by Sean O'Kane
Then the event got under way properly. First came the individual rounds and Tara strained every fibre of her being to please Carlo better than she had ever done before, taking mincing steps in her high heels, making her tail sway, veering to right and left with no jerk to her trap whatever. When the order to ‘Trot on’ came she lifted her knees practically to her chest with each step and set every bell on her harness ringing so loudly she got a spontaneous round of applause. And at the end, when she backed the trap carefully between the poles set for it, without touching either one and then went on one knee in homage to her audience and bowed her head, she got an even louder cheer. One by one they were put through their paces. One slave on each team hit the poles on the reverse section but as Tara stood watching outside the ring, still harnessed to the trap she felt that her stable had the edge - just.
In the team event, the blues were drawn first. Again they walked on, trotted on, heads held proudly high, knees lifting in unison and to the same height. Again they veered smoothly to left and right, and came back to an immaculately straight line abreast. But when it came time to wheel in formation, she realised how painstaking Carlo’s preparation had been. Somehow he must have found out the dimensions of this ring in advance because he had been rehearsing them to exactly the right radius. Tara always ran the outside when the team wheeled, her longer legs made it easier for her to make the extra pace without seeming to hurry, while at the inside of the line the black haired slave who was the shortest, turned almost on a sixpence. Tara flashed by the excited faces of the crowd lining the ring for two complete circuits before, exactly as rehearsed, the inside trap turned and stopped dead, the second described a tight circle to bring it round to stand beside it, the third described a slightly larger one and fetched up beside the second and Tara, Carlo’s whip resting on her left shoulder, her left rein maintaining just the right pressure, wheeled round behind them and drew up beside the third, Carlo reining her in at exactly the right time to re-form the perfect line abreast. Four whips touched the backs of four right thighs in perfect unison and four placid ponies went gracefully to one knee.
The opposition, in purple plumes, were good, but their trainer had not had Carlo’s imagination and it was to the blue team the judge came. As the trainer’s pony, it was to Tara’s right breast that the rosette was pinned, the judge pinching a small ridge of flesh and passing the pin through it. There was good-natured laughter from the crowd as she fidgeted enough for Carlo to have to flick her with his whip while she was decorated.
Back in the stable there was jubilation.
The four slaves stood in a line close together tethered by their tongue rings to a rail outside the stable while the grooms rubbed them down. Dressage was a new event but once again the blues had emerged victorious. The grooms were still only allowed their ragged shirts and Tara was vaguely aware of the guards’ hands being slipped up between their legs and their giggles as they towelled her down. She gazed steadily ahead at the white stucco of the wall her ears only attuned to Carlo’s voice, her body waiting for his touch. And sure enough he made his way along their line, stroking, petting, calming as he went until he came to her and then his fingers slid up into her.
Tara had enjoyed the warm feel of the girls around her, her fellow slaves’ thighs and shoulders rubbing with hers, but one touch from Carlo and she was desperate for more. She dipped her head forwards to take her tongue ring in behind her teeth and swallow before she drooled too much but then his hands were on her, stroking the curves of her flanks and haunches and making her skin shimmy with pure pride.
But suddenly there was the sound of a man’s voice which she didn’t like. It was loud and bursting with arrogance and suppressed violence that instinctively she recoiled from. It seemed to belong to some remote bit of her past. She was vaguely aware that she ought to know whose voice it was but she didn’t want to know, all she cared about were the slow, proud caresses of her true master. They didn’t stop; his hands kept sliding over her buttocks while some conversation went on and she was content with that, shaking her head and frisking flies away. But the strange man’s voice wouldn’t go away, it had awoken something deep inside her and disturbed the dreamlike state she had existed in since her punishment had been completed. And when the groom led her to her stall that night she wouldn’t settle until she had had some lashes from the buggy whip. Carlo didn’t deliver them but the thought that it was his whip was enough and once the groom had lashed her back four times she was content to settle down.
But the sound of the man’s voice kept coming back to her. It meant something very important but she was certain that it lay in her past - way back before her punishment sessions with the Doc and her traumatic public flogging in the arena. And back there she didn’t want to go. She slept.....eventually.
Chapter 16
The show proper got under way the next day. The arena on this estate was modern and very similar to the one back home. Carlo had his entire complement of slaves led through it before the gates opened for the crowd, just to allow them to assimilate the atmosphere. Tara tested the consistency of the sand under her feet and gazed round, noting the whipping posts in their sinister line down the centre of the arena and the familiar giant video screens hung from the roofs of the terraces. The strange doubts and uncertainties of the previous night had been swept away by sleep and in the fresh sunny morning with a tangy sea breeze ruffling her hair and an arena waiting for her, Tara felt ready for anything her master wanted her to face.
The first contest she was involved in was the boxing between the eight solo gladiators. Tara’s opponent was a dark, sinewy girl of Middle Eastern complexion. She was good and the fight went to several knockdowns before she failed to get up again. She also managed to land a good few hard punches of her own to Tara’s midriff and breasts. But she was able to blank out the pain beyond that level which excited her and motivated her to prolong the bout for the crowd’s delight.
Several times as the olive-skinned girl went down, Tara knelt astride her face and fiercely pressed her head up into her groin. With the thong on, there was no way the girl could lick but nevertheless it gave Tara a pleasant and invigorating frisson of pain as the girl’s face pressed the studs up against her labia. In any case the crowd loved it and applauded each time Tara let her up and the girl staggered to her feet, furious, brave and ultimately doomed. Eventually Tara backed her up against one of the whipping posts and taking her time delivered several jabs to the body and breasts as the exhausted girl simply stood and soaked it up, gasping with pain and succumbing to the helpless throes of the pleasure it was inducing in her. A final lift of the knee between her legs and it was all over, she writhed on her back in the sand and Tara knelt over her face once more, wishing she could get the thong off and feel the eager tongue licking up into her.
But instead she had to make do with watching her take a tariff of ten lashes, agreed by the thumbs of the crowd. But the sight of her head throwing her mane of black hair into the air as the whip cracked across her back and she flung herself against the post only increased the urgency between Tara’s legs.
By lunchtime on that first day, Carlo was moderately happy. The blues were still ahead. The boxing had been honours even; two bouts to each stable. The squad had lost the first round of chariot races but had won a whip melee involving twenty slaves from each squad. After the crowd had eaten, the contests in the pen would start and he was fairly sure the blues could hold their own there. And once the spectators took their seats in the arena again, there were the individual studded whip duels. He decided he would put Blondie out first and she should get some more points on the board straight away.
She succeeded beyond even his expectations. She simply walked through her hapless opponent’s lashes, seeming to ignore the biting impacts across her shoulders and back, then delivered four lashes of her own, concentrating on the fronts of the thighs and the breasts. And while the purple team’s slave was hunched over and reeling she disarmed her with one
slash to the girl’s wrist. From then on she stalked her prey, playing with her for the crowd, picking her targets but never unleashing her full power. It turned into an entertaining pursuit, the disarmed gladiator dodging between the whipping posts, trying to get back to where her whip lay but Blondie was relentless and far too canny to allow that. In the end the crowd were baying “Olé” every time she landed a lash and the other slave arched and twisted away, her shrieks clearly audible even above the cheers. But she took her punishment well, not going down until she was striped from shoulders to knees, blotches of deeper red marking the weals where the studs had dug in. Once again the crowd were pleased enough and she got only ten further lashes at the post.
The other duels also provided good sport and took up most of the afternoon, the blues coming out still with their noses in front. Carlo looked forward to the pony races which would be held in the cool of the evening, again he was fairly sure his stable could cope with the opposition but it was one event he really enjoyed. He would be driving Blondie himself and he relished the prospect of sitting behind the powerful slave, watching her buttocks ripple as she ran, the evening breeze in his face and the long whip in his hand, ready to sting her into further efforts.
Tara was experienced enough to know how to take full advantage of what rest she was offered, and once she had been hosed down, towelled dry and wrapped in a blanket, she dozed lightly in her stall until there was the sound of footsteps echoing in the big stable block and men’s voices laughing and calling to one another.
By the time Carlo reached her stall she was standing waiting, legs apart, her arms tidily behind her, chained together at the wrists and at his signal - a click of his fingers - she obediently stuck out her tongue to have her lead clipped to her ring. All four slaves were lined up outside their stalls and made to bend over. Tara heard the familiar metallic sounds of the bowl Carlo used to brew up his horribly effective irritant, being placed on a table and scraped with butt plugs. Then she felt the blunt shape press smoothly through her sphincter muscles and lodge firmly inside her, making her feel bloated immediately. By the time the studded crotch strap and dildo had been fed between her legs and buckled tight, and the tit straps similarly applied, the fiery itch at her anus was making her and her companions stamp and frisk. There was a flurry of meaty smacks and curses as the drivers brought their steeds to heel. Carlo gave Tara’s breasts two quick slaps and then squeezed the strap around one until she bit her lip and stood on tiptoe, the feeling of the sharp little pins digging even further into her soft flesh eclipsing the discomfort at her anus.
Their bridles, complete with blinkers and the plumes which Tara loved so much were only attached once they had been led out and their wrists clipped to the shafts of their traps, then their drivers mounted and with light touches of the driving whips steered their slaves out to the course. As at her home stable, the course was laid out for a cross-country race, the crowd ranging themselves along the rope barriers which marked it out. For this first evening she knew there would be four races and the winners would go through to the semi finals and final which would be held at the end of the second day. Carlo had put himself into the first race but with her blinkers on, Tara couldn’t see her opponent and instead concentrated on the course ahead while she waited for the starting pistol and the flurry of whip lashes which would spur her up to whatever speed Carlo deemed appropriate. She had no idea of the course layout, or how many laps the race would consist of, all that was in Carlo’s hands, he would whip her to the right speed and make sure she maintained it.
As it turned out the course was laid to test the slaves thoroughly; it dipped and then rose in a long left hand turn as Tara pounded away from the start, leaning against the weight behind her and feeling Carlo’s expertly aimed lashes curl down over each shoulder in turn and snap at her breasts which were strapped up to stand out so invitingly. She grunted into her bit as bright flashes of pain exploded as each nipple was hit by the whip’s tip. She leaned into her work even harder and felt the inertia of the trap lessen as she got up to full speed, her legs stretching into long strides as she gained momentum. Then there came two slashes to her rump and she knew she was going at the right speed. The crowd flashed by on either side of her and vaguely she registered their cheers but mainly she was waiting for Carlo’s next move. Beside her she could hear her opponent’s bare feet pounding on the dry grass and the crack of her whip being applied.
The course went into a dip and Tara widened her stride, flying joyfully across the turf, her hair and tail streaming, her master just keeping her buttocks warm with the whip, but then there was a steep little rise which slowed her. Again her breasts and ribs took the whip as she leaned into the gradient, crested the hill and saw the water. The track took them downhill again then bent sharply right to run along a small stream with a stony bed. Carlo’s whip curled round her upper thighs and she felt the bit pulled back. Rearing her head slightly she leaned back against the trap this time. Carlo obviously didn’t want to plunge headlong into the water but their opponents knew the terrain and took full advantage, pulling ahead and hitting the stream at full tilt sending up sheets of spray. Obviously it was only shallow and Carlo slashed at Tara’s breasts again so that she too splashed headlong into the ice-cold water, gasping as it sprayed up her stomach and chest. But then she was whipped up into the pursuit of the pony and trap ahead of her. Fortunately the soles of her feet had hardened up over the months so the sharp stones beneath them only gave her slight discomfort. But the unevenness slowed her down as she frequently stumbled on shifting stones. The water was only a few inches deep but the trap lurched behind her and occasionally one wheel would catch and twist her round until she could yank it free. The opposition had used the right tactics - hit the water at full speed and the trap would bounce over most obstacles. Tara heaved and strained to her utmost as the whip scorched her breasts and upper back again and again. The plugs inside her tormented her and her anus burned. Desperately she gritted her teeth on the bit and struggled on but she was losing ground badly. For some fifty yards she staggered and heaved until the track suddenly re-emerged from the water and took them sharply left - up hill. Again, the team which hit that slope with some momentum would gain.
Tara could hear Carlo cursing and swearing behind her and once her feet were back on the turf she threw herself forward and began the chase. Carlo must have realised that there was still a long way to go because the whip eased off and Tara could concentrate on cutting into her opponent’s lead, which was considerable by the time they crested the rise and saw a long level stretch running between clumps of palm trees and curving round to the left. She felt a steady pull in that direction on her bit and then a couple of light taps across her buttocks. Carlo clearly didn’t want her to exhaust herself just yet so she contented herself with getting her rhythm back and her breathing under control again. Gradually she widened her stride once more and began to close on the team ahead, Carlo seemed content with that as no corrective whip was applied. The curve was a long one and he took her on a line which brought her close to the crowd on her left and she could clearly hear that she was being shouted on by many of them. She tried to put on a spurt in response but Carlo lashed her thighs quickly and she steadied.
Then suddenly the curve tightened, her bit was pulled sharply to the left and she found herself at the top of a steep little slope which led back to the stream but this time the track led straight across it.
“Yar! Go for it Blondie!” she heard Carlo bellow as he whipped her back. And this time they hit the water flat out. She was across it almost before she had finished gasping at the renewed shock of the cold on her sweat-sheened skin. The trap lurched and bucked wildly behind her but somehow Carlo stayed aboard and then she was pounding up a slight rise again which led to a long straight, past the start/finish line and onto the second lap. They were holding station now and as they started the second lap, Tara realised it was the last one because she got a blizzard of really hard lashes which had
her squealing desperately through her bit. But she got the message and threw all her remaining strength into the pursuit. This time round Carlo pulled wide to the left as they approached the water and then pulled her hard right as they charged downhill and into the stream, so she hit it going nearly straight on. Carlo’s line was so tight that she actually felt some hands reaching out from the crowd stroke her flanks as they flashed by. But all she had eyes for were the wheels of the trap ahead. Behind her, as she splashed through the icy stream once more, she could feel her own trap bounding along over the rough going but Carlo was still yelling her on and whipping her shoulders. At this speed the wheels didn’t catch and they lost no ground at all but neither did they make much.
Back on dry land, Tara snorted for breath round her bit and groaned with effort as she fought her way up hill and when she looked up again she was scant yards behind with mainly level ground ahead. All round the long left hand curve she gained on her opposing pony slave. She could see how much whip was being applied and reckoned she had a chance, Carlo was now just snapping at her bottom, keeping a final thrashing in reserve. As the two teams hit the ford, Carlo pulled her out to the right and they exited almost dead level. And from there to the line was a simple sprint. Tara felt a shift in the balance of the trap and realised that Carlo was standing. The whip suddenly came down and confirmed that he was. The lash landed hard over her right shoulder, it carved the whole depth of her breast and the tip stung bitterly as it cracked into her stomach.
She snorted in shock and pain, instinctively bending forward which was what Carlo obviously intended as he laid on an identical lash over her left shoulder. Beside her she could hear the opposing driver screaming at his pony and lashing her mercilessly. Grimly the two slaves pounded along under the constant barrage of stinging pain. Suddenly Tara felt a whip lash land across the fronts of her thighs and squealed in shock, almost stumbling fatally. The opposing driver was resorting to whipping her as well as his own slave. She heard Carlo swear and then his whip smacked across the chest of her opposition, making her throw her head back and lose momentum. Just enough. Tara got her head down again and gained precious inches. Through sweat-blurred eyes she saw the line coming closer and closer with agonising slowness. Her knees felt weak, she was staggering rather than running, Carlo wasn’t bothering with the whip any more. He was just urging her on with his voice but she couldn’t hear the words, they were lost in the roar of the crowd. The other team had to be just out of her blinkered vision. She had to hang on. Vaguely she was aware that as her strength failed, the combined effect of her harness, plugs and the whip was increasing and she was dangerously near a climax. She realised she could feel her labia sliding damply on the studded crotch strap. Inside her she could feel the dildo almost floating and squelching in a flood of vaginal juices. She screamed into her bit to try to drive away the arousal and lunged desperately for the tape, falling through it and sliding on the grass headlong. She was powerless to cushion her fall and so her breasts took the brunt of it and the pins in her tit straps dragged cruelly as she slid.
