THE GLADIATOR (20 page)

He turned her to face the table and pushed her torso down onto it, then he unzipped his flies and rubbed his flaccid cock at her opening which was clearly visible between her swollen and reddened lips and her equally reddened buttocks, until he began to harden. The slave moaned with pleasure as she felt it. That was what he needed.

Once he was hard enough he aimed himself at her entrance and pushed in, making her cry out at first as his shaft pressed against sorely tested tissue. But he couldn’t afford the time to be gentle, she needed her master inside her and she needed to listen to him.

He leaned forward and grabbed her hair, pulling her up so he could whisper into her ear while he began to rock his hips and give her the screwing she wanted.

“I know you can hear me in there, Blondie. Sometimes I know you don’t want to hear but now you need to listen - and listen up good. Understand?”

There was a moment’s hesitation as he went on thrusting into her tight depths and then the tongue ring appeared and was withdrawn.

“Okay. Conor Brien thinks he’s got us. You’re going up against Jet in the pony racing and then you’re fighting another fresh slave. In the state you’re in, even you can’t do it Blondie.”

Again there was a hesitation and then the ring came out.

“So we’re going to lose the race and put everything on the last fight. But we got to make it look good so we don’t get disqualified. You’re going to put on the show of your life, Blondie. You’re going to stagger and stumble and look like you’re all in. And I’m going to thrash you like my life depends on it. But you can take the whip like no one else, all you need is to keep some energy left. Pain you can deal with. Okay, Blondie?”

Again the tongue ring showed.

Carlo smiled. “That’s my girl. Now you can have a screw.”

He settled down to giving her what she needed; her master’s undivided attention.

Chapter 24

The studded tack was a torment that was worse than even Tara could have imagined. She squealed around her bit as the crotch strap was drawn tight against her throbbing labia, the plugs stung both her passages and made her eyes water so badly she could hardly see the course ahead. She even heard some indrawn gasps from the crowd as she went up on tiptoes as the strap was mercilessly applied. She felt the trap behind her shift as Carlo settled and she steeled herself for further torment. Beside her she knew that Jet, the strong black girl who was the only one who had ever come close to her for pace, was prancing and fresh.

The starting pistol cracked and Tara yelled as Carlo lashed her but she leaned into her work and concentrated on giving the show he needed from her. Jet pulled clear almost immediately and while Carlo made a great display of swearing and cursing her while he swung the whip, she managed to block out the pain and concentrate on keeping just within striking range of the opposition. Her legs didn’t feel too bad, all things considered, but everything else either felt wrung out or in agony. The plugs shifted inside her but she managed to focus on the memory of her master being inside her and whispering in her ear what he needed her to do and she was able to dispel their mingled discomfort and arousal.

The course was familiar, she had run it in training hundreds of times and for the first two circuits put up what looked like a brave fight, struggling alongside Jet but failing to respond when she was whipped up. But all the time she kept well within herself, on the final lap, Jet would be whipped into a sprint and it was then that she would have to fail.

Sure enough, there came a time when Jet’s driver let loose a flurry of lashes and the black girl’s powerful haunches drove her well clear of Tara. Carlo stood up and screamed at her as he threw his full weight into scything lashes which curled down over her shoulders and bit into her tightly strapped breasts. She reared her head wildly and let herself wobble from side to side of the track, she snorted desperately through her nose and managed to give the appearance of complete exhaustion as Jet pulled farther and farther away. The whip rained lashes down on Tara as she stumbled along, never making more than a trot but making that look as though it was as much as she could do. From up ahead she heard a cheer go up and realised that Jet had crossed the finish line. Carlo seemed to completely lose his head and whipped her with insane ferocity, lacing her chest and pubic mound with scalding lashes that curled round her body, but still Tara concentrated on maintaining a staggering, lurching trot.

They crossed the line to a sympathetic round of applause and Tara collapsed to her knees, chest heaving and slavering round her bit. But, thanks to Carlo’s little talk back at the stable she stayed alert. Patti helped her to her feet and she made sure her legs trembled under her as her tack was taken off. The squeals of protest she made as the studded strap was peeled out of her sweating crotch and the plugs pulled from her two passages, was entirely genuine though.

“If I hadn’t seen you flog your own slave half senseless, I might have thought you threw that, Carlo!” Conor Brien’s voice boomed out, smugly confident and as arrogant as ever just behind her and Tara relaxed. The plan had worked. But they weren’t out of the woods yet. She had lost, so, exhausted or not, there was a penalty to pay.

Maybe it was the affection in which the crowd held ‘Blondie’ or maybe it was because they wanted to see a good fight as a finale, whatever the reason, they gave the thumbs up for a tariff of only ten lashes. Tara leant her head against the wood of the whipping post while her wrists were secured above her and prepared to take yet another flogging. It would surely draw some blood; there could hardly be a square inch of her body which hadn’t been soundly whipped already. As she expected the guard who administered the lashes made no allowance for her condition and threw himself into his work with enthusiasm as the crowd counted the tally. She screamed and twisted at the post, hurling herself against the wood as the whip cut into her buttocks and back, then spinning around when she could take no more and exposing her breasts, stomach and hips to the rest of the lashes. When it was over she could feel some warm trickles on her thighs and it was only this which brought some warmth to her belly.

For the second time that day, Patti had to dab at the cuts on Tara’s body as she lay on the tack table. Carlo, John, Yuri and Ivan stood round and looked on.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes before she has to go again,” John said eventually. Carlo just nodded and went to stand by the blonde’s head. He held her chin between thumb and forefinger, turning the slave’s face to his.

“You still there, Blondie?” The tongue ring flicked out, clicked and disappeared.

“Okay, I reckon you’re going to be up against El Tigre next. She’s young and keen, just got her tongue ring I hear. She’ll come at you fast and low - I taught her that - so be ready to stop her from the first. She don’t know how to back off, that one. It’s her strength and her weakness too, so make her come to you all the time. And think, Blondie,” he tapped the side of his head. “Think good! There’ll be weapons in the pen so make sure you get to them first, then let her run onto them.”

Tara didn’t want to think. All she wanted was to leave all that sort of thing to her master and sink back into her comfortable miasma. But evidently she would have to carry on for a bit longer. Whatever these contests were about it was obviously important. She tried to relax as best she could under Carlo’s knowing hands as he massaged the muscles of her calves, thighs and arms. The rest of her body was just one sea of residual whip burn. It wasn’t the best of times to go up against El Tigre, she thought. She could clearly remember the girl’s raw aggression from the moment she joined the stable. But losing was simply out of the question. She had done that once to Carlo and would not do it again.

All too soon she was helped to her feet, her hands were clipped together behind her back and she was led round the stable a few times. She rolled her head to ease her neck and shoulder muscles, trotted a few steps and was pleased to find that somehow she had come through this far feeling fairly good. And fairly good was going to have to be good enough, because Patti took charge of her tongue lead and, surrounded by the four men, she was led towards the training ground.

They headed straight for the strange new pen she had glimpsed on the way in. Banks of benches had been erected around it and every seat seemed to be taken. From what Tara could make out as they approached, the pen seemed to be made in the shape of a long sort of corridor which then opened out into a small arena. At the near end of the corridor, which was the narrow end, were two doors, one on either side. And at the nearer of the doors stood Conor Brien and his party, which included El Tigre, sure enough, and she was tongue tethered as well.

Brien stepped forward as they approached. “So you’ve brought your whipped-out old nag along then, Carpenter. Though why you bothered beats me. She never had a chance against three - sorry, four - of my best slaves.”

Tara kept her eyes lowered and gave no appearance of understanding what was said, but suddenly she felt any tiredness drain from her. Here was the cocksure, arrogant bastard she had spent so long hating. She had beaten him once by deliberately losing. This time she would beat him fair and square. By winning.

Just as she felt the full surge of her anger pulse through her, Carlo’s hand was on her arm, steadying her.

“Mr Brien. Blondie here never loses........ unless she wants to that is,” Carlo said. From the corner of her eye, Tara had the pleasure of seeing Brien’s face darken in anger as he recalled her treachery. “But I don’t think she wants to lose today,” Carlo finished.

“We’ll just see about that!” Brien snarled and stalked back to his group.

They walked round to their door. Above them rose the banks of seats and some people leaned over calling out encouragement as Tara’s hands were freed and they waited for the starting pistol. One of the big Russians stood by the door waiting to push it open and Carlo stood behind Tara waiting to push her in. She took several deep breaths and forced herself to relax. At least now she could stop worrying about why the men around her needed her to win. She had her own reason. She held onto the mocking, arrogant sound of Brien’s voice, ‘your whipped-out old nag.’ She made herself hear the phrase over and over again. This was the most important fight of her life now. This one would pay for all. Conor Brien was going to be cut down to size, once and for all, and
she
was going to do it.

Suddenly, from overhead, the starting pistol cracked. The door was flung open. Carlo shoved her in the back even as she leapt forwards and the fight was on.

The ‘corridor’ she found herself in was no more than eight feet wide but she had no time to take in any more. The gypsy girl was coming at her, fast and low, just like Carlo had said. Tara half turned and jerked her right thigh up, making solid contact with the girl’s face as she plunged forward. It stopped her dead in her tracks and Tara had time to grab an arm, swing her round and send her careering headfirst into the wooden side of the corridor. She had gained a moment to assess her fighting ground.

Ahead of her the corridor stretched for maybe fifty feet. In places the ground had been excavated to a level below the training ground and these areas had been filled with earth and water to make mud wrestling pools. But most importantly, at intervals along the walls, hung whips, canes and staves. But only one of each.

Before El Tigre could recover, Tara raced forwards and got her hands on a flogger with twenty or thirty heavy lashes about eighteen inches long. She unhooked it and slashed it immediately in an overhead sweep, even as she dodged sideways. She had heard the gypsy coming up behind her and as she stumbled past, Tara’s whip landed solidly across her back, knocking the breath from her and making her stumble forwards. Tara was on her instantly, one foot on the back of her neck, forcing her down full length, while she put her whole weight into slashing downwards with the whip. The girl writhed and screamed beneath her, and Tara felt the joy of combat surge through her once more. Blondie was back!

She got five or six heavy lashes in before the girl managed to grip Tara’s ankle, get her knees under her and half roll away, half throw Tara off. Tara staggered back a little and in a flash the girl was up and coming for her again. But Tara’s head was clear again and she was thinking fast. She had to stay ahead of the gypsy as they fought their way along the corridor. She had to get to each weapon first. However good she felt just at this moment, it couldn’t last forever and eventually the fresher girl would grind her down - if she couldn’t disable her first.

She jumped back, towards the next weapon, and again got in a lash as the girl charged but this time she didn’t stop and got Tara round the hips with her arms, forcing her back against the planking of the side and driving her head into Tara’s midriff. The jarring impact slowed her down long enough for the gypsy to make a lunge for the whip but Tara saw it coming and held her whip hand high, while with the other she reached down between the girl’s buttocks and felt for the softness of the labia. Then she clenched her hand into a fist; squeezing hard. The girl yelped and twisted away. Tara immediately backed further along the corridor, swinging the whip menacingly. This time the girl was more cautious and came on in a low crouch, her thick black hair fell in a mane round her olive-skinned face. Some blood trickled from her nose, where Tara’s thigh had caught her, but her eyes glittered with malice. Slowly, never taking her eyes off her opponent, Tara backed along the corridor, El Tigre dodging and feinting in front of her but never getting round her. Then she saw what she had been waiting for. The gypsy girl’s eyes flicked to Tara’s left and at last she knew where the next whip was. She flung the one she was holding up into the air and dived for it. Her fingers scrabbled for a maddening second and then she had a three-foot long, single lash whip safely in her right hand. But even as she turned she was hit by the flogger, which wrapped itself round her ribs and burned the side of her breast. Obviously she hadn’t flung it high enough and it had fallen back into the corridor. The gypsy’s assault was furious. She forced Tara back, scything the air in front of her and threatening to re-open the cuts and welts her breasts and stomach already carried. Desperately Tara wielded her own whip but it was too long and the girl took the lashes which cracked over her shoulders and onto her back unflinchingly while her flogger could snap fast at Tara’s front every time she drew her arm back.

She needed a new tactic. Throwing caution to the wind she flung the long whip away and turned the tables by grappling with the gypsy. She went low herself and gripped the thighs, pulling them towards her. With a despairing cry, the girl toppled backwards and Tara fell on her, pressing the thighs she held into the girl’s stomach as she did so. For the next few minutes it was stalemate as they struggled on the ground. The gypsy was slighter than Tara but incredibly sinewy and tough, she wriggled and fought under her, grabbing at Tara’s breasts, punching, clawing, trying to bring her knee up between Tara’s legs.

But all Tara wanted was the whip. She didn’t have the reserves of energy to get involved in this sort of fight. She let her weight pin the girl and wriggled until she could grab it off the ground where the girl had flung it when she fell. Then once she had it she was up again and lashing out, making her opponent duck and cover up enough so that she could move past her again. And she saw the next weapon - a cane. She restrained the impulse to run for it, the girl would catch and trip her. No, it had to be back to slow, controlled progress. She fought to steady her breathing while the gypsy picked herself up. There was no doubting it now, Tara realised, tiredness was beginning to tell.

Again the girl had to try and get past while Tara picked her off, lashing her across her thighs, her shoulders, wrapping the heavy leathers round her ribs and hitting a breast whenever she could. Eventually she would weaken but how long could she herself hold out? Already her lungs were burning again. She risked a glance over her shoulder to see how far the cane was. She knew that that would really do some damage but taking her eyes off the gypsy, even for that split second was nearly fatal. Tara was rocked by a terrific impact to her right side as the gypsy flung herself bodily at her. Tara took a step backwards but the ground wasn’t where she had thought it would be. It was inexplicably lower and she lurched backwards throwing out her arms as the gypsy bore her down. Of course, it was the ground sloping down to the first of the mud pools she had seen before! Suddenly her left hand made contact with something and she gripped it fiercely but there was a snapping sound and whatever she had gripped came away from whatever had been holding it. Even as she fell helplessly back towards the mud, she realised that she had got hold of the cane and had snapped the leather loop it had hung by. With one last effort she threw it back over her head and prayed it would land on the far side of the pool. Then there was cold, thick mud under her and the gypsy on top of her.