Pam-Ann (12 page)

“It won’t of course. How don’t
you know about that? They give us that Zala-whatever-it’s-called in
our food. That root or bark or something, from the tree they found
in the jungle down in the Spanish Empire. It’s the one that
protects us from pregnancy and diseases too. It works pretty much
straight away.”

Spanish Empire? Pam was too
tired to ask. Relieved by what Daisy had told her, the moment they
reached their quarters she put her money in the box, forgot about
using her new toothbrush and lowered herself cautiously onto her
bunk. The prickle stubbornly refused to stop teasing her sex. Doing
her best to ignore it and all her other discomforts, Pam closed her
eyes. Was it really less than twenty-four hours since she had knelt
to suck Drake’s cock?

* * * * *

As a stewardess third class Pam
was the lowliest of the low. Exactly how low became depressingly
clear when her next shift began in the male passengers’ toilet.

“Do a thorough job,” Christine
the overseer said, “or next time it won’t be ointment you get on
your backside, it’ll be six from my cane. And no slacking. The
first lieutenant will be doing his rounds shortly.”

The mention of Drake provoked
Pam’s recollection of kneeling at his feet with his big shaft
filling her mouth. Of all the nerve-racking moments she had endured
that one came most frequently to mind, and always accompanied by a
tremor low in her belly. Pam remembered the times she had done the
same with Rick, willingly, devotedly, eagerly subjecting herself to
his will. More often than not she had been bound or cuffed,
sacrificing her freedom for the sake of Rick’s pleasure, and for
her own, knowing the satisfaction he derived from dominating her.
And maybe she had felt a little of her own at being dominated. But
that had been different; a temporary suspension of reality and
normal life, not the years of endless drudgery and abject servitude
Pam was facing now. And she had loved Rick, or had believed she
had. With Drake her arousal had simply been drug-induced.

Pam had listened to the slave
girls’ chatter. They talked about the passengers – who was
attractive and who was not, who was cruel and who was kind. They
talked about the crew too. None of them had a bad word to say about
Drake. He did everything by the rulebook, but he was fair and
even-handed and admired for it, maybe even liked. Pam had noticed
girls look in her direction when his name came up and guessed
Christine had mentioned what had taken place between them. They all
seemed to think it was significant somehow but she could not see
it. He was just another arrogant, overbearing male who abused his
authority to satisfy his lust whenever it suited him, and in this
world the opportunities for that were even greater than in the one
she had been plucked from.

Exerting all of her carefully
nurtured control Pam staved off despair, stopped sweeping her mop
over the tiled floor and accepted she could not put off cleaning
the urinals any longer. She had never done such a thing in her
life. Still, it was better than cock-sucking or licking passengers’
pussies. She knelt with a shudder and began scrubbing the first
basin. It smelled of piss and disinfectant.

Someone came in. Pam looked up
and quickly down again as she recognised the red hair and ruddy
face of Lord Brinley. He walked to the urinal. She began backing
away, gut tightening. The man shot out a hand and grabbed her
hair.

“Stay put.” He pulled her far
enough aside to stand at the basin. Pam lowered her eyes from the
fat, slug-like penis he pulled from his trousers but a jerk on her
hair raised her head as he let loose a stream of piss into the
bowl. It splattered against the porcelain, a fine mist of its
backlash spraying her face. “Eyes open,” he barked.

Cracking her eyelids a fraction
apart Pam saw the fat head of his cock rapidly emerging from its
foreskin.

“Suck.”

She gulped. A drip of yellowish
urine clung to the tip of the penis. The man’s grip on her hair
tightened and pulled her closer. Fighting nausea, Pam opened her
mouth.

Brinley’s shaft quickly swelled
to such a size her jaws ached at having to stretch so wide to
accommodate it. She gagged continually as it pushed towards the
back of her throat.

“Let’s have a look at you.”
Forced to her feet by a pull on her hair Pam stood gasping while
Brinley looked her up and down. “You’re a pretty one. Fine pair of
tits.” His meaty fist tore her loincloth away. “I prefer girls with
hair on their cunts but you’ll do just the same.”

Pam’s shock at the wrenching
away of her scanty covering was nothing compared to that of being
spun to face the wall, pressed hard against it between two urinals,
and having both wrists seized and held above her head in the
vice-like grip of Brinley’s left hand. The right one forced its way
between her aching buttocks and pressed hard against the tight
little knot they concealed. To Pam’s horror it gave under the
thrust of a broad, blunt fingertip. Brinley pushed painfully in to
the knuckle as Pam twisted frantically, fighting to free her hands
from his iron grip. His breath was hot on the side of her face as
he leaned closer.

“Oh-ho, a fighter, eh? I like
that.”

Pam’s gut lurched. Daisy had
said he liked anal. And he liked it rough! He jammed a second
finger into her, stretching her sphincter even more painfully.

“Ow! No, please!” The same thick
cockhead that had made her mouth gape stabbed at the tight entrance
Brinley’s fingers were forcing open. Pam jerked away, only to have
her belly flatten against the wall. The cock pressed harder and the
fingers tugged free as its tip took their place within the narrow
ring of muscle. Only once before had she been penetrated roughly
there, and afterwards she had sworn that not even for Rick’s
pleasure would she ever allow it to happen again.

Brinley gave a powerful lunge of
his hips. A flash of pain made Pam cry out as the shaft’s
unlubricated head forced its way past her sphincter. Slowly to
begin with, the man worked his cock deeper into the delicate,
wriggling membranes of her anus. They contracted reflexively around
the thick flesh, intensifying Pam’s discomfort and disgust. He
began to thrust. Lips twisting, she cried out but her protests only
goaded Brinley to more vigorous efforts and quickened the strokes
of his wickedly plunging penis. Pam’s efforts to escape the torment
only made it worse and finally she forced herself to stop
struggling, laid one cheek to the cool wall tiles and sobbing
bitterly, endured.

For long minutes the hurt and
degradation continued and her tears flowed. Her anus burned and
ached, and each ramming thrust into her cruelly stretching rectum
felt like the stab of a knife. Her knees were close to buckling.
Through her tears she saw the blurred outline of a tall, uniformed
figure in the open doorway. For a second her gaze locked with
Drake’s until an especially violent thrust made her throw back her
head and cry out. When Pam looked again Drake had gone and the door
was closed.

A grunting sigh at her shoulder
and a flood of warm wetness in her bowels made Pam hope her ordeal
might soon be over. The removal of Brinley’s cock caused more pain
and she sank to all fours, breathing raggedly and with her
carefully pinned hair hanging loose around her face. It was not
over. She knew that. A prod from the toe of the man’s boot got her
to her knees and her head lifted to lick his come-smeared shaft
clean and replace it in his trousers.

“You were good,” he told her,
and she cringed at the condescending smile that came with the
words. “I like a bit of resistance in a girl. Well done.”

A coin struck the floor beside
her. Stomach heaving
, Pam waited until she was
sure he had gone, staggered to a washbasin and thoroughly rinsed
the cloying, bitter fluids that had coated Brinley’s cock from her
mouth. She felt more violated by what he had done than by any of
the
other torments she had suffered. Yet he had not done it
with any animosity towards her as a person – because he did not see
her as a person. To him she was nothing but an object to be used,
no more than a receptacle for the slimy semen oozing from her
tortured rear.

Weeping quietly, Pam
cautiously knelt, recovered
her torn
loincloth and searched for the pins that had been dislodged from
her hair. She was responsible for the loss or damage of anything
the Company ‘loaned’ her and could be punished for it. She heard
the door open but did not look up. Two shiny shoes appeared next to
her and a hand closed on her shoulder.

“Come on, get up.”

Pam continued groping for
hairpins.

“Leave them,” Drake said.

“I’ll be punished.”

“No, I’ll see you’re not. You’re
okay, it’s over. Brinley never has the same girl twice on a flight.
He won’t hurt you again.”

Tears flowed once more as he
drew her to her feet and Pam struggled with the shock of the
assault that had left her throbbing so cruelly. She wrapped her
arms around Drake and pressed her cheek to his broad chest. One of
his arms encircled her, his warm hand resting on her left hip. He
let her cry for a minute before disentangling her. She wiped her
eyes with the backs of her hands and realised what she had
done.

“Oh! S… sorry, Sir.” To her
surprise his smile held none of its usual sardonic amusement.

“Never mind. I don’t.” He
cleared his throat. “Come on.”

Pam staggered as she turned to
follow. Her heart leapt as two powerful arms scooped her up and,
entirely without willing it, she somehow found her cheek resting on
one of Drake’s shoulders.

Chapter Six

Drake carried Ann along the
deserted corridor, across to the crew section and down to the
dispensary. When no one answered his knock he went in and laid her
gently on
a padded leather examination
couch. She quickly rolled off her wealed bottom and onto her side
with her back towards him.

“No sign of the doc, but I can
fix you up,” he said. He took off his coat, rolled up his
shirtsleeves and washed his hands. His big, blunt fingers felt
clumsy when he lightly pressed a cool, damp cloth between Ann’s
buttocks. She flinched but did not pull away as he cooled her
reddened tissues and wiped away the gooey fluid dribbling from her
rear. He used a finger and thumb either side of her sphincter to
spread it a little and she shifted uneasily.

“Relax. You’re split, I’m
afraid, but not much. You’ll be fine in a day or two.” Drake showed
her the little smear of pink that was all that stained the cloth,
proof that she only thought her anus had been torn apart. “I’ll put
some cream on. It’ll take away the worst of the hurt.”

The tension in her stiff muscles
visibly increased and he knew she was forcing herself to keep still
as he slowly smoothed cool, sticky ointment onto her rear
opening.

“What is it?” she asked
hoarsely.

“The same thing you’ve had
before but with more Lidocaine. The Company isn’t exactly lavish to
its slave girls. You need to loosen up back here so I can do
inside.”

“Inside!” Ann jerked her head
around to face him and immediately turned back as he looked into
her blue eyes. He smiled, though she could not see it. What was it
about her that sparked his interest as well as his lust? Her beauty
of course, but he had seen plenty of beauties in his time and not
felt any desire to talk to them as he wanted to talk to this one,
to learn more about who she was and what compulsion had driven her
to seek slavery. And he wanted to do more than just talk, as the
thickening of his cock was telling him all too clearly. “Relax,” he
repeated. “Trust me, I won’t hurt you.”

She looked back at him again
and, though he had not yet penetrated
her ravaged
rear
, Drake had the feeling he had hit a nerve. Her eyes
were flashing even as she lowered them and not, he knew, in
deference to his rank and authority. He was pretty sure she had
little respect for either one. In the past, girls of her sort had
never shown him anything but acceptance and submission. He still
saw acceptance, but it was grudging, and the submission came only
because she knew the penalty if it did not. Beneath it was
resentment and a defiance she had to battle to contain at times. It
was going to get her into trouble if she did not keep it on a
tighter rein. Why had she made herself a slave if she was not ready
to submit?

The ointment on his finger was
beginning to melt. Drake reached down and the girl’s body went
taut.
She turned her head away. Her sphincter
clenched when he tried to probe it.

“I won’t punish
you if you don’t,” he told her, “but you need to ease up back here
if this stuff is going
to do any good.” He heard her sigh
and a second later her little rosette slackened. Drake pushed his
finger gently into its entrance before she could change her mind.
She hissed and tightened a little, then gave a soft grunt as he
slid it deeper, smearing the salve over her delicate inner tissues.
They contracted briefly before yielding under the pressure of his
touch. He should have worn rubber gloves. His finger was going to
end up as numb as her rectum, yet he was fully aware of its
movements within her and her passivity encouraged him to increase
its speed. Ann showed no signs of discomfort. Her breathing had
quickened and she had sunk her forehead to the surface of the
couch. His erection ached, straining against one leg of his
trousers. Once more he felt the urge, the need to hurt her, to take
her hard,
maybe even in the same way the
Englishman had in the toilet so he could hear her cries and see the
tears run down her cheeks. Once more, knowing she could not
possibly feel any pleasure after what she had suffered, he
suppressed his feelings.