Blonde Fury II (4 page)

“Don’t worry,” Brian told Martha as Mel shook her head desperately
when
she saw the next collection of sealed packets brought out. “She’s just desperate for him to bugger her. She loves
cock and once she’s turned on,
that’s all she cares about.”

“I know,” Martha said, smiling as she saw the drops of vaginal sap bedewing the back of her slit. But the
erotic impact of the
long, guttural groan
that greeted her first nipple piercing had every Housegirl in the room on her knees and pleasing the members
as Mel entertained them with
a full symphony of
erotic
suffering
.
Martha started rubbing herself again as she spotted the thick flow of sap that oozed out of Mel’s cunt from between the pierced labia.

It was very late and fully dark when Martha and Brian sleepily made their way back to his quarters.

“God, I loved the way he kept the one through the actual clit right till the end. She was really far gone by then but she felt that alright!”
Martha said quietly.

Mel’s final heave and scream
at that needle, coming as it did
after two needles in each nipple and the
n eight more through the meat of
each breast around the areola
s
had
brought rapturous applause and at last the company had departed to satisfy itself in whatever way took its fancy. Martha had kissed Patti good night and said she hoped that Mel was getting the buggering she fully deserved. Both Brian and Patti had laughed.

“Oh, I think you can rest assured on that point. He’s famous for his endurance after a good session like that. The girls reckon he’s
well worth the pain beforehand,
”
Patti told her.

As they walked from one pool of light to another along the lit pathway through the woods, Martha told him of the afternoon’
s events and that she had reached a decision. Beside her she felt Brian tense and for a moment wondered if Patti had been in on a ‘get it out of her’ conspiracy, but she ploughed on for better or worse.

“All I can tell you is that she sometimes talked about a company her parents had in H
o
uston. I reckon that when you spooked her that was where she went.
And
if it’ll help I’ll come and
look for her
with you
.
”

She looked at
him anxiously, terrified of hearing
herself dismissed.

“Well, it’s a start,” he said at last. “And, hey! A six foot blonde English beauty in Texas shouldn’t be that hard to find! Now, do you want a slave tonight, or shall we have one tomorrow night?”

Martha melted with relief and feeling half drunk on lust and exultation, reached out to touch the front of his trousers which already held a flatteringly hard bulge.

“
Let’s have one tomorrow.
Why should Mel get all the fun tonight? There’s other girls around here who could use a decent buggering.”

In th
e baroque splendour of the
Schlloss
G
ruberstrasse, the Council of Owners – the regular forum of the super-rich who owned and operated the modern arenas
-
was drawing to a close for the day. It was
the second
day and
several important decisions had been taken. The Owners, almost by definition, were not
natural
committee men and liked things to move quickly. It had been put to a vote and passed that a group of them should use their influence to mobilise all forms of media to publicise
to all nations
the benefits that Britain was experiencing from legalising slavery as a form of punishment
so that the arenas could purchase as many slaves as they needed quite openly
.
A target of four years had been set, by which time the aim was to have the arenas legally established in all European countries. Again Britain’s example was to be pushed using all the weapons of wealth and power that the Owners had at their disposal. Those arenas which had been started up in less developed countries were now under orders from the Council to use their influence – and their ability to pull in foreign currency - to increase the export of slaves for auction. Squad sizes were to be increased to one hundred and twenty girls as it
w
as felt that the finales on the third day of the games were not as long lasting and satisfying for the crowds as they had been. The increased number of studded whip duels and the increase in the staging of full squad log-pulls
and the Demolition Derbies
were exhausting the squads. So holding a few fresh slaves
in reserve
to hurl into the finale was thought to be a good idea. The increase in
numbers would
also
enable the stables
to reduce the cost to the public of
hiring slaves for play sessions
at the
games and of
having them earn their keep
as prostitutes in between games. This latter point was very much a part of the strategy for spreading the arenas through Europe as the tax
es
on the arenas’ revenues were
producing astronomical growth in Britain.

On the schedule for the final
day was the use of studded tack in all chariot races and pony races – at the moment it was up to individual stables and was negotiated before the start of each games. There were new specifications for whips for each event to be voted on. Most controversially there was a Russian proposal that all the whips the slaves used against each other should be studded and that squad numbers should therefore be increased to a hundred and forty, to allow for wastage – as the motion put it. It had been seconded by a Chinese stable, but everyone knew that the stables in those countries had an embarrassment of riches when it came to sheer numbers of slaves and it was likely to be voted down
.

For
Prince
Hassan ibn F
aud of Bakhtar, it was the later part of the
final
day’s schedule that involved him most. He stretched
languidly
as the Baron von Anstgruber brought proceedings to a close. The Council had met in the marbled ballroom of his ancestral home
, where vast family por
traits
vied with
tapestries
,
ostentatious
scrolled plaster work and gilded cherubs for space on the walls and ceiling. But on this occasion they had stiff competition;
the Baron was a devotee of girl milk and he kept a private dairy herd.

Between each huge painting a
naked girl had been chained, arms stretched straight up above her and legs bound together and chained tightly to the floor. They had been stretched up onto tip toe to minimise the amount of wriggling they were capable of but as the afternoon had worn on soft, gag-muffled mews of protest and some fidgeting had hastened the winding up of proceedings. As the baron had said, the girls would provide a natural signal that work should cease for the day and the evening’s pleasures should begin. It was very simple; they needed milking. Their massive breasts needed emptying and the growing discomfort they caused was now providing a constant background moan that echoed around the hall.
For seasoned gourmets of female pain and pleasure,
it was an enjoyable
sound and one the
Prince
was familiar with as he kept a
few
milkers himself. He was no
t overly fond of the milk they produced
but loved the process by which it was obtained, and he and
his trainer had found that
a
surprising
number of arena slaves were partial to it as well. As a result they now kept a substantial amount in readiness as a reward for good performances in games.

Now, as the hall filled with the sound of chairs sqeaking on the polished floor and voices
and laughter echoing under the high ceiling
, he looked at the range of girls
on view. They came in all colours
, shapes
and sizes but had a few adornments in common. Apart from the cuffs at wrists and ankles, each girl also sported a chain that ran
over her hips
and dived down into her crotch. It was drawn up tightly into the sex cleft so that the lips were clearly defined.
The baron kept them strictly off limits below the waist and the
Prince
k
new that each chain supported
steel shaft
s
in
the
front and rear passages and only a special key that
fitted
int
o the bases of the shafts
and the clasp of the chain
would
release them
. In short each girl was stuffed to
her
limits and any attempt to remove
the shafts
would be fruitless. As a by-product this feature also helped increase the charming, wide-eyed look of discomfort and dismay on the girl
s’
faces as the pain
in their breasts steadily augmented the dis
comfort in their nether regions. The
Prince
surveyed the line of huge, tear shiny eyes, some dark, some brown or hazel and some blue, that mutely implored him for relief above the ball gags that rendered them able to only groan softly.

But it wasn’t down to him to offer them relief. Their only other apparel was a steel disc over each nipple, kept in place by a thick barbell that pierced each prominent, rosy and hard nubbin. The baron’s own grooms would be along in due course to remove the barbells and release the discs so that palpation could at last administer relief. It was down to him and the other guests to add to the girls’ torments in the meantime, and it was this that the
Prince
loved so much. It was the way the big eyes would plead and hope and then widen in horror even further when they saw the whips. And then there were the extraordinary gyrations they were capable of under the lashes until finally relief was allowed and the way their eyes softened and relaxed as they were milked was exquisite. And finally of course there was the look of pure gratitude towards their owners and tormentors for having brought an end to their suffering – which was about to slowly begin all over again. It took weeks of continuous palpation to get a girl to lactate
fully but it was effort well expended as far as he was concerned. There were hormonal treatments around now which could produce the required result quite easily and quickl
y, but the
Prince
felt that was
cheating. A girl should be given plenty of time to come to terms with her destiny, he felt. It made her distress so much more enjoyable and her gratitude at each bout of relief so much more genuine.

He chose an olive skinned beauty and strode towards her where she writhed, thrusting out her enormous breasts in supplication. The edges of her tawny areolas were just visible around the shining discs that covered her nipples. The breasts themselves were smooth skinned mounds that strained towards him and beneath his fingers were unnaturally firm. Despite her distress, the girl’s eyes closed in ecstasy as she felt his touch. Whatever lay in store for her beforehand, the touch of a Master meant that soon there would be relief. For a few moments he contented himself with stroking the huge melons
and letting her enjoy his touch. Then he reached for the whip that hung beside her and once again he was treated to the wide, dark eyes, begging as she shook her head desperately.

The whip had slender tails that were fairly light and were designed to sting the sensitive, stretched skin. Frantically the girl bent her torso this way and that, even managing a few half-twists away from the tormenting lash, but only when her tears had achieved sufficient volume to trickle down her cheeks, find their way under the gag straps and drip off her chin to adorn the swelling upper slopes of the breasts
, now darkened and vein crazed,
did he stop. By that time the grooms had appeared with trays bearing jugs.

N
ow the ballroom began to echo
to a different sound as the high-pitched shrieks began to fade and a gentle, descending sighing filled the echoing chamber
. The
Prince
watched the groom’s
capable fingers unscrew the balls on one end of the barbells, slip them out and remove the discs, then she retrieved her jug and held it up with one hand while she began to knead the distended tit. Her fingers sank deep into the flesh and the girl moaned again as the thick pre-flow oozed out and was soon followed by the thin jets of real milk that sprayed into the jug.
He watched the groom’s fingers sink deep
ly
and firm
ly
into the increasingly slack flesh of the breast until he was interrupted by the baron.

“When I serve liebfraumilch, I really serve liebfraumilch!” he said heartily and held a glass out for the groom to fill, then sipped it with obvious satisfaction. “I’ve been a
dding varying amounts of different kinds of
fruit to their diets you know,” he said after smacking his lips appreciatively. “This one’s got a hint of peach at the back of the tongue
. Try some!”

The groom held a small glass up to the right nipple and expressed some more of the fluid before handing it to the
Prince
who raised it
to
his nose and sampled the bouquet before taking a sip to roll around his mouth before swallowing.

“That really is surprisingly good!” he told his host. “Have you tried putting a little alcohol in their feed? We’ve been experimenting with brandy
among other spirits
and adding some peach as well might make for an interesting blend.”

“That’s an idea. I’ll tell my staff to begin trials. But whatever goes into it, it always comes out best from a well-whipped tit, eh?”

They both held their glasses out for a refill and then toasted well-whipped tits.

“Just want you to know,” the baron said afterwards, leading the
Prince
away from the slaves and towards a quieter area of the room. “I like your idea and will definitely vote for it. There might be some opposition mind you, but I’ll speak up in favour and I think several others will too.
We need a calendar quite separate from the arenas, there’s so much enthusiasm for the sport we’d be fools to miss the opportunity.”

“Someone will do it if we don’t,” the
Prince
agreed.

“I’ll do some persuading over dinner, you might look out Kavanagh from the Blues. He’s reluctant but I think you could talk him round
and he might bring some others along
.”

The host treated his guests to several entertaining bouts of boxing and wrestling during dinner
,
and afterwards as they all mingled in
one of the state drawing rooms
the
Prince
did manage to talk to one or two owners and put forward his arguments in favour of a series of ‘Classics’. He
eventually
selected a pair of Slavic blondes for his bed companions and took them to his room in a reasonably optimistic mood.

“But there’s a growing number of ponies being run professionally who aren’t chipped. How would we adjust things for that – if at all?”

It was getting late on the third and final day of the council’s meeting and the arguments were still going on. The
Prince
marshalled his thoughts once more and stood up to reply.

“My own opinion is that we should not compensate at all. A chipped pony will not garner any real advantage. If anything the harder she’s whipped the more distracted she’ll become. An unchipped pony will perform to her limits under the whip just like a chipped one. Let us remember the chips are there to inculcate obedience and
pleasure through
pain
quickly
,
and to override the natural personality. With time and trouble a suitable
pony can be trained to orgasm just as passionately as a chipped pony and can be whipped just as hard. We
in the arena world
just needed the job doing quickly.”