Naked Ambition

by Sean O'Kane

  And she was still convinced of that when the car swung off the road, rumbled across a wooden drawbridge, dived briefly into darkness under a barbican and finally pulled up in the main courtyard of a restored but obviously very old castle.

  Eric stood back from the window as Sadia stepped out from the car and smoothed her jacket and skirt. He had waited so long for this!

  He turned to his dinner guests, a group of men and women whose clothing and manner marked them out as all being of a similar rank to Sadia.

  “We have the evening’s main event!” he said. “After dinner I shall drive the deal through and we will add the Countess de Groncourt to the diversions that await us in the dungeons!”

  A man came forwards and shook his hand. “We know how long you’ve planned and waited for this. It will be a pleasing entertainment indeed.”

  Eric laughed aloud in relief and delight.

  “It had to happen! If I just kept her short of stock for long enough, she’d come crawling.”

  Everyone raised their glasses and drank just before a butler in full 18th century regalia ushered her into the room, which was panelled in oak and glowing in the lights.

  Smiling, Eric advanced and kissed her cheek, inhaling the fragrance of her perfume and revelling in the feel of her soft skin against his.

  Then, keeping his arm about her waist, he introduced her to his other guests. Sadia caught the drift of the names and titles as he smoothly guided her from group to group; they were all very rich. Perhaps these were the ‘angels’ who would back her purchase of new livestock.

  At last, having smiled politely, shaken hands and air-kissed her way around the room, she was led to a table covered with bottles of Krug and Eric poured her a welcome glass.

  “Who are all these people?” she asked. Her meetings with Eric had previously been more in offices than castles. “Can they help me?”

  “No, my dear,” Eric said with a strange, cold smile that Sadia didn’t like the look of one bit. “They are merely the audience. Although they are fellow members of our little club, the rest of whom are held in the dungeons downstairs. But we’ll see them in due course. Now let us eat and discuss our business afterwards.”

  Sadia was disturbed. Eric had suddenly become harsher and more stern, and she wasn’t entirely sure she knew this new Eric. But the meal was superb and the talk was all about her favourite topic; slaves.

  It transpired that Eric and his friends had a small and exclusive sm club all of their own and it regularly met at this location. Between full meetings there was a complement of live-in slaves tended to by managers and the various couples could come and stay and play as often as they cared to.

  “But, alas!” Eric said as the meal finished and the butlers cleared away the crockery. “Business now calls. You go on without us and we’ll join you soon enough.”

  With a scraping of chairs and excited talk of the delights waiting in the cellars below, the other guests disappeared and left Eric and Sadia alone.

  “You sly old fox!” Sadia said. “All this time and you never let on about any of this!”

  “I am indeed a great deal more subtle than you have given me credit for, Sadia,” he told her gravely, topping up her wine glass. “Now tell me again what the problem is and let’s see if I can solve it.”

  “It’s simple. We rushed into our first games to replenish the coffers. We won and now some of the other stables are ganging up on us, using CSL stock. We’re short handed and if we don’t get at least twenty more good quality bitches – we’re finished. Or that’s what Angel thinks and I’ve no reason to doubt her. We’ve got to have the new stock before our first home games.”

  Eric pursed his lips and wandered slowly over to the window above the courtyard.

  “Good quality stock is costing very dear just now,” he said at last.

  Sadia felt on safer ground here, this was more the usual Eric.

  “Darling Eric. You’ll find me more grateful than ever before.” She went to stand behind him and put her arms round him, resting her head on his back, pressing her breasts against him.

  “Hmm. You will have to be, Sadia. Indeed you will. You shall have enough for your twenty but hear my price.”

  He turned and looked down at her, his eyes dark and dangerous suddenly. Sadia backed away.

  “In return for funding this new purchase, I will have you as my consort here whenever the club meets. And like all the other women you have just dined with, you will wear tokens of your subservience to me.”

  “What tokens?” Sadia asked.

  “Rings,” he said succinctly. “At nipples and labia.”

  Sadia smiled – it was all a joke! No one in their right minds would think of putting rings on her! Not the Countess de Groncourt!

  “And,” he continued steadily, advancing towards her, “a tag, so whoever fucks you knows who you belong to.”

  She struck out and landed a stinging blow on his cheek.

  He merely smiled and grasped her wrist, crushing it to the point where she sank to her knees, whimpering.

  “Of course, you can always refuse and the Girl Squad will die.”

  A vision of her darling Angel watching her stable go down to humiliating defeat after defeat, flitted in front of her mind’s eye.

  “Well?” he demanded, his grip tightening.

  “You would make me a whore!” she spat.

  “No. I would make you my whore!” His tone and face were calm and implacable, and Sadia knew she was doomed.

  There was nothing she could do. But she had seen innumerable piercings and didn’t think she could suffer them herself. It was what happened to submissive bitches, not dominants like herself. But for Angel and for the honour of her stable………there just didn’t seem to be a choice.

  Eric seeming to sense her acceptance of the inevitable, relaxed his grip and allowed her to stand.

  To her immense relief she was allowed an anaesthetic spray before the procedures, which were carried out in a room in the castle basements, with the other club members watching.

  Eric led her down a grand flight of stairs to the main hall and from there through what must have been the original kitchens but which were now deserted and echoing. He took her through an arched door and then they descended again, this time on bare stone, spiral stairs until they emerged into surprisingly tall cellars, the roof supported by huge, thick stone pillars. Red shaded lamps provided a suitably subdued illumination. Around the door they entered by were gathered tables and sofas and on these the members she had already met reclined. Some of the women’s breasts were revealed and Sadia noted that they all sported the rings she had been promised. However, what caught her attention most were the waiters – the slave managers, Eric told her – they were well-built men and naked apart from leather trousers that left their sexes naked. Most of the cocks were limp or only semi tumescent but some were thickly erect and were being energetically sucked by some of the women, who were sitting forward or leaning over the sofas’ arms to service the men.

  The drinks tables were glass panels resting on the backs of naked female slaves, on all fours. The slaves were held in place by slender chains running from nipple rings to rings in the stone floor and from labial rings to the same rings in the floor.

  “The Countess has agreed to be my consort and will accept her marks,” Eric announced and immediately there was applause, and as Eric led her on, the company stood and followed them. They went into a white-painted room with a medical bench, bright lights and cupboards and shelves of implements. A large, hooded man, again naked apart from open crotch trousers, stood beside the bench, his thickly muscled, tattooed arms crossed in front of his chest.

  “Undress and then suck his cock,” Eric told her bluntly. “It’s for your own good. He works better when he’s relaxed.”

  Sadia did as she was told and was rewarded by admiring comments on her legs, bottom and breasts from the assembled guests as she stripped. The man beside the bench also betrayed som
e arousal and by the time she knelt before him, his cock was throbbing and stirring. She leaned forwards a little and placed her hands on his hips.

  “No!” Eric immediately barked. “Hands behind your back!”

  She complied and felt his hands descend on her head. So it was to be a fellation where she would be mouth fucked with no control whatever. At least he tasted clean, she thought as she licked his helm and then his shaft before opening her mouth wide and gently lowering it over the huge, glistening helm, her tongue running along the meatus as she did so. He filled her mouth completely and she had no choice but to

  flatten her tongue and allow him full access. Unlike the last men to have sampled her mouth, this man at least appeared to appreciate a skilful fellatrice and although his thrusts were deep, he was content to withdraw enough to allow her to tongue him on several occasions before he finally clamped her head between his large hands and fucked her mouth until she felt the splashes of thick sperm jet out into her throat and she had to swallow quickly to keep up with him. He lingered at her lips for a few moments to allow her to clean him properly and then he courteously helped her onto the bench, lifted and spread her legs into stirrups and tied her wrists to a spreader bar above her head. Sadia just had a last chance to look down at her unadorned nipples as they were sprayed and then she shut her eyes tightly once she saw the hooded man pick up the piercing needle with the gutter at its tip into which the ring would be threaded and pulled back through once the initial hole had been bored.

  “We don’t use a punch, Sadia,” Eric explained. “We like the women to savour the experience of being decorated for us.”

  Scarcely half an hour later that Sadia was helped shakily to her feet and applauded as she examined herself in a mirror. The nipple rings stung bitterly but looked quite attractive she thought, but at her crotch the two rings – one in each labium – felt leaden and heavy; especially the one on her right. From that ring depended a silver tag over an inch long with the club’s name on one side and Eric’s name on the other. The rings were spring loaded and one end had been slotted hard into the other, she had even felt the jerk as the catches had taken. They would have to be sawn off if she wanted them removed, Eric told her gleefully.

  In truth, Sadia was a little bit proud of the decorations and even spread her legs apart to see the tag dangling between her thighs. At least Angel would know how high a price she had paid for the new stock. But worries about how her lover would respond to her cunt being identified as belonging to a man and how much pain there would be when the spray wore off were put to the back of her mind as one of the men clapped his hands and instructed the managers to produce the slaves so that the evening’s entertainment could continue.

  Chapter Five

  Angel immediately appreciated the tidy and clean appearance of the CSL stable once they had returned their ponies to The Lodge’s stable and Chrissie had shown her the way to where the real business of the day would take place.

  One of the grooms was hosing down the shower area, another was scrubbing the toilets and a third was leading out two slaves on tongue rings and leashes who were required for training in the covered arena that Chrissie had shown her on their way round.

  Depressingly however, eight of the stalls had red disks hung above their doors to signify that the slave had been hired.

  Carlo himself was there to greet her once she had had time to take a brief glance around. He was accompanied by a striking woman who wore black suede thigh boots with her groom’s uniform and who was collared and – Angel couldn’t help noticing – branded in exactly the same place as Helga. She had a thick head of copper coloured hair.

  “This is Patti Coldwell,” Carlo told her. “She’s head groom.”

  Immediately Angel could feel the tension in the air between the head groom and the doctor beside her, but felt it wise to ignore it for the moment and smiled and shook the newcomer’s hand.

  But Carlo was eager to show off his stock, even those ones who had been booked and for the next hour or two, Angel was kept busy.

  Inevitably the first stall he went to was Blondie’s and Angel was thrilled to be able to pat and fondle the greatest fighting slave the arenas had produced while Carlo fed her some titbits. She was nearly as tall as Angel was and a little more heavily built. Like all the slaves her wrists were clipped neatly behind her back and one ankle was chained to the rear wall of the stall. It was similar to the discipline that Angel herself imposed on her senior fighters. The squad were too numerous to marshal so carefully and were only chained at nights. But as Carlo fussed over her and boasted of her achievements, Angel was able to appreciate Blondie’s superb physique. The breasts were high and large, with no sign of any sag about them and the nipples had stood to attention the minute her master had summoned her. Angel caressed them and was impressed that they bore no trace of any of the piercings they would have been subjected to over her years of enslavement. Indeed, as Angel ran her hands over the slave’s body she was amazed at how silky smooth the skin was despite the punishment it so regularly took in the arenas. She slid her hand down to the groin and as Carlo fed her a piece of her favourite shortbread, she spread her legs obediently allowing Angel’s hand to encounter a large and hard clitoris just in front of a warm and moist vagina that offered no resistance to Angel’s fingers.

  She commented on the fact to Carlo, who pointed to the disk above the stall.

  “She knows she’s going into a games soon, and there’ll be plenty of time for her to be played with in the evenings,” he replied and ruffled her hair affectionately, then grasped her left breast hard, making her jerk her head up in surprise and clatter her tongue ring against her teeth as her eyes closed in pleasure at the harsh caress.

  “Mine are the same,” Angel said. “But I’m surprised she still gets so turned on, after all she’s seen and done pretty well everything there is to see and do in an arena.”

  Carlo shrugged. “It’s what she’s for. And even after all this time she loves to know I’m pleased with her.”

  Angel took another look at the famous slave and noticed this time that around the eyes closed in pleasure were fine networks of faint lines.

  “Have you started cutting down on the number of times you hire her out?” she asked. Carlo looked at her sharply.

  “Sorry, it was just something I heard on the grapevine.”

  Carlo nodded, slapped Blondie hard on the buttocks and moved on.

  “It’s something I’m aware of,” he said quietly.

  In the next stall was Ayesha, who made no attempt to approach them until Carlo produced a piece of cake. But Angel couldn’t help noticing that whereas Blondie’s face had lit up at the sight of Carlo, Ayesha remained aloof. The tour went on and she met the two big blondes, Ox and Trouble who would form the nucleus of any whip melee. Beside them, as she would be in the arena was the menacing form of Fiji, the tall Polynesian who, like Ayesha, held herself aloof but allowed herself to be fondled and felt. Again she was exhibiting all the signs of a slave eager to experience pain for others’ pleasure. Angel wiped her fingers on the girl’s stomach and admired the gleam on the dark skin.

  Eventually they reached the stalls of the slaves not hired in for the upcoming games and Angel started to really concentrate.

  It was hardly a state secret that the ones the Orange team had booked were especially effective at the strength and endurance events. Apart from whip fighting, Ox and Trouble were extremely good at paired log pulling. Blondie, Jet and Ayesha were almost without equal when it came to pursuit running – where a naked slave was given a head start by a mounted man and then hunted down. The object for the slave was to make as many laps of the arena as possible before she was brought down by his whip. Fiji was as tough as teak at boxing.

  The first of the available slaves was Purdy, she was a big breasted girl of part Canadian, part Italian descent according to her provenance from auction. Once Brian had tamed her she had turned out to be a very useful runner in both sing
le pony races and in the six slave chariot races – despite the handicap of her large breasts. She came to the front of her stall immediately and nuzzled Angel’s hand to see if she had any treats.

  “She can hold her own in pursuit running,” Carlo told her as she fed a liqueur chocolate to the slave. “If the Orange team use the rest of our stock in earlier events and not in the later ones like the running, this one could give you an edge there.”

  Angel made a mental note and they moved on to a redhead called Sam. She was wiry and not as sturdy as some of her more famous peers but when Angel bent to feel the sinews of her calves and thighs, she found them surprisingly well developed. It came as something of a bonus to find that her juices were flowing thickly and fragrantly as well, when Angel allowed herself the luxury of feeling yet another cunt.

  “She’s not well known yet, but I reckon she’s worth a good few points in the pens and in whip melees. I’ve seen her give Ox and Jet a few problems in boxing and wrestling as well,” Carlo told her as she patted the slave’s flank and let her go back into her stall.

  “That’s the one thing that bothers me,” she replied. “Will they really pull out all the stops if they’re up against their own stable?”

  Carlo favoured her with a broad grin. “Come with me. I’ll show you,” he told her and led her towards the door out to the yard. However, on their way, from the room at the far end of the stables came the unmistakable sound of a whip being plied in a fast and steady rhythm. To Angel it could only mean a punishment beating, a more leisurely pace usually marked out a beating given for pleasure. She cocked an eyebrow at Carlo.