Pamela cried out for the suddenly withdrawn cock. “I…oh, yes…but please, Master, please fuck me…”
“You see?” He thrust himself once more to the hilt. “I have demonstrated my power. “When you laid eyes on me a short while ago you were filled with loathing and now you are begging to be taken, just as I predicted.”
“I…I am a slut, Master, only a slave,” Pamela moaned.
“But not always so. Once you were free. A virgin in every sense of the word. Tell me about that. About your first time.”
He was stroking her, riding her hard, his hands clamped on her hips. Pamela was yielding beneath him utterly subservient, ready to scream her slavery, to cream it in the wildness of orgasmic bliss. But he was holding her back. Wanting her to talk first.
She tried to put herself there, back long ago, when her slavery was brand new, when she’d arrived the next morning after the auction, having been freshly purchased for Lorenzo’s aptly named Dragon’s Lair.
“You can’t possibly be serious,” the downtrodden young woman had stood her ground against the man assigned to attend to her intake. “I will not stay here and you will not make me.”
Pamela had been scared and tired and more than a little in shock, having been abducted, stripped, sold like livestock and then orally sodomized by at least a dozen of the Overseer’s minions. A belly full of sperm, nothing more than a blanket to cover herself with, she was still a spitfire, with eighteen years of privilege and spoiling under her belt.
The man, tall and lanky with a hawkish nose, had slapped her across the face hard enough to draw blood at the corner of her mouth. As she was trying to recover herself he grabbed the blanket she’d been able to keep for the van ride over. “It’ll be a cold day in July till you get any covering again, bitch,” he snarled.
A minute later she was on her knees, sucking him off by way of apology for her impudent behavior. Cowed for the moment, she was led to her room where she was prepared for her first encounter. A pair of slaves helped her wash and perfume herself. The perfume and rouge were cheap and gaudy, something the debutante would never have stooped to using. She balked at having her pussy perfumed, but they held her down and did it anyway. The girls were naked like her, with leather collars and straps round their wrists and ankles. As they explained it, clothes were not for the slave’s convenience, but the pleasure of the masters. Thus any garments they did receive would be provocative and skimpy rather than practical.
“You will be expected to perform,” the one girl explained as they put her in bed.
At first, she didn’t understand.
“Your cunt,” the other one laid hands on her. “It’s been sold for the night. You are going to lose your virginity.”
She’d looked at them in horror. “But I’m not in love,” she’d protested foolishly.
The girls laughed gently, doing their best to soothe her. Pamela didn’t want their lips on her breasts, their hands at the portal to her womanhood, but she couldn’t resist it either.
“Now you’re ready,” whispered the one girl, her long black hair fanned out across Pamela’s tits as she bent to feed the girl her own come from off her fingertips.
The other, a shorthaired blonde, very thin but pretty, put the blindfold on her. “You won’t be able to see him,” she explained. “Only feel him.”
Feel him…the very words cut through her like a knife. For agonizing minutes, or maybe hours, she laid there, awaiting the man who would take away her girlhood and make her a woman…a slave.
“I never saw him,” Pamela whispered now to the man who had paid a million dollars to abuse her in her own home, her own bed. “There was a mask over my eyes the whole time.”
“And his voice?”
“He never spoke either.”
“What was he like…as a lover.”
The term struck Pamela as highly ironic under the circumstances. “He made me wait…it was excruciating. For the longest time he was just standing there breathing. I called out to him, telling him I knew someone was there and would he please announce his presence? He never did. I started crying. Finally, he took my wrists and chained them to the sides of the bed. It was a relief to be constrained, to be getting on with the thing. Harshly, very harshly, then, he pulled my legs apart. After shackling my ankles he grabbed my sex, making me scream. I guess he wanted me to know it was his. Then he backed off and started teasing me, licking and caressing my nipples and kissing me. I was gushing by now, though I didn’t want to be. He could smell me, I was sure of it and it was almost as if I were asking for it.
“Next he began to use his toys and props, driving me half mad, running ice cubes along my thighs, passing feathers ever so lightly over my nipples and my mound. I started bucking my hips, trying to lift myself.”
“You were desperate,” said the man, nibbling now at her ear, pouring the words directly into her brain. “You wanted nothing in the world but to be fucked. To be blown apart, never to even touch the earth in one piece again…”
“…to die, even. What did I have to lose? Eighteen, a life of hellish slavery ahead of me, blindfolded and raped…”
“But not yet. He hasn’t entered you.”
“No, he hasn’t. But he wants to.’
“How do you know that?”
“I feel his erection, along my thigh. And his leg, completely hairless. He’s naked from the waist down, but I feel the fabric of his shirt. And the buttons. It’s a tuxedo shirt.”
“He’s mounting you.”
“Yes…I’m screaming for him to hurry up, and he slaps me.”
“You’re not allowed to speak.”
“No…I’m a slave, I have to obey. I’m…an object, only.”
“A hole.”
“To be filled…”
“The size of his cock, and so on. What was it like?” he urged her on.
Pamela shifted under her load, the press of his body, his clamps, and his words. “I’d never felt one before…it seemed to me like a spear, it hurt at first, like nothing I’d ever imagined…”
“You cried out.”
“For my mother, yes.” Pamela felt the hair on the back of her neck raise. He’d seemed so familiar with the story, so easily able to interface with her in its telling.
“For Carol,” he whispered, his voice suddenly changing in pitch. ‘Help me, Mommy. Mommy where are you? Wake up … are you drunk again?’”
Pamela’s body froze in sudden recognition. He was mimicking her, using her exact words. And the scent—that over-clean soapy smell, mixed with some sort of spiced aftershave. “You!” she cried. “It was you!”
How could she have forgotten? Had she been raped that many times, had she sunk so far as to forget such a thing?
“You’re not going anywhere, my sweet.” His hands had reached round to seize her nipples. Her world was ripped apart with the pain. “I paid a pretty penny for this little reunion and I intend to enjoy it. Beg for it, Pamela. Beg me to fill your hole with my hot come. Beg for me to torture and fuck you all night long.”
Pamela was slipping from reality, drifting into that place slaves and submissives sometimes go. It was a place she’d known well, a landscape she’d traversed and marked and ultimately conquered. It was to this same place, ironically, she went to find her strength and wit for poetry.
“Do it,” she hissed, sounding more master than slave. “Fuck and beat me, make me come, come in my hole, whip me in my garage, make me crawl in my house, humiliate me, make me your slave, leave me licking your shoes in the morning, like a puppy, a whipped cur, leave me begging for more, my hot slit dripping, my ass teasing for another beating…just one more, master, please just one more.”
“You’ve changed,” he slammed himself hard. “You’re not my little Pamela any longer.”
“I am…” she protested. “I am…”
“Pamela,” he exploded. “And not Pamela.’
She took his ejaculation, falling face first onto the comforter afterwards. “Pe
rmission,” she groaned, though it was already too late, “to come, Master.”
Chapter Six
“What the fuck are you looking at?” demanded the lithe and slinky wet Erica Green as she emerged from the pool in her black bikini.
Trevor, who’d been watching her swim laps for an hour, cleared his throat. For some reason, this had all seemed easier in his head. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, Erica.”
The girl’s tits jiggled provocatively under the scant covering as she grabbed the towel off the metal rail. “If it’s about Pammy, I don’t feel like playing with her today. Frankly, it’s getting to be a bore; we’ve already screwed her, what’s the point anymore?”
“It’s not about that,” he stuffed his hands self-consciously in the pockets of his khakis. “It’s something…personal.”
She eyed his crotch. “Yeah, I’ll bet it is.”
Damn, but this little bitch drove him crazy. He wanted her so bad it hurt and she seemed to want him, too, if what Mandy and some of the others had leaked to him was true, so why was she always either ignoring him or treating him like shit?
“I want to talk to you, Erica, now.”
She thrust out a hip. With her glistening hair and skin, the tight black Lycra clinging to her racy, well-kept curves, she was far and away the hottest thing Trevor had laid eyes on. Hotter even than the girls in his magazines, hotter even than the twenty two year old bimbo his divorced father was dating.
“Yeah? You plan on making me?”
Here it is, Trevor thought. The moment of truth.
“Yes,” he puffed out his chest. “I do.”
She gave him a funny look, as if trying to figure if he was for real or not. Deciding he wasn’t, she said, “In your dreams, Canoe Boy, now why don’t you go and beat off in the boy’s locker room and tell yourself how tough and macho you are. Maybe someday, you’ll actually believe it. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
He didn’t.
She squealed for him to let go of her arm, but he held her fast. “I don’t like it when you call me Canoe Boy. It’s a rowing team, and we’ve been sectional champs two years running.”
“Big whoop!” she squirmed. “Now let go of me, or I’ll…”
Trevor stopped her lips with his own. Erica’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t resist. Not that he would have let her. The kiss was long overdue, and there was nothing going to stop it now. At first she was stiff in his arms, but as he found his way into her mouth with his tongue she began to soften up. Putting back her head, she slid closed her eyes, allowing his hands free roam over her perfect body. Trevor took his time, enjoying the fulfillment of many a late night fantasy. She felt good, her smooth back, the curve of her hip, the firm ass cheeks.
She gave a little start as he clenched them, squeezing possessively. He thought she might fight that, but she only ended up kissing him all the more passionately, thrusting herself against him, offering her hard pelvis, her high peaked breasts, the nipples hardened to tiny bullets.
“Are you on the pill?” he wanted to know as soon as he released her.
She looked at him with awe. “Y-yes.”
“Good.” He took her hand, clamping it hard. “You’re coming with me, then.”
His first having of her was fast and brutal, an explosive, animalistic coupling over a picnic bench in the park. Erica, still in her bikini, her hair a tangled mess was bent over the weather beaten wood, her breasts squashed cruelly, her legs jammed apart. He hadn’t even let her get her shoes, which meant her bare feet were planted firmly in the dirt. She was moaning, coming over and over as Trevor rammed himself home. He kept her down the whole time, to their mutual delight, his hand on her back, just below the strap of the bikini top.
The fact that they’d played hooky from school and that they were out here in the open with the potential for being caught only made it more exciting. It was like fuel to the fire of their mutual lust, their mutual discovery of a common sexual heat and need: Trevor’s to dominate, and the proud, troublesome Erica’s to submit.
“You were wonderful,” she murmured as he withdrew, having expended himself fully and satisfyingly. “The best lover I’ve ever had.”
The notion of comparisons troubled him. From here on in, he would be the only standard she’d have, and as for pleasure, she’d be too busy giving it to hand out grades either to himself or any of the boys he chose to share her body with.
“On your knees,” he smacked her ass as soon as he withdrew. “Clean me off.”
Erica obeyed, humbling herself in the dirt, the tiny bikini bottom still hanging from one ankle. “This is only the beginning,” he stroked her damp rat’s nest of a hairdo possessively. “I intend to make this relationship…special.”
“I hope so,” she cooed, plaintively licking the cum, hers and his from his flaccid penis.
The touch of her lips, so obedient and respectful began to stir him all over again. Sensing the coming hard on, he took her head and pushed it over his cock, wanting the feel of it swelling in her gently sucking mouth.
Erica was as eager as she was compliant. Looking down on her, already half his slave, he was overcome with the desire to seize and punish her. She gave a little moan into his crotch as he grabbed her tits, kneading the flesh through the sexy little top. She arched her back, giving him better access even as she sucked him deeper, more greedily.
“No,” he told her when she tried to bring him off. “Not like that.”
He made her take down her top and hold up her tits so he could come on them. There was plenty of spunk to go around and he made sure not to spare her hair or face either. She was nibbling at her lower lip looking at him with such desire as he soiled her that he thought he would come double just from the sight of her. God, what had taken him this long to claim the girl? She’d obviously been begging for this all along.
“May I go to the girls’ room and clean up?” she asked humbly as they walked back to his Jeep, the bikini back on, but doing little to conceal the story of what had just been done to her ripe young body.
“No,” he told her, making her ride like that, her chest and face covered in his slick white gel, her feet and knees black with dirt. He could see her bosom rising and falling. She kept looking down at herself, at the marks, the deep red impressions from the slats of the picnic table where she’d laid across with her bare belly. It was like a brand now, along with the red marks on her knees.
Cars were slowing down next to them and it was clear Erica was making quite an impression. Twice he caught her trying to fold her arms over her chest or otherwise cover herself. Finally, as punishment, he took them out on the interstate where he made her grab the back of the seat rest with her hands and spread her legs wide. This drew ravenous stares and even a few horn blasts from passing truckers who had a bird’s eye view. To keep her on edge, Trevor would lean over periodically and play with her defenseless body. Erica would thrash her head and moan but she brooked no interference as he wriggled his finger under the waistband of the little bottoms over and over.
Each time she would have to lick the finger clean, often under the sight of passing motorists. At one point he told her to play with herself. When she balked, he reached over and pinched her nipple hard, the way he’d seen it done at the club.
“Are you ready to cooperate?” he asked, refusing to let go till she relented.
“Yes, yes,” she cried. “I will, I promise.”
“Rule number two,” he quoted Maki. “You do what you’re told by the man who owns you…or else you’ll be punished. That’s rule number three…or maybe it’s four.”
“What’s rule number one?”
He reached into her swimsuit and grabbed her by her pussy hairs. “Rule number one is you don’t speak unless spoken to. Understood?”
“Y-yes,” she gasped, the raw pain written all over her face.
Trevor released her, wiping his hand on her thigh. “Good. Now take off your top.”
Erica loo
ked at him miserably, her mouth open, half twisted into an objection. He gave her a few moments to struggle internally then turned to her decisively. “You were given an order…girl.”
She lowered her head in defeat. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the tiny trembling hands reached behind the beautifully arched back, releasing the catch. Shaking out her hair, she tugged it loose, slowly, reluctantly, but in the end, with total obedience.
“Throw it out,” he told her as she offered him the top. “You won’t need it where we’re going.”
Erica’s mouth hung open. Evidently he’d come up against a new level of resistance in the girl. Impatient, he snatched it from her and tossed it out the open side of the Jeep. “That will cost you the bottoms, too.”
“Trevor, no!”
He slowed the vehicle to a stop on the shoulder. “Get out.”
“What?!”
“Out!” he commanded, pointing. “If you’re not ready to go to the next step, I don’t want you in my vehicle.”
“Okay!” she squealed as he started shoving, “I’ll do it.”
“You have five seconds.”
She wriggled out from the Lycra frantically, exposing her sopping wet bush. Without being told, she threw the bikini bottoms out onto the asphalt.
He enjoyed the sight of her now, bare-assed on the seat, totally miserable and obviously aroused. “You’re dripping on the seat,” he pointed out. “When we get where we’re going, you’ll be licking it all off.”
The look was priceless, as was the joy of sharing the rest of the drive with his naked new girlfriend, horny and exposed and totally dependant on him from this point forth for everything.
“We have an appointment tonight. But I want to drive for a while first. Why don’t you put back the seat and get some sleep,” he teased.
She pouted for several miles, then, in a distinctly meek voice told him she was hungry.
Trevor motioned to his resurrected hard on. “You want food, you have to earn it.”
Erica gave an indignant but non-verbal protest. Closing her eyes, she indicated she was not yet that hungry. Some time later, however, after dark, he felt her nose nudging at his lap. He moved his arm, allowing her to earn the food she so desperately wanted.
Punishing Pamela Page 12
