Lost Property (22 page)

“Now I’ve got something important to tell you!” he said. “You’ve got used to working with your sister as a team against whichever pair we’ve allocated to you. And you’ve done well!”

Kath felt his praise as if it was meant for her personally. The boss didn’t give out praise very much, and it was a welcome surprise when he did.

“But now we’ve got to move on. This isn’t a holiday camp!” he went on. “We’re building a stable here and now you’re going to come up against another squad!”

He strode over to Kath and pulled her a little way into the circle then turned her around to face the other girls. “Your enemies aren’t Number Nine or Number One! Or Number Seven here! From now on every girl here is your sister. If she’s in trouble you help her. If you’re in trouble she’ll help you. You know each other well now, you know you all fight well. From now on you all fight together!”

There was an excited stir in the circle of naked girls but the boss had one more surprise.

“From now on you all sleep together too!”

At the end of the day’s training they were taken to a dormitory in a wing of the house they hadn’t been in before and left unhobbled and unshackled to shower and wash and relax for an hour before lights out. And even when the lights did go out, they were left free and took full advantage. Kath finally found Annie in the small hours and crept into bed beside her having tried out every other girl in the room. Annie’s goodnight kiss tasted as richly of girl as Kath’s own mouth did.

Carlo’s phone went when he was walking back to the CSL yard from the main house. He was skirting the dark bulk of the training arena guiding his steps by the security lights that came on to mark his passage as he walked. It had been a passably entertaining evening in the Common Room, the place where The Lodge’s Housegirls could be played with by any guest, even if she wore a disk at her collar that marked her down as booked for the night. But the truth was that he was falling out of love with the whole slave/domination/submission culture. He could still appreciate how beautiful a girl looked when tied ready for her discipline. He could still appreciate the eroticism of knowing that she genuinely wanted what was about to happen to her, and of course the way her body spun and quivered under the lash and the way her buttocks swayed when struck and her breasts rippled was superb. But somehow, since Blondie had gone, it was as if he was watching everything from a distance. He didn’t feel involved any more.

In fact he was composing a speech he intended to make to John Carpenter in the morning. It was time he retired. Brian and Tony could carry on CSL perfectly well.

He stopped for a moment and cancelled out all his prepared words in his mind. He took a deep breath and framed the thought that had been skirting his mind all evening. He was tired.

The phone vibrated quietly in his jacket pocket. He sighed and took it out. It was Johnson N’Benga. No doubt it would be a ‘nothing to report’ call, but we’re doing all we can, Carlo old buddy.

“Carlo!” Johnson’s rich voice immediately grabbed Carlo’s attention, it sounded more animated than usual. “I think I’ve got something!”

Carlo held his breath. “It’s just a whisper, but I’ve had an e mail from an old friend who says a friend of a friend is cock a hoop because they’ve been able to buy a ticket for the event of the century.”

“What the hell’s that?”

“I don’t know, my friend. Not yet. But I’ve asked my contact to try and find out. It’s definitely to do with the arenas and it’s being held in Europe.”

Carlo breathed out and began thinking out loud, furiously hard. “Why so secret? If it’s that big, why not publicise it? It’s got to be her! It’s got to be! They’re scared of losing her! If she can be stolen once, she can be stolen again! But what are they planning?”

“Carlo, I admit it looks promising, but that’s all it is at the moment. Please try and be patient. I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

Carlo looked up at the clear night sky and tried to calm himself, but how could he? Blondie was out there somewhere and she would be wanting him! How could he have been so selfish and stupid, his Blondie wouldn’t give up on him, she would be believing he would come for her. Well he would! He didn’t have time to be tired, he had work to do!”

He strode forwards, determined to spend the night in every chat room and forum around the world that might have a whisper about a special event being held.

Marcel was worried, although he wouldn’t dream of showing it. He drove Blondie out around the estate three days after the party and there was clearly something wrong with her. He stared moodily at the strong back as it flexed, pulling the trap on a clear morning that had just a hint of autumn chill about it so that her breath still steamed. He flicked at her again with the whip, this time across those delectable buttocks and for a moment there was a slight acceleration but then she settled back into a lethargic trot.

Guillaume had told him that she had refused to work out in the gym that morning. He had lashed her as hard as he had whipped any slave, he said, and she hadn’t even moved from where she was standing. And now he had the feeling that she was running purely because she wanted to, and if she stopped wanting to, she would just stop. There would be nothing he could do about it.

He had thought there would be some sort of reaction to the absence of Carlo, but he hadn’t expected anything this dramatic. His plans now depended on the carefully sown hints he had planted in the rumour mill that was the world of the arena followers. The trouble was that he couldn’t check how well the rumours were spreading. He just had to hope that Carlo would come running.

In the meantime the girl he had bought in America continued to train and develop well. She had taken Guillaume for a very brisk few circuits of the racing track that very morning, trimming seconds off the times she was clocking when she first arrived.

Marcel seriously considered, for the first time, what it would mean if Blondie actually lost this fight.

Back in her cell, the slave everyone knew as Blondie, slumped against the wall behind her bed and closed her eyes. The run had been good, the whip pleasant enough. The beating she had taken for not exercising had been energising but she had no intention of doing any exercise other than running, which she enjoyed.

She was beginning to realise that she was in deep trouble and far away from her Master, who might not even know where she was. In her mind she replayed the journey from the last arena she had fought in, to the plane. It seemed more and more likely that she had been kidnapped. She was also becoming aware that she couldn’t hold out as Blondie if her Master wasn’t there. It was Carlo who had invented Blondie, had shaped her and made her his. Alone, it was ridiculous to pretend that she was Blondie. She was just plain – she veered away from the thought of reclaiming her real name, as if striking out back into shallow water – mentally she got her feet back under her and succeeded in shutting out the thoughts.

But she was left alone all that day and the next. And by the end of that day she knew she was no longer Blondie. She couldn’t keep the unwelcome thoughts at bay if she was on her own. She had to think of a way out of this mess and Blondie didn’t do thinking – at least not outside an arena. To do that she needed the girl she had once been. She needed to be Tara.

She had sobbed all through the night as she released the memories and thought of how much Tara had lost by becoming Blondie, but now she was over it and ready to fight. She might be naked and handcuffed but at least she knew she was nobody’s obedient little slaveslut anymore. If she was alone; then she was Tara.

Guillaume got a kick in the balls that left him retching on the floor when he brought her food and she had bolted before he knew what was happening. She pounded along a corridor looking for somewhere she could find something to press against the karabiners in her cuffs so she could slip them apart. However, all she achieved was running straight into the man who seemed to be in charge of this place. They collided at a corner and sent each other flying but Tara was faster back to her feet, however the man just managed to grab an ankle and start yelling for help. In a minute she was caught and was bundled, kicking and biting back into her cell.

“You must do something, M’sieur. It will be a walkover and they will want their money back!” A still-pale Guillaume and Marcel were watching the girl who had once beaten Blondie work out in the stableyard, she was sparring with one of the stable hands who was holding a big block of foam filled plastic. She landed a roundhouse kick and followed it up with a dazzlingly fast combination of punches. She looked in superb condition, her hair was thick and glossy and her body was toned, the flesh firm and gleaming in the sun as she sweated.

“I think you are right,” Marcel said thoughtfully. At this rate Blondie wouldn’t last a minute and the kind of people who were paying the kind of money he was asking would not be happy. And as for the websites and some pay per view TV channels that were bidding for the rights….their owners would not stop at writing angry letters if the spectacle turned out to be a damp squib. He pulled himself together.

“Work her for another half an hour, then give her her morning beating – fifty lashes from now on, twice a day.” He walked away heading for Blondie’s cell.

She was sitting up on her bed, back against the wall, her hair tousled, livid marks on her thighs and arms from the struggle to get her back in there. She glared up at him, sullen and defiant. Marcel stood and looked down at her for a moment, reviewing his strategy. There didn’t seem to be any alternatives.

“I mean you no harm,” he began. “I am purely a sportsman who is consumed by curiosity. There are tens of thousands of people out there who also want to know whether you threw that final fight before you were taken from Conor Brien’s stable.”

At the mention of Conor Brien’s name her head snapped up again and the blue eyes blazed with fury.

“It’s alright, I have no plans that involve him!” Marcel assured her. “But I have found the girl you fought that night and I want to re-stage the fight. Your master would not have let you risk your reputation. But it is essential to the reconstruction that he is here when the fight takes place – just as he was the first time. He will be here! I am making every effort to lure him here…”

The blonde was on her feet in an instant and Marcel had to whirl around behind her to avoid the kick. Then he held her close against him as he finished.

“To lure him here so that he can be with you! I want him here so that we can reconstruct the match as accurately as we can and you will be free to leave with him afterwards! I swear it! You know your master, think about it. How else could I get him here?”

He felt the tension drain out of her as his words sank in and she thought of her master. Of course he would come for her, Marcel could almost feel the thoughts running through her mind. She turned her head and nodded just slightly. He released her.

“Now,” he said, “do you want to see who you’re up against?”

Again there was the slight nod and Marcel led her out, not on a leash but gently guiding her by an elbow, as if she was a timid creature that might take flight at any time. And he could still feel there was some tension there. If he could just get some indication of activity from CSL, it would seal the deal with her, he thought.

He made a mental note to make the paper trail he had put in place, just in case it was needed, a bit more plain. Maybe everyone was being just too discreet this one time. One phone call to someone in the accounts department of a big local firm was all it would take. The man had already had his palm greased.

Out in the yard, Annette, the ex-Lithuanian schoolteacher, was pulling a log at a fast walking pace across the cobbles, her arms stretched out on a yoke. The stable hand was encouraging her by pulling hard on her nipples. As they watched, she reached the end of her run. The hand uncoupled her chains and had her stand up straight, still yoked. Guillaume then stood forward and began to deliver her morning ration of lashes. They watched her stand impassively as the single tail snaked out and caressed her back with its harsh kisses. After twenty-five had been counted, he went to stand in front of her. She re-settled her feet to withstand the lashes coming from a new direction but took them in silence.

Beside him, Marcel could feel the blonde begin to stir as she responded to the sight of the fine body taking its discipline so readily. He risked a sidelong glance and saw her nipples standing hard and proud.

Later that day he went online and saw that the chats about what was going on in France were getting more specific but still, that call might be worth it. Carlo couldn’t fail to pick up on the trail then. He looked in on Blondie and found that she had cleaned her trough and was prowling her cell impatiently.

“He will be here!” he told her.

She tossed her hair back and gave him a fierce smile that said; ‘I’m back!’.

Marcel couldn’t help striding forwards, there was something so challenging and so proud in that smile. He grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back, then kissed her briefly before bending his head to suckle at the nipples that swelled and hardened almost instantly. He dug his hand roughly between her thighs which parted eagerly for him and he bore her down onto the straw bed. It took him only a few seconds to fumble his trousers open and push them down his thighs, and then he was on her, his cock nudging urgently at her entrance which opened smoothly for him.

He rode her to a shattering orgasm and as he came down he felt her arch rigid beneath him and her belly fluttered and spasmed around his cock as she too came.

Chapter Sixteen

Carlo was infuriated, he replayed the video for the umpteenth time that day, still finding it hard to believe that they were actually putting film of Blondie in training on the net. She was shown with weighted boxing straps pummelling a punchbag. She was shown log pulling under the lash of someone whose face was carefully blurred out, she was shown weight lifting and she was shown under the whip for purely training purposes as far as he could see. It didn’t appear to be a punishment. In fact it was pretty much the same regime as he would have imposed if he had had her under his control. And then there was the other girl. He couldn’t remember too much about the night they were aiming to reconstruct, it had been a hectic dash for freedom with the unconscious Blondie over his shoulder. But he could remember watching in dismay as his star pupil was beaten down in the cage. Now he was asking himself if she really had thrown the match. He watched the other girl training and had to admit she was fast and fit.

In vain he and Tony and John had tried to find out the whereabouts of the venue but maddeningly there was no word. People seemed happy to chat online about the event, discussing which girl might win, but no one was letting on where the fight would take place.

They had used every single contact they had inside and out of the arena world but come up with nothing.

Until with only forty eight hours to go, John Carpenter got a call from The Lodge’s sister club in France. One of their members owned an industrial plant hire and builders’ supply company and the manager of one of its branches had drawn his boss’s attention to the hire of a crane, scaffolding and bench seating to the Baron Sagemont. The baron was a well known aficionado of the arenas and when Carlo saw the word ‘crane’ he felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise.

On that fateful night the cage in which the girls had fought had been hoisted up into the night sky on the end of a crane’s arm. It had been swung around the arena so that even those in the topmost tier of the terraces could get a close up view of the action. It also meant that the cage itself was continually swaying and swinging, making the contest more unpredictable.

Had it been that factor which had defeated Blondie? Well there was no time to ponder that question now. John had a helicopter pick him up from The Lodge and by dawn of the day of the fight, he was cruising around the perimeter of the baron’s estate in a hired car, looking for the way in. He and Tony had googled it before he left and he had come equipped with pitons, a rope and a thick blanket. Already there was some traffic arriving at the main gate and being ushered in by men who looked as though they meant business. Carlo had decided that he would wait until early evening before trying to scale the wall, by then people would be streaming in and security would be stretched, if he could just get in and join the crowd, he was certain that no one would recognise him in the dusk and amid all the excitement.

Eventually he found the part of the wall that Tony and he had reckoned to be the easiest to scale and he settled down to wait. He had to admit that he had no idea how he was going to free Blondie once he was inside, but he just felt that if he got in, some opportunity would present itself. It wasn’t much of a plan but it was all he had.

Blondie looked up hopefully as her cell door opened but it was only the Frenchman who was in charge. As hard as she had tried over these last few weeks, she hadn’t entirely been able to put Tara back in her place so that she could relax and be Blondie again until Carlo came for her. A treacherous voice kept whispering that the Frenchman was lying; Carlo wasn’t coming for her; she was on her own. During training she had heard and seen the preparations for the fight and knew that it was imminent but still there was no Carlo.

There had been no training for a whole day and she knew that the fight was to be now. The Frenchman held a bright blue satin cloak for her and a be-jewelled leash.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I made sure he couldn’t fail to find out where we are. He’ll be here.”

With her mind still clouded, Blondie couldn’t relax and concentrate. She felt ill at ease still and knew that until Carlo was there, she wouldn’t feel properly whole. But there was nothing else to do other than to play along and hope. She stood up and allowed the cloak to be fastened at her neck and the leash to be run forwards between her legs.

The stadium had been constructed on a level field about a quarter of a mile from the house. It was nowhere near the size of a proper arena but it did well enough for the crowd which now occupied every single seat. They had been warmed up by the spectacle of the baron’s zoo being paraded and then the compere had claimed that the baron had deliberately postponed discipline until that night so that the slaves could provide entertainment. Each girl had a charge sheet read out against her and was dealt with for the crowd’s entertainment. The whole thing was lit garishly by floodlights as Blondie was led to wait her turn, she saw one of the Bakhtar girls suspended upside down and thrashed by two men, one working exclusively between her legs. As she was tethered to one of the scaffold poles that held the terraces up, she saw that the beating had stopped and now a vibrator was being plied in the girl’s vagina – or rather it wasn’t. It was just being introduced a few inches, allowed to buzz away for a few seconds and then it was withdrawn. The girl was begging dementedly for release and the compere was referring to the crowd, asking for the thumbs up or down. Of course the thumbs were all down, the evening was young and the crowd wanted a lot more entertainment yet. The familiar atmosphere of decadent cruelty and sexual arousal flooded through Blondie and for a moment she forgot about the fact that her master still hadn’t appeared.

Above her head feet drummed on the boarding and out in the pitilessly lit arena, some more of the zoo’s inmates and some slaves lent by the baron’s friends were tied out on tables, their legs raised and spread. Ticket numbers were drawn at random and if the winners were male they were invited down to sample them and mark them out of ten. Other winners were invited to wind a handle as hard as they could for a set number of seconds in order to build up an electrical charge. When the time was up, the current was released and passed through electrodes clamped to a girl’s labia, the idea was to see if anyone could make her come with one single charge. Cries of orgasm floated up on the night air in amongst the laughter and cheers of the crowd.

Quietly, from out of the shadows under the opposite bank of seats, two figures appeared. One was Guillaume and he was leading the dark haired girl who wore a green cloak and was tethered as she was. The two surveyed each other, weighing up the possible strengths and weaknesses. She looked fit and strong, Blondie had to admit, but then so was she. Her problem was that she just couldn’t focus down on the business in hand properly.

At last the warm up slaves were exhausted and the compere announced the evening’s main event. The crowd settled down into that hungry silence that Blondie recognised so well as he outlined the reason for the re-match. It still came as something of a shock to her that people all over the world had been wondering about that original fight. Carlo had kept her cocooned from her fame to some extent and now she could appreciate why. But where was he?

“So with no further delay, bring on the contestants!” The compere reached his peak and the crowd rose applauding thunderously as Marcel led her in and Guillaume brought in the dark haired girl.

And still there was no Carlo.

Carlo waited until the light had nearly gone altogether before he finally opened the boot of the car, took a quick look around and hammered in pitons between the stones of the wall up as far as he could reach. He replaced the hammer and slung a loop of rope round his neck and one shoulder, took the thick blanket out, locked the car and climbed up the improvised stairs. He threw the blanket across the razor wire on top and after a few tries lassooed the branch of a tree that came near the wall at this point. Then he swung himself in without putting too much weight on the blanket covering the razor wire and let himself down.. There was no time to bother about covering his tracks, so he just marched straight off towards where he could see car headlights moving slowly along a drive inside the estate.

After several minutes of walking, he realised he had left things rather too late. The cars were becoming fewer and the noise from behind some trees in the distance was growing louder. He broke into a trot.

The road was deserted when he finally reached it. He began to feel the first stirrings of real unease. He was too late. He picked up his pace and began to run away from the direction of the wall and towards the noise, which was now reaching a crescendo. He had to find out what was going on. He felt the sweat grow clammy on his body as he neared the source of the noise and heard a voice announce her name over the PA. He accelerated and never saw the guard step out from behind a shrub on his right, trip him and twist his arm high up his back as he fell forwards.

“Good evening, Mr Suarez,” a voice said in his ear. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Blondie could not honestly say she remembered the girl from the fight so long ago but she remembered the cage. There was a door cut in one side that could be locked, a cage stayed shut until only one girl could walk out. The sides were too high to be climbed over but the top was open. Ropes led up from the four corners of the top to a central hook hanging from the crane’s jib. That meant there was plenty of play for it to tip and tilt as the girls moved about inside. The open top meant that a weapon could be thrown in from time to time – but only one of any sort, and it was up to each girl to get it and use it.

The applause was deafening as the two gladiators were led out. Even the noise of the crane’s engine starting was drowned out and only a rising cloud of grey smoke betrayed the fact that it was ready.

The compere kept stoking up the atmosphere as they followed their leashes towards the cage but once there, with the crowd now baying for action, the cloaks were unfastened, the leashes, collars and cuffs all removed and the two naked women shoved in with surprising speed. Blondie stumbled as she entered a few steps behind the other girl and before she could recover her balance, the cage was lifted high into the air and swung around so that it passed in front of one bank of seats, throwing her onto her back.

“That’s not a good omen f you’ve got your money on Blondie!” the compere cried.

She sat up but the other girl was on her with no hesitation and had her in a headlock before she fully knew what was going on. For a second all thoughts about Carlo vanished and she was pure fighter again, going face down onto the mesh floor of the cage and then wriggling backwards to escape the hold, before throwing herself onto her opponent’s back. The girl was fast and ducked her head so that Blondie went flying over it and was turned head over heels as she stood up under her flying body.

The mesh floor with the bars underneath hurt her back as she landed and she was caught flat on it by the other girl who landed with her elbow in her stomach. Blondie doubled over, nearly winded completely, only her ring rusty instincts saving her from being completely immobilised.by making her tense her stomach and half roll away. Even so she found herself dragged up before she had got her breath back and Irish Whipped. The world spun crazily as she somersaulted in mid air and crashed back down on her back. But this time she was quicker and rolled away before the follow up arrived. Only then was she able to keep her feet for a second and re-gather her senses. The dark haired girl was advancing in a half crouch, looking fierce and determined. Blondie backed away, playing for recovery time and found herself backed up against the side; she feinted to the left and danced away as the girl fell for it. Then it was her turn to charge but again the girl was quick and she found herself face first against the wire, one arm up her back and her breasts painfully rasping on the wire. The faces of the crowd seemed to hurtle past as the cage swung, up above her on the screens she could see her face twisted in anguish as her nipples were pinched in the mesh. Behind her the dark girl was grinning. Blondie dug her free elbow backwards and was rewarded by a sharp grunt of pain. She spun round but was flung to the floor again as the cage suddenly dropped and a riding crop was flung in by a guard who was standing in the arena beside a table of implements. Blondie scrabbled forwards desperately but was pulled back by an ankle, the dark girl scrambled over her, Blondie rolled over and flung her away, then lunged but was held again. Once more the dark girl scrambled bodily over Blondie and this time they embraced like lovers, face to face. Blondie managed to pinch and scratch at the girl’s nipples and she screamed and rolled away, but one out-flung hand grabbed the crop. They scrambled up and the girl charged in lashing wildly with the crop while Blondie covered up as best she could. The braided shaft landed with bruising force on her back and ribs and thighs but she could take that all day. She made a grab for the girl’s leg when she came too close but the dark girl was agile enough to dance back without being overbalanced and slashed wildly across Blondie’s chest, catching both nipples hard. She yelled and turned away, taking yet more stinging slashes across her buttocks and reeling back against the cage’s side, facing the crowd. The crop continued to slash down on her and somehow she just knew that she didn’t have the reserves to beat this foe. She was too good for her to take on in her current state of uncertainty.

The cage lurched and swung and the crop sliced down and cracked across her back and she began to sink down to her knees. Then the crane swung the cage once more and the owner’s box came into view.

In this temporary arena it was no more than a canvas roofed balcony affair set high up at one end of the oval. But as Blondie’s dazed eyes took it in, she saw a figure slowly climb into sight from the stairs which led up to the back of the terraced seating. For a moment, standing right at the top the man paused. He was picked out by the floodlights against the ink-black sky.