by Sean O'Kane
“Again, you are kindness itself, Your Highness. I’m not sure just yet…..but do you recall that girl we took as a bet once?”
“The one from London? Yes. What happened to her? She was very good, as I recall!”
“I let her go. Got bored with her, Ayesha her name was. I might do the same with another girl – or go and find her again – or both. I don’t think I’ll stray too far from the arenas though.”
The prince laughed aloud. “What man in his right mind would?”
“She’s fighting out of the CSL stable now, maybe I’ll go and look up Carlo and see how the land lies there.”
“Well, you are assured of a warm welcome here at any time. You couldn’t have foreseen how good that Countess’ stable was going to be, you do understand that I hold you in the highest esteem, Peter?”
“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you.”
“And now I think we should go and make music till the early hours to celebrate all our years together!”
The prince stood up and clapped Peter on the shoulder.
“Sounds good to me!” Peter said, standing up with a smile.
The prince was striding back into the Evening Office shouting for servants. He wanted them to open up the Music Room, the place where he played with the almost uncounted complement of females the palace was home to.
And it wasn’t even as if the prince had to expend any of his vast wealth on purchasing them. His own people thought it only right and fitting their semi-divine monarch should have all the women he wanted and frequently gave them to him.
The prince turned to him as he entered and he saw that a male servant was waiting to hear how the room was to be prepared. The prince poured more wine.
“We haven’t played the drawing pin game for a while, have we?” he said.
There was a desk in the Music Room at which he sometimes worked while his slaves were worked on in their turn. When the drawing pin game was played, at either end of the desk a full packet of drawing pins would be spilled and carefully turned point up.
Each man would select a slave and see how quickly she could gather up the pins using her breasts alone, as he pressed her down onto the desk and then picked out the pins. The first to clear his end of the desk would win.
During a long evening – as this one promised to be – buttocks could also be applied. The music this produced was quite loud; especially if the buttocks had previously been beaten.
“D’you know,” Peter said as they settled back to finish their drinks while the servants set the room up and furnished it with a suitable number of slaves. “I can’t remember who won the last time we played.”
“Peter, is it not part of your own army that has as its motto; ‘Who cares who wins’?”
Peter laughed. “Play up, play up and play the game!” he said.
Chapter Seven
Amelia – number Ninety-seven – knew that the Girl Squad was about to be thrown into an arena for the second time in its history and her heart pounded in excitement at the prospect. To fight and compete and suffer in front of the eager crowds and to please her owner had been her ambition when she had run away from her job as a groom and her master at CSL. And as the anonymous Ninety-seven, kept naked and tongue-ringed, beaten and whipped daily, she was in heaven. The first inkling she and her fellow slaves had that action was imminent was when they were no longer allowed to bed down with their regular partners. Instead, at the end of each day’s training, the barracks were filled randomly and the girls were chained into bed with a different partner each night.
At first she missed having Seventy-six to make love to before dropping into deep sleep, but then variety began to be the spice of life and she found that she was looking forward to tasting a different cunt every night, to feeling smaller or bigger tits against her own. Of course, once the games were over she would want Seventy-six back but for now the change was welcome and exciting.
Having spent time with trainers and their stables before engineering her own abduction and enslavement, she understood what Angel was doing; she was reminding each girl of what she was fighting for. When it came to desperate mauls in the arenas, each member of the Girl Squad would know that she was fighting for her lovers as well as her stable’s honour, and would fight the harder.
As the girl who had once been Amelia Johnson smiled in bed on the night that Angel returned from wherever she had been, she knew she would have to be carried out of the arena rather than lose any fight or competition. She also gasped in delight as the pretty Chinese girl she had been bedded with, ran her tongue, with its heavy ring, round every crevice and orifice between her legs and buttocks. As they were lying head to toe; eager, excited and happy, Ninety-seven turned her own head and began to lick carefully at the Chinese girl’s cunt and then followed the perineum back towards her buttocks. The shapely and satin-smooth thighs parted eagerly for her and she delved deeply with her tongue, savouring the girl’s fragrance and the cheeky little hard nub of the clitoris, then the contours of the anus.
While the slaves pleasured each other, at the other side of the stockade in the big house, Angel propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at Sadia. Both women were naked, Sadia lay on her back, her arms flung up above her head, her hands still gripping the headboard of the bed, as they had during her orgasm.
At the foot of the bed, still bound with her face buried in the quilt and her hands behind her and her bottom raised, the slave they had been caning until urgency overtook them, remained, available and ready for whatever her owners chose to do with her.
In the lamplight, Angel looked down at Sadia’s still-heaving breasts, the nipple rings gleaming in the light. Between her carelessly spread legs, the metal tag and the rings rested against the engorged flesh of her sex.
“Oh, my lady!” she sighed eventually.
“Oh, come now! It’s not that bad! And think of it this way; what you’re looking at is twenty brand new, beautiful slaves. All yours to train up and enjoy!”
Angel lay down beside her, still on her side so that she could reach out and gently lift one of the nipple rings. Her mouth still tasted of Sadia’s cunt juice mixed with the acrid taste of the metal she hadn’t been able to avoid getting into her mouth when she lapped and licked deep into the cunt. It had been just as she had imagined.
“It’s not really ownership, it’s just a contract that I’ll accompany him at club events.”
“All the same….” Angel grumbled. She was perfectly used to having to share her lady with someone else, she knew Sadia enjoyed shagging a man from time to time. But to have her nose literally rubbed in it was hard to take.
“Oh, come on Angel! I’m the one wearing the damn things! And believe me they do some fabulous things to the slaves they’ve got there. You should come along one day!”
Angel just grunted and rolled onto her back. Sadia turned onto her side and put her hand between her legs.
“Let’s cane this bitch some more. And this time we’ll put her head between those gorgeous legs of yours and she can lick you out while I beat her.”
Angel had to admit it was a pleasing prospect. And at least wearing the rings didn’t seem to have altered Sadia’s appetites in any way. She sat up and crawled to the bottom of the bed, then manoeuvred herself until she was sitting with her legs on either side of the slave. Then she lifted the hooded head and wriggled closer until her cunt was touching the slave’s lips. Immediately her tongue came out and began to lick and explore blindly.
Sadia stood at one side of the bed, swishing a cane.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Ready!”
Sadia swung the cane in hard and the slave jumped in shock, her cry fanning Angel’s lust-swollen lips delightfully. She put her head back and closed her eyes the better to savour the full sensual experience, gripping the hood and pressing the head to her groin.
“Harder, my lady!”
Sadia was only too glad to comply and Angel’s heart leapt at the sound of the
cane smacking into the slave’s buttocks.
The training became even more rigorous. Amelia did her best to cope with the extra demands it made on her as she admired the way the regime had changed her body. She was actually more curvaceous now that some fat had been trimmed off round her waist and the hard exercise had left her limbs well shaped without being overly sinewy. The increase in her pectoral strength had helped her breasts which retained their pretty uptilted shape, but were now more prominent. Her bottom was higher, tighter and more pert. In short she felt more womanly than ever before. The constantly worn marks of her owner’s whips only added to her pride in her attractiveness.
And loving the bodies of her sisters and being loved by them only increased her sense of her femininity. But running through her mind, and the minds of most of the slaves, she reckoned, was that the arenas meant men! The Girl Squad had some male guards and sometimes they would play with and fuck the slaves. But at an arena, they all knew that in the evenings after the games, they would be hired out for guests to play with in dungeons and there was only one thing a slavegirl needed after a thorough beating and suspension or bondage and that was a good hard cock.
On some evenings the guards – male and female - would look in on the barracks before they came to chain them all down for the night and lob in a handful of dildos and vibrators, then stand and watch the cat fights as the desperate girls fought each other for the right to be first to masturbate. Amelia felt no shame about having thrown herself into the naked wriggling mass on the floor; only pride when she managed to bring an expensive vibrator back for Seventy-six.
She knew that Angel would not allow any more of that before the games. In fact it might well be that they would not be allowed to sleep with anyone at all for several nights before the games. The slaves needed to get to the arena as frustrated and horny as it was possible to get them.
They ran farther and were whipped to ever greater speeds. They were harnessed and drilled mercilessly in dressage. They ran the chariots around the arena until they were dizzy. They boxed, wrestled and fought with whips until girls collapsed in exhaustion. They were even driven on under the sweltering mid day sun, something that had never happened before and Amelia could only assume that they were destined for somewhere hot.
The solitary confinement pits at the side of the training ground stood empty, because punishments were handed out in the form of summary whippings at the posts. The days passed in a seemingly endless series of painful and exhausting training sessions that left the slaves prone, sweat-streaked, bruised, welted and gasping for breath.
Through the mass of prostrate, naked girls strode Angel and the Countess de Groncourt. Always Angel wore her shining boots and her pressed jodhpurs with a crisp white shirt against which her magnificent breasts swelled. Beside her the dark haired countess would stroll; a wide brimmed sun hat on her head and a fabulously expensive sundress to mid calf, enclosing her graceful figure. Occasionally Angel would prod a gasping slave with her riding crop and pass comment to one of the guards.
One day they had spent the morning practising kicks. One slave stood with a plastic shield held at chest height while another had to kick it hard from standing directly in front of her. Each high kick had to be hard and fast. They were expected to launch at least thirty in a minute. Angel stood by with a stopwatch as the rate of kicking inevitably declined as the girls tired. Amelia’s eyes stung as sweat streamed into them, her hair clung maddeningly to her face and try as she might, each time her kicking foot touched the ground and she tried to raise it again, it moved more and more slowly. She gritted her teeth and screamed with effort as the minute wore on and her muscles cramped and protested.
The guards passed behind the row of high-kicking girls and ‘helped’ by flicking with their whips between their legs as they delivered the kicks.
At last Angel blew her whistle and the kickers collapsed gratefully; Amelia felt sure her heart would burst. But slowly her breathing came back under control and she sat up to take a swig of water from a tin jug that was being passed around.
“Not too bad!” Angel called out. “Swap places now!”
For a blessed minute she was able to just stand and hold the shield while another girl tried desperately to pump one leg up and down, delivering kicks up on tip toe with her other leg, then kicking leg down, touch the ground, kick again.
Amelia grinned fiercely as she saw the girl’s gathering exhaustion and felt the blows lessen and slow as the minute wore on. She rallied a bit as a guard snapped his whip up into her cunt a few times but by the end she was screaming with effort and hardly able to stand any more.
Once again there was a short rest and the guards conferred with Angel, then she called out a few numbers and the luckless slaves – guilty of not having tried their hardest were dragged to the posts and given fifty lashes each.
Amelia sat and watched the deliciously writhing forms and listened to the exciting sounds of the whips. Grimly she concentrated on maintaining the correct posture for witnessing punishments. She sat with her knees raised and parted, her wrists resting on the knees. Woe betide any girl found playing with herself while sentence was carried out. For the wretches concerned, things got worse. Usually they were left at the posts after their punishments and the male guards could be relied on not to pass by a well flogged female desperate for relief.
On this day, Angel had them taken straight down and ordered a run before any break for food would be taken.
Amelia was about to struggle to her feet when the shadow of the countess fell across her and she squinted up.
“Oh look! It’s Ninety-seven!” her owner said. “She was my talisman at Bakhtar!”
It had been the proudest moment of Amelia’s life when she had been dragged, semi conscious from the arena, and laid on a bed. The Countess had vowed to taste her cunt while she was still battered and bruised from the arena. ‘The Taste of Victory’ she had said before the games started. And true to her word she had bent down, opened Amelia’s legs and gently licked right inside her cunt. Then she had straightened up, way too soon for Amelia’s liking, and declared that the taste of victory was sweat. There had been general laughter and Angel had agreed heartily with her mistress. The crowd of hangers-on and friends had turned back to their drinks and Amelia had been dragged away back to the barracks.
Now the countess smiled down at her.
“D’you think she might be for these games?”
“It’ll take more than that, my lady!” Angel said sourly and the countess took her arm and chided her for being so churlish.
The two moved off but Amelia heard Angel give orders that the next two days would be rest and light exercise.
Her heart leaped. The time was nearly at hand again.
Angel surpassed herself that night. As Amelia had feared, sex was prohibited but Angel went farther than that. The girls were put into the small double beds as normal but were chained with their wrist cuffs fastened behind their backs and with their ankle cuffs fastened together as well. Placed head to toe in each bed, they slept together, naked and immobile. Totally frustrated. It was far, far worse than being made to sleep alone, and Angel knew it. Exhaustion came to their aid but in the morning, the mood in the barracks was black indeed.
After a day’s rest and just light sparring, the frustration was worse but again sleep rescued them and Amelia was lost in admiration. Angel had judged it to perfection. They slept because of exhaustion and so were rested, but were furious and snarling, keen to do battle and experience the blitz of pain and pleasure the arena would provide.
A second day of rest and light training passed slowly, the guards were everywhere now, keeping careful watch on hands in case they strayed between legs. But the discipline held.
Amelia was astonished by how easily she fell asleep that night despite an almost physical ache from her neglected cunt.
The next morning as the squad trooped onto the training ground once they had been fed, they saw two large trucks park
ed and everyone knew that they were on the move.
Each truck had four benches running the length of its back. The slaves were seated with their legs slightly parted and their ankle cuffs chained tightly to the floor. Their wrists were cuffed together and put between their knees before being chained down tightly as well.
Once all the benches were full the doors were slammed and they sat in darkness until their eyes adjusted. There were small vents at the tops of the van’s sides and, as Amelia glanced around she saw Seventy-six smiling at her from the far side and they exchanged air kisses.
Beside her the dark haired girl she had slept with chastely for the previous night wriggled slightly on her seat, touching thighs with her. They too exchanged smiles and the girl kissed Amelia’s shoulder. Suddenly all around her were the sounds of bottoms quietly being wriggled and some soft giggles.
When the truck’s engine started and it moved off, the shuffling and fidgeting got worse and Amelia realised her own nipples were achingly hard. They were on their way and after only a few miles the truck was filled with the pungent fragrance of female excitement.
After what seemed like a long time the truck began to bounce as if it were going over grass, then it stopped for a moment and men’s voices could be heard shouting. There was a clanging of metal and then the truck moved forward slowly and climbed a steep gradient. The engine’s growl echoed and then died. There were more voices and noises from outside, by the wheels it seemed to Amelia. Then at last the doors were thrown open and they could see that the trucks had been driven into a cavernous cargo plane.
Angel hoisted herself up into the truck, followed by several men who stood and admired the scenery.
“Take your pick and be quick about it! I want this plane out of here fast, we’re running late as it is.”
Amelia understood perfectly well. As always when transporting hundreds of naked women around, there was a price to pay for their discreet passage out of and into various countries. And what was the point of having hundreds of naked females if they weren’t used to pay that very price? Amelia sat up as the men began to prowl along the lines, examining the goods. She pushed her breasts out enticingly and she wasn’t the only one. Every girl on the truck was wiggling and pouting and inviting the men in any way she could. The men themselves laughed and exchanged comments that Amelia couldn’t understand, but could guess at the meaning of perfectly well.
