Pam-Ann (11 page)

Pam tried and failed to shut out
the swish of the cane and crack of it striking the girl’s buttocks
as the bosun laid on a dozen strokes. Wincing, she leaned over to
take a breadbasket from a table and a hand closed over her right
breast. It buzzed uncomfortably in the firm grip. She looked to her
right. Mrs. Harcourt, the woman who had examined her bottom earlier
in the day looked back, eyes bright.

“Are you juicing, dear?”

A hand slid between Pam’s thighs
before she could even think of closing them and two large fingers
pushed inside her. Alarmingly, her sex quivered as she looked left
and saw the woman’s husband.

“Yes, she is.” His thumb found
her upright bud. “And she’s standing to attention.” They both
laughed. “Shall we have her, my dear?”

“I think so,” his wife replied,
“but I’d like to see the Zulu girls perform first.”

Mr. Harcourt summoned a white
jacketed crewman. “We’d like use of this one. Suite Twenty
Two.”

The steward wrote on a card he
carried, produced a red grease-pencil from his pocket, and when
Mrs. Harcourt released Pam’s tit and she rose upright, he wrote
‘twenty-two’ on her shoulder. “Stay. I’ll arrange a relief,” he
told her.

“Kneel,” Mrs. Harcourt ordered,
and Pam sank to the floor between the couple, scarcely able to
believe the little flow of moisture that accompanied the removal of
the man’s fingers from her sex. Was the influence of Persephone’s
Venus Dust ever going to wear off?

The audience applauded when the
caned girl was hauled upright and led away to a man sitting at one
of the tables. Pam had overheard another girl say that caned slaves
were often used by passengers immediately after their punishment.
Worryingly, the Harcourts had clapped as enthusiastically as the
rest and with the same flush of excitement on their faces. They did
the same when six of the Zulu stokers mounted the stage, their
lithe, muscular bodies rippling and gleaming with oil under the
lights. In vivid contrast to their brown skins each carried two
large, white rubber dildos. They had not been performing their
earthy and provocative dance for long before revealing that the
phalluses were not merely symbolic.

Pam had never seen anything like
the show they put on, first filling their glistening pink pussies
with one dildo,
then presenting their shiny, firm
buttocks to the audience and working the other deep between them.
She did not like girls. That was the truth, Pam forcefully reminded
herself, guilty, ashamed and astonished by her reaction, until she
realised the lascivious performance was not what was making her
excited. The images filling her head were not those of the naked
dancers but of herself sinking to her knees or standing naked and
exposed before Drake. She remembered how she had shivered in fear
and arousal as he had lifted her tiny loin covering to expose her
bald sex, and the instant tingling his broad finger had provoked as
he had slid it into her pussy. By the time the Africans had
finished their carnal display of sexual agility and abandon, Pam’s
blood was racing through her veins, her nipples pulsing, and
trembling warmth once more teasing her sex.

The moment the applause died the
Harcourts rose, drawing Pam to her feet, and set off towards the
passenger cabins. Stunned and breathless from what she had
witnessed, and with the girl’s caning reminding her of the
consequences of any disobedience, she followed meekly in their
wake. She looked back when they reached the door and saw
Persephone’s glittering green gaze upon her and a pout of what
might have been displeasure on her glossy lips.

The couple were not gentle but
neither did they hurt Pam the way the blonde mistress had. While
their own slave girl helped Mrs. Harcourt undress, Pam had to
assist Mr. Harcourt to do the same and then suck him while his wife
knelt at her side, watching intently and continually smoothing her
hands over the welts the whip had carved into Pam’s back and
buttocks. It was uncomfortable and embarrassing, but nowhere near
as bad as the flogging Miss Peake had given her tits.

She found it harder to make
herself lick the woman’s pussy and nibble her bud with her lips,
but the man’s fingers working rhythmically in Pam’s own sex as she
did it acted as both threat and encouragement. After that the
couple’s focus turned to one another. Harcourt mounted his wife,
and Pam had only to lie on the bed beside her and do her best to
ignore their noisy enthusiasm as they made love for several
embarrassing minutes.

They did not continue their
activity to its logical conclusion. Instead, with his wife holding
Pam’s head and the weight of Harcourt’s body astride her keeping
her in place, she was forced to suffer the indignity of the man’s
bulbous-headed cock jetting thick, sticky come over her face. To
her surprise Mrs. Harcourt lapped the glutinous stuff from her
cheeks, nose, chin and tightly compressed lips and positioned her
mouth a few inches above Pam’s. Mr. Harcourt leaned close.

“Open.”

Fighting nausea, Pam obeyed.
Mrs. Harcourt’s lips parted and released a thin, slow trickle of
her husband’s semen into the American girl’s mouth. As it pooled at
the back of her throat, Pam resisted the need to gag. Mrs. Harcourt
sat up, breasts jiggling as she gave a shiver and smacked her
lips.

“Swallow,” she told Pam.

Somehow she forced the slimy,
salty fluid down to her stomach without vomiting. An image of her
kneeling before Drake and doing the same popped into her head. Her
pussy gave a long, rippling tremor.

Harcourt rose and with his shaft
already showing signs of reviving gave one of her erect nipples a
tweak. “Good girl.” His attention returned at once to his wife. She
was pretty but with her breasts beginning to droop, her thick waist
and plump thighs she had nowhere near the beauty of the young slave
girls. Yet it was plain he preferred her. He was proof that
emotions like affection, compassion and love did exist in this
world. It was not only a place of cruelty and oppression and
indifference to suffering… unless you happened to be a slave. But
his wife had better watch out. Harcourt was a man. He was bound to
betray her in the end.

He took a coin from the bedside
table and gave it to Pam before pushing her towards the door. Her
glance back showed he had already rejoined his wife by the time
their slave girl closed it behind Pam. Loincloth clutched in one
hand, she stood in the corridor and examined the coin in the other.
It was shiny and looked new. According to the words around its
edge, the head stamped into it was that of Edward the Ninth. On the
reverse Pam read ‘half-crown’ and the date, nineteen eighty-five.
Was it really the same year as in her own world? She had not
thought about it, but the steam powered airship and low voltage
electricity, the vaguely Edwardian-looking clothes of the men and
the odd mixture of Art Deco and Art Nouveau decoration about
everything Pam had seen, had given her the impression she had
travelled back in time as well as…. She did not know what the other
sort of travel might have been. It made no difference. What this
horrible world was like was not important. All that mattered was
getting back to the one she knew was sane.

A door opened further down the
corridor and Miss Peake’s bodyguard appeared, saw Pam and beckoned
her closer.

“Been enjoying yourself, lover?”
Eve asked. “Here, see what you’ve been missing.” Her strong arm
circled Pam’s waist and she opened the door a few inches.

The American girl recoiled.
Persephone was sprawled across the bed, both feet on the floor,
both hands clasped around a slave girl’s head to hold it tightly
between her parted thighs. The slave was kneeling astride Milly,
who lay on her back on the floor with her face buried in the
unknown slave girl’s crotch. Tania stood behind her, smacking a
stiff leather paddle onto the slave’s taut, rearward-thrusting
buttocks. They were glowing fiery red.

Eve closed the door. “Be glad
it’s not you, lover. Miss Peake was pretty annoyed when the
Harcourts beat her to you.” She pushed Pam against the wall.
Wincing at its pressure on her striped backside the American girl
looked warily into the tall bodyguard’s blue eyes as Eve cupped her
left breast and rubbed the ball of her thumb on her firm nipple,
confirming, not that Pam had ever doubted it, that
the muscular
girl’s sexual preference was the same as
her employer’s. “I can see why,” Eve said, laughing softly and
sliding her other hand down Pam’s belly.

“Please don’t,” she begged as
two long fingers pushed slowly between the tickling lips of her
sex. The girl’s big breasts were almost in her face and two broad,
stiff nipples thrust darkly pink against the thin white silk of her
blouse.

“Why not? You’re ready for it,
lover.” Eve’s fingers wriggled. “You’re oozing honey down there and
pretty soon your clit’s going to be hard as a button. I’d really
love to give those lovely tits a proper sucking and fuck you
senseless with a strap-on. And the way your pussy’s acting I think
you’d love it too.” She laughed. “Front and rear, eh, lover?”

“No!” Pam made a sound between a
gasp and a sob. “It’s not me. It’s that awful Venus Dust.”

Eve laughed. “Oh, is it really?”
She withdrew her fingers and her expression became serious. “It
must be hard for you. Everything must seem strange right now, and
maybe frightening too, eh? In spite of what they’re saying I don’t
think you’re one of That Kind.” She shrugged, big breasts shaking.
“Yet you still got yourself into this, though I can’t for the life
of me work out why. That wild story you told is just too
far-fetched to believe.” She closed her lips over her glistening
fingers and sucked them. “Mm, you
are
sweet.” Her smile
seemed to hold some
genuine sympathy
. “Off
you go, lover. I’m travelling on Miss Peake’s ticket. I don’t
qualify for extras like enjoying you, worse luck.”

With the embarrassing effects of
Eve’s exploration tingling between her legs Pam hurried away, only
realising too late that she had missed a chance to find out what
That Kind were. As she tied her scanty covering around her hips she
almost bumped into someone coming out of one of the cabins.

The
slave
girl held up a small coin. “A shilling. That’s all he
gave me.” She continued alongside Pam, walking stiffly. “Try not to
attract Lord Brinley’s attention,” she said in the same low tones
she had used to complain about her meagre gratuity. “He only likes
it rough. And I mean
rough
.” She pointed to the thick
lattice of crimson lines across her buttocks. “My arse is on fire
and not just where you can see it. He’s been lashing and buggering
me on and off for the last two hours and he does it bloody hard. I
swear my bum’s raw, outside and in.” Her accent and choice of words
showed she was English. “I’m Daisy by the way.”

“Pam. No, I mean Ann. Ann.”

“I was there when they flogged
you. I’ve never felt the whip. I’ll bet it hurts.” Daisy shivered.
“The knots look wicked.” She seemed very young. Perhaps she thought
it was inevitable that sooner or later she would feel the torment
of the wet cords.

“How old are you?” Pam
asked.

“Nearly twenty-one. How about
you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Then you must have taken a
while to be sure,” Daisy said. “I suppose that’s the best way,
rather than just jump in without thinking.”

“Is that what you did?”

“Oh, no! My parents defaulted on
a loan so the bank took me for part of the debt. I’m not That
Kind.” Even among slaves there seemed to be distaste for what
everyone thought Pam was.

“Neither am I,” she said, though
it was probably a waste of time. “How long have you been a… a….”
The word would not come.

“Two years, near enough. The
Company bought me from the bank so this is all I know. There were
five of us so they got a discount.”

Pam’s belly flipped. She really
was casually discussing the buying and selling of human beings. The
girl turned into a narrower corridor while Pam continued along the
main one.

“Aren’t you going to spend your
money?” Daisy asked. “There isn’t anywhere you can keep it.” She
gestured at their near nudity and grinned. “No pockets.”

Pam followed her to a small
kiosk next to the kitchen entrance.

“I need chocolate after that,”
Daisy said. “I don’t mind the fucking. It’s quite nice and the pain
is usually tolerable.” She giggled. “Even fun sometimes. But I
don’t like the way Brinley gives it out.” She held out her shilling
and pointed to a small chocolate bar amid the candy and snacks
displayed on the counter.

“Shake your tits first,” the
grinning crewman behind it told her. She swung her generously
proportioned breasts back and forth.

Cheeks burning, Pam had to do
the same to secure a ‘Snackers’ bar and she also bought a
toothbrush. The Company expected its slaves to look perfect at all
times but provided few of the necessities for accomplishing it
except at the kiosk, and at its own inflated prices. As they made
their way to the slave quarters she savoured the taste of the
chocolate after the bland food she had eaten since her arrival.

“Mm, as good as a fuck,” Daisy
said, licking the last crumbs from her candy wrapper.

Still chewing on her larger bar,
Pam withheld her opinion and raised the hand holding the threepence
she had left. Nothing at the kiosk had been that cheap. “What do I
do with this?”

“Put it in the box when we get
back. It’s for the girls who aren’t chosen or don’t get tips. That
way they can still use the kiosk.”

Another question that had been
troubling Pam a lot more came to mind. “Daisy, I’m nearly…. That
is…what happens when the time of the month comes round? I’m due
soon.”