Last Slave Standing Page 2

  She watched him laying out the whips. A good sturdy flogger to start with, followed by a crop and a small martinet to finish with. Inwardly she nodded her approval, it would hurt and she was under no illusion that Sir John would stop there. However strong her determination to serve her master was, her stomach fluttered and convulsed in nervous excitement as she faced Sir John’s cruelty.

  Her position made it hard for her to keep her head up so by the time Sir John had stripped off his shirt, dipped his fingers into her plug-narrowed vagina and finally taken up the first whip, she had let it hang back and was looking at the ceiling when the lashes began. Her breasts rippled and flattened, her nipples sending shards of bright pain deep into her as the heavy leathers thudded home. She had taken five before she could even draw breath and no sooner had she been able to gasp in a couple of lungfuls than Sir John began to whip her stomach. Here she could at least call on her strength to clench against the impact of the lashes but still she couldn’t restrain the hoarse cries which escaped her each time the stinging leathers thumped her.

  “Twenty lashes,” Sir John announced, standing back and taking a rest

  Ayesha shook some hair out of her eyes and watched as he put down the flogger and took up the crop. She braced herself. The flogger had not been too bad and had served to begin to excite her but by changing to the crop this early in the session, Sir John was deliberately condemning her to feeling most of what was to follow as pain before the pleasure kicked in.

  The breath exploded from her and she vainly tried to curl up as the first lash cracked across her stomach, the path of the shaft etching itself across the insides of her eyelids as a scarlet line.

  Crack!

  This time he landed the lash so that the keeper slapped at her hard. She couldn’t keep the high pitched yelp inside her as it stung her. Five more lashes rained down in quick succession and she writhed on her mounting and gritted her teeth against the screams. But then it stopped and Sir John’s fingers were inside her suddenly, twisting and stretching her vagina as it was compressed from behind by the plug. The pleasure was exquisite as it warred with the hot furnaces in her skin and she moaned helplessly. Every time she was made to dance in the hellish light of pain and pleasure, Ayesha never lost her surprise at how easily her masters could make her move between the two opposites. She opened her eyes and saw Sir John looming over her. He was smiling maliciously and she knew what he was about to do, and knew too that he would want to look into her eyes while he did it. She kept her gaze steady as she felt his cock stroke across her lips and come to rest at her entrance, then it was pushing in and vying with the steel in her rectum for room inside her. The resultant eroticism for a well trained submissive was huge and Ayesha exploded almost instantly into orgasm. Even as the pleasure became too much and she had to close her eyes and let her head fall back, she knew how much pleasure he would take in making her orgasm time and again while he moved from punishment to ravishing pleasure. Deep inside her she felt him thrust and thrust again, sensitising every last centimetre of her vaginal tunnel and then rasping and squeezing it. By the time she felt him begin to spurt hot tides of sperm into her she was almost unconscious from the delirium of successive orgasms.

  They gave her time to recover before they started in with the crop on her breasts and by the time the secretary took her while Sir John stood behind her belabouring the backs of her thighs she had completely lost herself in the labyrinth of conflicting sensations and could only orgasm until she couldn’t climax any more.

  The following morning as Ayesha lay in her small bed, chained by both wrists to the bed head, conducting a mental survey of her various welts and bruises, she heard Sir John speaking on the phone downstairs. She heard him use the word ‘marathon’ and she sighed. That was the word he used when he summoned friends to make a party up for a hard session. Wherever it was she was going to go afterwards, she would arrive well and truly marked.

  Chapter 2

  “Good morning everyone and welcome to the CSL stable.”

  Brian Holden slipped easily into his routine as guide. One day every week for the past few months he had been showing small groups of arena fans round. They paid handsomely for the privilege and funded purely on the revenue they generated, he and his boss, Carlo Suarez were attending an auction in the coming month. Alone amongst the arena stables, the CSL stable didn’t have its own arena, it specialised in hiring out slaves and it occupied land on the estate of The Lodge, England’s premier SM club. Originally it had been housed in the main house’s stableyard, but as it had grown and prospered John Carpenter and Carlo – the joint owners – had been able to add an equestrian stadium for indoor training and six months previously a purpose built and much larger stable block for the arena slaves had been added alongside it. The whole complex now stood in the woods to the west of the house and accommodated ten slaves who were attended to by a head groom and her assistant plus two junior grooms.

  It had been John’s idea to capitalise on the immense interest generated by the stable’s success and of course its most famous possession, Blondie. It had been advertised on the net as ‘The Stable of the Stars!’

  Carlo had been dead against it, complaining that it would interrupt training schedules but when John held out the promise of being able to buy more slaves, he had caved in but insisted that Brian do the tours. Brian was quite happy with that arrangement, he enjoyed showing off the slaves and watching them being enjoyed by the guests. Each week one slave was selected to be shown off and this week it was Purdy’s turn.

  The group of ten tourists stood beside the bus which had driven them in and looked about them. The new yard was concreted and at its centre there was a square hole. Currently it was filled with the upright of a set of breast stocks. Beyond them the bland steel bulk of the training stadium reared up. The other three sides of the yard were formed by the two storey stable block on the north side, the tack rooms formed the eastern perimeter and the offices were housed on the west, either side of the arch through which the guests had been driven.

  Brian let the lascivious gazes rest for a second on the stocks before he began the tour proper.

  “I’ll have one of the slaves put in the stocks for you in a little while, but if you would follow me, we’ll start with the stalls.” The group, mainly men but with two or three women in attendance, followed him into the brand new and echoing stable block.

  Opposite the door and at the back of a broad expanse of screed flooring was a line of fifteen stalls. They were made of wood and had been varnished and polished to a high gloss, each stall was fronted by a half door and on each door was a brass plaque bearing a name.

  “Each slave has a stable name, as CSL is small enough to cope with names. The actual arena stables nowadays only assign numbers as squads now commonly number seventy girls with solo fighters on top of that. Please feel free to go and look more closely, you will see that the stalls are really quite comfortable.”

  Whispering nervously the group made its way inevitably over to the stall on the far left which bore the name ‘Blondie’, just as inevitably there was a murmur of disappointment when they found it was empty.

  “You will get to see Blondie,” he assured them. “She was the foundation of the stable when Mr Suarez escaped with her from the Conor Brien stable. She then went on to win, Jet, Cherry, El Tigre and Ox for us and they formed the main building blocks of the stable’s success. Since then we’ve added Trouble and Purdy – who will be helping me with the tour shortly – and more recently, Blackie, Rose and Legs. Now, let’s step into Blondie’s stall……..”

  Eagerly the group filed in behind Brian and looked around. There was a deep pile of straw, covered with a sheet and a duvet, at the back, just above it was a heavy steel ring which had a neatly coiled chain hanging from it. There was a bucket for night soil standing close by. On the high wall which separated the stall from its neighbour was a narrow shelf on which stood some basic items of makeup below a mirror. There was a low
stool tucked away under the shelf.

  “Mr Holden,” one of the tourists asked, “they surely don’t get made up to go into the arenas do they?”

  “No, but they are female despite being slaves first and foremost. So when they are required for sexual use in the dungeons over at the house or here, they give of their best when they know they’ve been well groomed. Please note the soft mat in front of the feeding trough by the door there, for comfortable kneeling at feeding time and the vents for underfloor heating. The bottle above the trough is constantly kept filled with fresh juice or water. The grooms change the straw every two days and the temperature is carefully monitored all year round. One of the reasons for the stable’s success is, we believe, the trouble we take over making sure that our slaves are well cared for.” Brian let them absorb that boast for a few seconds while they looked around and then added. “But they pay for it!” There was general laughter and Brian led the group to Purdy’s stall.

  The big-breasted brunette was standing at her stall door as they approached, her wrists were clipped tidily behind her back and as Brian approached she thrust her breasts forwards to have them played with. Brian obliged with some affectionate squeezes and nipple twists, and then invited the tourists to do the same.

  “Don’t be gentle with her, she won’t understand that,” he told them.

  He let them play with her for a few minutes, proud of her docility and the way she held still, letting out only strained moans now and then.

  When everyone had had a good feel, Brian stepped forwards again. “Back up there, girl,” he told her and opened her stall door, the group crowded in behind him and watched as he unlocked her ankle chain from the ring just above her bedding, coiled it up and then returned to lead her out onto the floor by crooking his finger through the ring on her collar. Then once he was in the centre of the floor he had the group arrange themselves in a semi circle in front of him while he stood behind Purdy.

  “This is Purdy, she’s been fed and groomed this morning but will have expected to be exercised with the others, so she’s probably a bit out of sorts,” he began. “She was bought at auction about a year ago and has competed in several shows since then. As you will have noticed she is not entirely typical arena stock.” Here Brian reached over her shoulders and hefted the soft and heavy mounds of breastflesh. “She is unusually big titted but that makes her good fun to watch in wrestling matches, she gives excellent value in a boxing corset and if she is strapped up sufficiently they don’t prevent her from running well in traps and chariot races. Despite the size of the tits, she is fairly slender and so doesn’t tend to get used for log pulling or whip duelling. However she does of course get used for all squad events like the general melees, assault course running, mass log pulls and so forth.”

  One of the tourists put up a hand tentatively. “I downloaded some clips of a show at the Orange team’s arena and didn’t she win the individual dressage?”

  “You’re quite right. And if you look over there, you’ll see a photograph of her with her rosette.” Brian indicated the wall opposite the stalls and a row of large cupboards with photographs stuck on the doors. The group turned to look and Brian suddenly felt Purdy’s fingers cup and gently hold his scrotum as he stood close behind her.

  “They pin the rosette directly onto the tit don’t they?” one of the tourists asked.

  “Oh yes,” Brian said. “And the slaves are very proud of them.” He felt Purdy’s fingers stroke him furtively. “And talking of tits, I promised you a look at the breast stocks later. But you’re in luck today and I think you’ll be seeing a proper punishment.”

  He squeezed a breast hard. “Purdy here’s feeling a bit frisky.”

  She arched her neck and shook her thick, gleaming mane of chestnut hair coquettishly but her fingers dropped away from him.

  The group turned back to face him as he resumed. “Now as you’ll notice, she’s in training tack at the moment, restraints at wrist and ankle and a collar with rings. Of course prior to entry into an arena all slaves are stripped completely of anything that could offer an opponent a hold.”

  “Except log pulling, they wear collars and wrist cuffs for that,” one of the tourists eagerly added.

  There was always one, Brian thought. “Exactly,sir. I think we’ll see some log pulling later on. But can I draw your attention to the distinguishing features of the CSL stable’s regime?”

  All the tourists craned forwards eagerly, it was always a high spot of the tours. He pressed Purdy’s cheeks between finger and thumb and she knew what he wanted. Obediently she opened her mouth and put out her tongue. There was an involuntary gasp and one of the women couldn’t help squeaking.

  “It’s much bigger in real life!” one of the men exclaimed.

  “It was initially Mr Suarez’s trademark when he was with the Conor Brien team but its use is becoming very widespread now. After all, with bodies like these beauties have,” he slapped Purdy’s haunch casually, “they don’t need tongues for anything apart from eating, and sucking cock of course. Which Purdy will be doing shortly.”

  “Doesn’t having a ring that big through the tongue hurt?” a woman asked.

  “They’ve never said so. But then no one’s asked. And besides by the time they’ve been branded it’s probably a stroll in the park,” Brian replied to a ripple of laughter. “No, seriously, we do use anaesthetic if the slave is conscious to ensure a good fit and a clean piercing.”

  He took his fingers away and Purdy closed her mouth, the heavy ring making its characteristic clicking sound against her teeth. He turned her slightly and had the group notice the rectangle with the letters CSL burned into her hip.

  “Do you use anaesthetic for that?” someone asked.

  “No, they wouldn’t be proud to carry it if we did. This one took several weeks to settle down and bond with us. But at the end of that time, I personally put the iron to her.”

  Purdy had arrived at the stable hostile and rebellious but after weeks of patient work by Brian had at last submitted and he recalled how she had looked him in the eye, calm and resolute, just a second before the brand was applied.

  As he recounted the event to the tourists he felt her fingers once again furtively stroke him. She was definitely feeling frisky and was clearly determined to court serious punishment.

  Brian smacked her mons, just at the top of the labial split and moved on quickly.

  “Now as a small stable we have had to adapt to cope with an ever increasing number of slaves, all of whom have to be washed, fed and groomed daily. So can I draw your attention to the arrangements outside each stall.”

  A porcelain toilet bowl was mounted on the wood to the left of each stall door. Below and at either side of it were two small platforms for feet. Brian led his party to one end of the line of stalls and had them note the line of dials.

  “Each morning the slaves are taken out of their stalls. One groom records their weight here as they stand on the platforms. Then they are allowed to sit and pass water and excrete. Patti Campbell, our head groom, then examines the stools to ensure that each girl is in good health. Once she is satisfied and the slaves’ weight has been recorded after defecation, the grooms clean them and the toilets are flushed from this one central point.” Here he pointed to a chrome lever set in the wall. “Only then are the ankle chains released on four of them and they move to the washroom.” He pointed behind the group and they turned to fully notice the long, tiled corridor that stretched from the end of the stalls to the far wall. Shower heads lined each side and at the other end, past some large grilles there was a wide gap allowing access back into the main room.

  Brian then had them look up and got the usual gasp of admiration. Slung from the ceiling were two rails and back at the other end of the stable were four motorised winches slung underneath and fitted with small wheels that ran on the rails above them.

  Brian moved to a control panel on the wall, a panel with four sets of identical buttons. He pressed o
ne button and with a soft whirring noise and some clanking from the wheels running on the rails, one of the winches moved to roughly above where Purdy had been left standing, several chains swung beneath it as it moved. Brian went back to her and unclipped her wrists, then he raised them and clipped them to two of the chains. Two more chains came off a second drum positioned just ahead of the first and these he clipped to her ankle restraints, ensuring they hung down in front of her, then he returned to the control panel and pressed another button. The winch’s second drum began to revolve and the chains in front of Purdy shortened. She was thrown back against her wrist shackles as her feet were jerked off the floor.

  Once Purdy’s body hung parallel to the floor, Brian stopped the chains from shortening any more and instead pressed the ‘forwards’ control. Again with a soft whirring noise the winch moved towards the party with Purdy now swinging under it about three feet above the floor. Once her helplessly suspended form was directly in front of the group, Brian halted it and touched another control. This time there was the sighing of hydraulics. Looking up, the tourists could see the square frame which held the two drums begin to elongate into a rectangle, each long side formed by a gleaming rod of steel which lengthened as they watched.

  “It’s a warehousing system which Mr Suarez and myself bought in and adapted. We can process the whole stable within half an hour. Two batches of four and then the last two,” Brian told them. As they watched, Purdy’s limbs were stretched until her arms and legs were almost in line with her body, her head fell back and her thick mane of dark brown hair almost trailed on the floor. Brian took his finger off the button and there was quiet for a moment as everyone examined the erotic form before them. Purdy’s long, shapely legs were stretched and parted widely enough for them all to see the fleshy slot of her sex, shaved and blatantly aroused with tiny pearls of juice shining among the pink folds. Her breasts were stretched into taut ovals supporting deep red and fully erected nipples at the peaks of swollen areolas. Her head hung back and her tongue ring clicked as she swallowed, her mouth at the perfect height for fellation.