Into The Arena

by Sean O'Kane

  She achieved her own orgasm as Tara whispered to her and at last settled down, but not before whispering in her turn, "God! How I would have loved to have been there. I really miss those damn clamps.........that Irish guy really knew what he was doing."

  Tara lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Conor! That bastard! She had clean forgotten him and now he returned to sow confusion in her mind. She thought she had seen her destiny in those solo gladiators and in her imagined arena. But now she felt torn between serving her owner and getting her revenge on the man who had tricked her. She harboured no grudge against Carlo or any of the men who so regularly beat her and took her. They were what she now knew she had always wanted. But Conor!

  Tiredness came to her rescue and she slept at last. But the whole barracks was disturbed several times in the night as some of the guards came in to take their pleasure. Cherry gave one a blow job and took another on her bed but Tara was left alone; maybe they had seen the video of the display but Carlo had put her off limits for the moment. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for being allowed to drowse while the sounds of sex went on close beside her and Cherry gave enthusiastic service.

  Conor had known exactly what he was doing, she thought one last time. The bastard.

  Chapter 14

  From then on the training routine got even tougher. The first thing Carlo addressed was boxing. He had the two squads of girls lined up facing each other and strode up and down between them.

  "Women have been boxing since seventeen hundred," he told them. "Back then they could gouge, scratch, kick; do anything they liked. So my little refinements are pretty civilised. But the trouble is that you're all such masos that until you get used to them, they're liable to have you coming in buckets instead of fighting!" He paused by Jet and gave one of her nipples a hard twist. She whined a little through gritted teeth but held her position.

  His solution was brutally simple. One Squad were well trained in wearing the corsets and thongs, so while Two Squad were fitted with the garments; One Squad were fitted with the weighted gloves. Each squad lined up in front of a trestle table on which their particular equipment was piled and the guards fitted them.

  Tara winced as she felt the laces pulled tight at her back, and against her stomach, ribs and breasts she felt the little pins kiss her skin. She was allowed to settle her breasts in their half-cups as comfortably as she could and felt a tingling mixture of fear and excitement as she appreciated how the leather had been sewn into circles and the studs followed these so that her areolae and already erect nipples were resting against a nest of steel points. To an onlooker it might appear as though the corset provided some measure of shielding for her breasts, but to an opponent the circles of leather and metal were targets.

  Once they were all laced in securely, their wrists were clipped together behind their backs and they faced the line of girls opposite who were grinning evilly and thumping their gloves together. Over the weeks of combat training the two squads had developed an intense enmity and Tara in particular knew she was being singled out when there was a bit of jostling in the line opposite and a brunette she knew of old stood before her. This was the girl that One Squad looked to as their leader and Tara had beaten her frequently. She was also the girl who had so comprehensively defeated Jet at the display.

  Tara felt horribly vulnerable with her arms pinioned behind her, facing the malice of the girl opposite. But there was no more time for fear.

  "Fight!" Carlo's voice gave the familiar command and Tara found herself ducking, weaving, twisting and dancing as though her life depended on it. For a few seconds she managed to fend off the advancing girl, by nimble footwork and twisting her torso so that the heavy gloves slid off her sides. But inevitably it took only the first two-fisted assault; a right to her side to make her twist followed by a left which swung into her stomach, to stop her in her tracks. It was as though she had had needles applied to her in dozens of different places and all at once. The sharp pain made her eyes water and her knees buckled for a second. And that was all it took for the girl to drive in a second right-fisted blow to Tara's left breast. She made an inward gasp of shock as a blizzard of pricks drove into the soft flesh and the nipple itself and she collapsed onto her knees. She now understood what Jet had meant, wearing this kit for boxing was like getting a whole evening's worth of needle and whip play in one dose. Her body stung and throbbed all over and she had only just started, because Carlo was strolling towards her surveying the wreckage. Two Squad were all in various postures of collapse, some flat on their backs, some kneeling like her, but all gasping in the wake of the explosions of erotic pain they had experienced. And the fact that they had to face it unarmed only added to the masochistic pleasure of it all.

  "Up you get Two Squad!" Carlo shouted. "Let's go again," he added, confirming Tara's worst fears. The twelve girls struggled to their feet and Carlo went back down the line, from time to time making a girl jerk as he roughly delved up into her sex with his thick fingers.

  "Anyone I even suspect of coming before I call a halt will be caned and sent straight back in! The only way for maso bitches like you lot to cope with this is to get used to it. Fight!"

  And once again the grinning rank of One Squad came for them. It lasted maybe a few seconds longer the second time, but when Tara staggered backwards until she tripped and lay on her back; both breasts burning and stinging, the nipples now so engorged that they were pressing against the studs of their own accord, she knew it was going to be a very long day indeed. After the third one-sided battle, Tara knew the blatant unfairness of the contests allied to the sexuality of dodging another naked girl intent on hitting her breasts would have her 'creaming' as Jet had put it.

  But so far, if any member of Two Squad had succumbed, they had managed to disguise it and the caning trestle had remained unused. Tara gritted her teeth and struggled up again. She was staggering now and unable to do more than just twist a little, this way and that, until inevitably the fists found her stomach and breasts and then it was just a matter of refusing to go down and at the same time refusing to acknowledge the pain which was now registering as agonisingly delicious.

  She was proud of her squad. They made it through a fourth helping without collapsing too soon or too blatantly exhibiting their masochism.

  Then Carlo introduced the thongs.

  Tara had forgotten about them, all her attention had been focused on coping with the demands of the corset. Their hands were still pinioned behind their backs so a guard knelt in front of each girl and helped her get her feet into the straps before pulling the thong up her legs and settling it snugly against her crotch. But not before he had sampled the state of her arousal by digging his fingers into her and stirring things up.

  Tara clenched her eyes tight shut and tried to blot out the havoc her guard was causing inside her but then she felt the studs nestle against her labia and knew that it wouldn't take much more than a tap there to send her spiralling into orgasm. But there was no time to worry about that, Carlo called the lines together and Two Squad were once again stumbling, weaving and taking every avoiding action they still had the strength for. But in a matter of seconds the cries were coming thick and fast as uppercuts landed and girls collapsed into groaning heaps, twitching and writhing as the spasms of their climaxes ran through them.

  Carlo picked three girls at random and had them bent over the trestle, caned then put back into line and so it went on until, as the shadows lengthened over the training ground, he finally called a halt.

  Two Squad hadn't even been allowed to shed their corsets and thongs over siesta so when their wrists were unclipped and they were told they could strip, a chorus of groans and strained grunts followed as they carefully peeled the studded leather off their sweating bodies. Tara found that pulling the thong down off her plumply engorged labia was an especial torment and once the thing was off, like the other girls around her she kept her legs spread and used her fingers to explore herself. They came away with a
smear of red on them, but nothing like as much as she had feared. And it must have been that familiar mix of fear and excitement which had magnified in her mind the effect of the studs. She looked down her body and indeed there were a few spots of crimson across her stomach and flanks, but again not as much as her imagination had made out. However she could clearly see where the studs had dug into her even if they hadn't broken the skin, little craters dotted her stomach and breasts in neat lines. But the sight of her body thrilled her; this was how she had seen herself in her mind's eye in the arena. Bloodied but unbowed. Bruised and weary but still standing.

  And her heart leapt for joy when Carlo played his last card of the day. One Squad were ordered to don their own boxing kit and had their wrists clipped behind them while Two Squad were fitted with the gloves. Suddenly Tara's battle-stained companions straightened up and for the first time that day they smiled.

  "It's not just payback time," Carlo warned them. "One Squad is going to show you how much you can take once you're used to it." Then he turned and warned the others that twenty strokes of the cane awaited anyone who didn't give a good show of self-control and endurance.

  Tara had to admit that her opponent did just that. She dodged, ducked and feinted while Tara swung ineffectually with the weighted gloves. But once she had got the measure of the weights and the girl's movements she was able to land a flurry of punches. And she felt a savage joy as her fists sank into the soft breastflesh and the girl's breath hissed through her teeth. But although she was staggering she was still standing and it took another flurry plus three uppercuts before she finally went down and writhed in helpless convulsions, bucking her hips and moaning as the pain triggered a slavish climax.

  Twice more, One Squad were battered by Tara's vengeful line, but by then they had all realised that they had a lot more to come before they would be able to control themselves as well as their opponents did. Furthermore, Tara knew that after a few more boxing sessions her hatred of One Squad would have been fanned into full flame and she couldn't wait to face them in the arena.

  Carlo watched the girls limp off the training ground, the two lines keeping well apart. He smiled happily, he had them hating each other now and they would fight like cats for the next two weeks. Then it would be time for them to learn that they would soon be facing two squads from another stable and would have to work as a team. It would be a hard and painful lesson for them and he looked forward to administering it.

  Contentedly he made his way off the training ground and walked round the arena itself to the stables where the horses and the solo gladiators were quartered. The Boss himself had been overseeing their workout in the arena during the day and was now supervising their evening routine. As Carlo entered the stables where the gladiators were housed he paused for a moment to pick up, and leaf through, the sheaf of documents which lay on the table just inside the door. They recorded every detail of the girls' physiology; height, weight, measurements, diet, bowel movements, injuries sustained and what treatment they had received. He noted that under today's date the space normally reserved for recording cuts and bruises was still blank. And down at the far end of the long stable block the Boss was conducting his usual examination of his favourite property.

  The three girls, who had no names, just numbers, were in full extension and suspension. They were spreadeagled, their wrists pulled up and apart, their legs pulled down and equally wide spread, their feet some two inches clear of the ground. The Boss maintained that it was the best position in which to examine their physical condition and Carlo had to agree. Every sinew stood out on the stretched bodies, from the downward pointing feet which made the calf muscles bunch, to their fingers clutching at the chains which pulled at their wrists making every muscle in their arms clearly visible. The Boss was stroking and admiring them, making soothing 'shush' noises as if to fretful horses as Carlo joined him. He ducked round the girl on the left of the line and stood in front of them. They were obviously fresh from their workout and still had sweat and sand coating most of their bodies. There were some cuts and bruises but nothing serious. Of course there were whip marks but as these girls were beaten every day, they didn't count.

  "How did training go?" Mark asked as his hands slid down across the flat stomach of one girl, his fingers pinching small folds of fat from it in places. He examined these, assessing whether or not she was carrying just the right amount, while Carlo gave him an account.

  "They hate each other pretty good by now. It's going to be a big shock when they find out they're going to have to fight on the same side," he concluded.

  "Don't worry Carlo. What we've got planned will see them through it," Mark replied casually, squatting down to feel the girl's thighs and calves. He tutted as his fingers encountered something. "I think this one's got a strain. Hey, you!" he summoned one of the stablegirls who was standing at a respectful distance.

  Carlo smiled as he surveyed the suspended figures. A strain? You bet! He saw how their fingers clutched at their chains and their mouths were drawn into grimaces by the tension. Of course nothing except the occasional moan or grunt ever escaped those mouths though, so what the girl concerned thought about her 'strain' was not an issue. All three had their tongues pierced by thick steel rings which rendered speech pretty well impossible in any case. He could well remember the pride he had seen on their faces when the rings had first been fixed, these were the Boss's most devoted slaves and would fight or run or compete till they dropped, for the honour of his stable. On the wall facing their stalls were pinned various photographs and certificates bearing testimony to victories they had won in the past.

  "You can put some liniment on this one once she's been hosed down and dried off," the Boss was telling the stablegirl and she bobbed a pretty little curtsey, holding out the sides of her shirt, which was all she wore. Like every female on the estate, apart from Elena, the stablegirls were available to any of the men and were hand picked by Gerd for their talents and inclinations in that direction, but they also worked full time caring for the horses and these gladiators. And as the nature of their work frequently left them dirty, they were clothed only in any old cast off shirts the men didn't need. However Carlo found them more attractive than the household girls, he preferred working slaves and as his gaze returned to the three figures before him, he realised his cock was stirring into life. They were exquisite creatures, the thighs long and powerful, the hips and buttocks toned but still shapely and feminine. The stomachs were flat and owing to their current position slightly hollowed which only accentuated the depth of their rib cages which were surmounted by well proportioned breasts which in their turn were surmounted by swollen areolae and turgid nipples.

  But it was between those wide spread and straining thighs that their true natures really betrayed themselves. Carlo could see the shaven lips of their sexes peeled apart and his fingers twitched at the thought of slipping easily between them and up into the moisture and warmth of a slave's belly, responding eagerly to her master's attentions.

  As if reading his thoughts, Mark, who had taken down a multi-bladed whip from its hook on the wall and was standing behind the slaves, suggested that once the ritual beating had been given, they should enjoy all three slaves.

  Carlo watched the faces as the whip was applied to backs, buttocks and thighs, each girl getting five or six and then having to wait while her two companions got their strokes before getting her next ration. Apart from eyes closing in pleasure and the occasional jerk as a stroke wrapped and hit a breast or snapped round a thigh to snap at their bare crotches, they made no movement or sound. This was the part of the day they loved most; the Boss taking time to beat them personally. One girl licked her lips to moisten them and clicked the steel ring through her tongue against her white teeth.

  Once the swish and smack of the whip had ceased the men took them down and had each one, while she knelt on all fours on the straw in her stall. Then they strolled out into the evening while the stablegirls got on with washi
ng, drying and bedding the slaves down.

  "Come up to the house, Carlo," Mark said. "I want to sort out what events we're going to stage, how we're going to timetable everything. We're meeting the opposition in Tokyo next week and I want something to put on the table. Gerd can handle training for a few days."

  "Okay, Boss. But when we get back we're going to have to move fast to knock the squads into shape."

  "How did that big blonde get on today?"

  "Good as you'd expect. Took her knocks well."

  "How long before she can go solo, do you reckon?"

  "I'd say let her get a couple of shows as squad leader under her belt and then we'll see."

  "Ah! But she's still got to make herself leader, Carlo," Mark laughed.

  "She'll do it."

  The two men walked on in the cool evening. Around them were the sounds of the estate settling down. Horses whinnied in their stalls, and as they passed the barracks, they could hear from the small cell windows the moans and cries of pleasure as one or other of the slaves was taken by a guard. From Two Squad's barracks came the unmistakable sound of a whip being plied for some misdemeanour or other.

  Chapter 15

  The two stable owners met on neutral ground. In this case a palatial house in the suburbs of Tokyo. The opposing stable was owned by a suave Arab, dressed in an immaculately tailored suit. He was tall and slender with a thin, cruel mouth and Carlo's boss introduced him as Prince Hassan Bin Mahmoud. He was an owner whose slaves Carlo's had never been put up against, but just by looking at the Prince and his trainer - a big Swede - Carlo knew that they would be well disciplined at the very least.

  For three days the talks dragged on. Issues such as what contests the solo gladiators would take part in had to be hammered out, and what contests would take place in the pens and when they would be held. As it was the first show to feature a full size arena with complete squads of slaves taking part in addition to the individual fights, both stables were anxious that the spectators should have something to watch every hour of the day, and of course the videos would be put up on the net, so the more of those the better. The most troublesome issue was devising a routine of inspection so that each trainer could be quite certain that, for example, the opposition's slaves weren't fighting with lead weighted whips or staves. Acceptable levels of 'encouragement' had to be established for the chariot and pony races; should studded thongs and tit straps, with dildos and butt plugs coated with each trainer's favourite recipe for irritating the rectum be the order of the day? Carlo smiled as these discussions took place around him, the squad girls hadn't experienced his own special blend yet. That was going to be a treat for them.