Last Slave Standing by Sean O'Kane Page B

time!” Hank yelled. This was a ruse they had rehearsed in the run up to the show but never with full whipping. But it was now or never.
    Hank doubled the speed of his calls and the men worked their way up and down their allotted parts of the lines smacking in a lash to the back and immediately following it with an uppercut to the breasts. The noise in the arena went from merely deafening to painful in seconds as the slaves squealed and shrieked while the crowd roared its approval but from somewhere the slaves found the strength to accelerate their progress through the heavy ground. It had rained that morning and the floor of the arena was not its usual sandy, firm consistency. After having been wrestled and boxed on, had squads of twenty girls from each stable fighting with whips, staves and nets all at the same time and then had mass log pulling staged, what the slaves were attempting was akin to pulling the huge log through a mud wrestling ring.
    But with the application of extra whipping, the Salazar team forged just slightly ahead.
    Brian’s arm ached as the finishing line approached with agonising slowness but he gritted his teeth and stuck to his task, fanning the leather tails out across the slaves’ shoulders and then slicing them up into the soft, swinging vulnerability of the breasts.
    The opposition tried the same tactic but their line of struggling slaves was not as durable as the Salazar one and by the time the fronts of both logs had crossed the line, the Salazar stable was declared the winner by three lengths. A close result when the line consisted of fifteen lengths; a length being defined as the length of a slave’s body.
    The guards shook hands and congratulated each other on a well-driven pull. Between them the lines of slaves collapsed onto knees and elbows, their wrists still attached to the rope by their restraints. Brian knew he didn’t have much time to enjoy the triumph. The chariot racing would be starting soon and he was needed at the circus to help with harnessing. But now that the stress of the final dash was wearing off, he realised his cock was pushing urgently at the front of his shorts. Before him was a feast of carnal delights, thirty flogged raw slaves knelt in front of him and between their welted buttocks and strong thighs, a fascinating range of whip-aroused cunts was on offer. There were neat, plump ones, long ones, ones with inner lips blossoming up from between the outer ones, ones with liver-coloured inner lips, ones with outer lips that looked as though they had had lipstick applied around the vaginal hole.
    Deciding he had time for a quick one, Brian pushed his shorts down and knelt behind one of the Salazar slaves who had an unusually broad expanse of arse and a cunt that was blatantly weeping with arousal. He slid into her easily but she was so far gone as to only be able to groan softly as she felt the penetration. As he set about seeking his release he saw that most of his companions were doing likewise and the cameras were missing none of the action. Beside him one the cameramen was closing right up on one of Salazar’s guards plunging in and out of Ox while grinning and waving to the crowd, before panning towards him. Brian leaned forward and helped himself to two handfuls of soft, malleable breastflesh, swinging beneath the anonymous slave’s chest. The recent beating she had taken there made her rear up nicely for the camera and the man behind it gave him a broad grin and the thumbs up.
    The extra dose of pain obviously refreshed the slave and Brian was impressed at how well she gripped him when he spurted his load deep into her and then climbed to his feet, giving her breasts one last squeeze and her nipples a hard twist.
    As he left the arena the lines of slaves were tottering wearily to their feet
    and were being shepherded back to the tunnel after being freed from the logs. The second pull would be on the following morning and would almost certainly require