Last Slave Standing (9 page)

He had described Mr Carlo and Mr Brian to her and she had beguiled them into bidding for her and winning. But then she had been brought to England and had fallen in love with The Lodge, with the slaves in her charge, with the way she was trusted, the way the men used her at will but didn’t insult her. They even returned to their own beds after taking her if they woke her in the night, urgent for her mouth or her vagina. No one had ever been that considerate before. They gave her a smart uniform, she had a room of her own……….

“Your master; your
real
master, is a man of his word, Raika. Just do a little job for him and he will make sure you are looked after…….” Sir John’s voice was soft and seductive but she couldn’t betray her home; not even for the promise of a return to her birthplace and a life of respectability. Wordlessly she shook her head, bracing herself for the retribution that would surely follow her refusal.

But none came.

Instead she felt his hand on her arm and he was leading her across to the windowless dungeon that occupied the whole of one end of the stable block.

“Let me show you something, Raika,” he said. “There is something that your master wants you to see. He needs you, Raika and to those who help him he is very generous. You think the men who own you now are honourable and kind, don’t you?”

She nodded and he led her inside, flicking on the lights and closing the heavy, padded door behind them.

“Let me show you what they really are. Then you can decide who you truly serve.”

Raika wiped her eyes awkwardly and looked around. There was nothing unusual in the room, only the normal disciplinary equipment. She turned to look at Sir John. He was taking a whip down from one of the racks.

“I….I don’t understand……..”

Sir John’s face hardened suddenly and he uncoiled the length of thick hide. “You, Raika. I’m going to show you to yourself,” he said. “Now strip!”

Chapter 7

It was the second day of the show and Brian was finding it the hardest show yet. Even with the help of the grooms, keeping ten slaves fit for nearly every event was wearing. Currently he and Carlo were positioned on either side of the two lines of slaves toiling along their second length of the arena pulling a telegraph pole behind them. On his side Brian was flogging Ox, Trouble and two of Salazar’s slaves. Carlo was taking care of Rose, Legs and two others. Beside them the other guards swung their whips in unison as Hank, standing on top of the log called the time.

“Heave! Heave!” On each call fifteen heavy floggers smacked across the sweating bodies before the men and the column moved steadily onwards. At the moment they had about half a metre lead. The women were leaning so far forwards as to almost be parallel to the ground, their breasts swung to and fro beneath their heaving ribcages, their buttocks hollowed and their thighs strained as they toiled. The rhythm of the call was ponderous but allowed each man to move from one slave to another so that each took one lash in four. Even so, on this second leg there was scarcely an inch of unmarked flesh. Here and there along the double line of thirty slaves a head would throw back as a particularly spiteful lash wrapped a breast and bit at a nipple.

Apart from the measured, heavy smacks of the whips and the calls of the trainers, the air was thick with the frenzied cries of the crowd. Huge amounts of money were wagered on each event and this was a close contest. And besides the competitive frenzy, watching so many whips at play on so much naked flesh was driving people into an orgiastic frenzy as well. Up above the stands the huge video screens showed loving close ups of rippling buttocks and breasts swinging so wildly that on the bigger titted specimens they were colliding. Brian saw Hank glance across at the opposition and he risked one as well. Their driver was calling a slightly faster rhythm and the slaves were responding. Their lines were almost alongside.

“Double time!” Hank yelled. This was a ruse they had rehearsed in the run up to the show but never with full whipping. But it was now or never.

Hank doubled the speed of his calls and the men worked their way up and down their allotted parts of the lines smacking in a lash to the back and immediately following it with an uppercut to the breasts. The noise in the arena went from merely deafening to painful in seconds as the slaves squealed and shrieked while the crowd roared its approval but from somewhere the slaves found the strength to accelerate their progress through the heavy ground. It had rained that morning and the floor of the arena was not its usual sandy, firm consistency. After having been wrestled and boxed on, had squads of twenty girls from each stable fighting with whips, staves and nets all at the same time and then had mass log pulling staged, what the slaves were attempting was akin to pulling the huge log through a mud wrestling ring.

But with the application of extra whipping, the Salazar team forged just slightly ahead.

Brian’s arm ached as the finishing line approached with agonising slowness but he gritted his teeth and stuck to his task, fanning the leather tails out across the slaves’ shoulders and then slicing them up into the soft, swinging vulnerability of the breasts.

The opposition tried the same tactic but their line of struggling slaves was not as durable as the Salazar one and by the time the fronts of both logs had crossed the line, the Salazar stable was declared the winner by three lengths. A close result when the line consisted of fifteen lengths; a length being defined as the length of a slave’s body.

The guards shook hands and congratulated each other on a well-driven pull. Between them the lines of slaves collapsed onto knees and elbows, their wrists still attached to the rope by their restraints. Brian knew he didn’t have much time to enjoy the triumph. The chariot racing would be starting soon and he was needed at the circus to help with harnessing. But now that the stress of the final dash was wearing off, he realised his cock was pushing urgently at the front of his shorts. Before him was a feast of carnal delights, thirty flogged raw slaves knelt in front of him and between their welted buttocks and strong thighs, a fascinating range of whip-aroused cunts was on offer. There were neat, plump ones, long ones, ones with inner lips blossoming up from between the outer ones, ones with liver-coloured inner lips, ones with outer lips that looked as though they had had lipstick applied around the vaginal hole.

Deciding he had time for a quick one, Brian pushed his shorts down and knelt behind one of the Salazar slaves who had an unusually broad expanse of arse and a cunt that was blatantly weeping with arousal. He slid into her easily but she was so far gone as to only be able to groan softly as she felt the penetration. As he set about seeking his release he saw that most of his companions were doing likewise and the cameras were missing none of the action. Beside him one the cameramen was closing right up on one of Salazar’s guards plunging in and out of Ox while grinning and waving to the crowd, before panning towards him. Brian leaned forward and helped himself to two handfuls of soft, malleable breastflesh, swinging beneath the anonymous slave’s chest. The recent beating she had taken there made her rear up nicely for the camera and the man behind it gave him a broad grin and the thumbs up.

The extra dose of pain obviously refreshed the slave and Brian was impressed at how well she gripped him when he spurted his load deep into her and then climbed to his feet, giving her breasts one last squeeze and her nipples a hard twist.

As he left the arena the lines of slaves were tottering wearily to their feet

and were being shepherded back to the tunnel after being freed from the logs. The second pull would be on the following morning and would almost certainly require completely fresh whip fodder. The prospect was pleasing and he was whistling as he headed for the circus, behind him those of the spectators who wanted to watch the racing began to follow him, others made their way to the pens for more boxing and wrestling.

When he arrived at the circus he found that Juan and some of the others were in the finishing stages of harnessing. The butt plugs and dildos were already in and the studded strapping keeping them in was tightened. The tit straps were fastened and Blondie was just having her bridle buckled on as he walked up. He got straight to work and fed her bit through her tongue ring and then screwed in the pin that attached it to the bridle on the far side. Then he clipped on the karabiners that fastened the reins to the bridle at the same place before feeding her right one down and through two loops on the back of her belt then through a further one on the shaft of the chariot, the spare length he left to trail for the moment and went back to her head. Her left rein was a short strap which fastened to the bridle of the slave immediately to her left. The most efficient way of harnessing and steering had turned out to be joining the front four, bridle to bridle and only having long reins at the extreme left and right. These two were fed back along the shaft of the chariot and the driver wrapped them around his waist. He only needed to haul on one rein to swing the front four that way. The two ‘grunts’ who provided power halfway along the shaft didn’t need steering, they just needed to keep pushing. The final advantage offered by this arrangement was that all four backs were kept clear for the whipman to work on; ensuring that the front rank raced and fought as hard as they could. With a practised eye Brian settled the bridle finally, making sure that the big blinkers kept the blonde’s gaze restricted to what was directly in front of her. Her high collar discouraged neck movement and it had been found that by keeping the slaves largely ignorant of what they were being driven into, the performances became much better. Under certain scoring circumstances it was sometimes necessary for a driver to sacrifice his rig in order to maximise the team’s other rig’s score. In those circumstances he might choose to drive deliberately into one of the oppositions’ rigs and with heavy blinkers the slaves had no chance to brake or take avoiding action, thus ensuring a good, entertaining collision was achieved.

Once all the slaves were harnessed and fastened to the chariots, Brian, Juan and the other two Salazar men checked the opposition’s rigs. They checked that the whips were the specified length and weight and that the tip of the long one was of regulation weight and the driver’s flogger had no more than twenty tails. They checked that the clips fastening the slaves to the rig did not contain any failsafe device, allowing the slave to break free of the rig in the event of a crash. The rules were that if any slaves went lame or were injured in any of the races, they could be replaced only from the ranks of the slaves who started. Usually that meant that the second chariot was sacrificed if necessary.

The circus filled up rapidly and with his heart pounding with excitement, Brian was soon settling his grip on the front rail of the chariot and on his whip, glancing at Juan, bracing his feet, surveying the line of backs and buttocks presented for flogging and then a siren sounded from the compere’s box and they were off. For the first length it was simply a case of delivering a blizzard of lashes and demanding the slaves produced every ounce of pace they were capable of. Brian’s arm windmilled as he yelled and the long length of whipcord smacked back and forth across the straining backs. Naked thighs pumped, buttocks trembled, hair tossed and the chariot shook in every rivet as it charged across the sand. Neck and neck the four rigs approached the first turn. All four drivers held station for the first turn and as the teams sped back towards the starting line they broke lanes for the first time – as permitted in the rules. The Salazar rigs approached the second turn in second and fourth places, Brian and Juan lying in second. Brian eased back on the whipping and allowed Juan to ease round the turn, then on the start of the second lap, Juan let out a wild war whoop and steering out to the left he and Brian flogged their team into a spurt that brought them alongside the scarlet and blacks.

As a result the second turn brought the crowd to its feet. All four rigs battled for position, the slaves at the ends of the front shaft equipped with the armoured gloves and arm guards, flailed madly at their opponents while both whipmen attempted to lash the oppositions’ slaves. Blondie – on the right of the line – was in the thick of the action and Brian laughed in delight as he watched her use all her experience in the arenas. Ignoring the lashes she was being hammered with by the opposing whipman, she reached back with her free arm and slammed it across her opposing slave’s lower back. Brian immediately saw to it that he added to the unfortunate slave’s problems by getting in a cutting strike across her shoulders. She arched and screamed around her bit, allowing Blondie to bring her arm forward again and then slam it back across her strap-imprisoned tits. She almost lost her footing and Brian tried to slice in further lashes to finish the job, but their driver was alert to the danger and once both rigs were back on the straight, he backed off to give the slave time to recover. In the meantime the second scarlet and black chariot raced through on their left and Jet was brought into the fighting as the chariots rattled and thundered towards the next turn. Both drivers held station and still skirmishing the rigs accelerated back up towards turn four and this time all four chariots took it almost level, the two outermost ones losing some ground inevitably but making some up by being able to turn faster as they made a wider arc. It seemed that for this first race it was to be pace alone that would decide it. Neither team seemed inclined to try and run the other off into the side or centre boarding. Brian was loving every second. The line of sweating backs and buttocks in front of him were impossible to miss even though sometimes his vision blurred as the chariot vibrated madly. The race was a pure test of whipcraft and speed. Brian and Juan won by a breast – the closest distance before a photo finish was declared.

The teams were given a ten minute rest while they were checked for lameness and given sips from flasks of carefully prepared liquid. The Salazar stable favoured a mixture of fruit juice and sperm. Brian was always amazed at how greedily the slaves tried to guzzle the foul stuff.

The drivers and whipmen passed among their teams patting a breast here, squeezing a nipple there, slapping buttocks and thighs. They whispered encouragements, stroked hair and made a fuss of the trussed and harnessed slaves. The object was to make them fiercely frustrated so they would race all the harder in the hope that a master would fuck them afterwards if they did well.

The scarlet and blacks turned out to be tougher than Brian had anticipated. In the next race the Salazar chariots could only manage third and fourth. In the third they made first and last. The fourth turned into a war of attrition and both the second chariots were driven into the sideboarding but again Brian and Juan scraped a victory. In the final race only three chariots competed, the Salazar second string having sustained damage to three of its slaves in the pile ups.

Brian had never worked so hard with a whip as he did in the final race. From the start he had no choice but to keep up a scalding blizzard of full blooded throws, putting his entire weight into each lash and making the slaves hurl themselves towards the finish. Once again they did just enough but as Juan reined in the tottering slaves, Brian knew the final day’s races would be far too close to call and to make it worse, Blondie was due to run solo in only an hour’s time.