THE PRIZE

by Sean O'Kane

  As if to emphasise the point, the woman - Karen - wife of Sir John Fitzgerald for God's sake! - lay with her legs apart. He bent over her and thrust one hand into the warmth between her thighs, soft pillows of labial flesh greeted him and he fumbled them apart in his haste to find her vagina but even as he worked urgently and roughly he felt them part of their own accord and then his fingers were slipping up into her moist and clinging cunt. She sighed with pleasure and Brian had to calm himself as he felt his erection chafing against his trousers, his arousal so urgent that he was in imminent danger of coming. He stood back and began to undress, taking his mind off his excitement by continuing the role play.

  "A depraved tart did I call you? I was going easy on you. Tell me everything about Ayesha de la Tour you worthless whore, or I'll beat it out of you!"

  Karen Fitzgerald writhed a little at his words, pulling at her cuffs and clenching her thighs briefly and then opening them again. Brian recalled how he had stroked the lashes of the whip across his hand when he had first found it. He had been pretty certain that a physical specimen like Ayesha wasn't into being on the receiving end but his imagination had furnished a spectacular lesbian submissive - for some reason he had never considered the possibility that she might dominate a man - and reality had surpassed his fantasy. Karen Fitzgerald was voluptuous, voracious and deeply masochistic.

  Once he was naked, she looked up at his rampant erection and made a purring noise in her throat.

  "I'm not saying anything. You'll never make me talk," she whispered.

  And so the game had started and Brian's life changed forever. He retrieved the whip and stood over her.

  "Last chance before I whip you to shreds if I have to." The words seemed to hang in the air between them. He could hardly believe he had said them, they were outlandish, outrageous and very, very exciting.

  Karen bit her lip and tightened her grip on the bed head. Brian raised the whip and suddenly her back looked so vulnerable and delicate. He couldn't snap a whip down over it, as if she were some medieval wretch in a dungeon. Could he? He looked at her face once more and saw the barely suppressed excitement flushing her cheeks. She wanted the whip! He lashed it down hard.

  The noise was the most exciting thing he had ever heard. It landed with a satisfying fleshy Smack!

  Karen let out a strained grunting noise, her body jerked and her buttocks rippled. Brian decided they would be next.

  "Tell me everything," he remembered to repeat before cracking the whip down again.

  She shook her head and he carried on. Sometimes he stroked her bottom with the lashes, until she was moving her hips against the leathers and he would call her a whore, raise the whip and scythe it down across her upper back, making her arch her head back and yelp with shock. But she wouldn't talk and Brian was amazed at how much she was taking, her shoulders and back were excitingly criss-crossed and her buttocks were glowing pink.

  He took a rest and delved between her thighs again. His fingers sank into the wettest cunt he had ever encountered. She was so wide open and so awash with her own discharge that he could hardly tell when he penetrated her. Suddenly he wanted to screw her.

  "Talk damn you!" he muttered between clenched teeth as he fingered her ever more deeply. "Tell me everything you cheap trash! Guttersnipe! Your cunt is like the fucking Blackwall tunnel!"

  Suddenly she was bucking ferociously, her hips rocking and swivelling as his fingers continued to fuck her. She finished in a frantic series of thrusts with her hips down onto the bed and then she lay, moaning and gasping, utterly spent.

  "Ayesha de la Tour was a bitch. A beautiful bitch with an ass to die for. Is that depraved enough for you?" she whispered.

  "No. I want to know everything," he said and continued working the fingers of one hand inside her while with the other he started to beat her again. She began to gabble as she started the climb towards another climax.

  "Her cunt was the best I ever tasted. She used to make me lick her out after men had had her. Ow! It made me so jealous and she would laugh at me and then beat me. I loved her!"

  The pace of his whipping increased as his fingers drove her mercilessly onwards.

  "She made me lick her ass out after she'd been buggered! I used to think she only took it up there to humiliate me! Ow! Oh, God! Fuck me! I'll tell you anything, do anything, just fuck my lights out! Pleeease!"

  Brian could have considered his options but his body was too urgent. He knelt behind her and hauled her hips up before ramming himself into her. He hardly needed to aim, she was so much on heat, he just sank into her and she gripped him with internal muscles the like of which he had never encountered.

  As he began pistoning in and out he poured invective over her and she responded with desperate pleas for him to go faster and fuck her harder. He came in an orgasm so intense that it felt as though his anus was being dragged out through his cock and his cries mingled with hers as they climaxed and then collapsed. But not for long. Brian heaved himself off her and flipped her onto her back then knelt astride her face and held the back of her head. She made no objection and began to lick hungrily at his soft but gleaming and slimy cock. Most women he knew balked at tasting themselves off a cock but this woman licked without shame, enthusiastically lapping up every last drop of sex juice she could get at and hardening him up again immediately. The second time he fucked her he nearly used the missionary position but instinct told him not to get too close but to dominate the position. He grabbed her legs and put them up over his shoulders so that he could look down on her as he achieved deep penetration and she couldn't hide her pleasure as he shafted her to two more climaxes before he himself erupted.

  Only then did he consider it 'safe' to lie beside her while he played with her breasts. Her wrists were still handcuffed through the bars of the bed head.

  "Do you believe I've told you everything?" she asked eventually.

  He paused from slapping her breasts to and fro, watching how they jiggled and rippled. "I think I'll have to whip these before I can be certain that you've told me everything. You'll report to me back here in a week's time for further interrogation."

  Suddenly he saw her face cloud with worry.

  "If I come back, will you be able to tell me anything about Ayesha?"

  "I'm working on a couple of things. Hopefully I'll have something." He reached up and released her hands.

  Now he stood in the lounge of the flat, finished his whisky, and waited for Karen to finish cleaning herself up. When she entered he had to admit that she really was something, her thick and curly hair framed an almost heart shaped face with lusciously soft lips, whose touch on his cock he couldn't wait to feel again. Her breasts were delightfully heavy with smooth areolas and now they pushed against her shirt and shook a little as she walked. He reached out and touched one, stroking it and watching the nipple erect to press against bra and shirt. She stood quite still and let him do what he wanted. Again he was struck by the fact that other women would have complained about being aroused while fully dressed and want to know what the hell he thought he was doing with their bodies anyway. But this gorgeous masochist wanted none of the usual sexual negotiation - she wanted him to take whatever he wanted. And suddenly he wanted to show her he was capable of doing just that.

  He gripped his fingers deep into her breast. "Pull you skirt up," he ordered.

  Immediately he saw a flush come to her cheeks and without any hesitation her fingers began to furl the skirt up her thighs.

  "If you're going to fuck me again, I'll have to get my knickers off," she protested softly as the skirt lifted above crotch level.

  "Tear them, you bitch," he snarled and grabbed both breasts. "And next week I'll cane you for daring to wear them."

  Somehow she got both hands to one hip strap and yanked until it gave. Then he pushed her against the wall, opened his flies and drove in for her sex. As he had known she would, she had responded immediately and was flooding.

  "We didn't..... have
...... a cane," she gasped as he entered her.

  "I know. You're going to buy one and bring it next time."

  Her eyes closed and she abandoned herself, wrapping her legs tightly around him.

  Chapter 9

  Ayesha lay in the darkness, her hands were chained to the wall above her head and she could do nothing. The darkness was absolute so she had no idea who the two men had been who had just climbed into her bed and fucked her, one after the other. Their sperm was oozing out of her and making her wriggle.

  Ever since they had brought her to this place, this was how the men had used her. She had been kept literally in the dark, fucked whenever it pleased them to use her and allowed only to see what they wanted her to. And what they had wanted her to see had inevitably been female slaves. She had watched whippings with every conceivably type of whip, cane, crop and flogger. She had become familiar with the frantic writhings and squeals of the slaves and their equally vigorous responses when the Prince or any other male took them. She had seen hundreds of cocks slide between obediently open legs, lips and buttocks and had had what felt like hundreds between her own. Even her prodigious appetite for cock had been slaked and all that filled her mind now was images of sex and slavery - and fear of the isolation of the hood.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the door of her little cell being opened and the light flicked on. The Englishman stood looking down at her.

  "The Prince has finished what he needed to do here so we're going up country and you're going to find out what's really in store for you."

  They left the palace in the grey of early morning, the Englishman, Ayesha and a driver for the jeep they were to travel in. She lay in the back, still naked and with her wrist restraints clipped together behind her back. Although she hadn't been hooded, she had been gagged and she moaned into it as she was jolted about painfully while the jeep bucketed its way through the sleeping city and out into the desert.

  Then she was made to run.

  Her right wrist was roped to a cleat on the back of the jeep and it set off at a jogging pace. She had no choice but to follow. Her gag had been removed and she had taken full advantage of the opportunity to scream and hurl abuse at the two men but had soon realised she was better off saving her breath. She was made to run until her hair was a single mat of sweaty rats' tails which scraped her forehead, her bare feet hurt so badly she was crying and her throat burned with thirst. She fell twice before they stopped and gave her a rest. She dropped to her knees gratefully and the Englishman came over to her with a water bottle.

  He handed it to her.

  "Thank me," he said.

  She stammered out her heartfelt thanks as her fingers fumbled with the top. She was well aware by then that had he wanted to he could have just gone on until she was dragged along in the dirt. She was completely in his power.

  "There's a wadi a few miles up the road. We'll camp there tonight. You'll make it alright, you just need to lose a few pounds for where you're going."

  For the rest of what seemed like an interminable afternoon Ayesha ran, then trotted, then staggered and at last fell. After a short rest and some water she was forced to her feet and off they went again. In the evening she was fed and watered and then the men took turns having her. They tied her across the bonnet of the jeep, a rope fed from one wrist restraint round behind the windscreen and tied onto the other. Her breasts were squashed uncomfortably against the still-warm metal of the bonnet while she was beaten by one of the men and taken from the rear by the other. Neither of them said a word to her.

  The whipping was completely different from the titillating flicks that Sir John and some of her clients had administered in the far distant past. These men used the whip and meant her to feel it, even while she was being shafted. She groaned and wriggled as the whip cracked down on her steadily and a cock remorselessly reamed her insides. Her thoughts and emotions were a confused whirl beneath the physical sensations of exhaustion, pain and, despite everything, pleasure.

  On the fourth day as Ayesha struggled up and over a slope behind the dust cloud kicked up by the jeep, she saw that just a little way ahead of them was a fort. To her it seemed unbelievably ancient - like something out of a film about the old French Foreign Legion. It was built out from a mountainside, jutting into the rocky plain with high, forbidding, ochre-coloured walls surmounted by towers. The track they were following would lead them to the huge wooden doors which presently stood closed fast. To Ayesha, if it meant shade, drink and food, the fort was paradise on earth. Grimly she gathered herself for one last effort, determined that she would at least finish this journey on her feet. As they neared the gates they opened with an ominous rumbling and Ayesha stumbled blindly into her future.

  She actually collided with the back of the jeep when it stopped, so near collapse was she and it took the Englishman kneeling beside her and letting her sip water for quite a few minutes before she could open her eyes and totter to her feet. She was inside the vast main courtyard of the fort but she couldn't quite believe what was going on. All across the wide expanse of beaten earth, naked girls were fighting each other. Under the sweltering sun the bodies shone with sweat but all of them were flinging themselves into combat with all their strength. The reason for their enthusiasm, Ayesha realised, lay in the fact that there were many male guards wandering between the contests and encouraging the girls here and there, with lazy flicks of whips heavier than any of those the girls held. But not all fought with whips, over by the outer wall she could see several wrestling matches taking place, close by her there were four boxing contests going on, all the contestants wearing thick straps around their knuckles and strange looking corsets and thongs on their bodies. She couldn't help but wince at the heavy thudding noises the punches made when they landed. As Ayesha watched, one girl took a heavy punch to the midriff followed by two to the breasts, which were only partially covered by the studded leather of the corset. The recipient of the punches shrieked and went down onto one knee, her arms cradling her breasts. Immediately one of the guards stepped forwards and lashed the kneeling girl savagely across her shoulders.

  "Get up!" he screamed in an Arab dialect so thick that Ayesha could barely understand him. "You got more fight in you yet! Take her down and she'll take your place at the post!"

  The girl stumbled to her feet and rushed her opponent, getting her into a clinch so that she couldn't swing her fists, for a moment the two girls swayed, trying to club at each other's ribs and backs, pulling at each other's hair, trying to rake at each other's face.

  Ayesha watched in horror. Even in the Beirut streets of her youth, she had never seen such ferocity from females, but worse was to come. The girl who had first been downed suddenly jerked her knee up between the other girl's spread legs. The recipient's mouth opened in a rictus of pain but no noise came out, her eyes bulged and she seemed paralysed. Grinning, her opponent did it again and slowly the girl sank to her knees, letting out a hoarse moan as she did, at last her hands slipping between her thighs to nurse herself. Standing over her the victor grabbed her hair with one hand and then pistoned down two jabs to the breasts. Ayesha gaped as the victim stayed kneeling with her hands between her legs and seemed to just accept the pain of the last two punches before toppling forwards. The guard seemed well pleased with the victor.

  "That's getting better! You're pushing yourself harder and taking more pain. That's good, just remember, let the crowds see when you've been hit, don't go down too quick, stagger round a bit. And don't come! However much it hurts! Don't come or I'll hang you on the walls for the vultures!"

  The horror of that threat didn't seem to worry either combatant unduly and while Ayesha continued to gaze dumbfounded, the defeated girl knelt with her face in the dirt and her backside up in the air while it received ten hard lashes from the guard.

  "Welcome to your future," the Englishman's voice whispered in her ear. "You'll be fighting alongside these slaves for the honour of the Prince's stable. Welcome to the arenas.
"

  Ayesha gazed at him stupidly, trying to make sense of them. Fight? Why? What arenas? Then as she let her gaze roam around the fort, the other girls still struggling under the blazing sun, the dry Crack! of the whips sounding clear above the cries and grunts of effort, a few memories began to return.

  There had been rumours among some female acquaintances about the barbaric spectacles held in the recently erected arenas around the world. They were only whispered about and there had been some speculative articles in the press but somehow no one ever seemed to discuss them openly. Karen had once mentioned something, Ayesha now recalled. She had said that she had a feeling Sir John knew something about them, or knew someone who did.

  But here was the undeniable reality. Standing up straighter and flicking her hair back, Ayesha took a more thorough look around. The plain fact was that the female gladiators out numbered the guards by more than two to one, and although the men undoubtedly held heavier whips; a concerted attack by the athletic women would surely have succeeded. But there was no sign of that happening, instead she saw only determined duels being fought out, the men shouting encouragements and curses, wielding their whips to score unresisting female flesh.

  "Once I have finished with your training you too will learn to fight out here. It will please me and the Prince and eventually it will please the crowds in the arenas. That will be all you will care about."