Punishing Pamela Read online

  Chapter Three

  Pamela lingered miserably over her coffee in the faculty room. She’d never dreaded her job so much, or her life. First period was the freshmen, still innocent of the ways of sex, but she was sure they would see written all over her face what she’d been undergoing, what she was becoming. Tugging at the tight skirt—worn at Trevor’s command—Pamela tried to hide her legs. The plastic chair was making her sweat, reminding her of the dampness between her thighs. Last night had blown her mind. With arrogant simplicity, Lorenzo had reestablished ownership over her body. Wracking her with orgasms, interspersed with hard lashes from his thick belt, he’d pulled her back to the past, back to the place of naïve, whorish slavery that had been her earlier life with the man.

  A shiver thrilled down her spine as she recalled all that had passed between them in the dark night. Suffice to say, she called Lorenzo master comfortably now, and this morning, when he’d finally announced his departure, she’d willingly abased herself, kissing him goodbye, her sensuous lips on the toes of his boots.

  “You’ll be working for me again,” he’d informed her. “Your new status as a teacher will make for some interesting business prospects. You’ll be staying here, keeping your job. But you’re mine again; don’t you forget that.”

  One final embrace, her nude body in his arms, tortured for want of yet another captive orgasm, and he was gone, leaving her devastated on her own doorstep. She’d dressed shivering, knowing that with the new day, came yet another new form of slavery, namely her captivity to her wicked students. The very ones who’d demanded she wear tight clothes and who had forbidden her underwear and who’d put her on the pill and who had no doubt stayed up very late last night dreaming of new tortures for their little prize, their living sex doll.

  “Pamela, are you all right?” Tom Rains stood in the doorway.

  “Yes,” she said, squirming under his gaze in her skintight blouse, which she prayed covered her naked tits adequately. “I’m fine.”

  Tom frowned. They were alone. “I called you last night. Three times. I’ve needed to talk to you very badly, to explain things, about what happened between us yesterday, I mean.”

  She swallowed hard. Indeed he had called, and having to listen to his sweet messages of apology while being forced to serve the depravities of her old master and pimp had been agony. “I—I didn’t feel well last night, I’m sorry that I wasn’t up to taking any calls.”

  Tom was looming, his palms on the small round table. “How about dinner again tonight?” He was saying it like it was some prescription she needed filled, though the desire in his eyes, the obvious concern on his face all but burned a hole in her clothes at several key points.

  “So sorry, Tom, I—I just can’t.”

  The frown deepened. “Bullshit,” he replied, quite out of character.

  “Excuse me. I have to go.” She rose abruptly and tried to slip past him. Pamela got as far as his arms. The kiss was hard and punishing.

  “I should take you,” he said breathless, “right here on the table.”

  She fought her way free. A hot, disciplinary fuck was what she wanted more than anything but she couldn’t let him see her state of dress, or the welts on her naked backside from where Lorenzo had beaten her.

  He’d called it a Welcome Home present, to remind her she was his property once more. But Pamela belonged to Erica and Mandy as well, and to Trevor and Blake.

  “My—my class,” she sputtered by way of apology and reason for her escape.

  He let her go, his fists clenched, the vein at his temple throbbing. And then there was the cock in his trousers, a swollen cock that Pamela wanted to be on her knees sucking more than anything in the world.

  “Dinner,” he reiterated. “At eight.”

  She sighed and nodded, forcing a smile. “That would be lovely.”

  Unless Lorenzo has other plans for me, she thought, for my mouth and cunt and ass, that is.

  First and second periods passed uneventfully. Though Pamela remembered not a word of her lectures, she assumed she’d performed adequately in her guise as the supposedly stone cold, no-nonsense Miss Haley. As a reward, she intended to bury her head on her desk for a quick nap during prep period, after washing down half a bottle of aspirin.

  No such luck; the pair of them was waiting for her in her office, looking like they belonged there more than she did. At this point who could argue?

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” said Erica, speaking for the pair of girls.

  “A little slut whore, is what,” Mandy answered, making sure the insult couldn’t possibly be missed. “A dog slut cunt whore.”

  Pamela straightened herself, attempting to rally some modicum of dignity and authority. “Girls, it’s been a terrible morning, if you don’t mind…”

  “What did you say?” Mandy practically sprang from the sofa to stand an inch from the teacher’s face.

  Pamela’s lip trembled as she tried to maintain eye contact. It was taking every bit of her strength to stand up to the spoiled, beautiful girl. “There are limits, Mandy; you have to know that.”

  Mandy moved so fast that Pam had no chance to react.

  “No there aren’t,” the girl smiled cruelly, her fingers thrust hard up under the skirt and into the teacher’s already liquid pussy.

  “Ow! That hurts!” she squealed.

  “No shit—slave!”

  “You have to the count of ten to be naked, Pammy,” Erica supplied from her place of leisurely observation on the edge of the desk. “Or else.”

  “Naked,” Mandy nodded, “like a good doggie slut.”

  Pamela’s fingers went numb as she stripped off the flimsy garments—the tight blouse and skirt, with nothing underneath. Mandy noticed the marks right away, just as she feared.

  “Ooh. Teacher’s been beaten,” she whistled. “Real good, too.”

  “Let me see.” Erica pushed her way forward and twisted the woman around. Pamela’s blouse and skirt were at her feet now and she was utterly vulnerable except for her shoes, a pair of wispy high heels. Ironically, she felt more nude with these than if she’d been barefoot.

  “Who did this?” Mandy demanded, running her fingers over the thick, red lines.

  “A man,” she answered, not thinking the details would matter. “A man from long ago. Someone dead to me who rose from his grave.”

  “That pimp,” nodded Erica. “The one called Lorenzo.”

  The girl’s accurate reply caught her off guard. “But how do you know him?” she gasped.

  Mandy spun the unprepared teacher round and cuffed her in reply, the back of her hand like lightning across the pink skin of Pamela’s cheek. “Stupid bitch! Who do you think we got the pictures from? He’s the dude the private detective tracked down for us.”

  “We knew there was something in your closet, some skeleton,” explained Erica. “We just weren’t sure what it was. That Lorenzo scumbag was more than we could have possibly hoped for. And you say he’s found you again?”

  “He showed up last night,” Pamela admitted, lowering her eyes in shame.

  “Must have bribed the PI we hired,” Erica speculated. “To give him your address.”

  Both girls were within inches of Pamela now, intimidating, arousing.

  “You know you have to be punished for all this, right?” Erica’s hand was on the teacher’s breast, caressing it, her voice deceptively gentle.

  Pamela shook her head, her gaze intent on her own feet.

  Mandy grabbed her cheeks between her fingers, forcing eye contact. “Don’t play stupid. Don’t tell me you don’t know what you’ve started?”

  “Blake fucked Mandy in the ass last night,” Erica informed her. “Like he owned it. Where do you think he got that idea from?”

  Pamela maintained a judicious, wary silence. Anything she said now would only be used against her.

  Mandy bore down viciously, twisting Pamela’s earlobe between two sharp nails. “Answer me.”

>   The girl’s grip brought the teacher to her knees, flush, naked and broken on her own rug. “I—I don’t know,” she winced.

  Mandy squeezed hard enough to make her see stars. “I don’t know, ma’am,” she corrected.

  Pamela’s eyes brimmed with tears. It hurt. Badly. “I…I really don’t know,” she answered, voice wavering. “Ma’am.”

  “What you’ve started, Teacher Bitch, is a lot of trouble,” said Erica. “Blake and Trev have both totally weirded out on us. They wouldn’t even talk to us in the hall before. Blake just pushed Mandy against the lockers, tongue fucked her about a minute and off they went. We don’t even know where they are right now. They were supposed to meet us here.”

  Mandy’s lips curled in satisfaction, her lovely, cold eyes absorbing the teacher’s pain and misery. “Whatever Blake does to me from now on,” she decided. “The same is going to happen to you, or worse.”

  “Worse,” Erica weighed in, her hand in Pamela’s hair, bowing her neck till the woman’s eyes were skyward. “And remember, girls can do things to each other boys would never think of.”

  “Nasty things,” echoed Mandy, working the zipper of her skirt.

  Erica promptly followed. The girls wore sheer panties underneath, their respective golden and raven colored thatches plainly visible through the light silk. Erica made the first move, shoving the teacher’s head forward, putting her in proper position, nose level with the sex of her classmate.

  “Eat me,” Mandy beamed, skinning down her girlish underwear.

  The kneeling Pamela hesitated, just for a split second, long enough to give Erica an excuse to pull her hair straight up, severely testing the roots. “Do it,” she commanded, “or you’ll be licking out her asshole instead.”

  Pamela’s eyes brimmed with tears. She’d never tasted a woman’s love juices before, not even during her long and brutal captivity. Lorenzo had considered such couplings distasteful and he’d turned down some hefty fees in his quest to keep Pamela a “pure man’s bitch,” as he put it.

  But the girls owned her now, in more ways than one. Closing her eyes, squinting hard, she pressed into the opening. Mandy’s juices were already active, the bittersweet tang saturating her timid tongue on impact.

  “Mmm,” purred Mandy, taking over control of Pam’s head from Erica. “That’s a good doggie slut. Now make me come, or we’ll beat your ass.”

  Pamela tried to draw a breath. The girl was smothering her. A moment later she felt a tap on her back, hard and rough. She stiffened. Erica must have fetched the ruler.

  “Mandy, why don’t you tell Pammy what you had to do last night—after that bastard Blake was done with you.”

  Mandy held the squirming teacher fast by her head, making her take her air in gasps through the curling, matted golden hairs that filled her view, filled her world. “You mean after he took me in the ass and came all over me? That’s when Cindy showed up, my freaky roommate. Blake told her she could do whatever she wanted to me, all night long. First, she took me in the bathroom. I had to hold my hands over my head while she scrubbed me down with a long handled brush. I had to spread for her and bend, like some kind of fucking animal. She said she wanted to get the come off me, cause it was, like, diseased or something. She’s a lesbian, you know. Then she wanted to butt fuck me with a dildo. She did that, for an hour. I had to suck it, too, and take it in my pussy. I hate Cindy, but there was nothing I could do.”

  Pamela felt Mandy’s powerful arousal, the husky tone of her voice, the copious flow of sex. Despite her seeming disgust, Mandy was turned on just thinking about it. Pam knew the feeling well, the deliciously wicked need to submit. In her case, the mere memory of such experiences had left her cold for the prospect of most ‘normal’ sex acts.

  “Come on doggie slut, come on…”

  Erica slapped the stick down on Pamela’s exposed buttocks. Just hard enough to sting and humiliate her. Pamela remembered now the cane that had been used on her by the Overseer, the mysterious auctioneer to whom Hal had brought her after the infamous night in the barn.

  After finishing with her mouth, spurting down her throat with his seed, Hal had hog tied her hand and foot with some available rope from the tack room and carried her over his shoulder to the Rolls Royce. She’d never dreamed of riding in the trunk of the family car, but Hal was quite insistent. The oily rag in her mouth was a particularly nauseating and devious finishing touch to her complete degradation.

  “Wish you’d fucked me now, don’t you?” he grinned sadistically, just before slamming down the metal trunk on her prone, sweat soaked and abused body.

  She’d pleaded with her eyes, but it was too late. Some time later, they’d arrived in a parking garage. From there she was wrapped crudely in a rug and taken by van to another location, eventually being let out in a dimly lit smoke filled room. The black hooded, shirtless Overseer was waiting for her, the cane already in hand. In her state of shock, she thought it was part of some resurrected vaudeville routine.

  “A special treat tonight, gentlemen…a genuine virgin. What am I bid? Shall we say two thousand for openers?”

  The Overseer, wearing a black vest over his barrel chest and a pair of crimson pantaloons with low boots, had taken his time and liberty with her, playing her up to the crowd, to the unseen murmuring faces, the glaring swirl of eyeballs, in the midst of which, from time to time came hand signals, indicating amounts of money to be paid for possession of her person—body and soul.

  It may have only been a few short minutes, but for young Pamela, it seemed a lifetime, a million years under the hot lights, barefoot and bare-assed on the wooden stage, her body poked and prodded, bearing the fresh marks of her whipping.

  “You can see she takes a beating,” quipped the Overseer, putting his hands all over her. “And she’s young and fresh as a daisy. Who wouldn’t want to tame and own this little tart? Who wouldn’t want this ass? This quim.”

  Quim. An odd word, one she learned later to be British slang for a woman’s vagina. The day she learned that word in a graduate school class, she had to excuse herself to the bathroom to vomit, the memory of that hand inside her so vivid and life-like. The Overseer was a Briton, that’s all she knew from that night; that and the fact that she had been sold to an agent of the notorious slave runner and whoremonger Lorenzo.

  “Mandy, are you going to come or not?” Erica called out now to the ever-distracted blonde girl who was supposed to be directing Pamela in her pussy licking. “Maybe you need something to focus your attention.”

  However, it was then that Mandy screamed aloud as the first wave of pain hit her. Erica was using the ruler on her now, too, adding a new wrinkle to their game. Pam cringed, praying no one would hear and intervene. Caught like this, she’d be fired for sure, her career over in one fell swoop. Luckily the girls were both eighteen or she would end up facing jail time as well.

  “Hey! Cut it out, Erica, that hurts!”

  Erica smacked her again. “It’s time to orgasm, bitch. I want a turn, too.”

  The rough treatment was just what the doctor ordered. Mandy’s come flooded Pam’s cheeks instantly and dripped down her neck onto her breasts. How Pamela wished someone were satisfying her cunt, too—preferably a man, with a hard, beautiful cock, like Tom…or Nick.

  Pamela shuddered at the thought of the laconic police officer; the man who’d loved her and whom she’d rejected so casually. Would he help her after all this time? Would he rescue her from Lorenzo’s clutches, yet again—not to mention from her teen tormentors?

  “My turn,” Erica prompted, poking the still quivering Mandy in the ribs.

  “But my next class,” Pamela moaned, straining to keep her mind fixed on her reality. “I’ll be late.”

  Erica licked her lips, catlike as she slithered out of her tiny little panties. “We set your schedule now, Pammy.”

  Mandy took possession of the yardstick as Pamela crawled to her second mistress to give the requisite tonguing.

 
“Eat up,” encouraged the cheerleader, with a savage blow to Pamela’s exposed and defenseless lower back, “and maybe I’ll tell you the rest of my story about last night.”

  Pamela shivered at the thought…she was in over her head and she knew it.

  ***

  Lorenzo was waiting for Blake and Trevor outside the fast food establishment where the pair had just chowed down a dozen mini-burgers apiece. “Hello, boys,” the slick haired pimp greeted the two young men, his slim buttocks pressed casually on the front fender of Blake’s mint condition 1967 Mustang convertible, autumn gold with matching wheel covers.

  The pair stopped in their tracks, their lazy conversation fizzling to cold silence. Blake, who routinely bench pressed 240 pounds, spoke first.

  “I don’t know who think you are, mister, but you got about ten seconds to get the fuck off my car before I waste you.”

  Trevor, no slouch in the muscle department added, with a grin, “Save me a piece, Dude; I feel like working out some aggression of my own.”

  “Maybe you ought to hear me out first,” Lorenzo suggested. “I might have something you boys need.”

  Blake was on him first. “Fuck that,” he said, grabbing the slender man by the collar of his red silk shirt, lifting him onto the toes of his pointed leather boots.

  “Yea,” Trevor poked the pimp in the chest with a spring-loaded index finger.

  “‘Cause the day a shit heel like you has something we need is the day I cut my balls off and sell them for science.”

  “I got money.”

  Blake slugged him in the chest hard. “We’re rich already, dick wad.”

  Lorenzo remained graceful, even on all fours at their feet. “How about pussy?”

  Trevor moved to kick him with a well-placed work boot to the ribs. “Got all we need of that, too.”

  “Not the kind I can get,” he said, just in the nick of time. “I’m talking slave pussy.”

  Trevor halted, his leg hanging in mid air. “What?”

  “Slave pussy.” He repeated, making motions to rise, tentative and respectful. “May I?”

  Blake yanked him upright like a scarecrow. “Spit it out, asshole, or you’ll be spitting teeth.”