by Sean O'Kane
Beside Clive a party of businessmen – and some women - also settled down but their interest was only in the vicarious enjoyment of watching some highly desirable girlflesh be disposed of for further use in the arenas. Discussions about the girl’s breasts and her length of thigh started immediately and the women of the party weren’t at all abashed by speculating on whether she would be bought for pony racing, chariot racing or the more physical combats with whips.
“She knows how to move,” one of the women said.
“How d’you mean?” one of the men asked.
“The heels emphasise her leg length, and by taking long strides she draws attention to it again,” the woman explained.
“She can move her hips as well!” another man commented. And certainly the slave was working hard at putting a real fuck-me sway into her well-rounded hips as she moved.
“Bet she’s been trained by her previous owner,” another woman suggested.
“Bet that’s not all her previous owner did with her!” another man put in.
“Says here she was owned by a Welsh stable. Wonder how much she’ll cost to hire from her new stable?” another woman said. “I’d pay a lot to get her laid out for me when I had a strap-on. Look at the tits on her!”
Clive smiled. It was all working very well indeed. Society was splitting neatly along the lines of those who weren’t enslaved – or who weren’t likely to be as they were wealthy enough not to commit an anti-social offence – and those who were likely to find themselves the targets of his snatch squads. But even this latter group broadly supported the system; everyone needs someone to look down on. And the best thing of all was that both sides of the divide loved the arenas and would vote for the government that had brought them in and which continued to keep them well stocked. It was true that sometimes girls of well-to-do families got caught up in raids but even they could be trained, as Proteus had shown, and in any case once a girl was a slave she tended to become invisible and there was very little trouble.
True there had been a couple of years when there had been a backlash at one general election but when that had resulted in the three new arenas open by then, being closed down, there had been chaos on the streets and within a few months Clive’s party had been returned with a huge majority, the arenas had been re-opened and they had never looked back.
In the auction hall itself the girl had taken the slave out to the end of the catwalk and was now walking her back. The buttocks were sensational and she knew how to make the most of them as she moved. Clive wondered why she was being got rid of. He looked down at his programme and saw she had been the property of the Scarlet Harlots stable in South Wales and was about to read her summary when the auctioneer broke in on his thoughts and answered his question.
“Lot One, ladies and gentlemen! An impressive creature, I’m sure you’ll agree and a lovely mover. Been entered in four games, two wins and two losses at whip duelling, second in dressage twice. The vendors tell me she’s making way for a heavier filly to run the chariots and that her disciplinary record is good. She hires out for dungeon work at very advantageous rates as I’m sure you’ll appreciate! Now, I’m going to start the bidding at seventy-five thousand. Seventy-five. Do I hear eighty? Eighty over there!”
Clive turned his attention back to the catalogue and flicked forwards while the group next to him, presumably there for someone’s birthday treat, speculated about what they would do with Lot One if they got her into a dungeon. Predictably the women were far harsher in their imaginary sessions.
He thumbed the pages again, frowning as he failed to find what he was looking for. But near the back he came across it; Lot Seventy-five. The tip-off had been a good one. He looked at the hologram carefully, ignoring the other slave who was being offered as part of the same lot – he had not expected that. But as he stared at Kath, he found his hand running ruefully through his greying hair and noted how his stomach was pressing against the waistband of his trousers. From the look of things, Kath had weathered the intervening years better than he had.
He let his thoughts drift as the lots came and went in the auditorium. Further along from him the party was now being served with lunch and the wine was flowing. He couldn’t really say why he had known he would attend this auction the moment an old friend had rung and told him that she was being auctioned off by the Proteus stable, he had just known it instantly.
He had stumbled across her right back when they had first begun to test the personalities of the staff to see if they could identify likely recruits to a first publicly owned arena. Legislation to enslave criminals was still some way off back then, but he and the Prime Minister, Dandy MacIntyre, were certain that a net cast wide enough to trawl the sink estates and also the prim and proper offices of the government itself could populate a stable and put it into the public’s mind that an arena could be close to home and affordable, as well as contributing to the well-being of the country as a whole.
They had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams and Kath Knowles – he had struggled to recall her name but it had come back to him eventually – had walked straight into his office and straight into the Proteus arena. He had had only three or four sessions with her – he couldn’t quite remember how many – but she had been a real find. She was deeply masochistic, very sensual, highly sexed and blessed with a high pain threshold, and on top of all that she was very attractive. He gazed at the hologram again, noting how wide-eyed with fear she was and that she appeared to be taking instructions from someone just out of shot as she faced the camera. Her brown hair was just as thick and lustrous as it had always been, he scrolled down a little and really her breasts were just as pert as ever, thrusting forwards, seeming to beg for the next bout of punishment. Her nipples were still uncommonly thick and dark for her relatively light complexion. To see how the rest of her had fared, he would have to wait until she came up for sale.
Having examined her hologram and found her just as attractive as ever, he turned his attention to the girl who was being offered for sale with her. She was a tall and well-proportioned black girl with quite heavy breasts that still stood fairly proud, she had large, liquid eyes and a mouth that any man would love to employ for his pleasure.
He had a feeling she was one of the very first who had been taken from a prison cell, somewhere in Manchester he thought. Surprisingly, she had proved very amenable to training and, with Kath as her lover, had become quite a star. He recalled seeing the two of them in an arena in southern Africa during his short sojourn in His Majesty’s Opposition. The two of them had been ‘baited’ as a fun event while the arena had been set up for cage contests. They had been tied by one ankle each to a post with no weapons and ten or twenty of the opposition’s squad had been given staves and whips and told to bring them both down. The whips had been cats rather than stock whips and so the wielders had had to get in quite close to use them, and that was the only thing working in the baited slaves’ favour. The number of slaves used to bait them was a tribute to their prowess and Clive had been proud of the way Kath in particular had ripped the whip from the first girl who came close to her and of the way in which she had used it to keep the rest at bay until her colleague could arm herself too. Eventually it had taken the lashes of the home team’s guards to drive the baiters onto their prey and the event had ended in the British girls going down to an entertaining defeat only after a bitter struggle. As Clive remembered, when the trainer of the home team had asked the crowd whether they wanted to put the British pair to the whipping posts the thumbs had all been pointing up and they were cheered off. The home team’s baiters however got the thumbs down until the tally had reached twenty lashes each.
Clive smiled at the recollection of an enjoyable few days and ordered a plate of light refreshments to accompany a glass of Chablis from the waitress, a pretty girl who wore a silver torc to denote that she too had been sentenced. The girl served him and was making her way back to her station when she was pulled roughly down onto the lap o
f one of the men in the party next to Clive. His hand went immediately between her legs as his colleagues of both sexes cheered him on. The girl blushed and made a futile attempt to keep her short skirt down, but his hand burrowed deeper between her smooth and shapely thighs.
“C’mon you slag!” the man slurred angrily and the girl allowed her legs to part. As an enslaved prisoner she had no right to refuse a free man – or woman – anything. She gasped softly as she was penetrated roughly and clumsily and there was amused laughter from around the table.
Clive smiled and turned back to the auction as the sounds of sex drifted across from the other party and another slave was called for. Slavery was working well.
“Lot Seventy-five! Two fully enslaved women, no sentence being served so available for life! These are highly collectable examples of the early slave period and will add tone and prestige to their new owner’s household,” the auctioneer called out. Clive sat forwards as the two women were led on. Just the one girl led them, their leashes running between their legs and into her confident hand. The black girl held herself proudly and glared at the audience of prospective buyers, promising them some difficult times before she was fully subdued. Clive knew exactly what she needed and his eyes devoured her strong frame that was so plainly capable of taking it. But then he looked at Kath.
She looked just as good as she had in her hologram. But she also looked scared. Her eyes were huge as she looked around her and she shrank against her lover. Her fear aroused him far more than he had been prepared for. Physically she was still a superb specimen, but it was that fear which turned him on so that all of a sudden he had a raging stand on and had to shift in his seat to ease the pressure.
From the next table along came the sounds of orgiastic delight as three slaves were put to use.
Clive sat forwards further. He didn’t know whether he wanted to protect her or to convert that generalised fear into fear of him specifically – or both. But for whatever reason when the auctioneer opened the bidding at ninety thousand, he found his right hand immediately going to the green pad on the arm of his chair.
“Ninety thousand I’m bid!” the auctioneer called and looked around. “Ninety-five! One hundred thousand! I have one hundred thousand!” he paused and looked at the smoked glass behind which Clive sat. Kath’s eyes were filling with tears of terror that shone under the lights. Clive’s finger jabbed twice.
“One hundred and ten thousand! Any advance on one hundred and ten thousand?” the auctioneer looked around. “Come on now ladies and gentlemen! A fine pair of mature and experienced slaves! Good for years of use yet! Going for one hundred and ten thousand...!”
The gavel banged and Clive let out his breath as he sat back. On the next table along, two of the women climaxed noisily as two slaves tongued them vigorously. Two men came in close succession and roared their release as they plundered both ends of the first slave, who they had stretched out across the table.
He closed his eyes and wondered what impulse had driven him to buy the pair. True he could run them as a two-in-hand in the grounds of his country house. They would do sterling service at dinner parties and the black girl looked as if she could still take the lash from sun up to sun down. Then he thought of the fear he’d seen in Kath’s eyes and smiled. When she saw who her new owner was – the mix of surprise, terror and excitement was going to be something to see. And he would make it his business to ensure that she had every reason to be fearful - and every reason to be excited.
The holding cell was tiny and so when he had it unlocked and went to look over his purchases, he was able to thoroughly enjoy the look of amazement that came over the face of the slave who had once been Kath, a member of his staff and a free woman, and then he watched as fear once again ruled her as she looked into his unflinching gaze and realised that life as a privately owned slave was going to be every bit as testing as her previous existence. And then as that thought took hold, he could see her nipples erect with eagerness. He had them ball gagged, wrapped in cling film from neck to toe and put into the car boot, then he had Humphries drove on to the laboratory.
Chapter Two
“Come on, Babe! Get your legs open! I gotta screw you before I do another line!”
“Christ, Jake! Doesn’t that thing between your legs ever go down?”
“Nah! But I do!”
A throaty female chuckle followed the exchange as the voices drifted across the water to where Anna floated, on her stomach, arms folded on the lip of the villa’s infinity pool. She looked out across the steeply sloping scrubland beneath, down to the coast road and beyond that to the beach which shimmered white in the mid-morning sunlight, palm trees providing deep pools of shadow here and there. An emerald sea washed sleepily on the sand, high wispy clouds did nothing to obscure the sun and far away across the bay the island’s mountains rose in folds of differing shades of green, each peak so clearly defined in the clear light that she felt she could reach across and touch them.
It was a perfect place. That was why she had bought it. More particularly it was also a perfect place for her twenty-third birthday bash. For a week now, friends had been coming and going while the drink had flowed and so had some less legitimate substances. Currently the house was full of what she and her best friends called the ‘Amfux’, these were young men from the States - bronzed, fit and good for several nights’ entertainment before they fell by the wayside. Earlier in the week there had been ‘Britfux’ – rather less in the wholesome muscular stakes but with more between their ears – and ‘Eurofux’ who were pretty and good for a screw when all else failed.
Her thoughts led her to let her legs drift apart in the water, cooling her rather overheated vulva which had seen a lot of action the previous night – and the several nights preceding that. Her miniscule bikini briefs did little to interfere with the soothing effects of the water and the top just held her breasts enough to make her notice the play of the water against and beneath them.
Perhaps it was time she got back to work, she thought, virtually non-stop partying for a week was okay but you could have too much of a good thing. She knew her staff would have held the line for her back in London, but she would have to pick up the reins again soon. Not that she needed the money of course, but her Events Management business kept her social diary full, and inspecting the healthy bank balance gave her life meaning. The modelling was fun of course – and very profitable too.
From the villa side of the pool came a female shriek of mock alarm and fright. A loud splash followed, amid gales of male laughter. A few small waves lapped against Anna and slopped over the pool’s edge, she glanced round and saw her friend Alice surface, blonde hair streaming down her tanned back and shoulders.
“You bastard, Harris!” she called to an equally tanned Adonis at the pool edge – who was heir to the Big Burger chain of restaurants and worth more than the whole island. Harris gave her a cheerful wave and sauntered back to his mates.
“There’s another spanking waiting for you when you come out!” he called over his shoulder.
Anna grinned to herself. Most of her circle of friends indulged more and more in titillating activities around sex itself. They were all young, wealthy and good looking, they needed all the edge that life could give them, otherwise it became a bland sequence of self-indulgences. They skiied hard, flew micro-lites, water-skiied, and when it came to sex, they added fetishes and pain to sharpen their jaded appetites. Anna’s own bottom had been heated by a young Texan the previous night and it had resulted in some very satisfactory orgasms. Of course everyone was much more into that sort of thing now that the arenas were so much more mainstream. Just at that moment, a shout went up from one or other of the villa’s rooms and she remembered that several house guests had gone in to watch a show from an arena in Africa. She supposed that life was getting easy for a lot of people these days and the arenas gave them a bit of edge to their lives; an edge they could enjoy from their armchairs. Of course, like any wealthy girl of
her age, she had been to a few of the shows and found them unbelievably horny. The amount of sex that went on, on the terraces and in the corporate hospitality suites, was even more than went on out on the arena floors themselves. She felt a slight tingle in her belly at the thought of some of the things she had witnessed and made a mental note to have Petra, her PA back in London, book her and a few girlfriends some tickets at a good arena when she got home. One of the ones in the Far East, she thought. The Asiatic girls they used were so cute, but so tough. The fights were always excitingly long and hard and the naked bodies of the slaves gleamed so deliciously with oil and sweat as they struggled for the pleasure of the on-lookers.
Those final words lingered in her mind as she glanced back over her shoulder to the pool-side patio. Jake’s pale buttocks were jigging up and down between Marissa’s wide flung, bronzed thighs, Harris’s head was busily working between Angie’s legs and Alice was on her knees in front of a drowsily ecstatic software billionaire, his face was a picture of captive happiness as his cock slid wetly in and out between her glossy red lips.
Perhaps she could manage a couple more days of partying after all, she thought as she felt her stomach heat.
There was the sound of a primitive petrol engine coming up the road. It stopped at the villa’s gates and then proceeded up to the house once the driver had keyed in the right code. Anna glanced at her watch; it would be the caterers and house maids. They had come to clean, clear away the breakfast and then prepare the lunch. They would also want paying for the previous week’s catering.
Sighing at the onerous duties of a hostess, Anna swam gracefully to the side of the pool and pulled herself out in one athletic movement and then paused to wring her hair out, reclaim her towel and pick up the clutch bag that almost every woman on the planet possessed to keep her phone in. There was a soft wolf whistle from over by a bush with flowers so huge and gaudy as to be almost tasteless. A young man, naked apart from the briefest of swimming trunks sauntered out from behind it. His body could have served as an anatomical map of human musculature – and his trunks were doing nothing to conceal the workings of human sexual excitement. He grinned a lazy, arrogant grin at her.
