Blonde Fury II

The Arena project started out as a single novel idea – it was back when female wrestling was growing in popularity and SM was generally being much talked-about - but once I had got hold of Tara as a character I knew she wouldn’t be tamed and trained within one set of covers! She was going to take two, so along came The Gladiator and then the other ideas just spread off the main one so naturally that The Prize arrived almost without my realising it. And then of course the whole of CSL had to be developed and Slave’s Honour – with all the ponygirl action that was great fun to write – just had to be written. Then Blondie had to be really tested in Last Slave Standing once Snake had wriggled her way onto the pages…

And so here we are at the eleventh and final volume in the journey, in the company of characters who I never knew when I set out.

It’s very rare that a writer in this genre gets to have any contact with his – or her – readers, but I was always thrilled by the letters that Silver Moon received, with thoughts about the last book and suggestions for plot lines in the future, there wa
s one in particular
who can take a lot of credit for the last three books.
And there was the reader who suspected I was employed at a ponygirl ranch, because of all the detail I went into. If only! Oh, if only!

T
here are a lot of people whose enthusiasm has been immensely helpful, and a lot who probably didn’t even know they were helping, but here are a few names and if I miss anyone out, please do write to Silver Moon and let me know!

Thanks to; Francine for unflagging and cheerful friendship and suggestions beyond count – and one very major suggestion in particular! Thanks to ‘d ‘ for a lot of things. Thanks to ‘filly’ for her enthusiasm. Thanks to Tony and a whole host of SM people. Thanks to ‘G’ who’ll never read this but who was important.

And
lastly
thanks to
all the readers
who came along for the ride!
This one’s for you!

Sophie Suarez is the daughter of the famous gladiator Blondie; star of the modern arenas. But she is trying to live down her parents’ past and becomes involved in the student protests against slavery which is being introduced by the government. Unbeknownst to her she has a half-sister who is already a star of the arenas
;
‘Ace’ or Anna Chatham as she was before she was enslaved
(see Bound for Glory)
.

When Sophie’s parents are killed in an air crash the arena that owns Ace starts promoting her as the heiress to Blondie’s prowess, but
some people
start asking where her half-
sister is and soon Sophie’s identity – although she has changed her name by deed poll- is discovered. Suddenly she is on the run in Paris
, travelling on a forged passport
. She splits up with her boyfriend but finds a new friend in Martha, with whom she begins a lesbian relationship. The two women start work with an Escort Agency. But one night Sophie sees one of the men from an arena who had tried to kidnap her in London and she takes fright and flees to America where her parents had a company that she hopes she can work for and
lose her identity. However,
passport control in America spot that her passport is a fake
, as they are always on the look
out for good looking women passing through
,
and double check to see if they’ve got
anything to hide. T
hey are handsomely paid
to do so
by a local
multi-millionaire who runs a p
onygirl ranch.

He offers girls like Sophie a chance to evade the law by serving him for two years. At the end of that time they can go free if they want. Sophie is horrified to find herself in a situation almost like the one her mother faced when she was first abducted, but realises that aft
er
two years
most people will
have forgotten about Sophie Suarez and she might stand a chance of living a normal life, so she signs up to be a ponygirl
with all that that entails...
.

Her wrists encased in thick leather suspension cuffs, the slavegirl hung before Martha. She was suspended from a chain run through a steel loop mounted in a beam
that traversed the ceiling of a luxury apartment at the CSL slave training stable.

The apartment belonged to Brian Holden who was part-owner of the stable and he stood to one side of Martha
, leaning casually against a wall
,
watching
her with a slight smile playing around his lips. For her part Martha was lost in
heart-stopping
surges of unfamiliar but thrilling sensations. The girl had been h
ung with her back towards her
and now Martha
ran her e
yes lovingly over the fully available and naked body
. Like any arena slave she was
strong
and the suspension showed her athletic form off to perfection. The pads of sinew
beneath the feminine
curves
at the shoulders tapered smoothly into the back which
in turn
faded gracefully into the narrow waist. From there the hips
swelled
out
spectacularly to the sides
and the buttocks jutted towards Martha. They were almost perfect hemispheres and were tight and perky, sitting at the tops of the powerful, long thighs that were parted just slightly, allowing Martha to glimpse the cleft of the lips that hid between them. Lips which, Brian had assured her, would be extremely wet and
eager at the end of a whipping.

And it was the whipping which was making Martha breathless with excitement. Brian had given her a braided single tail whip a
bout six feet long with a tassel
at its end.

“I’d normally suggest starting with a flogger, but I get the feeling you’ll settle in better with one of these,” Brian had told her as he had handed it to her and then told her how to sweep it forwards and to adj
ust her stance to allow the full length of the tail and the tassel to land
across the back and buttocks
or to
leave the tassel to
wrap around the chest or
hips to bite at the breasts or
delta.

“When the slave is upright in front of you, you have to swing the lash hard or it’ll just go slack before it hits,” he told her and came to stand close behind her so that he could reach out and clasp his hand around hers. She could feel his body pressing against hers and in her lower back there was the tell tale hardness of his cock. She was not surprised, the erotically displayed body in front of them had got her feeling very hot and damp and the thought of being able to do just anything she pleased with it was making her heart thunder and her pulse race.

When he had first got her into bed in Paris and she had decided that she could give him some indication of Sophie’s whereabouts in return for this invitation to visit a real arena slave training stable, she had had the feeling that it was something she was meant to do. And as she swung the lash forwards and felt Brian’s strength pushing her arm through the barrier of reluctance and conscience and the tail had smacked home across the slave’s shoulders, making the
girl
flinch and twist in her bonds, Martha knew that she had been born for this. She felt a warm flood of arousal at her belly and her breasts
suddenly
felt tight against her bra cups. She threw another lash and again
Brian
helped her to abandon all
fear
and
strike as hard as she wanted, and then he let her go and stood back.

Now she was some thirty lashes into the beating and the slave’s body was beginning to pendulum back and forth as Martha really found her range. Biting her lower lip in sheer excitement, she altered her aim and her stance and threw the whip forward around the hips. Immediately the slave’s leg
s
bicycled
and her body twisted. The tow coloured mane of hair flung back between the raised shoulders and a cry escaped her for the first time.

“Nice shot!” Brian said.

Martha grinned across at him, swept her own hair back and repeated the stroke. Once again she registered a hit and the slave’s body swung more freely as both legs kicked helplessly and her torso twisted. She went for a third and fetched a loud yelp from her
victim, whose legs kicked
more vigorously
in the air. Martha coiled the lash and went to inspect her handiwork.

“Give it
a couple of minutes for her skin to show the marks,” Brian told her. “This one marks quite slowly. Others show almost immediately. Sometimes it’s the ones who mark quickest who bruise the longest, you just have to know your stock.”

Martha savoured the word ‘stock’. These slaves were legally owned nowadays and the stable could do pretty much as it want
ed with them. The only rein
to total power over them was the substantial resale value of a good arena slave. To that end each stable now had a vet to keep an eye on the livestock’s welfare.
Martha
put her hands on
the slave’s hips to steady
her and looked up into her eyes.

When Brian had led the girl in; her leash clipped through the heavy tongue ring that kept all arena slaves virtually mute, Martha had avoided eye contact, almost ashamed of what she was about to do to another female. But now Brian’s confident objectification of her and the calm acceptance the slave had displayed as she was tied and then suspended
,
had emboldened her. She
, Martha,
was a free woman and this was a slave; a chattel, wholly owned
‘stock’
whose only purpose was to give pleasure.

The slave hung with her feet six inches off the floor so Martha could easily look up into the grey eyes that stared fixedly down at the floor and refused to meet hers. Martha realised it was probably some sort of standing order, so she reached up and took the girl’s face between the thumb and forefinger of her hand, for
cing her
head up. She was a presentable enough girl, she thought. Her full lipped mouth hung open a little as she still panted in the wake of the beating, her ring gleamed between even white teeth, but
there were no tears and the
face was calm and expressionless.

“Whatever you’re looking for you won’t find it there,” Brian whispered, coming close behind her and reaching forward to embrace her round her waist and pull her back against him. “There’s only one place a slave does her talking
.”

Martha’s breath caught with excitement but she managed a husky laugh and took her hand away from the girl’s face and instead plunged it straight between the thighs. The girl parted them immediately and Martha’s fingers were easily able to slide across a slippery, hard clitoris and then up into the vagina itself. The inner lips were the kind that erected around the vaginal entrance itself and the small clitoral hood had re
tracted so the cunt was neat and
every bit as wet as Brian had said and Martha had to resist the urge to plunge her face into it and lap up the thick juice that was already squelching around her fingers.

As she kept working them inside the girl and Brian’s hands glided up to her own breasts and began to brush her nipples through the fabric of her sweater,
she saw the pink line
of the whip
strikes
begin to appear on the tanned skin of the girl’s delta and she laughed in delight as
she saw how accurate her first strike
had been. She could see how
the tassel, travelling faster than the actual lash had bitten into the flesh in a sloping line down across
the girl’s right hip and
stopped
just
at the start of the labial cleft. As she watched, fascinated, and the slave began to gasp and moan as she kept her fingers working inside her, Martha saw the other two strikes appear
and darken,
almost following the same trajectory.

“She could do with some from the other direction to even things up
and make a nice pattern
,” Brian said
. Martha giggled with excitement at the way the slave was treated purely as a canvas to paint on with the lash. The only response from her that mattered at all was what was going on in her vagina, and Martha realised that her cries and wriggling had become more urgent and she was close to coming. Instinctively she withdrew her fingers and inspected the glistening secretions that coated them. In front of her the slave’s body trembled with disappointment and Brian gave her a squeeze and stood back.

“
Well done,” he said. “She needs to know she’ll only be allowed pleasure on your terms
.
Start as you mean to go on and control every bit of pain and pleasure they experience.
”

“Can she take more?” Martha asked.
She had heard
friends discussing watching arena videos online but had never done it herself and was still finding it hard to accept the erotic reality hanging in front of her.

“Of course!” Brian snorted. “You’re only sweeping the whip, not cracking it at full length, so you won’t break the skin. She’s used to taking a hundred or more like this.
It’ll be her shoulders that’
ll need a rest before she’s whipped out.
”

Martha looked up at the slave again and notic
ed the heavily ringed tongue clicking against her teeth
as the girl swallowed
. Impulsively she reached up and wiped her fingers clean of vaginal fluid on one breast and then paused to admire the soft, fleshy ovals stretched just inside the sinews of the raised arms, the nipples deep red
and hard, the areolas
swollen
with excitement
.

“Wrap a few round her ribs and onto those and you’ll get a reaction
sure enough
,” Brian told her.

Martha resumed her position behind the girl while Brian strolled over to the bar and helped himself to a glass of wine. The memory of the soft vulnerability of the breasts stayed in her mind and she started the second part of the beating by experimenting with wrapping
her rib cage
as Brian had suggested
,
before she went back to
developing the tracery of long thin lines across her back and delicious buttocks and hips
.
And eventually she
did get a reaction
from the wrapping strokes
. The slave cried out
more loudly
and wriggled frantically at se
veral of them
as the tally mounted to over sixty lashes
and when Martha
switched her target back to th
e delta, she was rewarded with some
particularly convulsive twist
s
and thrust
s
of the hips into thin air before she slumped in her bonds and swung limply
under the ensuing lashes until Martha stopped as she could see the inner thighs gleaming with discharge in the wake of the orgasm.

“D’you know?” she said. “I never really believed they could do that – come under the whip I mean. That is really hot!”

Brian came forward, his face intent and his eyes locked on hers. He reached out before he came close and put one hand directly on her right breast. Again she caught her breath, unaware of how excited she had become and transfixed by the desire she saw in his eyes. She tilted her face up to his kiss and thrust her chest forward, offering up her breasts to him as his tongue pressed between her open lips and penetrated her mouth.

The bedroom was on the same floor as the lounge, which doubled as playroom and Brian wasted no time in grasping the slave round her waist and unbuckling the suspension cuffs, then throwing her over one shoulder and carrying her into the bedroom at the same time as he led Martha there.

The bed was a four poster with exquisitely carved posts and
Brian set the slave down at the foot of the bed, facing away from it and tied her wrists to the tops of the posts and her feet to the bottoms so that she was spreadeagled. Then he put her in a hood which left only her mouth unimpeded.

“There,” he said as he turned and found that Martha was naked and kneeling on the bed waiting for him. “She’ll keep for if we need her later.”

Brian had left Paris a few days before Martha had been able to
get away to
join him and in the hired car she had taken from Heathrow she had fretted about what she was doing. She could just about square giving Brian
some indication of Sophie’s whereabouts with her conscience, but she wasn’t sure about Brian or about herself. As he had told her about his work at the stable and how it all worked, she had found herself ge
tting more and more excited. His conversation
was so different from the sca
n
dalised and girly gossip which had been her only previous contact with the arenas.
He was calm and matter-of-fact and she had found herself looking at his strong, competent hands, thinking of them working on smooth, vulnerable girlflesh and had shivered with lust. But she couldn’t figure out where exactly she fitted in. She had loved having some limited domination over Sophie. And while she drove, Martha’s thoughts turned again to her lovely blonde Sophie, recalling how she would lie next to her after they had made love. Sophie would prop herself up on one elbow and gently riffle and stroke Martha’s soft pubic fuzz, carefully shaved into a tidy little bush. Slowly the afternoon would wear on and the light and shadows would shift across the bedroom as Martha’s libido was revved up again by the soft, insistent fingers playing with her. And then;