Naked Ambition (7 page)

Angel burst into laughter at the look of disappointment on the Housegirl’s face and led Patti to her room in high good humour. Once there, she had her lie on the bed while she undressed again and then flung herself onto her, in a rage of urgency, tearing the clamps off. She pressed down onto Patti, feeling the woman’s soft skin beneath hers, the swell of her breasts, the insides of her thighs. The slave, with her hands pinned under her back, thrust back up at Angel with her pelvis as Angel’s thigh began to rub at her clitoris. Angel covered the slave’s mouth with hers and pushed her tongue deep into her mouth, enjoying crushing the woman’s softness beneath her. Her hand reached down for a breast and began to maul it and squeeze it. Patti tried to cry out into Angel’s mouth and she relished the slave’s pain. At times like these, she almost inhabited a submissive’s body, even as she was punishing it. She could almost feel the heat and pain and the submission fuelling the helpless flight into orgasm. And she almost lost control and allowed Patti to come, but realised in time what was happening and rolled off. Patti gazed up at her in distress as she smiled back and walked over to her case. She took out a double ended dildo – an item she suspected would be in short supply at The Lodge – and the riding crop she never travelled without. Patti opened her legs avidly as she returned to the bed and Angel slipped the larger and longer shaft into her blossomed cunt. Then she knelt on the bed and lifted Patti’s legs until they rested on her shoulders before she shuffled her own thighs apart and fitted the smaller shaft into her own moist and eager cunt. Then she settled herself carefully on the clit rasper, took a firm grip on the riding crop and began to fuck Patti.

Penetrative sex for Angel was never a gentle activity. On the rare occasions when she was a recipient, she demanded that she be battered into submission by a cock. When she was doing the penetration she liked to use the dildo as another tool to punish a slave with. And she did so then; smacking her hips forward, knowing that with her hands behind her and her legs raised, Patti was going to be stuffed to the hilt. Immediately she fetched cry after cry from Patti as she rammed herself into the slave, at the same time feeling her end of the shaft and the rasper wreaking havoc inside her.

“What’s the matter, you bitch? Don’t want to come now? Is that it? Want me to stop?”

Patti shook her head frantically, tears making her eyes gleam. “No! Please don’t stop Mistress!” she managed.

Angel grinned and thrust again, this time adding a flick from the leather keeper of the crop to Patti’s breasts.

“Oh! Yes! Thank you, Mistress!” she yelped as her heavy mounds quivered.

Angel thrust and struck again. And again.

Patti came, bouncing frantically under Angel. But Angel hadn’t climaxed and even as Patti lay, wrung out beneath her, she battered and struck at her until she too arched rigid at her peak and then fell sideways; satisfied at last.

Patti whispered her thanks as Angel lay, staring up at the ceiling, considering whether or not to subject the woman to any further torment. Reluctantly she concluded that tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

She clipped Patti’s wrists together through a link of a chain hanging from a headpost, placed her on her back and fell asleep with her head pillowed on her breasts and her hand between her legs.

Sometime in the night she awoke and in the dark felt the softness of Patti beside her and under her. It sparked the fires of lust once more and after a few minutes of frenzied groping in the moistness of Patti’s cunt, Angel heaved herself up and sat astride Patti’s face, grinding herself down onto the passionately questing tongue while she twisted and pulled at her nipples.

In the morning Patti helped Angel to wash and shower, soaping her lovingly and eventually squatting down to receive a golden shower from her temporary mistress.

Angel took some time over choosing her clothes and for a very specific purpose chose a short denim skirt and a scoop necked T shirt. After some consultation with Patti – now washed herself but still naked – she decided to leave her bra off, and sauntered down to breakfast. Patti was left to make her way back to the dungeon to retrieve her clothes.

Chapter Six

After breakfast – and a long feel of a delicious brunette Housegirl she hadn’t seen before – Angel made her way to the CSL stable. It was her last day and there were a lot of loose ends to tie up.

However, she was surprised to see a T shaped whipping post had been set up in the middle of the yard and tied to it was Patti. Her back already bore some pink criss crossing lines from a flogging.

Angel wasn’t quite sure of the protocol but decided that if it were her stable, she wouldn’t want a strange dom talking to a slave who was mounted for punishment, so she went to Carlo’s office where the Spaniard was drawing up training regimes for his slaves.

“What’s Patti’s offence?” she asked when he invited her to sit opposite him at the desk.

“She was due here first thing to supervise the feeding and mucking out,” he told her.

Angel was immediately contrite. “I’m really sorry, Carlo. She was with me and I didn’t know…….”

Carlo held up his hand to stop her.

“Don’t worry. It was up to her to get back on time. I’ll leave her out there for the day and she’ll be flogged from time to time.”

Angel smiled inwardly as she realised that Patti must have known what her reward was going to be, even as she turned her face up to receive Angel’s warm piss.

With the business of Patti’s crime out of the way, they got down to business.

“If I take all you’ve got left, how much discount will you give me?”

“None,” Carlo said. “Why should I?”

Angel leaned forward, allowing the low neckline of her shirt to show her cleavage. She knew that although men like Carlo had unlimited access to as many blatantly displayed breasts as they could want; they would always be attracted to ones that weren’t entirely on display, and she noticed that Carlo’s eyes did flicker downwards for an instant.

“Because you know how much I need them. You know we’re cash strapped. And because you know that if Sadia’s stable is crushed it won’t be good for the arena circuit.”

Angel unfolded her arms from in front of her and allowed Carlo to see her erect nipples tenting her shirt. The knowledge that Patti was outside awaiting a further flogging was having an effect.

Carlo smiled and nodded slightly.

“It’s true that we need new stables. Competition is good for everyone…….Nice tits by the way.”

Angel couldn’t help but smile back. Touché, she thought.

Carlo stood up abruptly and went to a cupboard, which, when he opened it, revealed a range of whips all neatly coiled and hanging from hooks.

He took two down and passed one to Angel, then cocked his head in the direction of the yard. Angel took the whip gladly and followed him outside. Patti’s head jerked up as she heard their steps and her eyes widened in anticipation.

Angel went to stand on the far side of Patti and stripped off the rubber band that had been keeping it so neatly coiled, as it fell, she could feel the way it was weighted. It was a good one and she appreciated the honour that Carlo was according her. They were going to talk as trainer to trainer.

Carlo swung in the first lash and a flash of excitement ran through Angel as Patti’s body arched and twisted slightly. He swung in three more and then named a figure.

Angel took over and laid on four elegantly placed sweeps that left welts wrapping Patti just below her breasts. She knocked six thousand off the figure he had named.

Carlo resumed from his side and wrapped the breasts themselves four times, making Patti rear and twist more urgently. Then he reduced the price by two thousand.

Angel lashed Patti across the buttocks five times and lifted her price by one thousand.

Carlo frowned and went for Patti’s thighs, making her hop and lift her legs and begin to yelp. He laid on six before he dropped his price by one more thousand.

Angel did her sums as she went back to Patti’s upper back, fetching a guttural cry after each lash. She was concentrating so hard on figures that she scarcely noticed how she almost felt the scorch of the lashes herself as she drank in the sight of the writhing figure in front of her, so naked and lovely in her submission to her masters and mistresses.

“Done!” Angel said and coiled her whip.

They shook hands on the deal.

“Is there any reason why anyone should know I’ve hired in the rest of the CSL stock?” she asked.

Carlo shrugged. “Not really.”

“Then suppose we let it come as a nice surprise!” Angel grinned fiercely.

In the Evening Office of the palace in Bahktar, the light from four standard lamps augmented the moonlight that streamed through the open door and windows. The light wasn’t especially needed but the lamps themselves added to the room’s attractions. Each light was a naked slavegirl standing erect and absolutely still, legs pressed together, tied at knee and thigh, arms tied behind her. A metal pole ran up behind her and supported a forward protruding bar at crotch height that had a butt plug and a dildo mounted on it as well as a small lamp at the front. This was turned upwards to illuminate the superb tattoos that adorned each girl’s torso. At the top was the main light that was shaded so that the girl’s head was hidden.

In each corner of the room the motionless, statue-like girls kept vigil. Two of the girls bore tattoos of climbing plants that spiralled around them and were picked out in gentle colours. The two others had mythical creatures picked out on them in reds and blacks, with roaring mouths tattooed on breasts and clawed feet and legs depicted across buttocks.

In the centre of the room was a table, from which two men were eating their supper. They were eating from the bodies of two more girls tied down on their backs to the table, with their arms above their heads. Their navels held humous and from between their spread legs oozed a honey and mustard dressing that had been given extra pungency by having been injected deep into their cunts. Pitta bread and celery lay between their thighs to dip into the dressing and slices of cold meat adorned their breasts.

Even the chairs the men sat on were formed by living girls. In skin tight latex their torsos were upside down in a steel frame and their buttocks and the backs of their thighs formed the cushions of the seats. If the men sat back, they rested against the backs of their calves which were braced by upward-reaching arms of the frames that encased the torsos.

“You don’t have to leave, Peter,” the Prince of Bakhtar said, sitting back and wiping his lips on the satin-shiny black hair of the girl who knelt beside him, dressed only in a hip length, sheer silk tunic.

“I appreciate that kindness along with all your others to me over the years, Your Highness, but I feel that the squad must learn to fear and obey a new trainer.”

The prince nodded. “I suppose you’re right. We’ve punished them pretty well all we can, and for you to return would be something of an anticlimax.”

In the weeks following the shock defeat of the Bakhtar team by the Girl Squad, Peter Lang, their trainer had had to consider his position carefully. He had built the team up into one of the most successful on the circuit but now his own slaves would know he was not infallible and the only way the long and harsh punishments they had endured for failing their owner could be put to good effect would be to give them a new trainer who would make them wake their ideas up a bit.

He smiled fondly; the days following the defeat had not been entirely bad; the punishments had been on an epic scale. Up country in the old fort where the slaves were housed, a relentless regime of hanging cages from the battlements at night, each one containing a miserable slave, had been introduced. Others had been staked out in the sun during the day with wet rawhide leathers bound around their breasts.

All had been lashed repeatedly. All had been given to whichever men in Bakhtar wanted them, free of charge, and the stable had echoed to the sounds of whips and screams of pain and release for days on end.

But now it was over and both he and the stable had to move on, but the image of rows of girls staked out on their backs and writhing, with the sun relentlessly tightening the straps on their tits was one he would carry with him for a long time.

And the strangest thing of all was that he knew that, despite all the punishment they could inflict, the slaves would be punishing themselves even more harshly in shame and regret for having let down their owner and trainer. Another reason it was better they had a new trainer and moved on.

The two men rose and took their wine out into the atrium. As was the prince’s custom in this area of the palace, he and his guest were naked. Peter appreciated the cool air caressing him as he walked across to the pool that lay at the centre of the atrium and sat on its side, letting his feet dangle in the water and with his thighs wide apart. On the rock in the centre of the pool, some of the mermaids who were playing with each other looked up to see if they were needed. The mass of naked girlflesh, gleaming with water and moonlight as they formed sixty-nines and kissed and caressed each other, looked almost otherworldly as he clicked his fingers and beckoned one across. She swam straight between his legs and then rose up to smoothly engulf his semi tumescent cock in her gentle mouth. She used her hands to keep herself steady in the water and no other part of her – apart from the occasional wisp of wet hair – touched him. Under her gentle ministrations with her tongue, he began to swell and thicken. With one hand he took a sip of his wine, with the other he pressed her more deeply down onto himself. He sighed as he felt her throat caress him and contain him.

Beside him the prince sat down facing the other way and pulled the slave who had knelt beside him during the meal, down between his own thighs and she began to fellate him.

In companionable silence the two men enjoyed the girls until, one after the other they pressed the girls hard down onto them and spilled themselves into their throats.

Peter’s mermaid held steady until she was sure he was clean and softening, then she left him, licking her lips, her teeth gleaming briefly in the semi darkness.

It would be hard to tear himself away from this carefully organised depravity, this casually disposed of wealth of compliant and well trained girls. It was pure heaven of a sort. He said so to the prince.

“Well what will you do with yourself if you must leave us? You will not be short of money; I shall see to that.”

“Again, you are kindness itself, Your Highness. I’m not sure just yet…..but do you recall that girl we took as a bet once?”

“The one from London? Yes. What happened to her? She was very good, as I recall!”

“I let her go. Got bored with her, Ayesha her name was. I might do the same with another girl – or go and find her again – or both. I don’t think I’ll stray too far from the arenas though.”

The prince laughed aloud. “What man in his right mind would?”

“She’s fighting out of the CSL stable now, maybe I’ll go and look up Carlo and see how the land lies there.”

“Well, you are assured of a warm welcome here at any time. You couldn’t have foreseen how good that Countess’ stable was going to be, you do understand that I hold you in the highest esteem, Peter?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you.”

“And now I think we should go and make music till the early hours to celebrate all our years together!”

The prince stood up and clapped Peter on the shoulder.

“Sounds good to me!” Peter said, standing up with a smile.

The prince was striding back into the Evening Office shouting for servants. He wanted them to open up the Music Room, the place where he played with the almost uncounted complement of females the palace was home to.

And it wasn’t even as if the prince had to expend any of his vast wealth on purchasing them. His own people thought it only right and fitting their semi-divine monarch should have all the women he wanted and frequently gave them to him.

The prince turned to him as he entered and he saw that a male servant was waiting to hear how the room was to be prepared. The prince poured more wine.

“We haven’t played the drawing pin game for a while, have we?” he said.

There was a desk in the Music Room at which he sometimes worked while his slaves were worked on in their turn. When the drawing pin game was played, at either end of the desk a full packet of drawing pins would be spilled and carefully turned point up.

Each man would select a slave and see how quickly she could gather up the pins using her breasts alone, as he pressed her down onto the desk and then picked out the pins. The first to clear his end of the desk would win.

During a long evening – as this one promised to be – buttocks could also be applied. The music this produced was quite loud; especially if the buttocks had previously been beaten.

“D’you know,” Peter said as they settled back to finish their drinks while the servants set the room up and furnished it with a suitable number of slaves. “I can’t remember who won the last time we played.”

“Peter, is it not part of your own army that has as its motto; ‘Who cares who wins’?”

Peter laughed. “Play up, play up and play the game!” he said.