Bound for Glory

Also by Sean O’Kane in Silver Moon

Church of Chains

Taming the Brat

Tales from The Lodge (with Falconer Bridges)

The Story of Emma

Bad Blood (with Francine Whittaker)

Slavemaker

The Arena Series

Into the Arena

The Gladiator

The Prize

Slave’s Honour

Last Slave Standing

Girl Squad

Naked Ambition

Lost Property

With thanks to Francine, ‘d’ and Hilary, to name but a few!

Bound for Glory

By

Sean O’Kane

Prologue.

Kath felt the man kneeling behind her reach his climax, his strong hands clawed at her welted hips as he rammed himself home. She heard him shout as he emptied himself into her and once he was done she collapsed gratefully forwards onto the soft pile of exhausted female bodies on the sand of the arena floor while all around her the roar of the crowd beat on her ears like a physical force. She licked her lips as she panted for breath, her mouth tasted of men. Her chin and cheeks were crusted in their emissions, she could feel her thighs and her groin were slicked with the evidence of their pleasure and beneath her another female body squirmed weakly. Kath smiled lazily as she opened her eyes and saw a breast beside her face, the nipple hardened and standing rigidly to attention. She had no idea who it belonged to but managed to summon up enough energy to lift her face and take it into her mouth. Its rubbery texture was delicious and so was the pungent taste of fresh sperm on her tongue. From somewhere beneath her came a soft moan of pleasure. She felt a hand slide up between her own thighs and she groaned herself as she felt the fingers slide easily into her flooded vagina and begin to swirl inside her and stimulate it all over again.

Slowly and furtively the pile of defeated slavegirls began to pleasure each other as best they could. It was a lesson the arenas taught all their slaves; take every bit of pleasure you can, wherever and however you can. Kath’s own hand reached for the anonymous girl’s other breast as she suckled and nipped at the morsel in her mouth.

It had been a typical finale to a show that had gone on for three days. It had been held at the Proteans’ arena in the English West Country, the arena that had broken the mould and become the first officially sanctioned one in the developed world, it had even been founded by covert government activity and then sold on to a consortium. The away team had been from a stable whose arena had just opened somewhere in the north – as far as Kath had gathered from titbits in the grooms’ and guards’ conversations. The entire squads had been thrown at each other in one huge battle royal; over two hundred naked furies had scratched, hair-pulled, wrestled and flogged each other for the crowd’s delight for nearly an hour and then the men had been let loose on those who were still standing.

That had always been Kath’s favourite part. Standing naked, nearly exhausted and welted from head to toe, facing men who were coming fresh to the fight. It was gloriously unfair and cruel and thus deeply arousing and typified the arenas’ attraction for the crowds. The guards, from both stables, didn’t care which team the girls belonged to, they were concerned only to take their pleasure with them out there on the floor of the arena, the actual winning team had been decided by that time anyway. So from then on the girls fought and were defeated purely for the pleasure it gave their conquerors and the crowd. Kath loved knowing that she would struggle in vain against the fit and strong men, putting up a good show as she went down to inevitable defeat. And they would take her however they wanted, maybe they would take a whip to her before they enjoyed her. She, like the others delighted in that, seeing their images up on the giant video screens, as they knelt before their conquerors, beaten and submissive. She loved seeing the oiled bodies of the men as they ran out, the hard plates of muscle gleaming even in the weak English sun. Their rampant cocks strained and wagged at their groins, some were strapped to make every penetration just that little bit more memorable for the girl on the receiving end. Some were pierced, the metal again threatening and promising in equal measure.

A hand began to knead her left breast as the noise from the crowd subsided into steady applause. Immediately she ceased her own exploration of the anonymous breasts and lay still. Experience had taught her that she had to keep still at this point. Fortunately the hands that been playing with her also belonged to experienced slaves and they too ceased their movement.

The managers and trainers were coming.

From under her eye lashes, Kath looked to her left and saw her own manager’s highly polished brogues stop just beside her. She was familiar with them and the shine was familiar to her too – her tongue had helped put it there on many occasions over the years.

She knew they would be waving to the crowds and taking the applause for a well staged games. Her entire body was aglow from the battering and lashing it had taken over the previous days, she was completely wrung out and had been used thoroughly in every way a man could use a woman – in the evenings as well as just during the days; an arena slave earned her keep in the dungeons as well as in the arena – and yet she would have joined in the applause had she been able. It was what made her feel most alive. She could not remember or imagine a time when she wasn’t – or wouldn’t have wanted to be - where she was just now; lying spreadeagled, naked, defeated and submissive at her Master’s feet.

“That was a good show, Bob. You won it well, but I was pleased with my lot. It’s only their second games,” Kath heard the visiting manager say.

“You put up a good fight and it’s got me thinking. I reckon it’s time I bought in some fresh blood.”

The manager’s right foot moved out and probed thoughtfully at the girl Kath was lying on.

“Some of mine have been with the stable since it opened.”

There was a low whistle from the other man. “Must be almost twenty years isn’t it?”

“About that. I’ll talk to the bean counters and see what we can afford. If we sell now, we’ll get a reasonable price; leave it much longer and they won’t fetch much at all.”

The men moved off and left Kath to listen to the pounding of her heart. Tears squeezed out from her eyes. He couldn’t mean it! Could he? She was one of the ones who had been with the Proteus stable since it started. Had she really been with it that long? In the endless round of training, sex, combat, sex, competition and sex, being crated up and flown all round the world, she had lost all track of time. And the heavy tongue ring which they all wore and which made speech virtually impossible made the separation from the rest of the world even more complete.

They couldn’t possibly cast her adrift now could they?

Desperately she raised her head and looked around for her lover. A few feet away a dark skinned head looked up from the other side of the now-stirring pile of women. The black girl stared back at Kath with the same look of utter terror that was in her own eyes.

The manager of the Proteus stable was nothing if not decisive and Kath and her lover found themselves chained in the back of a truck with the other four original members of the stable only two days later.

“You’ll get a decent price,” he had told them as they stood before his desk, hobbled by a chain from Kath’s left ankle to Sharon’s right. “You’ve worn well.”

He came up to them and tweaked their nipples hard. “Nothing sagging, no scars to speak of. And I think you’ll do as a pair, it’ll make you more of a novelty item for a private collector – or maybe I’m just a sentimental old fool!” he said with a broad smile before dismissing them. The two exchanged glances as the door closed behind them. At least wherever they were going, they were going together. They were put in a holding cell and in the narrow cot they made love with a frenetic energy born of stark terror. At last Kath lay between Sharon’s widespread thighs, her head pillowed on one, the pink inner flesh of Sharon’s engorged and open sex before her, the taste of her on her lips. They had tongued and finger-fucked each other until they could come no more and as her body slowly relaxed, Kath’s thoughts began to wander. For the first time in – could it really be twenty years? – she thought about the outside world. Vaguely she recalled something about being a journalist and being taken on some sort of residential course that had led to the arenas. But there was no detail. There was the face of a woman though. She seemed to have been a lover of some sort from that distant and irrelevant time.

The journey to the auction room took surprisingly little time and again she and Sharon shared a cell before being taken out the following morning and mounted for inspection. To her dismay, Kath realised that she was to be sold that very afternoon. The girls were mounted spreadeagled inside giant hoops of steel. These were hung from the ceiling of a long, low room that might have once been a barn. Her training collar and cuffs were removed – just as they were before a show – then her mouth was forced open as far as it would go and a ring gag was inserted behind her teeth, forcing her mouth to gape open at its fullest extent. She had worn these before, usually when she was hired out in one of the arena’s playrooms for a group of men who just wanted to come in her mouth as they played with her. It had been excitingly casual usage back then, making her feel slutty and wanton. Now it was hateful. The only saving grace was that as she and Sharon were being sold as an item, they were hung next to each other.

The punters were nothing if not thorough. Stretched out as they were the slaves could do nothing except endure the most rigorous explorations of their bodies. And not just the skin tone and muscle tone were examined. Every cavity was explored and evaluated. Kath had her teeth tested and yanked, just to ensure they were her own. Her breasts were palpated and twisted and kneaded. Her nipples were pulled and twisted until she had to give an incoherent scream from behind her gag. Her tongue was pulled out through the ring gag by its own ring and its colour commented on. Her vagina was spared nothing but after the first penetration her nature betrayed her and despite everything, no lubrication was needed. Some of the punters had dilators and she squealed as she felt herself opened until she was really scared. Beside her, Sharon’s extraordinary elasticity was commented eagerly upon. Kath knew it well, she frequently fisted her when they shared their narrow bed in the barracks and now she found she was furiously envious of all the attention it was getting. To try and distract herself she began to pay attention to the buyers and, she found she could recognise the arena buyers quite easily. They were the ones who started with skin and muscle tone and only tested the sexual equipment afterwards. Mostly they just looked at her and Sharon and made comments to the effect that they were in extremely good condition for veterans, and moved on looking for younger stock. It was only those who could afford to buy for private use who looked at them in any detail. Kath just couldn’t conceive of what being privately owned might be like, but it seemed that that was the only outcome which was even remotely likely.

Eventually, sore and stiff, they were taken down and returned to the holding cells to await the sale itself.

Chapter One

“The auction starts in two hours, Sir. We have plenty of time. Will you be purchasing a girl at this one?”

Clive Mostyn settled himself in his ministerial car as Humphries, his chauffeur, closed the door and then took his own seat behind the wheel.

“You know quite well that as Home Secretary of His Majesty’s Government I have to declare any more than two slaves and pay for their upkeep myself, Humphries!” he said.

The chauffeur grinned at him through the rear view mirror. “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes, if anything catches my eye’ then.”

Clive smiled back. Humphries had been with him for years now and had seen the government’s policies on youth crime and inner urban anarchy develop in tandem with the arenas’ climb towards legitimacy. The one had supplied the raw material for the other and now young female criminals could expect to serve ten years or more in an arena while young male criminals were put to work building the arenas themselves, or laying railway tracks, or building roads.

The Proteus project had been the key to it all. Once it had been established that girls from a variety of backgrounds could be taken and trained to perform in the arenas, it had just been a question of time before the state had found a way to make it happen regularly – and to profit from it.

Inevitably there were more prisoners than there were spaces in arena stables and so it had slowly become acceptable for the well-off to boast the services of convicted girls – and sometimes young men – around their houses. Of course it was all done in the name of training them to become useful citizens, and that training often meant discipline while ‘useful’ often meant serving in bedrooms as well as in dining rooms. It was a measure of how quickly British society had adapted to the system that the press had very quickly cried out for MPs to declare how many ‘citizens’ they were training and how much they were claiming in expenses for them. That was the full extent of the moral outrage.

“I’m just attending this one for sentimental reasons. Then we’re going on to a lab that’s been doing some very interesting work,” he told Humphries. The chauffeur raised his eyebrows at the thought of his boss doing anything for sentimental reasons but keyed the post codes into the navigation system and kept his thoughts to himself.

As the car moved off to the accompaniment of a specially generated facsimile of a piston engined car’s exhaust note to warn pedestrians of its otherwise soundless presence, Clive Mostyn switched on his tablet and began to read the morning’s papers.

‘Mosser’s Rozzers Let Loose!’
the first headline he came to screamed at him, but then it went on in more measured tones;
‘Home Secretary Clive Mostyn’s new urban snatch squads swung into action last night in four cities. The new squads do not need to apply for search warrants when in hot pursuit of suspects and can enter any premises they suspect of harbouring a miscreant, by whatever means at any time of the day or night. They can also arrest, charge and imprison – under the government’s new ‘fast track’ justice scheme – anyone they believe has been guilty of anti-social or criminal behaviour within twelve hours. Early reports indicate that over a hundred young offenders have already been apprehended and sentenced…’

Clive grunted in satisfaction. In fact the figure was nearer two hundred, he knew. Of those, seventy-five were female and they would be up for purchase by the arenas or anyone who could afford them before the day was out. There were now twelve arenas up and running within the UK alone, and they attracted the crowds and loyalty that football clubs had enjoyed until a few years ago.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, they had come a long way since the days of the Proteus project.

The auction was being held in central southern England, at a large old house with extensive farm buildings that lent themselves well to housing the slaves. He was ushered to a seat behind the smoked glass of the corporate entertainment gallery of the auction hall. He had barely had time to savour the coffee he was served with before the auctioneer, sitting behind a desk at the edge of the stage announced the start of proceedings.

From the stage a long catwalk led out into the audience. The buyers would have had a good chance to examine the merchandise beforehand but to see how they moved allowed a more detailed examination of the condition of the stock. Each girl had a chip embedded at the nape of her neck which gave a complete record of her performance in the arenas; how many points she had gained for her team, how many times she had lost and been put to the whipping posts in the arenas, what injuries she had suffered. What it didn’t necessarily tell a prospective purchaser was her disciplinary record, that was still at the vendor’s discretion and what punishments she had been subjected to was not always obvious, so a chance to see how she moved could tell an experienced eye a lot that the chip didn’t.

A pretty girl in a short, white shift dress came on leading a naked slave. Both girls would have been sentenced by the courts for something or other, but the girl in white probably had wealthy parents who had been able to buy a less arduous sentence. The arena slave was on a leash that led forwards from her bound hands behind her back. That meant it ran between her legs and to the hand of her minder. She was a tall girl with thick black hair that hung to her shoulders. She was long legged and clean limbed, moving with long, graceful strides on her three inch-heeled, black court shoes. The clacking of the shoes on the boarding was the only sound as the potential bidders settled down to the serious business of the day.

Beside Clive a party of businessmen – and some women - also settled down but their interest was only in the vicarious enjoyment of watching some highly desirable girlflesh be disposed of for further use in the arenas. Discussions about the girl’s breasts and her length of thigh started immediately and the women of the party weren’t at all abashed by speculating on whether she would be bought for pony racing, chariot racing or the more physical combats with whips.

“She knows how to move,” one of the women said.

“How d’you mean?” one of the men asked.

“The heels emphasise her leg length, and by taking long strides she draws attention to it again,” the woman explained.

“She can move her hips as well!” another man commented. And certainly the slave was working hard at putting a real fuck-me sway into her well-rounded hips as she moved.

“Bet she’s been trained by her previous owner,” another woman suggested.

“Bet that’s not all her previous owner did with her!” another man put in.

“Says here she was owned by a Welsh stable. Wonder how much she’ll cost to hire from her new stable?” another woman said. “I’d pay a lot to get her laid out for me when I had a strap-on. Look at the tits on her!”

Clive smiled. It was all working very well indeed. Society was splitting neatly along the lines of those who weren’t enslaved – or who weren’t likely to be as they were wealthy enough not to commit an anti-social offence – and those who were likely to find themselves the targets of his snatch squads. But even this latter group broadly supported the system; everyone needs someone to look down on. And the best thing of all was that both sides of the divide loved the arenas and would vote for the government that had brought them in and which continued to keep them well stocked. It was true that sometimes girls of well-to-do families got caught up in raids but even they could be trained, as Proteus had shown, and in any case once a girl was a slave she tended to become invisible and there was very little trouble.

True there had been a couple of years when there had been a backlash at one general election but when that had resulted in the three new arenas open by then, being closed down, there had been chaos on the streets and within a few months Clive’s party had been returned with a huge majority, the arenas had been re-opened and they had never looked back.

In the auction hall itself the girl had taken the slave out to the end of the catwalk and was now walking her back. The buttocks were sensational and she knew how to make the most of them as she moved. Clive wondered why she was being got rid of. He looked down at his programme and saw she had been the property of the Scarlet Harlots stable in South Wales and was about to read her summary when the auctioneer broke in on his thoughts and answered his question.

“Lot One, ladies and gentlemen! An impressive creature, I’m sure you’ll agree and a lovely mover. Been entered in four games, two wins and two losses at whip duelling, second in dressage twice. The vendors tell me she’s making way for a heavier filly to run the chariots and that her disciplinary record is good. She hires out for dungeon work at very advantageous rates as I’m sure you’ll appreciate! Now, I’m going to start the bidding at seventy-five thousand. Seventy-five. Do I hear eighty? Eighty over there!”

Clive turned his attention back to the catalogue and flicked forwards while the group next to him, presumably there for someone’s birthday treat, speculated about what they would do with Lot One if they got her into a dungeon. Predictably the women were far harsher in their imaginary sessions.

He thumbed the pages again, frowning as he failed to find what he was looking for. But near the back he came across it; Lot Seventy-five. The tip-off had been a good one. He looked at the hologram carefully, ignoring the other slave who was being offered as part of the same lot – he had not expected that. But as he stared at Kath, he found his hand running ruefully through his greying hair and noted how his stomach was pressing against the waistband of his trousers. From the look of things, Kath had weathered the intervening years better than he had.

He let his thoughts drift as the lots came and went in the auditorium. Further along from him the party was now being served with lunch and the wine was flowing. He couldn’t really say why he had known he would attend this auction the moment an old friend had rung and told him that she was being auctioned off by the Proteus stable, he had just known it instantly.

He had stumbled across her right back when they had first begun to test the personalities of the staff to see if they could identify likely recruits to a first publicly owned arena. Legislation to enslave criminals was still some way off back then, but he and the Prime Minister, Dandy MacIntyre, were certain that a net cast wide enough to trawl the sink estates and also the prim and proper offices of the government itself could populate a stable and put it into the public’s mind that an arena could be close to home and affordable, as well as contributing to the well-being of the country as a whole.

They had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams and Kath Knowles – he had struggled to recall her name but it had come back to him eventually – had walked straight into his office and straight into the Proteus arena. He had had only three or four sessions with her – he couldn’t quite remember how many – but she had been a real find. She was deeply masochistic, very sensual, highly sexed and blessed with a high pain threshold, and on top of all that she was very attractive. He gazed at the hologram again, noting how wide-eyed with fear she was and that she appeared to be taking instructions from someone just out of shot as she faced the camera. Her brown hair was just as thick and lustrous as it had always been, he scrolled down a little and really her breasts were just as pert as ever, thrusting forwards, seeming to beg for the next bout of punishment. Her nipples were still uncommonly thick and dark for her relatively light complexion. To see how the rest of her had fared, he would have to wait until she came up for sale.

Having examined her hologram and found her just as attractive as ever, he turned his attention to the girl who was being offered for sale with her. She was a tall and well-proportioned black girl with quite heavy breasts that still stood fairly proud, she had large, liquid eyes and a mouth that any man would love to employ for his pleasure.

He had a feeling she was one of the very first who had been taken from a prison cell, somewhere in Manchester he thought. Surprisingly, she had proved very amenable to training and, with Kath as her lover, had become quite a star. He recalled seeing the two of them in an arena in southern Africa during his short sojourn in His Majesty’s Opposition. The two of them had been ‘baited’ as a fun event while the arena had been set up for cage contests. They had been tied by one ankle each to a post with no weapons and ten or twenty of the opposition’s squad had been given staves and whips and told to bring them both down. The whips had been cats rather than stock whips and so the wielders had had to get in quite close to use them, and that was the only thing working in the baited slaves’ favour. The number of slaves used to bait them was a tribute to their prowess and Clive had been proud of the way Kath in particular had ripped the whip from the first girl who came close to her and of the way in which she had used it to keep the rest at bay until her colleague could arm herself too. Eventually it had taken the lashes of the home team’s guards to drive the baiters onto their prey and the event had ended in the British girls going down to an entertaining defeat only after a bitter struggle. As Clive remembered, when the trainer of the home team had asked the crowd whether they wanted to put the British pair to the whipping posts the thumbs had all been pointing up and they were cheered off. The home team’s baiters however got the thumbs down until the tally had reached twenty lashes each.

Clive smiled at the recollection of an enjoyable few days and ordered a plate of light refreshments to accompany a glass of Chablis from the waitress, a pretty girl who wore a silver torc to denote that she too had been sentenced. The girl served him and was making her way back to her station when she was pulled roughly down onto the lap of one of the men in the party next to Clive. His hand went immediately between her legs as his colleagues of both sexes cheered him on. The girl blushed and made a futile attempt to keep her short skirt down, but his hand burrowed deeper between her smooth and shapely thighs.

“C’mon you slag!” the man slurred angrily and the girl allowed her legs to part. As an enslaved prisoner she had no right to refuse a free man – or woman – anything. She gasped softly as she was penetrated roughly and clumsily and there was amused laughter from around the table.