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.