Juliet Esk heard the hiss of the dressage whip as it sliced through the air and felt the burning sting as it cut across her calves. She did not cry out. It was better to divert all her energy into running faster, she knew. Her sister Janina, harnessed beside her, had just received a similar stroke. Like all the girls in today's race, and indeed any race at the Arena, the sisters were running naked except for their headdresses and harnesses. They had nothing to protect them from the cut of the whip, nor from the gaze of the spectators. Their only defence was to keep running, despite their fatigue.

Janina and Juliet, aged twenty-three and nineteen respectively, were of similar build and looks. Both sisters were attractive, tall and slender with slim waists and small but firm breasts and medium length dark hair. Both were already trying their level best to keep the chariot moving as fast as they could. They were close to exhaustion although they had perhaps a dozen laps of the Arena still to run. Only their fear kept them running. The dressage whip is a powerful instrument which can keep a pony girl running at speed long after she is physically depleted.

A crowd of ten or twelve thousand spectators filled the Arena, watching and enthusiastically cheering the games. It was the year 2999. Perhaps those spectators ought have been at home worrying about the likelihood of war which might break out at any moment; but despite their fears, or perhaps because of them, they had chosen to attend the games on this warm Saturday afternoon.

A dozen chariots raced around the circuit of the Arena, each pulled by two young women. Twenty-four girls, their lungs gasping for breath and their hearts beating close to exhaustion, pulled their tiny vehicles with all they energy and speed they could muster, each fearing the consequences if her pace slackened.

The twenty-four girls all belonged to a pleasure house called 'Damsels in Distress.' The 'Damsels,' as the brothel was commonly known, held the contract to stage the Games, a public entertainment held at the Arena in the city of Akkad on the first Saturday of every month. For most of each month, the girls served drinks or danced or entertained male customers (and sometimes female customers too) at the pleasure house. But once a month, a group of the Damsels were selected by Mr Percival, the manager, to compete in the Games.

The Damsels did not consider it an honour to compete in these games. They dreaded being chosen. To avoid being selected, they went to every possible effort to be as charming and pleasing and agreeable as possible towards the gentlemen who chose them for their evening's sport. The manager usually selected those girls who he felt needed some encouragement to further improve their performance in the pleasure house, as well as newly purchased girls who were sent to the Games as part of their induction and training.

Janina, Juliet, and several other girls competing in the Games this afternoon were indeed new girls who had been purchased by Mr Percival only a few days earlier. Some of these new girls had not yet even begun working in the brothel. Janina and Juliet had been seized from the interstellar passenger liner, the Evening Star, when it was attacked and boarded. They had been transported beyond the boundaries of the Empire, branded and sold by public auction to Damsels in Distress.

Juliet glanced briefly, very briefly, to her left, at Fern and Stephanie, a matched pair of pretty blondes. Juliet saw their driver lash out vigorously with the whip, and she saw first Fern and then Stephanie wince and yelp in shock and pain as the flexible tip wrapped itself around their bare bodies and cut across their breasts. Despite being fatigued and close to collapse, the two blondes suddenly realised that they were able to put on a spurt of acceleration. None of the drivers in today's race believed in sparing the whip.

The girls all wore tiny hats decorated with tall plumes, dyed in matching colours. When Juliet had first seen these headdresses she thought they were rather pretty; she had not realised that she would be expected to wear only the headdress, and nothing else.

Each pair of girls was harnessed together with a yoke into which their necks were fastened. The yokes were, in effect, thick wide planks, each with two holes cut in them to accommodate their necks. They were split lengthways and hinged at one end so that they could be opened and fitted onto the girls before the race began, and then fastened shut. The yokes were decorative as well as functional. The wood was sufficiently thick to keep each girl's chin raised so that her head was lifted prettily, but it certainly did not interfere with their breathing. They were all panting helplessly for breath.

The chariots - connoisseurs referred to them as sulkies - were simple and light. They consisted of nothing more than two spoked carbonite wheels and an axle with a little seat attached to it, and a T shaped tongue which projected forward, effectively a long shaft ending in a handlebar. The girls stood, one on each side of the shaft, with their wrists holding the handlebar to push it. The yoke was fastened to the handlebar by a short chain, so that the girls were obliged to run with their arms raised to shoulder height, and their breasts were lifted too; lifted, and thrust attractively forward.

Each pair of girls had been taught to run in step, and as they ran, their breasts bounced in step and their buttocks wiggled from side to side in step and their ponytails flicked from side to side, also in step. Their chins were neatly lifted by their yokes so that their pretty plumed headdresses were kept upright. Their legs were slender and toned. They made a lovely sight as they pounded unceasingly around the dusty track, open mouthed and panting for breath but never slackening their pace.

Each girl had a number painted on both her hips. Potential customers among the crowd could make a note of her number and later request her services at the Damsels in Distress. Conversely a spectator could identify his favourite pleasure slave and watch her running, or even cheer for her if he so chose, as some did.

The tinkle of the girls' carriage bells was also audible to the spectators. Mr Percival had long ago decreed that every one of his girls should have her body pierced in three places. Both nipples were to be pierced, so that a tiny ring could be inserted into each. More mortifying still, each girl had her left labium pierced, so that a third ring could be attached there, too. All the girls were of course plucked of all body hair.

When they appeared in the Games for a chariot race, a tiny bell, which they called a carriage bell, was attached to each of these three rings. The bells tinkled cheerfully in time as the girls ran and their breasts bounced.

It was the little bells, and in particular the tinkling tune they made, that Juliet found especially humiliating. The sound of the bells drew attention to their nakedness. Before she was abducted, no man had ever seen Juliet naked. Now, she felt the eyes of every man in the stadium staring at her. Worse still, she knew that tomorrow she would be beginning her work as a pleasure slave. She and her sister and all the other new girls would be required to entertain male customers, in bed, in the pleasure house. The knowledge of what awaited her the following evening filled her with shame and dread. At this very moment, she knew, men might be watching her, assessing her, and making a note of her number so that they could demand her services. This was, after all, the purpose of the Games: to advertise the Damsels.

It was a warm afternoon. Akkad is situated in the temperate lowlands of Akkadis, far different to the cold dry plateau towards which Philippa Warburton was now being led by the Atkoi tribesman who had purchased her. Geologically, the planet is said to be young, and gravity and weather have not yet levelled the vast differences in altitude, as they have on older worlds. The Arena was full to capacity, and the spectators certainly seemed to be enjoying the display. They were cheering, enthusiastically applauding, whistling and sometimes shouting out appreciative comments.

The girls were sweating freely in the warm air. The smooth plascreted floor of the Arena had been covered in a thin layer of fine sand. This was not enough to slow down the chariots, but the sand which was thrown up by their running feet and by the wheels gradually coated their legs, hips, torsos, breasts, arms, faces and hair in a fine golden layer. Their sweat trickled in rivulets through the dust on their bodies, but still they ran, unceasingly, for the delight and amusement of the crowd.

Juliet felt another sting as the dressage whip swished across her calves, followed shortly after by a worse sting as it snaked around her body and cut across her breasts. This time, despite what they had been taught, a yelp escaped her lips. A moment later she heard her sister utter a similar cry. Their driver was a deputy manageress of the Damsels, named Donata. Donata knew the girls were exhausted, but the crowd liked to see them whipped into a sprint for as long as possible.

A few yards ahead was a chariot drawn by Hazel and Tamika, two girls who were also new to the Damsels. Both were brunette, a little shorter than the Esk sisters, with slim, attractive figures and pleasantly rounded hips and breasts. Hazel was eighteen, and Tamika twenty-one. Their headdresses were pink. Juliet noticed Hazel's buttocks wiggle with each step she took. She realised that her own buttocks must be making a similar display for the crowd, and that knowledge added to her misery. Men noticed things like that, she knew.

Hazel had six stripes across her buttocks. She had been caned two days earlier for disobedience, when she had first arrived at the Damsels. She had refused to remove her clothes in front of Mr Percival. Needless to say, Hazel would never make that mistake again.

She had not consciously chosen to disobey the manager. The incident had taken place in his office. Three other men were also present, as well as two of the deputy manageresses. The men were shareholders in the Damsels. Mr Percival ordered Hazel to disrobe, so that they could properly examine his new purchase. Hazel had simply been too frightened to obey. She was shy, and new to the brand. Until a few weeks before, she had been free, living on an Imperial planet.

Mr Percival had nodded to the deputy manageresses. Hazel suddenly found herself stripped of her clothing, bent over a large armchair and held firmly in place. The two women holding her were surprisingly strong, Hazel thought. Mr Percival had thrashed her with a rattan cane. In a sense, six strokes were rather unnecessary. Even after the first stroke, Hazel was squawking vociferously, apologising, and promising to be good in future, but Mr Percival was not a man who believed in delivering just one stroke of a cane. Six strokes, he felt, were six times as effective. The lesson would be longer lasting and more deeply embedded in the girl's mind. A sound thrashing now would leave the girl with a deep seated aversion to disobeying a command. The rattan was a highly effective educational instrument.

Hazel's six stripes were an added reason why Juliet was running as fast as she could. At least Juliet did not have such stripes. Not yet, she thought bitterly. These monsters were utterly heartless. They had bought them like animals and they used them like objects, just to make money, without a shred of pity. They treated newly purchased girls who had been born free, who were modest and well educated, and treated them no differently to women born in servitude who had never known any different life.

Hazel's driver flexed the whip powerfully forward, and at the last moment tugged it sharply back. It was a move she had practised until she could repeat it confidently in motion. The whip cracked sharply and audibly on Hazel's buttocks and she squealed piercingly, instinctively arching her hips forward as if to avoid the pain. The crowd hooted with laughter. It was amusing to see a girl whose buttocks were already striped by the cane, wriggling and yelping beneath the whip and stumbling before she managed to regain her rhythm.

 

(ii)

 

Across the city from the Arena, at the Maidens of Nenuphar, it was now seven days since Ana had been strapped to the whipping post on the stage in the lounge bar, to be disciplined for the incident involving Mr Granicus. The pretty brunette had displeased him, and her punishment was inevitable, painful, public and humiliating.

Now, a week later, the twelve stripes across her breasts were only just beginning to heal. They were still painful when she touched them, (which Ana tried very hard not to do) or when one of the customers touched them, (which they insisted on doing quite frequently). Mr Bowser had used a chabouk, a type of stiff leather whip about a yard long. At Mrs Knott's command, he had applied it unhurriedly, but with considerable force.

Ana had been naked for the whipping. The spectators preferred a slave girl to be bare when she was disciplined. The object of the Wednesday Night Entertainments was not merely to discipline a girl and encourage her to try harder, nor even just to motivate the other girls, but also to amuse and entertain the spectators and persuade them to part with their money.

Ana had been a sweet, shy young bride, just three months pregnant with her first child, when the secret police had arrested her and her husband. Piers was accused of treason and summarily executed. Ana was branded, micro chipped and sold to a brothel. She was bitterly ashamed of her new status, but she always tried her very best to please the gentlemen who visited the brothel. Even so, her shyness and embarrassment sometimes made her seem awkward. She was obedient, but nervous. Many customers found such shyness quite charming, but one gentleman, named Mr Granicus, had complained to the manageress, Mrs Knott, that Ana had been insufficiently attentive.

Ana could not afford to have a customer complain about her. She knew that. No girl at the Maidens of Nenuphar could afford to offend one of the gentlemen. Every girl tried her very best to be obedient, obsequious and pleasing in every possible way. Ana realised her mistake and regretted it the instant she made it, but by then it was too late. Mrs Knott had been furious, and told the terrified pleasure slave that she was to be disciplined.

The audience had certainly enjoyed the show. Ana was a very attractive young woman. Despite her slender figure, she had wriggled quite vigorously (within the limits imposed by her leather straps) and squealed surprisingly loudly (despite her gag and the padding in her mouth). She had made a very lively display. Her performance had been instructive for the other girls, especially the other new girls whom Mrs Knott had only recently acquired, and entertaining for the spectators. Ana had been fully booked in the ensuing days, being required to entertain several gentlemen every night. The other girls had also been busier than usual. Mrs Knott had been correct in her belief that a flogging in a brothel was good for business. It was especially entertaining if the girl performing in the starring role was already a few months pregnant, as was the case with Ana.

Ana was still bitterly ashamed of what she was required to do (both dancing on the stage and entertaining gentlemen in the bedrooms upstairs), but she was relieved that more customers were now choosing. She would certainly achieve her earnings target this week. Mrs Knott would be pleased with her, and she was therefore unlikely to be chosen to perform in the Wednesday Night Entertainment next week.

Ana was serving drinks when Mr Granicus returned to the Maidens of Nenuphar for the first time since the whipping. Her heart began thumping with fear the instant she saw him enter the lounge bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. Ana was told to take it to his table.

She had every reason to be afraid. This was the man who had ordered her to be whipped. She had tried her very best to please him in bed, to make him enjoy her, but he had still been angry. Suppose he was still angry? Suppose he thought that her punishment was insufficient, and he wanted her punished again, perhaps even more severely? Mr Granicus was a very good customer, and Mrs Knott said that in business, the customer was always right. Suppose the manageress acceded to whatever he requested, in order to keep his custom?

Mrs Knott accompanied Ana to Mr Granicus's table. "Oh, how lovely to see you, Mr Granicus," smiled the manageress. "I was so glad you could come to watch our little entertainment the other Wednesday. And Ana is pleased to see you again too, aren't you, dear?"

Despite her trepidation, Ana knew what to say. She had rehearsed her words thoroughly. She sank gracefully to her knees and touched her forehead to the floor at Mr Granicus's feet. She performed the gesture beautifully. Girls at the Maidens of Nenuphar were expected to learn such things quickly. Only few weeks earlier, Ana could never have imagined that she would one day have to make obeisance like a slave girl; nor that she would ever bear the brand or the ear tag of a slave.

"Sir, thank you for having me disciplined," said Ana. "I deserved it. I am very sorry I behaved like that. It won't happen again. I promise. I really am very sorry I displeased you." Ana looked into his face, wide eyed, hoping for some sign of approval. She pressed her hands together in supplication.

Granicus grinned. "It's all right. Actually I wasn't really displeased." This was entirely true. Granicus had not considered the matter particularly important. He would have forgotten the incident altogether if one of the other pleasure slaves, a girl called Mindi, had not reminded him and suggested that he should make a complaint. Mindi was a young woman who understood the importance of ingratiating herself, both with the customers and the manageress.

Ana made obeisance again, filled with genuine gratitude and relief. "Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you sir. Thank you, sir," she said.

Mrs Knott smiled. Perhaps the girl had learned her lesson. "That really is very generous of you, Mr Granicus," said the manageress. "And I think Ana has something else to say."

Ana was still kneeling. "Yes, ma'am. Yes sir. Sir, I've been learning a new dance. I was hoping you would like to watch it. May I go to the stage now and dance for you?" Ana glanced at Mrs Knott, hoping the manageress would be satisfied with her recitation.

"Yes," said Granicus. "You may. But first, I think I'd like to see your breasts. Take off your top."

"Oh, yes, sir, of course, sir," replied Ana, obediently unbuttoning and removing her short cropped waistcoat. She blushed hotly, conscious of his eyes upon her breasts. They were firm and shapely, thrusting proudly forward from above her smooth stomach which was just beginning to show the bulge of her pregnancy. The bruises were still clearly visible, but they were no longer swollen. Immediately after the whipping they had been a single reddish purple welt. Now they were twelve separate narrow stripes, brownish purple in colour and fading to yellow at their edges.

Ana's nipples were firm, hardened with fear. Granicus reached out to feel her breasts. He stroked the nipples with his thumbs. Ana knew he must have noticed her firm nipples. Despite her shame she looked into his eyes and smiled as if enjoying his attentions. He squeezed harder. Ana winced, but did not complain or try to squirm away. It was still painful, but she was not surprised that he wanted to fondle her. Many men had fondled and kneaded her breasts in the days since she had been whipped.

Granicus had satisfied his curiosity. "All right," he said. "Go and dance now." Ana stood and retrieved her top. "No," said Granicus. "You can dance topless."

This was an added humiliation which Ana had not expected, but before she could reply Mrs Knott interjected, "Oh, I think Ana can do better than that, Mr Granicus. She would like to dance for you completely bare. It's her way of saying 'Thank you' for being so understanding. Ana, take off your skirt too, dear, and then you can show Mr Granicus your new dance."

"Yes, ma'am, yes, sir. Thank you, sir," said Ana. Shyly she curtsied and removed her skirt and hurried to obey, completely bare, burning with shame but determined to try her very best to please.

 

(iii)

 

Mr Bolventor had at last found the former trainee teacher, Roxana Keswick. She was now a pleasure slave at the Maidens of Nenuphar.

Roxie, as she was now known, was uncertain how to speak and behave towards her erstwhile employer. What were his intentions? Was he here to rescue her, or to use her? Should she address him as a slave to her master, or as a teacher to her principal? Worse still, Roxie sensed that the conversation was not going well.

"Roxana, things have changed. Through no fault of yours, I know. But you cannot turn back the clock. Your life has changed. If you want to survive, then you must learn to adapt to your new reality."

Close to tears, Roxie saw her last slim hope of rescue slipping away from her. "Mr Bolventor, please... please. It's horrible here. It's awful. Awful. They make us...sometimes... the customers...." Close to tears, she could not complete the sentence.

"Roxana, I think we have exhausted this line of conversation. I'm afraid I cannot add anything to what I have already said." Bolventor's tone made it quite clear that he now considered the subject closed. But then he said more kindly, "Come with me. We will talk upstairs."

She hesitated. Should she hold his arm like a pleasure slave, in the feminine way she had been taught? Yes, she decided. Perhaps he intended to speak to her privately, to discuss his plans in secret. Whatever his intentions now, in public she must behave like a well-trained pleasure slave. She blushed as he paid the fifteen solidi, the price of her hire. She led him first to the elevator and then to one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Bolventor checked that the door was locked properly. At last he was alone with Roxana. She was very beautiful; breath-taking, he thought.

He did not immediately speak. He cupped her face in his hands, and drew her gently towards him. He looked into her eyes. They were bright, but wide, perhaps in confusion, perhaps in fear. "Relax," he said. "It's all right." Her lips were full and slightly parted and her perfume filled his lungs. He slid his hands down to her shoulders. Roxie was wearing a short black dress which left her shoulders bare and came down to just above her knees. Her skin was soft and silky smooth. Bolventor felt almost light headed, dizzy with the scent of her perfume and his sense of power over her.

Am I an evil man? Bolventor wondered. I hope not. But I am a man. And I will help the girl. I will give her the help which is appropriate. The help which is possible.

He loosened the fastener which held her dress closed. The dress was made of velvety material with a silky lining. Nothing was holding up the dress now, Roxie thought, except Bolventor himself as he held her. He stepped back and allowed the dress to slide down. She gasped softly but caught it just in time, before her breasts were exposed.

"No," said Bolventor. "Let it fall."

"Sir... underneath I'm... please, I... I've got nothing on...." It was not her fault, Roxie thought. Petra made them all dress like that.

"Even so," said Bolventor. It was an order, not a request, Roxie realised. She let the dress fall. The silky lining slid down easily and the dress slipped to the floor around her feet and ankles, leaving her entirely exposed. Shyly, she covered her breasts with one arm and her intimate parts with the other.

"No, put your hands down," said Bolventor. "I want to see you properly." He stood looking at Roxie, drinking in the sight. Her fair hair hung down to her shoulders, parted in the centre so that it framed her beautiful face, with her wide round eyes. The perfect hemispheres of her breasts were not overlarge, but they were full. They thrust forward firmly, with no hint of a droop, as if defying gravity. Her waist was slim and her hips curved beautifully.

When she was a teacher, Bolventor thought, I knew she was beautiful, but I never imagined she would be as lovely as this. I used to imagine reaching out and touching her, or kissing her, but I dared do neither. She could have reported me to the Education Board and I would have been dismissed at once. But now it is different. She cannot object now. That option is no longer available to her. Now she is a slave.

Roxana was blushing hotly as if she could read his thoughts. She was entirely bare now, defenceless in the face of his close scrutiny. Her shame felt all the worse because Bolventor was fully clothed. He was dressed rather formally, in a suit. He was dressed like a principal, she thought. And she was dressed like a pleasure slave. She was naked. Unable to meet his eyes, she stared at the opposite wall.

Bolventor gazed at her smooth, blushing skin. Her embarrassment, her blushes, are charming, he thought. If she had been born in servitude she would not be in this place. She would have been the concubine of a wealthy man.

"It must be difficult for you," he said aloud. "Were you a virgin when they....arrested you?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

Bolventor touched her brand. "Rose Garden," he said, quietly.

"Yes, sir." She gasped, faintly, as his fingertip traced the outline of the Victory mark that was seared into her flesh.

"Why do some of the girls here address me as 'master,' but others say 'sir'?" he asked.

"We can choose, sir," she replied. "We are told that either is acceptable. It depends on the girl, and the wishes of the gentleman."

"Then I think it is better that you address me as 'master.' Several of the other girls do."

"Yes, master," said Roxie. This was the answer to her unspoken question. She was to speak and behave towards him as a slave to her master, or as a pleasure slave to her client, but never as a colleague or employee or friend.

He cupped her face in his hands again. "Master..." she began softly, but he kissed her on the lips and silenced her words. He moved one hand behind her head, tightly clenching a fistful of her hair and pressing his mouth to her full lips. He squeezed her breast with his other hand and massaged her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She arched her back slightly, thrusting her breasts forward and softly, quietly whispered, "Master...oh!"

He moved his hand down to her vagina and stroked her labia. "Oh!" she whispered again. Roxie was moist, he noticed. He inserted his fingers deeper, sliding them in and out of her warm, moist vagina. She made several little mewling, whimpering noises.

"You're a slave now," he said. "Your body responds like a slave's."

"Yes, master," Roxie whispered quietly. She closed her eyes, crimson with shame.

Bolventor took her firmly by the upper arm and said, "Come here."

He pushed her gently down on to the bed. The beds at the Maidens were firm, as in most pleasure houses. They are not intended for sleeping on. She looked up at him, quietly, unresisting, but wide eyed as he unfastened his belt and trousers.