Lost Property (6 page)

Angie sauntered over to her toy cupboard and took something from it that made Kath whimper and try to dig herself deeper into the bed. She grinned evilly and went to stand over the helpless girl, running the tails of the whip through her fingers.

“Lie still, there’s a good slut. You don’t want me to take longer than necessary to whip those pegs off you, do you?”

Kath shook her head and bit her lip. Pegs always hurt more coming off than going on but the whip frequently made them slip a bit but still hang on, quadrupling their venom before they finally relinquished their grip.

It was going to be a long and painful afternoon. She couldn’t wait for it to start.

Chapter Four

Brian Holden surveyed his charges. They were four men in their early twenties and Mostyn had assured him that they had been winnowed from exhaustive personality tests which had rejected hundreds of hopefuls. Alex was a rather gangly black guy, Steve and John were both blond and stocky and Mike was shaven headed with the physique of a body builder.

But he was assured they all had very high sex drives but found straight sex unfulfilling. In conditions of what they believed to be complete privacy they had admitted to wanting to experiment with SM.

You shall go to the ball, Cinders! Brian thought. In trumps!

“Welcome to Proteus,” he said as he approached them, standing outside the farm that had been rented in Sussex. The gentle hills and thick woods would provide perfect cover and it had even been the subject of a ‘no fly’ order. That was one advantage of being legitimate; you had real clout. He just hoped that the selection procedure hadn’t been a cock up, after all governments weren’t renowned for their ability to tread lightly and correctly.

Still they looked okay; excited and alert as they looked around them having had time, after the coach with the blacked out windows had dropped them, to unpack and look around the house they had to themselves. At his voice the men looked up and he was pleased to note that there was recognition in each face. At least that meant they all followed the arenas on the net. Maybe the government had got it right for once.

“You’ve been picked because…..well one reason is that you know who I am, don’t you?”

There was a shy chorus of assent. They knew he was assistant slave trainer to Carlo Suarez at the legendary CSL stable, out of which the equally legendary Blondie fought.

“We’re going to see if we can make trainers out of you,” he announced and laughed at the looks of astonished delight on his audience’s faces. “I’ve got two weeks to knock you guys into shape and then you’re going to be doing it for real! So listen up and concentrate…you can have fun later.”

He half turned and whistled, then turned back to watch his students. From around the corner of the farm house, where the yard was, with old, crumbling red brick walled and sagging roofed stables, came the sound of shoes scraping and a rumbling noise on the old cobbles. Then round the corner from behind him came Helga leading Jet and Cherry, both of whom were harnessed to traps.

Brian reckoned the first few seconds would tell him a lot. He watched his students carefully as they took in the reality of the near naked females they had previously only seen on screen, being displayed, used and enjoyed in pretty well every single way a female could be.

He was impressed. There was an only-to-be-expected instant of pure lust but then he could see that curiosity took over.

He stepped forwards as Helga came up to him, standing between the ponies, holding them by their bridles. He ran a hand affectionately over Jet’s satin smooth flank and patted her deliciously prominent buttocks.

“I’m sure you’ll know that this is Jet and that’s Cherry over there. They’ve been around for a few years now and nothing much fazes them – that’s why we’re letting you guys loose on them. Proteus is all about training up more like you and more like these beauties here.

“Now as you can see the tack they’ve got on today is basic hacking stuff. We’ll come to dressage and racing in later lessons. Now come close and see how it works.”

The four men came closer and Brian was pleased to note that their faces only betrayed keen interest rather than any salacious intent.

He pointed out how the crupper strap was pulled tightly down between the labia and tightly up between the buttocks and then split into two slenderer straps, rejoining the girth at two buckles set in the thicker girth strap at angles just above each buttock. The girth itself was buckled in the small of the back.

“That way all the fastenings are kept out of sight and the slave presents a smooth and tidy appearance to the onlooker. For dressage and racing of course there are a few more adornments.”

“Yeah!” Alex said with a broad grin. “I seen ‘em! This really big plug up their arse and a dildo up their…” He suddenly realised that Helga was there and for a second paused in confusion.

“Cunt,” Brian finished for him. “It’s alright, Helga’s a slave too. And you’ll learn how to mix up Carlo’s special jollop to coat the butt plug too! If you pass the exam, that is.”

“What exam, Mr Holden?” Mike asked nervously.

“The one you’re taking this very minute and will be sitting every minute of every day until I say otherwise. Now take a look at the tit straps please and note the thin strap that buckles at the back. Don’t yank it too hard when you tack up or you’ll break it and Carlo will take payment directly from your scrotum!”

There was nervous laughter but the ice was broken and the lads crowded round to check the tightness of the titstraps while Brian explained the need for them to be tight but not too constricting.

“We want them steadied, but not tightly bound so they look small. I’ll cover tit bondage properly when we get to dungeon work. Tomorrow we’ll get these beauties tacked up for a bit of racing and you’ll see how the studded tack works.”

There were whoops of glee and high fives at that prospect which Brian deflated immediately.

“CSL isn’t going to let you lot just dig spikes any old how into these two!” he raised his voice enough to calm them down. “If I see one spot of blood, I’ll send the whole lot of you packing!”

The students’ faces fell and silence descended. It wasn’t true of course, there were nearly always a few spots of blood after a slave had been run in full studded tack, but it didn’t do any harm to dampen youthful high spirits before they got out of control. He noticed that Steve’s hand withdrew swiftly from where it had been resting on Cherry’s left buttock. He drove home his lesson by telling them how much the latest CSL slave had been bought in for. There were respectful whistles and he felt he could continue.

He took them through the complicated bridle and bit assembly, and of course showed them the famous tongue rings that the bits passed through – a piece of harnessing that Carlo and CSL had pioneered.

“You’ll find in just a few minutes,” Brian told them and noted the stir as it dawned on the young men that they might very soon be actually driving a CSL rig with an actual, real CSL slave between the shafts. “That the result is very positive steering. She can feel exactly where you want her to go and how sharply you want her to turn. When she’s in blinkers that’s very important.”

“How do you decide when to use blinkers, and on which slaves to put them?” John asked.

“Good question. Any ideas?”

He stood beside Jet’s head and put his fingers through her cheek strap, gently tugging her head sideways so she could nuzzle his sleeve. Neither she nor Cherry were blinkered on this occasion.

“Keep them calm?” Steve suggested.

“Yeah, but how do you know when they’ll get distracted?” Alex asked.

“If there’s crowds I suppose,” Mike put in.

“You got to know your slave. And you got to know what you’re putting them through,” Brian told them. “Don’t forget you’re responsible for everything that happens to them. Get it wrong and you could devalue them by thousands of pounds, so you need to know your slaves. And you will do! You’re responsible for every single bodily function, they belong utterly to you. So it’s not all fuck and fun, guys!”

He grinned at them as they registered the fact that every single bodily function went a lot farther than they’d ever seriously considered before.

“Helga will take you through the delights of stable craft,” he said cheerfully. “Now the reason these two aren’t blinkered is because I know they’re experienced and don’t get spooked too easily – so I reckon even you won’t make ‘em too frisky!”

There were nervous smiles again followed by relaxed and eager whoops when he told them they would get to drive for a bit right then and there. He and Helga showed them how to mount and ensure that their weight was squarely over the rig’s axle as they sat.

“If you lean too far forward as you drive her, she’ll end up carrying you instead of pulling you!” Brian told Mike and Alex, the first pair. “Try it now before you move off and watch what happens.”

Both men leaned forwards and immediately the slaves had to grip the shafts harder and take more strain as more weight came onto the fronts of the rigs

“So you’ve always got to remember that as you drive – even if you whip them up to full speed - you can bring your own pony down in a race if you suddenly shift the load behind her. Now, let’s try the whips.”

Helga stood in front of the ponies and held their bridles firmly, pushing them backwards if they tried to prance forwards while their new drivers learned the range and the effect of the whips. But both were experienced and took it calmly enough, even when badly judged lashes wrapped their waists or ribs and the cord snapped at their breasts or deltas.

“Those are the lashes you need for racing!” Brian called as John managed two in a row right onto Jet’s vulva, making her lunge and Helga have to snap her reins hard to bring her back under control. “If you can do it that accurately then all well and good. But for now I just want to you to work up to a trot and do a few circuits of the lawn.”

By late afternoon the four men had mastered the basics of pony driving. On the smooth green turf in front of the old house, Cherry and Jet patiently described circuits while they were plied with lashes that sometimes conveyed contradictory messages, urging them to the right when their reins were pulling to the left and which sometimes were hard enough to urge them into a gallop despite the reins urging them to slow down. Alex at one point came close to driving through a rose bed because he flicked Cherry hard and misjudged the distance so that the length of cord snapped over her right shoulder and bit directly onto one of her famous nipples that had given her her name. She reared and twisted to the right and only some calm work on the reins prevented her from scratching herself badly by careering through the bushes.

“Okay!” Brian called as Steve and John pulled in from the last circuits, both ponies beginning to foam around their bits and champ. “That’s enough for the first day. Well done everybody. Steve, John, you go with Helga and she’ll show you the ropes about rubbing down, washing, grooming, feeding and all the rest of it. Once that’s all done then you can start claiming the perks of the job! And Helga’s as much on the menu as the other two. Mike and Alex you come with me and help get their evening feed ready – and our supper!”

The two reluctant chefs only stopped grumbling when Brian pointed out that they would take turns and tomorrow, they would have all the fun of rubbing down the slaves, fucking Helga and then overseeing feeding time.

Chapter Five

Two days later, Brian had to admit that it looked as though the government’s Proteus scheme had come up with the goods. Alex was proving to be a dab hand at catering and grooming, displaying a surprising talent for getting Jet and Cherry looking their very best. As a result he and Helga were often in close consultation as she initiated him further into the mysteries of femininity, as it applied to getting a slave looking her best to serve her masters.

At first there were some ribald comments about getting in touch with his feminine side. However, on the second night, the sight of Jet and Cherry, dressed in black basques with fishnet, hold up stockings and four inch-heeled, court shoes, coming towards the dungeons silenced them all; even Brian. Their hair had been beautifully styled; Cherry’s into a complex chignon, Jet’s into corn rows, which together with the way Alex had made up her eyes and lashes, rendered her almost unrecognisable.

But what really surprised Brian was that the slaves themselves had responded. They moved with proud, exaggerated, catwalk, ‘fuck me’ sways of the hips, he felt his body respond immediately to the invitation, even though both he and they knew that there was nothing he couldn’t do with them anyway. He laughed in delight as Cherry was brought to a stop beside him, her eyes were lowered and her cleverly blushed cheeks emphasised an attractiveness he had never seen in her before, it was as if he was going to enjoy her for the very first time.

“Brilliant, Alex!” he said. “You’ll have punters queuing up to pay through the nose for beauties like these!”

Alex beamed at the compliment and Helga assured him that it had indeed been all Alex’s work.

“Me mum kept a hairdressing salon,” he finally volunteered. “I looked and learned but never thought I’d get to use what I picked up!”

The evening had gone on to be as successful as its beginning had been. The students learned how to handle stock whips and other varieties of single tail, as well as all the different ways a cat could be employed – and all the different places. Jet and Cherry’s experience and fortitude were fully tested as they endured four sets of inexperienced floggings which gradually increased in skill and therefore in severity. With four men experimenting on two slaves, Helga was kept busy administering relief. By midnight however, Brian called a halt. Both slaves were on X crosses, Cherry’s body was striped and welted almost to a consistent pink colour, while even Jet’s gleaming chocolate skin was showing plenty of purple lines.

“Tomorrow night we’ll do clamping, pegging and waxing. But we’ve got a full day’s work before then!”

Mike and Steve slung the exhausted girls over their shoulders and took them back to their stalls while Helga cleaned up the dungeon.

John rubbed the crotch of his jeans ruefully as he coiled up a whip and watched Helga’s breasts sway as she mopped the stone floor.

“My balls ache from coming so much!” he said. “They are so hot when they’re all marked like that and so wet and open for you!”

Helga grinned at him.

“Oh no! Tomorrow, babe. No more tonight!” he said hurriedly.

The following day, Brian found that Mike, despite his muscular physique, was a very sensitive handler of harness and was able to put a pony into studded tack quickly and efficiently without making her cavil or rear, saving time and energy all round. Brian felt that was a talent which would come in very useful when their first intake of new livestock arrived.

Even more pleasing was the aptitude that Steve and John brought to driving. By the afternoon they were competently steering their rigs through the obstacle courses demanded by dressage events, as well as weaving their charges through specially constructed straw bale chicanes at a full gallop.

By the end of the third day, their work with the slaves in the dungeons was professional and calm and Helga’s work on her knees was not as much in demand as it had been. Each of the students put a ring through a labium and a nipple and Brian had to admit they didn’t do too badly. The raised and spread legs of the slaves only tensed and twisted sporadically as the soft flesh was pierced and the ungagged gasps as the nipples were done would not have disturbed a paying customer. Arena slaves had to pay for their keep in their owners’ dungeons as well as out on the floor of his arena. And these lads were obviously going to be very capable at handling their boss’s livestock at the same time as pleasing his customers.

The only quibble Brian had was that Helga dropped into bed with him so exhausted from having ministered to all four students that she was asleep before he could get any use out of her.

No arena slave could carry any rings anywhere on her body, it would give an opponent far too easy a target, so the following morning Brian removed the rings the students had threaded through Jet and Cherry and declared a day of rest, to allow the two slaves to recover and to allow him to widen the students’ acquaintance with arena equipment.

In one of the old barns at the back of the yard, they found a hayloft supported by reasonably substantial wooden pillars and one of these served as a whipping post to tie Helga to. She was a slightly chubby girl of medium height but with no cellulite on her sturdy thighs and breasts that rode invitingly high on her chest. As Mike pointed out, her back was an excellent one for whipping as she had quite broad shoulders but a reasonably trim waist.

Brian dug out the heavy strap-type whips that arena slaves duelled with and for a couple of hours they got used to the weight and the range of them, as well as practising a few strokes that Brian would expect them to teach the new intake. The men took their time and broke for coffee a couple of times during the morning, leaving a panting and gasping Helga to recover at the post before her next session began. He was pleased to note that although she presented a deliciously tempting sight, with her legs planted wide apart to brace herself, her back a network of pink stripes and her breasts bulging out on either side of the post, none of the students suggested using her. She had come several times but was there purely as target practise and not for their fun. Jet and Cherry served that function for the day and while Brian brewed up, the stables echoed to the laughs of the students as they casually took their pleasure with Cherry’s mouth or with Jet’s backside.

A good spirit was developing amongst them, Brian felt, as he sipped his coffee, leaning against the side of a stall and watched Steve hold Jet by her tongue lead as she was bent forwards for Alex to bugger.

From then until lunch, with one more break, they practised uppercuts to Helga’s crotch. They needed to know how best to land them so that they could teach their pupils. Brian felt it best to gag her after a while, the noise was becoming a distraction.

“She’ll come like a bloody banshee when she’s fucked tonight,” Steve said as John succeeded in landing a sequence of excruciatingly accurate lashes and Helga collapsed to hang by her wrists for a while in the aftermath.

In the afternoon they polished and oiled the tack and whips. It was going to be studded whip practice the next day and Helga needed a rest before she underwent that; although with a day’s rest from the driving whips, Jet and Cherry would share the burden. With Helga taken down and allowed to dress again, Brian took his little troop into the nearby village for a drink while she cooked the supper and fed the slaves.

The pub was a typical home counties one with plenty of beams and horse brasses on display, it was fairly crowded as it was towards the end of the week and Brian left the lads to find seats while he went to buy the first round. While he was there he noted another customer staring at him from the opposite side of the U shaped counter. She was a black haired girl, tall – about five feet eight, Brian estimated. With the practised ease of a professional surveyor of girlflesh, he took in her pert and not-too-big-breasts, pushing against the light fabric of a tunic top and the well proportioned swell of her hips – as far as he could see them with the counter in the way. She saw him returning her glance, blushed and gathered her drinks hurriedly before turning away. Brian watched her go with some amusement. She had on tight leggings which suited her length of limb rather well, he thought. They were nicely shaped too. But then the barmaid served him and Steve came to help him carry the pints back to the table. He thought no more about it, as it was happening increasingly often these days. More and more people were joining the websites and the CSL site frequently had footage of him and Carlo and the slaves and grooms. The arenas were existing more and more on the very cusp of – if not acceptability – then at least an uneasy acknowledgement of their existence.

At their table the conversation rambled easily across what they had learned – the ambient noise level was high enough to disguise the content of what they were discussing – and they asked him many questions about ‘backstage’ at shows. Brian was pleased at how much more calm they were about considering their naked female charges; already they were relaxing in the sure and certain knowledge that they could do whatever they chose to with them, whenever they chose to do it. Therefore there was no rush and the slaves’ all round health and well being came more into prominence as they appreciated the cash value of the livestock in the long term, rather than their own immediate need for pleasure.

Alex eventually got up and went to get the next round in and Steve went to help shortly after. They returned with broad grins on their faces.

“Hey, Brian!” Alex said. “There’s a girl over there who says she knows who you are and wants to talk to you…outside!”

Brian looked around and caught sight of the black haired girl from the bar earlier. She was looking at him and this time didn’t look away but smiled a little nervously.

“Go on, boss! You can’t keep a lady waiting!” Alex concluded to a rousing cheer from the others.

“Alright! Keep it down you lot!” Brian grumbled good-naturedly as he stood up.

The night air was refreshingly sharp as he stepped out into the car park. A few smokers stood close by and he looked beyond them to see the girl standing under the pub sign out by the front. He was curious now that he was away from the lads. He had been getting used to being recognised, but to be asked for a meeting was new. He walked over to her and appreciated her lithe figure again, noting that she stood nervously, her handbag held down in front of her in both hands. She watched him approach and tossed a few strands of hair back over one shoulder as he came up to her.

“You’re Brian Holden, aren’t you,” she said.

“Yes. And you are?”

“Carol. Carol Harper.”

Now he was close, he could see she was very attractive, with high cheekbones and large, lustrous eyes. Her lips were full and soft, he took a second glance a little further down and revised his opinion about the breasts. They were not that small considering she was fairly tall. She seemed to be struggling to find the next thing to say, although he could see she desperately wanted to say something.

“How do you know my name?” he asked. He was pretty sure he knew the answer but it gave the girl a chance to move the conversation along and she gave him a grateful smile.

“We’re members of the CSL site.”

“We?”

“Some friends. We met on the net and found we all liked the arenas. Now we meet most weekends, get a few bottles of wine in and catch up. Jenny likes the Blues, Chris and Tanya and me though, we all like CSL.”

“And?”

Carol’s hands twisted in the straps of her handbag.

“Well, we always said how great it’d be if we could…well if we were…involved in a stable. Turns out we all either kept ponies or worked in stables when we were younger!” She tried a light hearted laugh but her throat was dry with nerves and she coughed instead.

“So what you’re telling me is you think you might want to be grooms.”

“Yeah! I don’t think we’d hack it as slaves, though they are gorgeous! But we reckon grooming looks really cool! I mean you get to work with Blondie, and Ox and Trouble and take them into dungeons and playrooms, and work inside the arenas at shows. Then you make them look good for whoever’s paid for them…it’s really hot!”

“Grooms get played with and fucked too, you know,” Brian interrupted sharply, her reaction would tell him all he needed to know.

“Yes. We know.” She looked down quickly. “I know.”

“So you want to be fucked by the trainers and fuck the slaves.” It was brutal but there was no point in being anything else.

Still looking down she nodded. He reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his hand.

“That took some guts, Carol,” he said. “Come and meet the guys, when are your friends round again?”

Carol looked up at him with delight etched plainly all over her face.

“We said we’d meet on Saturday!”

Brian began to walk back towards the pub, Carol fell into step beside him.

“Well, if I tell you where I’ve got Jet and Cherry stabled, only a mile or so from here; reckon they’d want to meet there?”

Carol nearly squeaked with delight.

“God! You’ve actually got them here! Jet’s one of my favourites! But why?”

Brian shushed her as they approached the bar. They made their way over to where the boys were sitting and he introduced them to her.

“Why are you all in this little dump of a place?” she asked as she took a seat and Steve went for another round. “I mean you guys have got the whole world to choose from!”

Brian could sense the anxiety almost steaming off the students. He smiled.

“These guys are helping me start a new stable.” He felt the tension drain out of the atmosphere around him as it became plain to them that he wasn’t going to spill the beans about them being trainees. “Now, tell me about your friends.”

By the end of the evening it had been arranged that Carol would bring the girls to the stable on Saturday evening and they would be put through their paces.

“We won’t hold back, mind,” he had told Carol. “We trainers work hard and play hard, so make sure you tell the others that, yes, I can find them jobs, but this is going to be a job interview like no other.”