



     I'm sure that by now you're sick and tired of all these smug
little notices authors of raunchy S&M and sex stories have been
putting at the top of their files. But just in case you aren't,
here's another one:




                  WARNING!  WARNING!  WARNING!

             THIS STORY CONTAINS RAUNCHY S&M AND SEX
        IF YOU DON"T LIKE THIS SHIT, THEN DON'T READ IT!

                         END OF WARNING                          "Nola 23.txt"

                         "The Reporter"
                         "By Curt Strap"

                     PERVERSION IN THE PARK
                               by
                         Nola Augustine

     Last night, a girl was found in the park. The child was
stripped of her clothes, bound with ropes between two trees and
beaten.
     No, the agents of the law did not race down and question
anyone. No, no one was arrested. Why? Because there is no evidence
to implicate anyone. So they say.
     Near exhaustion, the girl was rushed to the hospital emergency
room. She had multiple bruises and abrasions, a dislocated
shoulder, two cracked ribs and burns from cigarettes.
     The damage to her body will heal, in time. But time is
unlikely to mend the deeper wounds - the agony and humiliation of
being stripped and brutalized, the terror of being lashed to trees
and left there through the long dark hours of the night, knowing
that dawn would bring not only the welcome warmth of sunlight but
also the perverts, the filth of the town, to gawk at her nudity and
to imagine the horror that she had endured, licking their fat lips,
and wishing that they had been the ones to do it to her. 
     Such wounds will never heal. The girl is scarred for life.
     Why?
     We know why, good residents of Tecate. We all know why.
     She committed a crime, and she was duly punished for it.
     What heinous crime did this girl commit?
     We all know the answer to that one too.
     She was guilty of being a run-away.
     And she met rough justice.
     She isn't the first victim of the ghouls who roam our park,
visiting mayhem on the helpless. She is only the most recent.
     Our local authorities have reports of a least twenty similar
incidents committed by roaming bands of vigilantes. The earliest
attacks were mind in comparison to the brutality apparent in the
torture of the girl. 
     It won't stop with her. Our own local barbarians will strike
again, commit more atrocities, inflict ever-increasing cruelty and
ferocity on the helpless.
     And we are to blame.
     We are their accomplices.
     From the beginning, of course, our authorities denounced their
activities.
     But so many of us were pleased.
     At last, something was being done to rid our town of the
unwanted, the helpless, the innocent.
     We do not condemn the acts of violence. We applaud them. And
with our attitude, we support the perversion's that are going on in
the park.


     And we all know who is behind these atrocities. His name is
Curtis. His friends call him Curt. Others among us call him much
worse, slime-ball, pervert, psycho. He owns the filthy bar at the
edge of the park. He supplies the booze to the deviates who hang
out in the park, ogling our children. He puts on the girlie shows
that humiliate our women and put thoughts of rape into the minds of
his sleazy patrons.
                              * * *
     Nola folded the Tecate Gazette and tossed it onto the coffee
table. Not bad, she thought. It should really stir things up.                            Chapter 2

     Curt tossed the Tecate Gazette across the room. He lifted his
beer glass and took a long drink. The chief of police, Ramon
Gonzales, was sitting beside him at the bar. He looked at Curt
wide-eyed, waiting for him to speak about the editorial.
     "So, what do you think?" Curt asked.
     "It's very dangerous. Something has to be done about it. We've
got a good thing going here and we can't afford to let some woman
reporter looking for a good story to ruin it. We don't need
publicity!"  
     "I agree." Curt finished his beer and set the glass down.
     "You can't let her get away with it. If she keeps it up your
filthy business will be in the headlines all over the country then
we'll be forced to shut you down!"
     "And you lose your share! Just leave it to me! And no
questions later? It might get really rough!"
     "No questions later, no matter what!"                            Chapter 3

     A transient swatted at the woman standing in front of him. The
miniature cassette recorder flew from her hand. As the woman
whirled away from the bum to go after the recorder, Ramon got a
good side view and saw that it was Nola.
     Big city reporter in action, he mumbled to himself.
     He drew his billy-club from the ring on his belt and headed
for the bum. Nola scooped the recorder off the grass and shook it,
hoping that it was not broken. The man ran into the trees.
     "Ms. Augustine!"
     Her head snapped toward him. For an instant she looked
startled and disoriented. Then she sneered, "Oh, it's you. Mr. Law
and Order!"
     "Yes, it's me." He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.
"What the hell are you doing?"
     "Conducting an interview. Trying to get the elusive evidence
that you can't seem to find. Doing your job!"
     "Better watch it, Nola. Why don't you find yourself a
different story, something a little less dangerous, like covering
the senior citizen's craft fair?" Ramon told her and slipped the
club into his belt.                            Chapter 4

     Tashia left the bathroom and rushed into the kitchen. Her
mother had just finished cleaning the stove. She looked at the
clock. She should've been on her way by now.
     "Can you drive me?" she asked.
     "I have to drop off some work at the office, then I'm going to
be out until late." her mother said. I'll drive you to the beach
but I'm not sure you should be going there. You know what happened
last night!"
     "Sure, I read your story, but I have to. You said I could!"
Tashia pouted.
     "All right. Go out to the car. I'll be along in a minute."
     "Thanks," Tashia said. She didn't mean it.
     She waited in the car. Finally, her mother climbed in behind
the wheel. She backed out of the driveway. "Don't get into trouble,
and be home early, or you'll get your butt paddled!"
     "Yeah? And who's gonna do it?"
     "Watch yourself, young lady, you're not too old for it yet!"
     Tashia just stared at her. She couldn't think of anything
sarcastic to say.
     "There are a lot of bad people hanging out in the park!"
     "I know, mom. You've told me often enough. I know how to take
care of myself. No more lectures, please!"
     They reached the by-pass at the foot of the hill, and she
stopped for a traffic light. The light turned green. She drove
forward and turned left toward the beach. The car slowed as it
reached the parking lot entrance.
     "You can just drop me off in front," Tashia said.
     "I'll think I'll go with you!"
     "You mean now?"
     Nodding, she swung the car into the parking lot and took a
ticket from the automatic dispenser.
     "Mom, no! You'll ruin everything!"
     "You're only twelve years old. I don't want you getting into
trouble. I'll go with you."
     "Dammit, Mom!"
     "Don't use that language with me, young lady." She jolted the
car to a stop in a parking space. "Let's go."
     Tashia shook her head. "You can't come with me."
     "Don't tell me what I can't do."
     "Then I'm not getting out of the car."
     "That's fine with me. I'll drive you home."
     "Mom, please!"
     She stared at her daughter. The hardness was still in her
face. Tashia looked as if she might cry.
     "Mom, you just can't go out on the beach with me. Please. It'd
ruin everything. If the kids see me with my mother...They'll think
I'm a wimp or queer or something. If you walk me out there like I'm
a four-year-old, I'll never live it down. I'd be screwed in this
town."
     "That's what I don't want, Tashia. You getting screwed!"
     "Mom, that's disgusting!"

     "Okay, Tashia, have a good time but don't forget what I said
about being home early or the paddle!"
     "I'll remember. Thanks, Mom." She reached across the seat and
kissed her.
     Then she climbed from the car. She walked around to the rear.
Her mother looked at her through the rear view mirror. She waved.
Nola drove away.
     God, Tashia thought, she'd nearly blown everything. She should
have just taken her bike.
     Well, so you learned lessons. From now on, keep your mouth
shut! A paddle! Hell, maybe that's what her mother needed. A hard
spanking! She was such a bitch lately.
                              * * *
     Ramon watched Tashia. Her blanket was spread out several yards
this side of the lifeguard station. 
     He watched the shine of her yellow hair. He saw the vague
resemblance to her mother. He watched the features of her face, the
shapes of her eyes and nose, her lips, her delicate chin.
     She was cute. Just the way he liked them. The cuteness came
from her smile that seemed too big for her face. It creased her
cheeks. It crinkled the skin around her eyes. It filled her blue
eyes with a look of mischief. 
     He dropped to his knees. His head was slamming. He could
hardly believe that this girl was Nola's daughter.
     She sat up and crossed her legs. She wore a one-piece suit,
not a bikini. It wasn't low cut. Its neck was as high as the tope
of a T-shirt, and straps went over her shoulders. But it was black,
and the thin, glossy fabric was skin tight. It hugged the faint
outline of the early beginnings of breasts. It clung to her rib
cage and slanted down against her flat belly. It swept inward,
leaving her hips bare and was very narrow where it passed between
her legs.
     The way she sat, he could see the bare hollows where her legs
joined her groin. No public hair on that one. Or not much. The
inner sides of her thighs, turned upward, glimmered with oil.
     She uncrossed her legs, and stretched out on her side. Bracing
herself up on one elbow. Then she twisted onto her stomach and held
herself up on her elbows, and looked around. Her back was bare
except for two straps that crossed between her shoulder blades, and
a triangle of shiny black fabric that started just below her waist
and looked as if it were glued to her buttocks. The hollow of her
arm pits looked smooth and white and soft.
     He squirmed and turned slightly to ease the strain on his
penis. She wiggled her hips on the blanket to get more comfortable.
He almost blew his load right then.
     The swell of her scantily clad buttocks hypnotised him. Wild
thoughts raced through him. He would spank that ass until it glowed
crimson. He would explore between the sweaty cheeks with his finger
and probe her secret entrance. He would grab her hot flesh in his
hands and open her up. He would use his tongue around her anus
where he was sure no man's tongue had ever ventured. 
     Shivers of lust ran up and down his body. His guts knotted. He
imagined himself working his curled tongue in and out of the
orifice, his face was pressed hard against her burning flesh.
     Then, he would really get into it. A studded strap, a cane, a
cattle prod, and hot needles. There was no limit to his imagination
as he stared at the unsuspecting little girl. 
     She unfastened the straps at her shoulders and flipped them
out of the way. Something like a strip-tease, but innocent. She
wasn't really stripping, just getting the straps out of the way so
they wouldn't leave pale marks on her back. Girls always did that
when they sunbathed.
     She stroked her hair, parting it away from the nape of her
neck. She was smooth and bare all the way down to the glossy seat
of her swimsuit.
                              * * *
     Tashia breathed deeply, savouring the fresh smell of the
ocean. The sun warmed her and the breeze caressed her. She felt
light and trim. She liked how the breeze ruffled her T-shirt and
shorts against her skin. She liked the feel of her muscles sliding
under her skin. She liked the feel of her little breasts moving
inside her T-shirt and how the fabric felt against her bare
nipples. And the subtle tightness of her underpants.
     Then she saw two bums sitting on the concrete stairs. They
were watching her with narrow eyes. And she stopped feeling good.
     Her breath came in gasps. Her heart raced. Her stomach felt
cold and numb. The muscles of her legs seemed to go soft and shaky.
Then, moving towards them was her mother.
     My God, she thought. What the hell! She suddenly realized it
was a disguise. The shock started to wear off.
     Nola hadn't gone to the office, after all. She'd just done
that piece about the bad things going on in the park. Yesterday,
she'd tried to interview bums near the beach. Now she had taken her
investigation one step further, and made herself up to look like
one.
     She'd done a good job of it, too, Tashia realized. Her hair,
normally black and well-groomed, was a tangled mop streaked with
grey. Her face looked dirty. She wore a dingy black sweatshirt that
was full of holes. An undershirt showed through the holes. Her
faded skirt, a red thing with flowers, looked like a reject from
the dump. She wore red tights under the skirt. She wore ripped
sneakers, without laces, on her feet. She carried a bag intended to
represent the receptacle for all her worldly goods. 
     Nola hadn't noticed Tashia. Her head was turned toward the
subject of her interview - a fat older woman.
     As the fat woman talked she waved her arms around. Nola
nodded. The way she nodded in response to the woman's babbling was
enough to blow her cover, Tashia thought.
     Tashia took a step toward her mother. Then she turned away and
trotted up the stairs leading to the park.
     I'm not going to interfere, she told herself. The hell with
it. It's her game! If her mother was stupid enough to play with
fire, let her suffer the consequences if something went wrong.
     The man following Tashia saw her stop and stare at the woman.
He stared at her and he, too, recognized her. This was going to be
easier than he thought. Both bitches had to disappear and they were
making it real easy. Just a couple of more victims. No one would
even suspect that it was planned. Planned by the Chief of Police.                            Chapter 5

     Nola woke up in the back seat of her Sundance. She had no idea
how long she'd been asleep. When she looked out the window,
however, she saw that the parking lot was deserted except for three
other cars.
     So the beach and the park were closed for the night.
     With a tremor in her belly that felt like a mixture of
excitement and fear, she lifted her grocery bag. She pushed the
seat back forward, opened the door, and climbed out. She locked the
door. Then she headed for the park entrance.
     Her day hadn't gone very well. She had succeeded in carrying
out interviews, of sorts, but did not have anything that she could
use in a story. Anything that would implicate that bar owner, the
Chief of Police, or anyone else for that matter.
     But she was sure to find someone this time of night. Someone
who would give her the clue she needed to break open the perverted
goings-on at the bar.
     She had a stun gun in her bag in case anyone tried to get
rough. She might even run into some of the vigilantes. But once she
identified herself, they might be eager to give their side of the
story. That'd certainly be a scoop.
     You've got to come up with something, she told herself as she
trotted into the park. You write it the way it's gone so far and
you'll be out on the street without any employment opportunities.
     "Where're the goddamn bums?" she asked, looking both ways. The
park looked deserted. She sat down on a bench.
     "Let's have some action here!" she yelled. "Bring on the bums!
Bring on something, Goddammitt! Let's stop wasting my time here!"
     A hug patch of blackness broke away from the shadows and ran
at her.
     No! she thought. I didn't mean it!
     She got to her feet, the grocery bag flying from her lap. Her
blanket spilled out. So did the stun gun. It clattered and slid
across the cement pad and she knew she couldn't get to it in time.
     The blackness had a black face, a big coat. Its arms were
stretched toward her like the arms of some kind of horror-movie
geek.
     "Leave me alone!" Nola shrieked. She flung herself to the
right, out of its path, and ran as hard as she could. Footsteps
pounded behind her, stopping only momentarily to pick up the stun
gun. 
     At once, she regretted running in this direction. She should
have headed for the beach. Or gone to the left, tried to dodge the
apparition and make it out to the street. But now she was racing
deeper into the abandoned part of the park. No way out to her left.
No way out on her right without climbing fences that surrounded the
park.
     Chance it? she wondered.
     The pursuer didn't seem to be getting closer. She risked a
glance over her shoulder. He was about twenty feet back, farther
away than he'd been when she ran from the bench.
     He looked like a giant monster. But he wasn't fast.

     But Nola's terror didn't subside at all. Not even a bit. She
heard high whiny noises escaping from her as she tried to quicken
her pace.
     If he gets me, he'll rip me apart.
     That's absurd, she told herself. I'm not a kid. He's not a
homicidal maniac. This isn't a fairy tale. This isn't a nightmare.
     What's the worst that can happen, really?
     He rapes and kills me.
     A nasty corner of her mind whispered, That isn't the worst.
     She glanced back again. He was even farther behind.
     I'm going to make it! If I don't trip! If he doesn't corner
me! If there aren't others waiting in dark places up ahead! This is
a kid's worst nightmare of what's lurking behind every tree.
     Just ahead, on the right was the fence and she wondered if she
should try for it. What if she had trouble getting over it? Once
she stopped running the pervert would be on her in seconds! What if
she snagged her skirt or...?
     No! She didn't dare.
     Keep running, she told herself. Widen your lead. Then go for
the fence. Once you're on the beach...!
     Light suddenly spilled out of a doorway on the right.
     "Curt's place, she realized.
     His sleazy bar.
     Curt's tall, cadaverous figure appeared in the lighted
doorway. He raised his cane high and waved it. "Over here!" he
called to Nola. "Quickly!"
     Nola raced for him.
     She never thought she would be glad to see Curt or his bar.
     Better him than what's behind me, she thought.
     Breathless, she bounded up the wooden stairs.
     "Quickly, quickly," Curt urged her. "You'll be safe here!"
     He stepped out of the way. Nola flung herself through the
doorway.
     When she shrieked and whirled around to flee, he rammed the
tip of his cane into her belly. She folded and dropped to her
knees.
     Behind her, bums whispered and giggled.
     The worst that can happen....?
     Nola suddenly knew she was about to find out.                            Chapter 6

     Tashia rolled out of bed, gritted her teeth when the morning
air wrapped her body, and hurried to put on her robe. She knotted
the belt as she headed for the bathroom.
     Half an hour later, her hair still damp from the shower,
Tashia went looking for her mother. 
     "Mom!" she called.
     She looked outside and saw Nola's Sundance in the driveway.
She had to be home. She never went anywhere without the car.
     Nola was a very sound sleeper. Tashia strode down the hallway.
The bathroom door stood open. She wasn't there. She continued on to
her bedroom.
     The door wasn't shut. The bed wasn't made.
     She went into the room.
     The chair beside her closet door was piled with clothes.
     On the top of the heap was a dirty sweatshirt full of holes.
The legs of red tights hung to the floor. The tights, like the
sweatshirt, had holes.
     These were the clothes that Tashia had see yesterday. She
walked to the chair. Tashia picked up the sweatshirt and flung it
onto the bed. He lifted the next garment off the chair seat. A
grimy white T-shirt. She wrinkled her nose at the faint stale odour
of sweat and tossed the shirt aside.
     Nola had certainly gotten into the spirit of her disguise.
Even going so far as going without antiperspirant.
     She picked up the skirt. Tashia had never seen this one
before. Her mother must have got it at the thrift shop. It was the
kind of skirt that fastened at the side with a button and zipper.
The button was gone. Not only was the button missing, but so was a
small patch of fabric where it must've been sewn to the waistband.
     As if Nola had ripped the skirt open.
     Nola, or someone else!
     After flinging the skirt onto the bed, Tashia got down on her
hands and knees and searched the carpet. She didn't find the
button.
     That doesn't mean it's not around here some place.
     She looked for the button on Nola's nightstand and on top of
the dresser. This is crazy, she thought. Upset about a stupid
button. It could be anywhere.
     Could it be in the woods, on the beach. Where someone yanked
her skirt open.
     Gee, don't jump to conclusions.
     Tashia's hands were trembling as she picked up the red tights.
They were dirty and torn, but Nola had undoubtedly made them that
way on purpose.
     A pair of black panties remained on the chair. She picked them
up. She had seen her mother wearing them, or similar ones. There
was little to them other than a thin, elastic waistband and flimsy,
sheer fabric a few inches wide at the top that tapered down to
almost nothing where it would pass between her legs.
     Tashia stared at the panties. 
     For some reason, she found them disturbing as the lost button.
     Why? They weren't torn.
     What's wrong here? Tashia wondered.
     She dropped the panties onto the chair, stared at them, and
knew.
     What the hell were they doing at the bottom of the pile?
Underneath the tights that had to come off first. They should've
been on top of the tights, probably on top of the skirt, as well.
     For that matter, they should've been on top of the entire
heap. She would take her panties off last. All girls would, she
thought. Panties or bra were always last.
     Tashia could only think of one explanation. Her clothes had
been removed elsewhere, then carried to the chair.
     Hold it, she told herself. Hold it just a second. Don't be
crazy. Nola probably took them off in the bathroom, had a shower,
and brought them in herself.
     She hurried to the bathroom and searched for the button. She
didn't find it.
     Doesn't mean I'm wrong. Makes a lot more sense than thinking
someone else was involved.
     She opened the medicine cabinet. Nola's toothbrush stood
upright in a mug. She rubbed its bristles. They felt dry. She
hadn't brushed her teeth this morning.
     She stepped to the bathtub. The bottom of the tub looked dry.
Nola's washcloth, draped over the shower curtain rod wasn't even
slightly damp.
     Too many things wrong.
     She had to come back last night. Her car's in the driveway.
     Tashia left the bathroom. Her heart was pounding. She felt
tight and sick inside.
     She walked the entire house, searching for her mother.
     She looked in every room and found nothing.
     She found her mother's keys and purse on the dining-room
table. There was money in the billfold. Maybe she hadn't taken it
with her yesterday. She had a grocery bag.
     I'll check the car.
     She wondered if it were locked. Nola always locked it.
     And suddenly realized that she'd seen her keys on the table.
     Her keys are here. Nola isn't. And the house was locked.
     Too damn much is wrong.
     She took the key case with her and hurried outside. She peered
into the side windows of the Sundance. A grocery bag, stuffed full,
was on the floor behind the passenger seat. She opened the driver's
door, sat down, swung around and lifted the bag onto her lap. It
contained nothing except the old blanket that Nola usually kept in
the car's trunk.
     Where was her cassette recorder? She never went anywhere
without it. She checked inside the glove box. No recorder.
     Maybe it's in the house and I missed it.
     But something else was wrong.
     Tashia reached out and gripped the steering wheel. She
stretched her legs until her feet touched the petals.
     The wheel and petals were the right distance away for her. Too
far for Nola. She was much taller and had longer legs than her
mother. Someone had adjusted the seat's position for more leg room.

     Someone else had driven the car last night. Not Nola. She
squeezed her eyes shut, slumped in the seat, and started to cry.
     Wherever her mother was, she was bare naked. Maybe she was
captured by the bums that hung out in the park. There were always
warnings about that. She had all kinds of nightmares about getting
caught by them. That's the worst thing she could imagine. Maybe
they brought her things home so that no one would suspect what had
happened. My God, someone was in the house last night when I was
asleep!
     She pictured her mother over the knees of a horrible man,
getting her bare bum spanked.                            Chapter 7

     From his office window, Ramon saw the girl crossing the yard
toward the police building. He watched the way her blonde ponytail
swung as she walked, how her low cut jeans clung to the curve of
her hips, and how her blouse was tied in front exposing a smooth
expanse of white skin. He could see a dusting of freckles across
her nose. Her mouth was parted, lips bright pink. She was tall,
about five-feet-eight and her nipples pushed at the fabric of her
thin white blouse. He couldn't see the outline of a bra through the
blouse. There was nothing there to hide. He sat very still,
watching, his mind recording the secret things he wanted to know
about the girl. They were questions that came in the form of
images, drifting through his head. Some of them made him want to
giggle while others left his mouth slack. 
                              * * *
     "I agree it peculiar," he said, "but we'd be jumping to
conclusions to start an investigation. If Nola hasn't turned up by
tomorrow..."
     "The old twenty-four hour crap," Tashia said.
     "Look, girl, we all got our rules. Tell you what, I'll start
the paperwork and maybe even do a little checking on my own."
     Shaking her head, Tashia said, "I made some calls. The people
at the paper haven't heard from her since yesterday morning. I
called the hospitals. Nothing!"
     "Well, young lady, you are very resourceful. Why don't you
keep looking around. Try to find out something!"
     "I will," she said. "It looks like the police will sit around
and do nothing, anyway. I'll find her myself!"
                              * * *
     Ramon called Curt.
     "You guys went to a lot of trouble to make it look like Nola
came home last night."
     "Nothing to it. The lot was empty and they could tell she had
a Sundance by the key chain."
     "Her kid was just here asking us to investigate. I sent her
out looking. You guy's better get her soon. And I want in on some
of the action. Don't forget that!"
     "We sure won't forget you! Don't worry. People just disappear
all the time around here. You just make sure everything looks
okay!"
     "Don't worry about me!"                            Chapter 8

     It was dark. Tashia was in the park, very near the place she
had last seen her mother.
     She saw one of the bums, at least it looked like the same one.
She decided to follow the man. She had to find her mother.
     He went toward the beach and vanished. Tashia went to the
railing. She hurled herself over it. The beach pounded her feet,
her legs folded, and she rolled over the sand. She pushed herself
up.
     Off to the left, a patch of shimmering light appeared in the
blackness.
     There! There! She told herself.
     The huge form of the bum was silhouetted against the light as
he crouched and entered a door in the basement of the bar. Then he
was gone but the light remained.
     She rushed towards it, dodging the pilings that supported the
building. She didn't hesitate for an instant. She lunged inside.
     She pulled the door shut. She was in a small room lighted by
lamps on wall holders. The door at her back was tight against a
concrete wall. Another door was on the left. Ahead of her was a
staircase.
     She tried the second door. Locked.
     Tashia, her eyes glinting and fierce in the light, turned
around and began to descend the stairs.
     She stepped onto a landing. I must be at the underground she
thought. There was another door. She tried to turn the knob, shook
her head and started down the next flight of stairs.
     "I don't like this," she whispered to herself. "I think I was
supposed to come in after that guy!"
     Her grimace made her face stretch. She wished she hadn't
thought that. It was bad enough being inside the bar, without
having to worry about the possibility that she'd been lured into
it. She thought of how gloomy the old building looked from the
beach.
     At the next landing, the stairway ended. She saw a dark
hallway. She started slowly forward. She heard noises. It was
someone screaming, she was sure of that. She watched enough horror
movies to recognize that sound. But there were other sounds.
Horrible sounds.
     Tashia felt her guts shrivel. In front of her was a huge
wooden door. The sounds were coming from there.
     She tip-toed up to the door. The gross sounds were louder now.
She had to know if her mother was in there. A wail of human agony
and Tashia stepped back, stumbled and started back for the stairs.
     "No!" she said, quietly. "I have to look!"
     She twisted the knob. The door wasn't locked. She opened the
door just a little and slipped inside.
     In front of her, bums were everywhere, faces frozen towards
the far wall, laughing, jeering, squealing with delight. Yelling.
     On the far side of the room and projecting out into the middle
was a platform about a foot high and eight feet square. It had been
built out of heavy timber. Attached to the wall over the platform
were iron rings and various sized of pulleys and clips and hasps.
A rough cedar beam projected from the wall out to the end of the
platform and was supported by an upright post anchored to the end
of the platform and supported by two joists also fixed to the end
of the platform. The beam was also fitted with iron rings and
pulleys. There were a few benches on the platform. On one of the
walls of the room was a series of hooks where three or four
different kinds of whips hung along with chains and ropes, leather
straps, rubber hoses, clamps of various sizes, candles, needles,
pins and a large selection of canes.
     A naked woman hung from the beam. Tashia couldn't tell if was
her mother because she was facing the far wall The woman's head was
encased in a tight fitting rubber hood, without any openings except
for a long black rubber hose that hung to the floor. 
     Behind her stood a huge naked oriental man. He must have
weighted over three hundred pounds. Tashia recognized him as the
bouncer for the strip club. 
     He held a long thin cane. He drew the weapon to the rear and
swung with full force. The bamboo whistled through the air and
sliced into the bare buttocks of the hanging woman. He lashed her
buttocks again. Her entire body stiffened in excruciating torment.
The torturer smirked obscenely then stepped on the end of the black
hose. 
     Tashia watched in horrified amazement and the woman realized
that her air supply had been cut off. Her body contorted, twisted,
danced like a puppet on the end of the rope as she tried to draw
oxygen into her tortured body. Until her struggles ceased and her
body twitched, the sadist kept his foot on the hose. Then, when her
body hung loosely, her belly still, he took his foot off and
watched her feeble attempts to breath normally.
     Then he cracked the vicious cane across her ass again and
followed that stroke with a blow to her upper thighs. The hood held
her frantic outbursts. The spectators were treated to a series of
grunts and they watched the livid red welts on her ass and thighs
begin to ooze a trickle of blood. Again and again the cane flailed
her ass. The twisting, convulsing naked woman put on an obscene
dance for the perverts watching the torture with rapt attention.
     The cane welted her punished flesh again. Then the brute
seized a disgusting opportunity. The woman's legs opened in her
wild dance of pain. He flicked the cane upward into her open sex.
The frenzied prisoner was on the brink of insanity, and the
gurgling pleas filtered through the hose. Her brain was melting and
her pussy lips were about to explode. Again the wicked instrument
attacked and the tip of the cane found her clitoris. The impact was
like a scalding bath of boiling water. Every nerve-end screamed for
relief. 
     To the depraved men and women watching the abuse, she made a
spectacular night, her body twisting and turning as she tried to
find some way that would give her even the remotest freedom from
torment. 
     He sliced her ass again. Then he put down the cane. He turned
her to face his audience and let his jagged-nailed fingers curl
around her bare breasts. His taloned hands tightened, crushing her
girl-flesh torturously. She tried to shriek and did indeed, but all
of her wails died at the hood that sealed her head. Then he began
to hit her in the belly, not hard, just enough to knock the breath
out of her and make sure she never quite caught it before another
blow would fall. 
     Nola had never known such pain, and in her tortured brain, she
realized that this was but the start. 
     He punched her relentlessly. Her body was approaching
blackness. He returned to her breasts, his fingers fondled them
harshly, squeezing and pinching until she trembled in mortal
terror. 
     Nola was shaking her head to and from but her plea went
unanswered. He caught both fear-hardened nipples between his thumbs
and forefingers, as he applied tremendous pressure, he hissed, even
as the agony-mad girl was twisting wildly, "Just wait until the
bums get up here and fuck your ass!"
     He pulled her nipples from her body as far as they would
stretch without tearing. Then he let go and pushed her backward. He
grabbed another heavy bamboo cane and watched with cruel
anticipation as her body swung toward him. He waited until she
reached full extension while he pulled the cane back over his
shoulders.
     The crowd tensed in anticipation. He struck. The bamboo leaped
forward and cracked the underside of both breasts. The pain was
beyond what any body could tolerate. Blood seeped from the wound.
The second blow fell over the nipples of her tits, the bamboo
cutting and tearing. Her head flung far back. Unconscious swept
through her brain bringing her peace for now.                            Chapter 9

     Tashia stumbled back against the door. Never could she accept
what she had just seen. It was inhuman. It was something out of the
middle ages, the Spanish Inquisition, the dungeons of Europe, the
interrogation rooms of the Japanese or Viet-Cong prison camps. All
those things you read about in history. Some of them you just
didn't believe, some of them you know just didn't really happen,
but it did happen here. 
                              * * *
     Tashia shrieked. The spectators turned around. A toothless fat
man had his hands around her belly.
     "Welcome to our funhouse!"
     "Little girl meat!" Someone yelled and giggled crudely.
     The room erupted with cheers, obscene gestures, perverted lip-
smacking, and grunts of anticipation. The hot, stuffy air smelled
foul.
     "Bring her up to the stage! She can be act two of today's
performance!" The gross oriental grinned, showing broken, yellow
teeth.
     The man pushed her forward. Her leg was clutched. She
staggered, trying to stay up, but the assailant pulled her down.
Her shirt was torn open. Hair tickled her belly. A face pushed
against her and she felt its nose and whiskers, its dry lips, its
quick wet tongue. Off the floor, she thought. Its the worst place
to be. 
     She sat up and stared at the horror in front of her. She
blinked to make sure her eyes were really open. She got to her
knees. Someone tumbled against her back, knocking her forward. She
scrambled, kicking at the body, freeing her legs. She gasped as her
face met skin. She lurched backward. A hand clamped her neck and
shoved her forward. A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her
toward the abomination waiting for her.
     She struggled to her feet and took a few staggering steps. She
stared at the perversion around her. Her eyes looked wide and
dazed. She was breathing hard. Her white blouse was open to her
belly, twisted and hanging off her left shoulder. Her shoulder was
streaked with scratches. A rear pocket of her jeans hung like a
flap below her buttocks. She had lost one of her sneakers.
     She whirled around, gasping as a gawky grey-faced man with a
wild black beard grabbed the back of her jeans and pulled her off
her feet. She was falling backward, eyes bulging. He picked her up
and hurled her toward the stage. She fell forward on her belly,
weeping. She once said that her greatest fear was to be caught by
bums. Now it had happened.
     Faces surrounded her. The dirty leering faces of men and
women. All along the opening ahead, arms reached out, flopping and
waving like the tentacles of a beast. Laughter and jeers, squeals
of delight, obscenities and threats. Fingertips brushed her arms. 
     "I get her first, you piece of shit," snapped a man in the
crowd of animals. "Pretty, pretty!" exclaimed another beast. "Gonna
getcha!" wheezed a lean, pale-faced, bald, fat man. "Gonna stick a
hot poker in ya," rasped the voice of a woman.
     Tashia's stomach clenched. "Havin' fun yet, girlie?"
     A string of drool spilled onto her. She wiped it off with a
torn sleeve. "Strip down, cutie. Gimme a peek! C'mon, be nice!
Gonna eat ya!"
                              * * *
     She lay on the platform, face down. Tashia's back and buttocks
had been raked by fingernails. Her underpants, one side torn away,
hung at her knees. Her jeans were down, gathered around her ankles.
She was barefoot. Her blouse had been stripped away.
     The huge greasy oriental bent down and tore at the remains of
her underwear. She heard ripping cloth. Someone tugged her jeans
off her ankles. She was naked, ready for their merciless attention.                           Chapter 10
 
     The pervert lowered Nola from the beam. She lay on the stained
platform, not moving. He took off the rubber hood. Nola's face was
a ghastly white, her breathing was shallow.
     He tied her arms together behind her back. He then caught one
of her feet and tied another rope around the fragile ankle. He
pulled on a line that dangled from the beam. He gripped the rope
and pulled it until the girl was lifted by one foot. She made quite
a spectacular sight, naked, her ass, belly and tits and thighs
welted and bleeding, totally helpless, wrists tied at her back, one
leg bent so torturously, the other held tenaciously by the rope,
her body twisting and turning.
                              * * *
     Tashia was taken to a wooden post. On the post was an eighteen
inch long block of wood, shaped like a wedge, with the sharp edge
facing upward. As Tashia stared at the strange device, her torturer
placed a heavy wooden yoke across her shoulders and clamped her
head and wrists into it. He lifter her and sat her astride the
sharp wedge, the entire weight of her body plus that of the yoke,
was now supported by the tender flesh that lay between her thighs.
The yoke was secured by a chain at each end to the overhead ring-
bolts, so that although her weight still rested on the biting edge
of the wedge, she could not fall off the device and was kept
sitting in an upright position. The wooden wedge cut deep into her
vulva and the flesh between it and her anus. 
     The huge oriental picked up a multi-thronged leather whip.
Tashia thought nothing could be worse that the cane they used on
her mother, but she was so very wrong. She braced herself for the
first stroke. It came a few heartbeats later, the knotted strands
singing gently in the dank foul air, and Tashia's scream
ricochetted off the walls.
     The horrified Tashia shrieked her protests to an unhearing
god, and fought with the strength born of madness to save herself
from the whipping. But it was much too late, her fate was sealed. 
     The cords were slicing her buttocks. Then it was her thighs,
and after that, her left breast. Tashia was mad with pain.
     The fiends were once again sated by the blood sport provided
for their entertainment.
     Her entire body stiffened in excruciating torment, her eyes
snapped open, and an unearthly howl left her soul. The man laughed
aloud at her pain, and struck again and again, revelling in the
pain he was inflicting on the twelve-year old.
     She was in dire fear for her life. She watched in horrified
fascination as the whip slithered along the floor, then suddenly
leaped upwards, snapped parallel to the wedge and caught her
buttocks. The pain exploded through her body and for the first few
heartbeats she could not even scream. The metal tips had gouged her
flesh and blood flowed freely. The next blow attached her ass
again, the metal stabbing into her again. She found her voice and
her cries rose to the ceiling as her body swayed and trembled. Her
dilated eyes were riveted on the wrists and were mesmerized by the
rings of crimson she saw there.                   A Comment from the Author:

     The comments and suggestions posted by readers are what keep
the authors going. The same is true for me. I've got a general
direction I want to go with NOLA series from here, but that's all.
The door's wide open for specific scenes and characters. I'd love
for all you "Anons" out there to contribute your suggestions. If
nobody does, the NOLA series will probably go on anyway but the
more suggestions I get the better the product, I hope.

     Please post any comments to French Connection BBS (914-278-
6266) or Leather Rose BBS (312-665-0111). I visit both regularly.

                         And a Question:

     Does anyone out there still like whips?  Or for that matter
canes, straps, paddles, tawses, martinets, cat-o'-nines, riding
crops, or even an occasional good old fashioned bundle of birch
switches? I haven't seen a good flagellation story in ages. What
ever happened to naughty young schoolgirls getting their asses
caned by lecherous old headmasters? I'm not talking about spanking
people. That's its own little club, and they mostly frown on us
hard core B&D and S&M freaks. I'm talking about the whip 'em till
they bleed world. Are any of us "flag" freaks still out there? 
Comments please.

Curt Strap
February, 1994          Listing of the NOLA series as of 14 Feb 94. 

Please note that the text files may not be politically correct and
many may be offensive to some readers. Nola is a real person. I
have known all her life. Most of the descriptions of her are
accurate although the action is all fiction. The numbering sequence
is the order that I wrote them. Each one stands alone. If you are
interested in any of them that are not posted please leave a note
on Leather Rose BBS. Some of the stories are not complete and
others are in the edit stage. I reserve the right to change the
title and numbering sequence for files not uploaded to a BBS. 

If you have any suggested titles and scenarios let me know.

Nola1.txt      "The First Time"              
Nola2.txt      "The Chief of Police"
Nola3.txt      "The Augustines"
Nola4.txt      "The Reverend"
Nola5.txt      "The Island"
Nola6.txt      "The Children Get Even"
Nola7.txt      "The Rape Photographer"
Nola8.txt      "The Porn Producers"
Nola9.txt      "The Nurse"
Nola10.txt     "The Children At Play" AKA Children.zip 
Nola11.txt     "The Game" AKA Sarah.zip
Nola12.txt     "The Doctor"
Nola13.txt     "The Farm"
Nola14.txt     "Torturing Nola"
Nola15.txt     "Tickling Nola"
Nola16.txt     "Blackmailing Nola"
Nola17.txt     "The Spy"
Nola18.txt     "Un-named as yet"
Nola19.txt     "Un-named as yet"
Nola20.txt     "The Cottage"
Nola21.txt     "The Convent"
Nola22.txt     "The Cop"
Nola23.txt     "The Reporter"

Curt Strap - February 14, 1994