Slave's Honour Read online

  Carlo reappeared with some chocolate and unbuckled a cheek strap of the bridle, then unscrewed the rein from one end of the bit to allow it to be slid out from the tongue ring, then he held his hand out, palm upwards with the piece of chocolate on it.

  For a second the slave licked her lips and swallowed saliva then she bent her head and daintily picked the chocolate from Carlo’s hand with her lips and teeth. Before she set about eating it though, she licked his palm a couple of times, the chocolate lodged in her cheek. Carlo patted her and told her she was a good pony while she ate and then he handed Brian a piece. He copied Carlo and held his hand out flat - in exactly the way he would if were feeding a horse. Delighted, he watched the handsome head dip down and take the offering, her teeth just tickling his palm, and as with Carlo she licked his palm a couple of times before getting down to eating her treat.

  “Why does she do that, lick like that afterwards?” Brian asked.

  “A real slave like this one only talks with her body and licking like that is Jet’s way of saying ‘thank you’ for having driven her and she hopes you’ll use her some more later. Also she’s getting the taste and the scent of you. They get fucked by pretty well every male in the place and often they’re blindfolded, so taste and scent are important to them. They all have their little ways, Blondie loves shortbread by the way. When you feed her she kisses your hand and licks all at the same time. Cherry, she’ll sell her soul for peanut butter and sucks your fingers. El Tigre- hah! Show her a liqueur chocolate and she’ll break it between her teeth then lap the liquor off your hand. Ox will eat anything anyone gives her, she’s got a tongue longer than I’ve ever seen and she sticks it out to beg for treats… ……The members reckon she’s the best cocksucker in the place.”

  Brian shuddered with a sudden surge of lust. Carlo laughed.

  “If you’re feeling in need, you can screw El Tigre for me. Like this one, she’s horny and jealous of the others for having been taken out for that last show. She’s in the end stall….oh and you’ll need to beat her first.”

  Brian stared at him for a second as he unhitched Jet and set about removing her harness. He was completely absorbed and ignored him. Brian suspected that this might be the next test so there was really only one thing to do… ….

  Inside the stable there was a long line of stalls opposite him. Each had a low door at the front and was divided from its neighbour by a high wooden partition. Over on his right, in a corner, was a pile of fresh straw, away on the left was what looked like a washing and toilet area. On the wall immediately behind him as he walked in were a series of pinboards and hooks. Each collection had a brass nameplate above it. To the right of the door as he turned to face it were Blondie, Cherry and Ox; to the left were Jet and El Tigre. He began to make his way towards El Tigre’s stall still examining his surroundings. Below each name, on the pinboard were rosettes and photographs of each slave in dressage or pony racing gear. Blondie’s board was almost completely obscured. On the hooks hung complicated pieces of harness - although he could clearly see their dressage tails hanging from their butt plugs and straps - and a variety of leashes, alongside them the crops and driving whips used on each slave. He noted that each one had the individual’s name on it. He wondered wryly whether Cherry, for example, would be seriously upset if she was being beaten with Ox’s whip. He smiled but then caught himself, these were slaves unlike any he had ever encountered and maybe they did appreciate their own whips being used, who was he to say? His eye moved further down the wall and below each board and its surrounding hooks he saw a wide shelf. With a stirring in his already twitching loins he realised it held each slave’s butt plug and dildo, attached to their strap - these were worn for chariot and pony racing, rather than dressage. Beside them lay the metallic ornaments he had seen them wear in the pre-show display at Bakhtar and on some he saw the pins which would pass through their flesh to mount them. Piercing was a skill he desperately wanted to learn.

  Obviously Jet’s stall was empty but beyond it he could hear someone stirring in the next one.

  Suddenly his self-confidence deserted him. He was supposed to walk into a horse’s stall that just happened to contain a naked and chained woman he had never met before and then he was supposed to beat her and fuck her. Without exchanging a word.

  He needed something to reassure himself. Something at least vaguely familiar. He turned and walked back to Blondie’s stall, the last time he had seen her she had been hog tied in a wire crate ready to be flown home.

  Now the legendary gladiator was dozing on her bed. It was no more than a sheet spread over a pile of straw but she sprawled on it with all the abandoned ease of the sleeping. Her breasts rose and fell with her regular, deep breathing, between her spread legs the plump-lipped slot of her cunt beckoned. Her hands were clipped together behind her back and one ankle restraint was chained to a ring in the wall behind her. She looked so completely helpless that his cock twitched back towards erection. Her body bore the traces of the battering it had taken in the arena at Bakhtar. Her breasts were still ringed at their bases by little scabs where the studs on her tit straps had dug in. Her torso was sprinkled with similar scars from where the studded whip and the boxing corsets had inflicted similar wounds. And over these were the long, thin welts of conventional whips and the heavier flares left by floggers.

  Cherry, in the next stall, was also fast asleep. Only Ox, a sturdy blonde, was awake but she too was resting. She sat, one leg drawn up the other laid flat, her cunt carelessly displayed, her breasts likewise carelessly on show, her eyes were fixed on something only she could see. She made no reaction when he came to the door. On an impulse he reached over, slid the bolt back and entered. Immediately he noted that despite everything there was one concession to the slaves’ essential femininity. On the right hand wall was a mirror over a shelf. On the shelf were body oils, hairbrushes and combs. There was even some make up. Ox was sitting with her back against the stall’s back wall and above her was another shelf on which were piled her boxing corset and thong, plus the whips that she herself would wield in the arena. She still made no move as he approached and squatted down beside her.

  Like the others she bore traces of the arena and she seemed so docile that he reached out and stroked her chest where the skin carried livid traces of the whips. Brian knew that whip contests were her forte and, though she had been spared the studs of boxing gear and harness, she had taken a pounding nonetheless. Her skin was warm and smoother than he had expected, given its state. The girl merely closed her eyes as he touched her and made no move as he caressed a nipple into erection and hefted the weight of her breast. Abruptly he moved his hand down to the warmth between her legs and felt the softness of her labia. Already they were opened and his fingers slipped easily inside her. She made a slight noise as she was penetrated and Brian pulled himself together. He had a job to do; he had just needed some assurance that he was dealing with the same sort of submissiveness he was used to - albeit on a more extreme level.

  “Sorry, old girl,” he said, withdrawing from her. “I’ll come back and finish you another time.”

  He stood up and strode out of the stall, bolting the door behind him, Ox returning almost immediately to her trance-like state. Brian made straight for El Tigre’s stall but before he even looked inside he paused at the array of equipment and selected her riding crop - in a stall he felt a whip might be too clumsy. Then he turned and faced the total stranger he was about to beat and then fuck.

  She was slenderer and shorter than the other slaves but she was fierce. She stood squarely in the middle of the stall, her legs spread. Like the others, one ankle was chained to the wall and her hands were pinned behind her back but from beneath her tousled black hair she glared at him with green-eyed defiance nevertheless. Her lips were slightly drawn back from her teeth and her nostrils were flared. She had obviously watched him make his choice of implement to use on her and now she was challenging him to try it.

  Grinning, he
slid the bolt on her door and entered her stall.

  He approached her and she watched him as though she was the predator and not the prey. When he was about four feet away from her she charged. With her hands bound she used her head instead, aiming for his stomach. He hadn’t seen it coming but was fast enough to sidestep and grab a fistful of hair as she passed. He swung in the crop and made satisfying contact with the slave’s buttocks. She reared up and pulled against his grip but he held her and pulled her close to him, so he could feel her breasts against his chest. Then he smiled down at her and she smiled back - a fierce, proud smile. He released her and then slashed her again as she stumbled back. Carlo was right, this one needed beating before a fuck. Everything about her was geared to fighting and a man needed to conquer her before she would submit.

  While her chain rattled and slithered over the stone floor as she tried to dodge and kick or charge, he lashed at her relentlessly, scoring her thighs and stomach as much as her backside, until at last she leaned, panting against the partition with Jet’s stall and appeared to accept defeat. Brian approached carefully, he held the crop out in front of him and ran the keeper across her rigid nipples. She made no move. He flicked at them, making the breasts dance and ripple. She did no more than catch her breath. He came closer, keeping slightly sideways on in case she tried kicking again. She smiled when she saw the precaution but made no further move of defiance. It was clearly up to him to see if he could finish taming her.

  He caught her hair again and thrust her head down, swinging her out into the centre of the stall where he could get a decent backlift. She straddled her legs and he heard her tongue ring click as she swallowed and settled herself for the forthcoming thrashing. Despite her wiry build, the buttocks were decently proportioned. Above them her imprisoned fingers flexed and tensed. He struck.

  Prior to that day he had only ever administered beatings to two women. One had been a thorough masochist who had taken it almost as hard as he could give it to her. The second was still exploring her limits. But, he reasoned, any girl who fought like this one did, had to know that they were earning themselves a serious thrashing. Consequently he lifted the crop well back and delivered a full blooded lash rather than the more customary flick. The noise ricocheted around the stall. The buttock flesh flattened and then sprang back, sending shock waves through the whole area of her body. She bucked furiously under his hand, her fingers splaying out and a strangled shriek escaped her. He lashed her again, taking care to avoid the site of the first stroke. She bucked again and twisted desperately, managing to turn her buttocks away from him. He yanked her forwards and swung in a third lash as he pulled her past him. Again she reared and this time he stepped behind her, swinging the crop quickly down from over her shoulder, down across her stomach, making the keeper bite at her cunt. From that angle it didn’t have his full strength, but it didn’t need to. She gave a hoarse gasp of shocked pain and bent over. He slashed another blow in to her buttocks and she tottered forwards. He followed, adding to the ladder of livid stripes and the clusters of dark spots under the skin caused by the keeper. She no longer made any attempt to shield herself, just staggered drunkenly over to her bed and collapsed onto it, head first, bottom in the air.

  Brian stood back and slipped his shirt off. Now he could take his time and make her suffer properly. Something he was sure she needed to do. The cunt nestling in its hollow just beneath the flogged buttocks started to peel open as he picked his targets, cutting into her below the crown of the arse, making the shaft of the crop nearly slam across the labia. The girl breathed out in hoarse, rasping breaths at each lash, her fingers splayed and clenched behind her. But Brian concentrated solely on the cunt. He continued her beating until he could see she was fully open and the lips were shiny with discharge, then he prodded her hip with one foot and she collapsed onto her side and then onto her back. He unzipped his trousers and lowered himself to lie between her obediently spread legs. For a second, just before he penetrated her, she looked him in the eye. She was still panting from the fight and the beating but her eyes still held a ‘screw you’ defiance. He rammed into her and she arched under him, her mouth opening wide, her eyes closing and then he set about using his cock to batter her insides as thoroughly as the crop had seared her hide. He slammed himself against her pelvis, going for every single centimetre of penetration he could get and after only twenty or thirty thrusts he got his reward. Her eyes flew open and as he stared into their green depths he saw her face soften and her eyes glaze as she gave in to the demands of her womanhood and surrendered to her conqueror. From then on she gave him one of the best rides he had ever had. Bracing her feet on the floor she lifted him right up and achieved her perfect angle for penetration from the front, roaring in delight as she came and came again. Her tongue ring clattered on her teeth as her mouth opened wide in abandonment. Brian collapsed into a second’s contentment when his own orgasm had subsided, his face buried in her surprisingly fragrant hair. He had subdued and fucked his first real slave. He rolled off her onto his side and without being told she began to wriggle awkwardly down his body until she could lick him clean. He sighed in surprised delight as he felt himself drawn into a tongue-ringed mouth.

  “She was overdue that.”

  Brian opened his eyes and saw a woman leaning on the half door of the stall. She was maybe thirty he guessed, handsome and with a spectacular head of deep red hair. Her voice was gentle and had a Scottish burr to it.

  “You judged her right,” the woman went on. “She needs the first beating as hard as you can make it. After that she’s a pussycat - as long as she gets it regularly. With Carlo away she’s got really crabby. The wee minx bit me at morning feed today.”

  Brian propped himself up and moved El Tigre away with his foot, before zipping himself up and standing. Apart from when he had been in the audience at the arena and had joined in with the orgies that inevitably accompanied the shows, he had never fucked before an audience. But he was flushed with success and fairly confident that any woman at The Lodge was almost bound to be submissive, so he sauntered towards her as confidently as he could, shrugging his shirt back on.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  “Patti Campbell,” she said, unbolting the door and standing back for him. “I’m head groom.”

  Brian looked at her admiringly as he walked past. She wore a skirt so short it was little more than a pelmet and her large breasts were restrained only by a blouse knotted beneath them. She also wore high-heeled thigh boots in black suede, which showed off the white smoothness of her upper thighs perfectly.

  “You must be Mr. Holden,” she said, smiling at him despite his overt inspection of her. “The other grooms work here in two week spells but I’m permanent.” She grasped the sides of her skirt and bobbed him a curtsy. “At your service, of course,” she added.

  Brian put El Tigre’s crop back on its hook. “Now that is a thought,” he said.

  The woman laughed throatily and then said, “If you think she’s earned a treat, her chocolates are there.” She pointed to the shelf where the box stood, looking incongruous beside the shiny steel butt plug and the ribbed dildo.

  Brian took a sweet and turned back to lean on the stall door.

  “Here girl,” he said.

  El Tigre scrambled to her feet before padding across eagerly. Brian held his hand out as before and sure enough she took the treat in her neat white teeth, cracked the chocolate shell and let the thick liquor ooze onto his palm. Then she set about licking up every last trace of it and clearly thoroughly appreciated it.

  Chapter 3

  Back in the courtyard it was clear that Jet had had the same sort of attention that he had just given El Tigre. She was tied against the stable wall, resting her forehead on her forearms, her chest still heaving, her back was hollowed and her prominent buttocks were still invitingly presented. Carlo was replacing the driving whip on its stand in the trap.

  “You sort El Tigre out for me?” he asked as
Brian emerged.

  “Sure, like you said, she needed thrashing first.”

  He moved over to Jet and looked at her closely. Her face betrayed only deep contentment although her back and bottom were striped in dark, thin traces which wrapped her rib cage, the sides of her breasts and her hips. As he stepped back he saw the glistening trails down the insides of her thighs.

  With the immediate problem of the neglected slaves solved, Brian was taken on a guided tour. The arena slaves were stabled in the first half of the block on the right as one entered the stableyard. Beyond them there were stalls for new Housegirls, still being trained in the skills required by a ponygirl and also offering stabling for any of the members who might want their property kept for use as a pony during their stay. There were four girls currently stabled and Carlo proudly showed off The Lodge’s very own mother and daughter team of Housegirls. The Oakley-Dean twosome were stabled in neighbouring stalls, the mother was a tall, handsome woman in her forties, trim, tanned and firm breasted, her body liberally striped and welted. She came to the door of her stall as soon as the men entered and Carlo stroked her absentmindedly as he explained that both women had been summoned to the Common Room the previous night. That was the area of the main house where all the girls were held in common and could be used by any member in any way. Whenever the two women’s masters were in residence together, they were frequently subjected to severe flagellation sessions and often dungeon sessions as well. The rarity of mother and daughter submissives awoke the curiosity of the members and their masters were quite happy to let them play.