Pam-Ann

by Lindsey Brooks

  “Tania,” the blonde mistress said.

  Pam had been unaware Tania was close behind her. The shock of the slave’s fingers thrusting into her sex made her jerk forward. Her mouth met the swells of Persephone’s pussy-lips and the blonde’s hand abruptly gripping the back of her head held it there. Sex quivering, belly churning and head spinning, Pam accepted her fate. She pushed out her tongue and began to lick. It was horrid, nauseating, or it should have been. But the drug was doing its work. With her hurts a reminder of the penalty for failing to please the cruel mistress, she lapped and flicked her tongue on Persephone’s bud, nibbled with her lips and drew on it until it was firm and elongated and the blonde was sighing her pleasure.

  “Pussy now,” Persephone said breathlessly, apparently as heedless of those watching her as Pam was acutely conscious of their presence. Yet she dared not refuse. The drug did not seem to affect her feelings, only the sensitivity of her body. She cringed at her shameful submission as she slipped her tongue between the blonde’s swollen inner-lips and tasted the ripe tang of what she had only smelled before. Persephone moaned and undulated her belly, pushing harder. “Deeper,” she urged, hips moving rhythmically, and as Pam thrust her tongue further a spill of juices flowed over it and into her mouth. The hand on her head pulled harder, the hips moved faster and Persephone gasped and panted, grinding her pussy on Pam’s lips and drenching them with the dew of her climax.

  The blonde’s grip relaxed. Pam wanted to draw back but remembered in time that she was not to stop until she was told. Her pussy tingled alarmingly from the friction of Tania’s fingers. Clearly the girl had been given the same order. Once again, only Pam’s years of habitually controlling her emotions gave her the strength to continue. With Persephone’s flavour filling her mouth and her stomach close to rebelling each time she had to swallow, she repeated her degrading service a second time. The result was the same for both of them.

  As Persephone sprawled panting across the bed a loud tap sounded on the door.

  “Open it, Eve,” she said.

  Freed at last from the handcuffs and the slave girl’s teasing touch, Pam lifted her bowed head. Drake stood in the doorway, surveying the scene impassively with narrowed eyes. Her sex gave a wriggle, swamped immediately by her overwhelming humiliation as his glance passed quickly over Persephone and fixed on her own kneeling figure. Pam’s cheeks flamed and she turned her wet, smeared face away.

  “Time’s up,” he said. “You had better be finished.”

  Persephone’s laugh tinkled. “For now, darling. Unless you want to join me.” She seemed indifferent that she was naked in the man’s presence.

  Drake pulled Pam to her feet. Startling, horrifying heat flowed across her skin and continued all the way to her prickling sex. The blonde rose, took the towel Milly held out and rubbed it over her sweat-run breasts and down her smooth belly. She raised a hand in mock salute.

  “Carry on, Lieutenant,” she said in obvious imitation of the Commodore, and smiled in Pam’s direction. “Go along. I’ll be there shortly to watch your performance.”

  *

  Drake stopped on the way back to the saloon and handed Ann his handkerchief. “Wipe your face.”

  Pink-cheeked and panting she wiped off Persephone’s juices. He eyed the fiery tracks across her breasts and tried to ignore the sensation that stirred in his loins.

  “I didn’t want to,” she said hoarsely, handing the handkerchief back.

  Drake knew Persephone’s ways. He was well aware the girl had been forced, but her attempt to excuse her behaviour was unusual for one of That Kind. “Call me ‘Sir’.” He reached a hand towards her face and she shied from it. “Your lipstick is smeared. Keep still.” He wiped his fingertip along the edge of her trembling upper lip. The rich aroma of female arousal filled his nostrils. Ann had looked so appealingly helpless trapped between Persephone’s thighs with Tania fingering her from behind. She had seemed to be enjoying it too, though her tits must have been burning at the same time. They would be still, but there was nothing he could do about that for now. He took her arm again.

  The tables in the saloon were filled with people. Dinner was being served. The murmur of conversation faded and every head turned towards them. Drake saw Ann’s cheeks turn deeper red and she put a hand before her sex as he led her to the stage’s high step. He could feel her shivering. She had good reason to be afraid.

  “She’s all yours, Bosun,” Drake said, half-dragging Ann to the broad, thickset man standing beside the post. He tried and failed to ignore the uneasy feeling his part in the punishments always caused him.

  The man grabbed Ann’s arms and turned her. His assistant stepped forward, raising a short, black cylindrical length of rubber with straps at its ends. The girl recoiled from it and then from the pain in her wealed buttocks as they met the bosun’s immovable bulk.

  “Oh, n….” The other man jammed the rubber between her teeth and buckled the straps behind her head. “Ugh!” she gurgled into the gag as both men manhandled her towards the post. A swat of the bosun’s broad hand to her backside made her squeak in pain.

  “Behave, or you’ll wish you had.”

  Drake watched them fasten her to the post and pull the wrist bindings tight until she was well stretched. The look she gave him held a silent plea. He kept his face impassive. Though he felt sorry for her, the sight of her muscles drawn taut by the bonds and the high jut of her uplifted breasts sent a pleasurable tickle through his loins.

  The bosun’s assistant carried two buckets onto the stage, placed one behind her and the other between her parted and shackled feet. He sniggered. “For when you piss yourself. They always do.”

  Drake saw her blue eyes widen further. How could she act so innocent about everything, as if she had no idea what they were going to do? She had to have seen the warnings in the newspapers. They were full page, for heaven’s sake, and they spelled out the penalties in terms that were unmistakeable. The colour had left her face. She looked ghostly pale, small and vulnerable. The thickening cock in his pants twitched and he turned and walked away. He had learned long ago that it was unwise to mix pleasure with duty. One way or another it always ended badly. Besides, there would be no pleasure for him, or for the girl, in what lay ahead of her.

  The buzz of excited conversation ceased abruptly as Drake stepped into the passageway and closed the saloon’s doors behind him. Alex Riley, for once in uniform instead of coveralls, was walking slowly in his direction.

  “Is it over?”

  Drake shook his head. “Just about to begin.”

  The Chief pulled a face. “I put it off as long as I could, but it’s my turn to make the numbers up. Traske won’t like it if I don’t show my face. ‘There will always be a minimum of three officers, besides myself, present on such occasions’,” he quoted, in a fair imitation of the Commodore at his most pompous.

  Drake did not feel like laughing.

  “Maybe she’ll enjoy it,” Riley suggested. “Plenty of them do.”

  “Not this one. She’s shit scared, and Persephone Peake’s just worked her over, which hasn’t helped.”

  Riley grimaced again. “Not the easiest of introductions to our passengers. That little bitch may well be the crazy one. She certainly needs to be seriously taken in hand.”

  “If she could take some pleasure from it, it would be different,” Drake said. “But she’s not excited now, only terrified.”

  “It’s the law. She knew what to expect.”

  “I wonder. She acts like she hasn’t got a clue what’s going on. She’s been like that from the beginning.” Drake watched the Chief remove his cap and tuck it under his left arm. “Forget it, Alex. Go back to your engines. I’ll make up the numbers.”

  “But you never stay to see them punished. You dislike it as much as I do when it’s forced on them like that. Even the Bosun says he has doubts sometimes and God knows he can be an evil bastard when it suits him.”

  “The passengers thin
k differently. They’re hovering like vultures. They can’t wait for the show to start.”

  “Fuck them,” Riley said. “Just bored rich folks looking for a new experience to revive their jaded palates.”

  Drake sighed. “Well, they’re about to get it. Go ahead, skip this one. Traske won’t care as long as the numbers are right.”

  “Well, okay, if you’re sure.” The Chief replaced his cap on his head and nodded. “Thanks, Rafael. I owe you one.”

  Drake turned back to the saloon. Riley was right, he always avoided the punishments if he could. Why then, had he made his offer? Every slave girl on board was a beauty. Ann was nothing special as far as that was concerned. Yet she had something about her, and whatever it might be was strong enough to overcome his reluctance to watch her suffer pain without pleasure. He shook his head, ignored the tightening of his gut, and opened the door.

  *

  Increasingly desperate, Pam had watched Drake make his way between the tables and leave the room. Feeling abandoned and achingly alone she looked around with fear fluttering in her belly. Her breasts smarted and throbbed at the same time. Unaccountably and alarmingly, a little tingle of excitement still pulsed between her legs.

  The diners continued their meal, as if having a naked girl bound helplessly in their midst was nothing out of the ordinary. Pam gulped. Maybe it was not. They kept watching her, the nearest mere feet away, their stares curious, appraising and, it seemed to her, expectant; even those of the women, though they were far outnumbered by the men. Directly in front of her sat the Commodore. Dressed once more, Persephone Peake settled herself next to him and turned her predatory smile on Pam. The awful, cringing embarrassment she was feeling intensified. Along with the rubber of the gag, she could still taste the blonde’s sex on her tongue.

  Inevitably, the thick cylinder forcing Pam’s jaws so wide made it difficult to swallow. As the minutes dragged by she began to drool. Saliva ran from the corners of her mouth, dribbling down her chin and onto her red-striped breasts. Acutely conscious of it, and that her total nudity and raised position meant everyone had an upward view of the bare cleft between her spread legs, she closed her eyes tightly to shut out the watchers. It only increased her dizziness. Pam picked a spot on the far wall, above the heads of the crowd, and stared at it, but several times was drawn to look at the semi-naked girls moving amongst the tables. She saw a girl bending forward to gather plates onto a tray. One of the men at the table she was clearing smoothed his hand over the roundness of her swaying right breast and tugged its nipple. The girl did not protest or try to pull away, and remained in position until he let go and resumed his conversation with his companion. Stewardess third class. The hollow feeling of dread in Pam’s stomach deepened.

  Five men appeared and took seats to her right, picking up musical instruments that rested beside their chairs. The nearest gave Pam a bold grin and a wink as he sat down. She looked away and saw Drake had returned and was standing near the bar on the opposite side of the room. A shiver ran through her and tickled all the way to her sex. Damn that drug! The bosun and his mate were coming towards her with a girl as naked as she was between them. A man in a tuxedo joined them and together they stepped onto the stage. Pam’s heart began beating faster. The bosun carried a long bamboo cane thicker than her middle finger.

  The nude girl shuddered and revealed eyes filled with anxiety as she looked briefly at Pam before taking a position next to the half-barrel shaped object on asymmetrical legs that stood a few feet to one side of the post. Her fear was palpable. Desperately hoping the cane was intended for the slave girl, Pam told herself that it was not selfishness but self-preservation. To her horror the bosun turned towards her. The urge to piss with fright became one to piss with relief as he began loosening Pam’s straps.

  The man in the tuxedo faced the audience. “Good evening, gentlemen and ladies, and welcome to this evening’s entertainment aboard the Empire’s Triumph, flagship and newest, finest vessel of the Empire Star Line. My name is Jerry Morgan, and I’m your Master of Ceremonies and host for this evening and for the three others you’ll be aboard ship until we reach New York. Commodore Traske, his crew and staff, hope you will enjoy your journey. And remember, if anything, anything at all, does not give you complete satisfaction, you have only to inform one of the crew or officers and they will see something is done about it immediately. Shortly, we will be folding away the tables and the boys of the band will be playing some of the newest and hottest tunes for your dancing or easy listening pleasure.”

  Pam’s heart leapt when the bosun’s grip did not relax after he had freed her. He turned her to face the post and his mate fastened her wrists and ankles again. As fear surged, she made muffled protests into her gag and struggled futilely in the bosun’s grasp.

  “Before that,” Jerry Morgan continued, “Let me introduce Lisa.” He grinned as he gestured towards the trembling girl. “Yes folks, just four hours into the trip one of our naughtier slave girls earned herself twelve strokes. Some of them can’t seem to keep away from the cane. Tardiness was her fault, but it’s far from the first time her impudent bottom has needed some chastisement to remind her of her duty.”

  Thank God. Pam took a deep breath, sucking back some of the drool around the gag. It was going to be the girl.

  “But first let’s take a look at our stowaway,” Jerry Morgan said. “I’m sure you’ve all heard about her by now and had a chance to see her on display.”

  Pam’s belly went tight.

  “I’m also sure you know the penalties imposed by international regulations on a girl who illegally boards any vessel. Some of you may have seen this before, gentlemen and ladies. It’s not such a rare occurrence, after all. But I won’t make those of you who haven’t wait any longer. So here is Ann, our new stewardess third class, receiving the mandatory two dozen lashes, and our bosun, Tom Harker, to deliver them.”

  Pam heaved frantically at her straps as the crowd applauded. The bosun went to the bucket at the back of the stage and lifted the chequered wooden handle showing above its rim. Water streamed into the bucket from the six lengths of cord attached to the handle. Pam redoubled her frenzied tugging, crying out incoherently into her gag as she stared in utter horror at the wet cords, each with six thick knots tied at intervals along its length. The bosun ran them through his meaty paw, careful not to wring out the water that added to their weight. Two dozen lashes. With that? Pam’s head spun. As she fought uselessly to break free, the darkness hovering at the edges of her vision closed in.

  The splash of cold water in her face brought back both her consciousness and her terror. It would not be the first time she had felt the whip, but to take it cold, completely unprepared by even the shortest of warm-ups, was way beyond anything she had known before. So was the cruelly knotted whip. Her gut churned so much she feared she would lose control of her bowels.

  “She doesn’t seem happy about taking a flogging, gentlemen and ladies,” Jerry Morgan observed blithely. “Maybe she’s having second thoughts about deciding to travel on the Empire’s Triumph.”

  The watchers’ laughter quickly faded as the Bosun took a step back. Pam twisted her head as far as she could to keep him in sight. He raised the whip and she watched the water dripping from the tips of its cords in breathless dread. Pam blinked. The lash was no longer there.

  A split second later searing fire blazed across her bare back. She shrieked into the thick rubber blocking her mouth and felt the bite of the leather straps at wrists and ankles as she tore at them in a frenzy of pain. One agonising lash after another scorched her skin, scoring her back and shoulder blades with fiery lines of torment, while the hard knots bit deeper and the ones at the ends of the cords curled around her body to sear the outer swell of her already throbbing right breast. The pain was incredible. Eyes shut tight and tears flowing, Pam fought for control.

  For once it was a battle she lost. Her buttocks bounced and flamed as the bosun switched targets. Shock and hurt tra
pped her breath in her throat. Pam bucked wildly, adding to the strain on her cracking shoulders as each wet, wicked splat of the whip on her tender buttocks stoked the fires already raging through their flesh. Near panic, she wet herself.

  “Oh, there she goes,” Jerry Morgan said, chuckling. “It’s rare we get one who doesn’t piss herself at some time during her first flogging.”

  The searing strokes of the whip stopped. In the silence Pam heard the echoing vibration of the metal bucket between her feet as her urine splattered into it. She was helpless to stop it, and almost too lost in her pain to care about the humiliation. Oh, please let it be over! Even as the plea filled her mind her flow ended and another savage stroke raked her burning rear-cheeks and set her writhing once more. Pam shrieked into her gag and continued shrieking until at last the torment ceased. The crowd’s applause mocked her. She was too far gone to care.

  What followed was a blur. Through the fire and torment she heard the meaty thud of the thick cane striking flesh and the girl called Lisa crying out close by, and more applause that must have marked the end of the beating. The band began playing. Fingers played over the burning weals on Pam’s left shoulder. Persephone Peake’s breathy tones penetrated her pain-racked mind.

  “You’re a sight, darling, but I did enjoy your whipping. You see now why I wanted you before they flogged you.”

  *

  “You understand your duties?” Drake asked, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

  Standing at the other side of his desk, head up, feet slightly apart and with her fists pressed to the small of her back, Pam nodded.

  The Englishwoman who had taught her the pose prodded the tip of her cane into the American girl’s ravaged bottom. “Answer properly.”