THE GLADIATOR

by Sean O'Kane

  The idea was to split the enemy into two and then fan out once the initial charge had beaten some of them down.

  Tara yelled in sheer exultation as she hit the line, swiping with her shield and striking overarm with her whip. Her first contact was with a black girl who was knocked sideways by the ferocity of the charge and the weight of bodies pressing in behind Tara. But then, from one side came the first of the lashes from the greased hide whips. It caught Tara full across the width of her shoulders and turned her battle cry into a shriek of shocked pain. It stung like no whip she had experienced. Behind her she could hear similar screams and realised they were in trouble. The impetus of the wedge had faded under the first lashes and now they were being surrounded rather than splitting the enemy. Desperately Tara turned and lashed out at the girl who had struck her, catching her across the breasts, then backhanding her with her shield. As she went down, Tara dropped her own whip and grabbed her opponent’s. She straightened up just in time to meet a charging girl with her shield up, and for a few seconds they locked against each other, sweating breasts rubbing, thighs straining. Suddenly Tara ducked and got her shoulder into the girl’s stomach as she lurched forwards, then she straightened suddenly, throwing her high into the air. Panting she looked around. Those of her squad still on their feet were cowering behind their shields, dodging the biting lashes as best they could and being driven remorselessly backwards. Tara leapt into the attack again, slashing wildly at the backs of her opponents and hearing their shocked screams as the lashes bit.

  “Grab their whips, you dumb bitches!” she screamed as some of the enemy reeled under her assault. She saw Cherry come up like a fury from a crouched stance and pounce on her attacker bare handed. The gypsy girl was standing toe to toe, refusing to give an inch even though she was getting the worst of each exchange. But when she heard Tara she collapsed onto one knee and swung in an uppercut to her opponent’s crotch, bringing her down into a writhing heap and allowing her to grab another of the deadly whips.

  Slowly the tide turned as Tara’s squad abandoned their whips and wrestled instead, soon it was evenly balanced as the doctored whips became spread out. Girls now stood face to face and traded lashes on an equal basis. Bright lines of scarlet appearing on the sweat- gleaming flesh of breast, back and thigh. Some pairs fought on the ground, wrestling for control of a weapon. But anger was winning the day, Tara’s squad was not going to go down to treachery. One by one, with groans of exhaustion or shrieks of pain, the opposition went down. But once they were down, it didn’t stop there. None of the victors were interested in accepting the usual gladiator’s submission, they wanted revenge. Tara looked round and laughed with delight at the erotic scene being played out. Twisting, squirming slaves were being pursued as they writhed in the dust by her own girls wielding the terrible whips and picking their targets. No matter how they struggled to shield themselves, they left tempting areas of soft feminine flesh for the lashes to bite into. And they still had to take their places at the whipping posts for losing. Sure enough the thumbs went down when at last a halt was called, and they stayed down till a tariff of thirty lashes was reached. Then Carlo insisted that the home stable’s whips should be used. Tara sat and watched as the sentence was carried out. The sight made her squirm with pleasure and she hoped that the guards might visit later on.

  Revenge was sweet. She could feel that the cuts on her shoulders had opened and she had plenty of new ones but she couldn’t have cared less.

  Back in the barn and laid out face down on a table, flinching occasionally as disinfectant was dabbed onto her, she heard Carlo’s voice just above her.

  “This one tried to speak to me. Put her down for sixty lashes, full body whipping when we get home. And make a note, I’ll carry out the sentence myself, give her fifty more for winning and then fuck her lights out.”

  She smiled contentedly. He would do all of it.

  Then she heard him address the rest of the girls and tell them to assume that the staves were weighted as well. They were to ignore the weapons at first and go for the girls, get every weapon they could off them and then use them themselves.

  It worked for the next squad, but by the last contest the enemy was ready for them and gave them a bad mauling, but once again they had won through on balance.

  In the evening, they were sent into the pens.

  Chapter 6

  Ali was thoroughly content. He was holding the fort while everyone was away at the latest show. That meant he had all the household slaves at his disposal and the privacy also suited him. He had a phone call to make and he really didn’t want the boss overhearing. Patti had gone as well. She was becoming more and more openly sullen; she had to make her move soon - he was sure of it and he had plans to make.

  He waved away the girl who was crouching in front of him and licking the last traces of his emission from her lips, reached for the phone, took a battered old diary from his desk, thumbed through it for a moment and then made an international call.

  The phone rang for quite a while before a highly cultured English voice answered.

  “Dandy, is that you? It’s Ali here, remember me? Okay man, it’s good to hear you too but listen I’ve got a deal for you. Let me lay it out for you and we’ll do the small talk later, I’m tight on time.”

  Two hours later, and far away in Berkshire, England an irritable John Carpenter sat and listened to Dandy Macintyre.

  He was irritable because he had little time for politicians and Dandy was one. That was one reason, the other was that the man was dead right about the problems The Lodge was experiencing. As the most exclusive and secretive SM organisation in the country, John, its owner and creator did not really want it known that he was having major difficulties getting new girls. But Dandy seemed to know all about it.

  “The best stock is being creamed off way down the line. And at prices which are well over top wack, John. It’s these arenas which are springing up. There’s big money - I mean big - in them. And if they can outspend The Lodge, I think you should deal with Ali. He’s sound enough in his own way. Knew him way back when I was in Sudan with the Diplomatic Corps. He’s Dinka you know, and they know good stock when they see it, believe me.”

  “Yes all right, Dandy. But what do you really know about him?”

  “Good man with a whip. Knows women and trades in them. What else is to know? He can get you a slave who should make a good Housegirl, straight out of the best stable around and his price is reasonable for the information he can give us - if it means you can get to the auctions before these buggers snap up all the good stuff. Just insure him against repercussions and we can look forward to much needed new blood at The Lodge. Christ, John! It’s been months since we had anything new at all!”

  That was true, and what this Ali person was saying fitted in with what himself knew, just about the time he said the arenas had got up and running, and the owners of the various stables had poured vast amounts of money into purchasing prime female flesh, The Lodge’s struggles to find good new Housegirls had begun. John had even had to stop the auctions of stock to preserve what he had and he knew the members were grumbling.

  “So this guy reckons he can get us a succulent piece of privately owned slaveflesh and if I pay him enough, he can forewarn us of where the best auctions are, way up the line?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Okay, tell him to e mail me his bank details and I’ll attend to it.”

  Dandy smiled. “You won’t regret it, John.”

  Tara’s first bout of the evening session was boxing. And that meant studs once again. She let herself slowly relax once the guard had buckled the leather corset on, feeling the sharp little points kissing her skin, then she carefully settled her breasts into the studded half-cups while the guard fed the studded thong between her legs and buckled that tightly as well, making her wince as she felt her labia given the threatening little kisses. Beside her girls were either being kitted up like she was, or were being oiled and kept
naked for wrestling while others were slipping on the more decorative corsets and stockings for cane duelling. Having the guards’ hands on them and knowing that their already sorely tested bodies were in for one more pounding gave the air a real charge. Tara herself could feel her lips engorging and opening against the studs at her crotch, while across her back, the corset dug into and revived the sting of her whip cuts, both sensations contributing further to her excitement.

  The cavernous space under the arena was indeed the cauldron of lust which Tara had expected. The air was thick with pungent smoke coming from the black cigarettes many of the men smoked. And as the first teams of gladiators were led in the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers and applause which reverberated around the ancient pillars and arches which formed the ceiling.

  The pens themselves were accessed by low wooden doors cut into the boards which formed the sides and there were banks of ascending benches set around them for the spectators. As Tara ducked and entered the sand-floored area, she was not surprised to see nearly as many women as there were men in the audience. And they were very close to the action. The sides of the pen were about eight feet high and the front row of spectators were able to lean on the tops. She could see bundles of notes changing hands as bets were placed. Her opponent entered soon afterwards and Tara sized her up. She had a Slavic look about her and was well built with pale-skinned breasts billowing up over the half cups of her corset forming inviting targets.

  But as an adversary she proved very disappointing. Tara was appalled at how badly she had been trained. The first time she managed to get in a few punches, jabbing to the body and breasts, the girl simply stopped in her tracks and Tara saw her expression change from one of shock to one of self-absorbed wonderment at the intensity of the pain spearing in from her nipples. She was responding purely as a masochist and not as a gladiator, which put Tara in a quandary. She realised that if she punched her again, the girl would probably collapse in an orgasmic heap there and then. The crowd would rightly feel cheated and she herself would probably end up getting the thumbs down as well as her wretched opponent. The whip she could cope with, but Carlo would be furious.

  She did the only thing she could, circling and feigning, dodging clumsy blows, giving the girl plenty of time to recover from one bout of pain before she delivered another. But soon the crowd saw through it and began to get restive, so Tara made the best job she could of finishing it off in style. She managed to get into a clinch and for a while the girl put up a decent struggle, pulling at Tara’s hair, clubbing in punches to her ribs. Their breasts were squeezed between their sweating bodies and both of them gritted their teeth as the pain hit. Immediately the crowd roared its approval, this was what they wanted. Tara felt the familiar surge of pleasure in response to the crowd and stopped concentrating for a second. The girl brought her knee up suddenly and caught her squarely between the legs. A bolt of scarlet agony shot through Tara as the points drove into her engorged labia. It was exquisite pain and Tara found herself dangerously close to folding up around it as her body and her surroundings transformed it into blinding pleasure. Grimly she held herself together, although at the cost of some body punches and then waded forward. She had put on enough of a show; her blood was up properly now. She forced her opponent back under a hail of jabs and hooks which had her squealing helplessly. Then at last, when she was backed up against the boarding, her mouth hanging open, her arms crossed over her breasts and her legs splayed wide, Tara moved in. She came close to her victim, close enough so that she could see the mixture of eagerness and terror in the girl’s exhausted eyes. She knew what was coming; and so did the crowd. There was a second’s breathless hush and then Tara brought her own knee up, hard. She felt the softness of the girl’s sex under the leather thong as she drove upwards; the crowd erupted, drowning out the girl’s shriek. She fell forward against Tara, trying to hit the deck but Tara wasn’t having any of it. She pushed her back up against the boarding, her legs still straddled wide open. This time she used her fist and the girl’s body jerked upwards, her eyes rolled and glazed as agony and orgasm swept over her. Tara stepped back a pace and her fellow slave tottered forwards, panting and gasping in the mounting waves of tormented ecstasy. Tara reached out and grabbed her hair with her left hand - steadying her for the coup de grace - then slowly she drew her fist back and down. The girl’s eyes cleared for a moment, she saw what was coming and made a heroic effort to keep her legs straight - and well opened. Tara brought her fist up again and the girl went down without a sound, writhing on the sand at her feet while she acknowledged the applause and two guards entered the pen. One guard clipped her lead on and led her out while the other hauled the loser up and looked around at the forest of downturned thumbs. He grinned and took his whip from his belt.

  Back in the barn, Tara stood with her hands obediently on her head and her legs apart while a guard unbuckled her corset and peeled it off. She bit her lip as she felt the studs reluctantly pull free of her and glanced down. Only one or two had left scarlet pinpricks, mostly on her breasts. But it was down below where they would really have dug in. She braced herself as she felt the guard’s hands at her back, unbuckling the thong. He pulled it free in one wrench and she couldn’t suppress a breathless cry as her sex lips erupted into ferocious stinging again. The disinfectant stung as well when it was applied and the pad came away from her with smears of pink on it.

  She was hoping to be put into a more feminine corset for cane duelling but instead the guard produced a bottle of body oil and began coating her in it.

  Gleaming and naked apart from her collar and lead, she was led back in for a bout of wrestling. The huge room was becoming very hot and the crowd was heating up as well. The second round of fights was coming to an end and Tara could hear the Thwick! of canes landing, the slap of whips working over at the whipping posts, and the desperate cries of effort from fighters giving the last of their strength. There were periodic eruptions of noise from various parts of the room as contests neared their climaxes. Money was changing hands everywhere she looked and in several places women were being taken from behind as they leaned over the boards, eagerly watching the sport, or were down on their knees before their men, hands and lips working at erect cocks. The door to the pen she was destined for opened as she was led towards it and an exhausted Carrot was half carried out and taken straight to the posts. She had obviously lost a hard-fought contest because from beneath both contestants’ corsets and thongs, thin trickles of crimson ran over their thighs and there were smears of it on their breasts.

  Tara’s wrists were freed from behind her back and her restraints removed, then she was pushed into the pen for a second time.

  Her opponent that time was an altogether tougher proposition and Tara enjoyed herself as she grappled on the sand floor with the lithe blonde athlete. They clawed and scratched at each other, hands slipping on the oil and sweat, squeezing breasts and seeking holds between each other’s legs as the crowd bayed and urged them on. The sand stuck to the body oil and soon both of them were half coated in it, making it easier to get a grip. Tara’s greater height and weight eventually began to tell, but not before she had been thrown hard several times and swung into the boarding with rib-bruising force. In the end she got in a forearm smash which dazed the exhausted girl sufficiently for Tara to begin the final exhibition. She went for both nipples and loved the feel of the hard little nubs under her fingers as she squeezed and twisted, forcing the other girl to follow her around until she spun her round in a wide arc, still holding her and then let her go, to crash into the boarding, back first. As she tottered forwards, Tara ducked, got one arm round a thigh and hoisted the girl onto her shoulders in a sort of fireman’s lift. Then she spun several times to disorientate her before hurling herself backwards, landing on top of the girl and winding her. A crotch hold was easy then as she writhed helplessly. Tara’s thumb slid easily up into the open and lubricated vagina while her fingers found an anus that was evidently used to being
prised open and worked their way in. Caught in the slave’s quandary by experiencing fear and pleasure at the same time, the girl stiffened but made no move to struggle, enabling Tara to grab her hair with her other hand. She braced herself for a final effort and then heaved with all her strength, pushing up with the hand buried inside the girl and pulling her by the hair. In one sinew-cracking move she released the girl’s hair and put all her strength into her right arm, propelled the slave high above her, her arm straight up, the whole of the girl’s weight now being taken by the hand inside her two passages.

  For a second she teetered there, a cry of anticipation and fear breaking from her, and then Tara clenched her grip and jerked her hand free. With a guttural howl the girl fell, her legs couldn’t hold her and she went down into a heap on the floor of the pen. The crowd loved it. Tara walked round acknowledging the cheers and actually reaching up to touch some of the hands which reached down to congratulate her, before she returned to her writhing opponent and knelt over her face to receive her due tribute.

  She was allowed a drink after being rubbed down back in the barn, and she fervently hoped that if she had to fight again, it would be a cane duel. She could feel her strength ebbing after the long day. But Carlo was fussing around with his clipboard and was evidently worried about some sort of score, she knew there was a points system but it didn’t concern her. Whatever the problem was, however, it meant that she was put back into the pens for another wrestling contest. But before she was led out again, her three stablemates were brought in from having been competing somewhere else. They were heavily marked and cut and plainly at the extreme limits of their endurance.