Chapter 1
      
      When she felt the hand on her shoulder, and turned to face the uniformed man,
somehow the fight just seemed to drain out of Samantha's body. It was almost like a
sense of relief as she realised that it was over, that she had lost, that now she was
going to have to pay the penalty, though that penalty was one she dared not think about.
She had been caught, and she knew what happened to drug dealers in this part of the Far
East. She had seen the pictures of the filthy jails, the squalor and hardship, the
disease. Though she knew that the alternative was the hangman's noose, even that
seemed almost welcome as she felt the cuffs snap onto her wrists.
      It wasn't even as if it had been her fault. The drugs had been planted on her
by someone she had thought a friend. She knew now how seriously she had been duped. She
should have known by long experience that there was nobody she could trust. 
      The discovery by the airport customs of the bag of white powder among her
belongings had been a dreadful shock to her. She had been simply flabbergasted. Her
subsequent actions, shoving the customs man aside and making a frantic dash for the exit,
had been the result of pure animal survival instinct.
      But escape had not brought her solace. Bereft of money, luggage and passport she
had been wandering the streets of this strange city for two days now. And how alien it all
seemed. The local people, with their dark skin and unmistakably Eastern appearance had
seemed quaint and amusing before. Now they seemed sinister and alien, their language
impenetrable and menacing.
      Everywhere she looked she saw danger. She longed to hear a voice speak English to
her. Even the script of this country was indecipherable to her. So she had kept moving,
spoken to nobody, scrounged scraps of food where she could. And all for nothing. Now she
had been caught.
      She had been sleeping under a truck in a storage depot. She had scaled the fence
and thought herself safe inside the high walls. Now, as she was led toward an open
doorway, she knew she had been wrong.
      The office into which he took her was bare apart from a single table and chair.
Above, the harsh white of a strip lamp illuminated the plain walls. The man placed her
against the wall and stood back. He was large, with broad shoulders and a strong chest.
His bare arms were thick and hairy, and his face was grim.
      "What are you doing here?" he asked. His voice was harsh, but his English
was surprisingly good, betraying hardly any accent.
      "I... I was just sleeping."
      "You are a thief."
      "No. No, I'm not."
      "Then why did you break in here?"
      "I just wanted somewhere to rest." 
      "I don't believe that. What were you trying to steal?"
      "Nothing. I was just sleeping."
      "Who are you working for?"
      "Nobody. I told you."
      As she replied, it struck her that this was not at all the line of questioning she
had anticipated. There had been no mention of the drugs, or of her escape, or of the
subsequent manhunt. Suddenly hopeful. She looked more closely at the man's uniform
and her heart jumped. He wasn't a policeman at all, just some kind of security guard.
For a moment she was filled with hope, but it faded when he spoke again.
      "I must call the police."
      "No!" The words escaped her lips with almost a shout. She regretted the
outburst almost immediately as his eyes narrowed.
      "Why are you so scared of the police?"
      "I'm not. I mean, I just don't want to get into trouble, that's
all."
      He continued to stare at her, his eyes full of suspicion. Then his expression
changed slightly and he moved closer to her, so close that she could feel his breath on
her face.
      "For trespassing you must be punished. It is my job."
      "But not the police," She pleaded.
      A slight grin crossed his face. "Then maybe I should do it?"
      "What do you mean?" Her voice was shaking slightly.
      "In my country the punishment for trespass is ten strokes with the
cane."
      She drew her breath in sharply.
      "Ten... strokes?"
      "On your backside, yes. Your bare backside," he added.
      "On my bare backside? Are you serious?" When she repeated the words there
was anger in her voice that this man could possibly make such a suggestion. Who did he
think he was?
      "Yes."
      “You’re joking of course.”
      His brow darkened.”I do not make jokes.”
      “And you expect me to agree?”
      "Certainly."
      She took a deep breath. The prospect of receiving a beating here, by a strange man
in a strange place was out of the question, surely. But for some reason she had felt a
thrill run through her as he suggested it, a strange warmth in her belly. She recalled
being beaten at school. How it had always had this same physical affect on her. How she
had felt a warmth inside her that she couldn't understand when she was beaten, a sort
of sexual gratification. She had asked the other girls if they felt the same, but they had
just stared at her as if she was mad.
      "You must be a bloody masochist," one of them had said.
      She had looked the word up in a dictionary, and on reading the definition had
thought long and hard about it. She thought of it again now as she faced the man.
      "Ten strokes?" she repeated.
      "Yes."
      "No. Now leave me alone, you damned pervert."
      The man frowned. "I don’t believe you have a choice, little English bitch.
Kindly remove your clothes."
      "Fuck off."
      His eyes narrowed. "It is necessary." 
      “If you think I’m stripping off for you, you’ve got another think coming.”
      He picked up the phone.
      “What are you doing?”
      Calling the police.”
      “No! Look, isn’t there something else you could do?”
      “I told you. Ten strokes or I call the police.”
      Samantha stared at him for a moment longer, then her shoulders slumped. 
      “How the hell can I strip with my hands cuffed?” she said quietly.
      A hint of a smile crossed the man’s face as he saw the defeat in her eyes.”
      “If I undo them, will you behave?”
      “What bloody choice do I have?”
      “Come here then.”
      He took hold of her shoulders and turned her round, then she felt him unfastened
the cuffs with a click. 
      “Turn around.”
      Reluctantly she did so.
      “Take off the dress.
      She looked about herself. She knew he had locked the door to the office, and there
was nothing she could see that she could use to attack him. She hesitated for a second. 
      “All right then, you damned pervert.”
      Giving a slight shrug she began to undo the belt on her dress.
      He sat down and watched her as she stripped, clearly enjoying what he saw. She was
very young, no more than nineteen, but old enough for the last vestiges of puppy fat to
have departed, leaving a lovely young woman. She was about five feet three inches tall,
with slim waist and full breasts. Her face was classically beautiful, with high
cheekbones, a pert nose and a small mouth that revealed perfect white teeth when she
spoke. Her eyes were green, and shone with bright innocence. Her auburn hair hung down,
forming the perfect frame for her face.
      Samantha released the last button that secured her dress. For a second she held it
closed. Then, her face red, she let it fall open, shrugging it off her shoulders and
letting it fall to the ground. Underneath she wore only a small, lacy black bra, and a
pair of tiny briefs, above which a wisp of her pubic hair was just visible. He studied her
trim waist and long, slim legs.
      "Go on, ogle, you bastard." she said.
      "Take off the rest."
      “Look, this has gone far enough. I’m…”
      Her voice trailed away as she saw him reach for the phone once more.
      “All right then. Have it your way. What do I care?”
      Slowly she reached behind her back for the catch on her bra. Her emotions were in
turmoil. Exposing her breasts to this eastern stranger went against all she had ever been
taught about modesty. Yet, at the same time, she felt a strange thrill at what she was
doing, almost as if debasing herself before him was giving her a sexual kick. She fumbled
with the catch for a second, then it came undone. She held the garment against her chest
as she slipped the straps from her shoulders. Then, with an air of resignation, she let it
drop to the floor. 
      She stood for a second whilst he took in her breasts. Firm, not too large, they
jutted proudly, the nipples dark and prominent. She glanced down, blushing as she realised
that her nipples were erect. The room was warm, so he would know that it was not the cold,
but a sign of arousal that belied her anger at the way he was treating her.
      “The pants.”
      Samantha's hands reached for her panties. She hesitated for a moment, her
thumbs hooked in the waistband, as she thought of what she was about to do. To remove the
final vestige of her modesty before this burly stranger. She looked into his narrow eyes.
Did he suspect that this was turning her on, she wondered? Did he realise that deep inside
her was an eagerness to expose herself? 
      He rapped the table. "The pants! Remove them!
      So this was it. Dropping her eyes Samantha slipped the skimpy garment down over her
legs and off. She kicked it aside and stood facing him, naked. 
      Her pubic triangle was dark and neatly trimmed, the lips of her sex thick so that
even as she was, with her legs pressed together, he could discern their shape.
      "Stand up straight, legs apart, your hands behind your head!" he barked.
      “What?”
      “Do as I tell you!”	
      Samantha took up the position as ordered, blushing red as she realised how it
exposed her, her chest thrust forward as if inviting his touch, her open legs now
revealing her sex to him more fully.
      He rose to his feet and began to walk round her, inspecting her bare body. She
glowed redder than ever as he crouched in front of her, his eyes fixed on the pinkness of
her sex. He ran his hands over her stomach, making her flinch.
      "Stand still!" he said, clearly enjoying the feel of her flesh as it
trembled before him. She knew he could tell that she feared his threats. But there was
something else that made her tremble so, something deep within her. Even now she knew he
could discern a faint wetness about the entrance to her vagina.
      He stood up and walked round behind her. Samantha wanted to turn around to see what
he was doing, but her instincts told her to remain still.
      She started again as she felt his hands on her backside. This time he responded by
slapping her behind hard with the flat of his hand. She gave a little squeal of pain, but
managed to remain still for the rest of the inspection as he eased the cheeks of her
backside apart and ran his finger down over her anus.
      At last the inspection was at an end. He stood in front of the naked girl,
obviously satisfied with what he had seen.
      "Good," he said. "I can see you have been brought up to obey. Where
did you learn that please?"
      "I-I suppose it was at school." she said quietly.
      "Ah yes. I have heard of these English Public schools. They provide a very
good grounding for the training of young women such as yourself. Did they beat you
there?"
      “What business is it of yours?”
      “Just answer the question.”
      Samantha dropped her eyes. "Yes."
      "On the bare backside?"
      "No. Unlike you they let us keep our knickers on."
      
      "So. This will be a new experience for you. And possibly a new pleasure I
think," he added with a slight smile.
      Samantha said nothing.
      "Move over to the table," he snapped, suddenly businesslike once more.
      Samantha walked toward the table, then gave a cry as his hand slapped her behind
again.
      "When I give an order you move fast."
      She scurried the rest of the distance to the table, coming to rest facing its
length. It was just at the height of her crotch and the cold bare metal of its edge felt
hard against the soft flesh of her sex lips.
      "Lie forward."
      “You’re really going through with this?
      “Of course. Now do as I tell you.”
      For a moment Samantha felt rebellion rising in her again. But she knew that this
man held all the cards. Slowly she bent forward from the waist, lowering herself down onto
the table. She kept her hands behind her head as she did so, leaning further and further
forward until she felt the cold Formica top on her bare nipples. Still she leant down
until her body lay flat on the table, her breasts pressed beneath her, her head turned to
her side so that she could gaze back over her shoulder at her captor.
      "Open your legs. Wider!"
      Samantha struggled to obey the order, aware of the view she was presenting to him,
her backside and sex blatantly opened to his view.
      He let her remain like that for fully ten minutes whilst he went out of the room.
Samantha stayed where she was, wishing she could cover herself, or at least move from this
ignominious position into which she had been forced, but all the time fearing what he
would do to her if she did.
      She could hear him moving about in the next room. There was the unmistakable sound
of a telephone being dialled and a low conversation in a language she did not understand.
She hoped desperately it was not the police to whom he was talking. The remembrance of the
police actually calmed her slightly as she compared the thought of the local prisons with
her current predicament. Naked as she was, stretched out in this strange office awaiting
her punishment, anything was better than what she had heard of the filth and squalor of
one of those prisons.
      She heard him drop the receiver. There was a delay of two or three minutes, then
the door opened. Samantha stayed as still as she could, though the trembling had returned,
a trembling that increased when she saw what he held in his hand.
      It was a cane, about a quarter of an inch in diameter, made of bamboo. As he strode
in he swished it through the air, making a couple of practice strokes. He walked to the
table and stood looking down at her. She gazed up at him, her eyes bright with
apprehension.
      "Right Miss," he said. "Ten strokes I think. Do you wish for
anything to bite on?"
      "No," she said faintly.
      He reached out and ran his hand over her buttocks, making her flinch once more.
      "Keep still, or it will be the worse for you," he ordered.
      Samantha fought to maintain her position as she felt his hands on her flesh, his
forefinger tracing the crack of her bottom, sliding down closer and closer to her open
sex. She closed her eyes tight, willing herself to remain motionless as his fingers
continued their exploration.
      Then his fingers reached the entrance to her vagina and she knew he could feel the
hot, wetness there. She gasped as she felt his touch in so intimate a spot, glowing red as
she realised that the wetness betrayed her arousal, an arousal that she had even denied to
herself until now. But she could deny it no longer, it was there in the glistening of his
finger as he held it up to show her, a slight smile of satisfaction on his face.
      He wiped his hand dry on the flesh of her behind, leaving a shiny streak across it.
Then he raised the cane and Samantha tensed her body.
      Swish! Whack! 
      The cane came down with a tremendous force, stinging her terribly so that she had
to clench her teeth to prevent herself from crying out. Across the twin globes of her
buttocks a white stripe began quickly darkening to red.
      Swish! Whack! 
      The cane came down again, this time making a diagonal mark that crossed the first
one just at the crack of her bottom. The pain was extraordinary, but still she was
determined not to cry out.
      Swish! Whack! 
      A third blow fell, this time on the other diagonal, so that a symmetrical pattern
of red welts was etched into the white of her behind.
      Swish! Whack!
      Swish! Whack!
      The strokes continued methodically, each one seeming to double the pain that racked
her punished body as she rocked under the onslaught.
      Swish! Whack! 
      She shook as he beat her, the sheer force of the blows almost knocking her from the
table across which she was splayed. Tears were coming from her eyes now as the pain of her
punishment swept through her.
      Then the beating stopped for a moment. She opened her eyes and craned back to see
what he was doing. He stood gazing down at her and she again felt a glow of shame as she
realised how blatantly she was spread. Then she felt his hand on her thigh, stroking her
gently, his fingers running over the soft skin, working their way higher until they were
almost brushing her exposed sex. 
      Her breath began to shorten at his touch, the sensation of his hand squeezing and
caressing her so close to her most private place making her squirm slightly. The arousal
she had felt earlier was redoubled at the sensation and she found herself willing him to
feel her even more intimately, to give her some relief from the burning desire that was
filling her belly. Almost unconsciously she was pushing her backside back at him, willing
him to feel her at the very centre of her desire.
      Then his hand moved up and, for the first time since the punishment had begun, she
gave a little whimper, not of pain but of desire as his strong hard fingers stroked the
pliant flesh of her sex, sliding down to envelop her clitoris, which she knew had swollen
and hardened into a glistening nut, betraying her shameful desires.
      She continued to moan quietly as he felt her, her hips undulating, her bottom
pumping back and forth as if she was being shafted by some invisible lover.
      Swish! Whack! 
      This time she did cry out, partly with the unexpectedness of the harsh blow which
crashed down onto her exposed skin, partly with the sense of disappointment as he withdrew
his hand from her burning sex.
      Swish! Whack! 
      He continued her chastisement. Her whole body was glistening with a sheen of sweat
now as the blows took their toll. She had an overwhelming desire to move her hands from
behind her neck and to cover her behind with them, partly to protect her from his
onslaught, partly to cover her nakedness, to hide the wetness that was seeping from her so
openly.
      Swish! Whack! 
      Somewhere she could hear a voice racked with sobs, begging for mercy, offering the
most indecent and lewd favours in order to be released. Then she realised dimly that the
voice was her own and she was shocked at the shamelessness of her suggestions.
      Swish! Whack! 
      The final blow fell, cutting into her smarting flesh like a knife and causing a
fine spray of sweat to rise from her as she screamed again. Her bottom was bright red now,
the angry stripes fused into a single area of intense pain . But still she lay as she had
been instructed, unwilling to move, awaiting her chastiser's next order. 
      She felt his hand on her sex again then, once again caressing her love bud, and she
knew that more than anything else she wanted to be screwed. To be taken then and there by
this cruel man and fucked hard on the table where she lay. She began thrusting back
against his probing fingers, mouthing obscenities, intent only on achieving an orgasm at
his hands, lost in a haze of lascivious lust as she allowed him to feel her.
      She was gasping, her breath coming in short bursts, her hips slapping wetly against
the Formica, her entire lower body in motion as he frigged her. She began emitting low
grunts of pleasure, her shame forgotten momentarily as she felt her climax upon her.
      Then he stopped. She gave a cry of dismay as he withdrew his hand from her, leaving
her sex lips convulsing about empty air. She glanced back at him, her eyes pleading for
him to continue, but he just smiled.
      "You are very hot woman, yes?" he said.
      Samantha lowered her eyes, her face red with shame.
      "Stand up!"
      She straightened her body slowly, the memory of her painful backside returning with
a vengeance as she did so. Once erect, she stood, hands behind her head and legs apart,
gazing down at the table upon which was a imprint of her body, etched in sweat, the round
shape of her breasts and nipples plain to see as was the patch of wetness where her sex
had been.
      Suddenly her wrists were grasped from behind and she felt the coldness of the
handcuffs as they were snapped on. He pulled her across the room until she was standing
with her back to the wall. Then he stretched her arms high above her head and she heard a
click. She realised with horror that he had attached the cuffs to a ring that projected
from the wall above her. She was trapped now, her hands held high above her, her breasts
stretched slightly oval, the nipples, still hard with her previous arousal, pointing
upwards invitingly. He motioned to her feet and she spread her legs apart, leaning back
against the wall, its coldness a relief against her punished flesh.
      "Wh-what are you going to do now?" she asked. “Haven’t you done enough?”
      "Now we wait. Someone is coming."
      "Not the police?" she gasped, but he just turned and stood looking out of
the window.
      Samantha looked about her, wondering what was to befall her. She realised suddenly
that her clothes were no longer where she had left them and gave a little whimper of
despair. Now she was really trapped. There was no way she would dare to escape naked. And
someone was coming. But who? And what would they think of her so cruelly exhibited? She
trembled with anticipation, yet she was still unable to suppress the feeling of sexual
arousal that the whole situation was engendering in her. She wriggled her hands. If only
she could free them she knew she would be unable to prevent herself from masturbating. She
gazed across the room to where a full length mirror was attached. In it she saw herself,
her dark triangle of pubic hair merely serving to draw attention to her open sex, the
clitoris still swollen.
      Even as these thoughts passed through her mind she heard the sound of a car drawing
up outside and the doors slamming. She shrank back against the wall as she realised she
was about to be discovered. She wished she could at least close her legs, but knew she
dare not. She watched with concern as the door handle turned.
      The two men who entered were a striking contrast to one another. The first was
small and wiry, his skin the dark olive colour of those indigenous to this country. His
eyes were narrow and somehow penetrating. It was almost as if he gave her a physical
caress as he ran them over her captive body, licking his lips as he took in her nakedness.
He halted for a moment just inside the doorway, then turned to the security guard and
began speaking to him in a language Samantha did not understand.
      The second man followed him in He had much lighter skin, though tanned enough to
indicate he had enjoyed a tropical climate for some time. He was in his mid-thirties,
handsome with a broad chest and slim waist. He too paused to absorb Samantha's
charms.
      The smaller man began to speak in English.
      "Well, Miss Dawson, you certainly appear to be in trouble."
      Samantha's eyes widened. "How do you know my name?"
      The man smiled. "Because your face has been all over the papers of course. Not
a very flattering shot I fear, but then passport photos seldom are. I must say you are
considerably more attractive in the flesh."
      Samantha blushed, the meaning in his voice not lost on her. "He said you
wouldn’t hand me over to the police," she said.
      "That's rather up to you at the moment."
      "What do you mean?"
      The second man cut in. "Forget the chatter. What did the guard say?" His
voice was deep, with a slight American twang to it.
      "That he found her sleeping here, just as he told us. That he offered her an
alternative punishment, and she accepted. That's what made him think of us."
      "And did he punish her?"
      The man smiled. "Turn round my dear and show us."
      Reluctantly Samantha shuffled round until her backside was presented to them. She
felt the man's fingers as they appraised the red welts that criss-crossed her behind,
wincing slightly as he pressed them.
      "Admirable, most admirable," he said. "And apparently they had a
quite unexpected effect on the young lady, as I think we both can see." He ran his
fingers down the crack in her backside and she gave a gasp as she felt them glide over her
sex. "A most rare find, one such as yourself," he added as he examined his
glistening fingers.
      The second man gave a low whistle. "I see what you mean. Did he fuck
her?"
      "No, just in case. That would make her an even rarer find."
      The second man took hold of her shoulders and swung her round. "You a
virgin?" he asked.
      Samantha shook her head, too embarrassed to answer
      "Pity. Better not tell this guy though. He'll be pretty mad when he
realises his missed opportunity."
      The two men laughed. 
      "OK," said the bigger man. "Pay him off, whilst I get her into the
car."
      He reached up and released her hands from the ring, then stood back whilst the
guard removed the handcuffs. Once she was freed, he began to lead her towards the door.
      Samantha hung back. "Wait! What about my clothes?"
      "Not needed," said the man. "Come on now, get out of that
door."
      “But I…”
      “Get a move on!”
      She glared at the man, but once again she realized she had no choice but to obey.
she walked towards the door, past the other two, who were haggling over a pile of money on
the table.
      She stepped into the bright sunlight, hoping fervently there would be nobody about
to see her nakedness. She needn't have worried though, as the yard was deserted. In
the centre was parked a long dark limousine, its chrome trimmings gleaming brightly in the
sunshine. It was to this that she was led. The man opened the door and gestured toward the
interior.
      "Get in," he ordered.