Lost Property, page 9
The N’Benga arena, like all the new ones that were springing up, had abandoned the original practice of naming themselves under colours – as the Roman teams had. There were simply not enough colours to go around and although The Girl Squad fought under yellow and black colours, it was simply referred to by everyone as The Girl Squad. Johnson’s stable competed under a sort of deep maroon coloured flag but was known as the N’Benga stable. It sprawled along the North African coast and was kept reasonably cool by the breezes off the Mediterranean, so after a light breakfast, Carlo and the other drivers strolled under clear blue skies and with a salt wind in their faces along from the old fort that housed the majority of the N’Benga household, past the hotels and restaurants that catered for the guests and towards the pony racing course.
On their right as they walked was the actual arena, it was partly built from stones recovered from ruins that had been unearthed when Johnson had first started to develop the site. Around it were ranged the cages, surrounded by banks of terracing where the individual boxing and wrestling contests would take place quite shortly. Then just past them was the circus where the chariots would race before everyone returned to the arena proper for the climactic finale. The pony racing course was laid out around the dressage ground, starting and finishing within the stadium but leaving that arena and going across country for most of its length. Video screens would keep the crowds apprised of the rigs’ progress as they went. It was a good course, Carlo had walked it carefully and he was looking forward to the day as he and the others walked into the tack room.
Blondie was standing against the rear wall of the long room, tethered by a lead running from her heavy tongue ring to a hook over the pegs that held her tack. Carlo greeted her fondly with a pat on the rump and was nuzzled in return, then he set about giving her a quick examination, running his hands up and down her legs and arms, seeing if there were any strains or any bruising. The vets would have done it anyway but old habits died hard. He parted her buttocks and peered at the whorled pit of her anus, checking that the previous night’s usage hadn’t left it reddened and sore. He would coat her butt plug with his usual secret brew and it would certainly be sore by the day’s end, so he wanted to ensure it was in good condition to take what was coming its way.
As he straightened up from his examination the two vets entered accompanied by the Owners’ Council Referee, one of a group of men who were now a common sight at events. After their lawless and piratical start, the arenas’ owners had formed a body which now legislated for such things as the length and weight of whips to be given to slaves to fight with, the sort of tack that they should wear for racing and dressage. And in the arenas themselves they decided when a girl was down and out and oversaw the awarding of points. The owners had had the sense to see that as the scale of the investment they were making grew, so the need to ensure that that investment was protected by rules and regulations also grew. The introduction of vets to oversee the well being of the slaves had been grudgingly accepted by trainers and now the earning potential of the slaves was being considerably extended by more cautious treatment outside the arenas themselves, and even Carlo couldn’t argue with that.
He stood back as the two women in white coats gave each girl a quick going over, each vet examining the opposition’s slaves in their respective tack rooms, watched over by the stable’s own vet, to ensure there was no fixing going on from either side. Pupil dilation and pulse were checked and later on a urine sample test would be run. Then the referee stepped forwards and scrupulously examined the sets of tack to make sure that the length of the tines on the inside of the leather strapping was within regulation and that the plugs’ dimensions conformed to Council Rule No.1706 ii (c) and finally he checked that the whips all conformed too.
“Thank you, gentlemen, ladies,” he said when the formalities were concluded. “See you in the paddock in twenty minutes please.”
As soon as the door had closed behind him the day’s work began. Carlo took out his trusty spirit stove, just as Johnson’s drivers did and the air filled with the odours of the various spices the men employed to get the best out of their ponies. The materials had all been submitted in advance and examined by the Council, now the ingredients had been left on the central table in the room, in sealed plastic bags which only now were opened.
While the mixture was heated and the smell of ginger pervaded the room, Carlo began tacking Blondie up, settling the bridle over her head, passing the bit through her tongue ring and clipping the reins to its ends, then tightening the buckle at the back of the bridle that allowed a thick pony tail of blonde hair to escape and bounce at the nape of her neck, where she, like all arena slaves, bore her chip that contained her record. Lastly he settled the blinkers and made the final adjustments to the buckles that held the cheek and chin strap snug against her face. Then he turned back to the stove.
He gave the evil looking brew a quick stir, turned down the heat and went back to Blondie. He took down the tack and began to fit it, starting with the crupper and girth. As soon as she saw him take it down she spread her legs apart and he was able to buckle the girth on then leave the crupper hanging free for a moment. He returned to the stove, stirred and sniffed the pungent brew once more, turned off the heat and moved the small pan to cool down for a few moments. He returned to Blondie and, whistling happily between his teeth, buckled her tit straps in place. She stamped a couple of times as the tines on the insides bit into her, holding the straps firmly and thus ensuring her tits didn’t bounce too much as she ran. He moved behind her to buckle the thin strap that helped brace the front ones. It was kept thin so as not to interfere with however much whip her driver felt it was necessary to apply during a race. He gave her nipples a couple of lighthearted twists as he passed back in front of her, returned to the pan and tested the brew for heat. Around him the room began to echo to the snorts and whinnies of the other ponies as they were plugged and began to register the effects of their drivers’ concoctions.
Taking the pan over to Blondie, he dunked her butt plug deeply into the green brew, then he set the pan down and began to tighten the crupper, locating its dildo at her vaginal entrance and checking that the tines would lie nicely in between her labia then, once that had been achieved and the dildo easily inserted into her moist vagina, the butt plug was located at her anus. Despite her experience at anal penetration, her training kept her fairly tight and he had to screw and push the prong at first until it was accepted and sank into her. Then he wrenched the crupper up between her buttocks just as she began to stamp and cavil at the stinging that was beginning deep in her entrails.
“Whoa, there girl!” he chided. “Nothing you haven’t had before. Now, let’s get you buckled up nice and snug, then show you off to the punters!”
He tugged hard at the straps which came off the base of the plug and buckled each of them to the girth on either side of where it was buckled to itself.
There was none of the decorative detail of the dressage tack, no plumes atop the bridle, no flowing tail, no nipple piercing decorations and no decoration on the leather itself. This was simple working tack.
Hooking a finger through a cheek strap, Carlo led his pony out to where the rigs waited. He backed her between the shafts and unclipped her wrists from behind her before clipping them to rings on the shafts. Then he mounted the lightweight trap, stepping over the shaft carefully and lifted the carriage whip out of its holster once he had gathered the reins.
Between the shafts ahead of him he saw the most famous figure in the arenas, her shoulders were broad but her waist was trim and her hips swelled out enticingly to long, flawless thighs. And to his mind, the criss crossing welts and flares she bore from two days of competing and serving only made her more beautiful. Beside him the other N’Benga rigs pulled out towards the paddock and Carlo dragged his mind back to the job in hand.
There were to be two heats run between six rigs in each. The first two plus the two fastest losers from each heat went through to the final. He had tried to persuade Johnson to hire in Jet or Legs to strengthen the stable at this event but the owner had felt his side were strong enough. Carlo was not at all sure. In the first heat, the N’Benga stable were running a tall, beautiful girl whose skin was so dark it was almost true black but whose features were uncommonly delicate, and a Middle Eastern girl who was the colour of honey and who was hardly marked, having been held back for this event and the chariots. The tall black girl had fought in several melées and boxed in the pens as well but it was difficult to tell how marked she was. She moved very gracefully and Carlo knew a lot of punters would bet on her but he wasn’t sure about her stamina.
Their drivers were wiry Africans who carried no excess weight. Carlo had been impressed with their expertise in practice runs, they didn’t throw the lash unnecessarily but showed sound judgement in urging their mounts to perform rather than thrashing them into exhaustion.
As the rigs emerged into the paddock from the yard, there was applause from the crowds who leant over the railings, anxious to study form. The visiting team had the privilege of parading first and their three rigs were completing their circuit when Carlo and his fellow drivers emerged.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the compere’s voice boomed out over the PA. “Please welcome the N’Benga stable’s entries for the first heat!”
One of the household girls darted forwards and applied a thin PVC number to the black girl’s stomach and right thigh, then came towards Carlo and Blondie, putting a number five on the pony’s stomach and thigh.
“I need hardly remind you of the identity of Number Five! Owned and trained by the CSL stable but running in the N’Benga colours today, the incomparable Blondie, driven by none other than Carlo Suarez himself! Number Four is Desert Night who’s won three, been placed five times and pulled up once. Number Six, Turkish Delight has been placed four times but has yet to win – but don’t let that deter you from a flutter on her! I’m told she’s been improving markedly in training.”
As he had been speaking, Carlo had steered the rig over to the railings and was walking Blondie along it, letting hands reach out to trail across whatever parts of her body they could touch. She was used to it and didn’t let it spook her, she even played to the gallery a bit these days. She arched her neck prettily and lifted her legs occasionally as if she was impatient to break into a trot. Carlo would haul back on the reins and she would champ at the bit and get a couple of touches from the driving whip. Carlo let her entertain the public while he glanced over to the bookies’ pitches. Even as he watched the odds on Blondie were shortening, she was just as pert and spirited as ever, as far as the public could see. But Carlo was aware that nowadays more and more people came to watch her to see the mighty fall, whereas before they came to marvel at her prowess.
Well they would just see what happened today, he told himself grimly.
As the six rigs began to exit the paddock and head for the starting line, the crowd drifted towards the stands on either side of the track, a multi-coloured flock of spectators from all corners of the world, all enjoying the fine morning and looking forward to a good day’s sport. And unlike the crowds who had elected to stay at the arena and watch the contests in the pens, the racegoers were more genuinely sporting. At the arena, the contests would form the backdrop for continual orgies on the terraces, the naked women grappling and struggling inflaming the crowd’s passions. But here the focus was on the performances themselves and Carlo knew that across the world in private clubs and in houses and in some public places too, the images of the races would be being relayed live and heated debates would be taking place as bets were placed.
The track was wide enough for four rigs to line up abreast and the visitors had already taken their places, so, as had been agreed among the drivers the tall black girl took the lead position for the home team while Carlo and the driver who rejoiced in the given name of Holiday, lined up behind. Over a middle distance race like this one, it wouldn’t make any difference.
As was a tradition by now, while the compere went through the runners’ names and numbers again and gave the state of the odds, the drivers dismounted and checked their ponies’ tack one last time. Carlo ensured the crupper was correctly settled between Blondie’s labia so that the pain and pleasure would keep her focussed, just as the stinging in her rectum and the dildo in her vagina and the way the two shafts would rub against each other inside her would ensure she ran as fast as she could to get them all removed, and that in turn would serve her master.
“Number One; Orient, sixteen to one. Number Two; Sweet Dream, eight to one from ten to one. Number Three; Susie, twenty to one, drifting out from fifteen to one. Number Four; Desert Night, five to one from eight to one. Number Five, Blondie, three to two on. Number Six; Turkish Delight, thirty to one from twenty to one.”
Carlo let the compere’s voice drift over him as he stroked Blondie’s nipples into even harder erection than the plugging and tines had. He would fancy an each way bet on Turkish Delight at those odds. She looked a sturdy little thing he thought as he took his seat again, wrapped the reins tight around his left hand and shook out the whip in his right.
The starter came to stand by the fence on their right, the crowd behind both fences fell silent in the stands. He raised his pistol and with a loud report and a small cloud of cordite, they were off. Immediately Desert Night was whipped up hard and the tall girl stretched her legs into long strides and took the lead. Turkish Delight stayed on Carlo’s right shoulder as he let two of the opposition rigs settle in ahead of him. The strategy was to make Desert Night the target for the visitors, give them something other than Blondie to worry about. Meanwhile Turkish Delight who was not expected to do very much anyway, was to ride shotgun on Blondie to prevent any boring or barging. In a heat it was always possible that a team would sacrifice one entry to take out the opposition’s strongest entrant – this was part of the arenas after all and definitely not the playing fields of Eton.
For one circuit of the track they settled into a steady canter, Carlo could hear Holiday holding station just by his right shoulder, Desert Night had opened up a significant lead and was holding it, forcing the two rigs ahead of him to concentrate on her.
“As they exit the stadium it’s Desert Night by three or four lengths from Orient and Sweet Dream. Blondie is tucked in at fourth and looking comfortable with Turkish Delight half a length behind and Susie is the back marker!” The compere began his race commentary.
They veered off the grass track and onto a dirt road that led them out and round behind one of the stands.
“If you watch the screens ladies and gentlemen, you’ll see how the race progresses. The rigs will take the big circuit twice and return to race twice around the stadium track to the finish line.”
They were following the road that Carlo had walked down after breakfast, it sloped uphill in this direction and immediately he could feel Blondie begin to work. Her shoulders strained and her strides became more laboured as she pushed off with each foot against the gradient. It continued at a gentle slope for some two hundred yards before turning off to the left and climbing more steeply. Carlo began to ply the whip, stroking it across Blondie’s upper back and shoulders, just encouraging her to keep on trying. Soon the course took another left hand corner and levelled out. Here it skirted the feet of the hills that stood behind Johnson’s estate and looking to his left, Carlo could see out to sea over the stadium a little below him. Blondie began to speed up, relishing the level ground once more. Carlo reined her in slightly, the track was undulating and if a pony charged too quickly she could stumble on one of the down slopes.
“Desert Night is still well clear! Orient and Sweet Dream are holding station. Blondie has moved up a little and Turkish Delight and Susie are bunching behind her!”
After a straight that was nearly a quarter of a mile long, Carlo knew the track veered left once more and entered its most demanding stretch. It sloped downhill but went through a series of turns which meant that between turns the rigs were running almost across the face of the slope. Too much speed over the rough, hard earth could easily overturn a rig as they had no suspension. However, a bold and confident driver could possibly launch an overtaking manoeuvre there.
Blondie ran smoothly along the straight, needing no more than the occasional touch of the whip and tweak of the reins as the dips opened up before her and then Carlo pulled her back before she began the descent, then let her run on. The pull back would alert her to the danger, but it was imperative she had her head to watch where she trod on the downward slope, so pulling her head back the whole way down was out of the question.
“Steady, girl!” Carlo admonished as one foot slid a little in the dust, he touched her briefly on both shoulders and she leaned back against the weight as she turned right. Carlo leaned out to his right to help with balance and then they were turning left and Carlo leaned to his left, then it was right again, one more left and the slope eased off. Carlo whipped her up to let her know the way was good ahead and she sped off.
“Turkish Delight and Susie are losing Blondie! She’s moving up on Sweet Dream but Carlo’s not using much whip yet!”
Carlo knew there was still a long way to go as they pounded past the stadium and began the second lap. The gradient told straight away once more and this time, Turkish Delight and Susie closed right up. Susie’s driver even attempted to come round the outside of Turkish Delight and for a while they ran three abreast, then when Carlo thought he had tired Susie enough, he lashed Blondie with some strength for the first time and as they began the steeper climb, the tall blonde really dug in and pulled clear. Her back began to shine with sweat. Turkish Delight dropped back but still stayed in touch. He was fairly sure they had lost Susie though. This time around Carlo began to let Blondie loose and whipped her along briskly. Once more he balanced the rig as it zig zagged across the slope with, surprisingly, Turkish Delight guarding his shoulder. He looked back at one turn and saw that Susie was far from finished and that Delight was performing her function very well and blocking her.
