THE GLADIATOR (16 page)

Tara collapsed forwards when he had finished with her and lay panting, full length on the sand while she listened to the crowd applaud, she heard his footsteps come round to her head and then he hauled her up by her hair. But any hopes she might have had of being allowed to lick him clean were soon dashed. He simply wiped himself clean with the fistful of hair he held and then threw her back down.

Carlo seemed well pleased with her and she lapsed back into her dream-like state as he fussed around her when she was led back into the dressing room. She guessed she had done enough and settled down to rest in her stall for a few hours before the pony racing finals in the evening.

Carlo looked at his prize blonde slave standing passively still, harnessed to her trap. Her only movement, apart from an occasional shift of weight from one foot to the other, was a flick of her tongue now and then as she swallowed, which rattled her ring against her teeth. In the rapidly cooling air her breath and her sweat steamed slightly. Carlo ran his hands over her flanks, and she acknowledged his touch with the odd twitch of a muscle beneath her skin. But the skin itself was showing the results of two days of competition; and there was still another day to go and they were teetering on the brink of their first ever defeat and even the toughest slave he had ever come across was showing signs of reaching the limits of her endurance. Weals crossed other weals and spots showed beneath the skin where blood had gathered. In a lot of places there were small scabs forming where blood had been drawn. It was the same for the other team though, he thought, and he had to admit they were the best opposition he had come up against.

The pony racing had been slow as all the drivers were aware that there was still another day’s competition to go but the Blues had still lost overall. Only Blondie had won. He did some rapid sums and realised that everything would depend on the last day. The Blonde was his top scorer and would be entered in The Cage - the final contest - and that meant she would be rested tonight. The guests would have to make do with squad girls and the other three solo gladiators.

Tara was only aware of her master’s hands on her lacerated skin and his voice as he murmured his concerns about how the show was going. She was almost dozing on her feet, contented and tired, ready for her stall. Perhaps it was that very state which caused all the trouble. Because suddenly a loud, Irish brogued voice sounded close behind her and a hard hand slapped her backside.

“Carlo! Give me an update on these fucking bitches!”

To Tara it was as if someone had administered an electric shock. The harsh touch and the equally harsh voice breaking in on her tranquillity, had the effect of bursting open the doors in her mind which she had closed under the relentless punishment. She gasped and started as a blaze of fury swept through her. It was Conor Brien! The man who had swept her off her feet then abandoned her. It was the one man in the world she didn’t want to be owned by and the one man she
was
owned by.

“Whoa, girl!” Carlo said, reaching out to steady her by grabbing her right breast and squeezing it so the studs in her tit strap dug in and forced her to hold still.

“I thought you told me we had the best stable in the business!” Conor went on.

Tara’s mind reeled with sheer fury. How dare Brien talk to her master like that! She tried to twist away from his grip so she could kick out at Brien.

“Whoa you bitch!” Tara heard Carlo’s voice but for once didn’t obey and kept frisking and pulling. He smacked her across her midriff with the spare length of lead in his hand and squeezed her tit harder with his other hand. She squealed around her bit and had no choice but to subside.

“Sure I did Mr Brien,” Carlo went on. “But when you’re the best, the others aim for you. But don’t worry. We still got tomorrow and we still got this one. She’s undefeated and The Cage counts four times the points. So even if the squad loses all its fights tomorrow, we can still win if she does.”

“Ah, I tell you Carlo, that was the best day’s recruiting I ever did.” The hateful voice was right by her ear and his hand was on her buttock again. She shivered in revulsion and twisted even more violently, defying the pain of Carlo’s grip on her breast and dislodging it.

Carlo reacted fast, he moved to stand directly in front of her tightening her lead with one hand and reaching out to grip her studded thong with the other; then he squeezed again, forcing the studs into the softness of her vulva. Tara’s eyes widened as she felt the studs dig in. Her breath hissed out round her teeth, clenched on her bit. Her nostrils flared and she rose onto tiptoes. Carl kept the pressure up until he was sure she was quiet again. Then slowly he relaxed his grip.

“You told me you’d thrashed everything out of her, Carlo!” Conor Brien growled. “If you can’t then I will!”

“No, Mr Brien! She’s okay, just leave her to me. Just let her rest and she’ll be fine.”

Slowly Conor Brien relaxed. “Okay, but just you remember. I don’t accept failure, Carlo. Not by my slaves or my staff. Understand?”

“I understand, Mr Brien,” Carlo replied stiffly.

Tara found herself in a different stall that night but it didn’t bother her; she was too exhausted to care. Strangely though, she was quite calm. She knew now what she had to do. The consequences might be unthinkable and Carlo would be angry and disappointed but nevertheless it was something she just had to do.

Carlo and Ali made a tour of inspection before the final day’s contests began. It was something Carlo would normally have done alone but after Brien’s outburst the night before, he had confided in the tall Sudanese. They had watched the squad girls turned out, showered and fed and now they watched as the grooms led out the four solo gladiators, and inevitably their attention focused on Blondie.

“You still going to put her in The Cage?” Ali asked.

“Got to. She’s the highest scorer,” Carlo said simply.

“Listen, after what you told me last night I chartered a plane and made a couple of calls. If something big does go off, we can get us....and her out of here fast.”

Carlo nodded and went to stand by the big blonde as she was tethered by her tongue to the hitching rail outside her stall. As usual he stroked her hair and ran his hands over her, assessing the damage she had already sustained. It was pretty considerable but nothing she couldn’t handle, he reckoned. But after being in The Cage........well it might take a week or two before she was fit for anything, still that was what she was here for.

He patted her rump and made his way out, following Ali. Even the prospect of the final melee in the arena couldn’t lift the weight he felt on his shoulders and he was glad that the Sudanese had made plans. Blondie and Brien......Brien and Blondie.......what was going on? Whatever it was, he felt that putting Blondie in The Cage with everything to play for was going to crystallise things out.

The Cage; suspended from the boom of a mobile crane in the centre of the arena with four chains holding it, the metal cage - fifteen feet square - would host the showdown between the two top scoring solo gladiators. They would be naked and there would be no holds barred. But to make it more entertaining the chains would allow the cage to tilt and sway as the girls moved about inside which could give a random advantage or disadvantage to either slave. The top was open and at pre-agreed times, pre-agreed weapons would be tossed in, but only one of each. It would be up to the slaves to obtain and use each weapon to its best advantage before the next was thrown in. The contest would go on until one girl went down and stayed down.

Chapter 18

With the patience born of long experience, Tara endured her tethering between bouts of massage and gentle walks and trots round the stableyard on the end of her tongue lead. She could hear the sounds from the pens and the arena and was impatient to get back into the action. After the events of the previous night she remained alert and aware but kept calm. She learned that things were going badly for the Blues and that increasingly the grooms who patted her and fussed over her were chatting about how much depended on how she fared in something called The Cage. That did disturb her. The one thing she didn’t want to do was disappoint Carlo but there was no help for it.

It was getting late when she was finally led into the dressing room under the arena and was rubbed all over with oil so that she would shine under the floodlights. She had heard how the melee - fifty whip-armed male guards against both squads of slaves had been a great success - the men hadn’t finished with the slaves until early evening.

The door suddenly crashed open and Conor Brien came to stand right in front of her. He grabbed her chin in one huge hand and wrenched her head up so she had to stare at him.

“I don’t know what’s going on inside that lovely head of yours, you bitch. But if you can hear me, remember this; there’s always got to be a penalty for losing. And if you lose out there tonight - you’re going to pay a penalty like you can’t even begin to imagine!” He pushed her away, turned on his heel and was gone.

Her mouth went suddenly dry and her heart pounded with terror but the copper-haired woman’s words came back to her, one night Conor would want her, he would mistreat her terribly and she would love every second. Suddenly her jaw set, she wouldn’t stand for that. She had to go through with it. She had to play the part she had written for herself to the last line and after that she would simply have to trust to luck.

But her devotion to Carlo had not wavered; he had never betrayed her. He had taught her more about herself than even he realised; he was her true Master, but tonight there was no help for it, she had to fail him just this once before she could truly devote herself to him. She didn’t like that thought at all and when he came to lead her out she tried to communicate with her eyes but he was preoccupied and plainly worried, just taking up her tongue lead and tugging her along into the arena.

The roar of the onlookers hit her like a physical blow. They were charged up after the feast of fighting, flogging and fucking they had witnessed earlier and now this single contest would not only provide another erotic spectacle but also decide who lost money and who won it. The floodlights bathed the sinister shape of The Cage in glaring, pitiless illumination as she was led towards it. Carlo unlocked a door cut into the bars of one side before releasing her tongue lead. Desperately, Tara tried to get out some words around her ring but she had been mute for so long that only an incoherent gargle emerged and before she knew it she had been pushed inside and the door had been locked. She pressed herself against the bars and did the only thing she could think of. She stuck her tongue out; it was her usual gesture of submission to her trainer and master. But Carlo didn’t even look at her, just patted her haunch through the bars and walked away. Somehow, after all this was over she would make him understand - if she made it through whatever Conor’s vengeance might consist of. But her mind was clear at last and she turned to face her opponent and get down to business.

A lithe, dark-haired girl had been pushed in through a door opposite her and the two gladiators sized up their surroundings and then each other. Instinctively Tara tested her footing, the floor of the cage was fine mesh, she glanced up and noticed the open top, but if there was a purpose for that, she would find out in due course. She looked at the girl opposite her more closely. She was looking around nervously and testing the bars as if she wished she could escape now and she seemed to be avoiding looking at Tara and suddenly it hit her. The girl was scared of her! Her reputation had grown to the point where the other gladiators were scared of her. Tara laughed aloud at the irony of it all. If she wanted to she could make this no more than a stroll in the park. But she didn’t; and somehow she would have to persuade this reluctant opponent to beat her. Suddenly the cage lurched and there was the whining of a winch as it lifted some six feet above the arena floor. Tara held onto one of the vertical bars and looked outside. Her eyes found the Owners’ box and, yes, there he was! The big Irishman was looking relaxed and chatting cheerfully with the others. She saw Mark Cavanagh, the man she had once worshipped as her owner until she had found out that she was Conor’s property and had scrubbed him from her mind. He looked happy too. But that wouldn’t last she told herself grimly.

The cage swayed on its chains and the crowd subsided into the silence of expectation. Tara shook her hair back proudly and stepped away from the bars. She knew she was good enough to orchestrate her own defeat - prolong things for the crowd and give Conor Brien plenty of time to savour the taste of that defeat.

Slowly she made her way across the cage in her usual crouch, feeling how it shifted slightly as she did so. The other girl did the same and as she came closer Tara could see the expectation of losing in her eyes. At first Tara did nothing to disabuse her of that notion. In the first clinch, both girls’ hands slipping over oiled flesh, breasts pressed flat together, Tara managed to get one hand between her opponent’s legs and throw her then she followed up by dropping to her knees on the girl’s back. The familiar battle lust raced through her as she watched the girl’s whip-scored body writhe as she stood back, it took a lot of self control to let her rise. But to her credit, the girl came up fighting, charging into Tara at waist height and sending her staggering back. The Cage tilted treacherously as their bodies left the centre and both of them sprawled into a corner. The other girl was up first and stamped her foot down onto Tara’s breasts. She screamed and turned over to protect them, took a kick to her buttocks but was able to use the bars to pull herself up. For a moment she stayed where she was and let a rain of punches and kicks fall on her back and legs. She glanced up at the Owners’ box and was pleased to note the concern on its occupants’ faces.

She ignored the dull pain of the blows and whirled suddenly, landing a backhanded slap to her opponents’ breasts, stopping her in her tracks and enabling her to get a grip on them, digging her fingers in to stop the oil making them slide off. She loved the feel of the soft flesh she was squeezing and the sound of the girl’s wail as she was pushed back. Her hands scrabbled at Tara’s wrists vainly but then she suddenly stopped pushing and let herself fall backwards. Tara was taken off balance and fell forwards. The girl got a foot in her stomach and sent her flying high overhead.

The world span and then she landed heavily, the cage swung and tilted again, propelling her into another corner and then the girl was on her again. Tara decided that she was a worthy opponent to lose to as she felt fingers dive between her legs as she sprawled and get a pinching grip on one of her labia. She thrashed desperately, lashing out with her fists and legs but couldn’t stop the sharp, penetrating pain. Another hand found a nipple and twisted. Tara yelled and arched, momentarily paralysed; but suddenly the two grips were released and the girl was gone. Tara blinked and looked up, she was scrabbling away and was picking up a flogger. So that was the reason for the open top, she guessed. Every now and then a weapon would be tossed in to keep the slaves busy and the crowd entertained. She grinned. How she loved this life!

She sprang up and decided it was time she asserted herself before throwing the fight. The girl came at her, swinging the lashes and Tara let her, dodging sideways as the cage tilted again, this time she was the one on top in the corner and she made it count, wrenching the whip from her opponent’s grasp and tossing it contemptuously out of the cage once she had delivered several hard lashes to the strong back and deliciously trembling buttocks. Then she strode back to the centre and waved to the crowd while the other slave pulled herself up.

She deliberately turned to the Owners’ box and when she was sure she had Conor’s attention she smiled and blew him a kiss. A slow-dawning expression of horror passed across his face as he took in the implications of her action and she was still laughing when the other slave leapt on her back and the two naked furies went at it with nails, fists and feet, seeking out every feminine crevice and hole and punishing it in any way they could. Tara loved every second of the desperate explorations, the feel of the warm body twisting against her, breasts bouncing and swinging, strong thighs clenching as her fingers tried to drive up between them. Then a riding crop was thrown in and there was a frantic crawl for it, each girl dragging the other back and trying for the advantage. Tara almost forgot her purpose and won the struggle.

She taunted the girl for a while, just flicking at her thighs and shoulders, then she let her grab it and allowed herself to take a thorough thrashing as she pantomimed the agony, arching, twisting and screaming as she pretended to be badly hurt. She listened for the crowd’s screams as those who had had the courage to bet against her suddenly saw big money coming their way. She stayed in a corner while the thrashing went on, facing her tormentor and holding the bars either side of her as if too stunned to sink down and curl up. The girl was laughing with savage joy as she swung the lash in to Tara’s thighs, breasts and stomach, she was getting her confidence up, beginning to believe that she could actually win against the famous Blondie.

But not yet, Tara decided. She surged off the bars, shaking off the beating as if it hadn’t happened, twisting the girl’s wrist till she dropped the crop and then holding her arm out straight and forcing her to bend over, she got one of her own legs over it, straddling the twisted limb. Then she wrenched it up until she could grind her sex and her clitoris against it. She listened for the cheers from her own relieved supporters as she sensually rolled her hips, using her opponent’s pain to fuel the lust which naked combat always roused in her.

She looked up to the Owners’ box again and revelled in the perplexed expressions she saw there. Coupled with the delightful friction between her legs, it was nearly enough to tip her over the edge and into orgasm. But fortunately the girl under her managed to twist around enough to use her free hand to grab one of Tara’s ankles. She gave a theatrical wail of despair as she allowed herself to be toppled from her perch and then a single lash whip came sailing in over the bars.

In the ensuing, savage whip duel the first blood was drawn and the crowd went wild. Tara had gone for the crop and let the other girl take the whip. With the greater reach she inevitably made it tell and Tara felt the first warm trickles begin to course down her back as they lunged, lashed and ducked, striking wherever they could.

And by the time a weighted, leather boxing strap was thrown in, Tara was genuinely beginning to feel the first effects of approaching defeat. But one look up at the expression of fury on Conor’s face as she went down on all fours under a barrage of lashes was enough to spur her on to play out her revenge to the end. She struggled to her feet, not having to feign it too much now, her body stung and ached all over, to see the other girl winding the strap round her fist, her face set in a grimace of savage determination. Then she flung the whip out so that Tara couldn’t use it and came for her in the gladiator’s crouch, closing in for the kill. Tara took one more look at Conor and faced up to the pasting she had condemned herself to.

It seemed to take forever. Now that she knew she was going to win a famous victory, the girl put on a real show and even through the daze of pain Tara gradually sank into, she appreciated the skill. After an initial shoulder charge to get Tara staggering backwards, she picked her targets, weakening her with blows to the stomach and breasts, dazing her with clubbing blows to the head. Tara tasted blood in her mouth as she was flung back against the bars and sank to her knees. Then her face was held roughly against her opponent’s sweat- soaked crotch and she began to lick at the pungent juices while she felt the girl thrust and swivel her hips - playing to the gallery. Tara could still have retaliated, she knew she still had plenty left if she needed it. But a long slow defeat would stretch out the agony for Conor Brien.

Time and again she was dragged to her feet, swung against the bars and then she tottered back to meet a fist or a knee brought sharply up between her straddled legs. The world dissolved into wheeling circles of colour as it spun round her when she was thrown or knocked clear across the cage. Then the girl took up the crop again and for as long as Tara remained down she was lashed with it. And once she had clawed her way upright again, using the bars. Her opponent’s weighted fist punished her until she collapsed.

Just once as she was flung face first against the bars and began to slide down, her rapidly closing eyes picked out Carlo. He was standing in the arena gazing up at her with open-mouthed despair, almost as if he himself were feeling every shattering impact on her exhausted body.

Once again Tara did the only thing she could think of and prayed that his time he would see; she stuck her tongue out and showed him her ring. The crop began to scythe down across her already-numb back but she kept enough control to roll her eyes up at the Owners’ box. She saw Carlo’s eyes follow hers and realisation begin to dawn. He ran. And Tara knew she had done enough and was happy even as she was hauled by her hair back into the centre of the swaying cage. She hadn’t seen it but the final weapon had been slung in. A studded whip.

Carlo dashed for the dressing room, his mind in a ferment of sudden realisation and stark fear. He raced for the door which would take him outside but it opened before he got there and he cannoned into Ali.

“She’s getting pounded!” he yelled as he grabbed Carlo by the shoulders.