Chapter 1:
“According to the laws of Haven you are all adults,” the Tournament Mistress began, her lilting alto voice audible to the dozens of men and women in the hall, “You graduated from your Juvenile Centers months ago, moved into temporary housing and at least registered for your Advanced Studies even if your classes have not yet begun. You have all the privileges due to adult citizens and all the responsibilities. If you had committed a crime on your way to the Arena today, you would have been punished as an adult.”
The Mistress paused and walked away from her podium, towards the first row of participants. She was a large woman, both tall and broad and nearly two decades older than her audience. She was still attractive, however, moving with a grace that belied her weight, like a dancer or gymnast. It was obvious most of her girth did not come from fat.
“However, you have not yet fully entered into adult society, have not yet earned that badge that all true men and women on Haven have…until today. Today you participate in your First Mating Tournament. Today, you enter as one, as a single entity, but will leave as part of a pair.”
Clara felt a chill run down her spine. This was it. Today was The Day she had been waiting for all her life! Her hands quivered as she pushed her long, red hair from her eyes. One of the people in this very room would be her first Partner! It was hard not to stare at them, to try and find the one that appealed to her more, to scheme to make that one hers.
“Of course,” The Tournament Mistress continued, “Today we will do more than pick your first mate. We will determine your position within the relationship. Will you be dominant or submissive? To that end, please put on the golden collar that was given to you.”
Clara fingered the thin band of metal on the table in front of her. For something that could change her life forever, it was incredibly small, a centimeter wide and no more than two or three millimeters thick. It was something she could end up wearing for a few hours or for the rest of her life. For some reason, she couldn’t make herself put it around her neck.
“Oh come now,” the Mistress said disapprovingly, addressing the score or more who, like Clara, were hesitating, “There is nothing to be afraid of. It is only inert metal until it’s activated, after all. And the method of activation is…quite pleasant. The half of you which get to experience it might consider yourselves the lucky ones at the end.” Her hand went to her own throat, and for the first time, Clara noticed that she too was wearing a golden collar.
The Tournament Mistress was a submissive?! Clara was stunned. How was that possible? Was her Dom male or female? How did they possibly subdue her? Clara guessed that little of the larger woman’s bulk was fat, making her a dangerous woman to try and control. Had her Dom actually managed to outwrestle her? Had he or she tricked her into a vulnerable position? Expertly used some kind of martial arts move? It seemed hard to imagine.
“Doesn’t it…doesn’t it bother you?” a male voice said from a few rows behind Clara, “To be forced to obey? To…to lose control like that?” It was a nice voice, soft and melodious. Clara turned her head, but couldn’t find the speaker.
“Rubbish!” The Tournament Mistress said harshly, her cheeks turning red with anger, “Despite the rumors, even after it’s activated, the collar does not control you. It doesn’t take over your mind or force you to do anything you don’t want to do,” the Mistress continued, now obviously annoyed, “It…it bonds you person who activates it, the one who first brings you to sexual climax while wearing it. After that, they will be your Dom, and you will want to obey them. Doing what they say will feel good, in many ways. It will bring you almost as much pleasure as the sex itself. But it can never make you do anything.”
“Look,” the Tournament Mistress said, slowly, regaining her composure, “I was the Dom for my first two pairings. Both times I subdued a cute man, using my size to pin them down while I…you know. I enjoyed being the one in charge during those years, I really did. Having the power to make them do whatever I want was…electric. But something was missing. That was why I agreed to dissolve the second partnership after a few years.”
“Still, I went into my third tournament determined to find another man just like them,” she sat down in a chair not far from Clara, “But then I was blindsided, literally. Samantha…Samantha managed to find a cloaking belt in the Arena. I couldn’t see her when she attacked me from behind. Now, had she tickled my ribs or underarms, I would have laughed, sure, but I’m positive I would have beaten off the attack. Sam’s just a little thing, after all, not much bigger than her,” The Mistress pointed right at Clara.
“Had I been able to turn, to get my hands on Samantha, I’m sure I would have gotten her,” she continued, “But instead she tickled the backs off my thighs. I don’t know how she knew, but that little trick always turned my legs to goo. I collapsed, landing on the floor face first. She immediately sat on my legs, pinning them and tickled the backs of my knees. Sam might have been small, but as long as she got me there, my lower body was almost worthless.”
“Oh, I laughed and howled as I desperately tried to reach behind me, to grab the little thing tormenting me. But there my size worked against me. She was like an itch between your shoulder blades! I just couldn’t reach her. I tried to get my arms underneath me, to push myself up, but then she…she tickled my sides. Every time I got my body an inch off the ground, her fingers would poke into my ribs or sneak into my underarms. I’d lose it and fall back down, then she’d go back to my knees.”
“Finally, I was too exhausted from laughing to fight back. Samantha tickled my ass, drove me wild, had me begging and pleading for her to stop. But she wouldn’t. She just kept on until every muscle in my body was done. Then she slowly removed by bottom, spread my legs and stroked my…my womanhood.”
“I…I had never felt anything like that in my life,” she blushed, deep in memory, “Samantha had a skillful finger, one that knew just…just how to stroke me. I came, fast and hard and it was the best orgasm of my life. And that activated my collar, sending wave after wave of…well, I can only explain it as pure joy. I…I knew right there and then that I wanted to belong to her…for the rest of my life.”
Clara looked down again at the golden collar in her hands. She had been afraid of being a submissive, of being controlled for as long as she could remember, but the Tournament Mistress didn’t make it sound that bad. But how much could she trust her? It was whispered that the submissives who claimed to love their station in life had been brainwashed by the collar. It rewarded you when you obeyed, punished you when you refused. How could that not alter someone’s thinking over time?
Maybe punished was a strong word. It couldn’t hurt you, of course. Intentionally causing pain was taboo on Haven, almost unthinkable. That trait had been engineered into the community from its founding. What the collar did was send negative emotions, like sadness or anxiety when its wearer misbehaved. Haven leaders said those feelings weren’t strong enough to alter a person’s thought patterns, but were they telling the truth?
Of course, the fear of being brainwashed wasn’t the main reason Clara didn’t want to put on the collar. Once she did, she would be committed to participating in the Tournament, and there was a good chance she would be tickled. Clara hated being tickled. It wasn’t just that she was ticklish. Everyone in Haven was. It had been bioengineered into the gene pool many generations ago. It was a necessity in a society that used tickling as its main form of “behavioral correction” over incarceration or corporal punishment.
It was that Clara was extremely ticklish, especially on her feet. It seemed like she had spent most of her life so far trying to keep them from being tortured. She hid them from the other kids, not willingly joining in the tickle games they played so often. She had always obeyed the rules, not giving the teachers and other adult caretakers a reason to administer a toe tickling (a common punishment for even minor violations). She had mostly been successful, though the few times she hadn’t been able to protect her feet were burned into her memory.
If Clara put on the collar, she would be committed to entering the tournament. And in the Arena she might not be able to protect herself. It was quite possible, probably even likely, that she would receive the worst tickling of her life. And if someone dominated her, they would be able to give her a similar tickling every single day. And there would be nothing she could do to stop them.
So why enter? Why take the chance? Why not just put down the collar, walk out of the room and commit herself to being single for the rest of her life?
Because she might win. The Arena wasn’t a contest of strength. To dominate someone, it also took wits, skill and a bit of luck. Clara might be small, but she felt confident she had the other traits in spades. And if she won, if she got the drop on someone, she could be the Samantha, the one in charge. Even better, her Sub could be a man.
Most of the girls Clara had talked to claimed to be largely indifferent as to what sex their partner ended up being, but not her. Clara had always been strongly attracted to men. It wasn’t that she had anything against the idea of two women having sex (homophobia had largely been removed as a character trait from Haven society), but she had never really seen a woman she found appealing. They just never caught her eye like a man of a certain build did, never made her fantasize about a night in bed with them or what their laughter would sound like as she stroked their underarms.
Clara’s greatest sexual fantasy was to ride a male, to straddle him while his manhood was up inside her. She’d be tickling him, of course, hands poking into his ribcage, making him buck like a bronco, thrusting harder and harder. Just the thought was enough to make her wet.
And today, Clara might just be able to make that fantasy happen. There could be no more debate. She quickly fastened the golden strip around her neck, hoping no one else noticed the delay.
After everyone had their collars one, the room settled down again. The Tournament Mistress sat back down and went about the mundane task of reviewing the rules and guidelines of the Tournament. As her audience had reviewed that information many times in their Juvenile Center’s their attention wandered frequently.
Until a large video screen on the back wall clicked on. It showed a naked male no older then the members of the audience, strapped to a flat surface by energy cuffs. His body was covered with sweat and he was bellowing a deep, throaty laughter at the top of his lungs. Between his legs were two small brushes gliding over his testicles.
“AHA AHAHAHA AHAHA PLEEHEHEHEHESSEEEEEA AHA AHAHAH AHAHAAHAHAH PLEEAASSEE AH AHAHAH AH NAWWOOOO AHA AHAHAH MORRHEHEHAHAHAHAH AHAHAH I I CAHAHAHHNNNN’TTT HA AHAH HAH I I DIHIHIINNNN’TTT HAHAHH MEEHEHEHEHEEENNN TO HIHIHIHIT HA AHAHAH HIIMMMMMM AHAHAHAHAHAH I SWEAAARARRRR AHAHAHAHAH IITTTTTTTTT!!!!”
A murmur swept through the room. The males looked noticeable frightened. Clara could sense their dread at having that particular body part touched, could feel them flinch at every stroke of the bristles. She filed the information away. It would come in handy someday.
Clara and the other females in the room reacted quite differently, most of them anyway.
Haven’s society was not prudish by any stretch of the world, but children, as all of them had been considered months ago did not have access to pornography. Few of them had seen something like this. Not only was he bound, but his penis was fully erect and of no small size, waving back and force wildly, like a conductor’s baton, begging to be touched. Most of them could not repress a surge of hormones at the sight. Only a few seemed unmoved by it, either possessing greater self-control than the others, a limited interest in the male anatomy or both.
“This male broke the nose of another man during his first tournament,” the Tournament Mistress said over the howls coming from the speaker, “The other man had him largely subdued and was preparing to finish him off when the blow was struck. It seems our friend here was so repulsed at being the touched by someone of the same sex, that he thought causing physical injury a better alternative.”
Clara was shocked. Everyone had a preference for one gender or the other, just as everyone had a preference for hair color, body type and facial structure. Her tastes happened to run to men. However, the idea of being repulsed by the very thought of having sex with someone just because of their gender, felt wrong to her. Being so outraged that it one was driven to injure that person, to cause them actual physical harm, seemed downright barbaric!
“Haven had been founded as a non-violent society,” the Mistress was saying. “Neither law enforcement nor the government itself will use such techniques, even when it could be argued it would be for the greater good. Intentionally hurting someone is our greatest taboo. I assure you, that most definitely applies to the Tournament. In fact, I believe you could argue that it applies more to the Tournament than any other anywhere else.”
She stopped talking for several minutes, letting the sound of the man’s suffering wash over the crowd, then pressed the button again.
The image changed. This time it was a female tied spread eagle to the table. Twin brushes were circling around the nipples of an enormous pair of breasts, causing the laughter to flow from her red lips in high-pitched shrieks. Any words, pleas or shouts of defiance she was trying to utter came out only as gibberish. A yellow pool between her legs showed she had lost control of her bladder at least once.
The tables were turned now. It was the males in the room who leaned forward, gawking at the sight on screen. Clara could feel their passions grow at each flick of the brush and every gyration of the suffering woman’s hips. She and the other females could feel nothing but sympathy at the poor woman’s fate.
“This one tried to sneak Tranquilizer Patches into the Arena. I won’t tell you where she tried to hide them, but it was a dark, wet place normally only seen by a physician. They were detected quite easily by the automatic sensors.”
“HE EHEHEHEHEHEHEHE BUUTTTTHE EHEHEHEH BUUTTUTUT EH EHEHEHEHEHEHE NAWWOWOWOO NIIPPPPPLEEEEEEE EH EH EHEEEHEH JUUHUHUHUSSSTTT AH EHEHEHEHEHE WWHAHAHAHNNTTEEEDD EHEHEHHEHEHEHE OOOHHH PLEEEHEHEHESSEEEEEE HEHEHEHE JUSUHUHUHUSSSTTT AHAHAHAHHA WAHAHAHNNTEEEDD AHAHAHHA CAAHAHAHAHAHNNNNNTTTTTTT AHAHAAHAH!!!!!”
Tranquilizer patches surely would have given her an edge. They would have easily fit in the palm of her hand, and all she would have had to do was slap one onto her opponent to administer a sedative. Even assuming she used a weak dosage, the girl would have rendered her prey dazed and confused for several minutes, more than enough time to place them in a vulnerable position.
“As you know, there are objects hidden in the Arena, items you are free to use if you discover them. It is possible that Tranquilizer Patches may be one of them. Using them in that case would be totally legal. Smuggling them or anything else into the Arena, however, will see you severely punished.
Clara had to turn her head. She had been tickled before, of course, both as punishment by her instructors in the Juvenile Center and as preparation for the Tournament, but only once on the breasts, and the memory of it was still seared into her brain. She was not surprised to hear a touch of madness in the woman’s cackles. She had no idea how she would have handled such torment.
Ms. Clayborn hit another switch, and the video went split screen, man on the left and woman on the right, their uncontrollable peals of pure hysteria mingling in a weird harmony, soprano and tenor, in a song of pure torment.
“These two will spend significant time in a correction institute, enduring this day after day. After that, they will be re-educated, a processes almost as severe. Maybe, just maybe, after that, if they are judged to be fully rehabilitated, they shall be allowed to enter another Tournament.”
“Today may not turn out the way you hope,” the Tournament Mistress finished up, “but there are definitely worse fates then ending up a Sub. This will almost certainly not be your last Tournament. Take care in the Arena, and if you ‘accidentally’ ended up with some contraband on your person today, simply leave it in your locker when you change, and nothing more will be said. Now off with you. The Arena Assistants will show you where to go. Good luck, , and the next time we talk, you’ll be proper Doms and Subs.”
End Chapter 1.
“According to the laws of Haven you are all adults,” the Tournament Mistress began, her lilting alto voice audible to the dozens of men and women in the hall, “You graduated from your Juvenile Centers months ago, moved into temporary housing and at least registered for your Advanced Studies even if your classes have not yet begun. You have all the privileges due to adult citizens and all the responsibilities. If you had committed a crime on your way to the Arena today, you would have been punished as an adult.”
The Mistress paused and walked away from her podium, towards the first row of participants. She was a large woman, both tall and broad and nearly two decades older than her audience. She was still attractive, however, moving with a grace that belied her weight, like a dancer or gymnast. It was obvious most of her girth did not come from fat.
“However, you have not yet fully entered into adult society, have not yet earned that badge that all true men and women on Haven have…until today. Today you participate in your First Mating Tournament. Today, you enter as one, as a single entity, but will leave as part of a pair.”
Clara felt a chill run down her spine. This was it. Today was The Day she had been waiting for all her life! Her hands quivered as she pushed her long, red hair from her eyes. One of the people in this very room would be her first Partner! It was hard not to stare at them, to try and find the one that appealed to her more, to scheme to make that one hers.
“Of course,” The Tournament Mistress continued, “Today we will do more than pick your first mate. We will determine your position within the relationship. Will you be dominant or submissive? To that end, please put on the golden collar that was given to you.”
Clara fingered the thin band of metal on the table in front of her. For something that could change her life forever, it was incredibly small, a centimeter wide and no more than two or three millimeters thick. It was something she could end up wearing for a few hours or for the rest of her life. For some reason, she couldn’t make herself put it around her neck.
“Oh come now,” the Mistress said disapprovingly, addressing the score or more who, like Clara, were hesitating, “There is nothing to be afraid of. It is only inert metal until it’s activated, after all. And the method of activation is…quite pleasant. The half of you which get to experience it might consider yourselves the lucky ones at the end.” Her hand went to her own throat, and for the first time, Clara noticed that she too was wearing a golden collar.
The Tournament Mistress was a submissive?! Clara was stunned. How was that possible? Was her Dom male or female? How did they possibly subdue her? Clara guessed that little of the larger woman’s bulk was fat, making her a dangerous woman to try and control. Had her Dom actually managed to outwrestle her? Had he or she tricked her into a vulnerable position? Expertly used some kind of martial arts move? It seemed hard to imagine.
“Doesn’t it…doesn’t it bother you?” a male voice said from a few rows behind Clara, “To be forced to obey? To…to lose control like that?” It was a nice voice, soft and melodious. Clara turned her head, but couldn’t find the speaker.
“Rubbish!” The Tournament Mistress said harshly, her cheeks turning red with anger, “Despite the rumors, even after it’s activated, the collar does not control you. It doesn’t take over your mind or force you to do anything you don’t want to do,” the Mistress continued, now obviously annoyed, “It…it bonds you person who activates it, the one who first brings you to sexual climax while wearing it. After that, they will be your Dom, and you will want to obey them. Doing what they say will feel good, in many ways. It will bring you almost as much pleasure as the sex itself. But it can never make you do anything.”
“Look,” the Tournament Mistress said, slowly, regaining her composure, “I was the Dom for my first two pairings. Both times I subdued a cute man, using my size to pin them down while I…you know. I enjoyed being the one in charge during those years, I really did. Having the power to make them do whatever I want was…electric. But something was missing. That was why I agreed to dissolve the second partnership after a few years.”
“Still, I went into my third tournament determined to find another man just like them,” she sat down in a chair not far from Clara, “But then I was blindsided, literally. Samantha…Samantha managed to find a cloaking belt in the Arena. I couldn’t see her when she attacked me from behind. Now, had she tickled my ribs or underarms, I would have laughed, sure, but I’m positive I would have beaten off the attack. Sam’s just a little thing, after all, not much bigger than her,” The Mistress pointed right at Clara.
“Had I been able to turn, to get my hands on Samantha, I’m sure I would have gotten her,” she continued, “But instead she tickled the backs off my thighs. I don’t know how she knew, but that little trick always turned my legs to goo. I collapsed, landing on the floor face first. She immediately sat on my legs, pinning them and tickled the backs of my knees. Sam might have been small, but as long as she got me there, my lower body was almost worthless.”
“Oh, I laughed and howled as I desperately tried to reach behind me, to grab the little thing tormenting me. But there my size worked against me. She was like an itch between your shoulder blades! I just couldn’t reach her. I tried to get my arms underneath me, to push myself up, but then she…she tickled my sides. Every time I got my body an inch off the ground, her fingers would poke into my ribs or sneak into my underarms. I’d lose it and fall back down, then she’d go back to my knees.”
“Finally, I was too exhausted from laughing to fight back. Samantha tickled my ass, drove me wild, had me begging and pleading for her to stop. But she wouldn’t. She just kept on until every muscle in my body was done. Then she slowly removed by bottom, spread my legs and stroked my…my womanhood.”
“I…I had never felt anything like that in my life,” she blushed, deep in memory, “Samantha had a skillful finger, one that knew just…just how to stroke me. I came, fast and hard and it was the best orgasm of my life. And that activated my collar, sending wave after wave of…well, I can only explain it as pure joy. I…I knew right there and then that I wanted to belong to her…for the rest of my life.”
Clara looked down again at the golden collar in her hands. She had been afraid of being a submissive, of being controlled for as long as she could remember, but the Tournament Mistress didn’t make it sound that bad. But how much could she trust her? It was whispered that the submissives who claimed to love their station in life had been brainwashed by the collar. It rewarded you when you obeyed, punished you when you refused. How could that not alter someone’s thinking over time?
Maybe punished was a strong word. It couldn’t hurt you, of course. Intentionally causing pain was taboo on Haven, almost unthinkable. That trait had been engineered into the community from its founding. What the collar did was send negative emotions, like sadness or anxiety when its wearer misbehaved. Haven leaders said those feelings weren’t strong enough to alter a person’s thought patterns, but were they telling the truth?
Of course, the fear of being brainwashed wasn’t the main reason Clara didn’t want to put on the collar. Once she did, she would be committed to participating in the Tournament, and there was a good chance she would be tickled. Clara hated being tickled. It wasn’t just that she was ticklish. Everyone in Haven was. It had been bioengineered into the gene pool many generations ago. It was a necessity in a society that used tickling as its main form of “behavioral correction” over incarceration or corporal punishment.
It was that Clara was extremely ticklish, especially on her feet. It seemed like she had spent most of her life so far trying to keep them from being tortured. She hid them from the other kids, not willingly joining in the tickle games they played so often. She had always obeyed the rules, not giving the teachers and other adult caretakers a reason to administer a toe tickling (a common punishment for even minor violations). She had mostly been successful, though the few times she hadn’t been able to protect her feet were burned into her memory.
If Clara put on the collar, she would be committed to entering the tournament. And in the Arena she might not be able to protect herself. It was quite possible, probably even likely, that she would receive the worst tickling of her life. And if someone dominated her, they would be able to give her a similar tickling every single day. And there would be nothing she could do to stop them.
So why enter? Why take the chance? Why not just put down the collar, walk out of the room and commit herself to being single for the rest of her life?
Because she might win. The Arena wasn’t a contest of strength. To dominate someone, it also took wits, skill and a bit of luck. Clara might be small, but she felt confident she had the other traits in spades. And if she won, if she got the drop on someone, she could be the Samantha, the one in charge. Even better, her Sub could be a man.
Most of the girls Clara had talked to claimed to be largely indifferent as to what sex their partner ended up being, but not her. Clara had always been strongly attracted to men. It wasn’t that she had anything against the idea of two women having sex (homophobia had largely been removed as a character trait from Haven society), but she had never really seen a woman she found appealing. They just never caught her eye like a man of a certain build did, never made her fantasize about a night in bed with them or what their laughter would sound like as she stroked their underarms.
Clara’s greatest sexual fantasy was to ride a male, to straddle him while his manhood was up inside her. She’d be tickling him, of course, hands poking into his ribcage, making him buck like a bronco, thrusting harder and harder. Just the thought was enough to make her wet.
And today, Clara might just be able to make that fantasy happen. There could be no more debate. She quickly fastened the golden strip around her neck, hoping no one else noticed the delay.
After everyone had their collars one, the room settled down again. The Tournament Mistress sat back down and went about the mundane task of reviewing the rules and guidelines of the Tournament. As her audience had reviewed that information many times in their Juvenile Center’s their attention wandered frequently.
Until a large video screen on the back wall clicked on. It showed a naked male no older then the members of the audience, strapped to a flat surface by energy cuffs. His body was covered with sweat and he was bellowing a deep, throaty laughter at the top of his lungs. Between his legs were two small brushes gliding over his testicles.
“AHA AHAHAHA AHAHA PLEEHEHEHEHESSEEEEEA AHA AHAHAH AHAHAAHAHAH PLEEAASSEE AH AHAHAH AH NAWWOOOO AHA AHAHAH MORRHEHEHAHAHAHAH AHAHAH I I CAHAHAHHNNNN’TTT HA AHAH HAH I I DIHIHIINNNN’TTT HAHAHH MEEHEHEHEHEEENNN TO HIHIHIHIT HA AHAHAH HIIMMMMMM AHAHAHAHAHAH I SWEAAARARRRR AHAHAHAHAH IITTTTTTTTT!!!!”
A murmur swept through the room. The males looked noticeable frightened. Clara could sense their dread at having that particular body part touched, could feel them flinch at every stroke of the bristles. She filed the information away. It would come in handy someday.
Clara and the other females in the room reacted quite differently, most of them anyway.
Haven’s society was not prudish by any stretch of the world, but children, as all of them had been considered months ago did not have access to pornography. Few of them had seen something like this. Not only was he bound, but his penis was fully erect and of no small size, waving back and force wildly, like a conductor’s baton, begging to be touched. Most of them could not repress a surge of hormones at the sight. Only a few seemed unmoved by it, either possessing greater self-control than the others, a limited interest in the male anatomy or both.
“This male broke the nose of another man during his first tournament,” the Tournament Mistress said over the howls coming from the speaker, “The other man had him largely subdued and was preparing to finish him off when the blow was struck. It seems our friend here was so repulsed at being the touched by someone of the same sex, that he thought causing physical injury a better alternative.”
Clara was shocked. Everyone had a preference for one gender or the other, just as everyone had a preference for hair color, body type and facial structure. Her tastes happened to run to men. However, the idea of being repulsed by the very thought of having sex with someone just because of their gender, felt wrong to her. Being so outraged that it one was driven to injure that person, to cause them actual physical harm, seemed downright barbaric!
“Haven had been founded as a non-violent society,” the Mistress was saying. “Neither law enforcement nor the government itself will use such techniques, even when it could be argued it would be for the greater good. Intentionally hurting someone is our greatest taboo. I assure you, that most definitely applies to the Tournament. In fact, I believe you could argue that it applies more to the Tournament than any other anywhere else.”
She stopped talking for several minutes, letting the sound of the man’s suffering wash over the crowd, then pressed the button again.
The image changed. This time it was a female tied spread eagle to the table. Twin brushes were circling around the nipples of an enormous pair of breasts, causing the laughter to flow from her red lips in high-pitched shrieks. Any words, pleas or shouts of defiance she was trying to utter came out only as gibberish. A yellow pool between her legs showed she had lost control of her bladder at least once.
The tables were turned now. It was the males in the room who leaned forward, gawking at the sight on screen. Clara could feel their passions grow at each flick of the brush and every gyration of the suffering woman’s hips. She and the other females could feel nothing but sympathy at the poor woman’s fate.
“This one tried to sneak Tranquilizer Patches into the Arena. I won’t tell you where she tried to hide them, but it was a dark, wet place normally only seen by a physician. They were detected quite easily by the automatic sensors.”
“HE EHEHEHEHEHEHEHE BUUTTTTHE EHEHEHEH BUUTTUTUT EH EHEHEHEHEHEHE NAWWOWOWOO NIIPPPPPLEEEEEEE EH EH EHEEEHEH JUUHUHUHUSSSTTT AH EHEHEHEHEHE WWHAHAHAHNNTTEEEDD EHEHEHHEHEHEHE OOOHHH PLEEEHEHEHESSEEEEEE HEHEHEHE JUSUHUHUHUSSSTTT AHAHAHAHHA WAHAHAHNNTEEEDD AHAHAHHA CAAHAHAHAHAHNNNNNTTTTTTT AHAHAAHAH!!!!!”
Tranquilizer patches surely would have given her an edge. They would have easily fit in the palm of her hand, and all she would have had to do was slap one onto her opponent to administer a sedative. Even assuming she used a weak dosage, the girl would have rendered her prey dazed and confused for several minutes, more than enough time to place them in a vulnerable position.
“As you know, there are objects hidden in the Arena, items you are free to use if you discover them. It is possible that Tranquilizer Patches may be one of them. Using them in that case would be totally legal. Smuggling them or anything else into the Arena, however, will see you severely punished.
Clara had to turn her head. She had been tickled before, of course, both as punishment by her instructors in the Juvenile Center and as preparation for the Tournament, but only once on the breasts, and the memory of it was still seared into her brain. She was not surprised to hear a touch of madness in the woman’s cackles. She had no idea how she would have handled such torment.
Ms. Clayborn hit another switch, and the video went split screen, man on the left and woman on the right, their uncontrollable peals of pure hysteria mingling in a weird harmony, soprano and tenor, in a song of pure torment.
“These two will spend significant time in a correction institute, enduring this day after day. After that, they will be re-educated, a processes almost as severe. Maybe, just maybe, after that, if they are judged to be fully rehabilitated, they shall be allowed to enter another Tournament.”
“Today may not turn out the way you hope,” the Tournament Mistress finished up, “but there are definitely worse fates then ending up a Sub. This will almost certainly not be your last Tournament. Take care in the Arena, and if you ‘accidentally’ ended up with some contraband on your person today, simply leave it in your locker when you change, and nothing more will be said. Now off with you. The Arena Assistants will show you where to go. Good luck, , and the next time we talk, you’ll be proper Doms and Subs.”
End Chapter 1.
