THE PRIZE Page 2

  Ayesha told her everything while her slightly built lover's head with its shoulder length mass of light brown curls lay beside her. They were a perfect match, she thought as she spoke. They both swung in every direction it was possible to swing. They both enjoyed sex with men as well as with women. They both enjoyed some pain to spice up their pleasure, although it was always Ayesha who dominated when they were together. Ayesha could cope with small amounts just to ginger her up but Karen liked real, hot, pain and humiliation. Quite early on in their relationship Ayesha had discovered that Karen’s ultimate thrill was to lick warm sperm from her body. As Ayesha had no intention of denying herself the pleasure of screwing anyone she chose to, it suited them both. Quite frequently Karen would crouch beside Ayesha’s bed and watch, wide eyed and eager, as some well set up young man would screw her. Once he was finished she would be allowed to lick them both clean. And to cap it all there was what they referred to as 'their little business'.

  Karen giggled when Ayesha had finished telling her about how Sir John had marked her and taken her. "I love it when you tell me about all the men who think they're pleasuring you, when really it's me you always turn to," she said.

  Ayesha looked over at Karen, sharply. The girl's eyes were closed and her pretty face wore an irritating expression of smug pleasure.

  "Right, you stupid little slut. For that piece of conceited presumption........" Ayesha rolled off the bed abruptly and went to her dresser, she wrenched open a drawer and threw two items back onto the bed.

  Karen, now sitting up, whimpered at the sight of them. "No, please, Ayesha. Don't punish me. I won't do it again..........I promise. You know I only want to serve you!"

  "Exactly. And you're going to serve me by being punished. Now put them on!"

  Slowly Karen buckled on the wrist restraints, then without having to be told, she slid onto her stomach and reached forwards, pushing her hands between the bars of the bed head. Ayesha leaned over and clipped the restraints together, then she pulled the pillows out from under her chest and pushed them under her hips instead.

  "There. We'll just get your sweet little butt raised nice and high and then I'll whip it."

  Karen moaned as Ayesha reached up to the top shelf of her wardrobe and pulled down a multi-tailed whip whose lashes were about eighteen inches long.

  "Get your legs open," Ayesha told her. "I want to see that greedy little twat of yours juicing up while you're begging me to stop."

  Karen gave a resigned sigh and did as she was told. Ayesha smiled as she noted the dusky inner lips were already engorged and swollen up invitingly around her vaginal entrance. She started swinging the whip. The girl had one of the best arses she had ever come across for this type of activity anyway. The buttocks were neat and prominent, with a good depth of fatty tissue on them so that they rippled and bounced under the whip delightfully. Ayesha didn't hold back and let the tails of the whip smack down hard so they fanned out, marking the pale flesh with pleasing red stripes. Sometimes she moved down a little striking at the tops of the thighs and letting the lashes just nip at the sex. Karen's head jerked up at each of these strokes but she took twenty or so before she gave in to screams and pleas for mercy. Ayesha stopped for a second and looked down at the girl's body, shiny with sweat, the rib cage heaving as she panted, sobbed and gasped all at once. She reached between the spread legs, brusquely probing with her fingers, finding the vagina weeping its thick emissions so copiously that the topmost pillow sported a damp patch. Karen managed a further moan of despair as she felt the fingers discover her body's betrayal.

  "Another twenty or so, I think. And you're really going to have to come up with something good to hide the marks from your husband," Ayesha told her gleefully and without waiting for a reply, went back to work.

  By the time she finished, the buttocks were a bright pink overall with heavier, darker markings in some places where lashes had crossed repeatedly. Karen was reduced to sobbing as Ayesha turned her onto her back, reached back into the same drawer that had contained the restraints and produced a length of nylon rope.

  "Oh, not that as well! Please!" she begged.

  But as Ayesha wound a turn of the rope around each ankle and then began to haul, the girl co-operated, drawing her legs up and then allowing them to be stretched back over her head until the ankles, spread to the corners of the bed head could be attached. She lay bent double on herself, her pussy hopelessly exposed above and between her strained and parted thighs.

  Ayesha took up the whip again and trailed the lashes over the sex flesh, the inner lips now blooming fully and announcing the girl's need. Ayesha delved three fingers into the slushing vagina and stirred it until it was audibly squelching and Karen was groaning incoherently, then she withdrew the fingers and instead, pushed the lips apart, stretching the vulva a little to expose the clitoris, then, taking care not to strike her own fingers, she snapped the whip down; five, six, seven, spiteful, stinging snaps. A pause until the girl had ceased heaving in her tight bondage and then three more and it was over. The room was filled with the sounds of Karen's tortured breathing and moaning. Then she got herself back under control and sobbed out her breathless thanks.

  Ayesha smiled, smacked the stretched bottom affectionately, reached into the drawer one last time and pulled out a vibrator. It had been the thickest one they could find. Karen’s pussy was the most elastic one Ayesha had ever encountered. She had spent some happy afternoons going through every room in the flat and seeing how many objects they could get up it, and how many at one time. Sometimes she bought things especially to see if they would fit. Quite calmly she turned the monstrous thing on and unceremoniously plunged it into the vagina, up-turned and gaping before her. Then she took a shower.

  She didn't hurry and anyway she had the traces of two lovers to wash off, so it was some time before she sauntered back into the bedroom. Karen was keening in an unearthly, falsetto wail as the vibrator buzzed inside her stinging cunt, stimulating her constantly but never quite driving her over the edge.

  Daintily, using only the tips of her fingers so she didn't get any of the juices on her again, Ayesha took hold of the huge vibrator.

  "I take my pleasure wherever I feel like it, understand? No one has any hold on me."

  "Yes, yes. I do understand. I'm sorry. Thank you for my punishment."

  "Very well."

  Ayesha pumped the implement up and down while Karen convulsed again and again.

  After she had been released and had dressed, she played out what had become a ritual for the two women. Ayesha held her right hand out, palm uppermost and Karen took it in her own hands. Then slowly she would lick and kiss the palm. It sent exquisite tingles of arousal spearing through Ayesha and hastened their next assignation. This time, Karen talked as she performed the ritual.

  "I've got to go and dress for dinner then meet him at his office. So if I suck him off in the cab on the way home, he'll maybe still taste of you. He'll want me as soon as we get in so he'll take me up against a wall in the hall. I'll scream when he enters me because of how you whipped me and later on, in the dark so he doesn't see the marks, he'll dig his fingers into my bum when he has me in bed and I'll scream again. But it'll be for you - not him."

  Ayesha listened with her eyes closed, savouring the tingles the kisses were igniting, then she urged the girl to go before she got too horny. Once the door had closed behind her she leant against it and shook with quiet laughter. She took Sir John Fitzgerald's money and fucked him whenever he wanted. Then she fucked his wife. And then his wife went back to robbing him so they could take off together in a few months' time. It was sweet!

  Ayesha had been working as a barmaid when Sir John had first recruited her. He explained that his hotel business - with establishments all over the world provided perfect cover for him to travel widely and mix with a lot of people. And a lot of those people wanted him to arrange transactions for things like armaments. He obliged them, he told Ayesha, and he needed a pretty girl wh
o wasn't averse to using her body to earn very good money indeed to 'smoothe' deals through. Ayesha's childhood had been poor and harsh and she had learned self-reliance on the streets of Beirut, she had also soon lost any compunction about getting what she wanted by using her body and looks. So she had settled quickly into the combined role of stewardess and call girl.

  But the first time she had met Karen, Sir John's new wife, the mutual attraction had been instant. Ayesha had never objected to having sex with women - she had got by for several months as the 'kept pet' of an older woman once. But she had really enjoyed screwing Karen and the feeling had obviously been mutual because on only the second time they made love, Karen had told her about how, as she helped with the hotel business's books she had developed a scheme whereby she raised false invoices and squirreled the money away in off-shore accounts. The business turned over tens of millions so if she kept it to a couple of thousand a week - no one was any the wiser. The two women began to plan a future together and Ayesha steadily became the dominant partner.

  Then Customs and Excise had rumbled Sir John’s shadier deals and contacted her promising immunity if she helped them. It had seemed like a Godsend. All she had to do was help them expose him and then she and Karen could disappear with a goodly proportion of his fortune. She would tell Karen all about it the next time they met, but just then she had to e-mail her 'handler' and tell him about the weekend's jaunt. She would pump this Prince - or whatever he was - as much as she could over drinks and in bed and find out what was being bought and sold this time.

  Chapter 3

  On the Thursday night Ayesha wore a butt plug for a couple of hours. She prided herself on always approaching her clients as well prepared as she could be and was perfectly frank with herself that she enjoyed having sex with lots of different men - and being very well paid for it.

  She was never concerned about what the men looked like; just so long as they were reasonably clean. She simply enjoyed cock. She loved the feel of the erect shafts through the soft skin. She loved squeezing them hard with her hands and fetching groans of pleasure in response as the thick cream of the ejaculate spurted from the slit in the polished dome of the helm. She actually didn't object to the taste of sperm and she rather enjoyed making her mouth a kind of 'cleverer cunt' as one client had put it and it was a source of some pride to her that with her wide experience she had never been unable to provide a satisfactory passage for even the biggest cock. And it was the sheer variety of shapes and sizes that she also enjoyed, each client was a new adventure, with a cock that would repay intimate exploration with her fingers, tongue and lips. But best of all was knowing the power she wielded over them; how they stiffened in response to her body, how she could make them come whenever it suited her and then they would be pathetically eager to pay her!

  Then she could come home to Karen and relax while the girl worked away between her legs and she told her all about it.

  By the appointed time on Friday morning, she was neatly dressed in a simple cream blouse which tucked into the waistband of a short, dark blue skirt, tight enough to accentuate the swells of her hips and buttocks. She chose conservative two inch heels for her shoes, knowing from experience that being towered over by a girl often dampened a man's libido.

  She also knew that she was blessed with skin smooth enough to make stockings unnecessary and allowed herself a smug little smile as she surveyed herself in her cheval mirror, four clear inches of honey golden thigh above the knee, her blouse pulled tight and her breasts pressing against it with only a skimpy half-cup bra covering them.......she would get her double pay and would probably find out enough to keep her handler happy.

  She felt no twinges of conscience about betraying her employer; she had learned to play rough on the back streets of Beirut. When it suited her she would probably dump Karen as well.

  The Prince was in a good mood. He and Peter Lang lounged at their ease in the back of the stretch limo as it made its way through the more plebeian traffic on the way to the hotel.

  They had stopped off in the UK on the way back from the show in Oregon to attend to some business. The show had been a great success, true, the Prince's stable had lost but only narrowly and the slaves had put on a very good show. The recently introduced studded whips had added spice and colour to the whip duels. The vastness of the ranch in which the arena stood had meant that pony racing had taken place on a long cross-country course and the spectacle of the racing ponies, sweating and steaming as they splashed through icy mountain streams was one that he had particularly enjoyed.

  The punters had gone away well pleased at the scenes of sex and ingenious cruelty they had witnessed and none of the slaves had been expensively damaged. The American stable had had a beautifully equipped dungeon and the owners and their luckier guests had enjoyed the slaves to the full in them.

  In fact the arenas were working out to be even better money spinners than the original owners had dared hope. It was proving perfectly possible to maintain squads of fifty girls in each arena - there was no shortage of new talent to buy at auction so some of the longer serving fighters could be sold on. And as the audiences for the arenas had grown, when an ex-gladiator came up for sale there was no shortage of bids for her. The most extraordinary thing was that some dominants were volunteering their subs to serve for a few months in the squads, all the owners had to do was feed them! And some subs were e-mailing in on their own initiative to volunteer. It was as if half the girls in the world were queuing up eagerly to endure the hardships of log pulling, chariot racing, whip duelling and all the other cruel games the owners devised under the relentless rule of the guards' whips. But the size of the squads coupled with the harshness of the regime the owners had established from the start had produced a further source of income. With fifty girls in each squad, it was quite possible to 'rotate' them. Most of the stables worked a five week system, the squads were split up into groups of ten girls, each group would train for the arena for four weeks and then serve as sex slaves for the next week. Thus it was possible for the big houses on the estates to serve as SM palaces for the most discerning customers. They all boasted full complements of household slaves in any case and with the addition of the whip-and pain-hardened gladiators, they could provide entertainment for the most jaded of palates. The lithe and sinewy bodies of the fighting slaves were well known amongst the owners for their ability to provide vigorous and stimulating sex after the most testing of sessions and now a whole new paying audience had been found for that particular talent.

  "It has been most pleasing the way the girls have responded to being slaves in such a harsh environment as the one we provide for them," the Prince opined as he sipped a gin and tonic.

  Opposite him Peter Lang smiled. "Pleasing maybe, but no great surprise. Most females secretly want nothing more than to be dominated completely by men."

  The Prince studied his trainer for a second. He was a thin, sinewy individual, his past involved some military service but the Prince had never enquired too closely, all he needed to know was that the man could judge a girl's tolerance levels to a nicety. Where some men would cease a flogging when the slave was hanging by her wrists and seemingly inert, Lang was always capable of finding a spot on her anatomy which could absorb just a little more pain and shock the slave back into action.

  "From the number of volunteers some of the arenas are getting, it would seem that you might have a point," the Prince conceded. He himself had never bothered to consider the matter. To him it was a simple given fact that women were there to be used in any way a man chose - it was merely pleasing that they happened to respond to being fighting slaves well enough to increase his already fabulous wealth.

  Lang gestured outside the car to the pavements crowded with shoppers and workers on their lunch hours.

  "Give me any girl. I mean even one of those and I could make her into a slave whose only concern is to serve her master - either in his bed, his dungeon or his arena."

  The Prince
knew that Lang was not one given to boasting. He had watched the slaves in his presence and knew they regarded him with a mixture of fear and awe, with a smattering of devotion as well, precisely because he never made idle threats. They knew exactly where they stood with him, if he praised them he meant it; if he said he would flay the hides off them then they knew they would be flogged to the furthest limits of their endurance. But any girl? A girl just plucked from off a high street rather than one who had been bought at auction and who had already had some taste of submission? It was an intriguing prospect for a man who enjoyed a bet.

  The two looked at each other and smiled.

  "Any girl?" the Prince asked.

  "You choose. Just get her to me and I'll do the rest. How much will you stake?"

  "The slaves cost me enough as it is Peter!" the Prince laughed. "We will simply make it a sportsman's bet."

  "Fine by me."

  While Lang amused himself the next day, the Prince and his old friend Sir John Fitzgerald went to a discreet suburb of London and held a meeting with a man who had a consignment of machine pistols which he was keen on selling. The Prince's small but fierce troop of household infantry was lacking in modern weaponry - due to his country being under virtually every embargo available to international law - and Sir John was fulfilling the role of broker.

  With the discussions finished the two men drove back to the heart of the West End.

  "Don't take too long to think about it, Your Highness," Sir John told the Prince. "The man is jittery and will sell to anyone who comes near the asking price."

  "Don't worry, John," the Prince assured him. "I'll call you within a day of returning home."

  "Good. Oh, and have a pleasant trip. I think you'll find the in-flight service will be quite enjoyable."

  The flight was due out in the late afternoon and by three o'clock, the Prince and Lang were waiting in the lobby of their hotel. A large Mercedes drew up at the kerb just outside the main door and the two men watched as a tall, black-haired girl stepped elegantly out of the back and entered the hotel. She came straight over to them.