Into The Arena

by Sean O'Kane

  Chapter 16

  As they lined up on the training ground the next morning, the girls could see some of the guards hard at work over by the pens. They seemed to be putting up new whipping posts as far as Tara could make out. Carlo strode up and down the line, plainly just as furious as he had been the night before and had them marched straight down to the assault course.

  The course had been built along the stream which ran through the estate. The whole idea, it seemed to Tara was to reduce the naked girls to squirming, mud-caked figures as they struggled through the mire. There were actually two courses, each obstacle being duplicated, and previously each squad had been assigned to one course, Tara assumed that this was so they could race each other for an audience. But on this punishment day, both squads ran one course and the guards ran it with them - each man equipped with a riding crop. She had always respected the men's obvious fitness but during that long day she learned exactly how fit they really were.

  As Tara and her companions struggled up the climbing nets, splashed through the water and mud, squirmed through the half-flooded pipes and swung, panting and gasping, from rope to rope across the deepest mud pit; the men effortlessly outpaced them. As the increasingly exhausted squads finished one phase, there was always a guard waiting to spur them straight on to the next with stinging blows from their crops. And when at last all the girls lay, wet, filthy and totally drained, on the ground at the end of the run, Carlo gave them five minutes' rest and then had them run the whole course again.

  After that torment they were at least allowed some water before they were marched back to the training ground where Carlo told them something special was waiting for them.

  The guards who hadn't been on the assault course had been very busy indeed and despite the ground-in obedience to the rule of silence, a groan went up from the dishevelled girls when they saw what their next punishment would consist of. A row of twelve T shaped whipping posts now ran in front of the taller posts that still stood in front of the pens. The crossbar was equipped with leather straps at each end and in the ground under them were mounted iron loops set about three feet apart. But what caught every girl's eye were the wooden phalluses which reared up and out from the upright posts on both sides.

  "Mount them up lads!" Carlo shouted. "Two to a post!"

  A guard grabbed one of Tara's arms and pulled her over to one of the contraptions, where like all the others girls, she found she had a problem. When they had finished with the assault course, the sight of the men's bodies, gleaming with water and the ease with which they had accomplished what had laid waste to the girls, had had Tara's vagina helplessly moist and aroused despite her exhaustion. But now, after a rest, she realised that it had dried and it was not going to be easy to get it lubricated enough to accommodate the girth of the phallus. In fact the thought of a rod that thick impaling her, made her cringe inside and killed any masochistic excitement she would normally have felt in the face of a beating.

  "Go on, Blondie!" her guard ordered. "Get it up your twat. You can take it!"

  Reluctantly, she began the preparations she could see going on all round her. Girls adopting the most blatant of postures; spreading their legs, with their knees slightly bent outwards and reaching with both hands for their vulvas, spreading their lips and frantically rubbing at their clits to try and get lubricated before they eased themselves onto the wooden prongs. Tara winced, as she let her weight slowly down onto the dildo, and saw the girl who was on the opposite side of the post do the same. Feeling her inner flesh slowly part and at last moisten as her tight sheath was penetrated, once she was filled to the hilt, without a second thought she raised and spread her arms so that her wrists could be strapped down to the top of the horizontal bar. Again she noted that the girl who was sharing the post did exactly the same. The thought of struggling hadn't entered either of their heads. The other girl was from One Squad and sported a fine black eye and various scratches from the melee the night before. But now, faced with the wrath of the men, the two girls exchanged looks of sympathy and trepidation. They both winced again as their ankles, having had restraints buckled on, were wrenched apart and fastened to the rings in the ground. It had made them settle still further down onto the wooden rods which speared up into them. Tara found that her face was almost alongside that of the other girl and she could hear and feel her breath on her cheek.

  Again without really thinking, both girls bent their heads forward and shook their hair to flick it over their shoulders and off their backs. It was something they were so used to doing prior to a back lashing that it was second nature now and it meant that the man who stood behind each girl only had to flick a few wet tresses forwards to leave himself with a clear target. Once the men had done this they stepped back, and in the pause that followed, Tara looked to either side of her. Each post now had two girls spread out and mounted on it. And behind each girl stood a guard with one of the familiar multi-lashed whips. They didn't deliver as deep a burn as the ones they were getting used to in the arena, so Tara reckoned that whatever was coming would be long and sustained rather than short and sharp. One other detail caught her eye and puzzled her. Each post held girls from the different squads; she was certain that it had been done for a reason, but what it was she couldn't think.

  Carlo surveyed the line of posts with deep satisfaction. They made a splendid sight, holding twenty four naked, fit and soon-to-be-very penitent girls. In a couple of hours they would be much sadder, but so much wiser. He noticed Blondie was the only one still looking around her, the rest were simply absorbed in settling themselves to endure whatever their masters had ordained for them. But not that one; she was still looking, still questioning. By the end of this day she would know just how different she was from the others. He grinned and gave his orders.

  "Forty lashes each girl! In your own time, lads. Begin!"

  Immediately, twenty four whips hissed through the brightly sunlit air and smacked across twenty four female backs. And after only two more strikes the training ground began to reverberate with cries and yelps in between the slashing of the whips. Carlo began to pace up and down the line, slipping between the posts to observe the work being carried out on both sides.

  "Come on! Put your backs into it!" he yelled. "I want to see those cunts working!"

  And soon he did, as the count mounted slowly towards ten and then climbed remorselessly onwards, he could see the true nature of the slaves reveal itself. Hips and reddened buttocks began to rotate and buck around the wooden shafts. Backs began to bow outwards towards the whips instead of arching away from them, and thighs began to flex as the girls began to thrust themselves up and down in time to the rhythm of the punishment. He paused for a second to watch Blondie again. She was working herself furiously on her plug, her head was bent down, so she could get a glimpse of the rod pumping in and out of her as she bent and straightened her legs and the whip laced her broad back with fans of pink stripes.

  Tara found that her length of leg made her perform even more blatant antics than her sisters in suffering. She had to bend her legs more obviously to get the whole of the shaft inside her so she could grind her clitoris against the wood of the post. But the sensations that shot through her as she bucked and twisted her hips savagely against the whipping post while the whip itself scored bright swathes of pain over her backside, back and shoulders, were exquisite and she achieved her first climax in a loud, incoherent shout as it exploded in her loins and sent her rigid against her bonds. Her guard took a break after that and she was able, through the matted curtain of her hair to watch the other girl. It was the closest she had ever been to another girl undergoing punishment and she found the sight started her spiralling towards another climax even before her own flogging began again. She loved the way the whip landed with such a heavy smack and made the girl grunt as she was flung against the post. She could see her eyes were glazed and her face had the frowning expression of intense concentration that Tara knew preceded orgasm. Sure enough s
he suddenly began a series of frantic up and down lunges while the whip fell even harder and then her head tossed back, her hair flew and she screamed in ecstasy before collapsing in her bonds. Then Tara's guard began flogging again and she herself began her second journey into the dark whirlpools of tormented pleasure.

  She lost count of how many orgasms she experienced. Her guard gave her no more respites and the climaxes overlapped each other in mind blitzing spasms, until she felt terrified of the next blast of delight being too much for her body to take. And when at last it appeared that she had had her ration, for several minutes she could still feel her vagina clutching and tightening around the shaft which filled it, and her hips still moved lazily up and down the slippery wood. As the world began to swim into focus, she realised that her left cheek was lying on the top of the crossbar and she was literally nose to nose with the girl on the other side of the post, their sweat matted hair was entangled and their panting and ragged breaths blew into each other's eyes. Weakly they smiled, recognising in each other the blazing aftermath of Carlo's correction and Tara began to understand what he had done and why he had been so careful about how the girls were mounted. He had wanted to show them that being in different squads didn't matter - it was irrelevant - what was important was that they were slaves. And equal in their insignificance before their master; their owner.

  "Now, we're going to leave you ladies! And we're going to leave you something to think about." Carlo's voice cut into her dazed thoughts and Tara was quite sure that he wasn't finished with them by a long shot.

  The guards stepped forward again and draped slender chains over the tops of the crossbars, a collective whimper went up all along the training ground as the girls recognised the clamps and weights on the ends of them. Smiling and obviously enjoying their work, the men fed two chains through steel hoops on the undersides of the crossbars and then, having tweaked and twisted their nipples back into full erection they released the spring loaded, toothed clamps over the tender flesh. Shrill cries of protest went up from each post at this fresh twist to their never-ending punishment. Tara was no different and she felt the tears start from her eyes at the stinging pain, even as she watched her opposite number have the clips on the other ends of the chains fastened to her own fat little nubs. They were now linked by their breasts and the chain stretched tautly between them, already pulling cruelly, dragging their breasts up and stretching their nipples as it ran up and through the loop, then down to the other girl.

  Tara's guard stood very close beside her, so close she could feel the hard rod of his cock pressing against her thigh.

  "You're in for a lovely time, Blondie," he whispered, putting his mouth close to her ear. She moaned an incoherent protest as she felt his fingers close round the right chain and tug downwards, spitefully hard. She put her head back and yelled as the sharp pain shot through her and earthed itself in her still-stuffed vagina. And that was where he now turned his attention; taking big pinches of her plump labia between his finger and thumb, he closed the spring loaded clamps over them, making her breath hiss through her teeth as she absorbed this fresh addition to the dull throb of the whipping which still enveloped her from shoulders to thighs and the pulsing daggers of pain from her engorged nipples.

  She thought that the way he just let the chains, with the weights on the ends, drop to their full extent, was more than was called for and joined her own yelp of agonised surprise to those around her. But as the minutes passed after the men had given them casual smacks on their scarlet bottoms, and left, she realised that they had known exactly what they were doing. She had a raging need to climax again and saw the same look of urgency in the other girl's eyes. In unison they both sank down onto their respective dildos - and screamed as all they achieved was an increase in the agony in their breasts. The two girls looked at each other in mute helplessness - they both knew that their need was too great to be denied and they would just have to put up with the pain until it reached that magical point where it fed their arousal and sent them spinning into orgasm after orgasm. Biting their lips they began to pump themselves on their dildos, stretching their clamped nipples again and again and making the weights on their labia swing and pull even more. They reached their peaks together and at last allowed the screams which had been building in their throats to burst out as they flung their heads back and writhed and squirmed like demented puppets on the wooden prongs which were embedded so deeply inside them.

  Times beyond count during that long afternoon, Carlo's lesson was driven home mercilessly. They were as much slaves of their own natures as they were of their masters, and any quibbles between them were ludicrously petty compared to the strength of their commonly held lusts and needs. There were times when Tara heard, as she approached yet another tormented climax, the weights hanging from her throbbing labia thudding against the whipping post, so frantic were her gyrations on the maddening phallus.

  It was only when the sun was setting that at last the men returned and a fresh wave of screams and moans erupted as clamps were removed and blood flowed back into cruelly squeezed flesh.

  Tara was one of the first to struggle back to her feet once she had been lifted down from her impalement, she couldn't have dismounted herself, her legs simply wouldn't have held her. She looked around at the littered, squirming bodies of her fellow slaves and was convinced that there wasn't one girl there who didn't now fully understand what she was. And as she limped over to get some water from the urn the men had brought, she saw Carlo prowling around with a look of profound satisfaction on his face. Some of the girls needed buckets of cold water throwing over them before they could regain their feet but at last all were watered and able to stand in a humble, dishevelled line to hear what came next.

  "Now you've all been well punished," Carlo told them, "I'm looking for the girl who started last night's little brawl. There's always a ringleader and I want her!"

  Keeping her eyes lowered Tara glanced along the line. No one moved to either own up or point the girl out. There was a long silence.

  "Very well. Loyalty is good, even in slaves. So I'll make my own choice and judge by the way the rest of you react whether I've got the right one." He was walking up and down the line now, so close that Tara could see his deck shoes passing just in front of her. Even though she knew she was not guilty and would never betray the girl who was, for some reason she could feel her blood pounding and her heart hammering. Carlo was up to something and she had a sick certainty that it would involve her in some way.

  "Now I reckon that if someone starts a fight, it's someone who's good at fighting and is sure they can win....." Carlo's words set Tara's stomach lurching with terror. He was going to pin it on her!

  And sure enough he came to stand directly in front of her, a few feet further away now.

  "Come out here, Blondie," he said quietly.

  Numb with fear and shaking with the need to scream her innocence at him, she nevertheless took two shaky steps out from the line.

  "If I've got the right one," Carlo went on, "then you can all go. If not you can point out the real culprit."

  Desperately and through tear-blurred eyes, Tara looked at her companions and to her horror saw them begin to shuffle away. Even Cherry never looked back. But even as she came to terms with the full seriousness of her predicament, Tara knew what was going through their minds; let Carlo get on with it, if he's got the wrong one - tough on her, but I'm not going to grass on another girl, I'm just going to keep my head down.

  But understanding didn't cool her rising fury with the cowed, beaten girls who were abandoning her to her fate. She wouldn't have left the wrong girl to face Carlo alone - she was different from them; she had always told herself so. But now she knew it. And she also knew that she was about to be taken beyond where she believed her limits of endurance lay, and defying the rules she lifted her gaze to meet Carlo's. What she saw surprised her even through the roiling clouds of fury and fear which boiled in her mind. She had expected cruelt
y, even gloating pleasure, but what she saw was a calm look of appraisal in his dark eyes. And was there just the hint of sympathy?

  She derided herself for that piece of self-delusion when she heard his next command.

  "Put her on one of the big posts. Tits outwards, twenty lashes to start with and then flog her on the hour, every hour."

  Tara was dragged away, biting her lip to stop herself begging for mercy. She wouldn't do that, they could flog her to ribbons but she wouldn't beg and proudly she steeled herself to face yet another bout of punishment as her arms were raised, her wrists fastened and a belt buckled around her waist to stop her from twisting away from the lashes.

  One guard called out the strokes while another delivered them and Tara clenched her eyes tight shut to stop the tears from the bitter stinging of the lashes which set her breasts shaking and re-awakened the pounding in her nipples. The last five were applied across her mons and the lashes wrapped around her hips and snapped at the weals from her earlier flogging. She didn't beg but she couldn't hold back the screams. Nor could she hold back the moans of helpless delight as the guard, once he had finished his work, took his pleasure by lifting her legs round his waist and plunging straight into her flooding tunnel.

  She lapsed into a kind of doze between the floggings, twice more she was awoken to take the lash across her breasts, stomach and thighs. By then it was fully dark but the floodlights were on and while sentence was carried out the lashes were called loudly by a second guard. Both times she was taken once the flogging was completed. The third time she was woken, she was turned to face the post and the lashes were laid on her previous weals. Again she didn't beg for mercy, but she knew she howled louder than ever before. To her surprise she was taken down after that one, but it was only so that she could kneel and suck at the man's erect cock. She would have welcomed the sustenance that a good mouthful of sperm would have provided, but all he wanted was lubrication so he could turn her round and take her anally before he pulled her back up and chained her again.