THE PRIZE (6 page)

Chapter 7

Three days afterwards and in the cool of the late evening the Prince sat at the edge of the big pond in one of the many atriums contained within his palace's sprawling compass. The moon shone down and the incense-scented candles burning at each corner of the lawn perfumed the still-warm air. As was his custom in the privacy of this wing of the palace, he was naked.

He was also feeding the mermaids.

He held out their favourite treats, sticky sweets from one of the markets in the city, while they nibbled them from his hand, their clever tongues and soft lips tickling his palm and reminding him of what other services their mouths could offer him. He patted one on the head absent-mindedly as she swam away back to the rocks in the centre of the pool where she pulled herself out of the water and immediately began to intertwine her gleaming body with that of one of her sisters. The Prince reached out and took up a fairly heavy stock whip lying beside him. He wetted the lash and then stood, judging the distance carefully before flicking the lash across the water in a spray of moonlit drops. It impacted solidly on one slave's back and prompted a
surprised yelp
and a further spray but as soon as she had given vent to that her head dived back between the thighs of the slave she was making love to. The Prince nodded approvingly and moved around the pool a little way until he could get a shot between the widely
-
spread legs of another slave who was tonguing avidly at one who knelt astride her face. Again with pinpoint accuracy he sent the lash arcing over the water and the last couple of inches snapped excruciatingly along the puffy labia. This time the response was a
guttural
gasp of shocked agony from between the other slave's thighs. The whipped slave's head jerked up and sent the one kneeling over her pitching forwards helplessly. Squealing and giggling she slid into the water, managing to drag the other slave with her by grabbing her ankles.

The Prince allowed himself an indulgent smile as the two immediately embraced in the water once they had surfaced. When he was in residence he always had five or six 'mermaids' in this pond. He and his guests enjoyed watching the shining bodies forming passionately writhing groups on the rocks and picking out choice targets for the whip.

One side of the pool which was some ten feet deep was glass and via a short staircase, guests could descend and watch the girls in the water, selecting which one they wanted to serve them at dinner. Sometimes, if it was a special occasion, the guests could choose a girl to quite literally be served to them, the food being served from inside and from on top of her body as she lay trussed on the dining table. But on this night there were other matters to attend to and the Prince reluctantly made his way back through the open doors and into the Evening Office, where Peter was waiting for him.

The trainer, also naked, was sitting and consulting some printouts which had been mailed down from the fort and the arena where the fighting slaves were kept. The Prince watched his face as he scanned the information, tutting about something here, writing a comment there.

"Everything all right, Peter?"

"It'll be better when I'm back. But yes, on the whole the squad's recovered pretty well. Cuts all healing without significant scarring, no broken bones this time - unlike that show last September. That chariot and pony track was deadly!"

"Oh come on Peter, it was great fun. Holding those events in an ice stadium was a stroke of genius, don't you remember how wonderful the pile-ups were, how the slaves squealed when they knew they were going to crash but couldn't stop? How much whip the drivers had to apply to get them up again? And it was a real test for them. The two of ours who made it through were rightly proud of themselves. I think I whipped them myself for a fortnight as a reward."

"Yes, Your Highness, but we came back with fractures which took months to heal. You can't run ponies on ice without special footwear!"

"Exactly. And that's what the sheik's working on. It'll be a terrific spectacle once he's got it perfected. We're all learning as we go along Peter and a few slaves here and there don't matter, we can always sell them."

Peter sighed and let the subject drop. He was well aware that his boss was unlike most of the other arena owners in one crucial respect. The others were mainly self-made billionaires, shadowy manipulators of markets and whole governments in some cases - well able to afford to keep their identities secret. They approached the shows in their arenas in the spirit of competition; they wanted to win. But the Prince and one or two other small potentates had been born into situations where their subjects actually wanted them to have slaves - it was only right and proper in their eyes. So, to them, there was no need to hide their identities and traipse round tedious, clandestine slave markets, they had all they needed, it was just a case of training. And when it came to the shows, winning was secondary to them. What they wanted was entertainment. And as they hadn't had to buy their slaves and could replace worn out ones at the drop of a hat, they devised games of far greater cruelty than owners to whom the slaves represented a huge financial investment. Although, having said that, he had to admit that the sight of so many ponies and chariot teams screaming and struggling under the whips as they slid helplessly on the ice had been quite entertaining.

"A couple of them aren't feeding properly and a few more are pining. But that'll sort itself out once I'm back," he said, pulling his thoughts back to the present.

The Prince smiled over at his trainer. Peter took his slaves too seriously, he thought. But the upshot of his conscientious concern was that he not only had a squad of arena slaves who gave great entertainment, they also won a respectable number of shows and
as a bonus
helped swell his
already overflowing
coffers
.

"They miss their master, don't they?" he said. "Extraordinary creatures that they are. They worship you the way my household slaves worship me. The more we put them through, the better they like it."

"Of course. And that brings me to the new one. How long will I have to work on her before we see if she can win the wager for me?"

"Eight weeks sound okay?"

"Fine," Peter put his papers down on the table and stood up to stretch. The chair shifted a little and gave a muffled moan as his weight left it.

Of all the rooms in the palace concerned with the slaves who were kept there, this one gave the Prince the most pleasure. Even his precious and beautifully equipped dungeons had to cede pride of place to the Evening Office. It was furnished in slaves and they even provided the lighting.

Four of the heavily tattooed slaves stood at the corners of the room, they were strapped to poles behind them so tightly that virtually no movement apart from gentle breathing was possible. From their crotches, squeezing between their bound thighs, protruded small lamps which were angled up at their spectacular torsos, the rods which supported the lamps came off long, slender, steel butt plugs which further encouraged immobility. The slaves' heads were completely encased in hoods which also supported the main light bulbs and shades which came down to the shoulders. Thus a shadowless light was thrown on the decorated flesh and so well trained were the slaves that the breasts could be fondled and explored to the full extent of guests' curiosity without the slaves making the slightest movement or noise.

The chair Peter had been sitting on was formed from a naked girl who had been laid down on her back, her arms had been pulled down and tied to a ring under her bottom. Her torso had then been bent up and her legs dragged down over her gagged and hooded face. They were tightly bound together and from knees to ankles they were supported by a horizontal frame to provide rigidity for the person who could sit on the bend at the back of the knees and lean against her thighs. It was one of the most comfortable designs in the room. To make sure the chair was kept absolutely stationary, from where her hands were bound to the floor a wooden rod ran diagonally up to between the girl's legs. From its end protruded a thick wooden dildo on a lockable pivot and this was plunged to the hilt in the upturned cunt. By standing, Peter had altered its angle inside her, but that was no excuse. He tutted and picked up a riding crop from the low table beside him, then he delivered five telling slashes with it to the straining thighs and taut buttocks. The chair bore its punishment in stoical silence and Peter replaced the crop on the table. Three slaves supported the glass top, they were bound similarly to the chair slave, their hands all bound to the floor under the centre of the table, their torsos bent up and over their faces. The glass top held three sets of downward pointing double dildos and these impaled the slaves' anuses and cunts, making it stable. The weight of the glass flattened the buttocks prettily, into pale, sucker-like pads. Again the slaves were gagged and hooded.

From where he reclined on the sofa, the Prince could see that lashing the chair slave had aroused his trainer.

"Talking of the new one, you might as well use her. Once we get up country tomorrow and she goes into full training, you won't get so many opportunities," he counselled.

Peter acknowledged the truth of this and walked over to where Ayesha was bound. She alone of the slaves in the room was not functioning as furniture. She was laid out purely for sex by having been put in a severe hogtie and laid on her back on a wide bench. Her magnificent breasts had had their nipples clamped and from the clamps, slender chains ran up to pulleys suspended from a bar which ran above her. Weights were hung from the chains on the other side of the pulleys and her breasts were being steadily pulled into oddly elongated cones with enormously engorged and discoloured nipples at their peaks. She was completely hooded, only holes in the leather at her nose allowing any access to the outside world. Her position was a testing one for a girl unused to the demands of slavery but as the hood carried a penis gag inside it, she couldn't even groan audibly. On her stomach lay a jumble of weights and here at least she could react to a stimulus. The prince watched as Peter picked up one of the long, cone shapes. The slave's breathing stopped for a moment as she felt the weight removed, in her darkness she would be waiting for what she knew must come next - but when would it come? She had been positioned so that her painfully arched body could offer its sex at the end of the bench and Peter took up his place there as he picked up a second weight and began to stroke her breasts with them. The hooded head immediately began to thrash from side to side and a faint whine of protest could be heard. Peter lodged his tool at her entrance and pushed forward at the same time as he hung the weights on the chains and increased the strain on the nipples and breasts. The slave contrived to raise her head slightly before sinking back in defeat.

"She's plenty juicy," Peter commented. "That's good progress in so short a time. She's already beginning to associate pain with pleasure." The truth of his observations was confirmed by her body convulsing in blatant orgasm before Peter had climaxed. But then she had four weights on each nipple which meant that she had been fucked four times that evening.

As he watched his trainer enjoying the new girl, the Prince slid forward on the sofa and availed himself of one of its cleverer features.

The frame was simply constructed of wood covered in black leather. The cushions were formed from two slaves. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they were laid face up, making their torsos more pneumatic and comfortable to sit on. Their thighs formed the back cushions and their heads, again hooded, hung off the front. The hoods had velcro straps to hold them against the frame of the sofa but the slaves' mouths were left free. Inevitably, where the slaves' legs bent up to form the back cushions, the frame of the sofa carried two dildos which impaled them deeply. This meant that as a master made himself comfortable on them, his weight would certainly play havoc with their penetrated vaginas. Personally, the Prince found sitting well back the most comfortable position as the slave's pelvis made a good firm seat.

Now he squirmed forward and heard the slave grunt as his weight squeezed her vagina around the dildo, she would pay for that later. He reached down between his legs and grabbed two handfuls of soft breastflesh and squeezed them together then pushed his cock between the two masses, feeling the silky smooth skin caress the sides of his hardening shaft. The tormented writhings of the breast-stretched slave that Peter was screwing were making him urgently erect and after only a few thrusts he abandoned the tit fuck, reached down to the slave's hood and undid the velcro straps, then he hauled on them, pulling her head up and refastened the straps to the frame, either side of her shoulders. This meant that she didn't have to worry about keeping her head up while she fellated her master. The Prince slid forward until he was sitting comfortably on her breasts, then he bent his shaft down and the anonymous mouth below the hood went to work. .

As the Prince reached out sideways for a drink, he felt the slave's tongue begin to swirl and lap at him while she sucked hungrily. The drinks tray was on a bar tied between the knees of a slave attached to the side of the sofa. She was upside down, facing away from the Prince and in a frame which took her weight on her shoulders. Her arms were in a sheath to keep them straight up her back and her legs were wrenched wide apart with the shins tied back tight against the thighs. Her labia were ringed and these had been used to stretch and tie them to the thighs some inches below her crotch. With his drink the Prince took an olive and dipped it briefly into the cunt before savouring it on his tongue while below him the cushion slave slurped deliciously at his cock. The olive retained its stone and when he had extracted all the pleasure he could from it he took the stone out of his mouth and pushed it down into the drink-dispensing slave's anus, then swirled his fingers in her warm and moist cunt while Peter finished ramming himself into the faintly groaning Ayesha who was only just beginning to have some idea of what her future held. Only then did he relax and reward the slave who was industriously tonguing him by allowing himself to spurt into her mouth.