by Sean O'Kane
He pushed back his chair and made to leave but Josef, the thin little trafficker with the absurdly thick moustache, forestalled him.
“There is one more. And I think you should see her.”
Conor shrugged resignedly and resumed his seat. From the door on his left, from which all the girls had entered, two burly guards now came in. Each one held the end of a heavy wooden yoke, and stumbling under its weight came a girl. Her neck and wrists were imprisoned by the holes cut in the wood which lay across her shoulders, but her green eyes blazed contemptuous defiance as she gazed round her. One of the guards slashed a crop across her buttocks to drive her forwards but she hardly flinched. Instead, beneath her tumbled mass of black hair her eyes fastened on Conor.
For his part, Conor was astounded. The girl was superb, she didn’t carry an ounce of flab. Her hips were smooth and her thighs long and well muscled. Her breasts were generous and rode high on her chest. When she saw his gaze return to her face she gave him a blatantly challenging stare.
Conor took a wad of notes from his pocket and threw them onto the table.
“Leave me the crop and the key to the yoke. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll tell you if you have a sale.”
Josef flicked through the notes quickly and then nodded. “Just don’t make her bleed,” he said and jerking his head at the guards he left.
Conor walked round the girl, noting that her smooth olive skin was criss crossed with marks on her buttocks. She was probably Romany, he thought, and had been sold for committing some misdemeanour or other. Whatever the reason, she was an incredible find.
“They beat you much?” he asked when he stood in front of her again. She nodded.
“Always when you’re tied up, right?”
She nodded again and a feral smile lit her face up, her white teeth gleaming.
Conor stripped off his shirt and took up the crop. Immediately she stiffened her stance, obviously expecting to withstand another thrashing. Her hands clenched into fists above the yoke, but Conor just smiled and took up the key to the padlock which held the heavy wood closed around her neck.
“I’m going to thrash you me beauty,” he told her. “But you’ll be free to try and stop me.”
He reached forwards, released the lock and eased the yoke off her. Even though he was ready for it, he barely got his knee up in time to fend off her first charge. But even though it caught her in the midriff she still came on and tried to push him down backwards. He flung away the yoke and swiped down hard with the crop, catching her twice down the length of her back. She reeled away sideways and he pursued her, flicking to left and right, catching her breasts, but she made no move to protect herself. Her whole concentration was focused on trying to get to him. She was perfect!
Time and again she ducked and feinted but Conor was ready each time; the crop flicking out, scoring her thighs, back and buttocks. But still she came on. Eventually Conor threw down the crop and tackled her bare handed, warding off her kicks and raking fingers, then pinning her arms to her sides in a bear hug and lifting her, squeezing her until at last she cried out. Then he flung her face down onto the table and retrieved the crop. The girl wriggled back until her feet touched the floor, then she stopped and looked over her shoulder.
“Beat and then fuck,” she said softly, and shifted her legs well apart so that Conor could see the dusky pouch of her sex.
“You like that,” he told her. He could see her state of arousal.
“Sure. But it needs a good man to make it really good. These guards are not real men,” and she spat dismissively.
“Twenty should do nicely, I reckon,” Conor told her, holding the shaft of the crop against the full roundness of her buttocks.
She lay flat and curled her fingers round the edges of the table.
“It was a good fight, yes? So make them hard, then I fuck hard!”
Conor lifted the crop high up behind him and smiled. Carlo was going to think he had died and gone to heaven when he saw this one.
Twenty searing lashes later, her bottom a scarlet mass of tramlines and flares, nothing more than strained grunts had escaped her. And when he stood behind her and aimed his helm for the glistening channel between her flogged cheeks and sank himself into it, he couldn’t believe the power with which she gripped him and sucked every ounce of delight she could from his penetration. In contrast to the way she had been silent under punishment, on the end of his cock she howled and mewed and groaned her way to the loudest orgasms Conor had ever heard.
Well, he thought as he counted out another wad of notes for Josef, while the girl was bundled into the boot of his car, that was a characteristic which Carlo and the guards could enjoy curing her of. But for now, he had finished recruiting the third lot of slaves for the squad and it was time he took a holiday.
Patti’s ecstatic, agonised cries still echoed in Ali’s ears, even though two days had passed since the after-show party. She had indeed needed pain after the display the boss had put on. Before he had finally allowed himself the pleasure of penetrating her, he had taken his time and she had experienced the slow building excitement of needles sunk into well-cropped breastflesh. Then he had turned her over on the bench and caned her hard before turning her onto her back again. By then she was writhing and gasping with the urgency of her need for him to take her the rest of the way into the blazing void of multiple orgasms under the lash. He had raised and spread her legs wide and then considered clamping her labia open, but instead he had freed her hands and she had held herself open, dragging her outer labia up and apart to expose the vivid pink of her inner flesh to the whip.
Ali smiled at the memory, Patti could really put on a show when she was fired up; twisting and yelping, arching and sighing, then screaming incoherently as she was finally swept away. He had let her have thirty lashes before he had at last sunk himself into her flooding depths and taken his own satisfaction, but he had watched her carefully all the time and even as he had left her to be attended to by a household slave, he was making plans.
Patti wasn’t just a dedicated slave, she was a clever and determined woman too. And Ali had watched every expression on her face as she had been driven towards her final explosions of tormented bliss. She had abandoned all pretence of giving her master - or whoever was using her - pleasure. She had concentrated purely on her own sensations. He had noted the way her eyes had closed as the whip had struck her sex, and he had noted the look of deep inner contentment on her face as she held herself open for the sting of the leathers. It was something he had seen before; when a dedicated slave felt she had been abandoned by her master, she was inclined to seek solace in her own enjoyment of slavery.
And he had also seen how she had looked at that blonde. The boss hadn’t noticed anything yet, but Ali was quite certain that soon Patti would make a move, and the fact that he was now on the lookout for it might do him a lot of good.
Chapter 4
The weeks following the first show were as hard as ever for the slaves. Training went on unabated and the guards began to make references to another show - and this time they were to be the ‘away’ team.
But Tara was completely happy with her lot. Every day was a test and she knew her trainer and owner were pleased with her because they personally took charge of her in the evenings. However gruelling the day had been, she and her stablemates were tested for their sexual performance under the whip, the cane and the crop. Tied down over trestles, fully extended in the frames or just bending over in the main body of the stable, the four star performers were beaten with a casual air of experimentation that she found thrilling. The girls were compared for the traces left on their skins, for how many lashes they could take before wriggling or moaning. And then the adored, imperious shafts of maleness would penetrate them and notes would be taken by the ever-present grooms as the men commented on the strength of their internal muscles and any improvements in their grip, or how patiently and cleverly their mouths worked on them. Tara was desperately envi
ous of the three tongue-ringed slaves and longed to be able to tease and caress the two men who dominated her life so utterly, with the very symbol of her complete submission. So when either Carlo or her owner did consent to spend themselves in her mouth she was almost beside herself with pleasure and gratitude.
Finally, as she was chained on her straw for the night, her groom would kneel astride her face and, stroking her hair as she would a fretful pony, would encourage her to lick long and deep. So every night she fell asleep with her skin still singing from the beatings and her mouth still redolent of male and female sexes.
Their status had been underlined by the way the owner had reacted when the grooms had mistreated them on the night the staff had been allowed to celebrate winning the show.
Tara had heard the noises coming from the guards’ barracks, household slaves and grooms were obviously being thoroughly enjoyed. Very late, the four grooms had come into the stables, plainly drunk and determined to enjoy their superiority over their charges in their turn. They had taken the four inmates of the stalls out into the stableyard, where they had made them crawl on hands and knees, while they rode them and beat them, then made them eat pussy. As soon as Tara had nosed her way between the first girl’s strong thighs, she had smelt the male essence oozing out of both her passages and had set to work eagerly licking up all she could get. In fact it had been quite an enjoyable night, the grooms had produced some sizeable dildos afterwards and stuffed all four slaves, front and rear before riding them again.
But in the morning there had been hell to pay. Both trainer and owner had been outraged that the crops and whips had been taken to the most valuable slaves on the estate without any permission at all. And in the afternoon retribution fell. The four miscreants, still only clad in their ragged shirts which left their trembling legs naked, were lined up in the courtyard under a thick beam which had been slung from the roof of the horses’ stable right across to the slaves’ stable. They were sentenced to two hundred lashes each, to be delivered in two tranches of a hundred. The boss had passed sentence and had then asked if they accepted that the offence was grave and that therefore the punishment should be. All four of the condemned had murmured their agreement and had then slipped off their shirts and readied themselves for suspension and flogging.
Tara and her three stablemates were the only slaves who witnessed the punishment. They were tethered outside their stable, their hands drawn down in front, restraints clipped together and then a chain looped round the cleat, passed back between their legs and padlocked to a ring in the wall.
Like all stable hands the girls were strapping and healthy, and their wrist suspension revealed their fine contours as they hung in a row once the low stools had been kicked out from under them. Each girl was assigned two floggers, one stood in front; one behind and employed long, thin single lashes with frayed ends. In addition a third guard kept count on each victim, and as the lashes started to fall, Tara nearly fainted at the eroticism of the sight. The four bodies swung and twisted, four pairs of legs bicycled madly in the air; breasts and buttocks rippled and swayed under the lashes. There was only one thing she loved more than watching slaves taken to their limits and beyond, and that was being taken there herself.
On and on through the hot afternoon the punishment continued until at last all four girls fell silent and only the hiss and slap of the whips echoed round the courtyard. Tara was by then tugging at the chain between her legs, grinding her clitoris against it - heedless of any punishment she might incur. She knew that all of the whipped girls had come repeatedly. But she also knew that it made no difference. This length of flogging meant that even repeated orgasms became a sort of punishment in themselves; draining and exhausting the girls just as surely as pain would.
At long last the hundreds were called and the girls were taken down for watering and a rest. Their bodies were tiger-striped by then from shoulders to knees and even though the guards were consummate whip masters, Tara was certain that blood would be drawn before the end. The interval was long enough so that arms and shoulders could recover before being stretched again, yet even that was a further torment as was testified to by the groans and squeals as the girls were hauled up all over again.
During the rest the girls had been allowed some water to drink and several buckets had been poured over their bodies to revive them, so that they could fully appreciate their punishment, and now, as the whips began to swish and crack again, the bodies gleamed in the sun and each impact of the lashes sent up a fine spray of droplets. And once again Tara found herself urgently tugging on her chain, pulling it up and sawing her hips back and forwards as the girls, now a little refreshed, cried and twisted and danced while the lashes wrapped lovingly around the shining curves of hips, breasts, backs and thighs.
And when finally the two hundred was called and the nearly inert bodies hung limply, the owner stepped forwards once more. He congratulated the girls on their hardiness and said he hoped they would never do anything like it again, but just to make sure, they would take ‘one for luck’. The guards who had been wielding the whips now moved forward and each grabbed a girl’s ankle, pulling her legs apart, whilst their owner picked up one of the whips. Taking his time he positioned himself in front the girl farthest from Tara and took aim. There was a hiss through the hot air, a smack and a strangled shriek from the girl as the leather curled up between her legs and the frayed end of the lash bit deeply between her buttocks.
Tara was panting with excitement by then and her chain was slick with her juices, she jerked it even harder up into her slit, deliberately crushing the tender sexflesh, as the final three lashes were delivered and the four girls were taken down. She was leaning back against the warm stone wall, her eyes closed when she heard her owner’s voice right in front of her and she started upright.
“Now my beauties, after that little show you’ll only ever feel the whips I want you to.” He was addressing all four of the slaves and smiling as he observed how they had all been trying to bring themselves off during the punishment. “Carlo,” he said, “leave them here and let them finish.”
Tara would gladly have kissed his feet in gratitude and she heard her stablemates’ chains begin an urgent rhythm of clinking as they too took advantage of the offer. Before them the four flogged bodies, laced with slight runnels of crimson in places, but literally covered in thin red lines and splotches of deeper scarlet were eagerly bucking under the bodies of the guards as all the participants in the scene sought to dissipate their excitement.
The four grooms called themselves ‘the two hundred club’ from then on, and were justifiably proud. Tara envied them and wondered how it would feel to be tested that severely under the lash. She couldn’t deny that she wanted to find out.
Soon after that Carlo disappeared for a couple of weeks and reappeared with a new group of slaves. This time there was no segregation of the squads. Carlo simply led the new girls out onto the training ground and let them meet the twenty four battle hardened veterans. Inevitably there was a mass cat fight as a pecking order was established. Outnumbered and with so much less experience, the new girls were soon battered into submission and the more experienced ones were queuing up to sit astride their faces and enjoy their submission.
Carlo kept Tara literally on a tight lead beside him as they watched the spectacle of naked female aggression, and only let her off when there was one new girl still standing. She was a black haired, gypsy looking girl who was wiry and tough, and was surrounded by a ring of downed and groaning opponents. Jet, Cherry and Pinky amongst them Tara noted with interest.
Once her lead was unclipped, she needed no further order. It was plain that Carlo wanted her to take this one down. But she soon found out what her troops had already discovered - whatever she lacked in experience and technique the gypsy girl made up for in raw courage and strength. Tara threw her again and again, but every time the girl staggered back up and charged. When Tara applied nipple holds, the girl wrenched herself f
ree and accepted the pain without flinching. And even when the dreaded crotch hold had her teetering on her tiptoes, she still tried to kick. Eventually Tara got her down onto her face and twisted one arm high up her back, then reached round and twisted and pinched a hard little nipple until with one final shriek of defiance the girl went limp under her. For a moment Tara stayed where she was, savouring the feel of the sweating body under her, the thrust of the muscular buttocks up into her stomach, the soft fullness of the breast under her hand, but then Carlo arrived.
He was stripped to the waist, and as he pulled Tara up, there was some cheering from those girls not involved with the squirming and writhing on the dusty ground, where the fruits of victory were still being enjoyed. They knew a challenge when they saw one and so did Tara. Joyfully she threw herself at him, determined to make him work for his inevitable victory. Usually he was keen to demonstrate his expertise at not only defeating any girl he took on but also making an exhibition of his prowess; lifting her high over his head and spinning her before throwing her, lifting her bodily on a crotch hold or twisting her arm to make her squirm at his feet. It was that which Tara always enjoyed, but on this occasion she walked straight into a forearm smash which left her reeling drunkenly and Carlo simply grabbed her between her straddling legs, up-ended her and smashed her down so hard she had been winded and had writhed helplessly for a moment or two. But once she was able to sit up she saw why he had been keen to dominate her so completely. The gypsy girl was on her knees before him and sucking eagerly at his erect cock while he stood arrogantly over her.
