belly as she considered how she must look. A naked female gladiator, muscles and flesh gleaming and firm, standing out from her squad of sisters, awaiting the fury of her master without even the protection of chains and manacles. All that stood between her and the certainty of him carrying out his dire threats was her own courage and ability to endure the contradictory and devastating effects the whip had on a slavegirl's body.

  "Stand up straighter! Shoulders back, legs further apart!" he shouted.

  She adjusted her posture, pushing her breasts out further to offer them for retribution and then heard the faint hiss as the whip swept in for its first, stinging caress. Her throat worked convulsively as she absorbed the vicious bites across both breasts. She clenched her eyes tight shut and swallowed the yelp that almost burst from her as a second sweep slashed across her right nipple. Forehand and backhand Carlo worked on her. Her breasts swung and bounced, burned and stung. She gripped her bottom lip between her teeth and tried to force the pain there to blot out the atrocious waves of eye-watering agony, while her mind screamed at her to move. To shield herself; save herself. She wasn't tied; she couldn't just stand there and let him do this to her! But as the relentless hiss and crack of the whip carried on, Tara realised that that was exactly what she was going to do. It was just another challenge. And as she seized on that thought the beating paused for a moment and the second part of her ordeal began.

  She opened her eyes and saw the scarlet ravages of the whip on her heaving breasts, and glancing up beneath her carefully lowered eyelashes, she saw Carlo wiping his whip hand on his shorts, and she saw the straining ridge of his erection. He was loving his work, as usual. How spectacular her heavy, soft mounds of breastflesh must look as they rippled and wobbled under his assault. And she just stood there naked and proud, making no move to shield herself. A slave under full punishment.

  And as she watched him resume his grip, she knew that the worst was yet to come. She braced her legs again as she realised that now he was going to take her beyond pain and into the bright regions of agonised ecstasy - and that she was forbidden to move or make a sound.

  He started in again, still using that steady forehand and backhand rhythm. And as soon as Tara felt the hot lances of pain carve themselves cruelly into the softness of her vulnerable femininity. She put her head back and struggled to control the moans of gathering orgasm which her own endurance and his cruelty were driving her towards.

  Her whole universe contracted around the shuddering globes on her heaving chest and the messages of tingling excitement they were sending down into her very core. And down there all she wanted was for Carlo to throw down the whip and take her with his cock as thoroughly as he was taking her with the lash. She had no idea how many strokes she had taken, certainly more than she had ever taken on her breasts before and still it went on, her legs trembled and shook as she felt her sex contract and flutter, she felt empty and desperate. She wanted him sunk to the hilt inside her, she needed him. She couldn't hold out against the waves of pleasure, longing and pain anymore. She opened her mouth to cry out in anguish and heard a voice.

  "Stop! Please!"

  At first she thought it might have been her own voice. It was a girl's desperate plea right enough. But as her eyes snapped open she saw a guard dragging Cherry forward and she groaned in disbelief.

  "It's Blondie's cellmate," the guard explaine
d to Carlo, who cast an almost regretful look at Tara's heaving and whip-laced chest before turning away.

  "Bloody hell! And I'm supposed to weld this lot into a fighting unit in four weeks!" he said in disgust.

  Tara unclenched her fingers from around her stave and relaxed as best she could. Storms of conflicting emotions and sensations were racing through her. Her breasts were throbbing hotly, her sex ached for Carlo's attention, while frustration and terror on Cherry's behalf held her mind locked in a kind of paralysis.

  "Take the pathetic little bitch away," she heard Carlo rasp. "Tie her to the whipping post and thrash the daylights out of her every half hour from now until we break off, and use the buggy whip!"

  Then he turned back to Tara and sent her a look of such contempt that all her excitement wilted immediately. He didn't want her. He was disgusted with all of them. And that thought hurt Tara more than any whipping. She suddenly fumed against Cherry. Who the hell did she think she was? Did she really believe that she, Tara, couldn't take a good beating? And on top of all that she had actually spoken! The girl had let them all down, let her take her punishment.

  She didn't even look over to where Cherry had been fastened and was already hopping and twisting under the lash. Carlo had them back at work and Tara ignored the fires at her breasts and between her legs, concentrating fiercely on getting her moves timed to perfection, determined to wipe that look of contempt off Carlo's face. She had to do double duty from then on because Cherry's absence left their squad one member down. So while everyone else rested and took a drink, Tara had to go on with the girl who had been opposite Cherry. For once the girls could keep some track of time, because at regular intervals the whip would start its snapping at Cherry's lividly criss-crossed body, delivering a volley of lashes and then leaving her to hang from her chains and wait for her next dose.