by Sean O'Kane
Her groom washing her face with a tepid cloth was smiling when Tara opened her eyes and so she knew she had done enough and gratefully slumped back to allow the girl to unhitch her and see to her stabling.
She fell into an exhausted sleep the minute her groom chained her in her stall but was woken some hours later by the noise of men and women entering the stable block. They were talking and laughing loudly and every now and then she heard the chink of glasses and the glugging of drinks being poured. Of course; the day wasn’t over yet. She and her fellow slaves still had one more performance to put on. Stiffly, feeling the residual sting from the whips and the soreness at her breasts and sex from the studs, Tara stood up and blinked herself fully awake. Opposite the stalls the tables which normally held their tack had been swept clear and some of the lights had been switched on. There was enough illumination for her to make out a fair sized crowd of guests, men and women dressed in superbly tailored suits and evening gowns. Her eyes slid over them until she found who she was looking for; Carlo. He was showing a group some of the whips used on the slaves but glanced over when the grooms led the four solo gladiators out on their tongue leashes. She enjoyed the look of pride which she saw on his face as the guests made admiring noises. At her table Tara was made to turn and lie on her back, her hands still bound behind her. Then her feet were raised and placed on the edge of the table, so that her legs were bent double. Then she felt rope being wound round her shins and thighs and then a tension came on them as the ropes were tied off to the legs at opposite sides of the table. Her legs were thus raised and spread in blatant invitation to the guests to either beat her or fuck her - or both. Her head hung down over the opposite edge of the table and upside down she could see the straining bulges in the men’s trousers and decided that as they had probably paid very highly for the privilege of gaining access to the slaves, they would definitely go for both. She felt herself begin to heat and melt at the prospect.
Tara was about to try and crane her head up to see which was to be done to her first when a hand pulled her head down firmly and she found herself looking at the underside of a thickly engorged cock which was spearing towards her mouth. Without a moment’s hesitation she opened wide and heard the man sigh in pleasure as her ringed tongue began to lick up the hard shaft and then swirl around the smooth and pungent helm. But his need was obviously urgent and after only a few licks he rammed himself into her waiting mouth. She was just about to relax her throat to give him better access when the first lash arrived between her legs. She almost gagged as she jerked in shock and moaned in delight simultaneously, while the thick cock filled her mouth. But then whoever it was who was whipping her settled into a rhythm and she was able to widen her throat.
Hands mauled and squeezed her breasts while the cock withdrew and plunged in again and again. The man plainly didn’t want to feel the caress of her lips or tongue any more, he just wanted to feel the tightness of her mouth as he pumped his spend into her. And all the time she was responding to the stinging smack of the leathers between her legs. Suddenly the cock stopped thrusting and she felt the urethra expand and then begin to pump. As far as she could Tara raised her hips off the table to meet the whip as one of her spectacular orgasms burst through her. She gulped at the warm splashes of sperm and felt her sex convulse and squeeze as her thick secretions ejaculated to reward the whip.
Again and again she forced her hips up, milking the last drop of her fluids and her orgasm as the cock was withdrawn from her mouth and wiped on her hair. And as she lay gasping in the after-tremors she was overjoyed to hear Carlo’s voice and feel his strong fingers pulling her labia apart and delving into her pounding sex.
“See?” he was saying. “When this little beauty comes, it pours out of her. Makes for the most comfortable fuck you’ve ever had.”
Whoever he was talking to took him at his word and Tara bucked again as she felt herself penetrated by another cock. She cried out in pleasure but then her face was engulfed in a swish of fine silk and she found herself in a fragrant darkness. Two stockinged thighs were either side of her and her questing tongue found the delicious and tangy moisture of a lubricated vulva. The lips were already parted and between the convolutions of the inner lips she easily found the vaginal entrance and lanced her tongue upwards. She was rewarded by a squeal of delight and then fingers gripped her nipples and pulled spitefully.
“Fuck the bitch! I want her tongue right up me!” she heard the woman she was licking say to the man who was screwing her. He obliged and Tara rocked under the force of his assault while she obediently sucked and licked the woman until she heard her scream and the man using her vagina finished in a frenzy of even harder thrusts and jets of hot sperm.
Again there was no respite for her. Another cock was presented to her lips while between her legs the whip started again. This time Tara came before the man using her mouth and as she felt her innards drain there were cries of delighted surprise from the observers as they watched her cunt ooze thickly, expelling sperm and her own juices to trickle slowly down between her buttocks. She cried out her ecstasy around the cock in her mouth and then it was suddenly removed and she felt the warm splashes of sperm on her throat and breasts.
Tara began to sink into a haze of slavish pleasure as her use continued, the guests seemingly unable to get enough of her. At one stage she felt her groom being bent over the table beside her and taken from the rear while being beaten at the same time. But as she herself was pleasuring two men she couldn’t devote more than a second’s attention to the cries of pain escalating into shrieks of ecstasy. But as she lay panting and dripping sperm from both ends while the groom’s beating carried on, she heard Carlo again.
“Get her over here and we’ll have more fun!”
Before she could begin to figure out what he meant, the groom was hauled to her feet and then re-positioned. This time she was bent over Tara. Her familiar, plump sex was jammed down onto her face so that her nose was pushing at the girl’s anus and Tara could feel her hardened nipples on her own stomach. But, joy of joys, there was a tongue at her throbbing clitoris. And while one of the guests took a cane to the groom’s bottom another used a flogger on her back. From between the girl’s legs Tara got a wonderful view of the thin rattan shaft blurring as it sliced down across the well-fleshed buttocks, just inches from her face. It was enough, and while Tara felt the onrush of another explosive climax under the tongue-lashing her clitoris was getting, the groom writhed and ground her hips down, her warm breath fanning Tara’s nub as she yelled under the lashes.
For what seemed like an age she and her groom were taken time and again until finally Carlo called a halt. There were groans of disappointment which turned to cheers when he reminded them that there was still the next night.
The voices faded and Tara heard the groom climb slowly to her feet from where she had been discarded on the floor and begin to untie her legs. Finally she was allowed to stagger shakily upright and look around. All four slaves and their grooms were streaked from head to foot with shiny sperm; it gleamed between their thighs and on their buttocks, it streaked their breasts and matted their hair, it was caking around their chins.
“We’ll clean ‘em up in the morning,” one groom said, grinning at her companions. “Let’s just get the bitches bedded.”
Almost as soon as she was chained, Tara began to plummet into a deep sleep. A post- orgasmic lassitude overtook her and dulled the pounding at her crotch, she sighed contentedly and rolled onto her back, opening her legs to let the cool air soothe her bruised flesh. But just before the waters of exhaustion closed over her, there came a memory. It was a niggling little itch of a memory; something she had heard without even realising she had done so. While she had been pleasuring all the people who had crowded round her, there had been one voice which had wormed its way into her sex-drugged mind. It was a male voice, swaggering, smug and somehow dangerous; and it was the voice which had so disturbed her the previous night.
But
it was too late to prevent her sinking into sleep.
Chapter 17
As ever, Carlo had known exactly how far - and for how long - to let things go. So when Tara awoke it was clearly mid-morning at the earliest. The sun struck through the windows in the wall opposite her stall and mote-filled beams of light streaked the stables. She couldn’t help groaning as she eased herself up onto her elbows. It was always like this in the middle of a show but food, a shower, a little limbering up and then a massage would sort her out.
Sure enough, by the time her groom had expertly used her strong fingers as Tara lay on the table which had seen such frenzied action the night before, she was ready to go again.
Her first event was the solo log pulling and with Carlo driving her she had relatively little trouble. But by the time he came for her to compete in the pairs event it was plain that things were not going too well. He was frowning and his handling of her as she was fitted to the long pole which stretched across hers and one of the brunette’s shoulders was unusually harsh. Nevertheless she and her partner struggled back and forth down the arena, dragging their ever-heavier load, goaded expertly by Carlo’s whip which alternately stung their backs and shoulders and then wickedly curled up between their straining thighs. It was a close call but they crossed the line first and were led back to their stalls just as the losers began to pay their forfeit at the whipping posts. The shrieks and cries answering the cracks of the whips rose above the enthusiastic counting of each lash by the crowd.
The slaves were rested for a couple of hours before being led out for pursuit running. The front seats in the arena, those not shaded by the roof had sprouted a colourful crop of parasols as the crowd protected themselves from the bright sun beating down on the sand as the eight runners were paraded.
Carlo had drilled them all well and even though this was the first time Tara would compete in this event for real, she felt quite confident. All she had to do was make as many ‘lengths’ as she could before her pursuing horse rider ran her down and pinned her with his whip. Between the whipping posts, panels of wood had been slotted so that there was now a continuous barrier down the centre of the arena, but one which stopped well short of either end. A ‘length’ was counted as the length of one side of this barrier, the idea was simply for each slave to run as many as possible before being inevitably brought down. At one end of the arena a temporary corral had been constructed and inside this the rider would wait for his signal to start the pursuit of his naked quarry.
Tara had been drawn to run third and she had a seemingly endless wait in the dressing room before being led out. And as the first two runners were returned, caked in dust and sweat, scored with yet more weals over breasts, torsos and thighs; it became clear from Carlo’s demeanour that the Blues were not having it all their own way on this occasion and their early lead was being whittled away.
When it came to her turn and her groom was buckling on the shin guards which was all the protection the slaves carried he stroked her hair and kept up a worried murmur of encouragement, much as if he were addressing a horse which he only expected to respond to his tone rather than his words.
“We’ll show them, eh Blondie? Their best is six lengths. You can do more, my lovely bitch. You’re one strong slave. We’ll show ‘em,” he muttered.
She got a rousing cheer as she was led out to stand beside the corral and Carlo confirmed her growing celebrity status as he unclipped her lead and her hands.
“See? They love my beautiful blonde bitch. Show ‘em something they don’t forget in a hurry.” A quick slap to her flank and he was gone.
Tara flexed her wrists and looked around, suddenly alert now that her master was gone and she was in the arena.
Beside her she could see her pursuer, now mounted so that he was visible over the side of the corral. She noted his horse was skittish and he struggled to calm it. So much the better, the more he had to concentrate on his mount, the longer she could remain free and running. From long experience in training, Tara knew the contest was not as one-sided as it at first appeared. The firing pistol would sound twice, on the first she would start her run, and on the second, when she passed a marker half away along the barrier, the rider would be let out. The arenas were compact enough to even things out a little. An unencumbered slave was far more manoeuvrable than a horse, so although the horse was faster in a straight line, it took a high degree of horsemanship to turn it at each end of the barriers.
It was up to the fleeing slave to take full advantage before the rider could run her down and let loose with the stock whip he carried.
Tara settled herself into a half-crouch and waited tensely. The crowd fell silent. A sudden sharp report sounded behind her and Tara surged away from the start. Only vaguely did she register the storm of cheers which rose from the whole arena; she was listening for the second shot which would signal the real commencement.
But for a few seconds she could relish the freedom. With no harness she could feel the wind on her body as she accelerated and lengthened her stride. Her breasts swung and shook, her hair trailed and blew in a thick blonde mane behind her and though she could have wished both were a little restrained she knew she made a glorious sight as she loped easily over the sand, her long legs effortlessly covering the ground.
The second shot sounded and Tara re-focussed her attention.
As she rounded the barrier to complete the first length she glanced back and saw the horse accelerating towards her, just approaching the halfway marker, she reckoned. She set off on the second length at full speed, knowing how the horse would rear and struggle as the rider pulled it fiercely round before it could get back up to its own full speed. She glanced back again at the next turn and saw that the rider was now maybe three quarters of the way along the length. She reckoned she could make it three lengths before she needed to take any evasive action - and before she would need to worry about the whip.
She made it. But as she set off on the fourth length, she could hear the horse snorting and whinnying its protest against the bit yanking its head hard round. Tara ran now with her full attention on the sounds behind; looking round was fatal, it slowed you. She had just made the halfway by the time she heard the horse’s hooves closing fast. She took two more strides and then threw herself forwards, ignoring the grating on her stomach and breasts but concentrating on hearing the whip sigh over her head. Then she was up and running again, swerving out to her right to go round the outside of the horse which was being reined in as the rider struggled to regain his own balance and turn.
Tara ducked close by the horse’s head; deliberately distracting it and making it rear, then she was round the barrier and starting on her fifth length. But it was close work now and she knew the rider would be targeting her pumping thighs, aiming to wrap the whip and bring her down. He was good, she realised. He had wheeled his mount skilfully and was accelerating fast. Once again the hooves drummed behind her and she could almost see her own buttocks and thighs making inviting targets. She imagined his arm raising but this time she knew he would strike low so she made no attempt to throw herself down. Instead she veered sharply to her left and flattened herself face first against the barrier; her feet skidding in the dust as she slowed. The tip of the whip scorched across the backs of her knees making her stagger for a second but nothing more. She wheeled around and dashed straight out from the barrier, aiming to go close behind the horse. But the rider had second-guessed her and turned his horse to his right, barring her way.
Knowing that to hesitate was to lose in this event, Tara changed direction and darted back, nearly losing her footing but going for the gap between horse and barrier. She knew she would take a hard lash in so doing, the rider being able to slash down at her back as she passed. The blow was hard and momentarily made her lose her stride and her breath as the lash traversed her upper back, the tip snaking round to sting her left breast. But the pain spurred her on. This was what she loved; the contest. Her against a whip wielded by a man wh
o wasn’t afraid to use it.
She dived for the end of the barrier, swinging herself round it by one arm. The rider got in another lash, down over the barrier itself. It scythed across her breasts this time and she shrieked and spun away. She hadn’t seen it coming and the atrocious pain made her wobble and stagger but still she kept up a stumbling run until her head cleared. But when it did, she saw she was in trouble. She had run wide of the barrier as her breasts had blinded her with their pain and now the horse was between her and it. It kept pace with her on her left as she desperately sprinted forwards, sweat streaming down her face and stinging the weal on her breasts. But now the rider could pick her off and he did so, however she jigged and dodged. Frantically she tried to remember which length she was on. Carlo had said six was the score to beat. Was this the sixth? She couldn’t concentrate, the man was a master with the whip. He was weaving dextrous patterns in front of her with the long, heavy lash, forcing her to slow and back towards the outside fence of the arena. She just had to keep going somehow, make as many lengths as she could and trust to luck.
