by Sean O'Kane
Over in the far corner, Ox and Trouble were performing an enthusiastic sixty-nine while four men stood over them laughing, masturbating and flogging indiscriminately. Quite rightly the grooms had left those two to look after themselves, they were practically indestructible. Brian’s gaze at last alighted on Purdy, she was hooded and tied down on her back to a plain table. A lean, tall black man was standing with her legs straight up over his shoulders and, like Blondie outside, Brian could see her pelvis tilting and flexing as she pleasured the cock deeply embedded in her cunt. The man’s white companion was squeezing each breast in turn at its root and flogging the nipples with a heavy strap. Beneath the hood, Brian could see Purdy’s full lips pouting and then parting as she responded to the punishment.
All the slaves were performing well, he thought, as Amelia came to stand beside him and he reached round her and delved his hand into her blouse to squeeze her breast. They were as good a squad of slaves as you could get anywhere on the arena circuit and yet he couldn’t shake off the disquieting thought that sooner or later even Blondie would begin to slow down and then Carlo and John would have to consider selling her into the private market.
Purdy heaved and shook in orgasm as the man between her legs ejaculated and his friend wanked over her hooded face and spurted his come over her welted breasts.
Amelia’s hand made its way towards his straining erection as the room reverberated with the cries and roars of the final orgasms of the evening and Brian knew he should be one of the happiest men in creation, with such a wealth of slaveflesh and submissive womanhood on tap but as he smacked Amelia’s bottom and pulled away to tongue leash Purdy and settle her for the night, he couldn’t help but entertain some nagging worries about the future.
And besides, the final day of the closest contest he had ever been involved in was looming and he was all too aware of what awaited the losing stable.
Chapter 9
Raika gritted her teeth and tried to stifle the groan of discomfort that rose in her throat. She hated taking a man in her back passage. It had always seemed to her to be the ultimate shaming of a woman, but long acquaintance with the dominant men who had played such a part in her life had led her to bury that thought and concentrate on the strange but undeniable pleasure there was to be found in being buggered. Still she hated the arrogance of the entry, the way the thick helm of the penis drove so imperiously into the forbidden tracts of her body. Behind her Sir John chuckled.
“You don’t like it up your arse. That’s good.” He gave one more thrust of his hips and then moved back and forth a couple of times to test for comfort and Raika gasped as she always did at the contradictory sensations the movement always set up in her. Still chuckling, he leaned over her and helped himself to two handfuls of her breasts as they hung down either side of the top of the bench she was lying along. Out of habit she raised herself slightly to make sure he had full access to all he wanted. Again he chuckled softly and pinched her nipples between his fingers.
“Aah!” Her cry was breathy and unstoppable, his fingers had sent tingles of arousal lancing through her body, her legs trembled and she felt the unmistakable heating at her belly. Again there was that chuckle.
“They’re good and hard. You’re excited even though you don’t like me in your backside.”
She couldn’t answer as he immediately began to thrust and withdraw in earnest. Her body began to rock backwards and forwards and her innards were in their customary turmoil when a cock was ravishing her bottom. One particularly harsh thrust made her aware that the edge of the bar was available to her clitoris if she went on tip toe just a little more and allowed herself to rock forwards a bit further at the next lunge. She sighed in contentment as she felt her nub pressed against the wood and it sent further little shivers through her.
Sir John reached down and around and she felt his fingers pushing the hood up and away, ensuring a good, harsh contact was made. Then she felt him begin to thrust with real venom. He smacked his pelvis against her buttocks and she began to dissolve as his hands clenched in her breasts, her clitoris was rasped and her rectum was emptied and filled.
“You can come all you like, you little whore,” she heard him say, his voice harsh and menacing. “I’ll make you come anyway. However I choose without even getting my dick in that sweet little cunt of yours!”
She cried out again as he slapped her buttock hard.
“After this I’m going to take the crop to your arse!”
“Yes, Master!” she heard herself yelp as he slapped her again and then she began to torment her clitoris again against the wood as the cock in her arse propelled her helplessly back and forth along the bench until at last she cried out in orgasm and slumped forwards only dimly hearing Sir John laughing as he finished in her tight back passage.
He slumped over her, making her groan as she felt the bar dig into her. His hands remained clenched in her breasts and she winced at the continuing pain. But after only a few minutes he reared up and dragged her up with him by her hair.
“Stand in the middle of the floor and bend over!” he ordered. The thought of disobeying never entered her head.
He picked a whippy crop from a rack and stood beside her, stroking her throat with the keeper.
“Head up my little whore, keep your back arched prettily.”
She did as she was told.
“You are not restrained in any way, are you?” he asked.
“No Master,” she answered, puzzled by the unexpected question.
“I’m going to slam in ten hard lashes to your arse and you’ll stay down for them because you’re a slut. What are you?”
“A slut Master.” Raika felt tears of shame begin to prick her eyes.
“After I’ve welted your bottom in a way no normal woman would even consider allowing, I’m going to stick my fingers in your cunt. And what will I find, my little whoreslave? Eh?” He leaned down close to her ear and she felt his breath tickle her cheek. She blinked back the tears.
“It’ll be wet for you Master.”
“Of course it will. Because you’re just fuckmeat and whipping trash.”
With no warning the first lash arrived.
“Aaah!” She screamed as the moment of numbed shock passed and the bitter stinging raced through her body and caught at her throat. Tears fell to the floor.
Whack!
Whack!
Whack!
Somehow she held her footing, even though she still had her heeled sandals on. Sir John was delivering one of the hardest beatings she could remember receiving for a long time. And he wasn’t giving her time to absorb the pain of one lash and allow the anaesthetic of excitement to seep in before the next one cracked in.
Whack!
Raika squeezed her eyes shut and desperately thought of how wonderful it would feel if he would allow her to suck him afterwards. She envisaged the vein ridged shaft and how it would tower above her as she knelt before him, buttocks afire.
Whack!
He paused for a moment and Raika nearly fainted with gratitude when she felt him reach under her and caress her breasts.
“You mark very prettily. I might have to give you ten more,” he said.
“Yes Master,” she sighed as his words and his hands worked their magic and she began to spiral upwards.
The next four lashes were delivered higher up the buttocks and by the end, although she was sniffing and weeping, she knew she was wet and open. When the penetration of his fingers came it was as heavenly as the beating had been hellish. She sighed happily.
“I’m going to fuck you with the handle of the crop. You will come because you can’t help it. You’re a feeble excuse for a real woman. You’re just a slut.”
She couldn’t recall anyone having insulted her so thoroughly while using her but in any case her thoughts were swept away by the delight of being filled from behind by the crop. Sir John knew his business and found her G spot immediately. During her climax she lost her footing and fell for
wards onto her knees, Sir John following her, thrusting the crop in and out of her until she screamed her release and rolled onto her back. When she opened her eyes, Sir John was naked and standing astride her. His hand was around the thick shaft of his cock and he was smiling down at her.
“Kneel up and be ready to catch every spurt of my come with your tongue.”
Still burning from the orgasm and the beating, Raika scrambled up, joining her hands behind her. She stuck her tongue out and eagerly watched Sir John’s fist as it worked up and down the long, gloriously thick shaft. The dome shone and wept a trickle of pre ejaculate from its slit. She longed to feel the contours with her tongue, to feel her mouth filled with a man seeking his pleasure carelessly in her throat.
Sir John laughed. “You’re gagging like a bitch on heat! Just a bit of beating and you’ll do anything! You’re a worthless lump of trash.”
“Uhhh!” She didn’t want to risk putting her tongue in and missing one precious drop of sperm. He laughed again but she was rewarded by the eye of the cock beginning to spurt. Though desperate to suck it, she obediently kept her mouth open and followed each jerk and spurt of his emission, loving the feel of the hot sticky mess, defiling her face when sometimes she missed a dollop.
Sir John rested back against a whipping trestle and picked up a small mirror and handed it to her.
“Look at yourself,” he said simply.
Raika did so and the scales fell from her eyes. She was wide eyed and panting, her hair was dishevelled, thick shiny trails of a man’s spunk ran and slithered over her chin and cheeks. She realised that he hadn’t been ‘talking dirty’ to her. He was right, she was what she had been made; a whoreslave.
Through her sobbing she heard him continue. “Do you think any respectable man will ever look at you as anything other than a whore? A collection of holes to fuck?”
Weeping bitterly she shook her head, dropping the mirror and burying her face in her hands.
“A whoreslave like you needs to be punished. Stand up, I’m going to whip you.”
Numb with pain she did so and only dimly registered his hands buckling restraints onto her wrists, then tension coming onto them as she was pulled up onto tip toe. This at least was right, she thought eventually. She deserved to be punished for allowing herself to become so depraved. She blinked her eyes clear and saw Sir John uncoiling a stock whip.
It was a harsh beating but no more than she deserved, she spun and screamed as the heavy lash wrapped her chest and bit into her breasts. She hopped and snorted in shocked pain as the lash snapped at her loins and inner thighs. Even her sorely thrashed buttocks were not spared and eventually, breath rasping in her throat, she hung limply by her arms, head bowed. Sir John came to stand in front of her and she saw his hand reach out towards her crotch and with what emotion was left in her pain racked body she cringed with shame. Sure enough she felt him move inside her and withdraw, his fingers sticky and shiny with the traces of the tumultuous orgasm that had swept her away even as she screamed under the whip.
“Hopeless,” Sir John said. “And yet your master; your real master is kind enough to bother himself with your welfare. Remember? He promised to find you a rich young husband and to provide you with a dowry, so you can go home in honour and wealth. You see, he understands Raika.” His voice was suddenly soft and comforting. She didn’t understand what his last words meant and she lifted her eyes to his. They were looking at her with gentle sympathy.
“He understands that this isn’t the real you. This is the whoreslave that Suarez and Carpenter and the rest have made out of you. He knows that really you are decent and respectable, all he wants is a little help from you to show that you appreciate all he is prepared to do for you. Just do a simple little job for him and he’ll make every dream you have treasured in your pretty head while these men have been using you, come true.”
He smiled at her and Raika smiled back.
Her heart melted with gratitude towards him – and towards the master who still wanted her, valued her – they understood that nothing was her fault. She was what she had been made, and so complete was her self-revulsion, confusion and relief that she forgot that the master Sir John represented was one of the cruellest she had ever suffered under. All she could think of was the fact that only her current masters stood between her and the achieving of all her dreams; respectability and honour among her own people at home.
“What does he want me to do?” she asked.
He reached up to free her wrists. “Get dressed and I’ll show you.”
Out in the stableyard he showed her a small foil packet.
“Once everyone is back from the Salazar show, I will come to visit regularly and check on Ayesha’s progress. Every few days I will give you one of these. Hide it and then sprinkle its contents into the blonde’s feed in the evenings. Make sure you mix it in well, understand? Then in a few weeks’ time you will have fulfilled your part of the bargain and your master will come for you.”
“Please tell him he can rely on me,” she said.
Sir John chucked her under the chin and walked off into the twilight.
Still burning and stinging from the beatings, the skin on her face feeling stretched in places from where the sperm still crusted, Raika gathered her thoughts and went indoors to bed Ayesha down.
It wasn’t entirely to check whether the slave was getting accustomed to her tongue ring that made her squat for a long time above her face and have herself licked out. But visions of handsome, rich young men, flickered through her mind as the slave performed well, her tongue probing, licking and lashing at the clitoris until Raika sighed and shook gently, before grinding herself hard down onto the soft lips beneath her. She really had no cause to bring one of the winches out and hang Ayesha by her wrists from it while she beat her with a crop but she did anyway and slept the better for it.
Chapter 10
Hank, Carlo and Brian were up early on the morning of the final day. Every slave had to be inspected for damage and/or lameness. The grooms led the CSL slaves round the compound on their tongue leads while the two trainers gazed critically at the welted slaveflesh. All things considered they had not fared too badly, none was limping once initial stiffness had been worn off. All their limbs could be manipulated properly and Carlo pronounced himself happy once Brian had put the line of ten naked females through their morning regime of stretching, bending, twisting and then twenty press ups to round off. He passed down the line clipping wrists together while the grooms served the morning feed.
“If the Salazar team loses today, Brian. I will pick three of these beauties at random and they will spend two weeks in solitary confinement when we get home.” He grinned and smacked Ox’s flank hard. No one was sure how many of the slaves understood English, but Brian could see that some of the eyes widened nervously and tongue rings clicked against teeth. It was not to be thought of that a mere fighting slave would ever be talked to directly other than in the way one might talk to any other animal, but they were frequently talked across if a trainer wanted a point driving home especially hard. The solitary confinement cells were no more than grille covered pits that the two men had dug in the woods. All the slaves had spent at least one day down in them, just to let them know what ‘solitary’ meant.
“And that’ll be the least of their problems! When they get an eyeful of the funfair, they’ll be begging for solitary!” Brian played along as he knew Carlo wanted him to, and his boss laughed harshly. This time there was a more pronounced stirring in the line. The slaves, whether or not they understood English, could tell by the voices and Carlo’s laughter that defeat was not an option for them.
The Bakhtar stable, over a year previously, had introduced an innovation which solved the arena owners’ one financial problem: how to cut down on the amount of money that walked out of the estates after the closure of the shows, in the pockets of successful punters. The losing stable displayed its stock and allowed the crowd to play with them as it dispersed
– for a price. It had proved extremely popular and profitable and both Brian and Carlo knew that under some tarpaulins behind the arena, Alberto Salazar had something that would test even a fit and fresh slave to her limits, let alone the welted and exhausted wrecks that would emerge the morning after the final day of a three day show.
However, despite all the CSL slaves being fit and Blondie and Jet’s best efforts in the chariot racing finals, by mid morning it looked as though defeat might be on the cards. Brian had to accept on the final race that there was no point in thrashing his crew any more. He and Carlo had called it wrong. They had put their two best runners and fighters in for too many events and the unexpected hardiness of the scarlet and blacks had been too much on the last day.
In the pens, Rose was easily beaten in the wrestling and Legs fought a hard boxing bout but lost after nearly half an hour’s brutal scrapping. The crowd loved it but the Salazar team trailed as the final bouts in the arena got underway.
In the studded whip duels they did well enough to almost repair the damage done by the chariot racing, fighting with so much resolve that Brian was sure Hank had shown them what was under the tarpaulins. Tigre, Ox and Trouble were fielded in the final duels and swung the heavy leathers with their studded ends to good effect. By the middle of the day the teams were dead level. And they stayed that way until only the finale was left.
Usually the finale was staged for the fun of it, the entire stables were flung at each other and then the men came in to finish off any slaves still standing and then fuck them for the delectation of the crowd, who, aided by the scenes of close up debauchery on the huge video screens, would be in full orgiastic frenzy themselves. Brian loved it. So did all the men, it was a rare chance to indulge in exhibitionism, athleticism – many of the slaves still had plenty of fight in them – flagellation and sex all at the same time. However, this time there would have to be a serious purpose to it before the fun could begin.
