Naked Ambition (11 page)

But this could not be a long and sensual fellation. Sexual contact with any of the girls prior to the games was forbidden and she knew that Josef was taking a big risk; in fact she was flattered that carrying her had inflamed him this much.

He reached forwards and took her hair. She just had time to open her mouth wide enough and then he had stuffed himself fully inside. She was too well trained to gag and kept her throat relaxed, loving how his shaft filled every inch of her and touched her so deep inside. She was looking forward to being allowed to make love to Seventy –six again but the next few days of mainly male use was to be savoured nonetheless.

Having pulled her so violently against him that her nose was tickled by his pubes, Josef sighed in relief at having his cock in a woman again and allowed his grip to slacken enough to let Amelia work her mouth backwards and forwards along the hard, ribbed shaft under its smooth skin, his helm still shafting her throat at maximum penetration. However, he couldn’t risk discovery and in only a few moments was fucking her face with all his strength, anxious to spill his load and get on with delivering her. Amelia knew better than to try and fight the battering she was taking as he plunged in and out. She let herself be controlled by the hands in her hair and enjoyed the feeling of being used so carelessly. The feel of his cock travelling in and out of her mouth, the feel of the head in her throat, the wait for his explosion and the strength of his control, all conspired to ignite her own loins again and by the time she felt him swell and redouble his efforts to fuck her senseless, she was desperate for some relief herself. The sperm, when it came, was thick and delicious as it spurted furiously into her and she had to swallow as fast as she could to keep up with it. Josef lifted her up as soon as he had tidied himself but she whimpered as he did so and he stopped, put her down and looked into her eyes.

“Alright!” he said, not unkindly. “Angel kill me if she sees me, but get your legs open!”

Eagerly she obeyed and felt his big, rough hand slide between her thighs, the coarse, hard skin of his fingers sending tingles right through her as it sandpapered over her clitoris before sliding into her molten hole, stretching its sides as he added a third finger to the two he had originally put in. He twisted them and she couldn’t help making a soft yelp as she was stretched even further.

“Ssh! Stupid bitch!” he growled, but he slowed down his assault and in a few seconds was able to work four fingers inside her. Her legs trembled and her breath rasped as she tried to control the mounting crisis inside her but a moan bubbled out as he began to pump his hand up and down. Using his free hand he reached for her head and buried her face in his shirt to muffle her cries as he thrust, thrust, paused and then thrust again in response to her spasms. She let out a guttural growl as the orgasm drained from her and his hand was withdrawn. He let her get her breath back before hoisting her up once more and taking her back to her barracks.

“Stupid bitch!” he whispered cheerfully. “You get plenty fucking soon enough.”

With her head banging gently against his back as he walked, Amelia happily accepted the truth of his remark. She felt relaxed and fulfilled in the post orgasm lethargy.

But most importantly, she was back where she belonged.

Chapter Ten

In the old days, as she thought of them, although it had only been about three years in reality, the arena stables had been small enough to display their stock in wonderfully erotic and inventive ways before an event. Amelia still remembered attending her first show at the Bakhtar arena and seeing the slaves in X shaped suspension so that their fitness and condition could be assessed by the crowds before bets were placed.

Their bodies had been beautifully decorated, some with armbands and necklaces of gold filigree, some with heavier bronze adornments pinned to their nipples and navels. On this occasion though, the host stable had clearly decided on a mass market approach. Amelia and her squad were herded into the long building she had seen the night before and put in two pens.

The pens were made of slender steel poles that stretched up to the roof but the pen itself was open to the elements. Only the terraced seating sloping up on both sides in two long banks and at either end was under cover. There were six of the pens, all well separated, standing in a row down the centre of the building. The CSL slaves and the Girl Squad’s solo fighters were taken away and out of the far end of the building. Amelia thought they would be displayed somewhere else where the public could get close to them as their fewer numbers made it easier to display them intimately. For the squads there was only a press of about fifty of them in each pen. Once they were shut in, they saw the Orange squad being penned just along from them and for a few moments the two squads assessed each other, then gradually they relaxed and sat down on the bare, still-damp earth, lounging against the bars of the pens. However, some of the guards, equipped with cattle goads came round and in shrill angry voices urged them up, threatening them with the wicked prongs. Then the paying public was allowed in.

A multi-coloured and brilliant crowd surrounded the cages in seconds. Hands pawed at the girls through the bars and voices shouted at them in various languages and they shrank together into a huddled mass in the centre of the cage. But the guards forced their way through and gesturing with the cattle goads, urged the girls to spread out and allow the hands to grope them.

Amelia knew that this was standard practice at arenas and had been through it before but not quite on this scale of humiliation. But once she had decided she didn’t want to try the cattle prods, standing by the bars with Seventy-six pressed close against her, had a masochistic thrill all its own.

The conversations beyond the bars seemed to be in every conceivable language apart from English, which rather emphasised the animal-like status of the English speaking slaves. The hands and arms that stretched through were not interested in any sexual groping, they were purely assessing muscle tone and amounts of fat carried. Amelia couldn’t recall ever having her breasts mauled in such a remote and non sexual manner, but somehow that added to its thrill and before long the pen was richly scented with the arousal of the milling, naked slaves. It seemed to go on for hours before people drifted away and the squads were herded back to their stockades to wait for the opening parades.

The grooms and the female guards passed among them fussing and nervous as the early evening wore on and the girls sat on the edges of their cots and waited. Their hair was combed, their nipples were rouged. Amelia and Seventy-six were separated off and given special attention as they were entered in the dressage. They wore eye make up and lip stick. Their cheeks had blusher brushed on. And then they were harnessed.

It was the decorative, dressage harness, the bridles had delicate silver work on them wherever the straps were wide enough, the blinkers were beautifully tooled and decorated, their girths had wide, oval panels at the fronts, across their stomachs and in a silver panel mounted on the leather was a picture of an arena slave with a whip. Around the edge Sadia’s name and title were engraved with lavish decoration. Their cruppers had a row of silver studs running down the centre, drawing the eye to the way the straps spread their labia as they supported the dildos impaling them and then farther back kept the butt plugs firmly embedded. As the cruppers ran between their buttocks, they also supported a wire prong that rose up in a curve and in its turn mounted their tails, so that the hair would fall gracefully from higher up the buttock than if it had merely been hung from the plug.

For dressage it was vital that the tits didn’t wobble and swing at different speeds and in different directions on each slave. Everything had to be choreographed to perfection and each stable adopted its own solution. Angel had decreed that each nipple was to be clamped with a small, polished silver, screw clamp. A slender, stainless steel bar ran between the clamps and chains ran up from each nipple to be clipped to the ring at the front of the high posture collar each slave wore. Thus a pleasing and decorative tri-angle was drawn on each girl’s chest and her tits were steadied.

The groom who was tacking up Amelia and Seventy-six was an experienced woman who frequently played with them in the dungeons back home and often drove them. She took her time screwing the nipple clamps down onto the girls’ excitedly erect nubs; gauging when she had got each girl gasping and wide-eyed to just the right degree. The last part was to feed the bits through their tongue rings and clip them to the reins and the bridles, then they were ready.

There was a sudden commotion as the stockade gates were flung open and the Girl Squad saw how they were to be paraded for the formal opening of the games.

With a silken black and yellow sheet, embroidered with complex swirling patterns and glittering with seed pearls, thrown across its broad back an elephant waited for them. Just behind its mahout sat Sadia in a howdah, resplendent in a gold satin full length dress and from the animal’s flanks were draped many slender steel chains.

While Amelia and Seventy-six were harnessed to their trap and their driver settled herself, the guards began to clip the squad girls’ wrists to the chains carried by the elephant.

Angel rode in a six slave racing chariot at the head of the procession, her blonde hair loose and blowing in a gentle evening breeze. Behind her came the dressage traps and behind them came the elephant leading a great fan of almost a hundred naked women behind it.

Slowly they made their way across the now-dry ground towards the floodlit bulk of the arena itself. Amelia’s heart was thundering as they approached and heard the crowd. Already the home team had entered and there was wild cheering. Above the din the compere’s amplified voice could just be heard and as they entered the darkness of the tunnel that led out onto the floor of the arena, Amelia just caught the words; ‘Girl Squad!’ being bellowed over the P.A.

Then they were out and momentarily blinded by the floodlights. The home team were just turning at the far end of the arena as the Girl Squad entered and from the edges of her blinkers Amelia saw masses of black and yellow and orange scarves being waved from the terraces. Paying careful attention to keeping in step with Seventy-six, they made their way around the arena and back into the tunnel and then back towards the stockade. But at the last minute they were steered to the right and with the three other dressage rigs, made their way to the clearing Amelia had seen the previous night, where there was a grass track and a level, mown infield. There they waited patiently while the crowd made its way over from the arena and the action began.

The final part of their preparation was to have their feet slipped into high-heeled ankle boots, which had been left off to minimise the risk of tripping during the parade.

Under the unreal brilliance of the lights and with the heat making their skins shine with sweat, the two teams performed their prescribed routines and their free-style ones devised by their trainers.

They backed their rig carefully between cones; turned it on a sixpence, traced curves and swerves on the grass in unison with other rigs as perfectly as they could, controlled by gentle taps with the carriage whip. They kept their necks arched and their plumes nodding as they gave a display of disciplined obedience that drew plenty of applause at its end. Then they stood, ankles tidily together at attention as the opposition performed. Inevitably the applause was greater for the home team but there was still the inspection. The judges came over and inspected the tightness of the girths and cruppers, looked at the polish on the studs and decorations, made sure the labia were parted as symmetrically as possible, ensured the tits were contained and controlled without any distortion of their shape. Female judges inspected their make up and grooming while the male judges stood back and Amelia heard them discussing the pertness of the buttocks and the shape of the thighs and how well, or not, the tits matched in each pair.

In the end the Orange team shaded the actual dressage display but the Girl Squad rig next to Amelia won best turned out rosette and she and Seventy-six got second. Each of them pranced and received a stinging lash across the buttocks as the rosettes were pinned directly onto the upper swells of their left tits. Then all the rigs paraded around the fence at the edge of the track and excited spectators leaned over and stroked them as they passed.

Then it was back to the stockade at a walk, and sleep as quickly as the grooms could strip them down. The next three days were going to be very crowded.

Tony took his seat in the owners’ and trainers’ box just in time to see the start of the first full day’s first event. Eve was attending to the CSL stock held at the Girl Squad’s quarters and they weren’t needed just yet in any case. Angel and Amelia’s strategy might prove disastrous, or very successful. It was going to be an interesting day. He nodded across cheerfully to Brian who was sitting on the other side of the box with Craig Maddox, the Orange team’s trainer and their owner, a tall thin man with a greying moustache. He and Brian were honour bound not to contact each other in any way and had handed in their mobiles and notebooks as soon as they had arrived, but they exchanged tense smiles as they took their seats.

The P.A. crackled into life and the compere announced the twenty-a-side melee. There were cheers and as Tony looked around the audience and up at the big screens, he could see the expectant and excited faces, waiting for the action that would fuel the orgies to begin.

With a recorded blare of trumpets, the two teams marched out from the tunnel and into the brilliant sun. Each naked girl carried a small, lightweight shield and a heavy strap as her weapon. The straps were nearly a metre long and their blades tapered from almost six inches wide up by the ball handle, to a wicked point. The leather was heavy but very flexible. A strike with one made an excitingly loud noise but left comparatively little marking. However the clubbing impacts could drive a girl down fairly quickly and eventually raise some good weals but leave her able to fight again the next day. As the games went on though, so the weaponry became more testing.

Four judges came behind the two lines, they were appointed by the Owners’ Council

and would signal when a girl had been down long enough to be counted out.

He checked the Orange line up and was not surprised to see Ayesha, Fiji, Ox and Trouble all lining up, pretty much as they had suspected. He had been in the dressing room where the slaves had been oiled and fitted up with their equipment, and he had watched as Angel had gone from girl to girl, running her riding crop across their breasts and explaining what they had to do. He just hoped that enough of them had been English speakers to understand.

Down on the sand of the arena floor the slaves had formed into two lines facing each other. The judges stood back and one of them fired a starting pistol. The two lines came together and the cameras greedily closed in on the shuddering breasts and parted thighs as the struggles began. The first overarm throws began to be exchanged and the smacks and cracks of leather on flesh were clearly audible above the cheering.

Almost immediately the CSL contingent went into its usual routine that had vanquished nearly all opposition in the past. Ox and Trouble worked as a pair, guarding each other’s back, while Fiji and Ayesha worked close beside them, forcing their way through the enemy’s line in a kind of phalanx and beating down any girl who stood against them.

Tony watched intently, ignoring the screens showing the first couplings and gropings on the terraces as the whips snapped at the naked flesh below. The Girl Squad fighters immediately in front of the CSL advance fell back and spread out, joining their sisters who were engaging Orange team fighters, several of whom now found themselves almost surrounded by enemies, all pounding them with their heavy straps. The CSL foursome had to split up to find opposition but every time they did, the Girl Squaddies faded away, preferring to bring down the Orange team first. And in little over a minute, one did go down, battered into submission by three of the Girl Squad. One of them stood over the fallen girl’s head and dropped, her thighs spread wide, over the fallen girl’s face. The girl didn’t struggle and the cameras caught her tongue licking up into her conqueror’s cunt. A judge blew his whistle and walked in to drag the fallen girl away, then the contest resumed. Once again the CSL contingent was frustrated and the Orange team members were hunted down. A blonde wearing the orange arm band was caught on the video screens surrounded by four of the Girl Squad. Her skin quivered as the straps hit her so fast she had no chance of fighting back, an uppercut from behind her doubled her over and her back took the full brunt of the whips until she went down.

And while that had been going on, the CSL slaves had been kept just busy enough, split up and scattered; kept away from the main action.

Tony smiled grimly as he recalled Amelia gesturing and pointing to get her message across that night on the veranda. But his loyalties were divided and he didn’t glance across at Brian.

The cheering from the black and yellow supporters grew louder and louder. Another Orange girl went down. Two minutes later another two went down. Now the advantage began to tell ever more rapidly as the Orange team was increasingly outnumbered. The CSL contingent kept trying to bring their weight and strength to bear but the Girl Squaddies weren’t having any of it yet, and retreated quite unashamedly rather than get drawn into a contest they couldn’t win.