CHAPTER ONE

 

There really does come a point, John Sutton reflected, not for the first time, when enough is enough.

I mean, he argued to himself, who is the master here? I own this girl, perfectly legally under Corvalle law. So, I have every right to sell her. What am I afraid of?

So I love her. Oh, how romantic! Let's be honest, does she love me? No. She has affection, sure, loyalty, sure, but it's not love. I've kept her a slave for nearly seven years now, against her will. Yes. She's settled in that life, but at the end of the day it is still against her will. She's like a songbird: if I opened the cage door, she would fly away.

I have other slaves, plenty of them: pretty girls, lovely girls; brave girls too, a whole arena team that has to go out each weekend and suffer for me. They're forced into it, of course, but then so was she. All right, she was as brave and determined as any I've ever seen, but these others aren't bad, not bad at all. Of course, she had huge commercial value still after I allowed her to retire, but that's fading now. The Corvalle public has new stars: they still remember Nicky, of course, because she's the only arena girl ever to win three championship belts, but she's not in the arena any more and they want fresh meat. And so, I suppose, do I. I've enjoyed fucking this girl more times than I can remember, but there are others around. Anyway, I've been sending her off around the world as much as using her here. That was all just dodging the question, really.

Probably, I think I'd still keep her for another seven years, but this offer came in and it was too good to dismiss. It's jogged my elbow. I don't know who this guy is, he's dealing through an intermediary, but that doesn't really matter. He's hardly going to pay that much for her and then turn her into soap. Maybe he's a fan from her arena days who's now got the money to buy his old idol. Or maybe he wants to breed from her: some folks think bravery and beauty can both be inherited. Whatever, that isn't my concern. The Corvalle ethos says that once I sell her, all my interest in her should cease. She becomes the property of whoever buys her, and that's that.

All I've got to do is tell her. That's not something I'm looking forward to.

John Sutton shook himself. Don't be stupid, he told himself: she's a slave. Be firm. Maybe that's why I need to sell her: she wraps me round her little finger, sometimes. No, that's not fair: she knows her place, she doesn't do it deliberately. But she does have that effect on me.

There was a knock on the door. This is it, he told himself. Be firm, he repeated. "Come in," he called out.

The door opened to admit a young woman of twenty-five years. She was extremely attractive, with curly dark cherry-red hair framing a lovely, tanned face. She wore shorts and t-shirt that showed excellent legs and arms with fantastic muscle tone; she was strong and fit, but not so muscular that she lost an ounce of her sizzling femininity. A little pang of doubt went through John Sutton: he pushed it firmly away.

"You sent for me, master?" Her voice was gentle, not soft or weak but with a lovely lilt to it.

"I did," he said shortly. "Strip."

"Yes, master." Nicky began pulling off her clothes without the slightest hesitation. The t-shirt and shorts were quickly on the floor and were followed by the bra and knickers. She had already been barefoot. Nicky stood straight, hands behind her back, breasts thrust out, waiting patiently. His eyes roved up and down her body. She really did have a fabulous figure: the breasts were firm, not huge but not small either, just a nice size. The waist was trim, the stomach perfectly flat. A carefully trimmed triangle of thick, bushy hair, the same curly dark red hue as on her head, guarded her delta. The two silver rings, each a centimetre in diameter, that hung from her nipples and the two identical ones which glinted slightly in the strong summer sunlight from the forest of pubic hair were the only visible reminders of her years as an arena slave. He was pleased to note that the rings were well polished.

Nicky's clear blue eyes faced carefully ahead for a while, but then glanced in his direction. There was almost an impish devilishness in them. She had no problem with appearing naked before him - after seven years, that was no real surprise - and it would only take a word of command from him - almost a word of permission - for her to fall on him and vigorously fuck him. Nicky subscribed to the wise theory that it was advisable to always be keen to have sex with your owner to keep him sweet. But, more than that, she had long since come to accept it and even, often, enjoy it. He was her captor, true, but in many ways also her protector.

Or at least, he had been. It was starting to dawn on her that the expression on his face boded bad news.

"I have had an extremely good offer for you," John Sutton said. "Extremely good, well above your market valuation."

Nicky's mouth dropped open a little with shock, revealing even white teeth. The blue eyes opened wide, staring at him in disbelief. He could see seven years of security - of sorts - crashing down behind them. He decided to make it brief.

"I have accepted the offer. You will be collected tomorrow morning. You can take a suitcase with your personal mementos. Dismissed." He wanted to end this now, get her out of the room. Still, he had to add one more thing. "You have been an excellent slave, Nicky." He had never called her 'Nicky' before, only ever 'Slave Nicky', and he said it with clear emphasis on the comma. But he was not sure if she was too dazed to take it in, as she collected her clothes and, too stunned to put them on, wandered naked out of the room clutching them.

 

John was in bed reading that night, but his mind was elsewhere. He had considered summoning Nicky for a last night of taking his pleasure of her, but had decided against it and he certainly wasn't in the mood for any of his other girls. When a knock came on the door, he wasn't keen on any intrusion, but he called for the visitor to enter.

Nicky came in. She was stark naked and her eyes were clearly red from crying. "Master," she began hesitantly, "could I service you, please?"

John was wary. "Are you going to try to get me to change my mind?"

She chewed her lip. "No, master," she said honestly. "But I thought ... one last time?"

He had kept her as a slave for seven years. Much of that time had not been easy for her. "For old times' sake?" he asked.

"Yes, master."

He relented. Nicky was not devious: she often wore her heart on her sleeve and he was sure she had no ulterior motives here. Of course, she would also be frightened right now, facing an unsure future. A strong male to hold onto her tonight would be nice for her, and a thick cock up her would not be too unwelcome either.

 

Nicky stood in the foyer, waiting nervously.

She was naked. Her only adornments were a leather collar from which a chain lead led to the swarthy, beefy man who had walked her half way across town and a little golden padlock which locked together the two little silver rings which pierced her labia. The padlock stretched her sex lips slightly and they ached a little from taking its weight on the long walk.

Her nudity bothered her only a little, mainly because it reminded her of her status as a slave. After years of being forcibly exposed before men, often large crowds of them and including on a regular basis Corvalle's local television, first as an arena slave and later a pundit on the weekly arena league programme, "Match Of The Day", she was fairly used to it. There had been several months as a pony slave in Xanxta as well and six weeks on the slave island off Florida, too. The number of men who had seen her naked was undoubtedly well into the tens of thousands by now.

Fortunately, she had a superb body, accentuated by her fantastic fitness. Her breasts were extremely firm and jutted out from her chest as if they had a pride of their own, her stomach was washboard flat, her bottom was round but devoid of fat, her thighs were perfection and her legs sculpted and elegant. Dark cherry-red curls of hair framed a face that was both very pretty and also full of character, indicating both her tremendous determination and bravery but also a gentle friendliness that softened and brightened her features. Lower down, a bush of pubic hair was the same dark ruddy colour; it was neatly trimmed into a triangle, but quite dense. Although it was two years now since she had been in the arena, Nicky had never shaken the arena slave's instinctive pride in having an unshaven bush, because after each match a player from the losing team had her bush publicly removed as a badge of the team's disgrace and defeat.

There were quite a few things from her time as an arena slave that Nicky had not lost, not least of which were the silver rings which decorated her labia and the matching pair on her nipples. Although she had been superbly fit when she was first enslaved, it was also the arena training which had sculpted her body, and her brief but gruelling time as a pony slave had finished the job. Having become that fit, she did not want to lost it, and a daily routine kept her shape superb. A couple of weeks more intense training would easily return her to an unbelievable peak.

Her pride in her body, however, was in contrast to her humiliation at being sold. The small holdall she had carried across town carried her only belongings; although she highly valued them, they consisted solely of her karate medals - her junior world medal which had indirectly led to her enslavement and three medals won subsequently as a slave, one of them at world level - her three arena championship belts and four pony race placards. They were all that she owned and it reminded her sometimes that, as a slave for the rest of her life, they were likely to be all that she would ever own. She did not own a stitch of clothing; she gathered that John Sutton had sold her clothes and toiletries to her new owner as a separate job lot. Even the holdall was borrowed and had to be returned later.

The thought of John Sutton drove the friendliness from her face. During her humiliating nude walk across town this morning, her feelings towards him had changed dramatically. She had come to love her owner, accepting his abuse of her as just the way things were and being extremely grateful for the little things he had sometimes done for her. Perhaps more to the point, she had regarded him as her protector, her shield from the cruel world of Corvalle, where she had no rights or legal protection. And then he had sold her, like a worn-out car with too many miles on the clock. Maybe he would use the proceeds to buy himself a new girl, though he owned nearly a dozen already, including his current arena team. Nicky could not forget the good things he had done for her, but she was angry at being cast off.

She was also frightened at the thought of her new owner. She had no idea who he was. The house she had been brought to clearly indicated money, but then even two years after her arena triumphs, her face and body were so well known and admired that her own price would still have been high. Many people had recognised her on her walk across town - and quite a few had availed themselves of the opportunity for a good feel of her body. Not since her time on the island had Nicky been so casually groped, but whereas on the island she had been an unknown, in Corvalle she was a celebrity and so it had been even more humiliating.

A smartly dressed man came out, glanced at Nicky, then said to the swarthy man standing next to him, "you can take her in, Romulus."

"Yes, master," the big man replied. So he was a slave, Nicky noted. She hadn't known: there were no outward indications. He was in his thirties, taciturn and moody. She wondered if she was going to have to service him at some time. It was very likely and it didn't fill her with any enthusiasm.

He took her into a sumptuously fitted office. Another man sat at a desk in a swivel chair studying a computer screen. Nicky felt Romulus's hands on her bare shoulders, pushing her down; obediently, she knelt, opening her legs in slave posture and lowering her eyes to the plush carpet. She heard the door behind her close softly as Romulus left the room.

For a minute or so the men continued to study the screen, then closed the window he was working on and swivelled in the chair to face her. Nicky could only just see this from the top of her vision.

"You can look up," he said in a quietly commanding voice. "I like talking to someone's face, not the top of their head."

"Yes, master," Nicky acknowledged and raised her eyes. He was a slightly built man, with a face that reminded her somewhat of a rat. He would be around fifty and the eyes behind his glasses suggested power and authority, but there the similarities to John Sutton ended. Unlike Sutton's craggy good looks and muscular frame, this man was decidedly ugly and slightly built, though he looked reasonably fit. Men in Corvalle tended to keep themselves fit: with the amount of sex they had, using the countless slave girls like Nicky available to them, heart attacks were a real possibility if they were not careful. This man was the sort of guy who would have to use slave girls for sex, because he would never get a date; but he had the money to buy Nicky.

"My name is Zoltan Drago."

"Yes, master." Nicky read the Corvalle newspaper and had heard the name. Of Eastern European extraction, but with perfect English, Drago was a noted businessman in Corvalle, in particular owning several of the toughest sweat shops that took on older and less attractive slaves and worked them ruthlessly. Thankfully, he had surely not paid a high price for Nicky to toss her into one of those!

He relaxed in his chair. "Tell me what you know about the forthcoming arena league season," he ordered.

Nicky raised an eyebrow. Drago had no connections to the league as far as she knew. Still, he had given her an order.

The league starts in just over four weeks' time," she began. "Normally there are twelve teams, but this year two more are entering. One is a mystery team: apart from the name, The Wasps, nobody knows anything about them. A stadium is being built, but the ownership is a closely guarded secret. They haven't been buying players from other teams, so it will be all new girls. Maybe it will be a theme of lambs to the slaughter, that often goes down well with the crowds.

"The other new team will be very different and they're creating quite a lot of interest. Their name is The Palace Harem Team, they are slaves from a royal harem on an island off Florida. I've actually been to, and slaved on, the island. There are many slaves there and these girls are the absolute pick of them, but the big thing is that they're all volunteers: they are there by choice. These girls are the most trusted and dedicated and they will keep the secret of Corvalle, which is why they were allowed in. Nobody's sure how they'll do: there has never been a volunteer in the arena before, but these girls are really something. I think they could challenge for the title." Nicky's analysis was crisp, clear and well structured: during her spent time as a guest analyst on "Match Of The Day", she had learnt how to present things. It also kept her very well informed.

"Other challengers?" Drago asked.

Nicky reflected. "Tibbett's Tits won by a large margin last year, so they've got to be favourites. The team who won the previous year, The Chain Gang, were second, but I don't rate them: they had a lucky season, they're fading and they've not strengthened their squad. My old team, Sutton's Slags, finished third, but they've bought a couple of good players from mid-table teams and I think they'll be up for it." Nicky found her new antipathy towards John Sutton was leading her to hope that The Slags lost every match. "The Booby Girls started really well last year, but faded badly and finished fifth; if they can avoid the fall-off, they could be in the final running."

"Anything else?"

"As two more teams means four more matches, when we get to the mid-season break teams will be allowed to increase their squad from five to six players, so with three players used per match the players get a bit more rest. They'll need it," she added with sympathy. "Oh, and the experiment last season has been modified again, so each match consists of nine rounds again and the losing team gets ten cane strokes at the end per round lost, whilst the winners get three per round lost."

"Good." Drago played with a small key. Nicky recognised it as the key to her chastity padlock. "As you have probably guessed, you're looking at your new owner."

"Yes, master, thank you, master," Nicky intoned automatically.

"You're also looking at the owner of the new mystery team, as you described them. And you will be their manager."

Nicky's eyebrows shot up. "Me?"

"Absolutely. Why not?"

"But ... managers have always been male! And free," she added.

"Which means they have no experience of being in the arena, whereas you have loads of experience." He leaned forwards. "Understand me, girl: the Wasps are not entering to finish mid-table. I want a top three finish and it's your ass in the mincer if I don't get it."

Nicky shivered. For a slave, such a threat was considerable. "Who's in my team?" she asked with trepidation.

He leaned back and looked smug. "Well, you were right in one respect, they are all new girls. However, they won't be pushovers. I arranged for the kidnap of a high-level British athletics squad on a tour of China. It took some political doing, they don't like mass acquisitions in case the trail gets too much attention, but we faked a coach crash very effectively. Chinese officials can be very accommodating. We went through backgrounds and competition records and picked the five most determined girls who also look attractive enough. I think there's good material there for you to work with. They're all eighteen - anyway, the same sort of age that you were when you were taken. They're still en route here by boat, they should be here in three days' time. They've had no training or induction at all; they've just been kept under sedation, so there are blank slates for you to develop whichever way you think best."

Nicky tried to absorb all this. "What happened to the other girls?"

Drago shrugged. "Those attractive enough will be trained and sold in the usual way, the others will go to the sweat shop or for domestic labour. Their sales will help offset the costs of the whole operation, which were substantial. Now, let's talk about your support team."

"My support team?"

"Yes. You will have four men working under you. You have two slaves, who we call Romulus and Remus, a gym trainer on a part-time basis, and a general manager, Brian Atkinson. You need Brian as a free person who knows Corvalle and can arrange whatever things you want."

"But ... if he's free, how can he be working under me?"

"You'll have to sort that out, but he knows that I want success, so he'll work with you. He'll have the other key to your padlock, incidentally: you can ask him to unlock you any time you need it, but I only expect you to do so for the benefit of the team and he'll note your reasons and who you go with and he will then report to me."

"Yes, master." As ever, Nicky had no choice in such matters. To have her sexual activity a matter of public record was something she was not unused to; in fact, as she had been a virgin when she was enslaved, she had only ever really known sex in that sort of way.

"You will also, through him, be able to work out how the arena in our home stadium is set out, for the maximum advantage of our team." Drago leaned forwards again. "There is one final thing. As you said, half way through the season we bring in an extra player to each team. If your Wasps are in the top three at that point, you'll have a reasonable transfer budget for any player in the other teams or on the market anywhere else that you think will be the best for us, assuming their owners can be persuaded to sell. But if the team isn't in the top three, you'll be the sixth girl for the squad and you'll be expected to do a fair share of the matches."

Nicky's jaw dropped open. She could be made to go back into the arena again!