THE PRIZE (18 page)

As Blondie came closer, ignoring the hands which reached and stroked respectfully, concentrating instead on the demanding gait her master required of her, the girl beside Brian squealed and grabbed his arm as she caught sight of the heavy tongue ring through which the slave’s bit ran and which made her tongue protrude charmingly from between the strong white teeth. The breasts shook a little in their strapping as she stepped as did the flesh of her proudly jutting buttocks and thighs. Each jolt of her body set the small silver bells on her harness to ringing, especially the ones de
scending
from her pierced nipples. Her hair was brushed into golden perfection and tied back into a plait which bounced on the front of one shoulder to leave her back clear to feel every nuance of the whip. Above the complex web of her bridle the purple plumes of the prince’s stable, nodded and swayed

Brian managed to stroke her ribs and her left breast, the girl managing to touch the hip, as she passed in a scented cloud of leather and body oil, her harness straps creaking, her bells tinkling. Carlo Suarez, the most famous trainer on the circuit, sat, smiling and waving but keeping a careful eye on his steed, occasionally flicking at her back, just to let her know he was watching.

Chapter 20

Brian surfaced slowly from a deep sleep. He immediately felt his cock rise into a rock hard erection and it felt pleasantly sore from the night’s exertions. Without opening his eyes he smiled at the recollection. He and the girl had watched the dressage avidly, listening as the comp
è
re announced each manoeuvre and explained why it presented certain levels of difficulty. They watched as the four rigs from each stable described graceful patterns across the turf. The teams were judged for presentation, precision in formation and
individual manoeuvring and the P
rince’s stable won. The judge pinned the rosette directly onto Blondie’s breast. The crowd applauded and made its way towards the paddock where by tradition the ponies were exhibited for an hour or so.

The girl had had great fun stroking and exploring the slaves and their harnesses, making them stamp and fidget as her fingers teased their nipples or followed the tight crotch strap so that her nails just scraped the labia. The drivers smiled at her interest in their charges and flicked at the slaves’ backs when they cavilled or stamped. The crowd round Blondie was too deep to even try and penetrate so they had headed back to Brian’s room.

Once there the girl had bent over the bed and he had taken his belt to her backside and back. She had taken it very well, swinging her broad bottom seductively from side to side as he lashed it. She had made little yelping noises until he had carried out his threat of earlier and stuffed her knickers in her mouth. Forced to inhale and taste her own emissions, her bottom had swung even more enthusiastically until he could no longer resist it. He had pushed four fingers easily up into her soft and welcoming depths, then turned his attentions with the belt to her back.

Once he freed her mouth of her knickers, she reported two of the most intense climaxes she had ever experienced before he had turned her over and allowed her to take the full length of his cock inside her. Driving her to two more shrieking orgasms before spending himself inside her. Then she had slid down the bed and cleaned him with her tongue before sucking him back into full erection and keeping him in her clever little mouth until he came again.

Now as he lay there smiling contentedly, he felt her move beside him.

“Amelia,” she said. He opened his eyes in puzzlement and she smiled down at him. “I know we said three days, but I’m sure I want to explore lots of things with you and I reckon you’ve got enough of a vested interest in me to make sure I stay in one piece. So my name’s Amelia Johnson.”

They found seats about halfway up the terrace. Really they were just stone benches which ran round the arena floor in ascending rows, each row had a metal rail in front of it. Amelia had only put on a T shirt and a short linen skirt. There really wasn’t any point in wearing any more and she clung nervously to Brian’s arm as the stadium filled up and several men gave her lingering, appraising looks. In a change to the normal proceedings there was a parade to start with; the two owners waving to the crowds from the backs of the new six-girl chariots and leading out their full squads who were paraded naked and unarmed. The guards marched behind them dressed only in shorts and with coiled whips in hand.

Brian was startled to see that he had been right. Ayesha was there, so the hooded slave Amelia had tormented the day before had been her. He decided it would add some extra spice to watching the show, but beyond that he wasn’t really concerned with her any more. Almost unconsciously he put his hand on the smooth warmth of the bare thigh beside him.

Once the parade was over, the crowd watched the big video screens as the scenes inside the dressing rooms were relayed. Immediately the atmosphere in the arena began to crackle. The chariot racing teams were being tacked up. On the giant screens, the crowd could see the studded tit straps being buckled on, the straps being drawn slowly to full tightness before being fastened. The slaves pranced onto tiptoes and the whips snapped but then the cameras began to zoom in on the spread legs and the dildos and irritant-smeared butt plugs being inserted and held in place by studded thongs. Brian was amused as one camera actually caught Ayesha’s face grimacing as her plugs were driven home and the studs on the strap bit into her labia. Beside him, Amelia was demonstrating exactly the mixture of fascination and horror she had described the previous day and watched, wide
-
eyed with her hands over her mouth.

Brian ran a hand up her thigh and under her skirt, just as an experiment. She didn’t even look away from the scenes of strong masculine hands manipulating the tenderest parts of the female body into tormented bondage for the thrills it gave the crowd. When his hand reached the top
of her
thigh she simply shifted her legs open a little and he could feel the soft, moist, heat of her lips against the edge of his hand. He patted it and took his hand away, she had a long enough day ahead of her. But a quick glance around confirmed that the other women in the crowd were exhibiting the same symptoms of excitement.

By the end of the chariot races the man sitting on Amelia’s other side had his hand up her T shirt and was happily fondling her breasts. He had looked over interrogatively at Brian during the third race, when she was drumming her heels and screaming at the drivers of the sweating teams of slaves to; “Whip the lazy bitches!
”
Brian had nodded and Amelia hadn’t even paused as the hand had gone up and begun squeezing and fondling.

The four chariots raced four times; five laps each race and the points were totalled up at the end. Ayesha’s team had won two races and come third and second in the others. Brian was impressed, not simply by her but by the chariots themselves. The new design was a great improvement, providing more speed and more spills as the drivers managed to ‘drift’ their rigs at the corners and bring down competing teams, leaving them to be whipped up again in the dust and chaos. To make it even better the technical crew had managed to get miniature cameras mounted on the front of one chariot and right on the front crossbar of another. The camera on the front of the chariot gave a wonderful image of the rolling and trembling buttocks of the slaves and the whips curling across and welting them and their backs. The camera right up with the front two slaves gave a vivid impression of the speed and ferocity of the combat as the teams came
alongside
each other and the girls tried to fend their opponents off. Down on the sand itself, the audience could see the bigger picture and appreciate the tactics of the drivers as they tried to drive their opponents into the side fences or the centreboard. In between races the slaves were watered, their butt plugs removed and the irritant re-applied. Some brief first aid was applied if necessary but after a few minutes the hooter would sound and the slaves were tacked up once more and driven to the starting line. By the end, Brian felt almost sorry for Ayesha, despite what he knew about her, she was exhausted and sank to her knees at the first opportunity but she carried her weals beautifully, her strong back looked all the better for them. Her breasts had been made for the livid stripes that now adorned them. His thoughts were interrupted by a hand tapping him on the shoulder. It was a large man on the bench behind.

“She yours?” he asked, nodding at Amelia who was now sitting back, panting for breath and beginning to realise that her nipples were furiously erect and were being stroked by a complete stranger. Brian grinned at her and waved the man on. He leaned down, lifted her T shirt right up to her armpits and began to stroke her breasts as well. She leaned back a little further and parted her legs, her eyes heavy
-
lidded, her expression quite calm. The first man got to his feet and turned her so she lay along the bench, she put her legs up and let them fall open. Brian turned sideways and pushed her skirt up out of the way.
“Merci,” the first man said as he manoeuvred himself to lie on her, his fingers fumbling at his flies. The second man kept fondling her breasts while the first gave her a quick shafting. Then they changed places.

Brian stood up and leaned on the metal railing to give them a bit more room and so that Amelia could see him. She seemed to be coming quite energetically and was by no means alone. All round the arena, women were laid out on the benches, kneeling in front of them or were bent forwards over the metal railing whilst being shafted from behind. Just along from where he stood a black woman was sitting back with her legs wide apart. A man knelt between them and she was busily wanking two more, encouraging them to spend over her breasts.

Down on the sand there were eight whip duels going on and Blondie was fighting in one. Half keeping an eye on Amelia, Brian watched for a moment and saw why she was such a legend. The duels were with long, heavy lashed whips and each girl had a small shield. Blondie seemed capable of never being where her opponent thought she was. While most of the other slaves stood almost toe to toe and slugged it out, she leapt and twisted, bent and dodged so fast that hardly a lash landed on her. But she somehow got her own lashes off alright and her opponent was the first one down. She settled herself across the downed slave’s face and the cameras zoomed in as a busy tongue began to pay homage and disappeared up into the blonde’s quim.

Behind him, Brian heard Amelia’s cries attain a new pitch and he turned. A new man had arrived and was sitting where he himself had been, he had picked Amelia’s limp form up and put her in front of him, facing away from him. From Amelia’s face it was obvious that he was going for the back door and she didn’t want it. Brian shook his head and the man smiled apologetically, setting Amelia back on the bench, making a clumsy little bow and then walking away doing up his trousers.

Just because she wasn’t ready for buggery didn’t mean that she was spent just yet though. As soon as Brian resumed his seat beside her, she pulled her T shirt off over her head and then knelt in front of him. Once she had freed his cock and used her tongue to put the finishing touches to his erection she rubbed it between her breasts before putting it back in her mouth and sucking him to his climax. She was grinning broadly as she resumed her seat, smoothing her short skirt back down and retrieving her T shirt, but not putting it back on.

Down on the arena floor the duels had finished and the losers were being put to the crowd’s mercy. One of the guards was pointing to one of a line of four defeated fighters and the announcer was asking if the crowd would settle for twenty lashes punishment.

All round the arena thumbs went out pointing down. Amelia’s joined them.

“I was too busy getting screwed to know how she fought, but I want to see her get well whipped!” she said lightly. Not until the tariff had reached thirty did she get the thumbs up. And so it went on until the full amount had been sanctioned by the crowd. In theory, the better a girl fought, the less she could expect for losing, but having been energised by the first orgy of the day the crowd was in no mood to be merciful.

Another innovation was then unveiled. In past shows the losers had been put to whipping posts dropped into holes in the middle of the arena floor. This time however, two of the horses used for pursuit running drew a large cart out from one of the tunnels, on the flat bed were four tall posts. The losers were made to mount the cart, their wrists raised and tied to them and then, as the whipping began, it was driven very slowly around the perimeter. Amelia was leaning over the railing, drinking in the stark eroticism of the girls’ cries and wrigglings, when the cart passed directly in front of her, she had yet another man embedded in her and was enthusiastically grinding herself against him.

The next event was a whip melee between about twenty squad girls from each stable which was watched in subdued quiet as everyone recovered and then they trooped out for lunch, the women attempting to retrieve items of clothing, straighten stained and spotted skirts, brush hair and return to normality. Amelia put her T shirt back on reluctantly. She claimed that having her breasts out in public had been another fantasy fulfilled.

After lunch in a crowded cafe, where spirits had only revived from post sexual
lethargy after a bottle of wine,
t
he crowds had returned to watch the contests in the pens.

At the Bakhtar arena these were concrete
-
lined holes dug in the grounds of the compound. The concrete rose to about four feet above ground level and slit trenches ran down to allow fighters to enter and leave - or be carried out.

Under large awnings they watched the oiled bodies of the slaves out in the sun, wrestling and boxing. They laid bets on each and gave the thumbs up or down in accordance with how much they had won or lost. Amelia loved the studded boxing corsets and thongs and her excitement didn’t go unnoticed. She jigged up and down so much as the brutal contests unfolded that Brian was able to give his permission to a whole gaggle of men who obviously walked about looking for that reaction. They all took her from behind as she leaned over the parapet and by the time they returned to the arena for the log pulling her skirt was soaked through.

“Did you see that one nearly come when she was punched in the tits?” she exclaimed as the slave in question began the long journey to orgasm under the whip as a consequence of giving in as Amelia described. Brian was watching the slave closely.

“Hardly surprising when you think of all those little studs in the cups of the corset,” he reminded her almost absently. She laughed. “The best bit was when she got the second uppercut between the legs, did you see her face?! God, I wonder what that feels like! And to have all those people cheering when you go down....!”