“Perfect,” beamed the garishly addressed, spike haired attendant, a very gay designer hired by Maki to do costumes and interior design. “Just one more little touch and…voila.”
Pamela felt her nipples stiffen as the man flicked open yet another of the overly strained buttons. Her breasts were more than half visible now and for some reason she felt more naked in this get up than if she’d been able to go on stage nude.
“You’re gonna be great,” he slipped the glasses on her and checked the banana clip in her hair. “A big hit. Now, go, shoo! Shoo!”
His pats to her ass were gentle, sisterly. A far cry from the possessive, demeaning touches of a heterosexual man, of which the audience was certainly to be filled tonight.
The stage was well set up, with a teacher’s desk and several small chairs facing it, simulating a classroom. She’d been told to stand in front of the desk, which she did now, holding her body as still as possible so as to keep her body adequately clothed.
The audience saw the Overseer before she did. They were laughing and cheering and when she turned she saw the hooded man pantomiming something, the whip in his hand. It couldn’t possibly be him, she thought, not after all these years.
“Ring, ring,” he cried, holding up his hands. “School’s in session, eh, gentlemen?”
The hair on the back of her neck went up. The voice, the British inflection, there was no mistaking it. But how he had gotten here, seven years later and clear across the country from where she’d been originally sold?
“Good evening, Miss Renfrew,” he greeted her with a bow.
Pamela’s knees buckled. Of all the things she’d had to face today, this was the hardest by far. To be sold by the same man, again. Humiliated by him, again… stripped of liberty and dignity…sold into bondage where she would be forever robbed of the right to live and work as she chose, to dress according to taste, to refuse any cock presented for entry into her bodily orifices, to control even her own orgasms, when and how she would have them.
“You of all people should know,” the Overseer whispered, as he strode past her theatrically to assume one of the empty student chairs, “why it would be a very bad idea not to follow my lead tonight…to the letter.”
“Teacher, teacher,” sighed, the Overseer loudly, putting his hands behind his head. “Whatever shall we do, today? I know…how about some maths? Shall we give that a go?”
Maths instead of math. A British variation in his speech patterns of the sort that had marked him in her mind all these years.
The Overseer took out a pencil from his vest pocket with a flourish. “See, I’m all ready.”
He dropped it, quite deliberately.
“Oops. Look at that. Teacher, will you bend over right here and get my pencil?”
The men were laughing. It was obvious from his pointing that she was to stand in perfect position to be molested as she stooped to retrieve it. Sure enough, the Overseer invaded her with a flurry of fingers as soon as the skirt had ridden above her unprotected ass.
“Teacher…” he affected a little boy’s voice as she handed him the pencil. “Why are you all wet…in your hooey?”
Pamela looked at him pleadingly; she had no idea what to say.
“Oops,” he helped her along. “I dropped it again.”
Three times he made her repeat the gesture, showing her cunt and ass to the audience again and again. With each bend, the fingers stayed a little longer.
“I need help,” he announced the fourth time she gave the pencil back. “Will you look at my work? Closer,” he made her bend forward. “Closer.”
Now he had access to her straining tits, precariously covered by the skin-tight, vastly undersized blouse.
Obviously she was not allowed to interfere as he unbuttoned her and took them out, one by one. “Ooh, Teacher,” he continued his Vaudevillian performance amid a volley of appreciative chuckles. “You have big melons!”
Pamela braced her palms on the desk. It wasn’t a game for her. First he’d worked up her cunt and now he was fingering her nipples. She needed relief and fast. Slowly, eyes closed, she began to push out her rear, the cool air hitting her crack as the skirt rode indecently higher.
“Teacher,” he acted astonished. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
“N—no,” she shuddered, meaning it.
“You are, Teacher. And I need to punish you for it. Lay over your desk, Teacher, right now.”
He left her breasts exposed so that she’d have to press them directly on the cold metal surface. It was the same with her cunt, as he helped her lift the barely there skirt prior to pushing her pelvis against the desk’s aluminum edge.
“You will not move,” he placed her palms apart and over head, sliding them to the far end so as to stretch her torso to the max. “Until I release you.”
The Overseer turned now to the audience, which had a splendid view of the woman’s naked posterior. “There you have it,” he pinched her cheek on either side of her ID number, better emphasizing the greasy black inscription. “Lot number 567-E3. Have I an opening bid of one thousand…for this marvel of womanly flesh, this bundle of contradictions, at once woman and child, slave and free? Trained on the end of the best dicks in the business before her interesting but ultimately ineffectual insurrection?”
“One thousand,” obliged one of the men, more out of curiosity to see more of the show than any real passion for this as yet untried flesh before them.
The Overseer rubbed the paddle over the imprisoned ass. The audience went very quiet, sensing something new was afoot.
“Lot 576-E3,” said the Overseer. “In your heart, do you know yourself to be a slave?”
“Yes, Master.”
What point in denying it now? What other category could define her behavior before this man, the one she ought to hate and fight and despise and yet to whom she was submitting at every turn?
“You tried to escape once…you sought to break the bond, making a mockery of my good faith sale of your flesh. And now, after seven years you are back—having been hunted down by your rightful owner. What should be done to you in light of all this?
“I should be punished.”
The comic atmosphere had shifted to high drama. Every breath was hanging on the Overseer’s next move.
“567-E3—for that is what your name is, not Pamela Renfrew or Pamela Hayes or anything else but your number—I now pronounce my sentence upon your bonded ass.” He paused for effect. Pamela could almost hear the drum roll. “A paddling,” he began, “accompanied by forced orgasm…”
So far so good; nothing she couldn’t handle.
“And a branding! To be done by the man who purchases her!”
Pamela’s heart seized in her chest. This was this one thing that had so far kept her from feeling completely lost in her bondage—the fact that her flesh had in no way been permanently altered. Now…after this, she would never have a prayer of freedom.
The iron was wheeled out and the rack. Bidding had already begun, like the buzzing of so many insects. Pamela was still in shock as they tore the clothes from her cringing body. It wasn’t till they began strapping her into the metal frame that she began to react.
“I—I can’t bear it,” she said to them.
“A punishment branding, gentlemen,” the Overseer intoned dramatically. “How long since we’ve seen one of those…and for attempted escape no less? The historical value alone, the visceral impact, ought to be worth, what…two, three…ten…”
“Ten thousand!” roared a man.
“And this is only the beginning, my friends…you know what is in store after that—she would become your brand girl, the lowest and most complete of slaves…and think of the experience she brings as well as the subsequent years of defiance still to be beaten out of her…”
“Fifteen thousand!”
“Shall I show you the mark?” he taunted them, holding up the red-hot poker. “A scripted ‘S’ in a feminine, delicately stylized font,
in a bold, masculine circle.”
“Sixteen thousand,” called another as the Overseer replaced the iron with a hiss into the fire.
“Sixteen. Do I hear seventeen?”
Silence.
“What?” he snatched up the poker again. “Shall I do it myself, then?”
“Seventeen.”
The Overseer paused to strategically caress, taking his fill of the split beaver created by the V shaped iron frame which bent Pamela’s middle, consigning wrists and ankles to separate shackles, her ass pointing to the sky.
“Eighteen,” came the response to her wet shuddering, her slut-like response all the more incredible for the amount of pain she was about to receive.
Pamela lost herself in orgasm, the waves of heat from the nearby fire fanning her internal flames. Again, the numbers dissolved into a cacophony, endless and droning, punctuated by the single word she most dreaded…and most desired.
“Sold!”
There was a shuffling of footsteps, the motion of men around her, unhurried, completely patronizing and lordly. I’m about to be marked she thought, on my naked ass, given a mark for life, which none of these men shall ever have to wear, but which shall distinguish me, no matter where I go or what I do as their inferior, an animal, deserving of any abuse, lucky, in fact, to receive such abuse.
“567-E3,” pronounced the Overseer now like it was a wedding service. “I now so order this sentence upon you, by a jury of your masters, at the hand of your new owner…”
Pamela smelled the soap and aftershave a split second before the odor of her own searing flesh. She was able, for just a moment to focus, seeing the man’s shoes.
It was ironic, she thought, slipping gloriously into slave’s bliss, the ecstasy of the brand, after all these years.
“Welcome home,” said Mr. Big. “You’ve been missed, I assure you.”
*** The End
Alternate Ending
Pamela smelled the familiar soap and aftershave a split second before the invasion. They came from every direction at once, heavily armed, shouting, “Police!” and “Down! Down!” Some of them even slid on cables from the balcony. It was one of these who knocked the branding iron from the hand of the one called Mr. Big.
“Sir,” called another of the helmeted, burly SWAT officers, “she’s over here.”
“Thanks, men,” said Nick Malloy, making his way to the bound and naked prisoner.
“Is it…you?” she gasped, thinking it was all a dream.
“Who else?” Nick grinned, unhooking the straps.
“Pamela, sweetheart, are you all right?”
“Tom?” she cried. “I’m here, Tom.”
Tom Rains was the first to hold her as they released her from her bonds. She wept in shock and joy as they embraced, Tom kissing her forehead over and over.
“You have this man to thank,” said burly Nick, wearing an FBI jacket. “He got us the information we needed to make the bust.”
“But…how?” Pamela wanted to know.
“I found Nick’s name in your personnel file,” Tom explained. “After you came in with that Lorenzo cretin I decided to do some checking. Nick is listed as your next of kin, so I gave him a call and he did the rest.”
“We’re neighbors again,” Nick grinned, pointing to the logo. “My promotion to the Feds put me about ten miles away from your school. I just didn’t want you to know where I was.”
“You tracked me here, though. Where did you get that information?”
Tom nodded, clearly enjoying his new role as amateur detective. “I went to your house…just to see what I could find. There was a matchbook for this very club.”
“I don’t know who was stupider,” said Nick. “Lorenzo for dropping it or Makahiro for making them up in the first place.”
“They’re both going away for a long time, Honey,” Tom encouraged. “For kidnapping, prostitution, and a whole lot more. Isn’t that right, Agent Malloy?”
The bald-headed Nick nodded in agreement. “We’ve been waiting a long time to get these two, believe me. Having probable cause that you and the girls were here was all the ammo we needed to get a warrant. And trust me, we’re gonna find everything now.”
“Miss Haley!” squealed Mandy, running to her, the police blanket tailing behind her. “We got rescued! Can you believe it?”
“I knew it all along,” said Erica, right behind her, similarly clad.
“I’m just glad you’re safe, girls,” she accepted their embrace, along with a spare blanket to wrap around her own naked body. “But what about Trevor and Blake? What will happen to them?”
Tom and Nick exchanged glances.
“I’m thinking public service,” said Nick.
“What do you girls say?” Tom wanted to know.
The girls spoke almost in unison, revealing the day’s events had not entirely tamped out their youthful enthusiasm. “We want to give them another chance! Please?”
The boys were brought out, looking whiter than ghosts and more than a little chagrined. The girls ran to them, giving them eager kisses.
“We forgive you,” Mandy spoke for them both.
“Can we go now?” asked Mandy, all four teens facing Nick and Tom.
The look in the girls’ eyes indicated that while they were happy to be free of white slavery, they were more than happy to go back under their boyfriend’s thumbs.
“Go,” Nick stuck a thumb over his shoulder. “And don’t look back.”
Tom cleared his throat. “I guess that leaves you and me, Pamela.”
“I’m gonna tend to loose ends,” winked Nick, pointing over his shoulder.
Pamela watched him leave. A few moments later, in the midst of the silence between her and Tom, she saw Lorenzo and Maki being led away, the latter with two pairs of cuffs to hold his huge arms behind his back.
“It’s not kidnapping!” Lorenzo was shouting. “She’s my slave, she came of her own free will. Honey Snatch,” he turned seeing her. “Kiss my boot. Now!”
The man looked so pathetic holding out his foot like he was doing the hokey pokey, even more so when Nick grabbed him by the collar lifting him off his feet.
“Listen, Tom,” Pamela spoke up first. “I don’t want to complicate your life. You have a career. You’re an important man; people look up to you…”
He took her chin in his hand. “You don’t complicate my life, Pamela Hayes Renfrew…you complete it. I’ll have no arguments from you. You are going to marry me, do you hear?”
Pamela looked at him through the tears. She gave the only answer she could. “Yes,” she whispered, burying her head against his chest. “Master.”
The End
More Bdsm Erotica by Reese Gabriel available from Pink Flamingo Publications …
Blackmailed Into Bondage
Bondage Town
Captivating Katy
Captive Beauties
Chasey’s Surrender
Coeds In Captivity
Dominating Miss Daisy
Enslaving Erica
Nothing Less:
Submissive Women
Nurse Bethany In Bondage
Own This Body
Punishment House
Slaves of Vengeance
Sold!.. To The Highest Bidder
Taken In Hand, Spanking Erotica
Tormented Twins
For a complete catalogue of Erotic Fiction…
Pink Flamingo Publications
P.O. Box 632, Richland, MI 49083, 1-877-629-0051
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: http://www.pinkflamingo.com
rayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
Punishing Pamela Page 17
