Into The Arena (16 page)

"She'd better be," Carlo said.

"And you say she didn't flinch or make any noise? How many lashes?"

"Dunno. About thirty, maybe forty. No more than she can take, she was just about to come when the other bitch opened her mouth."

To her surprise, the Boss squatted down beside her and reached for her left breast. She took an inward gasp of breath as his fingers spread out, clenched on the tender skin and then dug in until the ravaged flesh bulged out from between them. She screwed her eyes tight shut as he re-awakened the fires within her, both of pain and desire. He held her until she thought she would have to scream and then let her go.

"She's tough alright," he pronounced. "I want to see what she can
really
do."

Then both men moved away and left her with a pounding heart. She had no idea of what was planned for her, but there was nothing new in that, she was used to the thrill she found in just being plunged into new experiences. But what really excited her were the compliments they had paid her. She would be sure not to let Carlo down, nor the strange, calm man who owned her. He intrigued her, he seemed able to assess her even more distantly and cruelly than Carlo. With Carlo she knew there was always an undercurrent of lust. But with the Boss there was only a strangely thrilling coldness. She got the impression that he could choose to beat her, screw her or both, with not a flicker of emotion. Just concentration on the job in hand and somehow that was a thought that she found very appealing.

Tara managed to sip at another two drinks before Carlo returned and hauled her to her feet. Without a word he led her over to the wall behind the whipping posts and frames, she scarcely noticed the pale form of Cherry, now moaning under the guard who had administered her last dose and was now awarding himself some pleasure in payment for his labours by taking her from behind. She knew the girl would be loving every minute of it, even while being terrified of her next thrashing. They were all the same. She wondered briefly what had happened to her determination to be different.

But her attention was now being drawn to what faced her. A long, smooth, concrete wall stretched the full length of the training ground; she had been aware of it but had not had time to look at it in any detail. Now she could see that low, wooden doors were set in it at regular intervals and over on her left steep steps ran up to its top where there were railings. She could see that already there were some men standing up there, on what had to be some kind of walkway. She took all this in while Carlo buckled a shield onto her left arm and handed her a whip. She took it but quailed inwardly. She was seriously weakened but was being made to fight all over again. Then she remembered Carlo's contempt earlier and more recently his calm assertion that she could face whatever it was he wanted her to. She squared her shoulders and prepared herself for what lay in store beyond the door which was now being opened before her.

Mark looked down from the walkway which ran along the fronts of the pens and branched off to allow people to move down their sides too. The pens themselves were nothing more than concrete walled areas, thirty feet square and there were six of them. The walls were built to a height of ten feet, affording the observers from the walkways a perfect close-up view of the action beneath them.

All the stables had them as an adjunct to their arenas, it had been his own idea and it had been received enthusiastically by the other Owners. It enabled those rich enough to attend the shows in person to choose between watching events in the arena and getting close to individual contests, while those who were flocking to join via the internet could download videos of everything - and would pay handsomely.

He leaned forward on the railing and settled himself. This promised to be interesting. Below him he saw the blonde duck into the pen through the low door and look around her. He saw her hand tighten on her whip handle as she prowled the length and breadth of the area, exploring her fighting ground. If she was aware of her audience above her, she gave no sign.

The door opened again and two members of One Squad were ushered in. The blonde backed up against the far wall, like a stag at bay. The two new girls both had shields and whips, but unlike the blonde's their whips were single bladed ones of fairly thick, plaited leather. And towards their tips they were equipped with cruel knots.

Carlo arrived beside him.

"You're really putting her through it," Mark observed mildly.

Carlo grinned. "She made me angry. And I know how to hurt them, Boss. It wasn't the whip, it was what I said afterwards. Just watch," he replied confidently.

The two dark haired girls advanced, slightly apart, whip arms raised. The blonde watched them come, and then sprang. She launched herself straight at them, then stopped and feinted to left and right so fast that the dark haired pair were drawn into lunging apart. The blonde leapt through the gap and then twisted, lashing her opponents' backs in a lightning-fast, right to left, then left to right action.

They spun round and swung their heavier lashes. The blonde caught one on her shield but was forced to take one across the fronts of her thighs. She cried out as the heavy leather seared her and the knot bit deep, but she didn't falter. She flicked out at her opponents' breasts as their swings left them exposed, then darted through the gap again and was back at the far wall.

Mark whistled softly. The blonde was good!

The more heavily armed pair came forward again, crouched and wary now. The blonde leapt again. This time she went for the one on her right. Carlo noted she had listened to him and was using fast flicks with her whip, tormenting her foe and driving her back under a furious assault. Of course this left her back exposed and she had to accept three heavy lashes from the other girl while she reduced her chosen target to backing up, shield held high. Then with a backward sweep of her own shield she caught her second opponent full in the chest. As she staggered backwards, the blonde charged in and brought her knee up sharply. The onlookers heard the girl's explosive grunt as the knee connected between her legs and then she was down, curled up and out of the contest.

Then the blonde turned her attention back to the lone survivor.

Carlo beamed at his boss. "I didn't have to teach her that. That's why I had to whip her this afternoon, she was way ahead of the others. She's a natural."

Mark looked down at the rout taking place beneath him. The blonde fury was whirling and twisting, lashing the other girl so fast and from so many angles that it was only a matter of time before she went down. He could have called it off, but she had earned the right to finish it in her own way.

Eventually, in a final flurry of lashes to her back and ribs, the girl did go down and the blonde was left, panting and exhausted but triumphant, her foes sprawled at her feet in the dust.

Mark stood up and looked around him. This girl was going to make the estate an even greater fortune than it was already assured of making.

Chapter 11

In the barracks that night the atmosphere was subdued. Cherry was shunned, she had brought disgrace on all of them and only Tara had rescued the situation. None of them had witnessed the final contest but they had seen the two girls put in with Tara and had listened in fear to the noises from within the pen and had had to suffer the knowing grins of One Squad.

When the door had been opened and Tara had walked out, swaying with fatigue but still upright, there had been muted cheers and groans from the respective squads, which had only been silenced by the raising of the guards' whips.

Tara herself was too far gone to notice very much that night until it came to the time for them to be chained. The guard on duty saved her cell till last and once he had chained them he pulled his shorts down and climbed on top of her. She cried out in pain as his weight crushed her but opened her legs eagerly. She had hoped it might be Carlo, but she had to admit that any man was welcome after a day of such constant arousal, pain and excitement. Her length of chain allowed her to put her arms round the man's neck and enjoy the feel of his hard muscularity under her hands as he ducked his head and sucked at her sore nipples, drawing groans of mingled pain and delight from her. Down between her wide-open legs she felt his hardness begin to push at her and she arched her back to give him better access to her body. And she let her breath out in a long sigh of contentment as she felt him slide up into the lubricated sheath of her hungry vagina. Once he was fully in he wasted no time and began to ram and withdraw in a fierce rhythm which took no account of her pleasure. She clutched his body to hers and rocked her hips frantically to rub herself against his hard rutting and felt the wave of sensual overload engulf her just as he stiffened and pumped his spend into her. She was still twitching in the aftermath when he levered himself up off her, pulled his shorts up and left. As soon as he had gone Cherry crept over and wordlessly buried her head between Tara's still open legs. She reached down and roughly pressed the tousled hair hard against herself, bucking up with the last of her strength to feel every lick of the tongue which was questing inside her for the residue of male liquid. She fell into a deep sleep the moment her second orgasm had overcome her. But from time to time during the night she half woke at the sounds of men unlocking one or other of the cells and taking their pleasure with the girls inside.

The days which followed seemed to Tara to blend into one long sequence of blazing sun and shining bodies, struggling and sweating, fighting and suffering, then finding rending pleasure in the constant visits of the guards. Her body grew harder and stronger by the day, but she noticed that very careful attention was paid to their condition. The daily weighings and measurings resumed and their diets were individually tailored. Those who showed signs of becoming too lean and muscular were given starchy foods to maintain the female reservoirs of fat at breast and buttock. No one wanted to watch, or screw, a female gladiator with a figure like an ironing board, she realised.

On one morning they trooped out of their barracks and found a short blonde German woman waiting for them. She had set up a makeshift table on which they lay, one by one while she shaved them with an old fashioned cut throat razor and they were ordered to keep themselves smooth and hairless from then on. Tara had never shaved herself before and found it an odd sensation to be so totally naked. But the guards seemed to like the effect and whenever the opportunity presented itself, they would finger the newly denuded sexes, never for long enough to bring a girl to climax but just enough to keep her hot.

Wrestling matches resumed and they were taught new holds and kicking manoeuvres. Hoses were played into the pens, turning them into quagmires of reddish mud in which the girls struggled with each other, their hands sliding off slick flesh. Here the result was not important, they soon realised, it was the spectacle of naked women, squirming and intertwining, coated humiliatingly in the mire which mattered. The audience of guards who watched these practices obviously appreciated the shows, because very often, once the girls were hosed down afterwards, they would be pushed onto the ground and taken, or made to kneel and bring relief with their mouths to the thick poles of their sexes.

They began to learn how to box. Carlo taught them to lose the female inclination to swing their fists widely and wildly. Instead he showed them how to punch straight and hard. Gradually he introduced hints that although they fought naked for the moment, it would not always be the case and these hints were bound up with others about 'a show'. The squad speculated endlessly in the barracks about that. As yet they couldn't fathom the full reason for their presence here. It had obviously cost more than just a fortune to set this whole operation up, so what was the pay-off going to be? But they all agreed that they liked the sound of a show. They all remembered the crew on the ship and how it had felt to fight for their pleasure and how intense the sex had been afterwards. They craved a bigger audience than the guards and Tara realised that they were becoming quite exhibitionist. They were proud of their bodies in a way they had never been before and flirted with the lascivious looks they got from the men. Tara did too, to her shame, but she was so aroused for so much of the time that she found she needed sex with men more than she had ever done before. Apart from the knocks they took in the various events they practised, serious whipping and punishment was quite rare after that first day. And to her amazement and horror she found herself agreeing with those who dared to utter some expressions of regret about that in the barracks. What Carlo had always referred to as 'playtime' also seemed now to be a thing of the past. And the girls had mixed feelings about that as well. The intensity of the experiences was missed by some, but others shuddered at the memory of the pegs, weights, clamps and needles.

Just as on board the ship, Tara sank into the miasma of sex and combat, she stopped reproaching herself for enjoying her new life and threw herself into being the best gladiator she could be and always she looked for the rare touches of approval from Carlo and the Boss. Quite frequently she would notice him standing at the edge of the training ground or watching her in the pens and she could feel his odd, grey eyes fixed on her.

One afternoon, after their siesta, Tara, Jet and Channel were ordered to remain in their cells and were chained up. They passed a long afternoon by dozing and exchanging worried opinions about what they might be in for. Eventually a guard came for them and after clipping their wrists together behind their backs, for the first time since they had arrived, he led them out. They didn't make for the training ground however, instead he turned them to their left and led them around their barracks block in the opposite direction. They were joined by another guard leading three members of One Squad coming from their barracks which stood at right angles to Tara's and her squad's. For a moment the enmity between the girls was submerged in mutual concern and the girls exchanged frightened looks before they were marched off. They crossed the river by the bridge the truck had driven over when they had arrived and then turned off the road, passed through an arch in a long wall and found themselves on a large lawn surrounded by buildings on three sides and the river on the fourth. The grass swept gently uphill to a palatial two storey house whose wings ran along the other two sides of the lawn. It was fronted by a long colonnade which gave it a Roman appearance, and in the centre of the lawn a large ornamental fountain played, with water gushing from a variety of carved stone figures. As the guards led them towards the house and they passed close by the fountain Tara could see that the nude figures in the fountain were carved in overtly sexual positions. The male figures gushing water from erect penises, the females from between lasciviously open legs. More ominously, the male figures were depicted with whips in their hands and were standing over the prostrate females menacingly.

Once they had entered the shade of the colonnade and could feel the cool marble beneath their bare feet, they were halted and the guards went to get some items from the low benches which stood at the rear of the colonnade. As they returned, Tara could see that they held bundles of chains and oddly shaped restraints, which they placed at the girls' feet before freeing their hands.

"Right, get yours off and get these ones on," one of the guards told them and without a second thought they did as they were told, even though there were only two guards and six girls. When Tara had unbuckled her usual wrist restraints she held up the new ones and saw they were of a very different design. They were wider and of softer leather, and on the part which covered the inside of her wrists they had a long tongue which stretched up to the palm of her hand with a D ring sewn into it there. She felt the familiar stirring in her stomach as she realised that these were designed for prolonged wrist suspension. There were ankle restraints too and they had to sit on the cold stone to fasten them on, but that still left a little bundle of chains and weights in front of each girl.

"We'll worry about those," the guards said, "once we've got you up."

They were strung up in a line, each girl in a gap between two of the marble columns, their wrist restraints slung from hooks on the ends of chains which hung from the roof. Then their ankle restraints were clipped together and for some reason Tara couldn't understand at that point, the chains with the weights on were hung from the loops on them. The weight certainly added to the strain on their arms but the wide restraints ensured that they lost no circulation in their hands. However, as soon as the men had left them she began to twist her wrists and grope with her fingers to reach the chains and grip them. With the long tongues on the restraints it wasn't easy and her wriggling made her body swing a little. But when she had achieved her aim and managed to look to either side of her around her straining shoulders she saw the others had done the same and the whole line was swinging gently to and fro. It was a breathtaking display of nude female slaves, and a striking demonstration of the estate's power over its property.

But as yet there was no one to see it. They had not been gagged but none of them felt brave enough to speak and so as the evening wore on they hung in a row while the agony in their shoulders grew worse and worse. Tara tried to distract herself by examining the whole of the complex she could now see before her. On the other side of the river stood the plain buildings with the small windows that she now knew were the barracks. There were four of them so two new squads would presumably be added in due course. That would make forty eight girls. Once again she was awed by the size of the organisation. Beyond the barracks she could see the training ground and the pens. And beyond the pens rose the high wall of the building she had never been able to identify. From the training ground itself, it had just been a high, blank wall looming over it on that side, but from Tara's present, agonised position she could see that it had a narrow roof which seemed to slope downwards on its far side, and then it suddenly came to her where she had seen a similar building. It was circular and the sloping roofs would shade seats. It was a stadium; a small one, but a stadium nonetheless. That must be where this 'show' Carlo kept referring to was going to take place. Beyond the stadium there seemed to be further buildings which she could only get a glimpse of, and beyond them were dry fields. And marked out in the dusty grass of the biggest seemed to be some kind of track, like an athletics track.

Her musings came to an end as a strained moan broke from a girl on her left. And as their endurance began to ebb away the colonnade was soon echoing to cries and moans of distress from all the girls. But these ceased abruptly as they heard a door open and voices and footsteps approach. Chief among the voices was that of the Boss himself. He seemed to have a group of people with him, of both sexes. They were relaxed and laughing as they approached until one of the women in the party must have caught sight of the swaying line of slaves and let out a little shriek.

Tara heard her owner laugh. "Ah! You've noticed my little display. These are the best of the squad slaves," he said. "I had them put up here to demonstrate the sort of endurance you may expect from them. I can assure you they will provide very good value for money. In all respects."

There was male laughter and Tara felt a man's hand stroke her flank. Then her heart leapt as the man himself came round to stand before her. It was the Boss. Quickly she lowered her eyes and grimaced against the agony in her arms; determined not to make a sound. "Please feel free to handle the merchandise, ladies and gentlemen. You will find superb muscle tone, and when you consider that it has been hanging here all the while you have been arriving, freshening up and taking a drink, I'm sure you will agree that you can confidently expect top class entertainment at the show itself."

Tara immediately felt a hand stroke her buttocks and move to her thigh, squeezing and assessing the firmness. Meanwhile a woman, very wealthy looking and in her fifties, Tara guessed came to stand beside the Boss.

"This is a strong looking one," she observed. "And you say we'll be able to reserve them for bed use as well."

"At an extremely reasonable rate," The Owner agreed. The woman licked her lips and reached out a hand. Instinctively Tara tried to raise her knees and twist away as the hand approached her sex. Then she found out why her ankles had been weighted. After hanging for so long it was unbearable to increase the strain on her arms and all she achieved was a soft rattle and clink as the weights swung, then she had to remain still while the woman let a single finger trace down across her stomach and then continue down along the cleft between her labia. Her legs were open just enough to allow it limited access to the vagina itself and Tara tried not to screw her face up in disgust as she felt it enter her. To sleep with your cellmate and to have sex with your fellow gladiators was one thing, but to be pawed by this pampered old jade was quite another, especially as her owner was calmly proposing to sell her body to her. And to add to her distress, Tara felt the woman's finger slide quite freely between her lips, despite the relatively small gap between her legs.