Linda

by Linda

Twilight

February 1, 2019 in MembersBlogs

Not long ago, in London, two young ladies, both about 22 years old in appearance, walked into a pub for a few drinks. One of these ladies was tall with long, flowing, silky black hair in company with a rather pasty complexion. She had half-closed, rather strange red eyes, a well-formed, straight, medium-sized nose, with basically attractive features. She was dressed in a long, expensive but not gaudy gown, fitting her narrow, but shapely, figure well. She rode often, though only at night; it was her custom to carry a riding crop, which she felt denoted her connection with the upper-class, British aristocracy. She was unmarried but individually wealthy so that she did not have to work. Right now she was a graduate student at Jesus College, the most famous branch of Cambridge University, studying art history; though she was a scholar, not an artist. She looked like 22 years old, but actually she was a few decades older. She was a Vampire! She was British, that she knew, and her name was Elizabeth, or Bess, as she preferred.

Her companion was also fair, but her hair was blonde. In fact, oddly, she had substantially more hair than most women, but this “hair” appeared once a month only, when the moon waxed full, and right now was not such as to elicit attention from anyone. BUT, in a night or so this girl would not dare to show herself in public. Her face was pretty, she had a fine mouth and her lips were full. She had bright blue eyes, eyes that, at this period of the month, occasionally took on a wild look; now they were human; but again in about a day they would become animal. Right now her temper was even, a characteristic she shared with her friend, but in a day, when the moon was fat, full, pretty and orange, like a pumpkin, she had a temper, a temper she never wanted to show in public. On the other hand, though right now she was quiescent, and didn’t speak in unusually loud or obnoxious tones, even though she was at a drinking establishment, where men and women sat in black cushioned chairs at fine hardwood tables, drinking beer, heavy wines and cognacs, as well as highballs and very dry martinis, and of course good English ale and mead, talking loudly to their dates, laughing, expressing their love for each other, “making out” or where men and women sat at the bar, sometimes drinking and smoking alone, sometimes, both men and women roaming the row of the bar, searching for unattached potential dates, sometimes vain and obnoxious men finding Jack Daniel’s and Coke dripping from their face, compliments of insulting approaches to them by proud, pretty women, sometimes a man and woman leaving hand-in-hand from the pub, going to somewhere more private: the blonde was more subtle–well, right now, like the Vampire: but gradually the blonde’s personality, her “approach” in conversation to her friend, was changing, imperceptibly to her, but noticeable to the Vampire. The girl wore a leather jacket in an attempt to hide it; though these jackets were always a part of her attire. She was a bit plump, and her jeans were tight: but men DID notice this, and like it. She was a motorcyclist and wore tough, brown leather boots. On the whole she was pretty attractive, though blonde fuzz was beginning to sprout on her face, but it was not THAT bad, and some women did have some degree of hair around the side of their ears, circling their face and jaw. The girl worked–uncharacteristically for a woman–at a construction company: but she liked the work, the pay was good, and she was stronger than any woman, a match for most men, if not stronger. The girl’s name was Pamela and she was from Southern Germany on vacation from work. She was a werewolf!

“Pam, it so happens that we are standing in front of “Ye Olde English Pubb,” and I am inviting you as my guest for a few drinks. Would you enjoy that?” Bess asked with a sly voice.

Pam’s mouth watered for that good German lager she knew she could enjoy here, and she smiled slightly. “O-of course, Bess!I could go for a few lagers!” she answered.

“Shall we?” Bess asked, extending her arm to the door, inviting Pamela to enter.

“Lets!” came the enthusiastic, thirsty answer, all trepidation gone from Pamela’s voice.

Bess saw two empty bar stools and motioned Pamela to them. The barkeep came to them: ‘Evening, birds!” he said informally, “Birds” a compliment he extended only to pretty girls and women; “What’s your fancy?’

Without hesitation Pamela said, “Do you have any German lager?”

“Aye, lass! Only the finest! And you, m’girl? What can I bring you?”

Bess smiled cordially to the barkeep and said, “Red wine, please!”

“Just as it pleases my ladies!” said the barkeep, and almost at once the drinks were in front of these totally unique girl-women. Belinda took a long, deep draft of the lager, then set down the mug, now only a third full. Meanwhile Bess sipped her wine, smiling slightly, maybe deceptively at Pamela.

“Well, Pam!” she asked, “How is your lager?’

Now Pamela began to loosen up even more. “Ah! Danke, Bess! The best I’ve had!” Again Pamela drank from her mug, finishing the contents. “Ach! Barkeep! If you would, please!” And at once another mug of lager was put in front of her.

Bess now widened her smile, and Pamela returned it. “Honey,” began Bess, “I wish to make a bet with you! I know you are interested in boys, and I know you’ve rather furtively been looking around for a potential date!” Pamela blushed, smiling, and nodded. “Well,” said Bess, so have I. But so far no cigar, eh?” Again Pamela nodded her head.

“It seems to me all the good ones are taken!” Pamela sighed, but still the alcohol keeping up her spirits; before she knew it her mug was empty. She ordered a third, and resumed her lament regarding boys. “I really haven’t seen ANY possibilities since I came to London a week ago! At least, no boy that really attracted me!”

Bess looked mischievously at her companion. “Well, let me resume giving you my wager: the next boy who enters the pub, whom both of us like: the one who can win a date with him tonight will have the privilege of thrashing the bare ass, right here in the pub, in front of everyone, of the one who is rejected!”

Pamela requested a fourth lager. She was a young woman who loved to gamble, the higher the better, and she only rarely lost. As Belinda saw it these were the highest stakes she had been proposed–she was becoming more than a bit tipsy while Bess continued to sip her wine. Belinda simply could not resist! She had small doubt she would win, and the prospect of taking this pretty young waif over her knee excited her. “You’re on! And I want you to know, my hand is very heavy!” Pamela said, rather loudly. The two girls clinked glasses together to seal the deal, both of them smiling.

It was not long before just such the boy Pamela, and Bess, were interested in entered the pub and took a seat not far from the two.

Bess could see Pamela’s pleased expression as she spied the young man. “So, my dear?” Bess asked, “What do you think of HIM?”

As quietly as she could–and THAT was hard, Pamela sounded “WOOOOOOOOOOF!” to her friend; no other comment necessary.

“All right, then,” the British vampire said. “Since I made the initial bet and you accepted, it is my place to approach the boy first. But if you would prefer. . . . ”

Bess could not finish. Pamela answered, “If I would prefer!” Hell ja I would prefer!”

Pamela rose, and picked up her half-empty mug of lager. But Bess took her gently by the hand and cautioned her, adding a little something to the wager: “Remember the stakes, Pam! The loser faces pain and embarrassment. But on top of that she will be tanned in front of the boy of her choice!”

Pamela replied, “Ja, ja, Bess! I know! I know! But just stay where you are and watch.” Pamela laughed. “REMEMBER: my animal magnetism!”

Bess watched as Pamela began her rather cocky approach to the boy.

Wagging her plump, appetizing bottom, Pamela came near the handsome boy. She had no doubt, what to do. She was pretty sure, that some aggression is all she need to seduce him. “I am the hunter, he is the prey!” – she said herself. And without any ceremonies Pamela sat down right on her love interest’s table, making it shiver. She posed right to made the boy the perfect view at her plump round denim-covered bottom and touched his hair with her claw-like nailed fingers in the same time. “Hallo, sugar!” Pamela smiled predatory. “What about to feast the girl? And then the girl also may feast you…” She draw near him, close enough to made him smell her not very fresh underwear and body – when the full moon was near and Pamela started feeling herself more like a she-wolf then a human, she always became not very cleanly. Now she was pretty sure, that her arrogance with her natural smell should made the boy fall in love with her. But she was terrible wrong.

The boy was really shocked. The ill-mannered, nasty girl appeared so unexpectedly that he just didn’t understand what’s happening, until she was already on his table. He shook his head, looking at her and said nervously “Miss, can you get up from my table? I spilled my beer because of you…”

Pamela laughed and smiled even more predatory. “Come on, handsome! How can any beer be better then me? Look, let me by you a new beer and then I will spill it right over you? Only to lick it up!” She licked her full lips temptingly, or maybe even predatory. “Come on, my boy! Will you not spent a night with a real woman? I see it in you! You are not a coward dog! You are a real wolf!”

The boy tried to be polite; he was raised that way. This was to him an intolerable, indeed disgusting situation. The young man was still a bachelor, 21 years old. He had in fact enjoyed romantic and sexual relationship two years earlier, but that was totally conventional, and that suited both of them. Unfortunately the two broke up almost 6 months after their first date, which incidentally ended with only the shaking of hands but the promise of future relations. The cause of their break-up was merely incompatibility, with the girl’s offer to be friends, but the boy declined politely. The young man’s name was Benjamin, and he was studying for the bar (that is, preparing to practice law). . . . . This–this “invasion of his privacy by this “trollop”, as he saw it, demanded a bit more of a stern reaction than he was accustomed to giving: “Get the hell off my table you–you animal! I don’t go f-f-for whores!” The boy’s stammer was by no means a sign of fear. Actually it was a reflection of the unusually tough answer he made to the soon-to-be wolf-girl. But Pamela stayed on his table, tickling, as she thought enticingly, his under-chin, soft as it was, the boy not having to shave every day, being young and fair, his hair fair red.

The Girl-Wolf just wouldn’t shut up. She could not believe that her so-called–by her–animal magnetism would be received in such an apparently “prudish” manner.

“Awww, honey!” she tried yet again, moving her still-smooth–but also somehow rough hand from his under-chin to his cheek, totally roses from the girl’s advances and being the center of a few people, ominously including the inn-keeper, as bar-keeps were commonly called in English pubs, “Don’t be a kill-joy! Don’t be a smudge on the recorf of passion! Let’s go! Let’s at least party, as they say in the States! We don’t have to”–and here she came close to the boys ear–“have sex!” Then she spoke up again, moving back, “Let’s get drunk! Lets “paint the town!” as they said in the twenties!” Of course, the bet was not necessarily extending to sexual contact for either girl with the boy. ALL they had to do was walk out with him on a date. But the boy furrowed his eyes and said decisively, “NO! Get off my table, wench!”

Bess watched with great amusement to the point of laughter at Pamela’s amorous antics. She was a vampire, she knew the full moon was coming, very, very soon if not yet, she knew the she-wolf that she was would advance, almost pounce on the boy, her “prey,” and fail miserably, humiliatingly in her romantic endeavor. Bess, the unique dark fox, looked forward to tanning the still-fair bottom of her companion with her tough leather riding crop; she had the feeling the boy might prefer the subtle fox, conservative in her approach, asking him to buy her a drink, in the old-fashioned way.

Pamela growled angrily. She even forgot about the bet, she was just pissed off. This boy just rejected her! She growled again.

“Ugh! I was so sure, you are a handsome guy, but you are nothing more then a pretty gay!” she shouted “Alright! Alright! Suck up, sissy boy! You have no idea, what you are losing!” She jumped from his table and walked away, wagging her plump bottom. Her ears became pointed, like a wolves because of her anger.

Bess smiled, looking at her companion and then stand up from her bar chair. It was her time to show everyone and especially to one silly slutty German she-wolf how to seduce a man. Walking like a real lady she stepped infront of Benjamin’s table.

“Good Evening!” Bess said, smiling friendly and modestly “Is this seat occupied?”

Benjamin was, of course, a bit wary, not only of Bess but of women in general, especially those he feared might approach him. But Beth’s sweet, snow-white smile, her beautiful though oddly red eyes, her disarming little stammer at the start of her request, not to mention her lovely, slender figure, her long, raven hair setting off her fair complexion, and the effect she had on him in general, by no means hypnotic, since Bess would not “cheat”; instead it was her over-all gentle, modest, even “cute” presence–personality that encouraged the young man to rise and say. “Good evening, ma’am! No! I’m alone, and I would indeed welcome your company!” The boy went over to her chosen seat and pulled the chair of her choice out for her, and once he saw she was comfortably seated he scooted her smoothly a little toward the table. She had inoffensively chosen a seat across from him; the boy returned to his chosen seat.

As the person who came to him, Bess thought it was fitting to introduce herself first, tell him a little about herself, and give a bit of information about why she had come to him.

“Have I mentioned yet that my first name is Elizabeth? I have been named after Her Majesty the Queen, whom God defend! I am a student in my senior year at Jesus College, and I’m studying British history, and a bit of that of the States. I hope to be a teacher at the upper form. I’ve come to your table tonight because I could not only sense but see, somehow, that you are a bright young man–I could see it in your eyes, even from the distance you were from me. I was embarrassed, indeed not for you, but for the blonde hussy that dared to sit on top of your table, and. . . . ” She stopped, genuinely embarrassed to mention thresh of Pamela’s lewd antics to this obviously polite, even old-fashioned–young man, and young Benjamin, appearing 4 years younger than he was in fact, noticed, and was pleased. Bess continued. “You see, one, important reason I have come to visit you tonight, young man, is to tell you, is to show you, that women such as I–indeed women in general–do not behave as the wildcat who has just left your table. A good many of us are demure; we do visit bars, but we do not approach a young gentleman such as yourself in the way of a steamroller. Indeed, many women wait patiently for a decent, polite and friendly young man to visit them first. As for myself, “com si, com sa.” But I came to visit you to assure you that we are by no means all that way. The girl who was just here has brought shame and embarrassment, not only to herself but our entire gender. So it is that I have come to you to apologize to you in behalf of women everywhere!.”

Benjamin sat quietly with his chin resting calmly on his hands. He was enchanted by Bess’s appearance, but her words brought out in him the memory of his first date with his former girlfriend. She was not pushy, she was not interested in anymore than talking, getting to know her youthful companion; and ar all times she was a lady, in the old sense of the word. Bess’s words and apology to him relaxed him, put him totally; neither of the young people attempted physical contact at the table.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” Benjamin said sincerely, his formality not only a reflection of his apparent youth compared to the slightly greater age of the girl who sat before him. It was also a sign of breeding she had not seen since the reign of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in the mid-19th Century, as well as a suggestion of the chivalrous treatment of a knight to his lady, so absent in many men these days. The boy continued. “My name is Benjamin, and I am 21 years old. I’m a student at the bar: I hope to be at least an assistant barrister for the prosecution, and, I hope it does not displease you, but I do have political ambitions. It is my wish to some day become Chief Prosecuting Officer of the Court, then, hopefully–some day!–a judge! As far as the “earlier woman” is concerned, you must never trouble yourself with guilt about her behavior. There are men too who can be absolutely guttural toward women–maybe worse than “our blonde”! So, to be fair , I must apologize likewise for them, though I do it with reluctance!”

Bess giggled a little at the young man’s rather righteous anger of those filthy men who went so far as to take a girl or woman to the men’s room and “take her” or “have” her there, though conscientiously on her part. Benjamin noticed that Bess had almost finished her glass of wine, and Benjamin said, “Bess–if I may call you that!–may I buy you another drink?”

Bess smiled. “That is very kind of you Benjamin! I would enjoy a vodka-Collins!” Benjamin summoned the barkeep, and in no time his young companion found her stronger drink before her.

Bess smiled at Benjamin brightly, sweetly, and nodded her head in agreement.

Meanwhile, not far away, Pamela looked with narrowed, angry, jealous eyes slightly squinted. She was too far away to hear there conversation, but she was amazed to see neither one made a move even to touch each other. Even when Pamela was a normal, less forceful, attractive woman, it was either she or the man who began touching one the other, maybe ending up at her own or the man’s flat. “WHAT is going on with those two!” She thought loudly, even “deafeningly” to herself. . . . At the same time, though, Pamela had a physical, unavoidable feeling: she knew she would lose the bet, and she knew what the consequences for her would be.

It took sometime, while Bess and Benjamin enjoyed each other, just having a socialite talk, and the German tried to forget about her just deserts, and unwittingly rubs her tight denim-clad bottom several times. Even feeling herself a naughty girl, who maybe even deserved some punishment, she was not just apprehensive about to receive a thrashing even a public one, but also really upset. She was pretty sure, Bess somehow hypnotized the boy, because any other way he surely would choose a mighty she-werewolf, not a bat! But she didn’t know, how to check that, so she staid at her place, waiting for her fate.

Finally Bess thought, that the time had come. She smiled very nice to Benjamin. “I’m sorry, my dear friend, but now I have some things to do. It was very nice to meet you!” she send him an air kiss and leaved. Walking like a real lady, Bess returned to the bar counter, where Pamela still waited her. “Well well well Miss Big Bad She-Wolf!” she said with a deliberately strict voice “You didn’t just lose the bet! You was very very naughty girl! So now it’s time to a good nice thrashing! I must warn you – it surely will sting for a while! And now put down your jeans and panties and stay on the all fours, sweety!”

“Yeah, you win, hon. Really, I’m embarrassed because of my behavior! The young man is obviously a good, decent English gentleman, and I see now he’s not used to such–forward advances from a woman!” Pamela replied.

Suddenly a rather anonymous, half-drunk dusky woman approached the two, with a scowl on her face. “lisshen, honey, not a-any of us are used to s-s-such b-b-hehavior!”! You–you aren’t too-too old for a sound–sound hiding, con–considering your–you’ve act–acted like a child!”

Pamela’s response was to now her head and look at the floor in shame and embarrassment. But Bess took the tipsy woman gently by the hand, saying, “Dear, why don’t you go back to your table and let me handle this?’

The woman simply said, “You be–better, young–young lady!” And clumsily an embarrassed boyfriend rose and stood, then walked rapidly to his lady friend, helping her to her table. He was too ashamed of the woman’s semi-drunken behavior to even glance at the two competitors at the bar.

But the barkeep could not resist, as the dark woman was escorted back to her table, awkwardly but not disturbing other customers or tables, back to her own place–the barkeep, acting as he thought in the interest of his customers, told Pamela sharply, “Your behavior in this pub tonight is inexcusable! You acted as if this place were a “strip joint”! The woman is right! You deserve a good, sound–looooong–thrashing for your behavior!”

But THIS time Pamela growled an answer. She looked angrily, even threateningly, at the man: “Listen, “pal!” she said, “YOU stay out of this!” The barkeep, half frightened, said nothing. Timidly he moved back to the other side of the bar table, pretending to look busy.”

Meanwhile Bess listened and looked on, trying without success, to hide a smile. On her palm she tapped her riding crop meaningfully, apparently impatiently, certainly designing to remind youthful Pamela of her lost bet. She said: “Well, my dear? I’m waiting!”

“All right! All right!” said Pamela as she slowly began to unbuckle her fancy belt and unbutton her jeans. Just as she was pulling down the zipper, Benjamin came to them and stood next to Bess. He didn’t say anything, but the rather stern appearance on his face and crossed arms showed unmistakably that he approved of Bess’s obvious intention.

Pamela’s face was roses with embarrassment’ more when Benjamin arrived to watch her punishment. Indeed, all of the clientele of the bar watched in rapped fascination. Pamela pulled down her jeans and revealed that she was wearing a tight, tight black silk thong that revealed her entire bottom.

“Let me at least leave on my thong!” Pamela asked; “The part YOU want is totally bare!”

But Bess was determined. “No,” she said sternly, “TOTALLY bare!”

Seeing no point in arguing, and hoping to get her punishment underway–then out of the way, more quickly, Pamela complied, pulling down her thong rather rapidly, maybe a bit angrily, down as quickly as she could, tangling it in the process.

After Pamela had pulled everything to the top of her boots, can’t going any farther, face to face Bess told her, “Bow, bend over the top of the barstool where you were sitting, with your FAT butt on top of the stool!” Pamela obeyed. Meanwhile the pub was breathless, indeed mesmerized, by the proceedings.

Bess smirked at Pamela’s misfortune and looked around “Well…” she said “I guess, it’ll be not very fair, if this lesson will learn only the bar customers! Every passerby have a right to look at it! Let’s go out, bad girl!” she took Pamela by her ear and leaded her out. Then she made the she-werewolf stand on all fours and placed her leg over her back, before taking her tail, to totally uncover her milky-white fat buttocks “Oh, my dear, this pose suits you perfectly!” vampiress laughed. Pamela only growled in anger.

The riding crop swished the air with the loud noise, and the silence was broken by a much more loud howling. Pamela tried her Best to endure the pain, but it was just unbearable! Bess’s hand was really heavy! And she really enjoyed not just the punishment she just started giving to Pamela, but the show she made to the whole street. And as the vampire she was really happy to tan a werewolf’s hide, since the vampires and the werewolves were a long time enemies. The riding crop rose and fell down several times, leaving the bright red marks on the Pamela’s fat pale buttocks, making the wolf-girl howling in pain. Pamela wagged her quickly reddened bottom like a mad, trying to save in from the dreadful crop, but Bess only stepped heavily on her back and strokes her already tender plump buttocks harder and harder.

“It’s a really pleasure to give a naughty German she-werewolf’s hide a proper English tanning, my dear! Nothing personal!” Bess laughed evilly, smacking Pamela’s buttocks at the each word, making her unfortunate rival kicking her legs and squirming under her foot. The dark red stripes crossed over already bright red plump bottom, making the pain really worse. Pamela howled and screamed. She lost the rest of her pride and dignity. Bess whipped her mercilessly, but made herself sure, that the silly she-wolf’ll feel not just the pain but the all the shame and humiliation. And Pamela felt it. She knew that all the eyes of the bar customers and workers and even the passersbys were looked right at her and saw everything, while their ears heard all her screams and howls. She hated it but she couldn’t do anything. Only howling and screaming and wagging her bare sore buttocks under the painful strokes and hearing Bess’s notations, which made the pain and humiliation only worse.

WHAP. “AUA!!!!” SMACK “AUTSCH!!!” WHAM. “AU!!!” THWACK. “OUCH!!!” WHOP “YARAAA!!!” CRACK “EEYOW!!!” BAM “OW!!!” WHACK “AUA!!!” SWISH “OUCH!!!” SPANK “AU!!!” ZZZZT “AAAHHH!!!” THRASH “OOOOOHHHHHH!!!!” WHISH “YARAAA!!!” SWHOSH “AUTSCH!!!” WHOSH “EEYOW!!!” LASH “HOWWWELL!!!” WHIP “AUA!!!” SMASH “OW!!!”

Bess cropped Pamela’s upturned butt like it’ll be no tomorrow. She really went to town on her rival’s sore ass. Pamela’s howling and screams were heard echoing through the city. Bess tanned her hide properly, fully covering it with the painful dark red stripes from the highest parts to the lowest. Especially she striped several times Pamela’s sit-spots, making herself sure, that the stupid she-wolf won’t be able to sit for a while. Finally, after Pamela’s squirming and wagging left her fully naked from the waist down – her heavy boots fell down from her legs with the jeans and panties, Bess made a pause, waving the riding crop in the air over her ill-stared rival’s totally sore bottom.

“So, tell me, stupid creature, who is the real temptress? Who is the Queen of the Night?” she waved the crop, making the she-wolf’s buttocks clutching in fear.

“Au! Au! It is you! You are the real temptress! You are the Queen of the Night, Bess!” Pamela screamed.

“Right!” Bess smirked “And who are you?” she gave her rival two more really painful strokes.

“AUA!!!! AUTSCH!!!! AU!!! AU!!! Mein Popo!!!! AUA!!!! A nothing more then the dirty stupid animal! Au! Au! Au!”

“I’m glad you finally confess it! And now run away Big Sore She-Wolf!” Bess gave Pamela the most powerful stroke, which crossed almost all sore stripes over her terrible tender bottom, and put her leg off silly she-wolf’s back.

With a loud howling Pamela ran away on all fourth bottomless and barefooted.

Benjamin witnessed the whole thing, as the Vampiress hoped. At first he was amused when he saw that lusty girl Pamela prepared for her cropping, which he was pretty sure was punitive, rather than the consequences of a lost bet. Likewise, he was pleased that Pamela was being punished because of her loud, lewd behavior toward him in the pub, which both angered and humiliated him. Benjamin did not see what he was expecting; he was sure that his new acquaintance Bess would give Pamela a sound thrashing, one maybe that a lazy farm girl might receive from an angry farmer in the woodshed–a human cropping. Instead what he witnessed was something–as he thought, “something not of this world.” The youthful-looking Vampiress was no “shape-shifter.” She retained her regular appearance. But when she began her horse-whipping of the blonde, “wolf-like” girl who had tried to–almost–forcefully entice him at his table, he was not not thrilled; instead he was rather shocked at his new friends appearance. To him, the Vampiress resembled one of the punishing Furies of Greek mythology. Her face not stern, again as he expected, but rather DEVILISHLY smiling, pleased entirely with what she was doing, whipping her rival like one who whipped the damned in Hell! At first he did not know what to think; but somehow, for whatever reason, he did not feel either fear in his heart regarding the Vampiress’ EXTREME thoroughness in her switching of Pamela, nor yet much sympathy for this–this “she-wolf” that embarrassed him to the point where he feared he could never enter this place, his favorite pub, without, at least, trepidation again! But also he was not unaware that Bess, who had suddenly turned into “a beautiful banshee,” as he saw her,drew no blood, so she was thankfully not using that evil cat-o-nine whip once used on disobedient seamen in the British navy.

And so it was that young Benjamin’s reaction to the Vampiress’ apparently “extreme discipline” of this strangely wild-haired blonde girl, so like a wolf to Benjamin when she first approached, now taking on some kind of wolf-like characteristics, that may or may not have been present when she “glued her ass” to his table–thus Benjamin’s initial shock at this transformation of the meek, polite Bess into a daemon, was turned into the state of an enthralled witness, a decent man seeing first hand this manifestation of evil, so often deeply “interesting” to such people..

But, “evil” as she appeared to be, Benjamin’s eyes were transfixed, “glued” this time to Bess, and inwardly he was pleased that Bess had taken on this form, using that long-fabled “Vampiric strength” to whip–his!–tormentor! He really did not give a thought to Pamela’s suffering–a pain overshadowing, if at least now and then, her humiliation of a bare-ass switching in front of practically everyone in the pub, including the barkeep and that dark-haired woman, neither of whom liked Pamela, and overlooking Bess’s–strange, wild” appearance, cheered her on and catcalled Pamela – -not that the she-werewolf either noticed or cared about; after all, she had more important matters to attend to.

At the conclusion of Pamela’s punishment, When with the strength of Hercules Bess delivered her final stroke to Pamela’s bare bottom, resounding to Benjamin, the pub customers and barkeep, and all the passerby, chiefly amused by Pamela’s unfortunate punishment, not worried about this Person who was punishing her, Benjamin snapped out of his hypnotic state and became fully conscious, again not of Pamela, but of Bess, whom Benjamin now considered the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Human? Daemon? Young Benjamin did not care. All his thoughts were focused on Belinda–and this was no school-boy crush, nor was it some spell cast on him by a supernatural “Creature of the Night,” whom Benjamin now knew she was. No, his love emanated from his rapidly-beating heart, the beautiful, altogether feminine loveliness Bess still had for him, even as a “daemon.”

But, as soon as Pamela was gone, so like a frightened she-wolf running away from a Stronger Creature whose, literally tail had been whipped–as it seemed to the spectators, pretty Bess resumed the appearance of equanimity, even meekness, that Benjamin had experienced at the start. She came directly to the young man, amid the applause and shouts of approval awarded her by people who had looked on the switching, and asked him simply, rather quietly, unobtrusively, “Well, Benjamin, did you enjoy the show?”

The boy smiled. “Bess! Never have I seen such power, s strength, exhibited by anyone, either man or woman! I–I–. . . . ”

Benjamin did not now know what to say, but Bess did, and so with understanding sweetness the girl put her forefinger over the youth’s lips, whispering “Shhhh! Shhh! Never mind! Just remember all what you saw here! Especially my dear friend’s sore bottom!” She smiled and walked away, disappearing in a night fog in a full silence and only a she-werewolf’s howl was heard somewhere afield.

by Linda

Lost in Translation

December 17, 2018 in Blogs, MembersBlogs

Belinda was visiting USA.

She was walking through the countryside and decided to cut off a corner and walk through someone’s parcel of land. But the owner noticed the German girl, caught her and started to undo his belt, going to punish her for trespassing.

“Nein! Nein!” Belinda exclaimed in horror.

“Well, I was going to give you only five strokes.” the man said “but if you insist on nine…”

by Linda

Local Manners

December 14, 2018 in Blogs, MembersBlogs

“So, you’re trespassing my land, aren’t you?! Do you even know what the ‘privat property’ means?!”

“Herr, please… I am just a Touristin… I am just wanted what the real American farm is to see!”

“Oh, really? Well, then, let me show you my woodshed!”

 

“AUA!!! AUTSCH!!! AUA!!! I am sorry, Herr! I am sorry!”

“Well, I hope you’ll remember the Country of the Stars and Stripes for a very long time, kraut-lass! And now you’d better run for your life from my land! You’d better get over the fence before I’ll load my shotgun a rocksalt!”

by Linda

The Flirt Penalty

December 3, 2018 in Blogs, MembersBlogs, Writings

Lord and Lady Hawthorne, one of the wealthiest couples in Warwickshire, England, one night threw a party for exchange students from the United States, Germany, and France, and one of the guests happened to be young Belinda, who had been a German exchange student to the United States, but because she wrecked her exchange sister’s car through her own fault, the US family was angery with her and sent her back home. But Belinda was too curious, too adventurous to remain in the country she already knew so well, the country of her birth, where she could meet on students who were just like her, as she saw it. So six weeks after her return to Germany she was accepted as an exchange student to a small British college in Warwickshire, where Lord Hawthorne was dean-at-large. Lord Hawthorne was a tall, elegant man in his early 40’s. He was very handsom, with a medium complexion with auburn hair and a very fine, slender mustache. His weight was perfect: he was the quintessential British gentleman.

The party that Lord and Lady Hawthorne gave for the exchange students was a house-warming party. All of the professors who taught these students were there with their wives, and the exchange students were invited to bring their dates. For the most part the gathering was cordial but rather low-keyed. Wine and expensive champaign were served to all the guests, and expensive ors d’erves likewise were provided for the guests. Most people had no more than one or two glasses of the two classic wines, and almost all of them were subdued; the Hawthorne’s stood hospitably at the door to greet all the guests in the most informal and friendly manner possible; however, the dress required was rather formal. Men were asked to wear black tie and tails; women in formal, black gowns.

But Belinda was not like the other guests. She was a very attractive girl, and she thought that would count a good deal to her appearance. However, though the dress she wore was expensive, it was not really appropriate for a formal affair. There was a rather noticeable slit on the left bottom side of the dress, and the young lady weas not wearing hose, only heels. As far as the top of the dress was concerned, there were no straps holding it up, which itself was all right, but other ladies had long, zipped up backs that kept their dresses secure at the top; young Belinda, on the other hand, wore a dress that she could just slip over her head; there wasn’t much back to speak of, and in fact the top part of her dress was held up only by the healthy size of hers breasts. Both Lord and Lady Hawthorne greeted the girl politely when she arrived, alone, and kindly welcomed her to the gathering; but both the husband and wife looked rather ascanse at the girl when she arrived, Lord Hawthorne a little uncomfortable, Lady Hawthorne whispering to herself “Slut!”

As soon as Belinda had arrived at the house warming and been welcomed in by Lord and Lady Hawthorne, she dived immediately into the champagne, which she loved but had so rarely. After only fifteen minutes she was finishing her third glass; to ensure that there would be plenty more for her, she held on to the half–empty bottle she was using, and took possession of a second, uncorked bottle but full bottle for future use. A number of the professors and students noticed this, and though no one took her to task for it, from their rather stern, even disgusted looks of them, it was clear that they did not like it, and thought of her as a “lush.”

While she was drinking, almost glass after glass of the expensive wine, Belinda looked time and again in the direction of Dr. Prof. Lord Hawthorne. From the beginning of her attendance at the small British college, Belinda had a crush on this handsome dean-at-large of this small college, the College of the Holy Virgin, which was a branch of the much larger Cambridge University in London. “Virgin,” as the college was known for short, was one of the highest-ranking colleges in Great Britain and Northern Ireland and usually its doors were only opened to the top rank of students. Belinda herself was only an average student, but because of her profiency in German and English grammar, there was only one other German exchange student at Virgin, and her English was poor, and because Belinda agreed to act as a tutor of German to all British students who were studying German as their foreign language requirement (not to mention that her father was himself a little on the wealthy side), she was admitted to Virgin. Belinda made a number of British friends at the college; she was pretty, with blonde hair, blue eyes and a very fair complexion. She wasn’t real tall, which made her look younger than her 24 years – she believed that keeping her hair in braids like a German mädchen, contributed to this, to her, undesirable feature, so she went to a stylist and had her hair cut and styled in a smart, cute short look. Notwitstanding that she was a tiny plump, most boys agreed she had a good figure, and with the sexy, barely-regulation dress she had, was a very desirable woman. But the only male Belinda was interested in was tall, handsome Lord Hawthorne who, though more than twenty years her senior, saw the young girl looking at not in the way a good girl looks at her teacher, but in the way a woman looks at the man with whom she was in love; on several occasions she even fluttered her real but mascarrae-treated lashes at him, even surreptitiously winking at him. The dean was totally embarrassed and pretended not to notice – but other students did, and her reputation was sagging, one by one her friends were finding excuses not to spend time with her, boys were turned off, and girls thought of her as a “whore”.

And so we return to the party, where Belinde had finished her fourth glass of this rather strong champagne and poured herself a fifth: the girl decided it was time to show her hand to Herr Professor. She headed toward him; he was stationed at the front door with Lady Hawthorne. “Good evening, Lord Professor Hawthorne!” She greeted him voluptuously; Lord Hawthorne’s face blushed, and Lady Hawthorne was visibly annoyed.

“Good… Good evening, Fräulein Belinda,” the dean returned, “I know I have previously introduced you to my WIFE!” But Belinde ignored this last part, downed the remainder of her champagne, and as sexily as she could, considering she was intoxicated and her eyes were half closed but were still fixed on the dean, extended her left side, the side of the slit in her dress, and lfted it a little, showing pretty much the entire side of her leg – even exosing a little of the thong she wore in lieu of panties, and her very-lower bottom, all part of her plan of seducing the professor – in the presence of his own wife! – and the “come-on” look in Belinda’s face – contributed to the fury of Lord Hawthorne’s wife, herself a stately lady of 40 with red hair and blue eyes, noticeably taller than Belinda, and she took hold of Belinda’s shoulder, saying, at first evenly, “You’ve had perhaps a little too much champagne, my dear. Why don’t you come with me to the guest room and lie down for a bit?” As Lady Hawthorne led Belinde away, gently, but only at first, by the sboulder, the girl blew a kiss at the dean, who quickly looked away, never having been so embarrassed in his life.

Lady Hawthorne’s concerned treatment of Belinda changed suddenly when the two reached the foray of the rooms, out of sight of the other guests. She grabbed the girl by the hair and hauled her to the farthest room down the hall. “You little trollop! Do you think I am a fool? Do you think I haven’t been noticing you drinking glass after glass of champagne, making eyes at every chance at my husband, coming to us in a drunken state walking like a slut or a cassino girl, acting like a common stripper in front of my husband, while at the same time making a spectacle of yourself in front of our guests – your classmates and professors? You are the fool, little Fräulein! I assure you, I won’t rest until I see you expelled from Virgin, with nowhere else to go but back to Germany!” When they reached the room Lady Hawthorne, still holding on tightltly to Belinda’s hair, opened the bedroom closet and retrieved a rug-beater. Belinda caught sight of it, and her eyes and mouth flew wide open: she knew what it was for.

Then Lady Hawthorn forced young Belinda on the bed and get on all fours. There was the briefest of scuffles between Belinda and Lady Hawthorne, which the girl lost easily, the older woman reclasping Belinda’s hair and twisting her right arm behind her back. In the conflict the top part of the German girl’s dress fell, leaving completely bare both of her breasts; likewise, the girls foot was handled rougly to station it precisely where Lady Hawthorne wanted it, and her shoe fell off, leaving one of her feet bare. Once Lady Hawthorne had forced the girl on al fours, she hiked up Belinda’s dress, exposing an already-near bare bottom, but Lady Hawthorne completely humiliated Belinda by pulling he very-naughty thong half-way down between her upper leg and knees. With Belinda now almost completely bare except for one shoe and a rather-naughty dress buched up well under her breasts but over her belly button, Lady Hawthorne began scolding the girl. “How DARE you, you worthless harlot, tramp! How dare you humiliate my husband and myself, even my our guests, with your wanton, drunken behavior! MY husband and I have been married more than twenty years – happily married, I might add! – and we have a grown daughter, about your age. But SHE behaves like a lady! YOU behave like a prostitute! And the most proper punishment for a trollop is a fine, bare-arsed whipping! You are very, very lucky, young whore! That I am not inviting my husband and your classmates to witness your chastisement! Relly, a PUBLIC whipping should be what a BITCH like you earns!” Belinda, sobered by her treatment, scolding, and up-coming whipping by Lady Hawthorne, was about to say something, but before she could form words: WHAM! The first blow from Lady Hawthorne’s rug-beater fell on Belinde’s ever-so-bare, rather plump bottom.
Belinda looked back pathetically, pleadingly, at Lady Hawthorne as she had landed the first, hard smack of the rugbeater on the naughty young German college student’s bottom, but the girl’s disciplinarian ignored this, and continued her young truant’s punishment apace.

WHAP!. . . . SMACK!. . . . WHAM!. . . . THWACK!. . . . WHOP!. . . . CRACK!. . . . BAM!. . . . WHACK!. . . .

“AHHHHHHHH!” Belinda screamed, begging Lady Hawthorne, “Bitte Sie, Meine Frau! AU!!! I BEG you, My Lady! AUTSCH!!! Bitte sie… AUA!!! PLEASE! I am too old for such treatment AU!!! by at least two years! Ich habe AUA!!!! I have been in college for two years now! AUTSCH!!!! I don’t deserve a spanking! PLEASE! Just toss me out of your house ignominiously! But PLEASE! AUA!!!! Please don’t spank me!” Her embarrassed, pained eyes looked directly behind her at her disciplinarian.

But even as Belinda was speaking, Lady Hawthorn branded the girl’s butt painfully and humiliatingly with welts and redness; she had never been spanked with a rug-beater before, and the unfortunate girl, chronically naughty and, perhaps, lacking in common sense, found that it hurt even more than a belt she felt in Russia sometime ago – Lady Hawthorne thrashed the blushing girl’s rear almost unmercifully, eliciting pleas, yells, screams, even squeals from the would-be “lover” of her husband, and as the thrashing proceeded, the girl’s rather fat bottom wiggled and jiggled at each swat; this affected her entire voice, and when she was pleading with her hostess her voice shook rather violently with each stroke of the highly-effective rug-beater.

Not even slowing the hard swats she was awarding Belinda for daring to flirt with her husband – that in company with the fact that Belinde did it right in front of her – Mrs. Hawthorne resumed her scold-lambaste of Belinda. “Young woman! – I REFUSE to call you lady because you are definitely not one! – the only thing you can hope for in the future is marriage to a man who does not have a trollop for a wife, who works to support you, while you go through a string of lovers! And then, when you grow older and are tied down with children, most of them probably not his!You’ll get your hard-working husband to hire a girl to take care of them for you and you will laze around in bed all day or dozing off on the sofa, watching TV, making no effort either to mother your children or keep up the house, leaving all this to the underpaid girl your husband has hired; and at all times you will be eating and drinking! Believe me, you whore, you strumpet! THAT’S the most you can hope for!”

Belinda began crying, loudly and uncontrollably. Of course, the whipping she was getting, sharper and sharper with each swat, was part of the reason for her outburst of tears. But really the main cause were the unkind – unwarranted and, as it happened later untrue – words of Lady Hawthorne. She had never been scolded so roundly before. Belinda’s thinking-power was weakened, but she knew that Lady Hawthorne’s words were uncalled for, cruel – but later, they had the positive effect of making Belinda a better, more responsible and respectful students – Lady Hawthorne’s vocal beration of the girl, AND the thrashing she got from her dean’s wife. So, the thrashing and the scalding “prediction” of the girl’s life was not only limited to harm Belinde; they also helped her – though Lady Hawthorne acted merely in a punitive, insulting role.

WHAM! THRRRRRRRASH!. . . . WHAAAAACK!. . . . THWAAAACK!. . . . BAAAAAAAAM. . . .

“AUTSCH!” the girl began crying, “AUTSCH!. . . . OOOOOHHHHHH!” she began howling and moaning in pain. However, she made no attempt to struggle or cuffle. She remained on the bed, her hands holding up her fron, her knees, as steadily as she could manage, now obediently upholding her bottom for the walloping it was getting; her feet, on shod, the other bare, were behind her. She decided to “take her punishment like a man!” – an ironic expression she had heard from other schoolgirls when a girl being thrashed cried inordinately and was annoying them.

Lady Hawthorne had been rug-beating Belinda for fifteen minutes. She stopped to see if she had done a thorough job and, satisfied that she had, said simply, “All right, Missy, your done. I don’t need to tell you again to stay away from my husband, except in his capacity as your headmaster, and your own as his student.” Lady Hawthorne made no further mention of working for Belinda’s expulsion from Virgin, in fact never even mentioned it to anyone else again.

“It is late, Miss Belinda,” said Lady Hawthorne a little less sternly than before, “and you may not drive home, in as much as you are intoxicated. To ensure your safety Master Abel, our chauffeur, will take you home. He has the evening off, but I will call him and in about half an hour he will be here to pick you up. One of our young female guests will come here and knock, telling you it is time to go. Make sure that you are decent.”

“Ja, meine Frau!” replied Belinda, “I will be of no further embarrassment to you!”

“You may lie on the bed and remain uncovered until the girl comes to your door.” Before she left Lady Hawthorne watched as young Belinde lay full-length on the bed on her stomache. Belinda’s expensive, “hot” dress was bunched just above her waist; she kicked off her remaining shoe so she could cool off as much as possible. Except for the “belt” of her dress, the girl was naked.

Mrs. Hawthorne did not say anything else, but as is the common practice of parents who have disciplined their children, she left the rug-beater right beside the girl where she lay. Alone now, Belinda buried her face in her arms and cried bitterly. She thought over and over every major event of the evening. She regretted, and cried, over every glass of champaign she had drunk: she KNEW that if she was not drunk she would probably not even tried to “hit on” the dean as she did – certainly not infront of his wife! Belinda said to herself, through tears, “Autsch! I have the intelligence of a cow!” Then she thought about the shocked faces of her classmates and professors as she made her moves around the handsome man, who was yet old enough to be her father AND standing right beside his wife! She went over, what she now believed, was her well-earned bare bottom thrashing from Mrs. Hawthorne, and her rather nasty, unbecoming remarks for a lady of her station to make to a young girl. Belinda decidely said to herself, “I definitely did NOT deserve to be scolded in such a witchly manner by Lady Hawthorne! May she pay for them!” And Belinda began crying a little more loudly; however, this spell did not last long, and she thought of Lady Hawthorne’s concern for her safety, and her decision to send the girl home in comfort. Belinda was seemingly “sobered-up” by Lady Hawthorne’s thrashing, but after it was over the girls head began again to spend, and the thoughts she uttered aloud to herself were slurred; she was indeed still quite tipsy and clearly unfit to drive, and surely too unsteady on her feet to walk, not only from her drunken state but also from the thrashing she had gotten from Lady Hawthorne.

After lying on the bed for some time, her butt and the upper part of her legs burning and throbbing, Belinda decided it was time to get ready to go, to adjust her dress so that she was pesentable and to pull up her thong-panties. So she went to the mirror, but she also wanted to check the damage on her backside, So, her dress still bunched-up at her center, she saw that Lady Hawthorne had done her work well. There was not the slightest sign of blood, but wickedly-red welts covered her bottom, and there were a few marks on the back of her legs. Belinda was not crying now, but she was pained, ashamed and humiliated. She had a very unhappy appearance as she gazed at her afflicted backside.

by Linda

A terrible accident

December 1, 2018 in Blogs, MembersBlogs, Writings

In the spring of this year, while Belinda visited Russia, she was traveling through a forested area that rather obstructed her vision, she and her little Volkswagen came to an intersection in the road; she was on a small street that intersected with a bigger street, a major street as it happened. There was no stop sign on her street, but whenever a small street intersected with a thoroughfare, the on coming cars on the major street ALWAYS had the right-of-way; this was not only true in the Russia but also in Germany, and she knew this law full well. But she decided to ignore it, hearing no on coming traffic. She did not bother to look both ways.

As she drove, not even slowing down, her VW hit an on coming car. She was uninjured, but she showed no concern for the car she hit and only got out of her car to inspect any damage to it. She found there wasn’t much; the front hood of her car was a little bent out of shape, but she was sure she could see over it easily, her tires were undamaged, and since the motor of her car was in the back, it was untouched, and she was sure she could drive it.

Her plan was to get back in her car as fast as she was able. Before that she took a quick look at the car she hit — it was her fault, and she already had two motor car collisions that were her fault; she would lose her license, and the fine was too big, so she’ll be not able to pay it! She would HAVE to spend time in jail! She could see that there was practically no damage to her car, and its occupant was obviously uninjured. But after the initial shock that the female driver of the car she hit had worn off, and she was getting out of her as fast as she could, Belinda had no time to spare. She had left the door to the driver’s door open, and she started to get in. But The driver of the other car ran: she was only a little older than Belinda, but she had been a track runner in college and could still run very fast. As the girl Belinda was in the process of sitting in her seat and closing the door, the victim of her offense ran to her, so fast.

“And just ver do you sink you are going, young lady?” The woman was not as attractive as Belinda, but she was obviously young; however, her thick glasses did very little to add to appearance. Her legs were very slender, as she was generally. Her youth was enhanced by the tying of her long brown hair into a pony tail. Her eyes were deep blue. Belinda decided she was a schoolteacher; really, she looked like one. Her stern approach, speech, and the furrowing of her brows, directed at Belinda, made the plumpish German girl feel like a naughty little schoolgirl.

She was afraid, not now of losing her license or even going to jail, but of the harsh Russian woman, now struggling with Belinda to get her door open, at which she eventually succeeded. Then she took Belinda roughly out of her little car by the left arm, and forced her against it. Meanwhile the Russian was quickly and easily removing Belinda’s thick, leather belt from her denim mini-skirt. The girl felt and saw what she was doing, and in horror knew what was going to happen.

“Bitte Sie, Frau!” Belinda’s German broke out; she was always supposed to be speaking Russian, and on the whole she was doing a fine job of it. But when she was in trouble, or experienced something unexpected, a little of her native German broke out. “Bitte, Frau! Ich–I! meant no harm! I-I did not see you! I-I thoughte mein way was clear!”

“If it vas noy your fault, girl, they vy ver you trying to go! If you ver blameless, you vould have stayed! But, you deed something that is simply NOT DONE — except by criminals! You deed not efen CHECK on my safety! You deed not efen care eef I ver alif or dead!” Meanwhile the Russian held young Belinda’s left hand firmly behind the girl’s back, making her escape impossible.

Belinda was begging — pleading: “Bitte – -please, Frau — ma’am! I BEG your pardon! I was afraid! Ich — I — did not know what to expect! Ich — I — have been in zwei — two other accidents zat were mein fault! If ich — am caught — well, I will go to JAIL! Bitte, Frau! — Please — ma’am! Don’t call the police! Ich — I have insurance! Mein in-in-insurance company will pay for all damages to you auto!

The woman said, “Geef mee your insurance information, and your drifer’s license, young girl!” Belinda instantly obeyed, and the Russian immediately put them in the pocket of her short, rather drab grey jacket.

“Was — what, are you going to do, meine Frau — ma’am?’ Belina asked; she was quite certain that the older girl would call the police.

“ZAT is none of your business girl!” came the harsh reply. The Russian woman, whose name Belinda never learned, looked around her, and was remind they were in a forested area. No one was out walking, enjoying nature, nor yet was there any traffic; in fact her own and the German girl’s car had been the only traffic she had seen. What she had in mind to do, she could do outside.

“You wil coam wit me, girl!” the Russian woman said. Belinda was beginning to show resistance; with her right arm, uncovered as it was by her white, sleeveless blouse, Belinda held on tight to the closed door but open window frame of her VW. She was now rebellious. “ICH am NICHT going anywhere with you, WEIB!’ Belinda’s reference at the end of her statement of the Russian girl’s status as mere “woman” greatle insulted her; holding the girls strong, flexible leather belt in her right hand, and doubling it over, the Russian took a strong hold on the German girl’s hair, and with her free arm grabbing hold of the college student’s waist and forced her away from her vehicle. Holding the girl’s hair tightly and painfully in one hand, the girl repeating “Au! Au!” all the while, the “schoolteacher” forced the errant girl, her head bending forcefully in the direction in which it was pulled, her head and torso doing the same, and fear and pain on her face, very rapidly across the street. The girl STILL did not know exactly what the Russian was going to do; but she had an uncomfortable feeling that she had not felt since she was a little girl.

The Russian woman was practically the plumpish but pretty German girl across the vacant avenue to make the distance the girl had to her little “Bug” greater than it would be otherwise, and Belinda’s escape would, to say the least, difficult.

The Russian bent the German over the hood of her Volga and told her, “The police would not put you in jail. You would be put in a holding cell, but I know that your family vould come to your rescue and pay ze fine. Zey may take your license from you, but zat would be for only 6 months zen you would be on ze road again. NO! I haf taken your driffer’s license And your insurance information! Be sure, young voman! You Vil be unable to drif legally anywer in zis country! And wat haappens to you I am unconcerned — after I am srogh wit you! You vil be punished by ze law of my country, perhaps! But I haf made it illegal for you to drif in Russia. But instead of jail, young girl, I vil punish you!” The Russian “schoolmarm,” as Belinda rather derogatorily referred to her, pulled up the girl’s skirt. Belinda had an odd unrelated thought as the Russian girl was pulling up her skirt — maybe to escape into the safety of her mind, forgetting, but only for an instant, the great peril she was in now.

Now the girl returned to the present reality, to what was happening to her at the moment. The Russian had already pulled up the girl’s denim skirt, then she wasted no time in pulling down Belinda’s panties. Finally the girl knew what was going on, but she still asked the Russian girl, as she pulled down her blue, silk panties.

“Bitte, Sie, Frau! Was — was are you doing! Are you going to SPANK me? Ich am ein gutes Mädchen! Ich habe nie been spanked! Bitte Sie — Please, ma’am! Don’t thrash me! Ich don’t deserve it! Besides, ich wil be ein gutes Mädchen from now on!” Belinda had been speaking Russian only for so long now — nearly two years, and she was just so frightened that her German was flawed, but she didn’t care. Now she only wanted to escape a sound whipping on her bare, plump bottom with her own belt than to show her linguistic ability.

But after Belinda’s final words of pleading the “schoolteacher” began whipping the young girl’s bare rear as hard as she could, and Belinda’s eyes were wide-open in shock and pain!

SWISH!. . . . WHOP!. . . . SWOOSH!. . . . SMACK!. . . . SWOOSH!. . . . CRRRRRACK!

“AUTSCH!!!!” Belinda yelled at the first strike of the belt on the girl’s bottom. She screamed in pain: “AUA!!!!” She decided to approach the track-girl in a different way. Her French was faulty, but since she knew it was “the language of diplomacy,” she decided to — try — to speak it to the Russian: ‘Se vous plais, Madam! Je…”

But the wronged motorist would not allow her to finish. “Silence, girl! NOW I’m going to haf to start offer because you’re JIBBERISH has made me lose my place!”

SWISH!. . . . CRACK!. . . . This swat angered the girl at first; her hands were behind her back but she managed, with great difficulty, to free it, and she began POUNDING the car over which she was bent for her belting, and she began kicking her feet, which were free, as hard as she could, trying to temporary blind the woman and maybe making her escape. But actually all she could do was throw a temper tantrum. She said “LEMME GO! BITCH! You’re not my mother! You’re not my guardian! You don’t haf se RIGHt to do zis to me! Ich wil SUE you, WEIB!”

Of course, none of this helped the big-boned, well-fed German farm-girl’s situation. Her temper tantrum resulted in the total loss of her panties, which she thoughtlessly kicked off during her tirade. The Russian gave her four or five HARD–STINGING licks to her bare bottom, and, inasmuch as the girl’s forced release of one of the Russian’s arms, the girl teacher — or student teacher, Belinda did not know — she still did not know her name! — reached over to the youthful student’s sun-blouse and tore the top of it open, folding part of it behind her back and bared her breasts (Belinda was not wearing a bra — she wanted to catch the attention of every boy or man she could!), as additional punishment. The girl’s bare bottom — her privates totally exposed, found herself almost naked except for her sleeveless T-shirt and small, brown shoes, but on top of everything else, bare breasts!

The girl could only say “Was?..” But the Russian again took hold of the bad little German’ free arm and held the both together, shoving them up to her back, and —

SWISH!. . . . CRACK!. . . . Went the belt!. . . . SWOOSH!. . . . SWAT!. . . . SWISH!. . . . WHAM!. . . . SWOOSH!. . . . THRASH!. . . .

The Russian was practically unmerciful with the belt!

Through tears the German maiden said, “Bitte Sie, Frau, wy punish-you-me so hard?!’

The Russian answered sternly but simply, as she continued to thrash the girl, “You did not efen check to see my condition! ALL you cared about was leaffing ze scene of a crime — zat YOU had committed! I could haff been seriously injured! But you deed not care! You wer going to mofe on as if you had only run offer a squrrel! ZAT iz wy I am punishing you SO fery seferely! You wil, I’ll wager, neffer again commeet such a serious crime! Perhaps,” the Russian added, “I would not haf punished you sooo seferely — or effen at all! If you had taken responsiblity for your action! But since you deed not, but meerely assumed zat I vas allright, and climbed into your “toy” to escape — vel, I zought zat physical punishment is wat you need! Allready I haff taken avay your legal right to driff — but calling ze police vill accomplish nozing to your rehabilitation! But a sound zrashing on your bare seat! ZAT is somezing you von’t forget! Besides I know you havven’t been zrast in many years!”

The girl was in pain; she was humiliated and embarrassed by her bare bottom and the sound thrashing she was getting on it, and she was shamed by her bare breasts. But even while she was sobbing, crying, screaming and yelling during her belting, the girl’s blushing face revealed a pout — at least as much as she could manage. She did not feel any remorse for what she had done, not because she was “evil” but because she was frightened, shaken up by the accident, and most importantly because she thought she had done nothing wrong: the car she hit was untended, and she could see that the driver was uninjured.

Somehow — even during her hard thrashing, Belinda was able to think of all this. She guessed; her whipping had been going on for fifteen minutes.

Belinda began begging her victim again. “Enough! Enough!” she said as respectfully as possible. “Bitte Sie, Frau! Mein bottom iss on fire! Each thrash from se belt you gif me hurs more sen se last! PLEASE, MA’AM! I’fe learned my lesson! I vil neffer again commit such an offense again! I hafe desefed ny vipping, but PLEASE! It wil help neither ov us if you injure–or cripple me!”

Belinda, that bad German girl, who would receive MANY thrashings in the future, in spite of her “adult” years, was lying; the Russian woman was thrashing the girl well, and there were many red welts–painful ones–on her bottom; but her backside was in no way bruised, there was no sign of blood, and the girl knew that she was neither injured or crippled. She just wanted the woman to stop–STOP! For God’ Sake STOP!

Few minutes later, and Belinda’s thorough thrashing ended, and she released her hands. But the girl found out her punishment was not quite over. The Russian allowed Belinda pull down her mini-skirt, but refused to give her back her panties. Belinda’s skirt was short, and when she finally sat down in her little car, with GREAT difficulty, the denim skirt only covered half her red, welt-marked bottom. To make matters worse, the Russian refused to return the girl’s rather expensive, as well as dependable, and fashionable leather belt. The girl had noticed, over the past few months that, little by little she was gaining weight, and the skirt sizes she used to buy were becoming a little uncomfortable and tight, so she had to increase the width of her by one. These dresses were a little loose, but were far more comfortable. To compensate for their looseness, Belinda bought this very brand new belt, which easily kept her skirts up and straight, and made her look more slender–even though her natural figure, with its plump, shapely, comely bottom was attractive to boys.

After it was all over, after the Russian woman had thoroughly belted the bare bottom of the young perpetrator, notwithstanding a few cars passed by, all having a clear view of the action. Then the “victim” finally gave poor Belinda her license back.

“I hope you haf learned a good lesson from dees, girl!” the Russian said to Belinda.

“Ja, ma’am!’ came the mixed response. Belinda added, “Ich deserfed effery STRAPE you gafe me!” Belinda was sobbing softly.

Then the Russian woman turned on her heel with her booty from the girl and, carefully crossing the avenue, got into her car and drove away. Even though the Russian had the German’s information, Belinda never heard from her again. Then, “hobbling” to her own slightly damaged car, got in and drove away.

by Linda

Gesperax

March 26, 2018 in Artists

Gesperax creates a lot of really nice spanking artworks, be sure to visit this artists portfolio at Deviant Art to view more digital created spanking artworks and sketches. She is also active as member of this site.

 

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