Slave's Honour Read online

  She smiled as he disappeared from view. Her scream had stood her in good stead in some tight places before now.

  Getting her breath back she craned her head up to look around and froze. There were two men coming towards her; one tall, the other dark and quite possibly Spanish.

  Her heart hammering and her mind replaying her owner’s words, ‘a magnificent dowry, a handsome, rich husband.’ A return to her village as a respectable married woman beckoned, all she had to do was be as seductive as she knew how.

  The two men loomed over her. The taller one immediately plunged his fingers into her and began working them.

  “Beautiful legs and a really neat little cunt, Carlo,” he said in an unmistakably English accent.

  Brian had woken to find himself beside the gladiator who had served him well during the night. In the dark his fingers had repeatedly found their way to the warmth between her tied- apart thighs and every time, with the minimum of fingering she had slicked and opened. She had bucked enthusiastically under him as he rode her to his climax before slipping off her again and stroking her breasts for a while before returning to sleep. Now in the morning she smiled at him - it wasn’t often gladiators got to sleep on anything other than a hard bunk or straw - and she slid down the bed, bending her knees and twisting her torso as she did so in order to deliver the master’s morning fellation. He was just gasping in the wake of his eager jetting into her warm and tight fitting mouth when a maid entered with coffee.

  She enquired whether the slave had been satisfactory or whether he required that a punishment be inflicted. The gladiator gave him a shy smile as the maid led her out after he had told her that he had been entirely satisfied. However, as they were due to stay for one further night, he requested that she be given another special before being delivered to him again in the evening. The maid made a note on her pad.

  Breakfast was taken on the terrace, the crisp air rolling across the grasslands in gentle waves and wafting the smell of fresh coffee and croissants along the table. In his mind’s eye however, Brian could picture the bustle inside the stone built barracks and the stables at the arena itself, as slaves were roused, groomed, toileted and fed before commencing the day’s training. Today of course, the pace would be even more hectic as the auction was prepared for and its merchandise primped, brushed and oiled.

  Around him the conversation amongst the men had immediately focussed back onto the issues that had been left unresolved at yesterday’s meeting. Finishing his croissant, his deep voice carrying clearly along the table, Conor Brien announced that he thought he had solved one unfinished piece of business. A Caribbean owner, who seemed a good friend of Conor’s, had suggested that now there was an increasing amount of trade between stables, it might be a good idea to chip the slaves. That would make it easy to verify their provenance and it would stop an owner from overstating a slave’s experience or understating her length of service. As technology advanced, so more could be added until a buyer would be able to access a complete experience, performance and injury profile.

  Everyone had thought it a good idea but the problem came when they tried to think of places on the body for the chip to be fitted.

  “They get the crap beaten out of them so often… ….well can anyone think of a place they haven’t seen a fighting slave take a thrashing?” Conor himself had contributed.

  The sole of the foot was rejected - the slaves went barefoot almost permanently and the skin hardened too much. On any ordinary slave, under the breast might have been ideal, but breasts took a real pounding on an arena slave. Buttocks were considered but again, they took too much punishment which might risk harming the delicate piece of technology.

  “The back of the neck,” Conor suggested now. There were slow nods all round as the owners and trainers turned the suggestion over in their minds and found it a good one.

  “I’ve got a pretty good vet on my estate,” said an Asian looking owner. “I’ll give it a try and report back.”

  Breakfast broke up in high good humour as the cavalcade of two-in-hand traps came rumbling round from the back of the house. In the clear light of morning the slaves could clearly be seen to be beautifully presented. Their plumes, bright turquoise, were brushed and nodded in unison as they trotted. Their tack was decorated with elaborate and highly polished brass work, their blinkers sporting the initials A and S.

  This time, before they mounted, Carlo and Brian took a closer look. Both slaves looked local in that they had jet black hair, high cheek bones and dark eyes. Their build seemed naturally athletic, with deep chests sporting high, neat breasts. The strapping to these was similar to what they used at home, a single two inch-wide band round each tit and joining, by way of a further strap, the front of the high collar, forcing the chin to be kept raised. It was inconceivable that the straps wouldn’t be studded on their insides of course. As they were being run as a pair, each ponyslave had a wide belt which was clipped at one side to the main shaft of the trap and also to the T bar as the cross pieces came in front of their stomachs. Their arms were crossed and bound wrist to elbow behind them. It was an arrangement that provided for a neat and efficient rig, but at the expense of the driver being able to get full blooded lashes across the backs as well as the buttocks. But it was a rig intended for gentle runs around a mainly flat estate, rather than for racing.

  Carlo bent to inspect the crotch strapping and nodded his approval at the tightness with which the strap was pulled between the labia, making them swell out invitingly on either side. The gentlest of touches at the level of the clitoris forced a shiver and a stamp from each slave. The driver hissed the whipcord across their buttocks to steady them.

  “Clit rasps or full studs?” Carlo called up.

  The driver grinned. “Senor always says, ‘Full stud tack or she goes back into training.’”

  Carlo grinned back and Brian moved around one pony, bent down and pulled apart the smooth skinned mounds of buttock flesh - already showing the pink laces of the morning’s whip against the caramel brown of the skin. His eyes tracked the thin strap as it came up from embracing the slave’s perineum in its stinging clasp. He could see the base of the butt plug spreading slightly out on either side of the strap that kept it pushed hard up into the slave’s rectum - delivering twin torments of erotic shifting against the dildo in her vagina and horrible itching from the trainer’s preferred mixture coating it. Curiosity made him delve a bit further, and reaching between the buttocks he prised the tightly pulled strap away from the slave’s flesh at her anal entrance. Immediately she shifted, emitting a muffled grunt from behind her bit and lifting one leg. Above Brian’s head there was a whistling noise followed by a soft smack. The slave jumped but put her leg back down. A well targeted breast shot, he thought as he resumed pulling and twisting at the strap, eventually whistling in admiration at what he saw and laughing out loud as he understood the slave’s protests at his inspection of her arse.

  “Carlo, check this out! The studs go right up the crack at the back. And the base of the butt plug’s studded too! Nice one!”

  Carlo busied himself with the other slave, checking in her anal crack too.

  The guard smiled again. “When Senor say full stud tack; he mean full stud tack.”

  Carlo and Brian climbed aboard the rig, chuckling as they thought of how the spikes at the bases of the plugs would be tormenting the ponies even as they were being whipped up to a brisk trot.

  “I think, I will tell John about that,” Carlo said. “It would add to the pleasure of driving the Housegirls around the park.”

  Both men were issued with palm pilots as they entered the indoor arena. It was far bigger than their one in England as it had to accommodate a full stable for winter training. But for now it was echoing with the sounds of men discussing and examining merchandise. Brian was lost in admiration at the cleverness of how the goods had been displayed.

  At intervals across the huge floor, giant racks, such one might find in clothes shops,
stood. At each end thick steel poles rose to a height of about eight feet and supported a long horizontal rail at their tops. Along the top of that rail ran pulleys which supported short struts running down either side of the rail. These terminated in universal joints directly below the rails and from these joints were slung big square frames. Inside each frame a slave was displayed in full X shaped extension. But that hadn’t been enough for Alberto Salazar. Telescopic rods, capable of being adjusted for each slave’s stature, ran down from the top bars of each frame and up from the bottom bars at points midway along their lengths.

  These vertical bars ran into the slaves and held them as rigid as it was physically possible to hold a human body, Brian thought. The rod descending from the top bar ended in an inflatable penis gag, the slave’s head was wrenched back until her throat and mouth were vertically aligned and then it had been inserted and inflated until her mouth could take no more. The same procedure had been adopted with her other entrances. The rod spearing up from the bottom of the frame split into two and each slave’s anus and vagina were stuffed to capacity with a dildo and butt plug. The only things the merchandise could do to indicate that it was alive at all was to clench and unclench fingers and toes, blink eyes and breathe.

  Meanwhile the frames made examining them extremely convenient. Brian and Carlo found they could swing a frame round to examine the goods face on, or rotate it further to examine the back. Once an examination was complete, the frame could be pushed further along its rail until the slave’s body, usually its breasts or buttocks impacted against the next one with a soft thump. Then the next frame could be pulled along into a clear space. All about them, owners and trainers were revolving the frames, poking and prodding at the bodies, pinching breast and buttock meat to assess condition and were noting their findings. Each slave had her lot number scrawled on her belly in marker pen and each frame held a laminated sheet detailing her experience and points tally in contests.

  Clearly the owners who had put these particular slaves up for sale had not been using them recently as their skins were clear of the welts and bruises that were the almost permanent decorations on an arena slave’s body.

  “Remember,” Carlo told Brian as he spun another frame round to trail a finger up from where the rod impaled the slave’s cunt, across the clitoris, the stomach and then cupped the full breasts appreciatively. “If what they were saying yesterday is anything to go by - and I think it is - then what we need are durable workhorses. We need to stock up on the kind of slave you can put into a squad to bolster any mass contest. That’s what they’ll be looking to hire in. The fancy stuff, like solo whip duellers, pony racers and the like they can bring on at their leisure. But if they’re really going to put the squad girls through the mangle, there’ll be a fast turnover and long injury lists.”

  “So we’re looking for some beef on the thighs…..” Brian said as he rummaged through the next rack. “Ah, hah!” he turned a frame so that the slave faced him and ran his hands down from her shoulders. She was a big breasted blonde with wide hips and sturdy, though reasonably long thighs. “How about this one?”

  Carlo came to join him and swung the frame so that the body it held was spun and the back and arse faced them. Even in extension they could see the width and musculature of the back and shoulders.

  “She looks like she could take the whip all day,” Brian said as his boss ran his hands down the body and hefted the heavy buttocks.

  “What’s it say on her label?” he asked as he clenched his fingers in the meat of the thighs.

  “’Currently owned and trained by the Orange stable. Believed of German origin. Stable name; roughly translates as Trouble.’” Brian grinned at Carlo. “The Orange stable, that’s out in Borneo or somewhere isn’t it? Her stable name’s more likely ‘One Bloody Big Nuisance’.”

  “Get on with it, Brian. There’s a few hundred to sift through here, and I still want another groom if I can find one.”

  “Okay, sorry.” Brian tried to concentrate. “’Discipline record; very poor in training but performs well in contests. Stands up to hard dungeon sessions well. Too wilful for pony and chariot racing but in melees goes down late and log pulling endurance is good. Holds stable record for most punishment floggings to blood. No reserve.’ Sounds a handful, Carlo.”

  Carlo spun her round to face him and gripped her breasts, digging his fingers in spitefully hard and watching her eyes carefully. “Make a note of her number. We might bid,” he said and pushed the frame further along to where another owner and trainer waited. There were only two more slaves on that rack, both of whom were graceful and slender. Carlo rejected them out of hand and they moved on. The next rack yielded a black girl about halfway along. She was not solidly built but was more wiry. She had been fighting out of Osman’s stable and Carlo immediately took a close interest in her.

  “Osman’s a hard master,” he explained. “She might be one tough nut or she might be broken. Now look very closely at her skin. I want to see if the colour’s hiding any serious whip damage.”

  Brian didn’t need any urging. This slave reminded him of Jet, she was leggy and had the classically high, prominent buttock profile of the black girl. Her breasts were bigger and rounder than Jet’s however and when he crouched down to examine her cunt he saw she had a superbly prominent clitoris which was clearly responding to her mistreatment. He wiped his finger across it and it came away thickly smeared with moisture.

  “’Origins unknown. Stable name; roughly translates as Blackberry,’” Carlo read. “’Disciplinary record; uneven, she can be idle and sullen. But when on form is very good with the whip. Takes it as well as gives it out. Pulls well between the shafts but can be lazy and needs to be whipped hard in final stages. Sexually she is very popular with guards and guests. She sucks cock very well and is tough in dungeon sessions.’ Hmm. Note this one down Brian, reserve’s a bit high but I can’t see any deep whip damage. You?”

  “No. She looks promising material physically.”

  Slowly, rack by rack they made their way across the hall. By the time they had slid the final slave on the last rack to one side and rejected her, they were ready for lunch; after which would come the auction ring itself and the serious bidding. They had six potential purchases for CSL in their notes and were just turning to go and hail their trap to take them back to the house when Brian saw an Indian girl displayed right at the far wall of the arena.

  “Let’s take a look at this one, Carlo. Wonder why she’s been set aside like that?”

  Their curiosity aroused the two men walked over and looked down on the lone girl.

  She was a startlingly beautiful, diminutive creature with large almond shaped eyes. Her lips were full and inviting and her body….

  “Beautiful legs and a really neat little cunt, Carlo,” Brian said. He had pushed his fingers up into the prettily presented cunt and now with his thumb began to rub her clitoris. Carlo was roughly mauling her beautifully firm looking breasts; the girl had her eyes closed and was sighing in delight.

  “Bingo!” Brian exclaimed. With his free hand he had reached for her card and was reading while he continued to stoke her insides. “This one’s a groom they’re selling on for some reason, just says ‘Surplus’. She’s got a couple of years’ experience as a stable hand… …good with tack, handles ponyslaves well…” His eyes scanned the details while his fingers achieved a greedy squelching from inside her. “Origins unknown but believed North India…blah…blah… …always answers to Raika… …..hard worker… …… …orgasms under discipline quite readily but generally obedient. Reserve price…..That can’t be right!”

  He handed the card over to Carlo whose eyebrows raised when he got to where it said there was no reserve on her.

  “Doesn’t even say which stable she’s out of,” he mused. “Looks like someone’s just dumping her.”

  “Pregnant?”

  “Hmm, let me see, move your hand Brian.”

  Carlo leaned over the slave
as Brian withdrew his sticky fingers from her cunt. He worked his own hand between the neat, plump labia with a preoccupied expression on his face. Gradually more and more of his hand disappeared up inside her and she began to pant nervously as she felt his deep intrusion. Carlo reached a point he was clearly aiming for and for a second his progress halted but Brian could see his fingers were still working inside her. Suddenly his face cleared and with a speed which left the slave gasping, he withdrew, nearly his entire hand glistening with her dew.

  “No, she’s clear, you can tell,” he said, then grinned at Brian. “You stick with me. I can teach you a lot of things about stock keeping.”

  Then using the hand still fresh from her cunt he held her face between fingers and thumb. “Why are you being sold, girl?”

  Brian was amazed to see the big eyes fill with tears. “I don’t know, Sir. I don’t know,” she whispered with a tremor in her voice. Brian could see nothing but complete honesty in her face and said so.

  “Well, sometimes you just strike lucky,” Carlo conceded, wiping his hand on her stomach. “And she is a good looking piece to have working around the place. Whip her up a bit, Brian, see how she goes.”

  Hanging on the wall above the girl’s head were a crop and a strap. Brian tested the strap for thickness and flexibility. It seemed fine for stomach, breasts and thighs so he selected it and began an irregular beating. Always waiting until the big, soulful eyes were fixed on the length of leather before he struck, he varied his targets and the strength of the lashes. Her flat, trim stomach took the strikes with little fuss, her breasts shook prettily, her long thighs marked only slowly. But what pleased both men most were her charmingly soft vocal responses, breathless little cries and murmurs escaped her as she writhed and her tidy little cunt wept a steady stream of thick fluid as she was whipped, staining the wood of the beam on which she was mounted. Whatever else, they were sure she would go down a storm in The Lodge’s dungeons