Pam-Ann

by Lindsey Brooks

“No he won’t. I want you to punish them here and now so I can see them get what they deserve and watch their cheeky bottoms bounce and turn red”

  “I’ll need my cane, Mistress. I can only give them six apiece.”

  “No! Thirty apiece with my cane and the braided whip.”

  Christine’s confusion was plain on her face. “I can’t do that, Mistress. You know I’m not allowed. I’d be punished myself.”

  Persephone’s eyeteeth gleamed as she grinned. “I know. The rules are strict about slave overseers who exceed their authority, but I still want you to do it.”

  Christine trembled. “I can’t. I could get a hundred with the cane or the ox-hide whip. Please, Mistress.”

  “But what if I made it worth your while?” Persephone repeated. “How many years service have you got left?”

  Christine’s mouth opened. Surprise, fear and suspicion warred on her face. “Three and… and a few months, Mistress.”

  “What if it was three days instead?”

  “You’re not serious.” The slave of twenty years forgot to say ‘Mistress’ in her astonishment.

  “Perfectly. You know I have influence with the Company. I can get you freed as soon as we reach New York.” Her grin broadened. “If you do as I say.”

  “Free,” Christine said in disbelief. She shook her head. “But the pain, the… degradation.”

  “Come on,” the blonde urged. “Isn’t it worth it? I’ll throw in five thousand dollars and get you a job as overseer with one of my friends.”

  “Do you mean it?” the older woman asked.

  Pam would not have trusted Persephone even if she had guaranteed her a way back to her own world. Or would she, Pam wondered, as she felt the churning fear that the blonde mistress’s mention of punishment was causing. It might be a risk worth taking to escape from this awful madness. She saw Christine looking down at her, her internal struggle clear from her expression.

  “I’ll do it,” the woman blurted, and Pam’s belly turned over.

  They took Daisy first, knelt her on the bed close to one edge and fastened broad leather straps at either end of a short spreader bar above each knee. Also kneeling on the bed, Tania and Milly held her arms vertically, each with a hand at her wrists and another pressing her shoulders into the mattress. The position lifted her bottom high. Looking far too much like the cat that had got the cream for Pam’s liking, Persephone held out a thick rattan cane. Licking her lips, Christine reached out a hand that shook and closed her fingers around it. She positioned herself behind and to the left of the helpless Daisy’s upturned rear and raised the cane.

  “You promise?”

  “You have my word,” Persephone said.

  Christine’s arm swung down.

  Chapter Seven

  Kneeling defenceless on the floor, Pam winced at every whoosh and crack as Christine lashed the cane across Daisy’s narrow buttocks. They bounced wildly under every vicious impact, yet the slave girl barely flinched in the beginning. She may be young but it was clearly far from the first time she had endured such a beating. Only after more than half the twenty cane strokes which Persephone decreed had impacted the girl’s bottom did her hips begin to really wriggle and her soft grunts turn to muted cries.

  The sounds were too close and too familiar to ignore. Pam’s long-nurtured and all-important control vanished in the time it took to catch her breath. Memories long buried rose unbidden; more and more with every swish and crack of the rattan and half-stifled cry, until the trickle became a flood and then a torrent. She was in the mirrored room, the reflection of her naked, sweat-sheened body inescapable, no matter where she looked. Leather cuffs bit into her wrists as her arms strained upwards and her toes downwards, seeking purchase on the shiny, white-tiled floor. God, she loved the cane, but she loved the leather more! The sharp, fiery sting of the early strokes was past, her nerves desensitised by the repetitive striking of the broad-tailed whip across her back and buttocks. They were not numb. Their skin burned and their flesh throbbed. The thrumming of it reached her brain and Pam floated free, pain and pleasure mingling, melding into a single sensation far more intense and exciting than either could create alone. Rick’s image was a blur through eyes slitted as much in ecstasy as in pain, but she was aware of him and of the love that flowed from him along with each scorching lash he dealt her. Pam clutched both to her heart; the warm glow of love and the fiercely burning flame of torment. She was happy. She let the pain take her.

  Daisy’s shrill cry broke the reverie. The girl writhed, jerking in her captors’ hands. Christine had swapped the cane for the tapering, braided leather whip. She did not reduce the severity of her strokes as she laid ten across the shrieking slave girl’s quivering buttocks. They were a horrid latticework of welts and ridges by the time the overseer was finished, and to Pam’s horror the vivid red lines criss-crossing the purple bruising were beaded with droplets of blood. Her gut twisted. Her turn had come.

  Pam was gripped in the same way as Daisy, who now sobbed wretchedly on the floor, and the two slave girl’s held her with her cheek to the mattress and her bottom turned up for the wicked blows of the cane and whip. And they were wicked. They scorched her tender rear cheeks with the same ferocious pain that still burned and throbbed in her thighs, and added to the torment of the half-healed weals left by the flogging she had received barely three days earlier. Much sooner than Daisy had, she writhed and squirmed under each brutal blow, cried out at the cane and then the whip carving and searing into her helpless buttocks, wept and longed for it to end. When it finally did, Pam took long seconds to realise her ordeal was over. By that time she was back on the floor, trembling on all fours with fiery heat radiating from her flaring flesh. There had been no passion, no pleasure, no love.

  Christine dropped the whip and turned towards the door.

  “Where are you going?” Persephone demanded.

  “To report myself to the First Officer, Mistress.”

  “You’re not free yet. Come here and kiss my pussy.”

  The older woman sank to her knees and pressed her lips to the blonde’s dew-bathed slit. Persephone laughed.

  “Two more days to New York. On the third you’ll be free.” She drew Christine to her feet. “Go on. I’ll be there to see you flogged, darling. I promise you that too.”

  Christine retrieved her little cane and loincloth, and left without bothering to fasten the garment in place.

  “Would you like to have Ann, Eve?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” the bodyguard said enthusiastically.

  “Take her then. Pussy and I are going to have some fun. On your back on the bed, girl. I want to sit on your face.”

  Daisy had barely struggled to her feet when Eve’s strong arm wrapped around Pam and carried her to a small room off the main cabin. It held nothing but a bed and a small cabinet. Eve released her and almost tore the buttons off her blouse in her urgency.

  “I’ll try to be gentle, lover, but I’ve got to have you and this is the only chance I’ll get.”

  She did try, drawing Pam facedown onto her hard-muscled body to spare her ravaged bottom while her lips explored the American girl’s before straying to her stiff nipples. But inevitably, as her passion grew her explorations became more painful.

  Nevertheless, with her mind whirling from the Venus Dust, Pam’s body responded to Eve’s tantalising caresses in ways she would not have believed only days previously. Her pleasure changed the nature of her pain. The awful throbbing of thighs and buttocks did not diminish, but it was no longer simply torment. It was stimulating too, heightening her excitement and the wriggling thrills running through her pussy as Eve’s fingertips chafed deliciously on the pleasure spot within. Only Rick had ever before made her feel the terrible, wonderful, heart-stopping rush of delight that abruptly surged inside her. It drove her surprise from her mind and everything else too, except the joy of her release suddenly exploding in spasming, pussy-wrenching intensity.

  Afterwards, Pam lay b
elly-down astride a breathless Eve, breasts crushed to the big, fair-haired girl’s by the powerful arm encircling her shoulders. What the hell was that Venus Dust that it could overcome her aversion to her own sex, her will and all common sense, and drive her to such an extremity of passion? The question came and went in her spinning head while quivering aftershocks still wriggled through her sheath. She hurt too much to sleep but was too worn out to think. She snuggled against Eve’s warm, damply perspiring body and drifted. The arm around her felt possessive, yet comforting too, a reassurance that not everyone was cruel and merciless in this weird, alien distortion of reality.

  Eve’s soft kiss awoke her in the grey of pre-dawn. Pam’s next shift was due to start at eight that morning. “One more suck on my clit and you can go, lover.”

  Stiff and horribly sore though she was, Pam could not help feeling just a little grateful to the girl as she performed what should have been an utterly distasteful task. Eve could have made things much worse.

  The lights in the main cabin were still on when the girls slipped from Eve’s room. Throaty gasps and pleasured moans came from the direction of the bed. The two slaves lay on the floor at its foot, Tania apparently asleep, Milly quietly masturbating. Persephone crouched on the bed, bottom lifted high. Behind her knelt Daisy, a grimace on her face as her hips and savagely striped buttocks swung back and forth to plunge a broad strap-on repeatedly into the blonde’s rear entrance.

  “Harder, darling. I was bad to you. You should be really bad to me. Oh, I was ever so naughty! Give it to me hard. Stretch my naughty bum.” Eyes tightly shut, Persephone continued urging Daisy to greater efforts and thrust herself backwards to meet the plunging phallus.

  Eve led Pam silently to the door, handed her her loincloth and chucked her under the chin with a finger that smelled of sex. “Good luck, lover.”

  Pam made her slow and painful way back to the slave quarters. Once again she hurt too much to wonder at Persephone’s strange behaviour.

  *

  “Over the desk,” Drake said, and Ann’s expression told him she was as anxious about having her pain relieved as she must have been when it had been inflicted. A half-hour had not passed since he had ordered Christine confined in the brig, shackled hand and foot on Commodore Traske’s instructions.

  Drake’s anger surged again when he thought of what the woman had told him. He waited, letting his rage subside after Ann draped her body over the desk, and reminding himself it was not she who had provoked it. He still wanted to hurt her. Unable to resist, he slid a hand over her red-ridged buttocks and savoured the thrill that made his cock strain harder against the front of his pants.

  Ann gave a soft cry that became a whimper and he felt her shudder. The fiery heat on her skin radiated against his palm. She looked beautiful like that - naked, flogged, bowed in submission. He drew back his hand when she gave no sign of enjoying its touch. Yet he was almost sure he sensed not only a longing for pain as well as pleasure in Ann, but also the desire to submit, or perhaps to be forced to submit. The idea was so intensely arousing it made Drake’s breath catch in his throat. Maybe Persephone was turning her into one of her Sapphics, or maybe she was one already, though he seemed to have little trouble arousing her. Perhaps she was one of those who liked both sexes. Drake was unconcerned by the idea. While she was his she would do as he told her. The rest of the time was unimportant.

  Ann had quickly become a favourite of Persephone’s, although that could be for any number of reasons. The wealthy young woman was becoming more unstable with every flight she made, and she had made an awful lot of them. She was a far cry from the girl he recalled during the few weeks of their brief affair. Perhaps the blonde enjoyed tormenting Ann because she liked the pain or because she did not, or because she willingly submitted or had to be forced to do it. Drake was inclined to believe the latter.

  Whatever the reason, Ann remained resistant, defiant, even proud. Drake had seen others with the same strength, unwilling or unable to surrender completely, doing it only because they must but always holding back the part of themselves that mattered to them most. They were the ones he could never think of as just another slave girl. He remembered Alex Riley’s joke about his perfect girl. They had often discussed what her qualities would be in their off-duty hours, the measure of her obedience, her sexual skills, her tolerance to pain, and all the other things he valued and had enjoyed in greater or lesser measure from the girls he had used. There was only one thing he had never received from a slave girl, one thing he never expected to and had never sought.

  Ann had blushed when he had smoothed salve onto the welts on her thighs and had seen her pussy glistening damply and breathed in the strong odour of her woman-scent. Drake had no doubt she was blushing once more as he spread the ointment onto her buttocks. Her belly sank onto the desk as she began to relax under its soothing effect, and he felt the tension ease in the firm muscles under his hand. Her sex-lips parted a little, revealing the pink and shiny slivers of her inner labia and the tip of her clitoris peeping from its hood. He smiled to himself. She was better at controlling her resentment than she was her arousal. The urge to use her there and then became almost overpowering. Drake cleared his throat and stepped back, removing the rubber glove he had worn to apply the ointment.

  “Get up. Stand straight. This is a formal enquiry.”

  Ann drew herself up, her wince no doubt a response to the pain deeper within her buttocks, beyond the reach of the salve. Despite what Drake had said, he leaned casually back against the edge of his desk and let his gaze flicker over her out-thrust breasts.

  “Okay, what happened?”

  She gave a quick, succinct account, though he guessed she had left out quite a few details.

  “Devious, conniving little…” he said softly when she had finished, and then saw her wary look. “It’s okay, I don’t mean you.” He consulted his pocket watch. “You can go. You won’t get much rest before your next shift.”

  “I got some sleep in Persephone’s cabin,” she said.

  “Miss Peake to you. And call me ‘Sir’. Off you go.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  As Ann turned he grabbed her around her waist and pulled her into the circle of his arms. Almost as surprised by what he was doing as she appeared to be, he closed his lips over hers. She stiffened and he looked into her wide eyes instead of closing his own. Her arms hung loosely at her sides as he moved his mouth on hers, gently at first, and then more greedily as he felt her body press closer and knew her anxiety was ebbing. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. She shivered and kissed him back. With a glow of triumph he moved his lips more insistently. Her pussy seemed to shiver too, when he explored it. Ann mewed softly into his mouth and slid her arms around him. Drake moved his other hand to her right breast, fondling, kneading, deliberately reawakening its discomfort. Her nipple pressed hard against his palm. His tongue pushed into her mouth and wriggled against hers, and he felt a savage exultation that Ann was responding to the pain as well as the pleasure. He ached with the need to fill her, to fling her onto her back and drive her ravaged backside hard into the floor beneath her with his weight and his thrusting cock.

  Drake pulled free of Ann and stepped back. Her eyes opened and he stared into them and saw desire simmering in their depths, and surprise too, and maybe fear. Fear of him or of something inside herself? The moment ended as he let her go. She lowered her gaze and turned her head aside.

  “Just wanted to know if they taste as good as they look,” he said. “Go on, back to your duties.”

  Drake sat at his desk after she had gone and rested his hands on its surface. They were shaking slightly and his heart was still racing. How he had controlled himself he was not sure. Why he had done it, he had no idea. Curbing his lust had never concerned him before when he had wanted a girl. But in the past he had always been certain the girl would enjoy what he put her through. With Ann, though he thought he had seen some evidence in her behaviour with Persephone, he was a long
way from being certain. After being used to hiring girls who would give him exactly what he wanted, it was an unsettling feeling but, surprisingly, not entirely unpleasant. In fact, Drake found it stimulating to watch Ann for signs of how she was affected by the things he did. Hell, he could admit it to himself; he enjoyed it. And there was one thing about which he was certain - there was definitely something different about this particular girl.

  He got to his feet. He had to see Traske about Christine, though he doubted he could alter what would happen to her. After all, he was the one who always went by the book – at least he had until lately. He thought of Ann again and another idea even more surprising entered his head. She was not just different. She was special.

  *

  Christine was flogged on the fourth night, the last of the flight, for next morning they would reach New York. Every passenger was there to see it, along with many of the crew and even some off-duty slave girls who managed to sneak into the dimmer corners of the saloon. No one could recall ever hearing of an overseer being bound to the post before, or of one so senior throwing away everything with so short a time left before she could have applied for her freedom. Speculation about why she had done it was rife, but Drake had warned Pam and Daisy to tell no one and it was clear neither he nor Persephone had revealed the reason, not even to the Commodore.

  In what Pam was sure Traske considered an act of leniency, he had declared that in view of her good record Christine should receive only eighty strokes rather than the full hundred. As participants in what had happened, Pam and Daisy were required to be present, standing at either side of Drake near the bar. Unlike most of the others, whose faces were alight with anticipation even before the woman was bound to the post, he looked far from pleased.

  Pam concentrated on not looking in his direction but could not avoid thinking about their last encounter. She had been surprised when Drake had not begun immediately questioning her but instead had seen to her hurts. Though the anaesthetic had helped ease the throb, she had remained aware of Drake’s touch and the prickle of excitement it was creating. Damn that drug. It had brought back the memories again, or more accurately this time, the lack of them. Rick had never eased her pain. Sometimes he had held her afterwards, even those times she had told him she did not want to be touched, and at others, when she had wanted it desperately, he had left her alone to suffer her unfulfilled longing for his comfort. Why had she ever loved him? He was a bastard.