Blonde Fury (16 page)

Ennis went over to the pony and beckoned to Sophie.

“This is Dancer. She’s been with us three years now,” he told her, slapping the ponygirl’s flank. “Decided to stay on when her time was up.” He stroked the girl’s breast and she nuzzled her head against his shoulder. Ennis looked over at Sophie with a grin. “Take a good look, girl. This is your future.”

Sophie couldn’t have spoken even if it had been
permitted;
so many emotions were at war inside her. Horror vied with sexual excitement as she watched Ennis squeeze her breasts and pet the ponygirl with complete casual confidence.
Then envy kicked in as h
is other hand slid down her belly and stroked the strap that led up from between her labia and she watched his finger press against it just where her clitoris was. The pony gave a soft snort of pleasure and nuzzled him again.
Sophie suddenly found she was pressing her own thighs together and blushed furiously.

Two men approached just then and the other side of the ponygirl’s life was suddenly brought back into sharp focus.

“Get her strung up for thirty,” Ennis told them, inclining his head towards Sophie and before she could even think of making any vocal protest she was grabbed by the arms and marched along the yard until they came to a projecting beam of wood about ten feet up the wall. From it hung a chain that terminated in two cuffs hanging from karabiners clipped
to
its links. The men raised her arms and buckled her wrists into the leather. Then to compensate for her height, they unwound the chain from the hook it was anchored to after it had run through the pulley in the beam and shortened it so that she was pulled onto tip toes.

From between her tightly raised arms, Sophie glanced back over her shoulder, all thoughts of sexual excitement gone as she realised she was going to be punished like all those poor girls in the arenas. Ennis stood behind her with a coiled whip in his hands.

“Thirty’s pretty usual round here. Most girls get that every day or so. And they’re the good ones, the disobedient ones…well you don’t want to go there!”

The first lash convinced her beyond any doubt that he was right. She didn’t want to be disobedient. The line of fire it traced across her middle back and which set her spinning at the end of her rope
quelled all thoughts of rebellion or dignity and his calm count filled her mind with the terrible thought that were twenty-nine more like that to come. And as the hateful lash snaked and burned its way across her back and bottom and thighs until she just had to twist around and take some on her stomach and even on her breasts, she cried out loud while silently inside she was yelling at herself to forget any thoughts of principles or morality. Just concentrate on avoiding the lash, she screamed inwardly.

When at last it was over and she hung, taking in shivering gasps of air and feeling the fires go on growing in her flesh for a few moments before they began to subside, Ennis made her look at him.

“You been fucked and whipped. When I put your collar and harness on in a couple of days’ time, you’ll have the full set of what it means to be one of Mr Floyd’s ponies. Then we start your training.”

Nursing her hurts from inside and out and exhausted beyond anything she had ever experienced, Sophie staggered back to her cell aware of the thin but livid red lines across her quivering breasts as she moved. She slept for a very long time despite the pains and after
they fed her the following day
she was measured for her tack. Every aspect of her body was subjected to measurement
and not one remark made by either of the men who did it was addressed to her. Even the comments about how neat and tidy her inner labia were as they measured her inside leg
and the distance between her anus and her clitoris
were not meant for her.

She was learning.

Chapter Seven.

The man’s slow, measured breathing as he slept beside her lulled Martha as she wrestled with recent events. She hadn’t meant this to happen! Her intention had been to win Sophie some time either to get away or to sort her
self out. She hadn’t told him she lived with the girl he was looking for. Instead she had simply told him that she had seen the girl about the place and tried to pump him for more information about himself.

But somehow he had ended up fucking her in the bed she shared with Sophie. How had that happened? Of course he still didn’
t know that. The discarded clothes
Sophie had left behind she had just told him were hers. She had managed to hide the note before he saw it
and the torn dress she had been wearing
. But what now?

He had told her incredible things – starting with openly admitting that he worked for a slave training stable and part owned it.

“Do you like whipping women?”
The question had
burst from her lips the moment he had told her.

He had just looked at her for a second and then said; “Yes.”

For some reason she had thought of that time in the kitchen with the remote control in her hand and Sophie coming helplessly, gasping and crying and wriggling on the floor, gorgeous legs
wide open,
breasts shaking and it had felt so good to have the power to make her go on having orgasms until she, Martha, made the decision to call a halt. It was Sophie’s body but it had been her decision.

And then he had told her about Sophie – who she really was and who was looking for her. He had said he was taking a huge risk confiding in her but by that time she had been attracted by the man’
s power
and was falling under his spell
. He exuded a
calm confidence with women and spoke about them so knowingly that she must have made the decision to bed him quite early on in the evening
, she realised. The arenas had
wrecked her marriage, but that had turned out quite well as it happened so she couldn’t hate him because of that,
but fucking him was maybe some sort of revenge. They fucked her up, she fucked one of t
hem. But
what about Sophie?

Even Martha had heard of Blondie. And to think she had been shagging her daughter! No wonder the girl had such a glorious body! But if she plainly didn’t want
to be known as such, how could her
friend
and lover
help those who were hunting her down?

Martha’s thoughts whirled on. She glanced over at the man sleeping beside her. He spent his working life bending girls and women to his will and disciplining them, whipping them – she forced the word into her mind and liked the sound of it. Sophie and slaves became mixed
up in Martha’s mind and now sh
e could see Sophie coming helplessly under the remotely controlled bullet, but this time it was in a dungeon
and she was tied and helpless and Martha loved how she looked
.
And now
Sophie’s beautiful body writhed under
her
own
body
, as it had so often, but this time Martha was digging her nails into Sophie’s back and she was arching up and crying out and
begg
ing for more and Martha smiled as she ran her nails down her back and sank them into the lovely softness of Sophie’s buttocks
…

She stopped the careering train of thought as she remembered that Brian had invited her to come and see his stable. He had even said she could whip the slaves if she wanted to. Why had he said that, she wondered. And why had a jolt of excitement left her breathless as
she heard the casual invitation?
The man had the pow
er to do what he liked with all those women
– even casually condemn them to pain at the hands of a new acquaintance
. She liked that idea very much.
That was power!
And just maybe Sophie would be better off if she was controlled. And maybe Brian was an extremely shrewd judge of women.

Martha bit her lip nervously. What had Sophie ever said that might give anybody a hint as to where she had gone? Brian would expect her to help if she went to The Lodge and the CSL stable with him. Imagine a whole stable full of girls like Sophie and every one of them available for her to play with! But what could she tell him?

There was a lawyer in Switzerland and her parents had been rich enough to own property all over the world. But on one occasion she had mentioned that if things in Paris went flat as far as money was concerned, they should go to Texas, where she could get a job with one of her parents’ companies.

Beside her, Brian turned over in his sleep
and Martha felt his thighs press against hers briefly. He had been a terrific lay! He hadn’t done anything kinky, hadn’t spanked her or anything and
hadn’t
expected her to do anal. Now why had she
thought of that all of a sudden?
She hadn’t had anal since her husband had left. But Brian’s cock was big and it would fill that particular passage very satisfactorily and her vagina had had its fair share already. Telling him about Texas wouldn’t mean they would find Sophie. And even if they did, maybe she was meant to be in the arenas and would enjoy it really. Or if she was so valuable they might let her go after a year or two. Or…to hell with it
!
Exasperated,
Martha
banished all thought and
rolled over and kissed Brian’s broad back, smiling as she listened to him slowly come awake.

She propped herself up over him. “How do you fancy going in by the back door this time?” she asked him.

He smiled sleepily up at her. “I could manage it,” he told her.

Ace watched her trainer’s legs go past slowly as he walked along the line of hanging slaves. There were two rows of them, ten in each row. From somewhere above them came the sounds of the crowd gathering
in the stadium.

They had been flown in two days before, the container they had travelled in had been loaded onto a cargo plane. They had been sat on two benches running down either side of it but the flight had not been as boring as it might have been because their chains had been left with enough slack to allow them to masturbate and to frig the girls on either side. Twenty naked, chipped arena slaves had had nothing else on their minds and their trainer and the guards had
only had to look
in occasionally to make sure they were keeping busy and to fuck one or other of them or have themselves sucked off.

Now, with the Derby only an hour or so away, their trainer was giving them a final piece of encouragement. He had had them hung by their ankles with their legs spread wide open. It was a position that any slavegirl knew offered the ultimate in dungeon excitement when she was being played with, but when it was used for punishment, it was the mirror image. It was pure pain and shame. And that was what Holroyd was promising them.
He was doing it by the simple expedient of smacking his riding crop down along the length of each helplessly spread vulva whilst explaining to one of the guards what he was going to do if they dared lose this.

“They’ll be hung up like this on the training ground for three days in a row and thrashed.”

“But will the daft sluts understand?” the guard asked.

Ace received her cut with the crop and jerked at the blinding sting that engulfed her genitals. Holroyd bent down and Ace could see his grim and tense expression.

“Oh aye! They’ll get the message alright,” he told his colleague.

He strolled on, h
is riding crop tapping his leg until he reached the next girl and Ace watched as he laid the crop along the length of the girl’s vulnerable
labia, be
tween her stretched thighs, then
lifted it away and brought it down hard. The girl yelped and jerked just as she had.

“
If they remember what we drilled them in; hitting hard and hitting low. They should have a chance
!”

They had been practising relentlessly for this Derby, using
other
,
hapless members of the squad who weren’t part of the Derby teams, running into them as hard as they could as they stood trussed and unable to move out of the way. Then they had gone back to the training roller skate track and gone up against teams of their handlers and guards to get them hardened up. The men hadn’t spared them anything and Ace could well remember the bruises she had come away with from straight arm fend offs and being thrown bodily right over their shoulders.

“The yanks will field their biggest, their fittest and their fastest,” their trainer had told them, so they had to get used to taking much harder knocks than normal.

There was a rattling of chains and the girls were lowered to the floor where they could sit up and wait to be freed.

“They
invented Roller Derby, so they won’t want to lose to a bun
ch of Limeys,” Holroyd told the men
and stalked out.

An hour later they trooped out into the harsh floodlights of the stadium and Ace looked around
at the
towering
tiers of seats, all of them packed with spectators waving banners and flags. The noise was deafening as the home team entered from the opposite end of the stadium and both stables were escorted under the banked segments of the track at each end. Glaring at each other, the two teams of slaves took their places
on b
enches at either side of the in
field
. Under the hard, flat light the girls’ flesh seemed pale but Ace was sure these American girls would be suntanned. And she realised how right her trainer had been, they were big girls; tall and sinewy, their short blue kilts fluttered tantalisingly at the junction of the long, long thighs.