by Rod Harden
He smiled. “Very good. Remember that your body belongs to me, Ten. It gets touched when I say, and by whom I say."
"Yeffir,” she whimpered.
"Now ... ask me to slap you."
"Wha-?!"
"Don't question me. Just do as you're told."
"Forry, fir.” Her face was just inches from his lap, turned up toward him. If he wanted to slap her, he could do so before she knew what was happening. And yet, he wanted her to ask for it.
She tried to form the words, panting for breath as if she had been suddenly transported to the thin air of a mountaintop. Her chest, covered with the clothespins, heaved with a barely repressed instinct to rebel.
Against every rational thought in her head, she forced the words out one by one. “Pweez fwap me, fir."
Instantly, his open palm flashed across her tear-streaked left cheek. The blow was hard enough to sting and snap her head to the side. She gasped as fresh tears dripped to the floor.
"Look at me!” he barked.
Slowly, she turned her face toward him again.
"Now, touch your cunt again."
"Oh god!” she sighed, shoving her hand quickly into place and picking up where she left off.
He let her go for only a few seconds before telling her to stop once more. “Ask me to slap you again."
"Pweez fwap me, fir,” she said, without hesitation.
This time, his left hand flew across her right cheek. She whimpered, but lifted her face to him immediately.
"Now touch yourself,” he commanded.
She did so, and this time, when he told her to stop, she asked for her next slap without prompting.
He repeated the pattern over and over, commanding her to touch herself and then to stop and ask him to slap her. She lost track of how many times he made her do it. Her head swam from the alternation of smacks to the face and interrupted masturbation. The pain and pleasure began to merge in her mind. It seemed that the slaps brought her just as close to coming as the clit rubbing. No matter what he did to her, she was constantly on edge.
Finally, after many long agonizing and frustrating minutes, he halted the pattern. She asked to be slapped, but he said, “No. Not this time.” She glanced up, surprised, and noticed his face was flushed and he was breathing heavily himself. He said nothing, but reached behind her head and unbuckled her gag strap. And then, before she had a chance to flex her jaws or even lick her dry lips, he pulled her to him and kissed her.
She swooned in his grasp, clinging to consciousness just enough to kiss him back. Without thinking about what she was doing, she reached across the bulge in his lap and blindly groped for his belt and zipper. He did nothing to stop her.
She couldn't remember how she ended up on his seat, facing him, straddling his lap. Whether he pulled her up, or if she climbed up on her own, one thing was certain: they both wanted her there.
Slick with desire, she impaled herself upon him, bucking and writhing against him wildly. She lifted herself and descended again along his shaft, engulfing him over and over with the insatiable ferocity of a ravenous animal. As she rode him, he began to pluck the bouncing clothespins from her tits. Her rising moans became growls as the pins fell away. And when he sealed his mouth over first one and then the other of her throbbing nipples, when he began licking and sucking and nibbling on her, her growls became a single, extended guttural wail.
He reached one hand behind her and smacked her on the ass, while probing her clit with his other hand. His touch sent her over the edge at last. With a scream, she came harder than she ever remembered coming before. It was over in minutes, but it seemed to build forever only to sweep over her with the searing heat of a flash fire.
Once more, time became a blur. She came several more times, and finally ended up on the floor without remembering how she got there. All she knew was when she came to her senses, she was at his feet again, breathless, slumped in a puddle of sex. Sanders was smiling over her, just zipping up his trousers.
"Sir?” she breathed.
"Yes?"
"D—Do your punishments usually end like that?"
He hesitated. “No,” he admitted, his voice abruptly serious. “They don't."
"Because,” she giggled, “if they do, it's not really much incentive to be good.” She realized he wasn't laughing. “If you don't mind my saying. Sir."
"No. I don't mind. And you're right, Ten.” As if to himself, he added, “I may need a new regimen for you...” Then he stood and walked off without another word. He left her there, dazed not knowing what she should do. A few minutes later, Lindsay came and took her to her room.
The rest of the day went by without further incident, and the next few days fell into a routine with exercise in the morning, followed by simulator training, and ending with a group shower.
Brenda also received more complete instruction in company policies and procedures. She learned that the entire fleet consisted of four planes. The company tried to maintain a total of twenty-five attendants on staff at any given time, but there were “frequent turnovers,” which she knew was a reference to sales like the one she had witnessed her first day.
Most importantly, though, she learned that one of the company's primary policies prohibited penetration, anal or vaginal, of the attendants by the male staff. She was not given the reason for this, but immediately understood that Mr. Sanders had allowed himself to violate one of his own key policies.
On her third day with the company, Brenda was strapped down first thing in the morning while Lindsay took a blood sample. She explained it was to ensure that Brenda did not have any STDs or other conditions which would affect what Lindsay referred to as her “exchange value".
Also on the third day, Brenda learned that her next actual flight would be two days hence. As the newest attendant, she was required to rotate among all the cabin crews until Mr. Sanders determined which one she fit in with best.
She had just begun to feel comfortable with the day-to-day routine, when, that evening, she was pulled aside by Sanders as everyone gathered for showers. He had been cool toward her since their encounter on the simulator, or so it seemed to her. He had't mentioned it since, and neither had she.
"Number Ten,” he said.
"Yes, sir?” she said, trying to ignore the fact that he hadn't called her “princess” since fucking her.
"Number Twelve has asked if she can have you for a sleepover and I've said yes."
"A ... ‘sleepover', sir?"
"You'll be spending the night with her, Ten. Starting with shower time, after everyone else is finished. So wait here until she comes for you."
"Um, all right. I understand, sir."
"Good girl.” She thought he was about to smile, but he appeared to catch himself and frowned at her instead.
"Sir?"
"What is it, Number Ten? I'm busy. I have the other girls to wash up."
"N—nothing, sir. It's not important."
"Fine. Good night then."
She sat and stared blankly at the wall, listening to the squeals from the shower room. Shortly after they ended, she found Lindsay standing in front of her.
"Come along, Numero Ten-oh,” she said. “You're all mine for the night."
CHAPTER 16: THE SLEEPOVER
Alone in his office, Tom Sanders sat back and tried to make sense of the report on his desk. He leaned over it and studied the analysis for the third time, as if the result might have changed since the last time he looked. But there it was, summarized as clearly as anything he'd ever seen in an otherwise jargon-filled report:
"As demonstrated in the double blind experiments detailed above, the compound's affect on test subjects was not statistically different from the placebo agent. In short, the tested compound exhibited no psycho-pharmacological properties whatsoever."
It was the last thing Sanders expected to see. He had been using the compound in his cigars for over two years and was convinced it worked. He was sure he'd seen its effect with h
is own eyes. In fact, efficacy wasn't even the issue when he'd sent it to be analyzed. He simply wanted to make sure there were no hidden side effects.
Studying and quantifying its actual properties was the suggestion of his chemist friend who worked at one of the big pharmaceutical firms. It had taken a bit of finesse, but the senior scientist had eventually managed to schedule it amongst a series of legitimate tests. In return for two free trips on Haller Airline in the coming year, of course.
And now, this was the bottom line.
"'No psycho-pharmacological properties',” Sanders quoted aloud, smiling for the first time in days. “I'll be damned. I guess that means I'm better at this than I thought."
He pushed the report aside at last, and sat back again, this time to consider a more pressing issue: what to do about Number Ten. If he didn't put her on the “available list” soon—within the next few days in fact—he knew he never would. Only one other girl had ever gotten under his skin the way this new girl had.
And of course Lindsay was still around. She had become not only his special plaything, but his business associate, his confidante, even his friend. But if he kept Brenda, he had to know how she would fit in. He was all too aware of Lindsay's jealous streak, and the last thing he needed was a new role as slave referee.
So when Lindsay asked if Brenda could spend the night with her, it was as if she had read his mind. Just the latest occurrence of that spooky ability of hers. Tomorrow, after the two of them spent time alone together, he was sure he'd have enough information to make his decision.
But there was one thing he hoped Lindsay had not figured out yet. As far as he was concerned, he actually had three possible choices. Besides the issue of whether or not to keep Brenda, he might also decide, as difficult as it would be, that it was finally time ... to sell Lindsay.
* * * *
In the bare lower level shower room, Brenda tugged at her bound wrists, stretched high overhead. Lindsay had kept up a pleasant chatter on their way into the shower room, but she sure made the ropes painfully tight. And the glint in her eye made Brenda more than a little uncomfortable.
At the moment, the other blonde was testing the water from the hose, just like Sanders always did before wetting down the girls. Brenda mewed softly into her ball-gag, hoping Lindsay would hurry. It could get pretty chilly standing there in the nude!
At last, Lindsay nodded, satisfied. “Perfect!” she announced. She grinned at Brenda, aimed the hose, and squeezed the handle on the nozzle.
"Oh no! No!" screamed Brenda when the spray hit her. It was ice cold! “Wimfee!” she cried, trying to call Lindsay over the sound of the water.
The spray stopped and Lindsay stood there with a shocked expression on her face. “Oh, is it little too cold?"
Brenda's teeth chattered against the rubber ball strapped in her mouth. She could only nod emphatically.
"Good!” laughed Lindsay, as she turned on the water again.
Brenda squealed in dismay, twisting and bending every which way, desperately trying to get out of the line of fire, but Lindsay easily kept the stream on target. She walked around the helpless girl and made sure the frigid spray made its way to every inch of her shivering flesh.
By the time Brenda's tormentress finally turned the water off, she thought she would die for sure. She was so cold she could barely breathe.
"Now to soap you up,” sang Lindsay cheerily.
To Brenda the entire room stuttered as her head trembled along with the rest of her body. But what she managed to make out made her cringe. Lindsay was filling a bucket with more cold water, adding detergent, and grabbing one of the scrub brushes the girls usually used to clean the shower itself.
She strode up to Brenda and set the bucket down beside her. She dunked the brush into the water and then stood, studying the shivering girl for a moment. “Guess I'll start with these nippies. They look filthy!” she exclaimed, as she began scrubbing the harsh soapy bristles against Brenda's defenseless bosom.
The bound blonde wailed in agony. “Why are you doom dis?” she pleaded.
Lindsay stopped and stared at her. Her forced grin had become a fierce grimace. “Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this?! As if you don't know, you conniving little whore!"
"Wimfee, pweez! I didm do emmyfing!"
"Oh, you did something all right. You know perfectly well what you did,” Lindsay ranted as she dunked the brush again and began scrubbing Brenda's tummy and buttocks.
"Don't act all innocent with me,” she continued. “You come on board our little company, like Little Miss Perfect, and first thing you do is try to seduce him. Correction. Not ‘try'! I know you fucked him, you cunt. The sim has video recorders going when it's in use and I saw the fucking video! You hear me? I saw the fucking 'fucking' video!"
Brenda tried to deny the stream of wild accusations but her teeth were chattering too much to utter even one more syllable. And then, just as Lindsay bellowed about the video, she shoved the brush between Brenda's thighs, rubbing the bristles directly into her naked pussy.
At that, Brenda could stand it no longer. She couldn't even scream as her vision narrowed suddenly and blackness surrounded her.
"Wake up, cunt!"
Lindsay's voice seemed to come from a great distance.
"You're not getting off that easy.” She was shaking Brenda, rousing her back from the brink of oblivion.
No, please! thought Brenda. Just let me faint!
But she was fully conscious again now. Just in time to feel Lindsay go at her ass with the cold brush. Then she worked it up her sides and into her armpits. At last, she simply picked up the bucket of cold sudsy water and dumped it over Brenda's head.
Sputtering around her gag, Brenda pleaded incoherently, but Lindsay glared at the trembling girl. “Now I'm getting cold, bitch!” she shouted. But abruptly, she brightened, switching on her wicked smile. “So I guess we'll just rinse and dry, and then it's off to my room!"
Brenda's tormentress started the hose again, and once more sprayed the frigid water all over her, washing all remaining suds from her goose-bump covered flesh.
Then she snatched up one of the towels that had been left from the other girls’ shower. Brenda could see it was still quite damp, and there were fresh towels right there on the rack.
But Lindsay stepped up to her with the damp towel, grasped it by opposite corners and flipped it round and round forming the classic locker room towel whip. With no further ado, she aimed and snapped the rolled up towel at Brenda's helpless body.
"Ow!” cried Brenda.
"Yes, yes, I know,” grinned Lindsay. “It'll take a lot longer this way, but you'll dry off eventually. And in the meantime, it should warm me up again."
Eventually, Brenda did dry off. The water simply evaporated while she endured countless snaps of the towel. Lindsay proved quite adept with it, flicking the end with amazing precision against Brenda's tits and ass and tummy and pussy.
At long last, sore, shuddering, and shaken, Brenda watched with relief as Lindsay put away the towel and freed her wrists from their overhead tether. The tormented girl almost collapsed, but forced herself to remain upright.
Lindsay chuckled as her captive steadied herself, and then she stooped down. She hobbled Brenda's ankles with a short chain and then attached her bound wrists to the hobble using a chain that was too short to allow Brenda to stand fully upright.
Bent at the waist, Brenda winced when Lindsay grabbed her by the hair and led her out of the shower room and into the hall. Shuffling awkwardly down the hall, she whimpered with mounting apprehension as she realized her night with Lindsay had just begun.
By the time they reached the door marked “Number Twelve", Brenda had stumbled at least a dozen times. It had proven nearly impossible to keep up, frozen half to death, stooped over, and hobbled to boot. She only remained upright by virtue of Lindsay's unshakable grip of her hair.
Lindsay opened the door and pulled Brenda in along with her. She flip
ped on the lights and then disconnected the chain connecting Brenda's wrists to her ankles. When Brenda stood, it took her a moment to realize that Lindsay's room was about twice as large as her own.
She also couldn't help noticing that the room contained some odd pieces of furniture. There was a chair with unusually high legs and an opening in the seat. Beside it was a short padded beam mounted on a post. And in the corner stood a large X-frame.
"Like it?” beamed Lindsay.
Numbly, Brenda nodded. What else could she do but agree?
Lindsay pulled Brenda close and slipped her bound hands over her head so Brenda was forced to “hug” the grinning blonde. Despite the circumstances, Brenda couldn't resist nestling her entire body as close as possible just for the warmth. She assumed Lindsay knew why she was snuggling, but she didn't seem to mind, welcoming her by reaching her arms around Brenda's waist and pulling her closer still.
For a moment they simply stood there in their bizarre embrace. Lindsay's sweet breath fell across Brenda's lips.
"Mmm, you are a hottie,” sighed Lindsay, as she began running her tongue across the ball wedged in Brenda's mouth. After a few licks, she opened her mouth wider and wrapped her own lips around the part of the ball protruding from Brenda's stretched mouth. With their lips sealed together around the shared ball, Lindsay rotated her head slightly, back and forth, rubbing her own lips against Brenda's.
Brenda couldn't help whimpering behind the strange kiss. Their mingled body heat was quickly having an effect on her as well, and she felt almost too hot already. As the kiss continued, Lindsay slid her hands lower, squeezing Brenda's ass cheeks and grinding her hips against herself.
At last, Lindsay pulled her head back. “You, Number Ten, are going to pleasure me tonight,” she said. “But first, I want you to admit to me what a conniving little whore you are."
"Bud Wimfee I—"
"Don't ‘but Lindsay’ me!” The flash of anger in Lindsay's eyes dissipated as fast as it appeared. She licked Brenda's lips again. “Just pretend I'm him and do as you're told,” she cooed.