THE PRIZE Read online

  SILVER MOON

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  EROTIC DOMINATION AND SUBMISSION

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  Copyright 2003

  This edition published 2010

  The right of Sean O’Kane to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyright and Patents Act 1988

  Also by Sean O’Kane in Silver Moon

  Church of Chains

  Taming the Brat

  Tales from the Lodge (with Falconer Bridges)

  The Story of Emma

  Slavemaker

  The Arena Series

  Into the Arena

  The Gladiator

  Slave’s Honour

  Last Slave Standing

  Girlsquad

  Naked Ambition

  Lost Property

  Bad Blood (with Francine Whittaker)

  THE PRIZE

  By

  Sean O’Kane

  Chapter 1

  Prince Hassan ibn Faud was fond of reflecting that quite literally he was lord of all he surveyed when he walked the walls of the old fort which stood on a rocky outcrop and overlooked the desert and the mountains which made up ninety per cent of his tiny country. He turned to face inwards and again he was the lord and master of all that lay before him. Standing on the beaten earth of the dusty courtyard his slaves awaited him.

  The Prince was an ‘Owner’ - one of the original ones who had set up the modern arenas which now existed in many of the more discreet corners of the world - his own lay hidden in the mountains just a few miles from where he now stood. Unlike the other owners who had built up their squads by buying at the secret markets through which girls and women were moved a lot of his slaves had been acquired more simply - there were still places in the world where women were traded quite openly. And the result of several years' work now stood sweating and panting below him.

  There were more than fifty squad girls now plus six solo gladiators - his very best fighters. All the stables had them, they fought with the severest weapons, competed in the most testing endurance events and were already becoming stars in the small world of the arenas and their rich, devoted fans. The Prince let his eye travel along the line of naked girls as he descended the steps and walked out to meet Peter Lang, his trainer. The tall Englishman was as dusty as his charges and so were the guards. There were twenty of them and they really only needed to be there for the new recruits - once Lang had had a chance to work on them, the girls developed such submissiveness that they would gladly lie on beds of nails if told to. He had tried it once and every single girl had obeyed without question.

  Lang had had the whole stable out on what he called one of his 'treks'. Quite simply the girls ran for three days, stopping only for food, water and sleep. The last being taken when they weren't required sexually. Now the exhausted ranks stood with their hands on their heads and their legs apart, ready for inspection by their owner. He paced slowly along in front of the line, noting with unflagging fascination the variety of the breasts on show. Some were perhaps a little too small for classical beauty, some a little too retroussé and some a little too large but as he stopped here and there to stroke a nipple into full erection or twist it and pull until the slave gasped and bit back her cry, the great thing about them, he thought, was that they were his to do exactly what he wanted with. And that gave them a beauty all their own. That and the fact that as usual most of them were reddened and scored by the whip. The Prince reached Lang at the end of the line.

  "Any punishments due before the announcement?" he asked.

  "Just two. Number fourteen and number thirty eight; malingering earlier today, thirty lashes each," Lang replied. The Prince nodded as the slaves stood forward from the line, expressionless and passive, their numbers were tattooed just by their left hip bones. He doubted very much that there had been any malingering but the slaves themselves would expect no less than that some of them must face punishment. It was simply inevitable.

  He watched as the two girls were spreadeagled on the earth, wrists and ankles shackled to short stakes. Two of the guards shook out the lashes of their bullwhips and began the flogging. The hiss and snap of the lashes rang round the ancient courtyard and the bodies of the two slaves jerked as the leathers bit.

  The Prince watched critically.

  "I'd say you've got them prepared to your usual high standard Peter," he observed. What he was watching was the way the slaves' buttocks danced and rippled as the lashes struck their backs and their bodies twitched. It pointed to two things, firstly the guards were putting a fair bit of weight into the beating and secondly, although the slaves were fit and sinewy, there was still a good amount of fat on them - enough to keep them looking feminine. After all no one wanted to watch muscle-bound females, the slaves had to look womanly as they struggled and suffered under the whips but they had to be tough enough to take it. That was the art of the trainer.

  The two men watched in companionable silence as the punishment went on, noting in approval how neither slave gave vent to screams but managed to take their lashes with no more than explosive gasps escaping their clenched teeth. Once sentence had been carried out and they had returned to the line, the Prince stood in front of them and addressed them all.

  "We go into battle again in two weeks' time," he told them and although they were far too disciplined to make any obvious response, he could sense the sudden, repressed elation. They were going back into an arena and that was what they existed for. But they would also be experiencing the submissive's characteristic blend of fear and excitement. The training would now get much harsher until three days before the show itself - and they knew it would start now.

  The two men dismissed the squad, summoned the slaves who had been flogged to accompany them to the coolness of the rock-hewn room which served as Peter’s office and had them bend over his desk while they took them. The Prince chose to take his anally, Peter took his vaginally and both girls responded enthusiastically, especially when the men dug their fingers into their recently acquired welts. Then they dismissed them and got down to work.

  There was a lot to be arranged. The whole stable of slavegirls had to be transported half way round the world as the next show was in Oregon.

  Chapter 2

  Sir John Fitzgerald leaned back in his chair and surveyed the girl seated on the other side of his desk. She was a rare beauty. Of mixed Lebanese and French parentage she was blessed with smooth, olive complexioned skin, magnificent black hair and a fine, delicate bone structure to her face which complemented the large dark eyes perfectly. The rest of her was pretty spectacular as well, he reflected. He had very personal knowledge of the glorious silky skinned orbs of her large breasts, at the moment demurely covered by a white shirt and the jacket of her smart suit. His mind moved languidly south over the remembered geography of her body while his cock began to uncoil and throb towards erection. Her stomach was flat and her hips swelled out to what would have been an over-extravagant extent on a girl of lesser stature, but at five foot seven, Ayesha de la Tour carried them perfectly. And nestling in amongst its fleece of black pubic hair was one of the most responsive and delightful pussies he had ever encountered.

  Sir John's musings were brought to an end by the girl stirring on her chair and smiling knowingly at him - she crossed her legs and allowed him a glimpse of knee and thigh over the desktop before she settled again.

  "You wanted to see me, Sir John," she prompted.

  "Oh yes! I always want to see you, you know that," he told her, getting up to walk round the desk and lean against the front, making no effort to conceal his interest in the dusky-skinned valley of her cleavage, now clearly on view below him.


  She saw the direction of his gaze and smiled again before shrugging off her jacket and then reaching up to sweep her thick black hair down over her back. Her breasts rose and fell beneath the white, lacy bra, their weight clearly straining the fabric of the shirt.

  "Is the view better now?" she asked coquettishly.

  "Perfect, as always. I have a job for you this weekend. A flight out on Friday in a Lear. Two passengers; both male going to Bakhtar. I need you to provide your very best service to one of them. He rules the place, it’s pretty primitive but he's unbelievably rich and he's about to buy some very expensive hardware off a client of mine. I want you to give him a really good time and I'll pay you double if the deal comes off."

  The girl's eyes met his. "For double pay, he'll get the full treatment," she said in a husky voice and with a mischievous smile. "Any particular tastes I should be aware of?"

  "Don't know a lot about him but at a guess I'd say he's an arse man."

  "No problem." She stood and smoothed her short skirt. "Just let me know when to expect the cab. You could've phoned or mailed...."

  Sir John stood up as well. "You can't fuck by phone or computer."

  "I'm due at my gym in half an hour," the girl said, perfectly calmly. But then she reached out and stroked the bulge of his erection through his trousers. "But I can't have my employer walking round with a stiffy like that all day."

  "I'll ring Mrs Longstrand and tell her we're not to be disturbed."

  "I already told her on the way in," the girl laughed and began to undo her shirt.

  Sir John relaxed and watched her strip for him. Once she had taken her bra off, she played with her breasts for a moment, holding them in her hands, flicking at her nipples, teasing them into erection and making dark red peaks of them against the golden tan of the skin and the brown areolas. Then she let her hands stroke downwards until they encountered the skirt and she turned to allow him to undo the zip and ease both the skirt and the white thong down over the curves of her hips. She bent forward to help the thong down and let his hands rove where they would over her buttocks until she stepped clear of the flimsy garment, then she turned and reached out to undo his tie. He stopped her.

  "Sorry my dear, no time today. Just a quickie, but you'll need to fetch the riding crop."

  She gave an exaggerated sigh but turned and sauntered, naked apart from her high heels over to the filing cabinet in the corner and picked up the crop from where it lay on top.

  "And this will be to leave some marks to tell my weekend 'guest' that it's okay for him to do a bit of 'rough' with me?" she said when she had returned and was standing in front of him, holding the crop across the fronts of her thighs.

  "Of course," Sir John replied. "Why else do I pay you so much?"

  The girl laughed and shook her long hair back then handed him the crop and asked, "Over the desk?"

  "No, I think bent over in the middle of the floor."

  Sir John watched as she put on a languid display of sexual submission which had his cock throbbing almost painfully by the time her legs were spread and her hands held her ankles. She had bent forwards very slowly and stopped to arch her back and push her bottom back towards him. Then, knowing she was about to be beaten she had waggled it, inviting him on before she had slowly slid her hands down her legs until she was properly displayed, her thick hair pooling on the carpet between her feet.

  "I’ll just give you enough so that the marks will be right for the weekend."

  He laid the flicks on quite slowly, allowing her to soak up the sting of each buttock-rippling snap before applying the next. By the time the count had reached seven, she was giving delightful, breathy little yelps in response and between the striped cushions of her cheeks, her cunt was open and the inner lips were engorged.

  "Now the desk!" he said, his voice hoarse with urgency.

  The girl stood and rubbed at her buttocks vigorously before going to the desk and laying her torso on it, making sure she kept her back arched properly and spreading her legs again to present her two entrances for Sir John to make his choice.

  He undid his flies and pulled his cock out. He would have to take her anally to make sure she was okay for the Prince but he would have to sample the delights of her vagina for a while first. He drove in and watched as she eagerly accommodated him, her lips opening moistly and smoothly for him, the membrane at the back of the vulva stretching tightly to encompass his shaft as it slid home. He sighed deeply as his pelvis came to rest against her buttocks. He really would have chosen to come in that passage but business was business. He withdrew and repositioned the now shining dome of his helm against the puckered whorl of her anus. He put one hand round the front of one of her hips to steady her, the other he wrapped round his shaft to keep it targeted and then he thrust.

  It was tight. He had to stop a couple of times and let her relax before he thrust again but eventually he was able to move back and forth in reasonable comfort. Then he leaned forward and reached under her to grab handfuls of soft breastflesh as she raised herself onto her forearms. She craned her head round and smiled at him.

  "I'd better put in a few hours with the butt plug before Friday," she said. "But for now, shoot everything you've got right up my arse! Hard!"

  Her professional and yet eager compliance broke his control and as he dug his fingers into her breasts until she cried out he battered at her until he felt himself begin to pump. Then he lunged in to the hilt one last time and shot his load deep into her entrails.

  Some minutes later Sir John watched her walk to her car as he leant against his office window. It was such a shame, he thought. The girl was perfect; gorgeous, a truly professional fuck - whether you had her in bed or over your office desk. And she was totally amoral. Or she had been when he had first found her, but just lately one of his contacts had seen her with a man who was suspected of working undercover for Customs and Excise. Whether she knew that or not, it was just too dangerous to keep her on. He was going to have to find a way to dispose of her. But where was he going to find a replacement with a body like hers and who was the sort of girl who could accommodate a man in any way he chose with such enthusiasm? He sighed at the memory of how she had looked bent over and waiting for the crop and then bent over the desk waiting for the buggering.

  As she approached her car, Ayesha listened impatiently for the call she had made on her mobile to be answered. Once she heard the soft female voice at the other end she snapped, "My flat! Five minutes, go!"

  She climbed into her car carefully keeping her buttocks clenched as much as she was able. While she had been getting dressed in Sir John's office she had managed to push a paper handkerchief down the crease between them and it was held in place by her thong. She started the engine, gunned it and burned rubber out into the road. Of all the perks she collected working for Sir John, this was the sweetest.

  In just a few minutes she was parked under her apartment block and was walking stiffly but as fast as she could towards the lifts. At the third floor she exited, hurriedly turned the key in her door and stepped into her hall. Karen was waiting for her. Her hazel eyes wide with excited anticipation. Ayesha didn't say a word, just crossed her arms against one wall, leant her head on them and stuck her bottom out.

  "Get stuck in, you bitch!" she whispered urgently.

  Karen dropped to her knees behind her lover and ran her hands up the smooth-skinned thighs, loving the feel of the warm flesh and wondering what she would find beneath the short skirt. She pushed it up over the buttocks and caught her breath.

  "Oh my God! He beat you!" She pressed her lips to the pink weals and flares left by the crop and let her tongue trail soothingly over the hot skin. Only when she had attended to all of them did she turn her attention to the thong and what lay under it.

  "Now where did he have you? Ahh!"

  As she pulled the scrap of lacy material down she saw the scrunched up paper lodged in the crease and caught the smell of a man. She pulled the thong free and saw th
e thick emission seeping from her lover's body. Leaning in with a contented moan, Karen set to work, licking up the pungent seepage as it oozed from Ayesha's anus and trickled down towards her sex. She enjoyed the taste of sperm when taken from her lover's body even more than when it was fresh and she spread the buttocks apart, questing as deeply as she could into Ayesha's rectum until she was sure there was none left. Then she began to make her way down along the slit of the sex, opening that with her fingers as well and savouring the rich flavour of her lover's arousal until, by the time her tongue was swirling around the nub of the clitoris, Ayesha was groaning and her hips were bucking and swinging.

  "Are you going to make me suffer for that beating?" Karen whispered, keeping her mouth pressed against the sex and her nose against the anus so that her breath would inflame her lover even more.

  "I'll make you scream!" Ayesha threatened and then yanked Karen up by her hair and dragged her into the bedroom. She lay back on the bed, her legs spread as far as the skirt would permit and Karen needed no further urging to plunge into the fragrant darkness of her crotch, fumbling the thong out of her way, pushing the skirt up and feverishly lapping at the flooding sex while fingers clawed in her hair and forced her lips against the vaginal opening with bruising force.

  Ayesha came with a torrent of swear words and cries as Karen at last used her fingers to thrust deep inside while her tongue crushed and rasped at the clitoris.

  Then at last they had the leisure to undress and Karen lay with her head between Ayesha's legs, Ayesha's head between hers and they took it in turns to bring each other to long lazy orgasms. Finally Ayesha reached down and pulled Karen up to lie alongside her.

  "So tell me all the disgusting, filthy details," Karen whispered as she kissed the black-haired girl she loved.