Punishing Pamela

by Reese Gabriel

  “Mr. Rains,” she opened the door sheepishly, knowing she was blushing like a schoolgirl. “You’re early.”

  “Am I?” He checked his watch conscientiously. “Ten to the hour. Yes, I see. If you need me to come back…”

  “No,” she grabbed his arm. “I don’t.”

  He looked at her curiously.

  “Let’s just go,” she hustled him out and pulled the door closed behind her, locking away the temptation of seducing him on the spot.

  He followed her down the walk to his car, a late model sedan, sensibly black.

  “You should call me Tom,” he decided, opening the passenger door for her.

  “Tom,” she agreed, pulling the dress down to cover as much of her thighs as possible.

  “We’re going to Donelli’s,” he announced, sliding his well-maintained body behind the wheel. “If that’s all right with you.”

  He’d named a restaurant in the city, a good forty miles from town via the expressway. “Yes,” she nodded, relieved. “That would be fine.”

  They rode in silence and soon she was sipping the red wine, daintily nibbling at calamari in the quiet, dark restaurant.

  He’d asked her about her background, pre-empting the discussion with, “I don’t mean to pry.” Tom looked as if he really didn’t. “It’s just that I’ve felt…drawn to you. You’re a riddle, Miss Haley—Pamela. Forgive me, but you’re not what you seem. You claim to be from a poor background, but I’ve been around enough rich people to know the difference. There’s blue in your blood, I’m sure of it.”

  Pamela felt the familiar knot in her stomach. If anyone were to guess she was the daughter of Carol Renfrew and the late Jack Renfrew, the publishing magnate, she wouldn’t get a moment’s rest. Far better for them to think she was just plain Pamela Haley, no possible relation to the heiress Pamela Haley Renfrew, missing for over seven years and presumed dead.

  “My mother was a maid, for a widow in Boston,” she explained, employing a well-rehearsed ruse. “I spent a good deal of time around the old woman. It amused her to treat me as a sort of grandchild. There were certain habits and mannerisms I acquired; that’s probably what you’re picking up on.”

  “Yes,” he nodded, looking none too convinced. “Of course.”

  “And what about you?” she inquired, emboldened by the Chianti burning in her belly. “Are you everything you seem to be?”

  He angled his lips, boyishly. “Oh, I don’t think there are any great mysteries where I’m concerned. More wine?”

  Pamela held out her glass for a refill. She was charmed by his choice of dining locale, and by the fact that he’d changed his work suit for the occasion, donning a fresh shirt, tie and blazer. Unless she missed her guess, there was a fresh layer of cologne as well. She liked the fragrance: rugged and outdoorsy, but not overpowering. He’d shaved again, too.

  “You know how to rescue a damsel in distress,” she flirted, watching the dark red liquid gurgle round the edges of the rounded crystal goblet as he topped off her glass.

  He arched a brow, taking the remark much too seriously. “Distress? What sort of distress?”

  Pamela retracted the sloshing goblet, swallowing hastily. The correct term for it was blackmail, the extorting of money or forcing of behavioral changes through an implied intent to release information potentially harmful to a person, either legally or socially. Pamela smiled wryly as she imagined herself lecturing her students, compelling them to write the dictionary definition of the word for the next exam. Now it was she herself who would be compelled—by the four who’d come forward today and maybe others, too.

  A chill passed down her spine as she tried to imagine what they would want from her, what they would take. Blake had already made use of her mouth and given indication he would do so again…often. He’d told her, in fact, that he didn’t like to be kept waiting, and that she’d have to be more prompt in servicing him in the future. Erica, for her part, had alluded to punishment, and Pamela had no doubt the clever and cruel young woman would be merciless. She’d thought nothing already of striking her teacher on the cheek, or even spanking her as she lay helplessly at their feet.

  And then there was Mandy with her hormones and unpredictable, brooding Trevor, perhaps the most frightening of all. Yes, Pamela was in for it, all right. Everything she had learned about adolescent psychology indicated the little gang of four would escalate now that their behavior had gone unchecked. Mandy would imitate Erica more and more and the boys would turn sadistic as well.

  The most disconcerting part was how Pamela herself had responded to the torture—particularly to her treatment by Erica. Pamela had been ready after just one kiss, to strip and submit herself to the eighteen-year-old’s childish whims, despite her superiority in age and education. With Blake there’d been sheer lust, the need to serve his manhood, but with her it was deeper.

  Like when Lorenzo had first put his collar on her, only more subtle and profound. If anything, she should have been immune by now. She’d sunk to the depths of whoredom, of sexual slavery and risen again to the surface. Nick Malloy, the stoical, kindly detective had done that—stealing her freedom, winning her independence of heart and mind, and ultimately insuring there would be no more Lorenzos in her life. With his influence she’d been able to say no to the dehumanizing exploitation of her body and—ironically—even to Nick’s own heartfelt marriage proposal.

  “I need my space,” she’d touched his ruddy cheek, tears in her eyes after their one and only time of love making. “You’ve given me the wings; now I need to fly.”

  Honestly, she’d never find a man as good and strong and noble as Detective Alloy. From his smoothly shaven head to his rock hard biceps and those precious dimples, he was like a wall, a fortress to keep her safe. And he’d be in her heart. Always.

  “I guess I was just using a metaphor,” she offered at last to her date, the man seemingly intent on her every word, if not on her ripe flesh. “‘Distress’ being an inevitable description of the human condition.”

  “Hmm,” said Tom, holding his cards close to the vest for the moment.

  Pamela guzzled the Chianti. She was thinking about the principal’s large, capable hands and how they would feel on her body. If he wanted to, he could have his way with her, and not by strength alone. Tom Rains was, after all, her superior, and if he desired, he could press that advantage, sexually. If she wished to keep her job, new as she was, she would have little choice but to submit to the man’s lusts—whatever he might desire of her.

  “Riddles,” Tom grumbled good-naturedly. “You English teachers always talk in riddles.”

  I want you to rape me, thought Pamela. Was that a riddle?

  Erica’s other command flashed into her consciousness. Pamela was supposed to be taking birth control pills, by mid-day tomorrow. Presumably, this meant they intended to use her for intercourse by the afternoon. In effect, then, she would be the complete sexual slave of Blake, Erica, Mandy and Trevor. And anyone else with whom they opted to share her.

  “I’ll need the morning off,” she announced without preamble. “I have…an appointment.”

  Tom reached forward, capturing one of her skittish hands in his. “Pamela, if there’s something wrong, let me help you.”

  Her heart was pounding like a rabbit’s. She didn’t want him holding her hand, but she was powerless to resist. Pamela feared that her very softness, her inability to fight back would only encourage him to want things from her, and even, perhaps, to act on those desires, regardless of her own feelings.

  “I don’t want to be raped,” she blurted, pulling her sweat-drenched hand free of its relatively benign captivity.

  Tom furrowed his brow at the non-sequitor. “Of course you don’t.” He leaned forward, on high alert. “Is someone threatening you, Pamela? One of the students?”

  “I—I’m sorry, Tom, I have to go.” She was on her feet, backing away. By the time he got up after her, Pamela was halfway across the floor. He pursued he
r, calling her name. At the door, she broke into a trot and he had to run after her.

  “Pamela, wait!” he cried, seizing her by the shoulder as she ducked into an alley. The narrow passageway was dark and dank, the only light coming from the moon, a silvery glow that lit her face and his. “For heaven’s sake,” he breathed, spinning her about. “What’s gotten into you?”

  He had her by the upper arms. She was squirming but he wouldn’t let her go. She’d lost one of her shoes and there was a tear in her stockings. The careful hairdo was ruined and she felt scared, alone and very aroused.

  “I hate you!” she cried, quite irrationally. When she tried to knee him in the groin, he blocked it easily, turning his hip.

  “Pamela, you’ve got to get a grip on yourself. You’re scaring me.”

  Tom’s voice sounded far away. Hollow. Pamela’s mind was elsewhere, back seven years ago, on her final night of freedom. It was her birthday. She was just eighteen, lying in her bed alone and very drunk on the champagne Hal had plied her with earlier in the night. Up to now she’d avoided his advances, but she was an adult now, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Letting himself in her room, he threw himself on her.

  “What are you doing?” she’d squealed, wriggling free of the man’s lecherous embrace. A vicious kick to the crotch had bought her time. Foolishly, she’d run from the mansion out to the stables; exactly the sort of place he’d hoped to get her alone. It was pitch black when he caught up to her. Practically drooling, the forty five year old locked the door behind him.

  Pamela wore nothing but a nightie. Huddling in the corner, barefoot, without a scrap of underwear, she knew she was at the mercy of her mother’s lover.

  “You don’t want to fuck me, you little bitch?” he’d grunted, the pain from her attack still very much evident on his face as he brandished the riding crop. “Fine. We can do other things. Nice, nasty things.”

  Pamela could feel it all as if it were fresh: the man’s whip on her skin, the way he’d torn the mockery of silk, throwing her naked at his feet, the way he’d made her masturbate for him in between blows, confusing and unraveling her, making her beg for all of it. The punishment. The humiliation. He gave her it all—except for the penetration she was so desperately craving.

  “You’ll get that soon enough,” he’d grinned, limiting himself to her mouth for his own relief. “It’ll be a stranger that has your virginity now. You won’t even know his name. I promise you that much.”

  Pamela felt the lump in her throat, palpable as the man’s throbbing organ. She could almost taste Hal’s long ago semen. The alley, the cold air, the vulnerability, all of it was bringing back the memories. The fear. The desire. The sweet, sweet pain.

  “Take me,” she hissed to the bewildered principal, “right here in the alley. Right now…on the stinking wet cardboard…use me…use my hot little body. You know you want to; everyone does. I’ll be on the pill by tomorrow; what will it matter?”

  “That’s enough,” he said flatly.

  She grabbed his crotch. “Is it?”

  Tom swatted away her hand and gathered her up in his arms. “I’m taking you home, Pamela. Or the hospital, better still.”

  “Impotent bastard,” she spat, hating him for his calmness, his presence of mind when she was so out of control. “Let go of me!”

  “It’s home,” he persisted. “Or the ER. For a tranquilizer.”

  “The hospital, then,” she challenged, a different part of her mind taking over—backward, primitive and terrified. “Then we’ll see how you deal with a kidnapping charge when I tell the cops that you raped me!”

  Tom ignored her, inducing her to call him the worst names she could think of. He had to put her in the backseat, on her belly. “It’s for your own good,” he told her, wrapping his tie around her wrists to secure them behind her back.

  She continued to scream and curse as he put the car in drive and headed for the highway. They were halfway to the emergency room when she realized the full nature of her predicament. Any minute now, an army of doctors and social workers would be probing at her, guessing her secrets in some cold, sterile hospital room. She’d be unable to withhold it all and before long they’d know the truth, about the four students, and about the pictures that would ruin her life. Her carefully rebuilt existence, free of pleasure and pain, free of the excess stings of wealth and poverty both.

  “Tom, stop the car.”

  Silence.

  “Tom, I’m all right,” she persisted, putting as much reason in her voice as she could manage. “It was the wine. I must be allergic. Just drop me home, I’ll be okay. I swear it. Give me the morning off; I’ll be back to normal by fourth period. Tom? Please?”

  He frowned, looking up into the rear view mirror. “I’m very fond of you,” he told her, quite out of the blue. “You do realize that, don’t you?”

  Pamela sat herself upright, trying to appear as normal as possible, despite the fact that she was barefoot, her hands tied behind her back. “Yes,” she smiled, almost shyly, wriggling forward to offer herself over the seat. “I do. And thank you, Tom, for everything.”

  He accepted the kiss on the cheek and promptly turned the car, away from the hospital and towards her house.

  Chapter Two

  The two girls were waiting for Pamela in her office when she arrived the next morning. It was half past eleven and she was clutching the birth control pills hidden in her purse. She wasn’t sure how they’d gotten in, unless yesterday they had taken the spare office key she kept in a mug on her desk.

  “Did you do as you were told?” asked Erica, her feet planted and crossed on the solid oak desktop, her sexy body reclined behind it in the leather chair.

  Pamela looked at the haphazard piles on the floor. The girls had been going through the contents of her drawers. “Yes,” she replied. “I did.”

  “Who’s the chick in the pictures?” asked Mandy, sprawled on the leather sofa, looking at the tiny photo album Pamela had kept from childhood.

  “That’s my mother. Those are very precious to me, Amanda, I’d appreciate it if…”

  Mandy narrowed her gaze menacingly. Applying her long nails, she plucked the photo in question from the sleeve of the miniature album and promptly tore it in half. “Don’t tell me what to do, Teacher.”

  Pamela felt her heart breaking as the two halves fluttered to the floor, her mother’s delicate smile torn asunder.

  “Empty your purse on the desk, Pammy,” Erica instructed.

  Pamela obeyed, spilling out the tiny case of pills along with her wallet, keys, lipstick, hairbrush and various other items.

  Erica, whose pleated skirt rode halfway up her shapely thighs, touched the birth control pills with her left heel. “You take one yet?”

  “Yes,” Pamela whispered, blinking away tears.

  Erica regarded her with a cold, penetrating stare. Pamela hated to look in the girl’s harsh jade eyes and yet for some reason she was terrified to look away. “The principal took you out for dinner last night, didn’t he?”

  Pamela’s mouth gaped. After a moment, she shook her head, yes.

  “Did he fuck you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did you want him to?”

  Pamela hesitated. “No,” she lied.

  A smile crept over Erica’s darkly painted lips. Like a thin, black snake. “Are you wearing underwear?” she changed the subject.

  “Yes.”

  “Ooh,” crooned the childish Mandy, still flipping through the album, “that’s a very bad Teacher!”

  “Shut up,” Erica snapped. “I’ll do the talking. Did anyone tell you that you could cover your tits and cunt with underwear today, Pammy?”

  Pamela felt a clenching between her legs. “No, they didn’t.”

  Erica regarded her, stripping the teacher with her eyes. Pamela was wearing a plaid jumper today over a white T-shirt, with sensible sandals. It was still warm for October and she hadn’t bothered with a coa
t.

  “Take off your clothes, Pammy.”

  The words brought the reality of Pamela’s situation rushing back into her consciousness. So far today she’d been in a kind of daze, going about her business, visiting the birth control clinic and hurrying in to school as though nothing had happened. It had been like this since last night, when Tom laid her down in her bed, covering her with the quilt and kissing her forehead with his strong, gentle lips.

  “Get some rest,” Tom had told her, his voice a soothing elixir on her burning ears and mind. She’d slept like an enchanted princess and by dawn she’d hoped that it had all been a dream; her outburst after dinner, the horrible meeting with her four problem students, the way she’d been made to perform oral sex on the quarterback. She was sure, in fact, that once she’d gotten the pills and brought them to school, she would find her office empty and her students normal. Then she’d throw away the pills and have a good laugh over the whole thing.

  Erica’s voice shattered her pale illusions once and for all.

  “Do I need to have Mandy help you strip, Pammy? Is that what you’d like—to have your clothes torn off your cringing body?”

  Pamela jolted, her hands moving quickly to the large, colorful buttons on her jumper. “No…I can manage.”

  “Address us as ‘ma’am’ from now on,” instructed Erica.

  “Yes,” Pamela pulled the jumper over her head. “Ma’am.”

  The T-shirt came off next and then the sandals.

  “That’s far enough,” Erica stopped her. “Put your hands on your head, and don’t move until I tell you. Back straight, tits out.”

  Pamela, wearing nothing but white bra and panties, watched with growing alarm as Mandy rose from the leather sofa and took the pair of steel scissors from Erica’s hand.

  “Scared, Teacher?” grinned Mandy, holding the pointed instrument an inch from her face.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” she replied honestly.