From tommy@tommys.spydernet.kom Sun Jun 29 05:00:32 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news-in-east.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!cam-news-feed5.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!ftp.ampersand.com!anon.lcs.mit.edu!nym.alias.net!mail2news
From: tommy@tommys.spydernet.kom
X-FTN-Sender: "tommy@tommys.spydernet.kom" <tommy%tommys.spydernet.kom@f26.n340.z1.fidonet.org>
Date: Sun, 29 Jun 97 02:00:32 -0700
Subject: Pamela is Beaten (BnD)
Message-ID: <385936477@f26.n340.z1.ftn>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
X-FTN-FLAGS: PVT TRN
X-FTN-Tearline: NaNoSPaM+ 0.05
X-FTN-Via: Squish/386 1.11 1:340/303, Sun Jun 29 1997 at 10:21 UTC
Mail-To-News-Contact: postmaster@nym.alias.net
Organization: mail2news@nym.alias.net
Lines: 582
The THC Adult Text Archive: PAME.TXT (528 lines)
Please do not allow anyone under 18 to read the contents of this message.
BEFORE YOU EMAIL ME, Please see the footer for important information.
Visit http://vvv.com/~tommy/acd.html
==========================================================================
PAMELA IS BEATEN
PAMELA - CH 1
I saw Pamela for the first time in early July. I had been to
the book store looking for some special paperbacks. I finished my
business and was walking along the path towards the pier. The air
was rich with odours of tanned skin and the beach was decorated by
female flesh in bikinis. I was about to turn back when I noticed a
woman sitting on the low wall by the pier. She was with two pre-
teen girls, both fair haired and fair skinned, dressed in shorts
and halter tops.
I guessed that they had been on the beach and were just about
to head home. The woman was tall, lithe and sexually attractive.
She had a direct and determined look that suggested she thought a
great deal of herself.
One of the girls called her Pamela. Pamela and the girls moved
off along the path toward the city. She had fine features, a
confident gait, and beautiful blue eyes. She was probably in her
thirties. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail.
As she walked slowly along the path, one girl on either side
of her, several pairs of eyes followed her progress. She had a
buxom figure like many of the other girls on the beach. She was
wearing a very tight black sweater and a pair of well worn cut-off
jeans. The jeans must have been at least a couple of sizes too
small. I swear I have never seen denim that fitted a woman so
tightly. Surely they would split if she tried to bend over. Her
breasts were full but needed no bra under the tight clinging top.
She had long and graceful thighs.
Her ass was splendid. There was no tell-tale ridge of panties.
The woman seemed to be advertising to the world that she was not
wearing any. She was wearing black boots with high heels that were
out of place at the beach but looked great.
Yet the young woman did not have the appearance of a girl
"asking for it." With two children that would have been impossible
anyway. However the woman seemed to be tantalising the men near the
beach with a display of what they would love to have but were never
going to get. I think that excited her.
I watched this beauty as she strutted. It was easy to overtake
them and pause near the rail, secretly observing her from the
front. My camera was fitted with a zoom lens. I held it pretending
to take a shot of the pier. Watching her carefully I turned a
little and brought Pamela's beauty into focus as she came towards
me. When she passed I turned around and, at close range with the
zoom lens, took several shots of Pamela's buttocks as she walked
by. I followed her keeping the camera low, as if I was not using
it, but my finger never left the shutter release. The automatic
winder wound the film a dozen times.
Pamela flaunted her ass along the path then stopped. She put
down the shoulder bag she was carrying and began to look for
something inside it. I don't think she had any idea she was being
followed. Her buttocks swelled out and parted as she bent over. I
just about ejaculated in my pants.
My tongue was dry. With great enthusiasm I examined her ass in
this most suggestive pose. I leered at her buttocks, the swell, the
softer feminine flesh of the lower rear curves.
She led the children off again. By now she was aware I was
going the same way. She looked with a mixture of unease and disdain
at the camera. She may have guessed that I had been photographing
her and she could well imagine what sort of pictures of her I now
possessed. With the children trotting beside her she turned
abruptly down a side street and then hurried down another. I walked
quickly cutting through an alley and emerged behind her again. I
discovered the destination of my quarry then went home to make some
plans.
The dark afternoon mist gathered outside my basement window.
I closed the curtains and laid out the photographs in the strong
light of the desk lamp. I knew I was going to enjoy myself with
this one. The perverted lust she inspired in me was overpowering.
I felt no vindictiveness towards her but I would not have saved her
from any sexual ordeal. She was a perfect object for gross tyranny.
Just suppose she had been abducted by some country where
torment is inflicted in underground prisons. I could picture Pamela
bare naked and spread-eagled face down over a horizontal bar, naked
tits swinging free, whips and implements of torture prepared. The
two girls were bare, hanging by their wrists, hugely erect naked
men spanking them and forcing deformed fingers into their bodies.
If I were given the choice of releasing them or being
permitted to watch, maybe even taking part in their night long
ordeal, I would have chosen to stay and participate without
hesitation. My obsession with Pamela and her fair skinned children
was so great that I wanted to witness a brutal night for them in a
torture chamber.
Certainly I wanted to see the trim young woman energetic in
sexual passion. But I also wanted to see her screaming, tears
staining her face, streaked by the leather whip or writhing under
the red-hot irons.
My desires were a matter of extremes.
But how?....And where?...
Certainly a backward culture, defending the rites of
interrogation and punishment without interference...
It was some time later that I learned that Pamela had booked
a cruise to South America with a stop in Peru. I had no trouble
booking a first class cabin on the same ship.
CURT STRAP PAMELA - CH 2
The trip had been a year in planning and at last Pamela was
going to South America to see the remains of the Inca civilization.
Pamela had grown up spoiled with every luxury a rich socialite
mother could buy a daughter. She had been a scrawny, homely child
and her mother, fearing her daughter may not find a suitable
husband, had regimented the girl's life. She had spent thousands of
dollars to straighten the girls's teeth. And much more for special
schools, medically supervised diet and exercise programs, and
custom designed fashions. As Pamela was near-sighted, she had tried
to get her contact lenses but the girl's eyes wouldn't accept them,
so she got her special hi-fashion glasses. Pamela had beautiful
long blonde hair, which received the finest care from experts.
Despite her shapely, poised adulthood, Pamela remained single.
She attended an excellent university and had a masters degree in
anthropology. She had been to Europe twice and held a deputy
curator position at the museum, a job that she did not need. Pamela
was so spoiled that her romances always ended shortly after they
began. But at nineteen and again at twenty she gave birth to a
daughter, each time refusing to marry the father. Pamela was self-
centred and completely devoted to herself, her looks and her
pleasures. And she had no intention of sharing anything with a man.
Men were only playthings, disgusting pigs, and she despised them.
Preparations complete, she spent the rest of the day
anticipating her trip, and of course, how she could make an
impression on any stupid male she might meet. After dinner, she
indulged in a vice she had picked up in college...hash.
Pamela had done a lot of travelling and fancied herself
somewhat of an expert smuggler. She didn't feel she was a criminal
as all she ever took with her was for her own use and she didn't
indulge very much...it was more a matter of doing something
exciting and naughty and her make-up kit was so complicated, she
had been through all sorts of customs checks and had never been
caught. Besides, men were such dull creatures. She just had to
smile sweetly at them, wiggle her ass a little, and she could get
away with anything. And travelling with two cute girls helped even
more. What mother would jeopardize her children? She took advantage
of any situation. She used everyone especially men.
CURT STRAP PAMELA - CH 3
My initial intention was to enjoy the amenities of the ship,
the luxury and elegance that was provided to those of could afford
to travel first-class. The oak panelled dining room, the white
linen and silver on the tables, the well prepared meals, the
desserts were mine to enjoy.
Pamela, however, was never far from my evil thoughts as, in
the early light of evening, the liner weighed anchor and slipped
down the channel from the dock towards the open sea. She was
standing by the ship's rail. She wore a loose coat over her
shoulders. Then, as she turned her face towards me, I saw the faint
hint of recognition in her eyes. I was a little apprehensive. What
if she pointed me out and complained that I was a pervert who took
pictures of her. I do not think that much would have come from her
complaint but it might have been embarrassing. But I felt only
excitement at the thought that I was going to be in such proximity
to Pamela and her children. For many hours of the voyage she would
be in the next cabin to me. I would keep her under constant
surveillance while planning her downfall.
The suspicion vanished from her eyes. She shook her head and
turned again to stare at the darkening ocean. I smiled as I thought
of her in captivity abroad. Her money and influence would not help
her. Oh, the stuff of dreams and fantasy. Perhaps she would be sold
into sexual bondage in some forgotten port. A terrible thought.
Yes, but if you had seen Pamela walking with a wiggle of lithe hips
or staring with eyes oozing hatred you would know how easily she
could inspire such cruel dreams.
She was not at dinner that evening. In fact, during the first
few days she seldom appeared outside her cabin. Nor did the
children. Pamela and the kids might as well not have existed for
all that the other passengers saw of her. And that fit well with my
plans. They would not be missed.
I thought of nothing but Pamela until the humid morning of our
arrival off the coast of Peru. I indulged myself in vivid, horrible
fantasies about the woman and children I rarely saw during the
voyage. I jerked off to foul thoughts every day. I knew that I was
on the verge of a secret reality.
We reached the port in the early morning. The ship docked in
the inner harbour. Our stay here was to be short and we were to
sail again the next morning. As usual several customs officials
came on board, their tan uniforms drenched in sweat. They were
polite to me as I handed them a sealed envelope.
CURT STRAP PAMELA - CH 3
In the morning, she awoke hours before the ship was to dock.
She showered and selected bright red panties and bra. She tried on
her sexiest clothes and checked herself out in the mirror. She
finally settled on her attire for the morning after about a dozen
changes. It would be a white tailored skirt, cut just above the
knee and slit on both sides about six inches. Even though she
thought it might be inconvenient she elected to wear heels and a
low-cut top with bare shoulders but no panty hose. Her bra and
panties were just barely visible through the white material of her
skirt and blouse. She brushed her long hair out and let it hang
down her back.
The children, Karen 11 and Lisa 10, dressed in snug white
shorts and halter tops. Both girls wore their hair long and tied it
in a pony tail. They were little images of their mother. Both were
tall for their age and were blessed with bright blue eyes and trim
bodies and long blonde hair.
CURT STRAP PAMELA - CH 4
Having ensured that my luggage was unloaded, I went back to
the ship and found the door to Pamela's cabin open. Pamela and the
children faced two obese customs agents. Pamela was standing with
her back to the porthole, watching the two men blankly.
"You are detained for being in possession of contraband," the
fat officer stated in broken English. "You will admit this crime?"
She shook her head. The one who had asked the questions nodded
to his assistant. The younger man squeezed past him, seized
Pamela's arm and twisted it up behind her back. This forced her to
bend over facing her accuser. The skirt rode up exposing her
thighs.
Lisa rushed at the agent and beat her small fists against his
back. Karen seemed paralysed, her eyes filled with tears, her mouth
quivering as she cried. Pamela did not know what to do. Her
feminine beauty and her prestigious position in the academic world
was lost on the crude customs inspectors. This had never happened
before. Everyone treated her with courtesy. This couldn't be
happening. These terrible men had no right to question her.
The man turned to the child and pushed her hard against the
bulkhead.
"Is this your first time at Port Magellan."
"Ye...yes...yes!" she answered, panic gripping her throat.
I stood there, intrigued by the sight before me. Neither
officer seemed to notice my presence.
"I do not believe you." he grunted at the woman. Your passport
is false. You know that?"
"No-o-o-o! That's impossible. Just check with the Embassy.
They will verify my identity. And this outrage will be reported to
your superiors. You will be fired!" Some of her confidence returned
as she attacked them verbally.
"Do you have prohibited goods concealed? Hashish?"
"No! You'll pay dearly for harassing me. When the Embassy..."
He cut her off sharply, "We shall see."
She knew that the disgusting pig was taunting her and enjoying
her helplessness. Tears of rage and humiliation flooded her eyes.
She kicked at him wildly. The man smiled crudely. That was just
what he wanted. By making her resist he could arrest her and take
her to the jail for searching and interrogation.
"We may have been able to make a deal with you. A few hours on
a bed in the jail cell and then we let you go. But you attached a
government officer. For that you go to prison. And the kids, too.
You will come with us."
I stood quite still witnessing this exciting drama. The
officer turned and saw me.
"You," he said, in the tone of a man who exercises power over
men. "You are a witness to her attack on the authority of the
state. You will also come with us."
I felt a growing excitement to see what would be done to
Pamela and her children. "You will sign a written statement and be
free to go. For these prisoners it is different. They will be
locked up until the investigation and report are completed."
CURT STRAP PAMELA - CH 5
Their luggage was off-loaded and taken away. Pamela
intercepted a black deck hand and tried to get him to take a
message to the Embassy. He did not appear to speak very good
English but with vague gestures she was assured that the message
would be delivered. She sighed in relief. This mess would be sorted
out very quickly and those insolent men would be adequately
punished.
The crewman boarded the vessel and went about his work. He
never understood anything that bitchy white woman said. She sure
had nice tits and a cute ass though.
We went down the gangway and across to the waterfront fence.
We were ushered through customs by grinning guards. Beyond the tall
dock gates there were bars with signs advertising alcohol and nude
dancers. There were carts selling tacos and beer. Others were
selling lottery tickets. A seagull hovered in the hot sky with the
patience of a vulture. The street, lined with palm trees and
unpainted cafes, was filthy with garbage and broken asphalt.
We turned off the street and passed a deserted gas station.
Near the end of this decayed avenue was a house surrounded by an
eight foot fence topped with barbed wire. Over the gate was the
ominous crest identifying the structure as a prison. Pamela was at
the mercy of the republic's local police. The two officers led the
prisoners up the stone stairs. The sour smell of stale urine
assaulted my nostrils. All the doors were securely bolted. We
entered a bare foyer with a vaulted ceiling and barred windows. The
office of the Commandant was directly in front of us. A cell opened
off it, a stifling hot room with a prison bed, a chair and a barred
window overlooking the prison yard.
I waited with the officer while his assistant marched the
children into that sweatbox with its steel door.
"Lie down," the gross guard ordered sharply, "On the mattress.
Give me your hands."
There was the click of steel cuffs around the children's slim
wrists then a second metallic click as the cuffs were locked around
the steel frame of the bunk.
"You'll stay here until we are ready to question you." he
smirked lewdly. The girls were so stunned and terrified that they
could do no more than gasp and squirm. Tears flowed freely.
The guard left the cell and double locked the door.
CURT STRAP PAMELA - CH 6
Pamela was taken to another room opposite the cell where she
was met by the local version of the law, a sweating obese man in a
wrinkled grey uniform. She still carried her purse and make-up
case.
"I demand to speak to the officer in charge," she hissed.
"I am the officer in charge," he replied in broken English.
"I demand that you release us immediately. I am the
representative of the Smith museum. Your government has given me
permission to inspect the Inca burial ground. I have diplomatic
immunity. Release us this instance or you'll be very sorry. I'll
phone the Ambassador immediately and he'll speak to your
superiors!"
"You may make arrangements to leave as soon as we check your
passports and you are inspected by customs. If you have done
nothing against our laws there is nothing to fear."
He pulled a cord and a bell rang. Two men entered. Pamela
handed the man her passport. It was warm and she was very nervous.
She sweated profusely as the man at the desk said, "You will be
searched thoroughly..Do as these men direct. They're not obligated
to give anyone special treatment."
One man took her purse and make-up case and dumped them on the
desk, the other stood in front of her and began the search at the
top of Pamela's head. She cringed as the man's big dirty hands
probed through her hair, parting it, palpating her scalp, rumpling
and dishevelling the long blonde tresses, checking her ears,
removing and inspecting her glasses, then putting them on the table
with her purse. Next, the man's strong hands forced her mouth open
and she gagged as his slimy, dirty fingers felt around inside her
mouth, under her tongue, and in the hollows of her cheeks.
Pamela was no perspiring heavily. The underarms of her light
jacket were soaked. She was ordered to take it off. The man
unfastened the lining of the jacket with a knife and shredded the
garment, then tossed it on the floor. Pamela's red underwear was
clearly visible through her perspiration soaked white skirt and top
and she shivered fearfully and she felt the man unzip the blouse.
"Stop, you can't do this. This is obscene. I demand that any
search be done by a female officer."
"Shut up, or you'll never leave this place!"
Pamela was stunned.
The man behind the desk leered at her as the man removed her
blouse completely and said, "It is just a formality. Why do you
sweat so much? Do you have something to hide?"
"N-no. This is n-not UH..." Pamela stammered as she put her
hands in front of her breasts. The second man came to aid the other
one, anxious to get in on the action. He grabbed her wrists and
held them together at the small of the woman's back. The one in
front of her fondled her bra and noticed a little padding. He
removed the bra, then slit the material and pulled out the little
foam pads and threw them on the floor. Then he removed Pamela's
cloth belt, unzipped the skirt and let it drop.
Pamela cringed in terror. Nothing like this had ever happened
to her before. It has always been so easy getting checked by
customs.
The man holding her wrists moved her so the other could pick
up the skirt and check it over. "You sure have pretty underwear,"
the man behind the desk smirked. The man behind the girl released
her hands and motioned for her to remove her panties.
Pamela was shocked and was ready to attack the foul creature
behind the desk, but, sensing she had no choice, instead stripped
off her remaining clothing and removed her shoes then stood rigidly
with her arms covering her pubic mound, bare naked, wet with
perspiration. Her face was scarlet with humiliation and fright.
"I-I-I have nothing to hide," she said in a weak voice.
"We are here to determine that, woman," the man shouted as the
guards led her to an ominous looking table and bent her forward
over it. One of the men put on rubber gloves and brutally probed
her rectum with his fingers. Then, she was placed on her back on
the table and her feet were placed in stirrups. Pamela's
humiliation was complete. She was menstruating and a tampon string
dangled from her open pussy. A gloved hand jerked the soaked tampon
out and laid it on her belly. The man then probed and poked for a
few minutes. She was let up and led back to the desk. There was a
red streak on the pale skin of her belly where the tampon rested.
It had fallen on the floor when she stood up.
Pamela was given back her blouse, skirt and shoes. She dressed
quickly, ready to leave this horrid disgusting place. She was
replacing her glasses when she gasped in horror. The man at the
desk discovered her stash in the handle of her make-up case. He
dumped the hash on to the desk with sadistic pleasure, smiled, and
said, "This is illegal! You will be punished. Justice is quick
here."
While the man wrote some notes on three papers on his desk,
Pamela pleaded with him, but to no avail. When he finished writing
he said, "take her to the prison square and flog her. All her
possessions are forfeit. Fifty lashes. Then turn her over to the
warden. Her sentence is five years hard labour with no parole.
Question her children and find out what crimes they have committed.
When you have their confessions bring them to me so that I can pass
sentence. Take her away!"
CURT STRAP PAMELA - CH 7
The men pulled her out through the front entrance then into
the dusty prison yard. It was now close to noon. The sun was
directly overhead. She sweated heavily as the men led her by her
upper arms around the building to another open area. When she saw
the place where her punishment was to be carried out, she shrieked
and tried to pull away from the men. They held her tight.
The square was dominated by an elevated platform with a
overhead crossbar, very much like a primitive gallows. There was a
small fireplace on one side of the frame. It emitted a cherry red
glow. The men forced her to the platform and turned her to face the
open area. Pamela looked down in horror and the group of evil men
and boys, all waiting to see this pale blonde woman punished.
The man on her right, the one who had brutally checked out her
orifices spoke for the first time. "I get to do you," he said,
smiling wickedly at Pamela's surprise that he spoke English. "You
will find this an experience you'll never forget. Now, let's see
you spread your legs, criminal."
"Please, no! I beg you. I didn't hurt anybody," Pamela
pleaded.
"Obey!" the guard screamed. Pamela looked at the expectant
crown and spread her feet as far as her skirt would let her, only
to hear the guard smirk, "Wider!" The man reached down and grabbed
both ends of the straining slit in her skirt and ripped it to the
waistband. The other man did the same on her left side and Pamela
forced her legs further apart until she was straining to keep her
balance in her high heels. The men then fastened leather ankle
cuffs on her and stretched the girl's legs further apart and
fastened them in place with ropes to steel eyebolts on the platform
deck.
Pamela was now off balance and tried to keep from falling. The
men stood and spread her arms above her head and roped her wrists
to the overhead beam. This hurt her shoulders horribly but the
support held her from falling. The man picked up a pair of scissors
and cut off all her clothing and removed her shoes and glasses,
leaving her hanging, straining, glistening with sweat in the
blazing sun.
Pamela looked into the guard's cruel eyes as he stood in front
of her snipping the scissors in the air in front of her face. "You
know what happens next," he said, grinning into Pamela's terrified
eyes. She shook her head slowly from side to side and gave the man
a pathetic pleading stare.
"Criminals in our country all get convict haircuts," the man
continued as he stroked the petrified woman's long blonde hair.
"I'm going to enjoy this just as much with you as with your cute
kids."
With that sadistic comment, he took a handful of Pamela's
gleaming hair and cut it off. He continued cutting, tossing the
long tresses off the platform. Pamela wailed in abject despair.
While he mangled her hair, the crowd scrambled for samples. Soon,
he left his humiliated victim with only ugly stubble. Pamela had
stopped crying and whimpered nearly unheard. The other guard dumped
a bucket of salt water over her and grinned in anticipation as the
prison's executioner mounted the platform, carrying a wicked
looking strap and some long thin iron rods.
The guards left the platform and the horribly fat torturer
stood in front of the spread-eagled white women, surveying her
naked flesh. Pamela was so frightened that she couldn't scream.
After a long inspection of his suspended victim, he placed the
irons in the red hot coals of the fire box and took a position
behind the woman.
Thirty seconds passed then the first lash landed with
atrocious ferocity across her bare ass, thrusting her body forward
and tearing an ear-splitting scream from her. The second lash tore
into her back and shoulders. He waited about a minute, savouring
her writhing flesh then laid the third lash just below the first
one on her buttocks. The whip raised ugly purple welts and a
trickle of blood seeped from an abrasion on her ass. He worked on
his shrieking victim methodically, alternating between her back and
her surging ass. Ten strokes, still forty to go. He attacked her
upper thighs with four searing cuts.
Pamela had stopped shrieking and now hung, staring
expressionlessly into the crowd. The brute stepped in front of her
and tore her belly with four strokes. She started screaming again.
His yellowed, broken, rotting teeth were exposed as a terrible grin
spread over his face. He aimed the lash at her trembling breasts.
Again and again the leather cut into her tits drawing incoherent
shrieks of pain from her distended mouth. Ten times the brutal
leather cracked into her defenceless tits tearing at her nipples.
Twenty-eight. He had to be careful. He couldn't let her find
relief in unconsciousness. She was going to take every one of the
fifty strokes. The insides of her thighs attracted his attention
and four nerve shattering blows crashed into her. Pamela uttered a
frenzied shriek, her body rigid. Her toes curled and her hands
clenched until the fingernails bit into her palms drawing blood.
Thirty-two. Lots of time left.
I was just part of the crowd. Anonymous. There were smiles all
around me as the voyeurs relished the torture that Pamela was
subjected to. This white woman's ass and tits were going to be torn
and bloody when this was over. And there were other pleasures to
watch after the whipping. They were going to use hot irons on her.
There was no escape for her and when she was back in the prison
everyone knew that the woman would be fucked in every orifice. The
gang-bang would last most of the night. Some were aware that there
was a little girl with her when she was arrested. They wondered
when the child would be on the platform to be ravaged with whip and
glowing iron. Some men were already stroking their erect cocks.
He went behind the woman again. The eighteen remaining lashes
would be on her ass. Pamela twisted her face toward the spectators.
Her blue eyes were wide and wet with tears. Her mouth hung open and
spit ran down her chin. Her gaze met the obscene smiles and eager
faces of half naked boys masturbating vigorously. The torturer
raised the strap high over his head. The sunlight caught the black
leather as it curved downward. Then the whip landed with a hiss
across the sensitive under curves of Pamela's ass. The anguish was
evident in her tortured facial expression. She screamed her
inability to endure this torment, but she screamed in vain. She
writhed her hips and shook her tits, far beyond what she should be
expected to bear. The erotic writhing of her whipped ass sent
shivers of delight through those watching her torture. She would
have done anything to interrupt the flogging but nothing was
offered. She would have confessed to anything just for a moment's
rest. She would have condemned her daughter to the same treatment
by accusing her of any criminal act.
The whip snaked down again and branded her ass. The whip
cracked a second time and the tip of the lash caught her between
her buttocks searching for her virgin anus. Her expression of hurt
as this intrusion made the torturer smile in anticipation. Having
found a place where she was still so responsive, he aimed a similar
stroke. The whip's biting tip found its target, then again, and yet
again. Thirteen to go.
With horrible pleasure he lashed her ass three more times in
the same place then he performed a much more terrible indignity on
the stripped, screeching woman. He let the end of the whip fall to
the deck between her spread legs. He snapped his wrist. The leather
snaked upward and attacked the sensitive lips of her gaping pussy.
Whatever anyone may have thought, it was impossible to anticipate
the reaction to this disgusting act. Her vocal cords were paralysed
by the intensity of the anguish. Then a wild outburst. "You have
killed me!"
Her body shook uncontrolled. The hideous pain had barely
subsided when the lash struck again. Pamela's body twisted and
turned as the leather found her most sensitive flesh again and
again until ten horrid blows had been delivered between her spread
legs.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Archivist Notes:
(1) Sorry, no requests for reposts, missing parts, GIFs, FTP sites,
etc. can be honored. If you find getting stories from this
newsgroup inconvenient, the archive is available on CD. Please email
adultarc@tommys.spydernet.kom to trigger an autoresponder that will tell
you how to get the whole thing on CD-ROM. Change the anti-spam .kom to
.com or it will bounce!
(2) I didn't write any of the stories in the THC archive. I am not the
author of this story. If you are the author and wish it removed
from the archive or properly attributed, please email
tommy@tommys.spydernet.kom (again, change the spam-resistant .kom to
.com) with the particulars and I will take care of it. I respect
copyrights and will always comply with the wishes of authors *when those
wishes are communicated to me*. Please understand that I don't always
get stories with bylines intact.
(3) The total THC adult text archive is over 10,000 text files in
number. This makes maintenance and screening exceedingly
difficult. I am aware that some stories are incomplete, and I am also
aware that some stories are excellent while others are crap. However I
don't need these to be pointed out to me. Please refrain from emailing
comments of this kind.
(4) YES this is a real archive, it can be found on my dialup BBS at
250-361-4549. Adult verification is in effect. And while NO there
is no FTP site or web page or telnet address, YES all three are coming
in January 1998 or sooner... but for now, this newsgroup is the sole
means by which I share the archive with the net.public.
(5) I apologize for the length of this footer, but I get so much
repetitive email that a micro-FAQ attached to each textfile seems
the only solution...
-=( Tommy )=- aka BSFH,
"Bastard Sysop from Hell" (grin)
THC BBS +1 250 361 4549
Visit http://vvv.com/~tommy/acd.html