Pamela stood huddled in the dark doorway, halfway down the back alley. It was cold and a light drizzle had settled in, the sheets of fine rain just discernible in the dull light of the single working lamp halfway down the alley.

Pamela was in her mid forties and fighting a losing battle against the rising tide of age, her thighs and bottom were spreading, her tummy had started to sag and fine lines, not quite yet wrinkles, had recently appeared on her once pretty face.

That being said she was still attractive in a mature unpolished way. She knew how to display her best assets to their full benefit. She had great legs despite her thickening thighs, and to exhibit them she always wore high heels, sheer stockings and the shortest of skirts.

Her spreading tummy was held in place with a full girdle with attached suspenders. Her ever expanding, slightly saggy breasts could be controlled and displayed to advantage with the right bra. Her face just needed more makeup than she used to use when she was younger, so she wore lashings of it. Finally her hair was always perfect, no demure bob or modest perm for our Pamela; she wore her hair big, high and sassy. 'Mutton dressed as lamb, ' her Mom would have called her; but that was Pamela's look. Her regular punters loved it.

Pamela had been a prostitute all her working life. She had held the odd regular job here and there, but always came back to the game. From the moment she had turned fifteen when she noticed the boys furtive glances at her breasts and her uncle Bill's awkward but repeated attempts to look up her skirt and the lump in his pants when he hugged her (which he tended to do way too often and for far too long for propriety); she knew that she had something men wanted. It didn't take her long to figure out that they would pay for it too. She fell into prostitution the way some of her girlfriends fell into jobs such as hairdressing or as shop assistants; it was just the job that best suited her.

Pamela had started working at her aunt Doreen's modest establishment when she turned sixteen. Her mom had raised no objection. To supplement her meagre wage, every now and then her mom had taken in the odd lodger who sometimes paid extra for the privilege of sharing her mother's bed. Her dad had run away when she was still in nappies and she didn't remember him. Pamela dutifully gave half of everything she earned to her mom.

At Aunt Doreen's she had learned the ropes so to speak. At first most of her customers were men who wanted a younger, prettier girl than their wife or current girlfriend. As she grew older she got the men who wanted an experienced woman who would do all the things for them in the bedroom that their wives and girlfriends wouldn't do.

Pamela would do almost anything within reason providing the punter paid her enough. She had done some kinky things in her time, everything from mundane requests for fellatio to dressing punters in frilly knickers and spanking their bums. In fact light bondage and discipline work was her forte and she often took down punters into the special 'dungeon' room in the basement. However she would have nothing to do with the heavier, perverted stuff that was sometimes requested.

She refused any requests for sodomy, role-playing involving rape or incest, heavy sado-masochism; and as for anything involving pissing and other dirty acts; who were these perverts anyway? Go to Germany for fuck sake! The Germans seemed to make all the 'adult' movies involving those revolting acts.

In her mid thirties Pamela's mother had died and she had finally moved out of her mom's old home and at the same time moved out of Doreen's establishment. She set herself up in a nice little flat and only saw her regular customers or those punters who came to her recommended by trusted friends. In her late thirties and her early forties her regulars had dwindled away to almost nothing. They had moved on, found younger women, or just stopped paying for sex. Older and bolder but still attractive enough to pull the punters she had started working the streets.

She could get a legitimate job and with the added income from her few remaining regular customers she could probably make a decent living working at one; but Pamela was prostitute; that's what she did best, so that's what she did.

Life on the streets was harder, but Pamela was no mug. If a punter was nice and looked like he had enough money she took him home for a 'full service'. If the punter only wanted a quickie, was half pissed, or didn't have the money for a full service she would blow him or have him fuck her standing up in the doorway. The doorway in the dark disused alley had become her workroom. She would stand on the main road displaying her wares and until she hooked a short timer, then she would lead him down the alley and into the doorway to complete the transaction. The better clientele had a short walk to her flat.

Pamela, like all prostitutes, had had her share of bad experiences. Safe in Aunt Doreen's brothel there was always help at hand and the worst that had happened had been the odd abusive punter when she'd turned down a request for perverted sex. In her flat she only serviced regulars; but on the street it was different; she had had to deal with all sorts.

Occasionally a punter would try to get a freebie, but she soon learned to take the money as soon as she entered the alley and before her and the punter got to the doorway. Sometimes if the customer was too pissed or couldn't come for some reason they demanded their money back. Once a punter had slapped her face and called her a whore before running off into the night, but mostly Pamela could handle any situation.

On this cold wet night Pamela's life was about to change forever. Tonight she had invited the wrong punter down into the alley.

Pamela had been about to give up for the night when a punter approached her where she stood at the entrance to the alley. She had watched him walk past two or three other working girls who were huddled in their usual positions on the street. He looked them over and continued on until he came face to face with Pamela. He looked her up and down, surveying her from top to bottom.

Pamela was dressed in a white silk blouse under a short red leather jacket, a black leather miniskirt came to mid thigh, black seamed stockings, and matching red high heels completed the ensemble. Her hair was teased, and framed her mature but attractive face. She was heavily made up with lashings of eye shadow, mascara and eyeliner to accent her pretty blue eyes, her cheeks were heavily rouged and she wore bright red lipstick. The punters liked their girls to look 'slutty'; it added to their fantasies she thought.

"Now you're my type of girl," the man breathed whisky on her.

Pamela appraised the punter. Dark business suit, mid forties, just going to fat, heavy but handsome, a little drunk but sensible. He would do for her last quickie before she went home.

"Glad you like what see darling; it's sixty for short time ok," Pamela made her pitch.

"Fucking expensive for an old pro like you ain't it?" was his response but he stayed put and continued to gaze up and down Pamela's body.

'The ones with plenty of money always argued about the price, ' she thought.

"Look it's sixty; short time in the alley. Take it or leave it; I'd as rather go home anyway!" Pamela snapped back.

"Ok! Ok darlin'; I'm hot to trot and your just my type, lets have you then," another cloud of whisky enveloped Pamela.

"Follow me, what's your name?" she lead him just inside the alley.

"Mike," he replied.

"Let's have the money Mike; then you get your honey ok?" Pamela gave him her best false smile.

Mike fumbled for his wallet and handed over the sixty. Pamela saw the wad of cash he had in his wallet and thought 'Cheap fucker'.

Pamela took Mike's hand and as she led him into the gloom of the alley, as they walked into the gloom Mike placed his hand on Pamela's bottom and pinched; she brushed it away irritably.

"Hold your horses lover; here we are," she whispered as they entered her doorway.

The doorway was recessed far back into the disused building and no one was able to see them unless they came all the way down the alley. Pamela had never been disturbed here yet; then why would she? The building was disused.

Mike turned Pamela to face him and eased her back against the door; he pushed himself against her and tried to kiss her. She pushed him back and turned her face away from him.

"No lover; no kissing Ok? I don't do that with punters."

"What do I get for my sixty then?" Mike asked his face puffed up and reddening.

"You get oral relief, and if you want you can shag me Ok?" Pamela offered her standard services.

"Can I fuck you in the arse then?" her customer went on insistently.

"Look sweetie you can have what I just offered; if that's not to your liking take your money and fuck off; it's fucking cold and I'm tired!" Pamela laid down the law. What she didn't need was the last customer of the night to be a difficult bastard.

"You slags are all the same," Mike cursed; "you come on all dolled up to get a guy horny then you won't play the game properly. How can I shag you without a bit of a kiss and cuddle first hey?" Mike insisted, his voice getting angrier.

"Look I'm no slag and if you don't behave you'll get nothing ok?" Pamela had had enough.

"Alright, alright, give us a suck then sweetheart." Mike capitulated.

'Thank fuck for that' though Pamela 'let's get this over with and get home to bed.'

Pamela dropped to her knees, placing them on an old cushion she had bought to the alley not long after she first established the doorway as her 'workroom'. She had laddered her stockings kneeling on the bare brick floor the first night she worked here. Her face was level with the punter's crotch and she reached up and unzipped his fly. Mike looked down at the overly made-up whore as her red fingernails slid down his zip and reached inside his trousers.

Pamela's fingers freed Mike's already thickening member from his underwear and pulled it out of his flies. 'At least he's nearly hard; he shouldn't be too long coming, ' she thought; 'not a bad sized one either, ' she couldn't help thinking.

Mike watched as Pamela slowly stroked him until he was fully erect and then sighed as she bobbed her head down and took him in her mouth. His perfect fantasy was playing out perfectly in the dim gloom. A lovely older woman dressed as a tart was kneeling before him suppliant to his carnal needs. Mike looked at her heavily made-up face and pretty eyes as she looked up at him. Kneeling as she was, he got a great view of her large arse encased in the black leather mini and her seamed stockinged legs; he loved her red high heels, so whorish.

Pamela saw that Mike was staring at her face and body as she fellated him; she knew that punters liked to do that and she made a point of looking up into his face; she knew that really got them aroused. Hopefully this dickhead would come quickly she thought. Then she felt his hands on either side of her head. He held her in a vicious grip and began to brutally fuck her face. She couldn't move her face away from his crotch and she was gagging on his cock as it forced its way all the way to the back of her throat.

Pamela started to pummel Mike with her hands as she gagged on his penis. Mike just held her tighter and continued to enjoy fucking her mouth.

"You love this don't you, you whore. Don't pretend you don't. You're all the same, you say you won't do this and you won't do that, but what you really want is good hard dirty fucking don't you?" Mike was raving now.

"No kissing! No anal! Who the fuck do you think you are; I've paid my money and I'll take what I want," Mike hissed as he held Pamela's head in a vice-like grip and fucked her mouth.

Pamela had no choice, she couldn't breath and Mike's cock was choking her, so she bit down on it. Mike screamed and pushed her away; Pamela lay sprawled in the doorway flat on her behind, her legs spread, her skirt rode up to reveal her stocking tops and red nylon panties.

Mike quickly recovered from the nip he had taken on his penis and looked at Pamela fallen flat on her arse before him. He looked up her skirt and his cock began to harden again; he looked at her heavily made up face and knew he hadn't taken all he wanted from this whore.

"Fuck off!" Pamela shouted at him, "Fuck off and leave me alone!" she begged, hoping her cries would be heard by someone passing the alley. She knew her hopes were forlorn.

Mike moved in to take what he wanted. He reached down and slapped the whore hard across the face bringing tears to her eyes, she sobbed and her makeup started to run; her crying only served to arouse him further.

"Please, please don't," Pamela pleaded, knowing she was in deep trouble.

"Yeah, that's it bitch; you say please! You say please and I might be nice but don't worry Mike knows what you need," he growled.

Mike dropped down between Pamela's spread legs and reached up under her skirt and grabbed her panties. He tugged and pulled on the flimsy nylon garment until they tore free from her body. Mike bought the sheer panties up to his face and smelled the crotch; then he wrapped them around his tumescent member and gave it a few stokes.

"Nice knickers bitch; they're lovely."

Then he reached out and stuffed them in Pamela's mouth. She tried to move her head from side to side but he slapped her again and pushed them deeper into her mouth, effectively gagging her. Then he grabbed her ankles and pulled her forward so that her spread legs straddled either side of his body; Pamela fell back hitting her head on the ground.

Mike had Pamela positioned prone in front of him with his throbbing cock inches from the entrance to her vagina. He pushed forward and thrust himself inside; right up to the hilt; Pamela groaned through the gag.

Pamela was dazed from the slaps she had received and from hitting her head on the pavement but when Mike lifted her legs around him she knew what was coming next. She braced as she felt Mike's huge member push past her labia and rudely thrust deep inside her. As a prostitute she had obviously succumbed to hundreds of erect penises inside her before, some a lot bigger than this; but this was different, she was being raped and she felt defiled.

Mike started to fuck Pamela with slow hard strokes enjoying her tight vaginal walls around his cock and loving the feel of her silken stockinged legs against his body. He was pleasuring himself at the expense of this whore. 'What was it she said? No kissing right?' he thought, then leaned forward and breathed his whisky breath into her face.

"I'm taking out the gag but if you scream I'll knock you out you fucking bitch!" Mike panted as he continued to fuck her.

He leaned down over her and pulled her legs up around him in the missionary position and positioned his face in front of hers and took the panties in his teeth pulling the panty gag out of her mouth. Pamela gasped for fresh air but not for long as Mike started kissing her in a frenzy. He pounded his cock in and out of her in time with his tongue as it slid around her mouth. His hands ran up and down her stockinged thighs, laddering her expensive diaphanous stockings with his nails.

Pamela didn't know what was worse, having her panties shoved in her mouth as a gag or Mike's fetid breath and slimy tongue as he kissed her. His fingers were scratching her legs and tearing her stockings to ribbons. His penis continued to slide slowly in and out of her, she almost wished he would speed up the fucking and get it over with. 'Maybe that was it?' she thought.

Mike noticed a subtle change; Pamela was no longer struggling; in fact she was returning his kisses. Her arms had moved up to embrace him and she was rising her arse up against him to meet his thrusts. She was fucking him back!!!

"You fucking slut whores, you're all the same, you just can't get enough dick can you?" Mike groaned.

Pamela continued to play her game, 'Get this guy off and then get to the police, ' that was the plan now!

"Yes Mike; give it to me honey; you know I need it," Pamela lied, convincingly she hoped, whispering into Mike's ear.

Mike was lost in the pleasure of fucking this whore when a little alarm bell went off in his head.

"You fucking bitch! I know what you're fucking doing! You need it hey? Well let's see how bad you need it baby!"

With that Mike pulled himself off Pamela and looked down at her. Her coat was opened and he had managed to tear open her blouse revealing her large white breasts. Her skirt was dirty and rucked right up around her waist to reveal her red garter belt which were attached to her sheer black nylons now in tatters on her bleeding thighs. Mike groaned with pleasure at this picture of a woman ravished.

Mike reached down and grabbed Pamela by the hair and pulled her to her feet. He spun her around and slammed her face first against the door.

"So you need it do you whore! Well here it is!"

Mike kicked Pamela's legs apart and positioned himself behind her. He pushed his now rock hard penis between her fleshy buttocks and rubbed it up against her fleshy labia to coat it with her cunt juices then pulled back and started to force it into her back passage.

Pamela couldn't believe the excruciating pain she was feeling as Mike invaded her with his weapon. She tried to relax her sphincter but Mike just kept pushing himself slowly and steadily inside her. She thought that she felt herself tear and she screamed again at the intense pain.

Mike was passed caring about her screaming; he was living his ultimate fantasy raping this fat cow.

"Yeah baby that's it; take it for Mikey; take that cock!" he chanted over and over.

Eventually he forced himself inside her as far as he could get, his crotch hard against her soft fat buttocks. Then he thrust in and out as slowly as he could, but he couldn't hold back; the pleasure was just too much. He pushed forward and buried himself to the hilt in Pamela's arse and exploded. Stream after stream of hot semen shot from his cock deep inside Pamela's arse. Mike grabbed Pamela's face and twisted it around so he could kiss and lick her as he shot his load.

Pamela was now numb with pain. She was barely conscious and only just aware of Mike anally raping her. The only thing keeping her on her feet was the pressure of Mike behind her as he fucked her and her will power to stay conscious. Then she felt him take a mighty lunge and bury himself even deeper inside her and she felt her insides tear again, the hot flood of Mike's semen increased the pain of the wound. Then the sick fuck was kissing her. This maniac was kissing her whilst he raped her.

Mike collapsed against the prostitute as his orgasm subsided. He eased himself out of her and reached down and picked up the shredded red nylon panties off the ground. He wiped his deflating penis on them and spun Pamela around to face him. Her face was a mess, her makeup spread all over it. She just stood there in a daze.

Mike kissed her gently on the lips then pushed the come soaked nylon panties into her mouth, leaving half of the flimsy garment hanging out.

"Don't forget your knickers," he laughed.

"Thanks for the fuck; keep the money bitch," he mocked as he disappeared up the dark alley.

Before she passed out Pamela made a vow: 'This Bitch is going to get revenge!'

It took Pamela three months to recover from her ordeal. Somehow that night she made it home to her flat and called her Auntie Doreen who came straight around. Doreen didn't ask her niece what had happened, she didn't have to; it was obvious. Pamela never told her Aunt the details of what happened, she was too humiliated. Pamela's wounds, internally and externally, healed quite quickly; it was her mind that took the time. She eventually regained her self-confidence and was capable of leaving her flat to shop and so on, but she needed to work; and there was only one thing she knew that she was good at. It was Pamela's resolve for revenge that kept her going and got her through.

'This bitch is going to bite back; one day I will find him and he will pay for what he did to me, ' became her mantra.

Pamela discussed going back on the game with Aunt Doreen who refused to entertain the idea of her niece working the streets again.

"I'm in my fifties now love, come back and work at my place, it won't be long before you can take it over, I'm getting to old for this game anyway," she implored.

And so it was. Pamela went back to servicing punters at Aunt Doreen's brothel. There was security there, both in the numbers of girls on a shift at any one time, and from Doreen's live in boyfriend Steve. His nickname was "Iron Bar Steve" and he had once done a stint in Chelmsford prison where he worked as a 'hard man' for Eddie McManus who was the hardest man there and ran the jail from the inside. Steve was the bouncer at Doreen's establishment and he kept the punters in line if they played up. Steve had been living with Doreen for nearly twenty years (except for his stint in Chelmsford); he was only in his forties, nearly ten years younger than Doreen but they loved each other, and Doreen confided one night after a few gin and tonics, that she still kept Steve more than happy in bed. In fact, she implied, they both enjoyed a very exciting and varied sex life.

Six months after she started working again Pamela got her chance for revenge. She was walking past one of the rooms in the brothel when she heard the unmistakable voice of her rapist coming through the door. It was Mike! He was ranting at Susan; the poor girl had him in room number two as a customer.

"You're all the same you slags, dressed up in your sexy gear leading a guy on and then won't do what he wants. Bitches! Fucking bitches! Now get over here and suck my cock!" he ranted.

It was him alright! The memories of the evening Mike had raped her in their alley came storming back.

Pamela's heart began to race and she ran down the corridor to Doreen's office.

"It's him; the bastard who raped me. He's here, he's in room two with Susan!"

"Are you sure? Mike's been a coming here for years off and on, he's a bit rough but I never took him for a rapist?" Doreen asked, a concerned look on her heavily made up face.

Pamela broke down and fell into her Aunt Doreen's arms sobbing, she told her every detail of what that man had done to her on that cold wet night. Doreen poured them both a stiff drink and they began to plot Pamela's revenge.

"Revenge is dish best eaten cold," quoted Doreen, "Let's make the punishment fit the crime," she added.

Doreen and Pamela waited a week; during this time they planned Pamela's revenge and acquired the necessary items to ensure the punishment fit the crime. Mike was obviously a vicious woman hater; his litany of 'Bitches dressed up in sexy gear who won't do just what he wants, ' was to become the basis of their planned revenge; a theme if you like.

During this time Doreen enlisted Steve's help; he was instrumental to their plan. Of course when Doreen told Steve what Mike had done to Pamela, Steve just wanted to smash his head in "I'll castrate the bastard!" he said; but Doreen went on to explain how her and Pamela's plan was so much better. And so, the trap was set.

Mike made his called the brothel about a week later and asked to see the sexiest girl available. Doreen took the call,

"Mike, you have been such a valuable and reliable customer over the years that I've booked you in for a special treat. My prettiest girl and I'll let you have an hour with her for the cost of your normal half-hour session."

"About fucking time you gave me something; I've been coming to your shit-hole knocking shop for years now and I have to tell you I never had anything for nothing and your slags always lead me on; they never give me what I want," Mike growled down the phone.

"Oh don't worry Mike; we'll make it up to you this time honey; you will get everything you deserve," Doreen sweetly answered.

"See you at six then honey; bye." Doreen hung up the phone then commenced dialling Pamela and Steve.

Mike arrived at Doreen's establishment at 6:00pm sharp looking forward to his special deal.

Doreen met Mike at the door and escorted him directly to the basement dungeon room. Doreen had dressed up specifically for the evening and although nearly sixty she looked very sexy in a whorish way. She was wearing a tight black leather mini, a white silk long-sleeved blouse, black stockings and shiny black patent leather high heels. Underneath she was wearing red silk camiknickers over a red satin garter-belt and a matching bra was visible under her sheer blouse. She wore lashings of makeup and her blonde hair was piled high on her head. She looked exactly what she was; an old prostitute.

"I hope I'm getting something better than you Dor'; you look real sexy but fuck your old enough to be me mum," Mike whinged as they entered the dungeon.

"Oh don't worry Mike, you're going to get exactly what you deserve!" Doreen flicked back across her shoulder.

As Mike passed through the door he noticed another sexily dressed older prostitute sitting on the bed in the centre of the room. Then he recognised her! My god it was the whore he had raped in the alley; then he felt a little sting on his neck and then nothing but blackness. Mike awoke some time later but he didn't know where he was.

He looked around groggily and realised that he was still in the basement of the brothel but he knew something was seriously wrong. Something just wasn't right, he couldn't move for a start and his clothes just didn't feel right on his body. The he realised he was bound to a chair. Both his legs were bound to the legs of the chair and his wrists were bound to the arms. Positioned in front of him was a full-length mirror; he couldn't believe what he saw in it.

Reflected back at him was a plump, overly made up whore. Mike looked her up and down. She had a blonde bob, her eyes were heavily made up with mauve and blue eyeshadow; black eyeliner outlined her heavily mascaraed lashes. Her foundation and face powder had been thickly applied; her rouge was just as heavy and bright red lipstick completed her whore's painted face. She wore a large gold choker necklace and matching drop earrings.

Next he noticed her clothes. She wore a long-sleeved blouse of sheer nylon; he could see a black brassiere through the sheer material. The garment had ruffles at the front of the decolletage that came all the way up to her neck so that no cleavage was visible, although she had huge tits straining at the front of the blouse. Where the cuffs ended, her wrists were tied to the arms of the chair but he could see her red painted whore's fingernails.

She wore a red lycra miniskirt that just covered the very tops of her thighs; because she was lashed into the chair it bulged a little at the waist around her potbelly. Her legs were encased in sheer taupe stockings that glistened in the overhead light; on her feet were bright red high-heels. He could see her stocking tops where her skirt was hitched up around her thighs and he saw the silver glitter of her garter snaps at the end of the black suspenders that lead under the mini to the suspender belt. Her thighs were slightly opened and he glimpsed the gusset of a pair of black satin panties.

Each of her slim nyloned ankles was firmly bound to a leg of the chair in which she sat. Then it dawned on him; he was looking at himself!

Then he started to realise the strange feeling of the clothes on his body. The sheer hose on his legs were light and sexy; they felt like gossamer silk sheathing his legs. His cock and balls were encased in the softest of satin panties; they gently caressed his sex organs and the cheeks of his bottom. The skirt felt strange but sexy as the tight lycra spandex squeezed his potbelly and thighs. The blouse was made out of the sheerest of gauzy material that he had ever experienced and it lightly caressed his upper body. He could feel the bra underneath the blouse snug against him, a light padding material was obviously being used to fill out the bra cups to create the huge false tits.

He could also feel and taste the makeup on his face. The lipstick tasted sweet and slightly greasy but pleasant; just like it tasted when he kissed a woman. But the most disturbing thing, besides waking up to find himself dressed as a whore, was that he could feel his penis starting to harden in his panties. He wasn't sure if he aroused because he was attracted to the cuddly crossdressed whore he saw in the mirror (she was certainly dressed just the way he liked his women to dress) or because of the sweet caress of the lingerie and female clothing on his body.

But why was he dressed like a crossdressed whore; and more importantly why was he lashed into this chair? Both questions were about to be answered.

"Well don't you look pretty Mike," he heard a woman's voice coming from behind him; it was dripping with sarcasm.

Then Pamela stepped forward and came into his field of view. Although it had been a while, Mike recognised her immediately; it was the prostitute he had raped in the alley.