Blonde Fury (8 page)

However, their attention was distracted from the delicious scene in front of them by a rise in the general hubbub
at one end of the room
but a quietening of the laughter. There was even some scattered applause as Bob disengaged himself from Clive and went to
wards the noise
. Clive watched and Bob re-emerged from the throng holding a leather leash which ran
up
to the heavy tongue ring of an arena slave
who followed him with
her
hands clipped together behind her back
.

She had been decked out in full presentation kit; blac
k, five inch heeled court shoes and
a breathtakingly embroidered
red
and
black basque that nipped her waist in to better display her sensational hips and bust
. Her long
legs and thighs
were clad in
black,
hold up stockings that left tantalising pale, smooth thigh flesh on display and that led the eye up to the tiny triangle of black lace at her crotch. Above the softly rippling mounds of her breasts, at her neck she wore a black leather collar, her leash looped down to
Bob’s
hand from between her scarlet, glossed lips which were parted to reveal even, white teeth
and the tip of her tongue with its glinting, heavy ring
. Her eyes had been expertly made up and shone large and dark as she looked submissively downwards, calm and expressionless, taking only the occasional glance up to look around her. Her light brown hair had been painstakingly brushed and styled into a gently waving torrent of hair that tumbled down to frame her famous face and to lie on her wide shoulders
. She followed her
leash
with long languorous steps that she had learned on the world’s catwalks, each foot was carefully planted in line with the other and she relaxed her hips so that they could sway bewitchingly as she moved. On one shoulder was the tattoo that had given her the name that she was known by around the world these days.
The letters A and C intertwined
,
and originally they had stood for Anna Chatham but the arena crowds had run them together to form the name ‘Ace’. She had gone from being a fairly well known model and businesswoman to an arena slave through a catastrophic series of events which had been carefully stage managed in order to get her exactly where she was
now
. And it was Conor Brien – an arena owner who was now deceased –
who had been her biological father
via IVF
, although Ace had had no knowledge of that fact,
and
it was he
who had engineered it all. It was Conor who had enslaved her mother, the slave known as Blondie who had escaped from him with
her trainer,
Carlo. His revenge had been to try and control the daughter as he had wanted to control the mother.

But by the time everything had come to light,
Conor’s plan had succeeded,
she had been convicted under Mostyn’s Law, been chipped and sold, become a star in her own right and so much money and time had been invested in her, there was no question of untangling all that had been done. The only
thing
was, would it help or hinder her performances in the arenas to k
now what her family history was?

Bob brought the glamorous vision to a halt in front of Clive and opened a door in the side of a tall perspex cube which stood in the centre of the floor. He detached Ace’s leash and with a hand on her pert rear, guided her into the cube, then he shut the door and raised his hand in a signal. Immediately there was the familiar hum of an electric
motor and the cube was raised o
n a plinth until it stood three feet off the floor. Ace had just enough room in it to stand upright and still, her feet planted a few inches apart
. The party broke into spontaneous applause as they replenished their drinks and began to circulate again; quite a few of them forming groups around Ace and discussing her.

“I know she might be the main cause of us losing these games, but you’ve got to admire her as an object of beauty,” Bob said as they stared up at the impassive slave.

Neil joined them and the three men contemplated the vision of submissive sex dis
played before them, while b
ehind them the noises of other partygoers making full use of the slaves provided began to pick up again and the rhythmic thuds and smacks of whips and the cries of the slaves resumed.

“Thanks for letting us display her, Neil
,
” Bob said after an interval. “She makes a good centrepiece.”

Neil raised his glass in reply. “You’re welcome. It’s been a good show you’ve put on and tomorrow looks like being a fitting climax.”

“Have you told her yet?” Clive wanted to know
, cocking his head towards Ace
.

“No,” Neil sighed. “But I suppose we’ll have to. Even in a stable there’s gossip and sooner or later she’ll pick up on it, and that’ll be worse than us telling her
.”

Looking up at the long legs and flanks, which both bore some dark spots from where a studded whip had caught her earlier on in the games, Clive wondered for the thousandth time what her half-sister would look like.
He walked round to view her back and saw similar marks on her fabulous buttocks and across her shoulders, which also bore the marks of a single tail from the pursuit running. It was the mark of a really class performer to reach the end of the second day with so little
damage
to show for it.

Regretfully he looked at his watch and decided he ought to leave, he had to be back in London tomorrow but he would
do what he could to catch the Demolition D
erby. He smiled up at Ace as he went to find Bob.
She wouldn’t get away from the D
erby without some more souvenirs, that was for certain.

Downstairs his limo was waiting and Clive took a moment or two to savour the night air as he exited the arena. From back up behind him he could hear the sounds of play becoming more intense at the party he had just left. Bob and Neil would no doubt have
their
staff replacing worn out slaves with new stock to share the use and the marks around as equally as possible. Lights shone out from a long low building at the edge of the arena complex but no noise escaped it, the play rooms over there were well sound proofed but doubtless the good people of Tyneside were
getting their money’s
worth inside and the coffers of both stables would be comfortably filled and the slaves would just have to cope somehow. They always seemed to. He smiled and stepped into the limo.

As it swept away, a slightly built figure stepped out of the shadows and was joined by another.

“Bloody hell! That was close! Give me the money and let’s both get out of here
,” one whispered urgently and held something out.

Alex Tweedie proffered a wad of notes and the groom riffled through it quickly then passed over the package before disappearing. Alex didn’t blame him; it would mean instant dismissal and blacklisting
by
all stables if he was found out. And who in their right minds would want t
o get fired from a job like his?
He could only think the man had got some pressing debts
to pay off
to
make him
run the risk he had. But then he turned his attention to the package the man had handed across. With trembling and reverential hands Alex unwrapped it and saw the stained leather thong that he had watched the groom tear down from Ace’s sodden groin directly after the race, earlier on. He had had to
tug
it down her thighs, suctioning it away from the wetness at her crotch. Alex held it up to his nose and inhaled the pungent perfume of Ace’s cunt and her sweat and the body oil the slaves were laved in before taking part in any event. It was still wet and fragrant as he stuffed it carefully into a plastic wallet and hurried home to go on th
e net and tell the others
. He had Ace’s actual thong, still redolent and still wet! Whatever it was wort
h, he wasn’t taking any offers
,
it was
going to be framed and take pride of place in his collection.

As he passed through the gates of the complex, he glanced into the police
box and saw the sergeant who had inspected his pass earlier in the day, he was vigorously fucking a woman who was bent over the small desk in the box.
She
was clothed
, her skirt carelessly thrown up over her back,
so obviously
she was
not
a slave,
maybe it was his wife. The sergeant looked up and waved as Alex passed, then went back to his business
.

The Morrison’s dinner party was going very we
ll, after the meal
the slut had been blindfold
ed and made to suck off every ma
n there and identify her owner
by taste alone
. She had performed the first part very satisfactorily but had failed the second part miserably.

Ann had intervened before the men could begin a punishment and suggested that the slut should try the same with all the women – double or quits. Again the slave had done the first part well enough but had failed the second. Now the room was loud with laughter as
she
was strapped down across the dining table and a heavy leather strap and a studded paddle were lined up for the first part of the punishment. Already some of the men were erect again at the sight of the naked and vulnerable girl, pale against the mahogany of the table, her legs spread wide and her breasts bulging out beneath her at each side of her chest. Two couples were brazenly making love
, one
on the sofa and
one
on one of the chairs. A
nother
of
Ann’s
girl
friends came up to her as her husband and one of his friends began to belabour the girl’s back and bottom from both sides.

“Thank you so much, Ann!
” her friend cooed. “
What a lovely evening it’s turning out to be. It’s really opened our eyes to
what you can do with one of tho
se things!
” she gestured towards the table where the writhing form of the slave was beginning to moan and cry out. “
We’re definitely going to get one, and when
we
do you must come round and enjoy it too!”

“Thank you, Mary!” Ann said, preening at the compliment and looking at her friend’s rumpled dress and shining eyes
;
her breasts were still heaving from some recent excitement and Ann wondered if it had been her own husband or her friend’s husband who had been the cause
.
It made absolutely no difference to her nowadays, and in fact she began to see that her friend was considerably more attractive than she had ever realised before. Ann’s mind began to race with possibilities, all of which involved the slut as a catalyst.

“We’d love to!
” she said, “
But in the meantime, why don’t you drop around one afternoon this week? I can show you, in slightly more detail, just how much use
you can get out of them
.
”

Her friend gave her a lascivious smile. “A girls only afternoon?”

“Oh, yes
! I think that would be perfect. Just two girls and one slut,
” Ann said, returning the smile.

Behind them the slavegirl began to orgasm loudly under the beating.

Chapter Four

Scott Holroyd was out of sorts. He stalked between the pairs of naked girls rehearsing various moves with their whips; responding to the shouts of his lieutenants
as they were drilled in the various lunges, spins and
parrying manoeuvres they needed to have drummed into them for the next games. They were using the training whips, with just a single lightweight, suede tail. It would leave a short-lived mark so that trainers could see how a girl had been doing but the mark faded within minutes. As he made his way through the couples he noted that nearly all the squad girls were back in training, some still bore traces of the pla
yrooms and the contests at the T
ykes’ arena with fading ladders of tramlines across quivering buttocks and scabbing over cuts from chariot racing. But on the whole the victory had not been too costly and the victory in the Demolition Derby had been the icing on the cake.

All in all, he should be feeling pretty content with life but he wasn’t. And thoughts of the Demolition Derby brought the reason why sharply into focus. Ace. The bosses wanted to talk to her. Talk to her! Scott nearly said the words out loud, he was so annoyed. Instead he covered it by unshipping his service whip, a heavy strap of soft leather about two feet long and giving the nearest girl a stinging lash across her buttocks. She yelped and spun round to f
ace him, immediately her sparring partner jumped in and rained blows down on her unprotected back.