visitor to the large office building in Lambeth, just off the Kennington Road,
would walk through the swing doors and gaze at the brightly decorated walls on
the ground floor and assume from the happy faces of the chattering secretariat
that this was the head office of some multi-national or perhaps a bank. However if he or she were to get past the efficient
reception clerks, having been issued with a security pass allowed only to
‘those having pertinent business’ and walk upstairs two flights, a different
world would be encountered. Immediately the long corridors take on a sombre
appearance and the thick forbidding doors on either side make the hairs stand
up on the back of the neck. At first, the visitor will wonder why and then it
will dawn! There is no sound at all! It is eerie! Nothing... the effect that
either implies the total absence of human activity or the presence of very
effective noise proofing.
Our visitor, however,
is not unsuspecting and is right to assume the latter. There is much human
activity going on up here, a great deal of human activity which the visitor has
come, armed with a permit, to inspect.
Stopping at one of
the doors, the visitor turns the handle and as the door opens, total silence is
replaced by an almost inhuman bellowing like a pig being slaughtered and the
regular splaaaat of something striking tender flesh, each of these strikes
accompanied by another choking squeal.
Once accustomed to
the volume of the noise, our visitor steps inside and sees a large table bed
device across which a naked teenage boy is strapped, bent over almost double so
that his bare buttocks are uppermost. Standing over him is a woman in her early
forties and her arm rises as the boy cries out in fearful anticipation, then,
as our visitor watches, she lashes down a fearsome birch on his naked bottom
for what is now the fifteenth stroke. The boy screams with pain and humiliation
as the birch bites into his buttocks, vainly twisting and turning his body in agony,
tears pouring down his face. He is a nineteen year old
mugger who, with the help of his eighteen year old girlfriend, has robbed and
beaten up two old pensioners. The woman glances occasionally at her assistant
and continues to flog mechanically and efficiently. Our visitor frowns slightly
and makes some notes on a pad.
Having seen enough
our visitor quietly backs away and out of the room, closing the door gently,
then walks the short distance to the next room, entering quietly. This time the
ears are assailed by a higher pitched note, just as frantic and sustained,
accompanied this time by a more solid, less predictable strike with a sound
more familiar to our visitor’s ears.
Entering the room,
our visitor sees a tall well-muscled man standing in front of another similar
table, his hand raised aloft and about to deliver a vicious stroke with an awe
inspiring four foot long heavy duty cane, its tip as
thick as a man’s finger. At first the visitor cannot see beyond the man with
the cane, but can only hear the pitiful soprano shrieks coming from behind him,
then the eyes catch sight of the small chair in the corner on which there lies
a pretty but rather too gaudy gold and black velvet dress, a black lace slip,
suspender belt and stockings and, finally, a pair of tiny black lace panties. The
owner has an obviously expensive, though not tasteful, sense of dress.
The visitor moves into the room and steps to
the side for a clear view. Breathing deeply, our visitor gazes at the teenage
girl, naked except for her bra, lying in anguish across the punishment table,
her body bent in a U formation with her creamy white bottom uppermost, tight
and stretched. The girl may well be pretty but it is
difficult to tell when her face is red and swollen from sobbing.
The cane sweeps down
again and lands with a vicious crack on her bare bottom, another vivid red
stripe emblazoned immediately across her pale buttocks. Her scream reaches a
new level of torment and her bottom writhes up and down and from side to side
the cheeks opening and closing in her agony. She is screaming just as loudly as
her boyfriend in the next room and her tortured bottom shows the marks of at
least eleven strokes of the cane.
Her tormentor walks
around the table and chats to his female assistant, stopping to switch on the
overhead air conditioning fan as he does so. The young girl’s screams have
lessened and now she is sobbing in pain and self-pity. She wriggles her shapely
bottom, revealing the crevice of her vulva as she tenses and strains to relieve
the dreadful agony. The visitor smiles approvingly. Aah, this is better! The
experienced man has left her to dwell on her distress and her terror of the
next stroke for nearly a full minute as he casually chats to his assistant. Our
visitor recognizes that the time delay not only heightens the dread of the next
stroke, but refuels the humiliation of the weeping girl, for, as she wriggles
her bottom feeling the coarse blanket against her pubic hair and the cold air
from the fan against her scorching buttocks, she is forcibly reminded that she
is lying naked before this man, receiving the thrashing of her life, and her
tears flow freely.
He ceases his
conversation and walks round the punishment table, tapping the cane against his
palm, his face grimly determined and as she turns her tear stained face towards
him, she sees him coolly appraising her nude body as if she were some fish on a
slab, knowing he is coldly calculating the most painful portion of her bottom
to strike next. He stands staring, dispassionate and workmanlike, at her face. Her
bright blue eyes are like mirrors as the lights in the room are reflected in
her tears and she forms the words “Oh no... please...
no more!” with her cupid mouth but no sound emerges.
The man says nothing but resumes his position
at the side of her and she gives a despairing wail, realising that her
entreaties have yet again come to nought, and turns her face away again,
choking sobs punctuating her frenzied breathing.
The visitor watches
approvingly as the well-muscled man raises the cane again, then brings it down
in a scything arc until, once more, the room resounds to the satisfying sound
of bamboo whipping into soft girl flesh. The retching sobs again become a
searing scream of appalling pain and the red hot buttocks
begin their violent choreography once more. Again the
man casually walks away, tapping his palm with the cane. Again
she will have to sob and wait... and wait.
The pain racked young
girl is screaming in torment still from this latest stroke, for he laid it hard
over a previous weal. He may wait even longer now before the next, so that the
pain and the gut wrenching terror is intensified.
She now has another
six to take... at least, but the visitor feels no compassion for she has been a
very naughty girl indeed and when the caning is complete then, like her
boyfriend, she will go to prison for a considerable time.
Longing to watch this
until its completion, but aware of time constraints, our visitor leaves
quietly, smiling happily at what has been witnessed, marking down a few points
for the next review meeting, goes back down the stairs and departs the
building. It is winter and the afternoons are getting
dark, almost night time, but our visitor has no fears of walking down the side
streets or taking short cuts to the bus stop, for the chances against being
attacked are now very high indeed. The visitor smiles, thinking how recently it
was that people were afraid to come out of their houses even in broad daylight
and gives thanks for the revolution which gave Britain a new sense of
discipline and purpose on March 19th 2001.
Before that, it was
all so different!
A LIVING NIGHTMARE
The pretty, pale
faced young mother whimpered as she listened to the sound of boots racing up
the concrete stairs of the high rise flats accompanied
by the terrifying sound of cruel, male animals breathing deeply and sniggering
in feverish anticipation. It could have been anywhere, but as it happened it
was Leeds on a rainy cold Sunday night in November. She stood inside the
hallway of her 7th floor flat clutching a four year old
girl whose pale face was streaked with tears.
“Mommy... why are
they...?” she asked before the terrified woman thrust a hand over the child’s
“Ssshh! “she said, her
voice breaking with fright. “Ssshh, love!” and they stood trembling as the
heavy boots thudded onto their landing.
The woman choked back
a cry and dragged the child back apace as a heavy boot smashed into the
woodwork of the frail balsa wood door of the flat. She had left all the lights
off in a desperate attempt to fool them but to no avail. Oh God, they knew she
was home, oh God! She stood twitching like a marionette as the heavy boots
thudded into the door, her face like chalk, spittle on her lips. Then she
looked down and realised that she was nearly choking her small daughter whose
face was turning blue and quickly she released her hand from the child’s
throat. Spontaneously, the child gagged and coughed
and the game was up. Laughter, triumphant laughter, from outside told the
terrified woman that the men knew they were close to their prey.
The young woman, who
had been roused from her bed by the shouting outside that had heralded their
arrival, cried out and put both hands to her face as the door finally splintered
and fell off its hinges.
“Help me, for God’s
sake help me!” she screamed hysterically “Can’t anyone hear what’s happening,
please help me... aaagh!” as the door fell in and the three grinning bikers
stood framed in the doorway.
She stood, her face
white with shock, holding the small child protectively in a pathetic and
useless gesture as the big man with a scarred and pitiless face strode forward,
his two grinning companions piling in after him. His voice was quiet and
murderous, spitting hate.
“Went to the Police,
didn’t you, you fucking bitch..! Identified us as
pushers, you cow! Well, now you’re going to get yours!”
The woman, her eyes
wide with terror, backed away dragging the child with her, a child now gabbling
hysterically. The woman screamed “No! Please, God ... no I didn’t... I...!”
He leaned forward and
raised his hand and instinctively she pushed the little girl to the side in
case she caught the blow, but he stopped in mid swing, grabbed the child and
threw her onto the armchair.
The huge biker spat
in the woman’s face and she stood shuddering, her nervous system in complete
breakdown, only barely conscious of the hot urine which suddenly flooded her
panties. The men sniggered as they watched her humiliation.
“Lying cow!” the big
man said then hit her hard across the face as the child screamed in terror. As
the woman fell backwards, her mouth pouring blood, the huge biker spun her
round so that she fell face down across the arm of the sofa. “Perfect!” he said
softly, as he pushed her head down over the sofa, grinning at the sight of her
raised bottom covered only by the thin night dress and her panties.
To a roar of approval
from the other two, the big man put his hand to the neck of the night dress and
ripped it from top to bottom, throwing the scraps to the floor. Through a
mouthful of blood she gabbled, “No ... Please God ...
No ... My baby ... Please, my baby ...!” then screamed as the huge hands moved
round to grasp her bare breasts and pull cruelly on her nipples before moving
back to her waist and tearing off her panties as if they were tissue paper. The
other two licked their lips and adjusted their crotches as the big man, his
evil face grinning with desire, roughly forced her legs open. She knew better
than to resist him now and she cried with terror and shame as she heard the
slither of the zipper on his leather pants.
She tried once more
to appeal to any spark of humanity.
please take my child out... not in front of my baby... please... OH ...
AAAAAAAAGH!!” The scream of a soul in torment as, without ceremony, the big man
pulled her bottom cheeks apart and thrust his huge swollen member into her
anus. The men roared with laughter as the tiny hole dilated, reddened and then
bled profusely as the unrelenting battering ram thrust its way in and out of
her until he was satisfied.
“Your turn!” he said
to the waiting men and they moved into position behind her, laughing
uproariously as the woman continued to bleed and scream and the child continued
to lie shivering in the armchair, eyes rolling in her head, gibbering like a
crazy thing, emotionally scarred for life.
They used the woman
for over an hour, first one at a time, then all three at once, before a final
smack in the mouth knocked her senseless. Then the men urinated all over her
and the furniture before leaving, their merriment fused with the screams of the
stricken child lying on the chair.
She would not go to
the police again, they knew that, and neither would the neighbours in the
adjacent flats who had heard every cry, every scream and had bolted their doors
and knelt on the carpet praying that they would not be next.
It was Sunday,
November 4th, the year 2000 ... Four months before the General Election that
would change everything.
The old man had just
left the Brixton chip shop and begun his stumbling walk back to his home by way
of the service road next to the garages when he saw the girls. Four of them,
two white and two black, laughing and joking, and at first
he took no notice until they were almost level with him. Then, out of the
corner of his eye, too late, he saw the bicycle chain which suddenly whipped
across the back of his neck with a vicious sickly crack and he fell to the
ground, crying out until four pairs of boots kicked him in the face, one after
He felt them going
through his pockets as he swallowed the thick warm liquid in his mouth, then he
was rolled over facing the windows of his home where he could see his beloved
old wife, staring down wide eyed, her mouth in a silent scream, helpless to do
anything. Then a kick in the head sent him into oblivion.
It was still Sunday,
The boy who was
screaming for mercy was nailed to a crudely made cross lying on the floor of a
garage in Moss Side, Manchester. He had been a police informer, planted as part
of a desperate bid to nail the city’s affluent drug bosses. The police were
virtually non-existent now in this part of the city and the area was ruled by
gang chieftains, each with his own stretch of turf. Yet, despite the cutbacks
which had reduced the police service to a rump, the few remaining officers
tried desperately to fight the tide but the comparison with Canute was
inescapable. The boy had provided some good information, but it was never enough and you were never sure who to trust. He had trusted
one person too many, a copper taking kickbacks and sadly there were more and
more of them ... disillusioned, cynical, swimming with the tide.
Thus the boy found
himself stripped naked and subjected to a crude crucifixion, his screaming
being ended by a petrol soaked rag being jammed in his mouth. Around him were
gathered a dozen well-dressed people, men and women, who stared at the pathetic
naked victim dispassionately. After some time, one of the men rose and,
following a nod from an elderly grey haired man in a
Savile Row suit, picked up a can of petrol and poured it over the boy, then
picked up the cigarette lighter on the table. The boy’s eyes widened in
helpless terror as the man, grinning, picked up the phone and rang the police.
By the time a police
car arrived, the garage was empty... except for what looked like a charred
black tailor’s dummy roasting on a blazing wooden cross.
It was still four
months to the General Election.
In a lonely farmhouse
near Kidderminster in the Midlands, the elderly couple tied hand and foot on
the bed watched in helpless wide eyed horror as the
teenage gang, high on cocaine and the family’s malt whisky, threw a screaming,
bespectacled, plump woman of thirty five from one to the other as if she were a
rag doll. The woman was the daughter of the house, timid and shy, who had spent
her life tending her invalid parents who now were the unwilling witnesses to
The teenage girls in
leathers who sat on the floor, swigging whisky and screaming with laughter,
shouted out “C’mon you lot, let’s see what she’s got!” The four young men, who
were performing the entertainment, grinned and chortled, throwing the woman
ever faster around the room until she nearly fell over.
“Yeah, why not...” one
boy sneered, “... bit of a dog but it’ll be a laff!” The woman screamed as he
received her whirling body, then before projecting her in the direction of his
companion, whipped off her glasses and threw them into the corner.
She was virtually blind
now and this increased her panic as she fell against the next boy who pushed
her on but hung on to the neck of her floral dress. With a rending tear, the
dress gave way as she spun and she rotated into the
next grinning persecutor with her dress torn to the waist, revealing her upper
torso clad only in a stiff support bra covering her large breasts.
She cried in distress
as the next boy finished the dress off, throwing the remnants in the corner and
she was whirling round the room clad only in her bra, high waisted knickers
covering her ample midriff and hindquarters and stockings.
The couple on the bed
tried to move to gesticulate by rolling their heads in rage and fear, but this
only provoked laughter from the boys and the woman was sent whirling on her
way, shouting “No! please stop, please!” but to a loud hoot of laughter, the
next boy received his victim, undid the clasp on her bra and tore it from her
body as he sent her spinning on. The straps cut into her shoulders as he ripped
the material and she cried in shame and pain as the straps suddenly snapped and
the grinning boy held her large bra aloft.
Crying and whimpering
as her large pendulous breasts were bared, the fleshy nipples erect in her
fear, the woman pleaded with her persecutors as she was thrown round again, but
to loud shouts of encouragement from the girls sitting on the carpet, the next
boy put a hand to her waist and sent her spinning on again, roaring with
laughter at the ripping sound as the remains of her knickers slithered around
“Lord ... what a
bleedin’ fat arse!” he shouted and she squealed in her
terror and tried to pull the material back around her naked loins, but a
vicious smack across her bottom with a leather belt forced a scream of pain and
she let go, the material falling around her feet.
The boys pulled her
pants right off and then grabbed hold of her, forcing the screaming, naked
woman onto her knees on the bed. She tried to crouch forward, embryo fashion,
so that her genitals were hidden but as one boy pulled her head back forcing
the big breasts outwards, so another ordered her to open her legs. Trembling,
she did as she was told, kneeling right in front of her wide eyed, shocked and
terrified elderly father who lay helpless to intervene in any way. The second
boy, grinning at the expanse of flesh on the woman’s belly which hung down
partly obscuring her loins, reached down in front of her and dragged up the fat
of her abdomen with his palm so that the thickly furred vagina was clearly
exposed. The terrified woman was told to pull the labia apart and, weeping with
shame, she obeyed.
“This should be fun!”
one of the boys said, grinning as he took the old man’s gag off.
“For God’s sake ...!”
the old man cried. “You scum! What do you want? This is disgusting...!” but the
boy holding his gag hit him across the face and he cried like a baby and lapsed
into silence. Grinning, the boy pulled up the old man’s head until his face was
pressing against his daughter’s vagina. “Now!... eat your lunch!” the grinning
boy ordered, “... or I’ll kill all of you!”
The old man looked
stricken with shock, shaking his head in disbelief, until the boy produced a
flick knife and held it to the woman’s throat. Crying like a child, the old man
leaned forward and stuck out his tongue, eventually finding the courage to lean
forward that extra few inches to bury it deep into the gaping pink orifice as
the boys and girls roared with laughter and the woman kneeling naked on the bed
screamed in humiliation.