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" 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. 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