by Sean O'Kane
The pistol fired and unlike with other events a watchful hush settled over the arena. Aficionados of the arenas would play and replay videos of these fights, discussing every lash and every dodge each girl employed.
If they could just draw this fight, the home team would have an uphill struggle on the final day. Tony chewed his knuckle distractedly as he watched Blondie step confidently forwards, swinging her lash in a lazy-looking overhead throw. Amelia ducked and covered with her shield and backed off.
The whip clattered harmlessly against it and Amelia flicked out sideways with her own lash. Blondie twisted and used her shield to guard her hip, then launched another strike; this time she crouched and swung low. Amelia leapt back and again caught the lash on her shield, then swung overarm and Blondie wasn’t quite quick enough to sway backwards. The lash thudded home – audibly even in the terraces - on one shoulder. There was a gasp from every quarter as the famous blonde visibly flinched and then skipped back to regroup.
“Don’t waste energy!” Beside him Angel was whispering through tensely gritted teeth. “Make her come to you, you lovely bitch!”
As he glanced sideways, Tony saw on one monitor a close up of Fiji already finishing off her opponent. The unfortunate brunette was reeling backwards trying desperately to delay the time when she would have to turn her back and take the full fury of the whip there. Inevitably she lost her footing as she backed and went down, sprawling in the dust. From there on it was just a matter of time. He turned back to the arena itself.
Amelia resisted the temptation to follow up her early success. She knew that Blondie would exploit any weakness she showed in coming forwards. Instead she kept just at the limits of Blondie’s whip, making her come forward, making her expend energy. It was very rare that an opponent struck the first blow against the tall blonde and it rattled her out of her normal, calculating calm. To Amelia’s delight she strode forward and tried to bludgeon her way through Amelia’s defences but she found that if she kept her concentration and stayed alert, she could deflect the strikes quite easily. And she kept backing away.
Once, Blondie stopped pursuing and Amelia nipped in quickly. She used her shield to knock her opponent’s whip out of the way and launched a bruising blow that wrapped Blondie’s middle back and the studded head of the whip thudded home on the side of her right breast. She cried out and even through her adrenalin haze, Amelia heard the arena applaud. Two good, marking lashes without a reply from Blondie herself. It was unheard of. And now Blondie seemed to recognise the significance. She launched a blistering attack, swinging the lash fast overhead and then bringing it low, trying to bring Amelia down, but Amelia kept backing off and working her shield, dodging and skipping lightly on her feet.
After a few moments she saw what she was after. The attack faltered and Blondie stood before her, chest heaving and sweat running freely down between her breasts. It dripped off her nose and she had to wipe her forehead to clear her eyes. Amelia took a quick swipe and caught her across the fronts of her thighs, then skipped backwards.
Time had at last caught up with the great Blondie. Angel had seen it when she visited CSL and Amelia had noticed it too in her last days there. If she could make the big blonde work, after the pony races and the pursuit running, she could bring off a victory that would be the talk of the arenas for years to come. Whatsmore she could reduce the threat Blondie posed in the chariot racing on the final day.
Then the rain came.
There was no warning, no light drizzle first. Suddenly the naked girls were being pounded by drops of rain that felt like hailstones. Instantly they were blinded and sodden, their hair hung in rat tails, plastered over their faces. And beneath their feet the ground turned into a quagmire. The floodlights clicked on and the girls’ bodies gleamed in the strange blend of stormlight and artificial light.
Blondie’s experience saved her, Amelia later realised. For a fatal second she had looked around at the tableau around her. Girls downed and holding shields up desperately. Girls already defeated being dragged away; Fiji acknowledging the cheers. Suddenly Blondie’s lash smacked across the width of her back, knocking the breath from her and jolting her forwards. She lost her footing and sprawled face first into the mud. Immediately, ignoring the pain of the lash as best she could, she twisted and caught the next lash on her shield, then tried to wriggle away. Blondie had to brush her hair out of her eyes and that allowed Amelia to get to her feet. Both girls charged and both fell as their feet slipped out from under them. They collided chest to chest on their knees and struck out wildly with their shields and the handles of their whips. Amelia fell backwards with the bigger girl on top of her and they rolled and wrestled in the mud.
It was just as Amelia had feared. The arena was one huge mud wrestling ring now and there was no room for any science or tactics. It was just a case of lashing out with fists and feet and hoping. But steadily Blondie’s weight and strength told until she was sitting astride Amelia’s chest. Her skin and hair were a rich grey-brown colour; the colour of the mud around them that shone in the harsh light and while Amelia clawed desperately at her breasts, Blondie managed to deliver a blow with the handle of her whip that left Amelia dazed and immobile.
In the owners’ box Tony and Angel were trying to identify which shining mud sculptures were Girl Squad and which were the Orange team. But one camera caught Blondie’s features as she staggered upright and they could both see the weariness there and the way she was gasping for breath.
“If it hadn’t rained, that little bitch would’ve had her!” Angel cried. Tony couldn’t disagree.
Chapter Thirteen
Amelia was given a check up by the vet once she was back in the dressing room and pronounced perfectly fit, apart from a heavily bruised cheek.
“Still whoever wants you tonight isn’t going to be taking you to the opera!” she said cheerfully. “So you’ll do for where they will be taking you.” And she tweaked a nipple playfully before moving off to attend to a badly sprained ankle on the slave beside her.
The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun and from what Amelia could make out, Sam and Lucky had prevailed in their contests but the Orange team had scraped home. But that left the teams almost neck and neck for the final day, the Girl Squad had a slight lead but if they put a foot wrong, they would lose. As she lay on the bench, from which no one had bothered to free her, she heard all the talk, which was about how close she had come to defeating Blondie.
She was torn between a feeling of sadness for Brian and Carlo and elation at the thought that hers and Angel’s strategy had worked.
Once again she managed some sleep after the evening meal before she was woken and taken to the playrooms. To her delight the first couple who had booked her wanted medical play and put her on a bench which had stirrups for her calves and feet. It represented a welcome change to the more customary floggings she was subjected to. They strapped her in, then raised and spread her legs but left her hands free, so she was able to prop herself up and see what they were doing. The woman laid a clean white towel across her lower stomach while the man laid out a clanking row of shiny steel appliances just beyond her spread-open crotch. On the towel the woman laid out sterilised packets containing needles. Above her knees hung a spreader bar.
The spreading, clamping, piercing and weighting went on for an hour and Amelia loved every minute of it, especially when they introduced a dilator and opened her wide. She was ecstatic at being so minutely examined, with her labia pinned back and clamped open, vulnerable and delicate as a butterfly, while the shiny, cold, hard machine was pushed into her and then remorselessly opened in front of both of them. When she was as wide open as she could be, they set about her clitoris, piercing the hood and then setting her off on the climb to orgasm by just pricking the throbbing nub itself. The woman beat her across the breasts to encourage her climax and when it came, the man watched closely and his presence seemed to spur her body on. When she came she felt the hot wetness spurt do
wn her cunt and she produced a real squirt of juice, something she hadn’t done since a particularly good session back at the stable, some weeks previously. It was almost a disappointment when the man released some of the chains and clamps he had used on her lips and simply fucked her before instructing the woman to remove the needles.
The next people who had booked her were a group of three men who had clearly clubbed together to afford her and made full use of her for an hour and a half. They seemed very keen to explore her anally and by the time they had finished, she was walking very stiffly and awkwardly. But at least those parts of her that the arena had taken its greatest toll of had not been too badly dealt with and she fell asleep, quietly proud of being the girl who had almost beaten Blondie.
For some enthusiasts the six slave chariot racing was the real focus of the games. The action was fast and furious and form was assiduously studied between events. Amelia had always enjoyed watching them when she had been a free woman and was proud that she and Seventy-six provided the main push for one of Sadia’s rigs, they were shackled to a cross bar directly in front of the lightweight, two man chariot. The driver would wield the whip across their backs. In front of them was a wider cross bar with four slaves shackled to it. The middle two, like Amelia and Seventy-six had both hands on the bar, but at either end of the bar the slaves only had their inner hand shackled. Their other forearm was armoured in a mail sleeve to be used in battle against other teams, usually at the turns. The whipman, equipped with a long driving whip of weighted whipcord, would ensure all four were kept on their toes. He would also wield it against opposition slaves. Thus the outrunners at the front took the brunt of the whip play.
On this particular day though, all eyes were on the Orange team. Ayesha had taken a pounding on day one and Blondie had almost come unstuck on day two. Both slaves were renowned for their abilities as front outrunners and fighters.
Amelia smiled grimly to herself as she waited for the finishing touches to be put to her harness in the circus. Both the famous slaves were present, although she’d have been prepared to bet that Brian had got precious little sleep the previous night.
But she didn’t have much time to worry about the Orange team because Angel came to finish off their tacking up, and the camera crews followed closely.
She was carrying the steel bowl that was known and feared by all the chariot racing slaves. Every trainer had one; it was their unique blend of spices that would be used to coat the anal prong inserted into each slave to make her concentrate on reaching the finishing post just as fast as she could. It was at least as effective as the whips and the cameras loved the close ups.
Angel approached from in front of Amelia’s rig so Amelia could see her trainer from between her blinkers as she and a guard began to make the front rank bend over and accept the torment. The thick gooey mixture was dolloped onto the prong which hung from the crupper strap that had been left dangling between each slave’s legs. Then the dildo was slipped into the vagina, enabling the anal plug to be located between the bent-forwards girl’s buttocks at the anal opening. Angel took a firm hold of the crupper with one hand, steadied the nose of the plug and then pushed and pulled simultaneously. Inevitably there would be a bit-muffled squeal as the steel was suctioned in and the sphincters were spread wider and wider until the flange at the base was safely lodged tight against the opening. The cameras followed the intrusion into girl after girl and the audience never seemed to tire of the sight of the steel sinking in and the slave’s grimace as she was first penetrated and after few moments more, began to register the stinging inside her.
To add to the fun, both owners had agreed to studded tack and even the crupper that ran down the belly and back up between the buttocks, before being buckled tight to the girth, was studded.
However much Amelia liked the idea of being so shamelessly spread for the amusement of the crowd, the previous night’s use and Angel’s devilish elixir made her eyes water and she was shaking her head and prancing as prettily as the next girl by the time they were lined up for the first race.
Throughout the morning they raced in pairs; there were three rigs from each team and points were accumulated as each pair raced all the opposing ones with a rest in between each race.
After each race the cruppers were unbuckled and for a moment the girls could relax, a guard usually pushed a damp sponge up into their rectums to clean them out before the next dose was administered. The double plugging and the stud that rasped infernally against her clit together with the pain from the brew inside her and the whip on her back, made Amelia weak kneed with arousal and excitement. Thankfully two of the female guards, after their second race, came round and administered a brisk rub to each throbbing clitoris so that a manageable orgasm was attained and the final race was fought out by slaves concentrating properly on the job in hand.
Amelia’s driver was the one she and the rest of her crew had got used to in training and although one of their usual outrunners had been replaced by Lucky – Amelia’s suggestion – the rig performed well, winning two of its races.
In the final race of the morning all six rigs took to the track at one time and there were double points at stake, so that a team which was ahead after the paired races could still be overhauled in the final. It made for excellent viewing as the slaves were tiring and the whips had to be used hard, and in addition with so much at stake there was no quarter given at the turns and in overtaking manoeuvres. Anything a driver or whipman could do to bring down the opposition, they could be relied upon to do.
As Amelia’s crupper was pulled up hard for the last time and her abused perineum and rectum absorbed yet another dose of pain, her watering eyes made out her own bottom up on one of the giant monitors. A miniature camera had been placed on the front of the chariot, just behind her.
The compere came on the PA to confirm that the audience would be ‘riding with’ no fewer than three of the rigs, with cameras right in the thick of the action at the front crossbar and with a beautiful view of the buttocks the driver was whipping, from the cameras on the chariots themselves.
She had no idea of the overall score as her rig took its place, drawn in the middle for the start of the final race. All she could do was draw in her breath and gather herself for one final effort as the judge paced out some way down the arena floor and held up the starting pistol.
As soon as it sounded the whips fell and the drivers yelled. Amelia pistoned her tired legs once more and tried to lose herself in the various pains that beset her – making the delicious thuds of the lash on her back and bottom mask the tiredness. At the first turn the battle up front was fierce, Lucky’s back was wrapped by an expert lash from another rig’s whipman. She reared and twisted but still managed to elbow off a challenge from Ayesha, allowing her rig to corner well enough to challenge the rig inside it on the next straight. Just before the second turn they caught it and their driver performed a perfect door-slamming move. He wrenched his reins hard right, dragging the front row of slaves’ heads round and steering the chariot towards the centreboarding. The opposition’s rig had nowhere to go and slammed into the Girl Squad chariot itself. Orange team girls were thrown into the air as they tripped and the rig turned over at full speed. The driver was flung forward and landed just beside Amelia’s feet, rolling swiftly and curling up to try and avoid the flashing feet of the racing slaves all around him. Briefly she caught a glimpse of Ayesha, trapped by her one shackled wrist, thrown down just behind him as the end of the front shaft suddenly dug into the sand and catapulted the slaves forwards.
Amelia had no way of knowing whether it brought down any other team until the next lap when she glimpsed two wrecks pulled out of the way and their teams being led out. One of them was a Girl Squad chariot with Legs and Blackie running in its crew.
With only four rigs left the cornering was not quite so crowded and the race began to settle down to one of sheer speed. And that meant lashing the last ounce of strength out of the slaves. The dr
iver now kept up a constant rhythm of lashes in a relentless figure of eight pattern, so that when Amelia wasn’t getting the lash, Seventy-six was. And overhead the long driving whip sang and snapped. When the sweat that was now pouring from her allowed her to see anything at all, she could see the backs of the front four girls were now almost ablaze with colour as the whipman expertly wrapped them and sometimes struck with the weighted tip directly.
She had no idea how many laps they had covered nor how many were left, her legs had gone numb and pumped mindlessly, her breath came in great sobbing gasps from her raw and burning throat. And around the bit that passed through her tongue ring, saliva flew from her helplessly open mouth and helped cool her throbbing breasts. And all the time the whip fell and her backside burned horribly.
Then suddenly the rhythm of the whip changed. From somewhere the driver summoned up more strength and began really laying into his part of the team. Automatically Amelia responded to the change without realising that she had any reserves left. For a few hectic minutes and one corner where they were wrenched around mercilessly without slowing in the slightest, Amelia strained like she had never strained before and then her head was being wrenched back and the whip had stopped. Her legs went from under her and she collapsed, Seventy-six landed, gasping, on top of her and then, after a few moments of heavenly relief, she felt the driver reach down and begin to unbuckle the hated crupper strap.
She opened her eyes and groaned as best she could as the prong was eased free of her bottom and the stinging began to recede, up on the screens they were replaying the last corner of the race and she could see from the front camera on her rig that they had been locked wheel to wheel with the leading Orange chariot. As she watched she saw Lucky striking out at Jet even as both slaves got the full benefit of the opposing driver’s wrath. The two rigs had stayed locked together down the frantic last straight and the camera blurred and shook as the chariot hurtled the last few yards, the smacks of the whips and the gasps of the slaves all clearly audible and then the line had been crossed and as the drivers reined in the camera recorded the collapse of the slaves onto the ground.
