“A nice big kiss,” coached Mandy as Pamela’s mouth hovered above the girl’s brand new, hundred-dollar shoe. “Pretend like it’s Mr. Rains you’re smooching with.”
Trevor and Erica laughed, sounding for the moment like ordinary teens. There were rumors at school, of course, about Pamela and the dashing principal, but so far he’d done little more than flirt with her at the water cooler. Not that she’d mind if the man went further.
Pamela tasted the expensive leather. The sensation sent a shudder down her spine. There was a subtle graininess to the material, a feel and a scent that a girl such as she once was could never forget. There was a time when leather ruled her body, figuratively and literally. To this day, if a man were to touch his belt in a certain way, or if she were to see a woman in some particular sort of leather garment or bracelet that reminded her of constraint, she would feel in her gut indescribable feelings of fear, longing…and desire.
“Say the words, Teacher. Say you’re sorry for wanting to suck my boyfriend’s dick like a little doggie slut.”
Pamela was grateful the girl had repeated Erica’s words for her; she would never have remembered them on her own. “I’m sorry,” she began, her voice hot and dry. “For wanting to…”
The rest stuck in her throat. If she went any further, in front of her students, she would be completing a terrible circle, showing them they could make her say anything, and likely do anything as well. She needed to jump up, to run to the door and scream for help. She was being harassed, manipulated, and if it went much further, she was going to be raped as well.
“Don’t fuck with us, Pammy!” Erica bent down to smack her ass, hard.
“Unnhh,” groaned their subjugated teacher, absorbing the shock and heat of the blow. A second followed, just as vicious, and now the words came easy, loosened like off of an ice flow.
“I am sorry, Mandy,” she moaned, her cheek to the carpet between the girl’s feet, absorbing the throbbing pain, “for wanting to suck your boyfriend’s cock…like a…a slut.”
“A doggie slut,” corrected Mandy, her voice deceptively sweet.
“The whole thing, again.” This from Erica, who had flipped up the teacher’s skirt and was now pulling her panties down over her pert, pale white buttocks.
“I am sorry, Mandy,” repeated Pamela, mortified, her bare ass exposed for whatever mayhem Erica wished to administer. “For wanting to suck your boyfriend’s cock like a doggie slut.”
She’d said it with gusto, as if she meant it, and at this point Pamela wasn’t sure what she wanted, except that if these kids didn’t leave her be soon, she was going to be dealing with one hell of an unwanted orgasm.
“I—I have a class,” she announced pitifully, “next period.”
Mandy stepped deliberately on the corona of Pamela’s spilt hair, grinding the blonde locks into the carpet. “So?”
Erica, meanwhile, was between Pamela’s legs, shoving a finger into her gaping wet hole from behind. “You on the pill, Pammy?”
“N—no.”
The girl probed her, making her shudder. “You will be by this time tomorrow. Got it?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
“We’ll need a complete sexual history, too,” she heard Trevor say.
Pamela cringed. There was no way, not given the number of men she’d been subjected to—in the dark, blindfolded, in bondage, sometimes five or six or ten a night. For months on end.
“Don’t be a dumb ass,” Erica came unexpectedly to her rescue. “You saw the photos; you think she remembers them all?”
Pamela thrust her buttocks helplessly in the air, wanting, needing more. Erica was fingering her, concentrating on the clitoris.
“Gross,” exclaimed Mandy, sounding more like a little girl than a young woman, “she’s gonna come all over your hand.”
“That’s right, Einstein,” Erica humored the duller witted Mandy. “And after that, she’ll lick it all off.”
Erica’s words, and the implied humiliation of having to taste her own juices was enough to push Pamela over the edge. Her cheek and tits chafing the carpet, she erupted, a fountain of fresh cum soaking the girl’s fingers.
“Get up,” commanded Erica cruelly, giving her no time to absorb the waves of sensation. Pamela got back up to her knees as best she could, the juices of her submission dripping down her legs onto her useless panties bunched at her knees.
Opening her mouth wide as she could, she took in Erica’s fingers, treating them like a cock. There was a time when she could deep throat any and all takers, even the mammoth basketball players. The act had revolted her at first, but Lorenzo had cured her of her reticence the first night with the help of a stun gun and a particularly nasty- looking dildo.
“Look at her,” Mandy taunted, “she loves it. I bet she’d eat us out just like a little vacuum cleaner.”
“She will,” said Erica ominously, “or she’ll be a very sorry little pet.”
“She’s our pet, that’s right,” Mandy picked up on the remark. “A pet teacher instead of a teacher’s pet.”
“Shut up, Mandy,” said Blake. “You’re giving me a headache.”
“That’s enough,” Erica pulled her fingers out of the eagerly sucking mouth. “Go get ready for your next class, Teach.”
Pamela looked up at her.
“Go on,” said Erica, irritated. “Sit down and do your work. We’ll watch and make sure you don’t cheat. Just like you do for us.”
“I…I need to use the bathroom,” Pamela said miserably.
Erica grinned, seeing the possibility of some new mischief. “Mandy, go get the wastebasket.”
“What for?” the blonde cocked her head.
Erica rolled her green, green eyes. “Girl, you’re like a walking blonde joke, do you know that?”
Mandy, who was busy touching her hard nipples idly, as if seeing them for the first time, replied, “Huh? What do you mean, Erica?”
“I know what Erica means. We’re gonna make her piss right here,” supplied Trevor eagerly. “Right here in front of us.”
“Oh, I get it,” Mandy clapped. “She’ll pee like a doggie for us.”
They made Pamela remove her underwear and squat over the gray metal cylinder. She had to hold her skirt high, up and out of the way. For a while it wouldn’t come out, so they made her drink cold coffee from the cup on her desk. They gave her to the count of ten to guzzle it, or they’d pour it down her throat. She knew it would spill that way, so she made sure to get every drop.
The first drips of warm liquid pinged at the bottom of the metal container so loud, Pamela feared they would hear it next door in Mr. Pennington’s office, the head of the English department. It was only her imagination, though. The walls were thick, and as she urinated for them it was a certainty that only these four were witnessing her shame. The stream took forever to exhaust itself. They made her look at them in the eyes the whole time, imprinting with every blink that she was lower than them now, a captive, a mere animal subject to their whims.
When it was finally over they let her stand, though she was not permitted any privacy to wipe herself. They made her spread her legs in front of them and use her own panties to soak up the excess liquid. Afterwards, they made her toss the dirty underwear into the wastebasket. The thin silk garment floated like an island in a shallow yellow sea. Pamela cringed to think what would happen if the custodial staff got hold of this mess. She’d have to get rid of the evidence before the end of the day, but how?
“That’s all for now,” Erica nodded at the barefoot, humiliated teacher, standing beside a can of her own piss. “We’ll let you get ready for your class now.”
“Ta-ta, Teach,” Mandy blew her a kiss off the end of her fingers as she sashayed past. Blake was right beside her, his hand clasping her ass like she was his personal property. A little stab of jealousy pierced Pamela as she imagined the pair off to have sex, the girl exploring and enjoying the young stud’s delicious body, arousing him to her own blis
sful usage.
“You’ll be hearing from us,” Trevor gave a little salute at the doorway.
Erica was the last to leave. Pamela could see the wheels spinning; the girl wanted more power over her and she wanted it now. “Give me your bra,” she held out her hand, “Pammy.”
Pamela opened her mouth to protest, but seeing the girl’s eyes, she knew it was no use. Head lowered, she began to unbutton her blouse. Slipping it over her shoulders and down to the floor, she opened the clasp of the brassiere, allowing her tits to spill free. Ashamed and deeply aroused, Pamela turned over the protective covering. Erica watched her, smirking feline-like as the hapless teacher bent to pick it up, her heavy tits bobbing in the process.
Hastily, Pamela refastened the top over her lush bosom.
A sigh passed deep in the teacher’s belly as the silk rubbed over her bare nipples. How would she hide them? she thought in desperation. And how would she keep her concentration in such a state of arousal?
“No masturbating,” Erica told her, dropping the modest bra into the wet wastebasket. “I know you’ll want to, but you can’t, not till we say so.”
Pamela stood helplessly as Erica took her face in her hands and kissed her hard. The barefoot teacher was the same height as her student and their bodies fit together, close and hot. Pamela felt naked even with her clothes on and as the kiss got hotter and wetter, she had no choice but to yield to the teenager’s embrace, offering herself up to Erica’s firm young flesh.
Erica waited for the telltale moan, the sign of certain surrender. “Your next class,” she reminded the teacher, reaching round to smack her skirt-clad ass with terrifying familiarity and possessiveness. “You don’t want to be unprepared. I’d have to punish you for that.”
Pamela’s crotch jellied at the mention of punishment. It was a tiny orgasm, a reflex left over from a time when her body, and its myriad responses belonged not to herself but to a man—many men, to whom she was beholden and upon whom her very life depended. Back then, even the sight of a crop, whip or cane would make her shatter, as surely as the sight of a penis that she knew would have its way with her.
“No masturbating,” Erica repeated, giving the woman’s nipples a quick, tantalizing squeeze through the blouse.
Pamela threw back her head. When she recovered herself a moment later, the girl was gone.
***
Mr. Rains caught up to Pamela outside the women’s faculty bathroom half an hour after the dismissal bell.
“Emptying your own trash?” he remarked, noting the shiny, clean wastebasket in her hand.
Pamela flushed crimson. “I—I had an ink spill, from a pen. I didn’t want to trouble the custodians.”
Tom Rains nodded soberly. “I admire that kind of dedication, Miss Haley. Not to mention your obvious sense of team spirit.”
Pam held the metal against her chest, trying to hide the explosive nipples. The rubbing, however, only made her more excited. “Thank you, Mr. Rains. If I could just get past you…”
Now it was the dimpled principal’s turn to blush. “I’m in your way,” he exclaimed. “How rude of me.”
Pamela whisked past him as soon as he’d stepped back. She was terrified he’d smell her heat, the sexual jungle stickiness cloying within her unpantied crotch. “Not at all, Mr. Rains, not at all.”
“Miss Haley?” he blurted, calling after her hastily swaying buttocks. “Pamela?”
She whirled about, stunned to hear her first name come from the man’s lips. “Mr. Rains?” she whispered down the empty corridor.
“I would like to see you,” he said, closing the gap between them with several decisive steps. “Outside of school. It isn’t exactly regulation behavior. In fact, it’s not allowed, but I want to anyway—to see you, that is.”
Pamela swallowed hard. The suit and tie principal seemed like a different man, his jaw decisive, his eyes firm and fixed. Was he picking up on her heat, the surge in female hormones brought on by the degrading treatment she’d been subjected to earlier in the day? Had he sensed the new status she now held with her senior students? If so, it was her responsibility to think for both of them. “Mr. Rains, I don’t think that…”
He quelled her objections with a kiss. The sudden force of his action seemed to stun him as much as it did her. “Tonight,” he said, releasing her breathless. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Yes,” she sighed. “Mr. Rains.”
Pamela floated all the way back to her office. She’d almost managed to forget her newfound tormentors when she saw one of them sitting on the edge of her desk.
“You sure took your damn time,” Blake observed curtly, arms folded over his massive chest.
Pamela bit her lip. She’d been about to reflexively chastise him for his use of profanity. “What do you want?” she asked instead, noting he’d tossed his jacket and school tie over her sofa and rolled up his starched white sleeves. “It’s late. I want to go home.”
Blake bounced to his feet, khakis tented. “Mandy had cheerleading practice,” he leered. “Which makes this your responsibility.”
‘This’ referred to the young man’s thickly pulsing erection, which he pulled now through the fly of his bright red boxers, having first yanked down the pant zipper.
Without waiting to be told, she went to him, on her knees.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he told her, guiding her blonde head immediately onto his stiff, throbbing prick. “Remember that, for next time.”
***
Pamela went through every dress in her closet. It was a humble wardrobe, very different from what she’d grown up with. Different, too, from what Lorenzo had allowed her at the House of Bliss—his combination whorehouse, strip club and slave prison. Though in the case of those outfits, she’d put on what she was told. Like herself, the sexy costumes were Lorenzo’s property, in many cases more valuable than she was herself, a fact as he was fond of reminding her of frequently. She lived in fear of staining or ruining one and was always relieved on that score to be stripped naked for a fucking or a beating.
Pamela decided to go for something classic; a sleeveless black dress, scoop necked, with a matching top, which she thought to be more appropriate for a schoolteacher. Pamela had no idea where Mr. Rains would take her, though for both of their sakes’, she hoped it would be as far away from the school as possible.
Checking herself in the mirror, she gave final approval to her look: Hair brushed back, partially pinned with a velvet bow, minimal makeup, nude stockings and medium height shoes to match the sequined midnight black purse. It was a flexible ensemble, equipped to rise to any occasion.
Underwear had been a challenge. Her body was still woefully in need and while Pamela was entirely sure Erica could never enforce her ludicrous decree concerning masturbation, she’d nonetheless eschewed giving herself any satisfaction.
Just putting on a bra had been agony. She needed a man’s hands on those tits. Or nipple clamps and maybe a flogger to lash them into attentive submission. That had been her world once upon a time, before she’d made good her escape from Lorenzo’s web. With the help of an angel of a man. A cop to whom she owed everything, including her life.
Pamela squeezed her legs. It occurred to her now that there was another kind of relief available to her in the form of Tom Rains. The little bitch Erica hadn’t said a thing about her not enjoying sex, only self-stimulation. If Tom were to satisfy her, she’d be in perfect compliance. Her breathing quickened a little as she thought how dependent she was now. Tom could choose to have her, or not. Just as Blake or any of the others could choose to use her as they wished.
Licking her lips, Pamela rubbed the tips of her nipples, safely ensconced beneath the bolero jacket, dress and a fresh bra. Nipple touching, too, quite happily, had gone unmentioned as a pleasure she could not indulge herself in. Sealing shut her eyes, she thought of the gorgeous quarterback, the commanding young Blake. He’d lorded over her like a general in her office after school,
making it clear without uttering a word exactly what she was to do to give him pleasure.
Irresistibly, she’d been drawn to his crotch, to the magnificent specimen of manhood between his muscular thighs. “Mandy won’t do this, but you will…as often as I want,” he’d said, giving a delicious little moan as she kissed the tip of him, sliding the hardness down the length of her tongue the way she’d been trained by Lorenzo. Blake had been pleased with her, of course. Pamela had learned fellatio on the cocks of strong, masterful men, males who had no compunction in beating a woman to improve her performance, not to mention withholding from her the basic necessities of food and water as incentive.
“Oh, yeah,” he’d grunted as he poured himself down her throat, his league-leading fingertips entangling themselves in her hair. “You’re fucking good. Better than the fucking whores down in Mexico.”
Pamela had swallowed every drop and as he rose to zip himself, she stayed there at his feet. He’d been gone fifteen minutes before she finally rallied herself enough to collect her things to go home.
The sound of her own doorbell interrupted Pamela’s reverie. She’d been close to coming just then, without even touching her magic places. Counting the steps to the doorway, she tried to clear her head. Mathematics was the one thing she’d always relied on to tamp her sexual desires. Back in high school, when she’d been a blonde hottie like Mandy, she’d relied on the technique quite heavily to protect her honor from the myriad of panting boys who dated her and tried to bed her.
Combined with her extraordinary will and her propensity for screaming, the little mental exercises had kept her virginity safe—even from Hal, her mother’s last and most vicious male consort. Unfortunately, putting off the hulking ex-marine turned gold digger had cost her something far dearer than her virginity: namely her freedom.
It was Rains outside the door. The way the peephole distorted his body, she got a magnified eyeful of his cock beneath his trousers. The vision gave her ideas, naughty ideas that were making her forget all about dinner.
Punishing Pamela Page 2