by Sean O'Kane
Carlo played it out to the bitter end; he wielded the heavy flogger with precision and knowledge making her scream till her voice failed utterly. Lightning shot through her brain time and again as he scored the tender insides of her thighs and finally, finally brought the leather down on her most vulnerable spot. Capable now of only croaking, Tara’s body curled upwards and then arched backwards as the strikes landed, she felt her insides convulse and her fluid squeeze up between her labia to make the whip land in her wetness and send up sprays of her thick spend which splattered on her chest and back. He wrung the very last ounce of orgasm out of her, letting her hanging body quiver and shake and then stepping in again......and again. Tara became simply a target, her scalded labia the bullseye. And in the final storms of her punishment she sloughed off everything she had been, like a snake shedding its skin, and became what she knew she had always been destined to become. A creature of the arena, fated to live out its ecstasies and sufferings for the crowd’s entertainment. All else that had gone before disappeared, her mind was wiped clean in those final climactic moments.
Then at last, as she felt her vagina begin to spasm its way towards one final climax as the whip drove her remorselessly onwards, Carlo stopped and blearily she watched his hand fumble with his flies and free his rigid, pulsing erection which he pushed down slightly to aim it at her mouth. Eagerly she opened as wide as she could, reaching her arms round him to hold him close, knowing the cameras would catch how she jerked under the whip without letting it spoil his pleasure in the soft warmth of her grateful mouth. She took yet more lashes; seven.....eight....nine....ten, she couldn’t tell. There was a crescendo of noise from the crowd, she felt the handle of the whip slip between her puffy and slick labia and then as she sucked him to his climax he worked the whip inside her until it seemed to her as if the whole world exploded inside her head and she felt her muscles clamp round the whip handle while she erupted and Carlo’s sperm splashed into her throat. Then darkness closed over her.
Chapter 13
For the following three weeks she was housed in Carlo’s quarters. She slept in a bed for the first time since leaving the barracks, it didn’t feel right to her but at least it allowed her to start healing in relative comfort. While she had been unconscious at the end of her marathon under the whip, he had pierced her tongue.
When she had woken to find the thick ring in her mouth, she had felt nothing but overwhelming pride and when Carlo allowed her to suck him that first night, after he had covered her in liniment of his own devising and she stung deliciously all over, she had taken a long time teasing and caressing him with it, letting it slide over and under his tightly wrinkled scrotum, letting it trail up the thick shaft, sliding it along the meatus that divided his helm. It was the symbol of all she had come to understand about herself over the past weeks and it was fitting that the master who had been mainly responsible for getting her to where she had to be should be worshipped with it.
She was aware that something irrevocable had happened in that final devastating session in the arena; she was completely calm now, untroubled by any thoughts of what might happen or what might not. All that mattered was that Carlo was her true master. Her entire attention was focussed on him and even on the day after her ordeal, if he had ordered her to bend over for the cane or told her to put her hands behind her head and take a tit whipping, she would have done it gladly. Her past had ceased to exist. She lived purely for the present and her master’s next command.
Although she felt out of place in a bed, it was far too luxurious, she preferred the harsh feel of straw now, she put up with it for the sole reason that Carlo actually shared it with her. At first she had been horrified, an arena slave wasn’t worthy to share his bed, but she quickly realised that as she was off limits for punishment for the time being, he was enjoying her the only way he could and she devoted herself to pleasing him. Besides she was comforted by two further considerations, firstly she was still kept naked and chained by her collar to a ring in the wall over his bed and secondly he never insulted her by speaking to her as though she was a person. He ‘shushed’ and fussed over her as he would a horse when he tended to her cuts but otherwise he controlled her by clicks of his fingers and simple gestures. Of course he discussed her openly with other people but Tara found she could blot that out quite easily and genuinely developed an ability to simply not hear what was said about her, as a slave she felt it was impertinent to understand a conversation about her. She slipped easily into the role of Carlo’s favourite pet.
The day he led her out on her tongue lead, all but the worst cuts now healed without scarring, was the proudest of her life. He had practised with her in his spartan but scrupulously clean quarters, clipping the lead to her tongue ring and then pulling gently on it.
“Come on, Blondie!” he had urged and clicked his tongue to get her moving. Having to stick her tongue out and follow the lead eventually made her stretch her head forwards a little and she realised that unconsciously she was imitating the manner of a horse being led by its bridle and this seemed to please Carlo; he gave her sweets to eat from his hand. Once she had achieved that he put high-heeled strappy sandals on her feet. At first she had shied away from them - she didn’t want to wear clothes - but when he had lashed her breasts with the lead a couple of times she had calmed down and accepted them. Then by dint of a few lashes to her hips she learned that he wanted her to step delicately and put a sway into her walk.
But it was only on the day he led her out that she fully realised why he had wanted her shod. As ever, on that day, her hands were kept clipped neatly behind her back but just before he took her out, Carlo produced what Tara had been dreaming of for months. From a plain pine cupboard he took out a butt plug from which flowed a long, graceful, palomino horsehair tail. It was a tribute to how obedient she had become that she didn’t bend over straight away, instead she waited impatiently for his gesture before doing so. He lubricated the plug by bathing it in her flooding vagina before jamming it deep inside her rectum. And then she was ready.
As she stepped out into the sunlight, she realised that the sandals had steel plates under the soles and at the heels, so that as she walked on the flags of the stableyard she actually sounded a little like a shod horse. She took the delicate steps that she knew Carlo wanted, feeling the tail sweep against the backs of her legs and she was so delighted that she felt her heart might burst with pride as she followed her trainer - her true master back to her stable. The grooms were waiting for them and crowded round to pat her and stroke her, call her ‘good girl, good pony’ and feed her tit bits.
For most of the afternoon she was tethered outside the stables, her lead stretching from her tongue to an iron ring in the wall. She stood with animal patience, quite content in the knowledge that she was where her master wanted her to be. From time to time she flicked her head irritably if a fly settled on her face, sometimes she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, making the sandals scratch metallically against the stones. It seemed that Carlo was busy with the other slaves but sometimes one or other of the guards would stop and stroke her haunches or back, occasionally their rough, strong hands would slide over the smooth skin of her breasts and make her shiver with pleasure. They would laugh and pass comments about her but she merely gazed patiently at the wall in front of her, blocking out the meaning of the words, just enjoying the sound of male voices and the touch of their hands. On several occasions those hands would stray down across her stomach and delve between her legs, then she would open them obediently, using the opportunity to scrape her shoes on the stones as she did so. As the hard fingers parted her lips and felt for her clitoris she would stamp and cavil a little, just enough to make them slap her rump to calm her.
Just as the day was beginning to cool, Carlo returned. He was dusty and sweating from the training ground and refreshed himself by splashing himself with cool water from a bucket just inside the stable block. When he stepped out again he was carrying what looked
like full pony tack and Tara’s heart began to pound. He stroked and patted her, making little clicking noises with his tongue to settle her as she frisked at the end of her lead, pleased to see him and eager to run. Then he unwound her lead and led her out of the yard, turning away from the complex around the arena and making for the open fields. Tara’s joy was complete when she saw one of the lightweight racing traps waiting for them. When he halted her she couldn’t help fidgeting and prancing in her eagerness, her tail swinging and caressing her legs. Carlo took a long, slender buggy whip from the seat of the trap and, holding her firmly by her lead, dealt her several stinging lashes across her stomach and breasts. They were the first she had tasted since her punishment and although she calmed down, she felt herself melt inside as the hot pleasure soaked through her body.
As it turned out, she had quite a long wait before she could run with the trap; the tack was complex. The first thing Carlo did was tap the back of each of her calves with the whip. At first she didn’t understand what he wanted and hated the anger in his voice as he cursed her, then tapped again. This time he added a tap to her ankles and she realised what was required. One at a time she bent her knees, raising her feet behind her so that Carlo could remove her shoes. Much as she had loved being shod, the feel of grass under her bare feet again was good.
Next came the bridle. When she had pulled the racing chariots, the bridles had been simple, functional things, but this one was much more complicated and Tara fell in love with it immediately. First there was the bit. This was slender enough to slip through her tongue ring once the lead’s clip was removed. It was attached to a large ring at one end and at the other Carlo screwed the matching ring’s mounting into its end. Then the strapping of the bridle itself was fitted over her head. One strap went over the crown of her head, crossways, while straps from the rings at either end of her bit ran back by her cheeks and they were fastened to the ring at the end of the head strap, encasing her head tightly but comfortably. In addition a further strap ran under her chin and fastened there, allowing her mouth to open just enough. From the head strap two thinner ones dangled down her cheeks and these were buckled onto the lower cheek straps, then her blinkers were press studded onto them. She saw them before they were fitted and realised that they too were not the plain, functional items she was used to. They were worked in complex patterns and decorated with small studs. Finally the reins were attached to the rings at the end of the bit and Carlo moved on.
He buckled a sort of cross between a leather belt and a corset around her waist next, and again she saw it was elaborately worked and decorated, round the bottom hung loops of slender chains. Over her stomach it was broad enough to reach up to and support her breasts while at the same time it reached down almost to her pubic mound, but it tapered to the width of a simple belt behind her, leaving her hips clear. Carlo buckled it so tightly that she had to draw herself up to her full height and breathe in sharply. She realised that she was being prepared for some kind of display rather than a contest, the corset would be flattering her figure spectacularly but it was too tight for any real athleticism. From the front of the corset dangled a curious strap, she had glimpsed it briefly as Carlo had fitted it. A thin single strip of leather branched out into two, at the ends of which were press-studs. Carlo squatted down in front of her and fed the single strap between her legs, then reached behind her and she felt him doing something which caused her butt plug to shift inside her; it was only at later practice sessions that she saw on other slaves what the straps did, they supported the tail where it joined the base of the plug, making it stand up and then flow down more gracefully. At that time though, what mainly concerned her was the single strap which ran between her legs. Thankfully it wasn’t sharply studded like the ones she wore for boxing, but whereas they covered the labia this one bisected them. Carlo laid it carefully between her lips and she immediately felt that just where her clitoris was, the leather had been roughened so that any movement she made would encourage it to rub and stimulate her. He moved behind her and tugged sharply up on the two straps before clipping them to her belt. Tara couldn’t prevent a soft gasp escaping her from round her bit as she felt the crotch strap bed itself in even more deeply between her lips, making them swell out and touch the insides of the tops of her thighs. This definitely had to be for display, she thought, as she visualised how her sex lips would be on blatant show.
Her surmise was proved correct when Carlo produced the finishing touches. Taking each breast carefully in his hands he pierced her nipples with thin steel needles. She was well used to the sharp but short-lived pain and made no more fuss than an involuntary stamp of a foot each time the steel went in and then emerged from the hardened little peaks. To each end of each needle he then clipped delicate silver bells which tinkled prettily when he hefted each breast and let it fall. He stood back and admired the effect briefly before going behind her once more, lowering the shafts of the trap and clipping her wrist restraints to them. Then he gathered the reins, settled into his seat and began what she was to come to know as her dressage training.
The object was elegance and sensitivity. These were not qualities she had ever expected to have to display as an arena slave and to start with she found it surprisingly difficult. The whip was only applied as a guide and she had to accustom herself to light taps rather than the full-blooded lashes she was used to. But slowly she did learn that a tap to her left hip meant veer slightly left and to keep the movement smooth, she was to cross her right leg slightly in front of her left as she did so. A tug on her right rein and a tap to her right hip meant a sharp right turn, this time crossing her left leg in front of her right. A touch of the whip to the top of her spine was “Walk on”, a harder tap to the same place was “Trot”. Trotting was intended to make her breasts swing and ring her bells, to this end she had to lift her knees high in an exaggerated motion that she found irritating, she was used to athletic movement rather than this stilted, showy gait. For several weeks Carlo had to wrap the whip hard round her hips and stomach until she got used to it. Gradually her plumes were added and so were more and more bells, they were hung from her ankle restraints and from the rings on her bridle so that the slightest movement made her harness jingle. Eventually all four tongue-ringed gladiators were run in formation, wheeling, trotting and even reversing in complete harmony. And at the end of each session all four slaves would go down onto their right knees and bend their heads in unison, making their blue plumes nod prettily.
Strangely, she found that the enforced sensitivity, the lightness of the whip touches made her even more attentive to her driver who was always Carlo. She learned to almost anticipate his every command and keep alert at all times, ignoring her surroundings, her entire attention focussed solely on reacting to his touch.
Occasionally she was aware that other people came to watch the practices but their applause and their hands roving over her body once the traps were halted, were irrelevant. She was bonded completely to Carlo, it was he who had so skilfully guided her through her monumental punishment and it was he who had been through every stage of her enslavement with her. And as she trotted obediently, or walked, carefully putting as much sway into her hips as she could, she listened always – and only -for his approval.
The dressage was the only oasis of relative gentleness in the training regime however. The rest of Tara’s days were spent in learning how to pull the heavy logs, either by herself or with one of her stablemates. And there was precious little subtlety to the whip play there. She learned how to handle the wicked studded whips, and how to take their devastating lashes without flinching, and more importantly without becoming so stimulated by the pain that she lost her self-control. And at last she got to find out why real horses were kept in the stables as well.
She practised pursuit running and loved every second of it.
Chapter 14
Mark Cavanagh had felt out of sorts ever since Patti had so treacherously left. At first he had wanted to fire Ali f
or having actually had the effrontery to help her but eventually wiser counsels had prevailed. Gerd and even Conor had calmed him down. If, as Ali said, he had stumbled across her trying to escape, then he had thought quickly and well. If he had returned her to him he would certainly have marked her permanently in his rage, this way at least he had got a good price for the bitch. Still it all left a bad taste in his mouth; Ali insisted that she had given him no reason for her wanting to escape but he was left with a lingering distrust of his old friend. It was Conor who had suggested that with so many stables developing now, they were better off keeping Ali where they could watch him closely. He knew a lot about how this stable, the most successful on the circuit, ran.
That thought kept him relatively cheerful at any rate. Their slaves were undefeated, the only ones to hold an unbroken run of success and the money was pouring in. They could charge whatever they liked for internet access to videos of the blue stable’s contests and equally the charges for attending the shows in person were now truly astronomical - but still demand outstripped supply.
In the weeks following the chaos of Patti’s escape and the rehabilitation of the big blonde, he and Conor had attended several meetings between the ever-growing number of stable owners and the shows were developing rapidly. Adding the dressage had been the idea of an American owner, who pointed out that by displaying the cream of the slaves in a more blatantly sexual way, they could charge more for use of them in the evenings. A Swedish owner had then suggested that they be shod to add more grace to their deportment and both he and Carlo had been surprised at the way the slaves had responded so well to the subtleties of dressage. He supposed that beneath it all they were still female and liked being displayed. It had also been decided that the shows should be extended to three day events. Some owners had protested that that would push the slaves too far but Conor had reminded them of the increased revenue it would create and of the seemingly unending supply of submissives they were tapping into in Africa, Eastern Europe and the Far East. If a few slaves became too worn out to compete they would fetch good money on the market and could be easily replaced. At the last meeting he and Conor had attended, the owners had agreed on a number of new contests that could be held in the evenings at the owners’ houses and only the very wealthiest guests would be allowed to buy their way in. The best of the slaves would compete in weight lifting by nipple and labia; the size of dildo and butt plug they could take and other more ‘intimate’ spectacles, unsuited for the broad canvas of the arena but guaranteed to make money. Finally Mark himself had unveiled what Carlo and he had developed; The Cage. This was intended to be like the grand melee the squads fought in at the close of the shows but it was for the solo fighters. By a complicated allocation of points during the show, the best two solo gladiators would go head to head in a final climactic struggle. He had watched as the owners had heard him out in delighted silence, broad grins spreading over their faces as they realised what a savagely erotic spectacle it would make and just how much more rich they were going to become.
