Bound for Glory by Sean O'Kane Page A

change looked as though it would work well too. No one knew submissives and slaves like Peter Lang, and with the Prince’s money behind him, there was already talk of another Lodge opening up in the West Country.
    Brian climbed back aboard the big carriage and waited for his passengers to finish their conversations and climb aboard behind him.
     
     

Chapter Six
     
    Clive Mostyn was in some sort of heaven. He was talking to the PM who was treating him like an old friend and he was also chatting with the new owner of The Lodge and the Prince of Bakhtar, who had just come in on the most recent airship. As if that wasn’t enough, his two slaves had been delivered from the stables, tacked up with the studded harnesses he had provided and they had been the talk of the afternoon. Everyone was most impressed by their condition and they were stroked and petted until he had had to snap the reins across their tits a couple of times to calm them down. It was felt that he had got a bargain as there were only a limited number of the original Proteans in circulation and these two were in by far the best shape of any the men present had seen. And then of course there was the new chip. If it continued to perform as well as it currently was, it would make things so much simpler, more commercially viable and so much more pleasant for those who could afford such luxuries. Both slaves were going to be thoroughly tested later that day but Clive was perfectly confident they would come through – quite literally - anything with flying colours. At the moment he was basking in the praise as some of the foremost handlers of slaveflesh in the world of the arenas were squeezing the ponies’ breasts, examining the cruppers for signs of dampness, looking closely at teeth and buttocks.
    It almost came as a bit of a disappointment when the CSL rigs arrived and the group broke up to move down to the party site by the lake.
    The big four-in-hand, with Brian perched high up in the driving seat took John Carpenter, Peter Lang, the Prince of Bakhtar and Patti. Amelia drove Lang’s rig which was pulled by what was called the AA Team by fans of the Girl Squad, whose colours they competed in. Ayesha and Angel, black haired and blonde; Ayesha was beginning to show her age but had had a late re-flowering of her career in the arenas, Angel was still as tall and strong as ever and they made a formidable combination in the arenas under Amelia’s direction. Technically they were owned by Lang, but he was quite content for them to compete in Girl Squad colours.
    Clive watched as there were the usual invitations to give lifts, the swapping of passengers and drivers, just as there always is at gatherings where large numbers of people have to be transported by any means. But all of a sudden Dandy MacIntyre was beside him.
    “Mind if I climb aboard, Clive, old thing?” he asked.
    “Of course not!” Clive could scarcely hide his pleasure in being selected. He and the PM might both be seated at the cabinet table in Number Ten Downing Street, but everyone knew that he rarely dispensed the favour of his leisure time on colleagues. He tightened his slaves’ reins as Dandy climbed aboard and the weight of the rig shifted while he settled himself. And just as he did, Brian Holden cracked the long driving whip he was using for the four-in-hand, in the air and everyone quietened. He told them as there was no way the big carriage would fit through the arch at the back of the house’s stableyard, they would go in procession the long way round, back down the drive and then off right and onto the grassy tracks that crossed the golf course, then along by the side of the woods before re-crossing the course and arriving at the lake. There were cheers all round as it meant the pleasure of driving fine ponies on a fine day would be prolonged very satisfactorily. And even as they made ready to move off the photographers who had been engaged to capture the day were moving amongst