PROLOGUE

 

The stable boy looked up as the young woman entered the tack room. She was well worth looking up for, even around here. Curly, cherry red hair framed a face which was both beautiful and at the same time full of determined character. Her figure was superb, which could easily be seen as she was stark naked. That was not an unusual phenomenon around here; but there are girls who, when you see them naked, you realise that they look better with clothes on and then there are girls who look good naked, and then there are girls who look very good naked and, just occasionally, girls who take your breath away when they are naked.

This girl was undoubtedly of the last type. Her breasts were high and firm, not huge but certainly not small either and tipped with nipples that seemed to jut out as if in eagerness; her waist was trim, her stomach perfectly flat without her looking as if she were anorexic - indeed, her curves were delicious and she had a lithe, tigerish musculature; a thick bush of curly, cherry red pubic hair confirmed that her "collar and cuffs matched", as they say, and also hid her sex lips just enough to give her an air of intriguing mystery even though she was nude. Her legs were long, sculpted, deeply tanned like the rest of her (all of the rest of her, for there was no slightest evidence of a ghost bikini) and she seemed to almost glide into the tack room. Her only items of clothing were her black boots. They were pony girl racing boots, but of course it was already very obvious that she was here for the race.

One of the male pony slaves was standing whilst another stable boy harnessed him up. He was around twenty years old, muscled and oiled and,apart from the harness that was being fitted to him he wore only a posing pouch - a bulging posing pouch, the stable boy noted in envy - and boots. His eyes locked onto the lovely body which the girl was making no attempt to hide. "Urrrr," he growled appreciatively to the girl, "I hope you're the prize for first place."

She surveyed him coolly, her lovely sea-green eyes running down his hard, fit body whilst apparently not being the least bothered by her own full nudity. Those deep eyes held a sparkle which showed clearly that she liked what she saw. "I might not like that if one of the other girls wins," she observed in a voice laden with sexual energy.

"No chance of that," the male pony said arrogantly.

She smiled, showing even white teeth and the sparkle in her eyes was joined by the amusement playing at the corners of her luscious lips. "The way I hear it," she said mildly, "most of the betting is on Hercules, but I'm hoping to pull a surprise on her. Maybe the best of the boys will take third place."

"And maybe you'll be eating our dust," the young man rejoined confidently.

"We'll see," she said sweetly. "What's your name, slave boy?"

"Slave Tony 2571. Yours?"

"I'm Slave Nicky Nipples." She said it as if it should mean something, but she wasn't upset when he didn't react. "Tell you what, slave boy: if you finish ahead of me, you can have me afterwards."

He looked slightly surprised. "Will your owner allow it?"

"Yep. Will yours?" she rejoined.

"I'll have to ask her," he admitted, losing face just slightly.

She smiled. It was a lovely smile, sexy but also good natured. "Then if she says yes and you get very lucky and beat me, I'll see you later." There was a slight rattling as Slave Tony pulled against his harness for a second, but his arms were completely secured and they both knew it. The bulge in his g-string, substantial even in repose, had grown noticeably.

The stable boy, watching all this, sighed. He was also a slave, but physically non-descript. Life for him was a constant drudge of cleaning and mucking out and other chores. He wouldn't even have the pleasure of putting this fabulous girl into her pony harness: one of the more favoured, handsome stable slaves would get that task. Sometimes, when he was lucky, his owner gave him one of the plain female slaves, a work drone or an older factory slave woman, for an hour or two to slake his thirsts (and often those of the female slave as well, although not always). His chances of getting his hands on a beautiful girl like this one were zero; just like his chances, all of their chances, of ever being anything other than slaves.

CHAPTER ONE

 

Nicky Nipples walked steadily forwards, feeling the weight of the cart behind her through the harness she wore. The show of bravado she had put on in the tack room had faded somewhat. Her arms, secured by her sides by handcuffs locked to the leather bands at the tops of her thighs, could not be used to help pull the cart; to move it, she had to lean forwards and use the power of her legs. It was the way some street pony carts were set up in this oasis town of Xanxta, but racing carts were more usually equipped with a bar in front of the slave girl which she could push with her hands.

This race today, however, was slightly unusual: it was a challenge, eight pony girls and four pony boys. A mixed gender race was a rarity: superior masculine strength would usually give the girls little chance, but they had chosen three top pony girls, herself included, and of course Hercules had been offered and had immediately accepted a wild card entry, whilst the slave boys were much more average, reasonably strong and fit perhaps but not so experienced in pony racing; indeed, male pony racing was not widely popular, except amongst a few domineering women. Some male homosexual men might have enjoyed it, but in this society which was a mixture of British ex-pats and Arabs, homosexuality was very much frowned on. So, the boys had little experience of racing or of the daily grind of a taxi pony which made these girls so superbly fit. Even so, it was a tall order for the girls: these boys might not be regular pony slaves, but they all knew how to pull a cart and had spent time between the shafts. Nicky didn't mind that: she loved a challenge.

Apart from her running boots and her harness which covered up not one iota of her feminine charms, Nicky was naked. She was used to that now: after five years as a slave, nearly four of them in the arena performing in the nude weekly in front of crowds of hundreds and local television cameras to boot, she could hardly be anything else. In one sense it felt no different than an ordinary girl would feel in a mini-skirt.

In another sense it was different, in that it always reminded her of her status as a slave. Whenever a man looked her up and down in the nude (which was often), she felt a slight pang of humiliation, a reminder that she was mere property to men. That status was something she had come to accept over the years: it now went beyond physical restrictions such as imprisonment, inability to travel beyond the confines laid down for her by others and more concrete things such as chains and whips. Slavery now permeated Nicky's being: she could not conceive not being a slave. It was a kind of agoraphobia, not so much being frightened of freedom as having no faintest idea what she would do with it. She was, in effect, institutionalised, something which was quite common amongst long term slaves. An intelligent girl, Nicky was aware of it and regretted it (although it did make the humiliation of slavery easier to bear), but could do nothing about it.

Sometimes her mind would wander back to her pre-slavery days. How different things had been then! One thing she often recalled was a party she went to just after she turned eighteen. Normally she had tended to wear jeans most of the time, but on this occasion she had gone for a skirt and a rather short one at that. She remembered being slightly self-conscious in a rather delicious way of her shapely, stocking-clad legs and the tiniest hint of her cleavage which was really quite demure but had seemed rather daring to her at the time - so much so that her mum had had to reassure her that it was fine - and she remembered chatting happily to the boys and becoming aware that she was flirting ever so slightly. It had been delightfully innocent: Nicky was still a virgin, had got on with boys but never really had a boyfriend, with her karate training taking up most of her spare time.

The party was a rare break from her routine, her coach feeling that she needed some chill-out time with the World Junior Championships fast approaching and it had been a really fun night. It had been the first time the rather sheltered young girl had tested the waters of her sex appeal and it had been the last as a free person.

Three weeks later, her dreams had come true when she won the bronze at those karate championships; but then two days later her life had undergone a massive and traumatic change when she was kidnapped and transported to South America to be sold as a slave. She was made to strip naked, her virginity was taken from her by her new owner, her nipples and labia were pierced and ringed and she found out the hardest way possible what it meant to be an arena slave and that she did indeed have sex appeal.

But Nicky was a gutsy girl and she not only survived in the arena, but actually prospered there. Being in an arena match was Hell on Earth, agony piled upon agony mixed with mind-shrivelling humiliation and yet there was a challenge there too, born initially of the animalistic need to avoid the even worse penalties that came with defeat, but then boosted by the incredible camaraderie that can only be created between people in the most testing and adverse of human circumstances and the arena was certainly that.

Sex was another way in which her life had changed completely. Prior to her abduction, Nicky had been a virgin. That had not lasted long. By now, five years later, she was extremely experienced, to put it mildly. At first, again, it had been traumatic, the invasion of her body against her will. Later it was at times a release of tension, sometimes even quite palatable once she could get her head around the idea of her consent not being needed. In fact, it worked the other way, in that whilst her consent was not needed, the consent of her owner was required. After the end of her first season in the arena league, during the summer break, she had met a young man (a free man) and had for the first time wanted to give herself to him. She had had to ask her owner for permission and for the key to the little padlock which linked her labial rings together and formed a most effective chastity device. Sometimes that permission had been given, sometimes not and Nicky had been forced to come to terms with that and live with it.

But now she was half a world away from her owner, and yet not free of his grasp. She had been sent to this oasis town of Xanxta, where slavery and its associated cruelties were as openly practised as it was in the equally isolated town of Corvalle in Chile where she now normally resided, for three months: a holiday, her owner had termed it. It had hardly been that, for she was still a slave, and yet it had been enough of a change to be at least reinvigorating. Nicky had spent most of her time so far naked but for a harness and pulling a pony cart around the streets of the town.

It had been hard, humbling, sweaty work and she had been frequently driven to total exhaustion under the whip, and yet the physical challenge of it had made it somehow bearable. Nicky had always been a girl who had enjoyed getting and being fit; her four years in the arena had made her even fitter and pony carting was now taking her to even greater heights: when not absolutely shattered from her efforts, she found herself bursting with energy. Right now, after a day of rest, she wanted to be here, doing this race: it was a challenge, and Nicky had always relished challenges. He nudity before a large audience, the humiliation of being treated like an animal, the whip that her driver held which would undoubtedly be used on her during the race, they were all minor irritants. Nicky was not a slave by choice: she had been abducted against her will, forced into this life and kept in it against her wishes; but she knew now that there was no way out for her, that she was a slave and would continue to be a slave. By taking part in this race, and doing well in it, she could maintain just a sliver of self-determination, being mistress in an odd way of her own fate for just a while.