Pam-Ann (7 page)

“Is it over?”

Drake shook his head. “Just
about to begin.”

The Chief pulled a face. “I put
it off as long as I could, but it’s my turn to make the numbers up.
Traske won’t like it if I don’t show my face. ‘There will always be
a minimum of three officers, besides myself, present on such
occasions’,” he quoted, in a fair imitation of the Commodore at his
most pompous.

Drake did not feel like
laughing.

“Maybe she’ll enjoy it,” Riley
suggested. “Plenty of them do.”

“Not this one. She’s shit
scared, and Persephone Peake’s just worked her over, which hasn’t
helped.”

Riley grimaced again. “Not the
easiest of introductions to our passengers. That little bitch may
well be the crazy one. She certainly needs to be seriously taken in
hand.”

“If she could take some pleasure
from it, it would be different,” Drake said. “But she’s not excited
now, only terrified.”

“It’s the law. She knew what to
expect.”

“I wonder. She acts like she
hasn’t got a clue what’s going on. She’s been like that from the
beginning.” Drake watched the Chief remove his cap and tuck it
under his left arm. “Forget it, Alex. Go back to your engines. I’ll
make up the numbers.”

“But you never stay to see them
punished. You dislike it as much as I do when it’s forced on them
like that. Even the Bosun says he has doubts sometimes and God
knows he can be an evil bastard when it suits him.”

“The passengers think
differently. They’re hovering like vultures. They can’t wait for
the show to start.”

“Fuck them,” Riley said. “Just
bored rich folks looking for a new experience to revive their jaded
palates.”

Drake sighed. “Well, they’re
about to get it. Go ahead, skip this one. Traske won’t care as long
as the numbers are right.”

“Well, okay, if you’re sure.”
The Chief replaced his cap on his head and nodded. “Thanks, Rafael.
I owe you one.”

Drake turned back to the saloon.
Riley was right, he always avoided the punishments if he could. Why
then, had he made his offer? Every slave girl on board was a
beauty. Ann was nothing special as far as that was concerned. Yet
she had something about her, and whatever it might be was strong
enough to overcome his reluctance to watch her suffer pain without
pleasure. He shook his head, ignored the tightening of his gut, and
opened the door.

* * * * *

Increasingly
desperate, Pam had
watched Drake make his way between the
tables and leave the room.
Feeling abandoned and
achingly alone she looked around with fear fluttering in her belly.
Her breasts smarted and throbbed at the same time. Unaccountably
and alarmingly, a little tingle of excitement still pulsed between
her legs.

The diners continued their meal,
as if having a naked girl bound helplessly in their midst was
nothing out of the ordinary. Pam gulped. Maybe it was not. They
kept watching her, the nearest mere feet away, their stares
curious, appraising and, it seemed to her, expectant; even those of
the women, though they were far outnumbered by the men. Directly in
front of her sat the Commodore. Dressed once more, Persephone Peake
settled herself next to him and turned her predatory smile on Pam.
The awful, cringing embarrassment she was feeling intensified.
Along with the rubber of the gag, she could still taste the
blonde’s sex on her tongue.

Inevitably, the thick cylinder
forcing Pam’s jaws so wide made it difficult to swallow. As the
minutes dragged by she began to drool. Saliva ran from the corners
of her mouth, dribbling down her chin and onto her red-striped
breasts. Acutely conscious of it, and that her total nudity and
raised position meant everyone had an upward view of the bare cleft
between her spread legs, she closed her eyes tightly to shut out
the watchers. It only increased her dizziness. Pam picked a spot on
the far wall, above the heads of the crowd, and stared at it, but
several times was drawn to look at the semi-naked girls moving
amongst the tables. She saw
a girl bending forward
to gather plates onto a tray. One of the men at the table she was
clearing smoothed his hand over the roundness of her swaying right
breast and tugged its nipple. The girl did not protest or try to
pull away, and remained
in position until he let go and
resumed his conversation with his companion. Stewardess third
class. The hollow feeling of dread in Pam’s stomach deepened.

Five men appeared and took seats
to her right, picking up musical instruments that rested beside
their chairs. The nearest gave Pam a bold grin and a wink as he sat
down. She looked away and saw Drake had returned and was standing
near the bar on the opposite side of the room. A shiver ran through
her and tickled all the way to her sex. Damn that drug! The bosun
and his mate were coming towards her with a girl as naked as she
was between them. A man in a tuxedo joined them and together they
stepped onto the stage. Pam’s heart began beating faster. The bosun
carried a long bamboo cane thicker than her middle finger.

The nude girl shuddered and
revealed eyes filled with anxiety as she looked briefly at Pam
before taking a position next to the half-barrel shaped object on
asymmetrical legs that stood a few feet to one side of the post.
Her fear was palpable. Desperately hoping the cane was intended for
the slave girl, Pam told herself that it was not selfishness but
self-preservation. To her horror the bosun turned towards her. The
urge to piss with fright became one to piss with relief as he began
loosening Pam’s straps.

The man in the tuxedo faced the
audience. “Good evening, gentlemen and ladies, and welcome to this
evening’s entertainment aboard the
Empire’s Triumph
,
flagship and newest, finest vessel of the
Empire Star Line
.
My name is Jerry Morgan, and I’m your
Master of
Ceremonies
and h
ost for this evening
and for the three others you’ll be aboard ship until we reach New
York. Commodore Traske, his crew and staff, hope you will enjoy
your journey. And remember, if anything, anything at all, does not
give you complete satisfaction, you have only to inform one of the
crew or officers and they will see something is done about it
immediately. Shortly, we will be folding away the tables and the
boys of the band will be playing some of the newest and hottest
tunes for your dancing or easy listening pleasure.”

Pam’s heart leapt when the
bosun’s grip did not relax after he had freed her. He turned her to
face the post and his mate fastened her wrists and ankles again. As
fear surged, she made muffled protests into her gag and struggled
futilely in the bosun’s grasp.

“Before that,”
Jerry Morgan continued
, “Let me introduce Lisa.” He
grinned as he gestured towards the trembling girl. “Yes folks, just
four hours into the trip one of our naughtier slave girls earned
herself twelve strokes. Some of them can’t seem to keep away from
the cane. Tardiness was her fault, but it’s far from the first time
her impudent bottom
has needed some
chastisement
to remind her of her duty.”

Thank God. Pam took a deep
breath, sucking back some of the drool around the gag. It was going
to be the girl.

“But first let’s take a look at
our stowaway,” Jerry Morgan said. “I’m sure you’ve all heard about
her by now and had a chance to see her on display.”

Pam’s belly went tight.

“I’m also sure you know the
penalties imposed by international regulations on a girl who
illegally boards any vessel. Some of you may have seen this before,
gentlemen and ladies. It’s not such a rare occurrence, after all.
But I won’t make those of you who haven’t wait any longer. So here
is Ann, our new stewardess third class, receiving the mandatory two
dozen lashes, and our bosun, Tom Harker, to deliver them.”

Pam heaved frantically at her
straps as the crowd applauded. The bosun went to the bucket at the
back of the stage and lifted the chequered wooden handle showing
above its rim. Water streamed into the bucket from the six lengths
of cord attached to the handle. Pam redoubled her frenzied tugging,
crying out incoherently into her gag as she stared in utter horror
at the wet cords, each with six thick knots tied at intervals along
its length. The bosun ran them through his meaty paw, careful not
to wring out the water that added to their weight. Two dozen
lashes. With that?
Pam’s head spun. As she fought
uselessly to break free, the darkness hovering at the edges of her
vision closed in.

The splash of
cold water in her face brought back both her consciousness and her
terror. It would not be the first time she had felt the whip, but
to take it cold, completely unprepared by even the shortest of
warm-ups, was way beyond anything she had known before. So was the
cruelly knotted whip. Her gut churned so much she feared she
would
lose control of her
bowels.

“She doesn’t seem happy about
taking a flogging, gentlemen and ladies,” Jerry Morgan observed
blithely. “Maybe she’s having second thoughts about deciding to
travel on the
Empire’s Triumph
.”

The watchers’
laughter quickly faded as the Bosun took a step back.
Pam
twisted her head as far as she could to keep him in sight. He
raised the whip and she watched the water dripping from the tips of
its cords in breathless dread. Pam blinked. The lash was no longer
there.

A split second later searing
fire blazed across her bare back. She shrieked into the thick
rubber blocking her mouth and felt the bite of the leather straps
at wrists and ankles as she tore at them in a frenzy of pain. One
agonising lash after another scorched her skin, scoring her back
and shoulder blades with fiery lines of torment, while the hard
knots bit deeper and the ones at the ends of the cords curled
around her body to sear the outer swell of her already throbbing
right breast. The pain was incredible. Eyes
shut
tight and
tears flowing, Pam fought for control.

For once it was a battle she
lost. Her buttocks bounced and flamed as the bosun switched
targets. Shock and hurt trapped her breath in her throat. Pam
bucked wildly, adding to the strain on her cracking shoulders as
each wet, wicked splat of the whip on her tender buttocks stoked
the fires already raging through their flesh. Near panic, she wet
herself.

“Oh, there she goes,” Jerry
Morgan said, chuckling. “It’s rare we get one who doesn’t piss
herself at some time during her first flogging.”

The searing strokes of the whip
stopped. In the silence Pam heard the echoing vibration of the
metal bucket between her feet as her urine splattered into it. She
was helpless to stop it, and almost too lost in her pain to care
about the humiliation. Oh, please let it be over! Even as the plea
filled her mind her flow ended and another savage stroke raked her
burning rear-cheeks and set her writhing once more. Pam shrieked
into her gag and continued shrieking until at last the torment
ceased. The crowd’s applause mocked her. She was too far gone to
care.

What followed was a blur.
Through the fire and torment she heard the meaty thud of the thick
cane striking flesh and the girl called Lisa crying out close by,
and more applause that must have marked the end of the beating. The
band began playing. Fingers played over the burning weals on Pam’s
left shoulder. Persephone Peake’s breathy tones penetrated her
pain-racked mind.

“You’re a sight, darling, but I
did enjoy your whipping. You see now why I wanted you
before
they flogged you.”

* * * * *

“You understand your duties?”
Drake asked, leaning back in his chair and steepling his
fingers.

Standing at the other side of
his desk, head up, feet slightly apart and with her fists pressed
to the small of her back, Pam nodded.

The Englishwoman who had taught
her the pose prodded the tip of her cane into the American girl’s
ravaged bottom. “Answer properly.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, wincing,
and for the first time since entering Drake’s office looked away
from his level gaze and through the big window behind him. “My God,
we’re flying!” Pam rushed to the glass, almost forgetting the pain
of breasts and back and buttocks in her astonishment at the clouds
drifting past outside. Far below them lay the grey-blue ocean.

“No, Christine.” Drake rose to
his feet. The alarming tingle his hand on Pam’s arm caused made her
pull away in time to see the Englishwoman lower her upraised cane.
“What else do you expect us to do?” He looked at a sepia-tinted
photograph on the wall. The image was of a cigar-shaped object with
tall fins at one end, which appeared to be hovering close to the
ground above a large crowd of ants.

Pam looked more closely. The
ants were people and the object was huge. “It’s an airship!”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t start
that again. If you tell me you didn’t notice when you sneaked on
board I’ll take a switch to you, sore backside or not.”

“But it’s enormous. And it’s
powered by steam?” Her thoughts raced. “It must use helium.
Hydrogen would be too dangerous with fire aboard. What about the
weight? All that steel and coal. Doesn’t it defy the laws of
physics?”

The look he returned her was
surprised, puzzled and suspicious all at the same time. “What do
you know about the laws of physics, girl?”

Pam flinched from his tone.
“Only what I learned in high school.” It was enough. Maybe even the
laws of nature were different in this crazy world. She had been
flying and so had the airship, and somehow the blackness had
plucked her from one and set her down on the other. At least it
made more sense than her ending up on a ship. Pam’s belly flipped.
None of it made any sense, but if the blackness had brought her
here maybe it could take her back, if only she could get the chance
to find it.