Punishing Pamela

by Reese Gabriel

  “Come on, bitches!” someone called out from one of the balcony tables. “Mix it up.”

  “Yeah, this routine is getting old!”

  “Make them get each other off!” Someone suggested.

  “That’s it!”

  The guards agreed and the brunette was poked and prodded till she got on her knees, submerging herself to eat out Mandy’s pussy. She had to keep resurfacing, but each time, Mandy was closer to orgasm. The black girl was holding Mandy’s arms back, as a dozen or more men raced to get in the action, raining down sheets of beer and hard liquor piss on the stationary trio.

  Mandy moaned out in surrender, her face and hair and tits covered in the yellow rain. Torrents of it, pouring down her torso. The men were laughing at her, leering; she wasn’t a little hottie now, a delicious dick tease, she was an animal, pissed on and forced fucked, stripped of her clothes and thrown into a vat of liquid garbage.

  Over and over she came, letting go of waves of pent up wicked, darkly irresistible pleasure. “Blake,” she called his name over and over. “Where are you, Blake?”

  ***

  “Relax, kid,” Lorenzo slapped Blake’s bouncing knee. “Your little cheerleader friend’s gonna be just fine. Here, have a cigar.”

  Blake wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s cool…I was just thinking, it’s been a while, right? And I wasn’t sure exactly where she was going and all.”

  “Your female showed disrespect,” Maki explained, a thin smile on his face. “Surely you do not wish to allow such a thing?”

  “No,” Blake forced a grin, trying to be one of the guys, “it’s just…”

  “Take the cigar, kid,” Lorenzo urged. “It’ll occupy your mouth a lot more effectively.”

  Blake took the thick cigar with a trembling hand. This Maki guy was giving him the creeps. Sure, it had started out sexy and all, making his girlfriend strip in front of the long robed foreign dude with the big belly, showing off her hot, naked body and how obedient she was to him, but when the guy wanted her to blow him, well that was going a little far. Somehow the whole thing had seemed a lot cooler last night when it was girls he didn’t know getting treated like this.

  He’d wanted to stop them taking her away, especially when she started screaming, but Lorenzo had urged him not to interfere, for everybody’s sakes. And that was making him wonder if this Maki wasn’t some kind of gangster, and not just a black market sex peddler. The way his guards kept standing there, hands real close to the bulges in their jackets wasn’t making him feel any better, either.

  “Candy,” said Maki quite pleasantly to one of the seemingly endless array of naked sex slaves kneeling about him. “Attend to young Mr. Trombley’s penis if you please.”

  The tiny auburn haired girl leaned forward onto all fours and crawled to him as if she were a puppy. Blake opened his fly almost by rote giving her the straining hard on. It just seemed like he couldn’t get enough of this shit—girls and women totally helpless and at his beck-and-call for whatever he wanted to do to them. So long as Mandy wasn’t being hurt, he could pretty much spend his whole life in a place like this, just like Trevor had said.

  Speaking of which, he sure wished his friend would get here already.

  “Open,” Lorenzo put the cigar in his mouth and lit it.

  Blake took a puff, the girl’s warm mouth mellowing him nicely. “How about an ashtray?” he asked boldly, trying to play the part of international pimp and slave trader.

  “But of course,” Maki snapped his fingers inducing a fresh slave, a short-haired red head, maybe nineteen, with the body of a ballerina to scoot across the floor and position herself by his side. It took a moment of looking at her, squatting, head back and mouth open before Blake understood. The girl herself was the ashtray. She was to remain beside him as he flicked his ashes directly into her proffered mouth.

  A surge of desire flooded him as he relished in that power. This pretty, sexy girl, covered in tattoos, nipples pierced, probably a runaway and before that a daddy’s princess in some suburb, was completely owned. Her entire life—what happened to it, no matter how much she might be abused—was out of her control. And she was his, right now if he wanted her. He could spill his semen in her gaping mouth, her cunt, her ass, or over her perfectly still face. In the mean time, she would take the refuse from the end of his cigar. A human ashtray.

  Impulsively, he reached down, between her legs. The men were grinning at him when he straightened up. “I was just checking.” He wiped the wetness off on his napkin, fighting a wave of embarrassment.

  They were still laughing at him when Trev and Erica came in. Erica was in Trev’s arms, looking like a total mess, bawling her head off.

  “Trev…Erica,” he exclaimed. “Dudes, what’s up?”

  “Dude, we just saw Mandy out there, in some kind of slush tank, covered in…” Trev made a face. “Man, it’s a mess.”

  Blake was halfway to his feet when Lorenzo pulled the gun on him. It was silver, very shiny and very deadly. “How about if you sit back down, dude?”

  Blake looked at the grinning pimp and felt his world dropping from under him. If not for his hard on, the quarterback would be pissing his pants.

  Lorenzo cocked the trigger and Blake began to beg. “I don’t want to die. Please, I don’t want to die.”

  Maki and Lorenzo exchanged glances, hard and severe. Seconds ticked by, years of Blake’s life flashing by. Then, out of the blue, the two of them started laughing.

  “Sorry, kid,” Lorenzo finally exclaimed setting the gun on the table. “I was just playing with you.”

  Blake managed a weak retort. “Yeah, yeah. Good one, Lorenzo. Good one.”

  “She needs to stop crying,” said Maki to Trevor, indicating the naked Erica cowering in his arms. “We haven’t even done anything to her yet.”

  “She’s—she’s scared,” said Trevor.

  “Calm her down, now,” reiterated their heavy-set host. “Or I will have her whipped.”

  “Erica,” Trev shook her. “You gotta calm down.”

  “Get her worked up a little,” suggested Lorenzo. “It’s a known fact they can’t cry when they’re in heat.”

  “Very true. Activate the monitors,” Maki snapped his fingers. “Let’s give them some incentive.”

  The curtains on one wall were pulled away to reveal a wall of cameras.

  “Enlarge seven,” he instructed.

  Mandy appeared in the gruel tank, coated and looking miserable, her head being dunked over and over by her two opponents. From above them, rich, golden sprinkles of piss showered them.

  “I will have those two sluts drown your little classmate,” Maki folded his hands contentedly over his lap, calmly eying Trevor. “Unless you bring your female to orgasm in the next five minutes.”

  Trevor looked like he was going to pass out.

  “It’s all right,” said the much stronger Erica. “Put me down; let me lay for you.”

  He set her soiled body on the carpet. Her breath was thick and fast. “We have to,” she told him, a weird light in her eyes. “We have to have sex. And I have to come…for my Master.”

  Trevor licked his lips, his eyes darting back and forth between the screen and the squirming, needful girl at his feet.

  “Fuck me,” she was begging. “Please…Master.”

  Blake gripped the arms of his chair. The redhead was sucking him off again and he dared not try to rise lest he upset Maki and Lorenzo again. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to, anyway. Blake felt dirty, like a traitor, but it was so damned hot, pumping himself in this warm receptacle, knowing the whole thing was being set up by Lorenzo and this bastard Maki so they could get their collective rocks off.

  “Take it,” Blake hissed to the ex-ballerina. “Swallow it, slut!”

  Erica was screaming out, too, as Trevor fell on her. “Yes, Master, please!”

  “I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you!” he was crying.

  “Yes, yes, oh,
God, yes,” she was answering, her orgasm timing itself uncannily with the two boys. “Oh, my Master, god, yes!”

  “Very good,” nodded Maki a few moments later when all three teens had composed themselves. “Now it’s time for the main attraction. Go and get the blonde,” he ordered. “So they can say goodbye.”

  It was Blake who spoke up first. “Um, could you run that part about goodbye on us again?”

  “There is an auction tonight,” said Maki, matter-of-factly. “And we are selling your girlfriends. Ahmet,” he called for a swarthy man in a purple muscle shirt. “See that the girls are given a few minutes alone with their boyfriends before they are taken downstairs. Use my private chamber.”

  Ahmet nodded, grabbing Trevor first, then Erica. Blake looked at Lorenzo, who winked.

  “You didn’t really think I was gonna cut you in on my action did you…college boys? You rich kids always get me. You think you deserve it all. Well this time, it’s the little guy finishes first.”

  “Wait,” cried Erica, “I don’t understand what’s happening!”

  “No?” Lorenzo acted surprised. “Well, maybe you should ask your boyfriend and his chum here. They’re the ones who led you right into my trap.”

  Blake was yanked from his seat and dragged away with the others. For some reason all he could think about was trying not to piss his pants. The fact that his girlfriend was going to be a sex slave for real hadn’t quite registered.

  It finally hit him when Mandy was brought into the silent bedroom a short while later where the three of them were sitting miserably on the mammoth, plushly decorated bed.

  “Oh, Blake,” she cried, throwing her wet, freshly scrubbed body into his arms. “I’m so glad to see you. It’s gonna be all right, now isn’t it? You promised nothing bad would happen, right?”

  “Sure, baby,” he accepted her nude embrace, hearing his voice like a distant stranger’s. “Everything’s gonna be just fine…like I said.”

  Mandy looked over his shoulder now to where Erica was whimpering, her head on Trevor’s chest.

  “What’s going on?” the blonde blinked. “Did I miss something?”

  ***

  The ripping was symbolic. An old slaver’s tradition. Pamela could easily have had her clothes removed conventionally, or else been ordered to take them off herself. She was in no position to resist, after all, but Maki was a stickler about these things. Standing barefoot on the concrete floor of the club basement, her arms out like a scarecrow, she underwent the ceremonial cutting. There were two of the matrons, strong solid women, barely five foot high, Russians out of the old Soviet era.

  They made a special point of terrorizing her with the knives ahead of time, passing them over her flesh, just light enough to avoid cutting her skin. She tried to keep her composure—they wanted her to beg for mercy—but when they began to cut away at her hips, moving toward her unprotected sex, she began to gasp, very slightly.

  The one in front, silver gray hair gleaming and wearing a leather chauffeur’s type jacket, grinned at the smell of the girl’s raw fear. Button by button, she cut the dress open, then pressed the blade at her unprotected belly.

  “Tonight man buy you,” came the woman’s broken English, quite redundantly in Pamela’s opinion. “He own your cunt; you not teacher anymore. Spread legs now…slave whore.”

  Pamela obeyed and was rewarded with the knife between her legs.

  “You no bring enough money at auction, you pay tonight. Understand?”

  She nodded, understanding full well the pain that would be in store.

  “Slut,” the woman scorned, spitting on her face.

  Pamela dared not break position. Behind her, the other woman was cutting the garment from the middle of the neck to her ass. A total of five more agonizing cuts, none drawing a drop of blood, would be made before the garment would fall away.

  Naked at last, she stood for their inspection.

  “Hands on head,” said the silver one, the only one who seemed to have a voice. “And bend.”

  As she obeyed, the second woman took a grease pencil to Pamela’s left buttock, inscribing a number. It tickled; she counted five digits, with one dash.

  “Up,” the matron yanked her by the hair.

  Another number—likely the same one—was written on her left breast. The nipple, just below, ached terribly as the pencil impressed her soft flesh. She thought of the silver haired man, the one Lorenzo called Mr. Big, with his nipple clamps. Would her new master do that to her? He would if he wanted—that was all that mattered.

  “You are not name now,” she matron grabbed her crotch, making her inhale sharply. “You are number. 567-E3. Say it.”

  Pamela repeated the digits, her only identification in the world. If and when she had a name again, even one as demeaning and humiliating as Honey Snatch would be up to her new owner—the highest bidder for her flesh at tonight’s auction.

  “You are proud bitch,” commented the matron. “Tonight, I tame you good.”

  Pamela offered no resistance as she was fingered, her clitoris taken for a test drive.

  “After sale,” the woman stood on tiptoes to run her tongue over the outside of Pamela’s mouth and across to her cheek. “You will be sopping wet…you will beg for fuck…”

  It was true, she would. It had happened before to her and she’d seen it in other girls at the handful of auctions she’d witnessed since her sale to Lorenzo seven years earlier. There was something about the lights, the sheer power, the raging testosterone, all that bare, available female flesh. Pamela doubted any woman could resist creaming and laying for the nearest man in such an environment, nor could he imagine any man not taking the woman he wanted if she were so offered.

  Pamela was made to bend down so a collar could be affixed to her throat. It was a simple pet collar, black with silver studs. There was a lead chain attached. They didn’t bother to lock it; where would a girl go, nude and locked in one of the most notorious slaving houses in the state?

  Giving her back a firm shove, the silent matron urged her forward while the silver one tugged at the leash. They were taking her to the holding cage, which was more like a cell in one way, because you could stand in it and there was room for eight or nine girls. It was still a cage, though, with straw on the floor and dishes for water and waste. Relieved to be alone, Pamela sank down against the bars and closed her eyes. The matrons locked the door and left. The next sound she expected to hear was the handler coming to take her upstage. Instead she heard the frightened cries of two young women. Familiar cries.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped. “Erica! Mandy! How did you get here?”

  “M-Miss Haley?!” wailed Mandy practically jumping into her arms.

  “Oh, Miss Haley,” chimed Erica, nude like her friend and collared with a number on her shapely breast. “We’re so glad to see you.”

  Pamela was tempted to comment on how all of a sudden they were treating her respectfully again, but she refrained. Whatever had brought these girls to this point was more than enough payback for their earlier sins.

  “Miss Haley, please, you have to help us!” Mandy was grabbing at her, her eyes lit like a five-year-old.

  “Oh, sweetie,” she brushed the hair from the girl’s eyes, her heart filling with compassion. “I wish I could; but I’m a slave now, just like you.”

  The girls looked at her and then at each other, blinking, like it hadn’t dawned on them for a minute that their teacher was also nude, numbered and collared for auction.

  “Oh, Miss Haley,” exclaimed Erica, grasping more quickly the true nature and irony of the situation. “I’m so sorry—we had no idea, we were only playing around. We didn’t know anyone would get hurt!”

  “T-the boys,” Mandy was hyperventilating, “They brought us here, and...and then a man took us and he...he wants to sell us. Can he do that, Miss Haley?”

  “Get a grip,” Erica snapped, slapping her across the face to bring her to her senses. “Slavery happens ever
y day in this country. Doesn’t it Miss Haley?”

  “Yes,” she sighed it does. “It happened to me seven years ago. I was your age. That’s where all those pictures came from.”

  Mandy swallowed hard, the wheels turning in her calmed down head. “What’s it like, Miss Haley? Do you really have to do whatever a man says…even in the bedroom?”

  So lovely, thought Pamela, and so naïve. How did she break it to the girl that she’d be lucky to ever even have a bedroom again and that more likely she would be serving her masters on some cold floor, her own naked flesh providing the cushion for whoever happens to hold the deed to her well-plowed cunt, tits and ass?

  “You are going to be property, Mandy,” she decided to bring the girl up to speed as best she could. “All of us are. Men will look at our nude bodies, assess our value, try to guess from poses we strike and so on what it will be like to have sex with us, and then they will make bids, just like at an animal auction. Whoever is willing to pay the most will get to keep us, whichever one he buys.”

  “W-will our masters marry us?”

  Erica snorted at her friend’s pervasive blondeness. “Jeezus, girl. Does anything at all go on under that yellow hair of yours?”

  “Shut up,” Mandy taunted. “You don’t know either.”

  Erica thought for a moment and then looked at the teacher. “Well,” she asked, indicating in fact she did not know. “Do they?”

  “Most likely, no. Some have wives, girlfriends. They may own many slaves and even if they have only one, they won’t be likely to want to give that kind of power to us. We’ll be more like pets than anything. They’ll feed and clothe us as they see fit, and do what they want with our bodies.”

  “Even rape?” gulped Mandy.

  Pamela thought of the silver-haired man and all the others who’d brought her to bliss even as they tortured and scorned her. “Slaves can’t really be raped…for the most part, because they learn to desire it. At least that was the way it was in my case. It’s a complicated thing, Mandy. Women, some women, have desires … submissive desires.”