Slave's Honour Read online

  Either by design or good fortune, there always seemed to be a press of men between Carlo and Conor Brien during the drinks break and an uneasy peace descended once more.

  Fortunately, back in the Dining Room, Salazar’s staff had provided sufficient entertainment to take everyone’s mind off any feuds. For one thing the table was laid with a mouth watering array of hors d’oeuvres, but for another along one wall of the huge room a row of hogtied slaves had been positioned, presumably the ones who had been suspended during the earlier meeting. Now they were restrained with just their knees touching the floor; their arms had been pulled back over a steel bar which ran along behind all of them before their wrists had been tied to their ankles. The result was a row of delightfully presented slaves who, in the wake of their long suspension previously now gasped and whimpered softly. The significance of the open mouths was not lost on the assembly and neither was the way the breasts were presented. As the meal progressed several guards provided background music by passing up and down the line, flicking short, stiff whips at them, making little yelps of pain punctuate the soft murmur of female discomfort. As the meal progressed any man who fancied availing himself could wander over and take his pick of the well-trained mouths waiting to service his cock.

  When coffee was served and the men began to mingle once again, Brian found himself standing next to their host as they both sampled the ardent depths of the throats available to them. As they both finished, jerking their hips forwards, holding their selected slave’s face hard against them and ignoring any spluttering or choking their eruptions caused, Brian complimented Senor Salazar on the way the slaves had, without the need for gags, kept their reactions to their restraint and the whip respectfully quiet.

  Salazar looked at him. “It’s Mister… ….Holden no?” he said.

  “Brian, please, Senor.”

  “Brian, then. You are asisstant to Carlo, he is a good teacher. You listen, you learn much with him.”

  “I try, Senor.”

  “Good,” the man nodded thoughtfully. “As for my slaves, I thank you on behalf of my staff. They have devised a ‘special’ punishment and as this is a special event, any disturbance to my honoured guests will instantly earn a ‘special’. You want to see a special?”

  “I would love to!” Brian said.

  Salazar clicked his fingers and a guard walked over quickly. “Pick any three of these and give them a special. Then my friends here can see them when we go to look at my arena. Now, more coffee, my young friend.” Salazar took Brian’s arm as three slaves picked at random were unfastened from the line and led away.

  The sky above the distant mountains was clear and pale blue, shading down to purple as it neared the horizon, there was still plenty of light however and the air was refreshingly clear and chill as, nearly two hours later, Senor Salazar led his guests out onto the terrace in preparation for a guided tour of the arena and its compound. The owners and trainers, mellowed by good wine and food burst into spontaneous applause as they saw the line of two-pony traps drawn up to convey them along the quarter mile drive. Brian and Carlo climbed aboard the nearest one and settled themselves behind the driver who perched on a high seat in front of them. With a chorus of snaps from driving whips and vocal urgings from the drivers the traps lumbered off, wheels rumbling on the tarmac, pony plumes nodding, shoes clopping and scraping on the road. Pulling four wheel traps with the weight of three men in them was a task that stretched even two well trained slaves and consequently the still air reverberated with the crack of whips playing on soft, smooth, female flesh and beside him Brian heard Carlo laugh softly. “It’s a great life, eh, Brian?” he said as he settled back and admired the view of the grassland, terminating only at the feet of the distant mountains which lined the horizon beyond the arena.

  After a few minutes the cavalcade was passing between the substantial stone buildings of the barracks - as their driver informed them. Already the first lights were showing from the small windows and the courtyard in the centre of the compound was also lit. Here the traps were halted and Salazar invited everyone to alight for a moment.

  In the centre of the yard, three, planked boards had been propped up and the three slaves selected for the special were undergoing it. Brian whistled in appreciation.

  The boards were big, eight or nine feet tall and hinged legs at the backs supported them at an angle. On the fronts of the boards the unfortunate slaves were displayed in X shapes. They were ball gagged but even so the high pitched groans and squeals were audible - if muffled. The bodies were in constant movement, twisting and arching as far as they could in the stringent bondage. The reason for their discomfort was clear; their breasts were tightly bound and had been beaten.

  Salazar saw Brian looking incredulous at the tightness of the breast binding. The breastflesh stood out from the heaving chests in what were almost perfect spheres, so tight were the straps at their roots. Angry, thin, red stripes criss crossed the drum-tight skin and all in all he could well understand why the slaves were in almost constant motion as they sought to distract themselves from their pain.

  “Uncured rawhide, my young friend,” Salazar said, coming over to Brian. “From long practice we have learned how to measure a slave’s breast root and match that with exactly the length of rawhide which will provide her with much instruction in how a good slave should suffer for her masters. Without, of course, damaging her assets!”

  “I get it!” Brian enthused. “You soak the hide, tie it and then let it dry!”

  “Exactly! A slow torment, and,” he gestured to a bored looking guard, “one that is excruciatingly heightened by the occasional application of the breast cane.”

  The slaves must have heard him because there was a flurry of writhing and muffled squeals.

  “Give them one more and then take them down!” he instructed the man.

  The guard took up a wickedly thin two foot length of cane and with no preamble at all flicked it across the tops of the nearest slave’s breasts, twice, and before she could properly absorb that pain he flicked two more to the undersides and finished with a swipe across the incredibly swollen nipples. The slave’s back arched and her whole body shuddered, no sound escaped her however, apart from a soft sigh as she slumped in her chains.

  “We have very well-disciplined slaves, Brian. You were quite right! Now, on the way home I will be asking everyone to select a slave for the night. But for you, you may choose one of these three.” Salazar beamed at him and Brian stammered out his thanks as the second slave was reduced to rigid immobility by the cane. As the third began to receive her dose, he picked the second one. Her breasts were the biggest and after this treatment, they would be ultra sensitive. Salazar gave instructions and before they all climbed back into the traps, there was much amusement as some of the men discovered the leakage from between the legs of the inert slaves.

  Brian was impressed by the arena itself when they finally reached it. It was much bigger than the one in Bakhtar, the accommodation for the visiting team of gladiators and staff was comfortable and well laid out. Each cell had a simple bed with the communal washing and toilet facilities opposite the doors. The dressing rooms, where the teams would be harnessed, armoured or buckled into their various accoutrements were large and airy but leading off from them, and newly added, were fully equipped medical treatment rooms.

  Presiding over these were two female doctors who were very plainly not as available as the other females on the hacienda. They were both hard faced, stern and dressed in trousers. Brian thought that a slave would pay in kind for her treatment at their hands.

  “In comparison to the outlay for new stock,” Salazar told them, “this came very cheap. And after the last show, my two ministering angels here, were able to parade my full stable as fit for combat only a week later. As the arenas grow more popular we must think in terms of more shows, fitter slaves and bigger spectacles.”

  On their way back to the house, the traps stopped at the barracks again
and the visitors were led through the relatively comfortable rooms with rows of bunks, beside which stood a delightful array of submissive slaveflesh, legs apart, eyes respectfully lowered and hands behind backs. Each man made a choice for the night and as the traps rumbled off in the deepening twilight, the slaves trotted behind, their leads trailing from the hands of their owner’s guests.

  Once back in the light and splendour of the house, the slaves were led away by the household staff and in small groups the men took nightcaps in the main drawing room. Brian loved the conversations he found himself engaged in, everyone there had their own opinions about what constituted a good diet for a gladiator, what was the best way of training a slave to tolerate the studded whips, what was the best mixture to spread on butt plugs…..He was still earnestly engaged when Carlo tapped him on the arm.

  “Auction tomorrow, don’t forget. I want to talk before we go, so get an early night.”

  The bedrooms were spacious, the beds low and wide. His chosen slave was tied on her back, wrists and ankles shackled to the posts. She raised her head and looked at him, wide eyed with apprehension as he entered. She’d had a long day he reflected as he showered; but then so had he, maybe just a quick shag and sleep. No. A quick shag, a suck, a slight beating and then finish off in her mouth….?

  He walked back into the bedroom naked and looked down at the girl. Her breasts still bore the deep grooves caused by the rawhide and the livid traces of the cane still almost pulsed on their skin. She looked as though she might be Greek, her hair was dark and her flesh had a gentle olive complexion. Her big dark eyes sensibly avoided his and although he could see by her heaving chest how nervous she was, her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. He knelt astride her stomach and stroked her, appreciating the silky smoothness covering the sinews beneath. She held her breath as his hands stroked her abused breasts, tracing the cruelly sunken tracks which his idle curiosity had condemned her to. The cane welts were raised and warm under his fingers.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I need an early night so I won’t be whipping those. If I did you’d keep the whole house up with your noise I expect.”

  He climbed off her and went to the wall opposite the foot of the bed. There was a rack with the most popular instruments of discipline hung in it. He selected a crop and contented himself with a fairly conservative ration of blows across her stomach, which convulsed and rippled pleasantly and her pelvis which bounced up and down invitingly as it was lashed. The fronts of her strong thighs reacted quickly to the braided shaft, blossoming into dark tramlines instantly and fetching urgent mewing sounds from between the slave’s clenched teeth. Brian stopped and felt between the legs, her outer lips were already open and soft, between them the petals of the inner lips were erect and dark, they wobbled prettily as he flicked them with his fingers before he plunged into her moist depths. Her head fell back onto the pillows as her painful day at last began to edge towards a deserved orgasm. Her sheath was warm and tight, and he could feel her clenching against his intrusion the better to savour it. Laying aside the crop for a second, with his other hand he pulled her clitoral hood back and played with the exposed, hardened bud. She bucked urgently under him and suddenly he was aware of his cock throbbing towards full hardness. Making up his mind at last as to how he was going to use her he withdrew his fingers, stood up, freed her hands and let her wrap one around his shaft as he stood beside the bed. Then taking up the crop once more, he delivered a rapid series of hard flicks with the keeper at her clitoris. Her hand gripped hard around his cock and she cried out, her body bucking up to meet the pain, revelling in release after the hard day’s suffering. He noticed her free hand went to her breast and squeezed and pinched her nipple savagely while she convulsed. Then at last she was done, and lay beneath him, her breathing calming, a look of deep gratitude on her face. Brian smiled and climbed aboard.

  He didn’t need to use his fingers to guide himself in, and she didn’t either. He slid into her with exquisite ease and as he bent to lick and suckle at her superbly and erotically marked breasts he heard her whisper “Master”.

  He left her legs tied open and slept on her, his head pillowed on the softness of her breasts as soon as he had spent himself

  Chapter 8

  Raika tried to make herself comfortable again once the man had pulled clear of her, leaving her feeling empty and unsatisfied. He smiled down at her, made a note on his palm pilot and walked away. One of the household girls, dressed in a maid’s costume bustled up and wiped his sperm from her thighs and mopped inside her as best she could, before scurrying off again. What Raika wouldn’t give even for the scant maid’s costume. In nearly every place which had owned her she had been kept naked. Even in her current home, which she loved in most other ways, she was kept naked. But was it still her current home? She wasn’t really clear. After the big Irishman had gone, her master had told her that he was selling her on - in a way. Plucking up courage she had asked what he meant. In his deep, velvet brown tones he had told her.

  “Someone will buy you, my little slave. But you will still work for me. I want you to do one job for me and in return for that I will buy you back and give you your freedom, provide you with a magnificent dowry and a handsome, rich husband. Then you will be able to go back to your village and watch your school friends’ eyes pop out of their heads in amazement as your new husband drives you through the village in your brand new car. I can do all that for you. Will you do one small thing for me?”

  Eagerly she had agreed, it was if this owner had seen inside her head and had seen her dreams. For a day or so after that she had been allowed clothes and had travelled here with her master and some of the guards and some of the fighting slaves, tied up in crates. She had heard something about a country called Argentina - or something like that. But after a long flight in an aeroplane and a long bumpy ride in a truck they had arrived at a place which was just like her master’s; it even had pony slaves too.

  For once, that morning after she had finished grooming the gladiators who she realised now were also being sold, she was allowed to groom herself, she had been given eye liner, blusher, lipstick and gloss, she had had time to brush her hair to its full shining glory and she had actually been given shoes. They were the prettiest ones she had ever worn, white and gold straps with sparkly bits that she hoped might be real jewels, but anyway the heels were wonderfully high and made her long naked legs look even more shapely. That was the full extent of her clothing however and now she was tied and awaiting a buyer, available for anyone to fuck to see if she was good enough.

  Her owner had come to see her before she had been left alone in the auction room however.

  “I want you to be especially nice to two men. One is tall and English, the other is smaller and Spanish, he goes by the name of Carlo. They will be together, they are looking for a new groom and I want them to want you. If you are successful - and it would be best for you if you were - you will go with them and do whatever they say, just like any other whoreslave. But sooner or later a man will come to you, wherever you are and he will say the words ‘Trojan Horse’ to you. When he does you are to do whatever he tells you. If you do it well, I will do what I have promised. If you do not… …..”

  Suddenly he had leaned down and gripped her face hard with his huge hand, his own face was stern and harsh. “Just be sure to do what I tell you, little slave!”

  She had stared at him in terror and nodded as best she could.

  The edges of the beam she was lying on were sharp and dug into the backs of her shoulders and her buttocks - and her legs ached. The beam was set against one wall of the auction room and ran down and out from the wall at an angle of about forty-five degrees until it met the floor. She had been made to straddle it and lie back with her hands above her head. Her wrist restraints had been clipped together and chained to the wall tightly enough that she was barely able to touch the floor either side of the beam with her feet. She realised that that was so that her neat littl
e sex was easily available to anyone who wanted it. They simply had to step astride the beam and penetrate her. Several already had and several more had taken straps and crops to her as well. But it was as if they were only doing it to amuse themselves, the main action was out on the echoing expanse of the main floor of this huge room.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a man who approached her and began reading about her from the laminated sheet which hung from the beam beside her head.

  “Hmm! Experienced with slaves, tacks up ponies well, good driver at dressage. And…” Raika stiffened as his fingers worked their way into her cunt and felt about inside, “a nice little tunnel too.”

  Her breathing became heavier as he continued to stir her insides into warm soup.

  “What should I do first, I wonder? Fuck you or whip you, girl?”

  Raika fought to keep her mind clear as his other hand began to knead her breasts and tweak her nipples. This man seemed to be on his own and she had been told to watch for two. This one didn’t sound Spanish either - or English. However, he did sound as though he might be seriously interested in buying her; she had to put him off.

  “Fuck me,” she said abruptly, bringing herself back under control and remembering her master’s instructions. “I…I…I don’t like the whip. That’s why I’m being sold. I don’t come, I just scream.”

  “Hmm. We’ll see!”

  Suddenly his hand was off her breast but before she could say anything a riding crop sliced hard across her stomach. She gaped stupidly for a second until her wind came back and then she screamed. She screamed again as another slice came down across her breasts.

  “Jesus!” the man said, covering his ears. “I wouldn’t have you within ten miles of my place!”