From: nogarder@ix.netcom.com(*** )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Pamela Is Beaten
Date: 14 Jan 1996 16:57:05 GMT

				Pamela
				  by
			      Curt Strap
			     Chapter One

	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.

				Pamela
			     Chapter Two

	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 girl'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.

			       Pamela
			    Chapter Three

	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.

				Pamela
			     Chapter Four

	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, eleven, and Lisa, ten, 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.

				* * *

	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."

			       Pamela
			     Chapter Five

	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 sweat-box 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.

				Pamela
			     Chapter Six

	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!"

				Pamela
			    Chapter Seven

	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.