THE GLADIATOR (17 page)

“I know! The bitch is throwing it!” he panted in reply. “It’s Brien, I think she’s getting something back on him. You were right Ali, she kept something back from us. Christ what a tough bitch! Get that plane and stay with it! I’ll try and get her out before he gets to her! Jesus, he’ll kill her if he does!”

Ali sprinted back out of the door and Carlo ran back into the arena. It was nearly over. His magnificent Blondie was hardly moving now; a limp and blood-stained form on the floor of the cage, her conqueror standing over her playing the crowd, getting them to shriek their desire to see another lash go in and watch the big blonde writhe one more time. The victor was frantically rubbing her free hand between her legs, orgasming in the sheer joy of complete victory and even in his desperate haste Carlo did have to admit that The Cage was a hell of an idea. The gleaming body of the victorious gladiator, streaked itself with blood in places standing over the vanquished slavegirl was intensely erotic. And as he rushed over towards the crane driver, the end came. Somehow the blonde contrived to get her knees under her and lift her backside up - he couldn’t tell if it was one last attempt to rise or an invitation to one last lash which would send her into the final agonised orgasm of the defeated. But as he gestured frantically to the crane driver, he saw the victorious slave take aim - she did it so slowly that the crowd was able to make a rising “Oooooh!” as they watched her arm rise and then the whip scythed down between the blonde’s buttocks. She twisted up, almost throwing herself off the floor, her shriek audible above the crowd’s demented cacophony and then she fell back and didn’t move again.

The cage was lowered and Carlo’s fingers fumbled with the lock. He looked up at the Owners’ box as the door finally swung open and saw Conor Brien shoving people aside as he tried to get out. Carlo ran in, knelt and picked the blonde up, then slung her body over one shoulder in a fireman’s lift and tried to make his escape.

Conor Brien would expect him to go through the Blue’s dressing room, so he made for the home team’s room and barged through the jubilant guards. Outside he was swallowed up by the crowd streaming out of the arena. Ignoring the cries of amazement once people recognised what he was carrying he ran towards the small airfield, all the time keeping an eye open for Conor’s head above the crowd. He was nearly there when he spotted it. He made one last effort to break through the crowd and finally burst free, he saw Ali taxi-ing a twin engined Cessna and turning it ready for take-off. Hefting the blonde firmly onto his shoulder he set off at a full run but heard Conor begin to shout behind him and he doubted if he would have time to load the girl and himself before he was caught. But he was going to try.

His feet pounded across the grass while his ungainly burden jolted and shifted, slowing him down. The plane came closer but so did the sound of footsteps in pursuit. And even he; Carlo who prided himself so much on his fitness, was panting with effort by the time he flung the rear door open, dumped the inert slave inside, slammed the door again and turned to face his erstwhile employer.

The two men faced each other, panting from the chase. The draught from the engines blew around them like a deafening hurricane.

“You and I can square accounts tomorrow, Carlo,” Brien shouted over the roar. “But I want that worthless bitch now!”

“Right Mr Brien!” Carlo yelled back and pushed himself upright to square up to the bigger man. “She’s worthless, so I’m buying her. You take all the money I got in the bank, that way you got a bargain. Shit, you own the bank so it’s no problem.”

Brien smiled but shook his head. “No deal. I got a score to settle with her, now get out of my way or I’ll settle with you too.” He took a menacing step forwards. But suddenly another voice shouted over the engines.

“That’s enough Mr Brien!”

Carlo looked along the fuselage and saw Ali leaning out of the pilot’s window. He was holding a pistol and it was pointing at Conor Brien’s head. There was something about the rock-steady way it was held which suggested that the man holding it knew how to use it and was quite prepared to. Brien obviously came to the same conclusion.

He gave a humourless smile. “It ain’t over till it’s over,” he said. But he backed off a step and Carlo turned and scrambled into the plane.

“Get us the hell out of here, Ali!” he yelled to the cockpit as he locked the door. Then ignoring the seats and seatbelts he knelt by the blonde as the plane began to bump along over the grass.

“Oh, Blondie. What the hell have you let them do to you?” he murmured as he turned her over and surveyed her ravaged body. Beneath him he felt the roughness fade as the wheels cleared the ground and they were airborne.

Chapter 19

John Carpenter put down the phone and turned to where Madame Stalevsky sat, an elegant eyebrow raised quizzically.

“They’re on their way. They’ve got the blonde but it sounds like something’s happened. They’ll be here tomorrow, about mid-day. But Ali says they’re going to need some facilities.”

“Like what?” Madame asked.

“He asked if we’d got some kind of sickbay. He said they were going to need it for a few days.”

The copter put down at The Lodge’s helipad and John, Madame, Yuri and Ivan - Madame’s two mute Russian helpers - waited till the blades were drooping and swishing before they approached. The pilot’s door opened and Ali’s familiar white-robed figure climbed out. He was followed by a shorter but powerfully built, swarthy man and Ali introduced him as Carlo. John and Madame instantly recognised him from the memorably expert whipping they had seen him deliver to the blonde in question and hands were shaken all round in mutual recognition of a shared enthusiasm for plying the whip on female flesh. And then John asked where the slave was.

Carlo looked a little uncomfortable. “She’s in the back. But she don’t look so good just now. If you can let me have a room and a few things, she’ll be ready in a couple of days....... Maybe a week,” he conceded.

“Make it two,” Ali said.

“What’s happened?” John asked.

Carlo held up his hands. “It’s a long story. If we can just get her settled and if you can leave her with me for a while. We’ll tell you everything.”

The smaller man went and opened the rear door of the copter and pulled out a human form wrapped in a blanket and a sheet so nothing was visible, except, John noted with concern, some blonde tresses trailing out of one end of the bundle. There was some blood on them.

Some hours later they all gathered in John’s office and Carlo related the whole tale.

“She just wanted revenge. Nothing we did to her could get that out of her stupid head,” he took a swallow of his whisky. “What a tough girl that is, eh? A session with ‘the Doc’ every day for a month and then four hundred lashes. And still she don’t let go of that thought. But you don’t worry Mr Carpenter, she’ll be fine if I look after her. Don’t ask me how I know, I just know. She gave me a sign. She’ll be back fighting, soon.”

“Okay, Carlo. Whatever you need, just ask. And in the meantime, gentlemen, feel free to enjoy our hospitality.”

Carlo’s face lit up. “Ali says you got Patti here.”

“She’s here, sure. And she’s a reformed character, after Madame had her for two months’ special treatment once we found out she betrayed that blonde of yours. Madame has very strict views about how slaves should behave towards one another.”

Carlo nodded seriously in agreement and then laughed out loud. “I gotta see that Patti! She was fucking good even when she was bad!”

Tara woke slowly, fighting her way up through waves of pain and flashes of memory. She relived the garish lights shining down on The Cage, the sight of the studded whip descending to bite into her flesh, time and again, Carlo running from the arena, Conor Brien's face contorted in fury. That was a good memory and she opened her eyes, or tried to. They wouldn't open properly and she remembered the weighted boxing strap on her opponent's fist but she could see enough to know she wasn't in her stall. She was lying face down on sheets and the smooth, crisp linen against her skin was a touch of luxury she had long forgotten. She tried to raise her head; and screamed.

Pain exploded through her whole body. It wasn't the usual throbbing and stinging she was accustomed to in the wake of a good flogging, this was raw, sharp agony. Even the act of screaming hurt her and she fell back, burying her face in the pillow and trying to breathe shallowly enough to calm the pain in her torso.

"Lie still, Blondie." It was Carlo's voice, her master's, coming from above and behind her. Knowing he was there calmed her and she made no attempt to move again.

"If you wanted to get some kind of revenge on Conor Brien, you did that alright. And if you wanted to get away from him, you did that too. But you paid a big price, you stubborn bitch. You've got cracked ribs, a broken hand, your eyes won't open for another few days yet and you're cut to ribbons from neck to knees." His voice was harsh and unsympathetic yet he seemed to understand her motives. She carefully stuck her tongue out show him her ring and assure him she was still his slave.

"Okay," he went on. "From now on it's you and me, Blondie; we're on our own You'll heal up in a few weeks, meanwhile we've got ourselves a new home and once I've got you trained back up, you'll be back in the arena. Understand?"

She flicked her tongue out again.

"We're going freelance. So your first job is to lie still and heal fast."

She didn't really understand what he meant. But it didn't matter, she had accomplished what she had set out to do and she still had her master; that was enough.

She drifted in and out of sleep over the succeeding days. Sometimes there was pain when her dressings were changed. Even rolling onto her back so the cuts across her breasts could be attended to, hurt her ribs terribly. But slowly the pains began to ebb and eventually she was able to stand, although Carlo had to support her. After several more days she was able to walk slowly and carefully around the neat, sparsely furnished room. From what she could see out of the window, she guessed that she was back in England and in a large country house to judge by what she could see around her. Parkland stretched away on all sides, dotted with Oak and Copper Beech. On one sunny day she was delighted to see a ponygirl pulling a trap at a fast trot along one of the paths which traversed the grass. She herself was not restrained in any way and as she recovered, she realised she missed her collar, wrist and ankle restraints. And she felt increasingly uncomfortable about having her hands free. But about one thing she was very happy indeed. She found she could recover that comforting, slavish calm which allowed her to block out any understanding of what was said in her hearing and as she healed she let herself slip back into it.

As ever Carlo seemed to know exactly what was going on in her mind and one evening he appeared with her collar and all the rest of her trappings. With her hands once more comfortingly clipped together behind her back and her lead clipped into her tongue ring, she was led down what looked like a series of back stairs and servants' corridors until they emerged into a courtyard. The evening was chilly as she padded patiently behind Carlo across the cobbles and into a stable but immediately she felt at home as they entered the single storey building. There was a stall which was deeply spread with straw, there were radiators to keep the English climate at bay and there was the unmistakable smell of horses, which she was to learn were kept in the adjoining stable

She was still moving very stiffly and Carlo had to help her down onto the sheet which

covered her straw bed. But once she felt her collar chained securely to the wall and a rough blanket was thrown over her, Tara knew that wherever she now was; it was truly her home. And as Carlo closed the door and the dark descended, she let her mind drift away and sank contentedly back into her slave miasma.

Chapter 20

When John returned to The Lodge after a fortnight away, he was quietly well pleased. He had had a series of meetings and felt he was on the way to staging the event which would restore The Lodge's fortunes and ensure him an involvement in the heady world of the arenas.

The blonde slave had certainly left a deep impression behind her. She had become something of a legend amongst the Owners and speculation was rife as to where she had been whisked away to. John hadn't given anything away on that score; they would find out when he was good and ready. Conor Brien was said to be still incandescently furious and that was how John wanted him to stay. A man in that state was easier to manipulate.

Even better news had come from a social gathering he had managed to get himself invited to and one of the guests, a Middle Eastern Prince, had been an Owner. He told John there were plans to stage smaller fights and contests in between the major shows; the demand was there and there was no point in having expensive slaves not earning their keep.

John was going to give them something to really chew on.

On his first night back he dined with Madame and Carlo. The stocky slave trainer was more relaxed now that his charge was back in a stable and he invited John to inspect her the following morning.

He knew Carlo well enough to know that he wouldn't extend that invitation unless he was sure the slave was back in reasonable condition.

"Yes, I'll do that Carlo. But first, as the plan is that you and she are going to go out on hire to whichever stable can afford you - I think you should take your own groom."

"Her groom is simply solved," Madame put in. "Patti. She knows the stables and the arenas. And of course she knows this slave."

Carlo laughed and beckoned Patti over. She was on domestic duty that evening and was wearing a yellow dress which set off her striking copper-coloured hair and pale complexion. She approached the table nervously and stood beside Carlo, the inviting swells of her breasts rising and falling noticeably above the low-cut line of the bodice. It was the uniform of all The Lodge's Housegirls, a full-cut gown which could nevertheless be removed swiftly by undoing a short zip at the back and sporting a hidden slit in the back of the floor-length skirt.

John noted that Carlo's hand went straight to that slit and he watched with amusement as Patti's body shifted slightly to allow Carlo's fingers to penetrate her. She glanced nervously at Madame, who tried to forbid these attentions when girls were working, but Madame either didn't see or didn't choose to.

She blanched even paler when she learned the identity of the mystery slave who everyone had heard about but no one had seen and her lip trembled when she heard that she was going to be her groom.

"Blondie might not like you being around at first, Patti. So tomorrow morning be out in the stableyard about eleven. I'll give you a good beating to show her your new status." Carlo told her and then compounded the girl's discomfort by giving her his room disc to clip to her collar. That reserved her for his use overnight and she clearly knew she was in for a tough time. But it got worse.

"Mr Suarez," Madame said to Carlo, and John noted the honorific with amazement, coming from her to another trainer it was praise indeed. "This wretch has been thoroughly chastised in my special dungeons for her treachery. As a result she is now an exceptionally tough slave and I waive the usual penalty for over-using a Housegirl."

There was normally a huge fine for any member of The Lodge who rendered a girl unfit for work and service. Carlo was obviously aware of the honours Madame was heaping on him and hastened to rise and kiss her hand.

"You are too kind, Madame. But Carlo Suarez will not insult your generosity by taking anything less than full advantage of it." Without turning he waved Patti away and the trembling girl curtsied and went back to serving. John was certain that by the following morning Patti Campbell would be one well-thrashed girl.

The morning was bright and promised a fresh Spring day when John sauntered round the front of the house and into the stableyard. Already three of the girls had been driven out in the grounds between the shafts of The Lodge's traps. The traps themselves were tilted up against the stable walls and the male grooms were busy towelling down the girls, whose delicious buttocks and backs all showed the healthy pink stripes of a morning's trot before the crop or whip. He strolled over to inspect more closely; one of the girls was the petite little Amber Oakley-Dean - a privately owned Housegirl whose Master was in residence at the moment. As usual he hadn't spared the rod on her and John admired the network of stripes overlaying older and darker marks on her smooth haunches. Next to her was Marietta and John's brow furrowed at the sight of the pretty, dark-haired girl. She was one of the longest serving of the Housegirls and had it not been for the drought of new talent caused by the arenas she would have been sold off to one of the members - and there were plenty who wanted her - for a handsome profit by now. The third girl was none other than Brat, the tall blonde American heiress who belonged to his good friend Alan Masterson who was abroad at the moment but who had sent her to The Lodge to keep her out of mischief - as he put it.

He watched while the grooms allowed the girls to dress and return to work, then, right on cue Carlo appeared at the stable door and John stood back to take stock of the slave on whom the whole of The Lodge's future depended. Carlo emerged into the sun with a slender lead in his hand and behind him came the blonde.

Of course he had seen her before, but then she had been either a fairly small figure out on the arena floor or parts of her had been zoomed in on by the cameras and shown on the huge video screens. But in the flesh she was a sight which made him gasp. She was a big girl; made bigger by Carlo's acquisition from somewhere of high heeled sandals and he had had them shod with steel so that as she walked her feet sounded like hooves, clicking and sliding a little on the cobbles.

But it was the way the slave carried herself which most contributed to the illusion that he was seeing a thoroughbred horse paraded for him. Her tongue just protruded from between her lips and her lead stretched from the unusually thick and large ring to Carlo's hand. With her hands clipped behind her back, this restraint either forced on her or she chose to adopt a pecking sort of motion with her head as she walked behind her trainer. And added to this, in her heels she overtopped Carlo by several inches and this further reinforced the image of a horse with its trainer.

Carlo led her to a hitching rail and looped her lead round it loosely before stepping back, arms folded and with a proud smile on his face. The slave came placidly to a halt and simply stood facing the wall. As he watched, entranced, she took her weight off one leg and bent it slightly at the knee, just as a horse might and as her shod foot scraped the cobbles, he almost expected her to let out a soft whinny. He shook his head in admiration as his eyes took in the almost overwhelming physical presence the slave seemed to radiate. He noted the powerful, forward curve of her thighs and the thickness of the hams themselves. And yet the buttocks were proudly female atop them, swelling well out, high and tight before sloping up to her lower back. He noted the depth of her rib cage before settling on the delights of her big breasts. Like her buttocks they rode high and proud with hardly a crease where they swelled out from the ribs and the upper curves were full and round, the nipples sitting at their peaks, large and surprisingly dark for so blonde a specimen. John moved to stand directly behind her, despite her size and fitness her shape from the back was pure woman and beautifully proportioned. He felt his cock begin to stir as his eyes fastened on the join of her thighs. John approached and stretched out a hand to stroke her back. Her skin was smooth and warm and shivered a little under the strange touch and he found himself making soft shushing noises as he felt the firmness in the tone of the buttock flesh and the hardness of the thigh muscles.

"She don't even got a scar from the that last pounding she took," Carlo said proudly. "It's one of my best mixtures! My slaves don't scar. But if I want them to prance a bit, you should see what I put on the butt plugs!"

"I'll look forward to that, Carlo," John said as he at last allowed himself a squeeze of the deep, soft mounds of her breasts. The only reaction he got was a click from the tongue ring as it was briefly withdrawn and then protruded again as the slave swallowed. This close up, John could at last get a look at her face, which had previously been half hidden by the thick blonde tresses which hung to her shoulders. Her lips were full and inviting, her nose was perhaps a little too pronounced for classical beauty but the bone structure of the cheeks was strong and her deep blue eyes were large and intelligent. But they seemed fixed on something only she could see and they seemed oddly lifeless. It was as though the girl had withdrawn deep inside the body of the slave. Then Carlo stepped up on her other side and stroked her flank. Immediately John saw a flash of awareness in the eyes, which flickered out again once it was clear that her master didn't require anything of her.

"You really got to fuck her and beat her to get the full picture. What you're looking at here is the fighting slave, but she's the best at other things too." Carlo's voice was excited as he registered John's admiration.

"Okay Carlo. Whip her up and I'd love to sample her," he told the trainer.

Carlo took hold of the tongue lead and pulled it down sharply. With no discernable change in expression, despite her tongue being wrenched hard, the slave moved her legs well apart and bent forwards. Carlo tied off the lead and slipped his crop from his belt.

John squatted down beside her head, flicking a thick tress of hair back over the slave's shoulder so he could see her expression clearly. Carlo went to stand just to one side of her now perfectly presented backside and raised his arm, then brought the crop lashing down in a blurring arc which impacted with a Crack! so loud it echoed round the stableyard. He raised his thickly muscled arm once more and lashed in a second stroke which impacted just as loudly. John couldn't believe what he was seeing.

As much as the next man he enjoyed giving a girl a bracing whipping to open her up and moisten her for the first shafting of the day, but Carlo seemed to be giving her full punishment-strength treatment. And yet the slave had not even batted an eyelid even as the braided shaft of the crop must have furrowed her buttocks almost to the bone. As the third savage blow whistled in, he looked along her back and saw the shock waves ripple through the twin pillows but not even her fingers clenched or stretched. A fourth smacked home and still the deep blue eyes remained clear and untroubled, seemingly fixed on a point down by John's feet.

"Beat her harder, Carlo," he said. Again, not even a flicker of expression.

"Sure, no problem. This is her first beating since we got here so she needs it anyway."

After the sixth slashing cut had fallen he stood and moved to join Carlo behind her. The wide expanse of the buttocks showed the clear traces of the crop - complete with the flares where the keeper had added its scald to each stroke. But the slave's only discernable reaction was in the classically neat, plump pouch of her sex, nestling in the hollow at the tops of her thighs. There he could plainly see how the lips had engorged and peeled open, the clitoral hood had withdrawn as her sizeable nub had erected and the neat little folds of her inner lips framed her vaginal hole.

"You really want to see her come under the whip, she makes juice like a man!" Carlo enthused as they stood back and examined the progress so far.

"I'd like to see that. But right now, I think I'll screw her."

Carlo laughed at the excitement he heard in John's voice. "Okay, Boss, I'll just give her two more for luck and then you mind if I share?"

John watched the shaft of the crop slice across and into the generous width of the slave's cheeks twice more and then both men moved in to finish their enjoyment. John found his urgently hard member sucked eagerly in by one of the most delightfully tight and strong cunts he had ever encountered and looked down to enjoy the superb, womanly figure beneath him, the wide hips beginning to swivel and roll, the strong back and wide shoulders lifting a little as Carlo loosened her lead enough to allow her mouth to begin servicing him. Then both men sighed in pleasure and exchanged small talk as the slave worked on both of them, rotating and grinding her hips against the shaft which impaled her cunt whilst simultaneously lifting and ducking her head to draw Carlo's ejaculate into her mouth.

She managed to drain both men at almost the same time and John was crying out in ecstatic pleasure as he felt himself ejaculate into the most powerfully spasming vagina he had ever experienced when Madame and Patti entered the yard.

Both men stood back panting in the wake of their orgasms while there was a flurry of soft clicks from the slave's mouth as she finished swallowing Carlo's emission. And John was fascinated to see a far greater flow of thick, milky fluid squeeze from the still-fluttering cunt than he would have expected. Without any comment, Madame pushed Patti to her knees behind Blondie and ordered her to clean her.

"Get right in there, even if your nose goes up her arse," Carlo told her and Patti obeyed quickly, burying her face between the flogged buttocks and thighs, drawing the first sounds from the blonde; soft mews of pleasure as her tongue lapped at the emissions and her nose did indeed press against the tight crater of the anus. John noted wryly that Patti's breasts bore the characteristic traces of the crop across their upper slopes and wasn't surprised at her alacrity in obeying Carlo. Once that chore was out of the way, Carlo was able to demonstrate the intensity of the blonde's orgasms under the whip. He tightened her lead down again and standing at her head he used a two-tongued quirt to whip her between her legs, aiming the blows down her back and burying the lashes right along the buttock crease and scouring the sex-swollen vulva. Only after twenty lashes did he at last produce a reaction. The blonde's head began to rear up tugging at her tongue lead and she uttered high-pitched, incoherent moans and cries. Meanwhile, behind her, John gazed in fascination as her back began to hump and her hips swung as if she was taking an invisible master for a ride. Finally as her rhythm reached a crescendo, the thin lashes smacked down on the pink flesh with a