Of course she could, and in fact, she would.
Pamela was in a much better frame of mind by the time she pulled onto her quiet residential street. Things were never as bad as they seemed, she thought, in spite of their apparent gravity.
Then she saw the strange car in her driveway.
It was a late model import, luxury all the way, complete with tinted windows and chrome trim. No one she knew would drive such a vehicle. Her first thought was to turn around and fetch the police. But that would only bring attention to herself, to the disgraceful way she’d soaked her clothing. There could be uncomfortable questions and more than likely she’d end up being the one in trouble.
On second thought, it might be best to handle the situation on her own. Grabbing the can of mace from the glove box, Pamela steeled herself for a confrontation. She knew a burglar or rapist would never announce his presence so blatantly, but still there was something disconcerting about the whole situation.
“Hey, there, sweetheart,” crooned a voice as soon as she opened the front door.
Pamela froze in place, her arm outthrust, at the ready with the can. “Who’s there? Show yourself,” she demanded boldly of her darkened living room.
“I’m disappointed you don’t recognize my voice…Honey Snatch.”
The hair on Pamela’s neck stood on end. Lorenzo.
“Why don’t you put on a light, Honey Snatch, and let’s get a look at you?”
Honey Snatch. The name she loathed so much. It was he, all right.
Pamela flicked the switch on the wall, needing to confirm her worst fears. Lorenzo grinned at her, his lanky body slouched arrogantly on her easy chair. He’d turned it to face the door, obviously wanting to heighten the drama.
“Look at you,” he murmured approvingly, “all grown up now.”
Pamela straightened herself proudly. “Breaking and entering is a crime,” she reminded him.
“So is prostitution. Not to mention half the kinky shit you used to do for me on a nightly basis.”
Pamela regarded him in the way one would a species of vermin—warily and with contempt. The weasel hadn’t changed a bit, she thought. His long dark hair was slicked back, tied into a ponytail, an odd compliment to the razor thin mustache, bony cheeks and ears that stuck out when he smiled. In black jeans and snakeskin boots he was trying to affect a tough guy look, though there wasn’t enough wear and tear on the leather jacket or the red turtleneck to justify it.
“I don’t know how you found me again, and I don’t care,” she managed, the thinnest veneer of bravado masking plunging terror. “I just want you out of my house. I’m going to take a shower, Lorenzo. Be gone by the time I come out.”
Lorenzo smirked. “That’s not very polite Honey Snatch. Do I need to take you over my knee?”
A wave of weakness overcame her. She had to get away; had to block him out somehow.
“Fuck you,” she replied, walking briskly past him on her way to the bathroom.
She was trembling by the time she got there, but he didn’t have to know that. Hot water. She needed hot water. And soap to scrub herself clean, her body and her whole life besides.
It had taken so long after getting away from this man to see herself as something other than a sex toy, a doll that men liked to make laugh and cry in equal measures. And now it was all coming back to her—the cruel work begun by Trevor, Blake, Mandy and Erica a day ago now being finished by this ghost, this demonic apparition, risen from the graveyard of her long repressed past.
Wash. She had to wash. To the point of bleeding, if that’s what it took.
“Boo,” said Lorenzo, sliding open the shower door.
Pamela screamed as the man climbed in with her, buck-naked.
He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go getting all shy on me now,” he told her, as though it were all some game.
“You’re hurting me,” she protested.
“That is the idea.” He spun her round effortlessly, pressing her face first against the tile. With her arm pinned high up on her back, Pamela was completely helpless.
“You like that?” he whispered, pushing himself into her, making a sandwich of her.
Pamela whimpered. Her tits were pinned, the nipples flattened on the smooth surface. Her thighs, moist and needful, suctioned themselves. “Lorenzo, I can’t do this anymore,” she gasped.
He jammed a finger up into her eager cunt. “You can, Honey Snatch and you will.”
Pamela shuddered. He hadn’t lost his touch, his ability to turn her into a horny slut in zero to sixty. “I…oh, god…”
He was going to make her come, right here on his hand.
“Palms on the wall,” he commanded, releasing her suddenly.
Pamela obeyed, anticipating his hard cock.
“You shouldn’t have left me, baby,” he crooned, nibbling at her earlobe with his expensively capped teeth.
Events flashed through her mind. Hazy. Desperate images.
“I…I had to go with Nick…he…he wanted a better life for me…”
Lorenzo was at her ass, lathering the narrow channel with soap. “I’ll bet he did. The mother fucker stole my property, that’s all I know.”
Pamela felt something hard, familiar. “Lorenzo, don’t…”
“Remember this, Honey Snatch?”
The dildo went in hard and fast. She hadn’t known he’d even had it on his person.
“Don’t,” came her retort. “Or…or I’ll scream rape.”
It was a laughable threat and they both knew it. For despite the pain and shock of what was being done to her, Pamela was thrusting out her ass to receive the invader—just as she’d been trained to all those years ago.
A slave can’t be raped, Lorenzo had been fond of telling her—and showing her—throughout her lengthy indoctrination, because unlike a free person, a slave cannot help wanting, inviting whatever is done to her.
Like putty in his hands, Pamela began to mewl. “L—Lorenzo,” she croaked, making a last ditch defense against utter subjugation. “It’s too…too much.”
“On the contrary,” he reached round with his free hand to capture her breast in a vise grip. “You want more, don’t you? Beg for it, Honey Snatch. Beg to take it all the way, like you used to. For me.”
Pamela screamed into the wet tile, her protest flattening against the cold, unyielding surface. He was pushing her hard, making sure she was in pain. And yet there was his other hand now, in the other opening, giving equal parts of bliss and exquisite pain.
It wasn’t fair. Never had been, to be a woman around men like this.
“D - deeper,” came Pamela’s concurrence at last, the words spoken into the steamy mist like those of some other person, an unreal woman whose name and existence had lain long forgotten in her subconscious. “I need it…deeper…all the way.”
Lorenzo laughed, as always the consummate bastard, the total mind fucker she’d remembered. “Fight me,” he put her off, spurning her attempt to submit. “I want you to fight me.”
Deeper and deeper went the shaft, her groans of pain interspersed with telltale female moans punctuating a dance of dark surrender, point and counter point, her trying to push it out, only to suck it deeper in, all the way to the hilt. Pamela had wanted to resist harder, really she had, but he was flicking her clitoris, the way he knew always drove her over the top.
Humiliated, the water pounding her invaded flesh, she gave him what he wanted. He held her in place for a long time, making her climax again and again. Like a slut, like the little slave she’d always been for him.
“That’s more like it,” he nodded, turning her around at last. “Now let’s get you down on your knees and then we’ll start talking about your new job…working for me.”
“Yes,” Pamela replied, unable to hold anything back from the man. “Yes, sir.”
“Master,” he corrected.
The tile was hard on Pamela’s bare knees. From up above, the shower water rushed like an avalanche down on
her humbled body. “Yes, Master,” she pronounced, opening her mouth wide enough to take Lorenzo’s waiting dick.
“Just like old times,” he guided her pretty mouth onto him, finding that spot he so loved at the back of her throat. “Isn’t it, Honey Snatch?”
Pamela couldn’t answer, of course. She was too busy trying not to gag; after all, she might be punished if she did.
***
“Guess who?”
Mandy started, the large hands having caught her unaware, wrapping themselves firmly round her eyes. “Blake, you scared me.”
The quarterback slid his golden fingers down to his girlfriend’s neck and across the sheer fabric that covered her bosom. “So?”
Mandy squirmed. She was sitting at her desk, attempting to study in short shorts, a half T-shirt, no bra, her hair up in a banana clip. “I thought you had to study for world history?”
Blake slapped down her interfering hands, trapping them under his on the surface of her algebra book. “I needed a little study break,” he nuzzled her neck.
“Bullshit, Blake; you want sex and you know it.”
“You must be psychic.” Before she could resist, he had both his palms on her belly, fingers tingling up under the hem of the shirt to her bare breasts.
“Blake, no. It’s past nine, anyway—boys aren’t even supposed to be in here now.”
“But I’m not just a boy, am I?” he teased, massaging her firm ripe globes. “I’m your boy. And you’re my girl aren’t you?”
“One of them,” she managed, interjecting just enough acidity.
“What did you say?” Blake was at her nipples, holding them fast.
“Hey,” she squealed, “don’t!”
The quarterback treated the cheerleader to a dose of very grownup sexual pain. Mandy threw back her head and moaned. Releasing her a few seconds later, he had her full attention.
“You don’t say no to me, Mandy, got it?”
He was looking down into her eyes, his face hard and cold. Despite her fear and distress, or maybe because of it, Mandy felt a flood between her legs. “G—got it,” she nodded.
Blake pulled out her chair. “Get up, Mandy.”
She did so, her breath rapid. From the look in his eyes, she knew something had changed. He’d always been sort of bossy and she knew he took advantage of her sometimes for sex, but this was different. Could it be the experience of having the submissive teacher was affecting him more than anyone realized?
“Blake, baby,” she told him huskily, “I want you.”
He stopped her at arm’s length. “We’re doing anal tonight,” he said harshly, his hand gripping the neck of her shirt.
Mandy swallowed. “But I’ve never…”
The shirt tore in his hands. “Take off the shorts, Mandy and get on the bed on all fours.”
She looked at him, glassy eyed. He was holding the scraps of her top and now he was wanting the bottoms, too.
“Do it, Mandy. Now.”
The willowy blonde melted. Blake wasn’t asking her, he was telling her and if she didn’t obey, there was no telling what he might do. Without taking her eyes off him, she opened the button and unzipped the skimpy shorts. They fell at her trim ankles, leaving nothing but the panties. Light blue and soaking wet.
“Those, too,” he answered the unasked question.
Mandy skinned down the sheer material and slipped them over her ankles one by one.
“I’ll take those. We can use them for a gag.”
Her cheeks flushed red as she handed her underwear to her boyfriend. “Blake,” she croaked, surprised at herself for finding the strength to speak. “That little cunt Cindy is at the library. I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
Blake slapped her across the face. “I don’t give a fuck about your new roommate, and I sure as shit don’t want to hear you bitching anymore. Now open wide.”
Mandy parted her lips to receive the sex-soaked panties. He thrust the material between her teeth, pushing it against the roof of her mouth. “Bite down,” he commanded.
She looked at him longingly with puppy dog eyes.
“Don’t start with me. Get on the bed, like I told you.”
Mandy was dispatched with a firm slap on her bare ass. The flesh still stung as she put herself in position, on hands and knees, her buttocks high in the air.
He’s going to take me, she thought. My boyfriend’s going to use my ass for his pleasure.
“The way we’ve been bossing Pamela around has got me thinking,” Blake ran his hand down her shivering back. “Me and Trevor both. We figure we can push the envelope…with her and you girls, too.”
Mandy whimpered into her gag, a complete prisoner on her own bed. He was rubbing something on her, and in her. Cool and slippery. Some kind of ointment.
“I don’t expect you to answer,” he chuckled, widening the passage with his slathered fingers. “Just give in to it.”
God, she needed him in her pussy. But no, she couldn’t think like that. She needed to get him out of here. Cindy was due back, and if the stuck-up little redhead bitch found her like this Mandy would be mortified.
“Mmmph,” she shook her head frantically, trying to spit out the panties.
Blake moved into position, pulling down his pants and underwear. “You’re going to enjoy this, baby. I had a whore this way in Tijuana last Spring break. She went totally bonkers.”
Mandy was glad she couldn’t talk or she’d be tempted to point out that prostitutes are paid to pretend they like anything.
“Ready, baby?”
Blake’s helmet pressed at her perfect ass cheeks. Oh, God, he was starting. A few grunts, and he was breeching the opening, pushing himself hard and deep. Mandy balled her fists. She felt pain at first, a distressing fullness like she’d explode, but as he maneuvered himself deeper, she sensed the beginnings of something else.
Pleasure.
“Mmm,” he moaned, reaching round for her freely hanging tits.
The sensation sent Mandy into orbit; him squeezing her breasts while his prick pierced its way down her canal. She’d never known anything like this, not with him or either of the other two boyfriends she’d given her body to before.
She was coming before he’d made it all the way in. Her own hand had snaked into her cunt and he didn’t seem to mind. He was occupied, getting himself off. Grunting like a wild man, drooling on her bare back, he plowed at her cheerleader’s body, taking his pleasure.
Mandy came again, feeling like a totally used little sex object, a waiting sperm receptacle. Blake pulled himself out just before, spraying himself across her ass and back.
“Oh, yeah,” he was saying, “take my spunk you little ho, take it all over your slutty body.”
Cindy walked in just as he was ejaculating. Mandy could hear the door, but was powerless to prevent her roommate witnessing the scene. Blake, if he’d heard her, was indifferent. He was coming on his girlfriend’s body—the dream of every young man, to be sure.
“Whoops, guess I should have knocked,” called Cindy cheerily, the tone of her voice indicating that she was loving every minute of it. “Then again this is my room, too, isn’t it?”
Blake got up to face her. “You must be Cindy. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re a transfer from Dandridge, right? Don’t move!” he added harshly to Mandy who was making overtures toward getting up from her place of shame.
Mandy cried out a muffled scream of exasperation into her gag. At the same time she was feeling aroused all over again to know that this girl she hated so much and who hated her was enjoying her complete humiliation. Mandy had tried to change rooms, after her old room mate had dropped out and been replaced by this little freakazoid, but the dorm warden wouldn’t allow it, claiming the girls needed a lesson in dealing with people different from themselves.
Cindy was different all right. The way she looked at the other girls, with those leering looks, and the way she unbuttoned her shirt so low when no one was looking and hike
d her skirts in Mandy’s presence, there was no doubt she was a lesbian.
“Yes; it’s nice to meet you, too, Trevor. And hey,” she added sarcastically. “It’s so great to see the real you, Mandy.” Cindy chortled the words, drinking in the sight of her roommate, in ass resplendent submission.
“Is it true you’re into chicks?” Blake wanted to know, cutting through the bull shit as usual.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“You can have Mandy if you want. All night. She’ll do whatever you tell her. Won’t you, baby?”
Mandy closed her eyes. Cindy had come over and bent down to pet her head, stroking her mangled, yellow hair like she was some kind of pet. More than once in the past three weeks since her arrival, Mandy had caught the girl spying on her in the shower, or watching her sleep. There was no doubt what she wanted.
“Thanks, Blake, you’re all right for a guy.” She nibbled at Mandy’s earlobe, biting it just hard enough. “I’m going to fuck you six ways from Sunday, sweetie,” the secret lesbian assured the subservient young woman.
“I gotta go study,” Blake announced. “You two have fun.”
Mandy lifted her head in protest only to have Cindy grab her hair in a single, violently clenched fist. “Did I say you could move, cunt?”
Tears pooled in Mandy’s gray blue eyes. Her nostrils—the only source of air given her stuffed mouth—flared wildly. This wasn’t happening. Cindy wouldn’t dare treat her like this.
“See you in the morning, baby.” Blake delivered a goodbye swat, inducing a whimper from the girl. “I’m expecting you to cooperate totally with whatever Cindy wants, got it?”
A few seconds after Mandy nodded gloomily, she heard the door close.
“Let’s get you in the bathroom, cunt,” Cindy said now, pulling her painfully to her feet. “We’ll get all that male stink off of you, then we can have some girl fun.”
Punishing Pamela Page 5