She dared not back away as the two girls advanced on her holding a similar corset. It was leather lined, stiff and unyielding when they wrapped it around her, and they laced it so tight she thought her ribs would crack. It extended upwards to just below her breasts, and tightly cinched her waist before curving downwards over each of her hips while still contriving to expose her abdomen almost to her navel. It was weighty, horribly constrictive and – Pam shivered as the thought entered her head – very sensual. Knowing Persephone’s wealth, it was bound to be real gold.
So were the bracelets and anklets, and the collar that made her heart pound when they locked it around her neck. Pam had worn one for Rick, but that had been leather. She had worn it as a symbol of her love. This one was much heavier, and it was a symbol of her slavery. Pam’s spirit rebelled and she had to fight hard to summon the control she had worked so long to develop. It came less easily since she had arrived in hell, but she would be flogged if she resisted. Pam turned her head aside as Milly appeared in front of her holding a pot of rouge and a brush.
Persephone finished dressing in a flared, pleated, calf-length skirt of pale yellow satin, white high heels and a white silk blouse that somehow contrived to cover both shoulders and her midriff but left her small and pointed right tit exposed. She added a sapphire clip to its nipple and watched Milly finish brushing bright-red rouge along the outer edges of Pam’s slit. It tickled. Her nipples had already responded to the brush by standing stiffly on the peaks of her breasts.
“Delicious, darling.” Persephone’s smile was predatory. “Now, what have I forgotten? No, we won’t trouble with the jewellery for now.” The nervous looks Tania and Milly were giving her turned to ones of relief. “Ah, yes, the butt-plugs!” She produced three from the suitcase, black rubber, fashioned like a series of balls joined together and gradually increasing in thickness, about five inches long, with a narrower neck close to one end and beyond that a screw thread.
Pam’s buttocks ached when she bent over and pulled them apart. Her sphincter stung as the blonde mistress forced the oily plug home and her little rear muscle tightened around its narrow section. Persephone screwed small gold caps decorated with fluffy little feathers to the threads on the protruding end of each slave’s plug, green and white for Milly, blue and white for Tania and red and white for Pam. They looked as ridiculous as the bow ties on the collars and felt equally humiliating, and Pam knew hers would draw even more attention to the raised purple ridges criss-crossing her rear cheeks. Worse was to come. Not only did she suddenly realise that none of them were going to be permitted any covering for their sexes, but Persephone took three thin leather leashes like those used for lap dogs, clipped one to the ring on each girl’s collar and looped them over her wrist.
In awful, cringing embarrassment, Pam allowed herself to be pulled along like a pet puppy as the blonde made her way to the airship’s port-side exit, down the boarding ramp and towards the building beyond. The airport terminal was big but still dwarfed by the seven huge vessels hovering thirty feet above the ground in front of it. Pam looked back as the doors closed behind them and saw the Spirit of Liberty sinking slowly towards a landing, its funnels still belching smoke. A jerk on her leash dragged her in Persephone’s wake.
Drake was already waiting in Customs. He waved a sheaf of papers. “Ann’s paperwork’s complete.” He drew them back and slipped them into his pocket as Persephone reached out. He was not wearing his uniform but a lightweight civilian suit of similar cut. His long, light grey coat narrowed at the waist, drawing Pam’s attention to his broad chest and shoulders. She lowered her gaze, aching with embarrassment at how she must look in his eyes. Around her were other girls, most of them collared and leashed, some dressed in a similar gaudy and revealing way, others nearly naked. Though many wore loincloths, not one she could see had any covering for her breasts. It seemed there were no laws about public nudity here, except perhaps that it was compulsory for slaves. Pam shuddered.
Customs cleared Persephone in less than five minutes. A tug on Pam’s collar had her tottering on her high heels with the butt-plug shifting within her as she was led onto a railway station platform where a small locomotive stood, chuffing steam. There were two cars. Persephone boarded the first, let go of the leashes and went to the seats in the rear. In front were only rows of metal bars on either side of the central aisle. Tania and Milly knelt on the floor and closed their hands around the bar in front of them. Pam did the same.
The train filled quickly. More slaves knelt at the bars and their owners took seats further back. In front of her, Pam saw a girl wearing a silver hair band with fake rabbit ears attached and a short, furry tail peeping from between her buttocks. The slave beside her wore nothing but a broad, red leather belt around her waist, joined to a narrow one cinched tightly enough between her legs to separate the rouged swells of her labia. There were at least twenty other slaves in the car, some even completely naked.
Pam clung to the bar as the train began to move and quickly left the landing field behind. As they passed through the New York City suburbs, which were not so very different to those back home, she wondered at Drake’s reaction to her mentioning the blackness. Clearly, it had been that which had provoked his fierce grip on her shoulder and his quickly suppressed excitement. If he had been ready to listen to her at any time since she had first arrived, instead of silencing her with stern words or that forbidding glance of his, Pam would have willingly told him everything she knew about the eerie phenomenon that had brought her to his awful world. Her satisfaction at the realisation that for once she had him at a disadvantage was fleeting, as she remembered the pain and humiliations she had suffered because of Drake. A quiver tickled her pussy and clamped her anus around her butt-plug when she remembered other things. Pam forced the memories from her thoughts and closed her eyes to shut out the sight of the exotically and bizarrely dressed slave girls in front of her.
A minute later she opened them again as the train crossed a bridge with another directly alongside it, crowded with odd-looking automobiles, buses and trucks, all half-shrouded in steam and with puffing smoke stacks. The internal combustion engine was clearly unknown here. A street sign flashed past – Chrystie Street. They had just crossed into Manhattan over what would have been the Manhattan Bridge in Pam’s reality. Shortly afterwards, the train stopped at the Thirty Sixth Street station. Half of the passengers got off, including Drake and Persephone, who collected the slave girls along the way.
“Hey, Alex, it’s not like you to go into town,” Pam heard Drake say, and saw the chief engineer from the airship had also been on the train. “We usually can’t pry you away from your engines”
“There’s only a few loose seals and gaskets to take care of. My deputy can see to it.” The Chief tapped a finger on the large, brown envelope he held. “I’ve got business downtown with the US Patent Office. I’ll tell you later if it works out.” He grinned and disappeared into the crowd.
Although there were steam-taxis outside the station, all closer in size to a van than a sedan, Persephone chose to walk. Plenty of others were doing the same in the warm, sunny weather, many leading leashed slave girls and, to Pam’s shock and embarrassment, not all by their neck collars. Many of the slaves were dressed and decorated as garishly as Pam and her companions and attracted as many stares. Aching with self-consciousness and with the butt-plug doing alarming things as it rubbed the delicate tissues in her rectum at every step, she kept her eyes lowered as they walked the two blocks along Fifth Avenue to the corner of West Thirty Fourth Street. The Empire State Building was not there. Where it should have been was a building no more than twenty stories high at most. Above its door a sign read Astoria Hotel.
Familiar and unwelcome sounds greeted Pam as Persephone led the slaves across the lobby – the crack and thud of a heavy cane on bare flesh, accompanied by half-stifled cries of pain and anguish. To the right of the hotel’s reception desk stood three tall, chromed-metal posts. A naked gir
l was bound to the central one, her arms stretched above her head while a man lashed a thick cane across her helpless buttocks. A half-dozen people had stopped to watch but others passed by as if it were a regular occurrence. Pam shivered as the cane struck again and the rounded jut of the girl’s buttocks distorted under the wicked impact. In this place it was a regular occurrence.
While Persephone registered, the almost nude girl behind the desk rang a bell and handed a key to the slave who instantly answered the summons.
“Miss Peake’s usual penthouse,” the desk clerk said, pretending she was unaware of Persephone looking back and forth between her coral-pink-rouged lips and nipples and smiling lustfully. The bellhop led them to an elevator where another girl operated the controls and, with steam swirling around everyone’s ankles, it began to rise. The slaves wore little round hats held by a strap under the chin and narrow loincloths with a line of brass buttons at each side, in what to Pam were grotesque caricatures of the usual bellhop’s uniform. As with the desk clerks, they each had a maroon leather collar around their necks bearing the hotel’s name in gold letters. Their bottoms were bare. As the elevator continued upwards, Persephone closed one hand over the left buttock of the girl operating the controls. It bore several darkly pink lines. The girl grunted softly.
“Have you been a bad girl?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
The blonde’s fingers sank deeper into the yielding flesh. “Mm, I like bad girls.”
“Let her be,” Drake said quietly, almost the first words he had spoken since they had left the railroad station.
Persephone released her grip and pouted. “Oh, Rafael, I hope you haven’t come just to spoil the fun!”
He smiled broadly and glanced at Pam. “I mean to have some fun of my own while I’m here. But first I have business to attend to. I’ll drop off my case and see you this evening.”
He was in and out of the luxurious penthouse suite in two minutes. For no reason she could understand, Pam felt suddenly lonely. Maybe if he had stayed he might have saved her from Persephone’s worst excesses… or maybe not. He had manhandled her, hit her and sexually abused her. He was a hard, unfeeling man in a hard, unfeeling world. All she wanted to do was escape both of them. Her left breast stung. Pam yelped and saw Persephone scowling at her, a slim, ebony wand in her hand.
“Never mind standing there juicing over your future Master. You’re under my control while we’re here so pay attention to me, not those dirty thoughts running around in your head.”
Pam rubbed her stinging tit. Perhaps it was not so much Drake’s absence as Persephone’s presence that was the cause of her loneliness. She recalled the look he had given her in the elevator. Future Master? Hell would freeze over first.
For no obvious reason, the blonde mistress smacked her wand on the generously curved right breast of the hotel slave. “Name,” she demanded, and when the girl told her, she added, “I want my luggage sent up the moment it arrives, Ellen.”
“Of course, Mistress.”
“When were you last caned?”
The slave paled. “Not for over a week, Mistress.”
“Well, take good care of me and it will stay that way.” Persephone took a two hundred dollar bill from her purse and Ellen’s eyes widened. “I expect you like fucking girls.”
“No, Mistress. It’s forbidden.”
“Of course it is, but I still do it.” She gave a knowing smile and held out the money. “You do too, eh? Down in the slave pens after hours, playing pussy-touch with your lover?”
The girl looked towards the door. When it remained closed, she nodded. The bill changed hands.
“Good girl. If you please me there’ll be more of the same when I leave.” Persephone smiled again. “Bring your lover here sometime and show me what you can do and I’ll give you both another.”
“M… Mistress, we’d be publicly flogged.”
“Oh, no one will tell. I’ve come close myself and so has Eve, and the slaves know better than to say anything.” She drew a circle around the girl’s rouged nipple with a fingertip. “Now bring us lunch, darling, and I want champagne.”
The food was far better than the Company provided on the airship. While Persephone and Eve sat on a sofa, the slave girls knelt on the floor to eat, but the hotel even provided napkins for them and Ellen did all the serving. Persephone groped the slave shamelessly every time she came within reach. As she bent to pour coffee the blonde trailed a finger down the cleft in Ellen’s rear.
“You have a beautiful bottom, darling.” She giggled. The champagne bottle was more than half empty and no one but Persephone had drunk any.
The slave girl stiffened, still bent over, and Pam guessed where the blonde had inserted her finger. A knock at the door made her withdraw it quickly. The luggage had arrived.
Persephone rose to her feet. “Time we went shopping. Tania, fetch that clip I’m returning to Tiffany’s, and bring the jewel case here.”
“Oh, Mistress!” The girl swapped a dismayed look with Milly.
“Fetch it, or I’ll decorate your tits with some stripes as well.”
With the slave girls’ nervousness sounding alarm bells in her head, Pam watched Persephone open the square leather case Tania handed her. Her stomach turned over.
“You first, Ann.” The blonde tutted when Pam backed away from the three-inch long, jewel headed pin she held in her hand. “Now be a good girl. I don’t want to flog your luscious tits. It will only upset Rafael when he sees the stripes.” She giggled and raised the pin. “These will hardly show at all after they’re removed.”
“You….” Pam swallowed. She had been about to say ‘you can’t’, but Persephone could. She stepped forward, gut hollow.
“You’d better hold her,” Persephone told the other two girls and looking distinctly unhappy, they gripped Pam’s arms as the blonde reached out.
Pam had known from the moment she had seen it where the pin was intended to go. Hardly believing the wicked bitch was really going to do it, she gritted her teeth as Persephone took her right nipple in a firm pinch and pushed the point of the shaft downwards into its resilient flesh. Her breath escaped in a long rush as pain and pressure combined into horrid and intense discomfort. A stab and stinging sensation in the underside of her nipple told her the point had emerged there, but Persephone continued forcing it through her flesh until the sapphire-set head rested on the base of her breast’s tip.
The blonde mistress wiped a smear of blood from the protruding shaft, added a tiny, rubber-lined, gold cap over its point, and turned her attention to Pam’s left nipple. By the time she had forced the shiny steel through the point of the tit, beads of sweat clung to the American girl’s brow. Pam did not relax when Persephone capped the slim shaft’s point and drew back. There were six more jewelled pins lying in the cushioned, black velvet tray where the first two had come from and three more identical trays in the case. Where were they meant to go?
Persephone took three of them in her hand. “Hold her tight,” she told the slaves, and giggled. “It’s just a little prick, darling. I’m sure you’ve had much bigger ones before.” Her green eyes were bright, her right nipple dark and erect beneath the emerald clip it still bore.
The shafts of the new pins were only about two inches long. It made no discernible difference to the pain as the slender blonde pressed the first one into the soft skin of Pam’s breast above her smarting and aching nipple and forced it into the tender flesh beneath. She added the others at either side so the three were arranged in an arc above the pierced point. Even as she struggled to imagine how anyone could be so cruelly unfeeling as to force the sharp pins into her breasts merely for the sake of decoration, Pam knew it would not be out of the ordinary in this awful world. Thank God they had antiseptics. Jaw clenched, she summoned the self-discipline and control that had carried her through the last two years as Persephone added the other three pins to her left breast and took something else from the case.
It
s purpose was plain but how it was supposed to be fitted in place Pam could not imagine. The narrow sheet of beaten gold was formed into the shape of a vulva, complete with a groove along its centre. At one end it was joined to a small dome of gold and at the other to a short, slightly curved bar of the same metal that ended in a shiny ball about three inches across. Persephone went behind her and Milly and Tania bent Pam at the waist. She hurriedly relaxed as a tug on her butt-plug pulled it free and something else pressed against her rear entrance. Already lubricated, her sphincter yielded with a twinge of discomfort and Pam gasped as the golden ball pushed past her little knot and the muscle closed around the bar to which the ball was joined. Persephone faced her, reached between Pam’s legs and pressed the beaten gold against her sex-lips. A ridge of something inside separated her labia and increased their contact with the narrow sheet of gold cupping them. She looked down to see the blonde pinch the two halves of the domed part at the front. They separated, revealing a set of small, rubber-lined jaws, which she closed over the protrusion of the American girl’s clitoral hood.
“Ow!” The clip nipped Pam’s delicate flesh, though not as tightly as she had feared it would. Nevertheless, it was uncomfortable. By the time Milly and Tania had been adorned in the same ways she had, it was also making Pam much too conscious of another sensation that was stirring between her legs. She concentrated on the sting and pulse of her nipples, though the hurt was less than when it had first been done.
Persephone stepped back and eyed the slave girls with a satisfied smile. “Delicious, darlings. Ready, Eve?”
The bodyguard had added a police-style nightstick to a loop on the left side of her waist belt while the girls were being decorated. She drew her big, clumsy-looking revolver from its holster, deftly checked its load and then replaced it. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Pam-Ann Page 13
