Last Slave Standing (6 page)

The tour continued and they were shown the rooms on the ground floor where the slaves would be played with by those guests who could afford to hire them in the evenings. They even saw the kitchens busily clearing away after breakfast, before Hank led them back to the courtyard. From a short beam projecting horizontally from one wall the girl had been ankle suspended with her arms left free so that her entire length hung in front of the man administering the flogging. He stopped when they appeared and wiped some sweat from his eyes, in front of the men the girl’s body swung gently but she made no noise apart from heavier than usual breathing.

Brian hunkered down to take a closer look at her face and test the hardness of her nipples. Above him he heard the guard tell Carlo that she had taken thirty-three lashes so far, from a stock whip. Beneath his fingers the nipples were as hard as he could have wished and her eyes were clear and untroubled. He stood up and grasped her hips, turning her body to survey the ridged and furrowed back and shoulders.

“That’s really very impressive, Hank,” he admitted.

“Glad you think so! Double her up and let Mr Suarez see how ours take ass whipping,” Hank responded, smiling broadly.

The guard administering the flogging stepped forwards and grasped the girl’s wrists, pulling them up until he could clip them to the same ring her ankles were fixed to. She was neatly parcelled with her already beautifully marked back stretched tight on one side, on the other she displayed the backs of her thighs and her buttocks. Carlo plunged his fingers into the pouting split purse of her vulva, squeezed between the tops of the thighs and pronounced her well lubricated.

“She’s good and supple, you’ll note,” Hank pointed out proudly as the flogging resumed, the heavy leather making the body jump and jerk as the leather curved right around the width of the buttocks and the thighs.

“When we get back to our block,” Carlo said, “we’ll let you choose one of ours to bring here and put to the whip for your boys to see.”

“Sure. That’ll be good! Let’s go see the arena and the circus,” Hank began to lead them away from the bent double body, still twitching under its flogging. “Give her another twenty or so and then please yourself!” he called back to the guard.

“Sure, boss! Thanks,” the man called back.

In two carriages, Hank riding in one beside theirs, they trotted towards the visiting team’s barracks, appended to one side of the arena and Hank called over from his carriage that they would be arriving later that day. The stone built bulk of the arena was by then looming starkly above them and throwing a deep shadow over the endless grasslands to the west. As the whip encouraged the prettily paired slaves, plumes tossing above their heads, across the concrete approaches to the arena, Brian noticed to their left the slave pens. These were where some of the individual contests were held between squad slaves, the stars – the solo fighters had their stage out on the arena floors, but here were the pens for the lowly squad slaves to fight in; mesh cages, six of them with climbing banks of seating around them so that the audience could watch more than one fight at a time. He liked the cage idea, it told the slaves going in that the door would only be opened when just one could walk out.

Then quite suddenly the pony slaves were trotting through the echoing darkness of the tunnel into the arena, the doors of the team dressing rooms on each side. Then they burst back into sunlight and the driver was pulling the sweating team to a halt. Carlo and Brian looked around once they had climbed down. It was a fairly small arena, with terraces rising very steeply from above wooden planking around the sides. That was unusual as most arenas had seats down to the ground with plastic mesh fencing to keep slaves and onlookers apart. It gave the whole thing a rather darker and more menacing air than normal. They exchanged smiles, when the steep terraces were full of baying crowds and the video screens were relaying close ups of the action, it would excite the slaves and drive them on to providing great entertainment. They scuffed at the ground and found it acceptably firm and then they climbed back aboard. The slaves were whipped up once more and the carriages rumbled back through the tunnel and made for the circus. Both Brian and Carlo were looking forward to this part. It would be the first time that they had raced in one. They had one of the new design chariots at home and had run it on some of The Lodge’s roads but they both knew that the real thing would be different. And it was.

As they dismounted again and looked around they could see that the same sideboarding had been kept, which meant that chariots driven into it would be hard put to get their teams up and running again. The speed the new rigs were capable of would be sufficient to damage them and their teams in collision with the unyielding wood.

Hank saw the direction of their looks. “Yeah, we’ve found you’re better off backing up a little if someone pulls off a blocking manoeuvre, then taking them on the straight. Splinters and cuts cause havoc if you let yourself get sideswiped.” Brian and Carlo filed that information away carefully. Brian, with his height, reach and weight had frequently ridden as whipman and hoped to do so again at this show. He could lash the front rank of his own team on effortlessly, and his reach also made it easier for him to try and trip the opposition’s team while his weight meant that he could counterbalance the chariot as it cornered under full speed.

The dressage arena was conventional but the pony racing track was unusual. As the terrain was so flat, Alberto Salazar had decided not to race the individual ponies around the outside of the dressage ground as in most other arenas, instead he had laid out a longer circuit using bales of straw to define the track, at places he had added hairpin bends at others he had constructed chicanes and Carlo laughed as soon as he saw it. He understood that it would be a real test of intelligence on the part of the pony and teamwork between her and her driver. Carlo’s relatively short, compact build made him ideal for driving in individual racing and he and Brian both immediately chalked up points to Blondie and him, probably the most experienced pairing on the circuit.

From there the ponies pulled them for a further half mile until they reached the village that would house the guests. The hotels were low, ranch style buildings and trucks were already being backed up to unload. By the time the show got underway, a fortune in food and drink would have to have been delivered. As the rig rumbled its way along the roads, Brian could see crowds of native labourers digging over flower beds and making repairs to roofs, airing rooms and carrying armfuls of linen. It was as impressive as all the preparations always were to Brian, the sheer scale of the undertaking and the wealth required to fund it, left him in his usual state of excitement. At length they turned for home and Carlo commented on the lack of an assault course as the driver turned the ponies and then crisscrossed their buttocks with a flurry of choice lashes to encourage them homewards.

Hank explained that the landscape didn’t lend itself to that particular attraction but instead the two owners, at the pre-show meeting had decided that the squads would compete over two mass log pulls, instead of the more normal one. To that end Senor Salazar had used his influence to commandeer two telegraph poles and these Hank pointed out, lying beside the road just outside the arena, as the carriages rumbled back towards the scattering of building around the main house.

“That should give the punters plenty of whip play to get their teeth into,” he called across and Brian felt further stirrings of excitement at his groin. Up to then he had been calm and professional but if there was one thing he loved, it was being down among the sweating heaving lines of naked slaves as they toiled under their masters’ whips for the pleasure of the voyeuristic crowds.

The pony slaves were beginning to tire as they reached the point where they veered off to the left to carry their passengers up to the big house rather than return them to their barracks. The driver reined them in and they stood, panting and tossing their heads while Carlo gave Hank full authority to take any one of the CSL stable he wanted and have her thrashed to encourage his men by the sight of the quality of slave their boss had hired in.

“Everyone knows Blondie can take it till the cows come home!” Hank called. “I guess I’ll take one of the newer ones!”

“Feel free!” Carlo called back and waved.

Their driver laid the whip on hard and Brian leaned back, eyes closed to savour the sweetness of the sound of pony slaves being whipped up relentlessly. Whether it was because he felt the slaves had not tried their hardest in front of guests or whether it was because he just felt like a fast spin to round the morning off, he didn’t stop thrashing them until they had got up to almost a full gallop and they arrived at the back terrace of the house in fine style with the driver hauling back on the reins and the slaves skidding and clattering in their shoes as their heads were wrenched back.

Alberto Salazar was waiting for them at the top of the steps leading up to the terrace. His open and friendly face was wreathed in smiles and his right hand held the leads of two magnificent slaves kneeling beside him with legs curled neatly under them. They looked as though they were of native origin but with a fair sprinkling of Spanish blood. Carlo was transfixed as soon as he saw them. Although their faces had the pronounced bone structure of the local Indians, these had wide, soft, dark eyes which gave them a much more sensual and soft appearance. The septums of their noses had been pierced with thick gold rings as had the nipples of their fully rounded and thrusting breasts. Thick black hair to match even Ayesha’s for glossiness fell half way down their backs and their master had taken the unusual step of allowing a neatly trimmed fuzz of black pubic hair to remain at their crotches, which formed a pleasing counterpoint. They were clearly identical twins.

“Welcome!” Alberto boomed as Brian and Carlo climbed up to meet him. “I am privileged to have the famous CSL stable fighting alongside my own slaves!”

“The honour is entirely ours, senor!” Carlo countered.

“Nonsense, but I thank you Senor Suarez! Brian, welcome back to you as well!”

Hands were shaken, drinks were ordered and served by household slaves dressed in the same incongruous but alluring uniform that Brian remembered, French maids showing suntanned thighs and breasts with inscrutable Indian faces.

“These are superb creatures, senor!” Carlo said once his drink had been served and he was able to stroke the hair of one of the kneeling twins.

Alberto Salazar was clearly delighted to have none other than Carlo Suarez compliment him on his slaves and his smile became even broader.

“They are a present from a tenant of mine up in the mountains,” he explained. “God knows how he acquired them but they came fully trained to the whip and they are quite inseparable. I will keep them as a matching pair of ponies after I have had my portrait painted with them kneeling beside me. As an Englishman, what do you think to that Mr Holden?”

Brian thought of the huge and ornate fireplace in the main day room at The Lodge. He could just see John Carpenter wanting a portrait of himself with these two beauties kneeling, collared and leashed beside him.

“I think a portrait of a fine figure of a man with such beautiful pets beside him would grace any residence, senor!”

Alberto laughed delightedly. “A wicked flatterer! But so good at it! Come in my friends.”

He turned and walked inside, immediately the two girls followed on all fours and Brian was enchanted to see that not only were their clitorises ringed but each labium as well. Their hindquarters curved out spectacularly from their trim waists and their posture showed that fact off perfectly, but what really delighted him was that each anus was plugged and a short tail hung from it, swaying from thigh to thigh as they crawled beside their master.

“I haven’t named them yet,” Salazar explained. “But really one name would do them both. Do you know they even sound identical under the whip or when they’re coming, or both! There’s not a mole or a skin blemish to distinguish them from each other and if you try and whip or fuck one without whipping or fucking them both, they scream the place down! That’s why I think pony work is best, that way I get peace and quiet and a pretty pair to have whipped up for me, no?”

By that time they had walked along the main corridor of the house and into the huge hall at its centre and here there were more surprises to delight a connoisseur of female submission. The ornate alcoves that Brian remembered, all round the sides behind the marble pillars were all occupied and the vaulted and airy space was filled by the soft tinkling of small bells.

At first as he and Carlo followed Alberto towards the dining room, he couldn’t make out where the sound was coming from but once he got a closer look at how each alcove had been filled, he was deeply impressed. A naked slave’s body bowed gracefully outwards from each and every one in the huge chamber. Each slave’s feet were chained apart at opposite corners of the alcove’s floor. A pole-mounted butt plug impaled her to keep her body bent outwards and her arms had been raised and then shackled behind her head, the result was as graceful as it was cruelly erotic. But there was much more. Alberto Salazar was proud of his display and invited Brian to take a close look. As he approached the nearest girl he could see wires trailing from a transformer box at the back of the alcove, they led up to heavy clips on her labia. Each clip supported delicate silver bells and likewise the steel needles that pierced her nipples supported more bells. Furthermore, a chain ran between the piercing needles and at its centre hung yet another pair of bells.

“At random intervals a current is passed through each girl’s cunt and makes her jerk….ah! There she goes now!” As Salazar was speaking the girl suddenly jerked and her heavy-lidded eyes fluttered as her bells added to the soft tintinnabulations that echoed so prettily around the men.

“The current is always stimulating but never strong enough to drive her over the edge into orgasm. By the time they have been there for the rest of the day, they will be almost crazy for relief and then they will provide good entertainment.”