beguiled them into bidding for her and winning. But then she had been brought to England and had fallen in love with The Lodge, with the slaves in her charge, with the way she was trusted, the way the men used her at will but didn’t insult her. They even returned to their own beds after taking her if they woke her in the night, urgent for her mouth or her vagina. No one had ever been that considerate before. They gave her a smart uniform, she had a room of her own……….
“Your master; your real master, is a man of his word, Raika. Just do a little job for him and he will make sure you are looked after…….” Sir John’s voice was soft and seductive but she couldn’t betray her home; not even for the promise of a return to her birthplace and a life of respectability. Wordlessly she shook her head, bracing herself for the retribution that would surely follow her refusal.
But none came.
Instead she felt his hand on her arm and he was leading her across to the windowless dungeon that occupied the whole of one end of the stable block.
“Let me show you something, Raika,” he said. “There is something that your master wants you to see. He needs you, Raika and to those who help him he is very generous. You think the men who own you now are honourable and kind, don’t you?”
She nodded and he led her inside, flicking on the lights and closing the heavy, padded door behind them.
“Let me show you what they really are. Then you can decide who you truly serve.”
Raika wiped her eyes awkwardly and looked around. There was nothing unusual in the room, only the normal disciplinary equipment. She turned to look at Sir John. He was taking a whip down from one of the racks.
“I….I don’t understand……..”
Sir John’s face hardened suddenly and he uncoiled the length of thick hide. “You, Raika. I’m going to show you to yourself,” he said. “Now strip!”
Chapter 7
It was the second day of the show and Brian was finding it the hardest show yet. Even with the help of the grooms, keeping ten slaves fit for nearly every event was wearing. Currently he and Carlo were positioned on either side of the two lines of slaves toiling along their second length of the arena pulling a telegraph pole behind them. On his side Brian was flogging Ox, Trouble and two of Salazar’s slaves. Carlo was taking care of Rose, Legs and two others. Beside them the other guards swung their whips in unison as Hank, standing on top of the log called the time.
“Heave! Heave!” On each call fifteen heavy floggers smacked across the sweating bodies before the men and the column moved steadily onwards. At the moment they had about half a metre lead. The women were leaning so far forwards as to almost be parallel to the ground, their breasts swung to and fro beneath their heaving ribcages, their buttocks hollowed and their thighs strained as they toiled. The rhythm of the call was ponderous but allowed each man to move from one slave to another so that each took one lash in four. Even so, on this second leg there was scarcely an inch of unmarked flesh. Here and there along the double line of thirty slaves a head would throw back as a particularly spiteful lash wrapped a breast and bit at a nipple.
Apart from the measured, heavy smacks of the whips and the calls of the trainers, the air was thick with the frenzied cries of the crowd. Huge amounts of money were wagered on each event and this was a close contest. And besides the competitive frenzy, watching so many whips at play on so much naked flesh was driving people into an orgiastic frenzy as well. Up above the stands the huge video screens showed loving close ups of rippling buttocks and breasts swinging so wildly that on the bigger titted specimens they were colliding. Brian saw Hank glance across at the opposition and he risked one as well. Their driver was calling a slightly faster rhythm and the slaves were responding. Their lines were almost alongside.
“Double
“Your master; your real master, is a man of his word, Raika. Just do a little job for him and he will make sure you are looked after…….” Sir John’s voice was soft and seductive but she couldn’t betray her home; not even for the promise of a return to her birthplace and a life of respectability. Wordlessly she shook her head, bracing herself for the retribution that would surely follow her refusal.
But none came.
Instead she felt his hand on her arm and he was leading her across to the windowless dungeon that occupied the whole of one end of the stable block.
“Let me show you something, Raika,” he said. “There is something that your master wants you to see. He needs you, Raika and to those who help him he is very generous. You think the men who own you now are honourable and kind, don’t you?”
She nodded and he led her inside, flicking on the lights and closing the heavy, padded door behind them.
“Let me show you what they really are. Then you can decide who you truly serve.”
Raika wiped her eyes awkwardly and looked around. There was nothing unusual in the room, only the normal disciplinary equipment. She turned to look at Sir John. He was taking a whip down from one of the racks.
“I….I don’t understand……..”
Sir John’s face hardened suddenly and he uncoiled the length of thick hide. “You, Raika. I’m going to show you to yourself,” he said. “Now strip!”
Chapter 7
It was the second day of the show and Brian was finding it the hardest show yet. Even with the help of the grooms, keeping ten slaves fit for nearly every event was wearing. Currently he and Carlo were positioned on either side of the two lines of slaves toiling along their second length of the arena pulling a telegraph pole behind them. On his side Brian was flogging Ox, Trouble and two of Salazar’s slaves. Carlo was taking care of Rose, Legs and two others. Beside them the other guards swung their whips in unison as Hank, standing on top of the log called the time.
“Heave! Heave!” On each call fifteen heavy floggers smacked across the sweating bodies before the men and the column moved steadily onwards. At the moment they had about half a metre lead. The women were leaning so far forwards as to almost be parallel to the ground, their breasts swung to and fro beneath their heaving ribcages, their buttocks hollowed and their thighs strained as they toiled. The rhythm of the call was ponderous but allowed each man to move from one slave to another so that each took one lash in four. Even so, on this second leg there was scarcely an inch of unmarked flesh. Here and there along the double line of thirty slaves a head would throw back as a particularly spiteful lash wrapped a breast and bit at a nipple.
Apart from the measured, heavy smacks of the whips and the calls of the trainers, the air was thick with the frenzied cries of the crowd. Huge amounts of money were wagered on each event and this was a close contest. And besides the competitive frenzy, watching so many whips at play on so much naked flesh was driving people into an orgiastic frenzy as well. Up above the stands the huge video screens showed loving close ups of rippling buttocks and breasts swinging so wildly that on the bigger titted specimens they were colliding. Brian saw Hank glance across at the opposition and he risked one as well. Their driver was calling a slightly faster rhythm and the slaves were responding. Their lines were almost alongside.
“Double
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