Blonde Fury II (16 page)

Traditionally the slave was his to do with as he chose once she was down. Usually this meant he would take her in one way or another, but it seemed this rider had known who he was up against and had come prepared. He unshipped a flogger from his belt, and grabbing a handful of hair he yanked her to her knees and began to belabour her back and breasts. Ace made no move to struggle, just clung onto the hand gripped in her hair to ease that pain
at least
.

Oddly there seemed to be a rise in the crowd noise as the not-strictly-legal beating went on. The cameras closed in on her breas
ts as they shook under the lash, the leather tails fanning out across the tanned breastflesh. The crowd’s cheering was now suddenly audible and seemed to spur the rider on. Gradually he began to speed up the lashes until
he threw her down
onto her face and stood over her in a sort of frenzy, raining down lashes on her prone body until it became clear from the sensual undulations that she was coming. Only then did he recover his senses enough to haul her back to her knees, free his cock and ram it into her open mouth. He gave her no chance to regain her breath but plunged in as far as she could take him. The cameras followed her choking and gasping as the huge shaft stretched her lips wide and the crowd cheered him on as he fucked her face ruthlessly and finally pulled out to spill the last of his come on her
cheeks and forehead
. Then he threw her back down and walked off, acknowledging the thunderous applause.

Neil
Consadine
, one of the owners of Ace’s stable spoke. “We made no formal complaint because the crowd loved every second of it and it did her no harm.”

“No,” Morti added bitterly. “She went on to win the pony racing the same day!”

Peter Lang had been sitting quietly
, absent mindedly
adding to the
bright red coating of hot wax on his girl’s tits, now he blew
the candle
out and gave the meeting his full attention
. “I think
the
problem is that she is even better than her mother was.”

There was a general nodding of heads.

“And what’s more,” he went on, “when her mother was around it was a golden age for arena slaves. There was Snake, Ayesha
,
Angel,
Jet. Even
if some of them did end up in t
he CSL stable alongside her, it was no foregone conclusion that it would be Blondie who would win if Jet or Ayesha were running.”

There were more gloomy nods.

“Remember the Last Slave Standing fight between Blondie and Snake?” another owner asked. The rest sighed as they recalled the epic bout and how both slaves had dragged themselves to their feet time and again after undergoing everything their Masters could throw at them.
The crowd had gone mad encouraging both girls on, desperate to see how much more they could take. And the outcome had been in the balance for a long time.

“How about handicapping her? Thrashing her at the start of each day, maybe?” someone suggested.

Neil snorted angrily and the
Countess
de Goncourt – owner of the Girl Squad
-
stepped in smartly. “It wouldn’t work. The punters are fine watching any of them get thrashed but if it’s going to affect the odds, you’ll have a riot on your hands. And anyway it’s the spectacle of the girls really fighting hard they want.”

Brian sat forward suddenly. “Give me any more names of slaves who could give Blondie a run for her money,” he said.

“Those big blondes could give her a fight if they came up against her. Ox and Trouble I think Carlo called them,” Osman, the owner of one of the Turkish stables put in.

“And Cherry was no slouch over short distances in pony sprints,” someone else suggested.

“I remember that little gypsy one - El Tigre – she took Blondie all the way in a studded whip duel once. God, I remember the state the two of them were in by the time Tigre went down for the last time!”
another one added.

“
Anyone see the common denominator?” Brian asked.

The
c
ountess
smiled. “Of course! Apart from Snake
and my Angel,
they were all CSL stock!”

“Exactly,” Brian said smugly. “You used to hire them from us because they all had specialities – apart from Blondie who could do pretty well anything. And we trained them to go the whole way even if they were up against a
nother
girl from CSL itself.
But n
ow
adays
you’ve all got so many squad girls you just throw them at each other and it doesn’t matter if they’re any good or not, so long as they’re all about the same standard
,
because
the punters just like close contests. So when you get one like Ace who’s a natural talent
and who stands out
, there’s no one who can come close to her in any discipline and you get bored crowds!”

“So we pay you all the money we got
to train up some more
?” chuckled an Indonesian owner.

“He’s right!” Neil
Consadine
put in. “Maybe we ought to go back to training up specialists
. Maybe we’ve lost sight of good sport in the quest for mass spectacle.”

“Ok, Brian. What exactly do you suggest?” the
c
ountess
asked.

“Well I’ve got forty slaves in training for eight different stables. Fifteen of them I’ve got stabled because I think they’ve got some talent. Let me sift through all of the current intake for ability and I’ll return any that will only ever be squad material. The ones I’ve alre
ady singled out
I’ll keep and tell their owners so we can sort out a new agreement. Then I’ll let you all know how many places I’ve got for any stock you think has got the makings of a star performer!
Carlo always said the arenas would get too big one day. You’ve got your work cut out feeding, housing, training, disciplining over a hundred slaves,
you turn out good squads ok, but
what we all need is a small stable that can work on an individual slave to develop her to her best
. Then you guys can hire her in as you need her
, just like you used to
. At the same time, if you find you’ve got a talent in a batch you buy in; fine. Get her to us for training, so you can get on with squad training, and
when she’s ready
she’ll compete in your colours. That way you won’t squander talent by hiding it in amongst all your other slaves. Give me six months and some luck at the auctions and I bet I can deliver a real fight for Ace.
”
Brian’s passionate outburst brought silence for a few moments.

“I think
you might have a good point,” the c
ountess admitted eventually. “After all, I didn’t know Angel’s true potential until Peter spotted it at The Lodge and brought it out.”

After that the discussion went on for some time.
Some owners were less than happy at letting CSL regain its status as
the ‘Stable of the Stars’, but i
t made
good
sense for it to
go back to concentrating
on developing
individual
talent
– even if it was
for a price
-
and then returning it to its owner
at each games
, or buying in livestock that could be hired out once it was trained up
.
And anyway, another similar stable could always be set up in competition.

Neil Consadine came in on CSL’s side and challenged the owners to think of one of their slaves that they could confidently field against privately owned and individually trained entrants in the upcoming Open pony races.

Eventually Brian’s idea was agreed to and
he
undertook to let all the stables know about CSL’s change of policy
. A
s the screens went blank, Peter Lang took a long swig of his favourite Scotch and sat back.

“I think Carlo left CSL in good hands,” he said at last.

Brian and Martha walked back from the big house to the CSL stable slowly. The night was crisp and clear and their
feet
crunched on fallen leaves as they walked along the path through the woods.

“We’ve got enough money in the bank to return all the current inmates who aren’t ever going to be stars and go out and buy our own stock again. We’ll convert the barracks into more stables
as we need them
. Most of the guards will have to
be
laid off, but they’ll find work with other stables alright. Raika will need some new grooms, but we can cross that bridge when we get to it…”

Martha listened and thought that she had never heard him so passionate. When they got to the yard in the centre of the CSL complex, he looked around and then up at the
clear, starry
sky.

“Going back to our roots, Carlo!” he said.

Mahmut’s cock was a real jaw cracker. After being made to suck it
more or less
every day for
a
week
Sophie
was only just beginning to manage it with any degree of comfort. But she didn’t mind, she enjoyed the discomfort, it meant that she was servicing an impressive tool and that made her wet. In fact, on those days on which she was whipped before being placed on her knees before him, she even managed a gentle, tingling orgasm which rippled through her just as she felt the huge urethra begin to pulse in preparation to splash its thick, sticky load into her throat.

Mahmut was in charge of t
he stables where she was kept
,
and she thoroughly approved
of them
,
as t
hey were far more impressive than the stalls at the Pretty Pony.
The stable block was at the back of the palace, its roof was high and the walls and floor were of stone. It meant that as far as possible it kept cool in the savage heat of the Bakhtar days.
The front doors of the stalls were of decorative wrought iron and stretched up to about eight feet
, like the side walls
. Again, being open they
allowed
whatever breezes there were
to
flow through the stalls. She was one of three ponies currently in residence. The other two were obviously local girls. They were dark skinned and pretty, lithe and petite. Sophie loved the dark red little nipples on the peaks of their almost perfectly hemispherical breasts. The only problem was that she was more than a head taller than them and felt like a carthorse beside their delicate figures. Mahmut didn’t seem to mind however and made frequent use of her, which made Sophie feel a bit more relaxed. For the first week she was in Bakhtar she wasn’t run and hardly saw anyone
,
all she could do was she prowl
her stall, wris
ts clipped behind her back, unable to administer any relief for the aching lack of orgasm
. Asil had disappeared into the labyrinth of the palace as soon as they had arrived.
But at least her mind was taken off Asil by her stomach.
The change of diet had had an unfortunate effect and she had been soundly whipped two days running for causing the grooms extra work. Two chains hung down from high overhead in the centre of the stable and whichever of the ponies was to be whipped, she was led out, her arms raised and her wrists cuffed and beaten there and then in font of whoever was around.

For Sophie’s beatings, the grooms h
ad been summoned to watch
.
They were
two
African girls, Sophie guessed, and were kept virtually naked, wearing only a short wrap around their hips
.
Their skins were almost a real black colour and shone with sweat constantly. They were unfailingly cheerful, even when they were mucking out and
they
bent over for Mahmut to fuck them with every sign of real enthusiasm
.

When she was scrubbed down the grooms at the palace used a softer brush than the Pretty Pony grooms had and made quite a sensual experience out of it,
working up
a rich lather and rubbing it carefully into every crevice on her body before hosing her down with refreshingly cold water.

Mahmut ruled the stables with a rod of iron, he was a big man and easily dominated the girls by his sheer size, let alone the authority he had over them. At least one girl was beaten daily and Sophie thought his
whip was a
s
superb
a
weapon
as his cock
. It was a wickedly supple seven foot length of hide with a tassel on the end that could wreak havoc with a girl’s skin. The first lash she took from it had nearly taken her off her feet because the chains were too long for her, having been adjust
ed for the two smaller ponies; h
er arms were by no means stretched. But having stumbled forwards and screamed as the first lash scythed across her and wrapped her stomach, she was ready for the second and only reacted with a snap back of her head and a small twist of her torso. The pain was all-engulfing and utterly thrilling, but the noise was what hot wired her belly and had her dripping juice from between her legs. The crack the lash made as it impacted on her skin was amplified
by,
and echoed around
,
the stone chamber. It was exactly what she felt a whip ought to sound like on a girl. She took forty lashes on only her second day in Bakhtar, and then fifty on her third. After that things seemed to settle down and
she
had to watch other girls getting whipped instead.

The only day she had seen the
Prince
was when he had come to take one of the other ponies out
and he
had come
back from
his drive seemingly
less than pleased about something. He and Mahmut had a long conversation and then he handed the poor girl over and came across to see
Sophie
. He looked long and hard at the
lattice of pink lines that scored her from shoulders to thighs, front and back
, Mahmut had enjoyed himself only that morning
. He ran his fingers along the lines
and made crooning noises that she interpreted as approving of Mahmut’s work. Sophie tried to be as obedient and pleasing as she could, the
Prince
still hadn’t taken her – hadn’t touched her apart from sticking needles right through her tits – and she was desperate to feel him inside her, to know that her owner wanted her, desired her.

He let her go eventually and walked off as Mahmut was hanging the offending girl up for whipping. By the end of the beating, Sophie was moaning out loud with frustrated need. She adored the way the whip cracked and echoed and the slim brown body jerked and twisted under it. Without the benefit of a chip the poor girl had to take everything and deal with it as best she could. Her answering screams as the count mounted above fifty lashes seemed to Sophie to contain a degree less agony than appreciation. But it was a close run thing and she wished she could lick every welt on the
sobbing
girl’s body
as the whip finally fell silent and she was left at the ends of her chains for an hour
.

The other occupants of the stable were the milkers. There were
six
of them and each had a stall further along the line than Sophie’s. That meant that every time they were taken out
, which was most afternoons,
they were led past her stall and she never missed a chance to press herself against the bars of her stall door to watch them go by. They always seemed to be dressed in high heeled shoes with black stockings – the one black girl always had white ones – and tight corsets that supported and thrust forward their massive breasts. And it was the breasts that fascinated Sophie. They were huge, making the girls throw their shoulders back to counterbalance their weight. The European girls’ ones bore traceries of thin veins all around them and the areolas were
covered by silver shields that didn’t quite cover them completely and she could see they were
constantly swollen
,
either with lust or
from the urgent pressure of milk.
And this pressure was a constant feature of their lives, Sophie came to realise, the breasts were even bound at the roots with thin cord when they were led out. Their eyes were wide with distress as they followed the leashes that led from their collars, and occasionally they would whimper as they went past. When they returned the huge tits looked a bit less tight and the girls looked happier. Often they sported gleaming snail trails of sperm on the insides of their thighs and Sophie envied them. But in the mornings it was different. Every day the ponies were woken by the moans and cries from further along the stable and when the grooms appeared, their first job was to do the milking. Sophie saw them carry the small steel jugs past and the clatter and clanks from the milking stalls filled the building for several minutes. The moans of pain would climax as the grooms arrived and then slowly subside into sighs of relief.
Shortl
y afterwards the grooms would co
me back carrying the jugs and if Sophie squashed herself against her bars and squinted sideways, see could see them empty some of the fluid into her
s
and the other ponies’ food bowls. The majority, though, was taken into the palace and she had no idea who drank the rest of it.

Finally a day arrived when Asil strode into the stable and came straight up to Sophie’s stall. She reached through the bars and gripped her hand hard into Sophie’s breast, making her catch her breath and gasp in pleasure so long denied her. Asil just smiled and drew her closer so she could reach through with her other hand and bury it between Sophie’s willingly parted thighs.

“Ooh! T
h
at feels good! I’d been hoping his Highness would select me!”

Sophie was just about to reply when Asil shook her head.

“No talking. You’re a pony now!” When she was sure Sophie had got the message, she called out to the grooms in a language that Sophie couldn’t understand
,
and her stall was opened. Asil led her by the ring on her collar towards the table where the food was prepared in the vestibule of the stable. As they walked she kept talking to the grooms in whatever language it was and Sophie found it very restful – as if she really was a dumb animal listening to human speech and understanding nothing about it.

But what she did understand was the web of leather strapping on the table. At long last she was being taken out.

Her new bridle was different from
the American one. The rings at her cheeks, and which joined to her bit, were much bigger, so the straps that came down just behind her eyes from the main one circling her head were much shorter
and the blinkers were sewn
directly onto them rather being press stud fastened. As before, her everyday collar was replaced with a high posture collar to help her keep her vision focussed directly in front of her, the fastenings at the back of her head felt about the same, as did the decorated head piece that went at her forehead and held the Bakhtar plumes.

The bit was different however, it was much more shaped to her mouth, becoming more slender as it fitted between her lips and teeth. The steel core was coated in rubber which allowed her to get a real grip on it with her teeth. She instantly preferred it, with a good grip on it she would feel the reins moving instantly
and could respond
. And then there was the rest of the harness.
At the Pretty Pony she had run in nothing else
except a butt plug that held a tail
, and that was only on one occasion
. B
ut as she was led out by her reins, watching Asil’s bottom heft and sway under her short white skirt that was loose enough to swirl in the baking hot air and allow some air to circulate, but tight enough across the buttocks to be devastatingly sexy, she saw that she was going to be much more tacked up than before.

It was late afternoon but even so the sun was blinding and
she was glad of the blinkers and just looked down to watch Asil’s nimble hands fit a girth on her. It
was made of black leather and
widened at the front
where
the Bakhtar crest in silver
had been riveted
on
to
it. At the sides it had karabiner clips
and at the back was the buckle. Asil drew this
tight and then moved to affix the crupper.
There was a lot of talk between her and the grooms and then Sophie saw them bring out the strap that would run between her legs. She immediately cavilled and backed away, jerking her rein
s taut and nearly pulling them from Asil’s hand. The crupper carried a
much bigger
dildo
than she had been used to
at the front
,
and a pear shaped butt plug at the back. From th
e outside of the
strap, right behind where the plug would go into her, an upwardly curved prong rose, surmounted by a short palomino tail.

“Hey!” Asil rounded on her sharply. “Keep still!” She shortened her grip on the reins and used the spare length to flick at Sophie’s nipples. Sophie winced at the sharp pain that stabbed through her and
stamped her feet. Asil’s face hardened and she hit Sophie’s breasts with over arm strikes of the reins. There was no sign of friendship now. She was on her owner’s business and Sophie realised she had better be obedient. A sound whipping was one thing; a
spell
in solitary quite another and she still remembered Asil’s look of fear at the prospect. She subsided and Asil spoke sharply to the groom, then slapped Sophie’s thighs apart so she could buckle
the
crupper
onto the front of the girth and feed it down between her legs, open Sophie’s vagina and push the dildo in. Sophie grunted around her bit
as she felt herself spread and stretched and then another pair of hands behind her took the strap and, as Asil pulled her reins down and Sophie bent forwards, she felt the cold, lubricated plug twisted and pushed at her sphincter until
the muscles relaxed and it could be rammed
fully inside her. She hadn’t been doubly penetrated since the night she had been
ravished after being
chipped and the delicious feeling of her septum being squeezed inside her
made her give another moan through her bit. There were a series of jerks that tightened the strap against her perineum and Asil smiled.