A tough day for Belinda

Belinda Krüger is the alter-ego of Gesperax, and she very kindly wrote a sequel to the latest story, ‘A Visit from the Landlady. I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I did!

A tall, buxom blonde looked around in a hugger-mugger, and carefully, trying not to draw any attention, rubbed her plump bottom tightly clad in a pair of a black leather pants. She always liked to wear tight things which accentuated her curves, but not this day. The only reason she had put on these leather pants was that those were the best choice to ride a motorcycle.

Of course, it was not the best day for such a ride, but a bicycle or car would have only been worse. Belinda Krüger rubbed her sore bottom again and sighed. The German blonde had no idea how she would be able to sit down during all her classes that day. All the bruises Madame Beauvoir’s paddle had left on her plump buttocks were terribly sore. Belinda sighed again. The worst thing was that she had no wish to make anyone even suspect that her bottom was aching. Yes, it was only her fault that she and her flatmate Alice had gotten into such trouble with their landlady.

Slowly, Belinda walked into an auditorium and very carefully sat down at her place, trying not to wince when the burning in her sore buttocks became stronger. Madame Beauvoir’s paddle had been really bad, but that day had gotten much worse. Belinda couldn’t blame Alice for her ire, since she had brought both of them into trouble. But she really didn’t expect how furious she would be.

***

“Alice, bitte, I am sorry!” Belinda said, rubbing her sore bottom nervously “Look, if you want to spank me, right now it will be really painful just with your hand!” she gulped.

“Maybe,” the French girl replied, focusing her attention on a clasp-pin with which she was picking the lock on the closet where Madame Beauvoir kept all her dreadful arsenal.

“But I really want to be sure I’ll drive the message home! And since you introduced me to many things about German culture, I want to repay a debt and introduce to you one very important thing from French culture!”

***

Belinda shook her head, trying to focus at the lecture, but every time she was moving even a bit, the sharp pain in her buttocks was making her bite her lips and even more wiggling, trying to find a position, in which she would be able to sit comfortably even a bit.

***

The lock finally gave up, and the closet opened, and both girls gulped again, seeing all Madame Beauvoir’s dreadful arsenal once again.

“I bet, if Frau Beauvoir finds out you picked her closet she will be even more mad, than today…” Belinda trembled.

“Well, I’ll think about that, when she visits us next time…” Alice grinned, gazing at all the implements in the closet. “And now I need to choose my little assistant for our very long talk!”

***

Belinda noticed some curious and suspecting glances from the students, which were sitting near her, and again tried her best not to wiggle and sniff. She felt like she was sitting on a sizzling hot stove. Or like a cat on a hot tin roof. Or like a dog, who got boiled for howling or barking under a window. And the class was still far from over! And it was just the first one… This day would be very long for sure! Those thoughts and feelings made her focus more on the memories, which were fresh enough, than on the lecture.

***

Alice finally made her choice. She took the martinet and looked at Belinda. The German sniffed and rubbed her bottom.

“Alice, bitte… Maybe this is not that necessary?” she trembled, looking at her flatmate’s weapon.

“It is!” the French nodded strictly. “When you asked me for help, I gave you a hand. But, since you turned it into nothing more, but a problem for both of us, I guess, I need to give you a hand in some different way!” she growled. “Now take off your pants and panties and stay on all fours! You’d better hurry, or I’ll start adding some extra strokes for every second I’ll wait!”

Belinda mumbled something in German, but looking at martinet in Alice’s hand she cowardly took off her leggings and panties for the second time that day. But this time, she also lost her heels. So, bared for the waist down, she stood on all fours in front of her flatmate.

Alice grinned, looking at her already bruised backside. “Well, when I’ll finish with you, you’ll recall this for the rest of the week!” she said and overstepped Belinda, locking her between her legs. “And now I’ll give your fesses a bonne fessée!”

Belinda gulped and closed her eyes, mumbling a prayer. For a few seconds a complete silence filled the room. And then with a whistling sound martinet swished air and with a sound clap it’s lashes landed on a big round German buttock, which was already very tender after the paddling from landlady, with a loud switching sound, and then even more loud girlish howling filled the room.

“AUTSCH!!!! AU!!! AU!!! But Alice! Are we not friends?!” Belinda wept.

“Yes, we are!” Alice replied in a stern voice “But sometimes being a friend means to be strict!” and she raised her hand again.

The martinet was falling down on Belinda’s sore buttocks again and again, leaving deep red stripes over her buttocks, which were already spotted with some bruises after the paddling. Belinda howled and wept. She kicked her legs, almost falling on the floor, and wagged her bottom, trying to save it from the retribution, but Alice held her in position strong enough to make her unable to escape.

***

One of Krüger’s usual problems was that she often could easily fall asleep, listening to lectures. But not today. The sharp burning pain in her first paddled and then whipped buttocks was too strong for that. But on the other hand, that pain also made her unable to really listen to the professor.

***

“I just want to make the things clear!” Alice said, giving a hard, burning stroke to Belinda’s ass at each word “When you’re asking me for any help, I’m expecting that you’ll keep your promises but not to get me into trouble! And I’m also expecting that you’ll be as good as your word!” she raised her voice to talk down Belinda’s crying and howling “And if you’ll behave yourself like an untrustworthy naughty girl, I will treat you like one! Even if that’ll mean that I’ll hide this German ass of yours like there’s no tomorrow!”

And Belinda really felt it like there wouldn’t be any tomorrow. She had ended up like this quite often, and she could say that this was one of the worst that had ever happened to her buttocks. Now she was sorry for all her misdeeds. She wasn’t totally agreeing with Alice that she deserved such a merciless punishment, but she was ashamed enough to take it from her.

***

Belinda wiggled again, making the students, more of which were watching her mystery distress, then listening to the professor, smirking and giggling. They all were pretty sure of what had happened to naughty blonde, since it was not the first time that she had had some troubles with sitting down during the classes, what she always tried to hide but always not very successfully. Belinda tried to sit on her hip. It helped for some time, but it wasn’t very comfortable, so she had no choice, but to sit on the other.

***

After some minutes, some very painful and humiliating minutes for Belinda, Alice finally stopped and touched the very sore and very sorry flatmate’s bottom, checking the welts from the martinet.

“Well, I hope you learned your lesson!” she said, giving Belinda a slap with her hand, making the German scream “Now get up!” she continued, and slapped Belinda’s buttocks again.

Belinda jumped up and started the brat war-dance, clutching her burning bottom and howling in pain. Alice giggled at her flatmate’s discomfort and, after a few minutes, which Belinda spend dancing in pain, caught her by the hand.

“Now you’ll return to the corner and will stay there, until I’ll say, you can leave!” she said and made the tear-stained girl stand in a corner her nose to the wall with her hands on her head.

Belinda whimpered and moaned, feeling totally embarrassed.

***

When the class was finally over, Belinda slowly went out from the auditorium, trying not to pay any attention to any suspicious grins. She followed to the restroom, where she could finally put her too-tight-for-this-day pants down and give some relief to her poor, sore buttocks. She tried to imagine how she would survive all the classes, if even the first one had been such a torture, and burst into tears.

A Tropical Vacation

“NeuNunDNeUnZig LuFtBaLlons!…”

The shrill voice of an intoxicated Belinda Krüger blared through the bar’s speakers. After the pandemic had ended, the young German blonde had decided that she needed a vacation, and what better vacation than a paradise island, white sandy beaches and happy hour cocktail nights?

She’d packed her bag, mostly bikinis and beach towels, all in the colours of the German flag. She found that it was always a great conversation starter when she was abroad, and she liked meeting new people… even though it often ended up with her bottom a burning, bright red. She didn’t really know why, but it was the way these things went. Thinking about it, she had also packed a few bottles of lotion, just in case…

That night, much to her delight, was Karaoke night at the bar she had found herself frequenting. The place was nice, the drinks cheap and well mixed. There was a stage where concerts, lectures, improv had happened before, and where the singers were that night. Well, singer, singular. With most patrons busy drinking and socialising, she was already on her third song. More than a few drinks in, she had started badly, and it wasn’t getting any better.

“Auf iHrEm WeG zUm HoRiZOnt!…”

She continued belting out the words, out of tune and slightly behind on the music. In her drunk ears, it sounded perfect, and she bellowed the lyrics in what she thought was a sultry singer’s voice. More and more patrons were looking at her, frowning. Some were shaking their heads, some wincing and covering their ears. Even the barmen and barmaids were rising an eyebrow. With drunk tourists coming around every Karaoke night, they should have been used to it, but she was particularly bad. Belinda turned around and started wiggling her bikini-clad round buttocks while the song played on, oblivious to the increasingly disapproving crowd.

As she was about to start butchering the third verse, a man got up to her. An athletic, mid-thirties guy, he was only wearing knee-long shorts and sandals, with a lei, a flower garland, covering his muscular chest. Not bad looking, Belinda thought, looking over her shoulder as he came closer. Eastern European, maybe? Maybe Russian? In a heavily accented English, he said:

“I think it’s time you stop!”

Definitely Russian. She ignored him and carried on singing and waggling her derrière enticingly. What was he going to do, huh? She laughed and jumbled the next words in the song.

“Hey! Devochka! I’m talking to you!” the man said, and she made a show of ignoring him. The man banged his glass down on a nearby table and leapt on stage, going for her microphone. She splashed the drink she was holding in his face, and it went all over the flower garland. If she was hoping it would stop him, she was very wrong. With a grunt, he grabbed the microphone in one hand and her arm in the other.

“Oh you like singing, da? I have a song for you!”

Frowning, he dragged a stool over with his foot and sat down, still on stage, bringing her down over his knees in one swift movement. The music was still playing.

Was?” Belinda cried, “What are you doing?! Hör auf! Stop!”

Nyet!” was the only response as his hand came slamming down on her ass, over the German-coloured bikini bottoms. She yelled, in anger, surprise, and in pain. How dare he! He was ruining the song! In her drunken state, she hadn’t registered yet that everybody in the bar had stopped their conversation and were staring at them.

Slap! Slap! Slap!, the man started smacking her bottom to the rhythm of the song. She could see the metronome on screen counting 193 bpm. A few seconds in and her bottom was already burning. AUTSCH! she yelled, “Stop! Mein Popo!”

“Sing, then, little njémka! What are the lyrics again?”, the Russian man laughed, and he mockingly started singing “Ninety nine red bottoms… Spanked in the summer bar!”

The slap continued, and so did the song, “Ninety-nine slaps of the hand… For a very drunk German!”

Somehow, the bad rhyme worked in his accent. Slap! Slap! Slap!, he didn’t miss a beat. She bit her lip not to cry out in pain. Someone from the public yelled:

“Ninety-nine well spanked buttocks… I like my whisky on the rocks!”

The whole bar erupted in laughter, and tears of pain streamed down Belinda’s cheeks. Her drunken haze was clearing out fast, and her bottom burned with pain. Another patron came to the stage and grabbed the microphone:

“Ninety-nine bad girls in town… Let’s pull her bikini down!” he sang with a grin.

More laughter, and the microphone got passed around as the Russian man grabbed her bikini bottoms and pulled them down to her thighs. “Nein! Nein! Das kannst du nicht machen! You can’t!” Belinda yelled, and tried to get them back up, or at least cover herself, but there was nothing she could do and the slaps fell harder on her naked cheeks. Crimson as they were, they were only getting redder by the minute. More people joined in the song:

“Ninety-nine smacks, that’s quite rough… But I don’t think she’s had enough!”

Laughs and appreciative whistling, more hard slaps on her bottom. People were holding their phone up, filming the whole thing. Someone pushed a button on the Karaoke machine and the song started playing again from the start. “Ach du großer Gott!”, Belinda moaned.

“Ninety-nine hard slaps and more… I think she needs an encore!” sang a woman. Slaps hit Belinda’s thighs and made her cry out. She kicked her legs, but it only made her round cheeks wiggle more, much to the delight of the audience. There were cheers and laughs as they bounced and wobbled with each slap, the noise blending with the music.

“Ninety-nine slaps on her butt… That’ll teach that German slut!” sang a young local that she had been flirting with earlier. Again and again, the Russian man’s big hands fell down on her ass. It would be bruised for days, she thought! And she only had bikinis to wear… Even if she went to a different part of the island, there would be no way to hide her shame… And with the videos being filmed, or even livestreamed, even people at home might see… “Ach, scheiße…”, she murmured…

“Ninety-nine smacks on her ass… Serves her well, that cheeky lass!” said an Irishman next, and on and on it went, people having the time of their life while her bottom was thoroughly punished, and her dignity reduced to nothing.

After the song was played a third time, she was sobbing and begging, and the Russian man took pity on her at last. But her ordeal was far from over. Lifting her up, he made her stand on stage, her hands over her head while people came up to take pictures and selfies next to her glowing red bottom. When the bar finally closed , she pulled her bikini bottoms up and ran into the night and to her hotel. Once in her room, she was glad to have packed lotion. Once more, she would have to sleep on her belly. And in her head, she could still hear the song…

Denkst du vielleicht grad an mich?
Dann singe ich ein Lied für dich
…”

While the Cat’s Away…

“Unacceptable!” Madame Clairmont muttered as her hand came down on her maid’s already reddened bottom.

“Just unacceptable!” she said again, her ire making her slaps all the harder.

“Nein! Madame, please!” Belinda pleaded, tears rolling down her blushing cheeks.

The stern older woman kept repeating the same word, like a mantra, marking every syllable with a heavy slap.

“Un- *SMACK!* ac- *SMACK!* cept- *SMACK!* ta- *SMACK!* ble!”

Older or not, Madame’s hand didn’t seem to tire, and Belinda kept clenching and unclenching her buttocks, moaning in pain, begging for mercy.

*SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* it continued.

It had all started when Madame Clairmont had left that morning, leaving Belinda, her German maid, to do her usual cleaning of the house. As she did every morning, Belinda had opened the windows to let the fresh morning air in. Suddenly, a cat had jumped through the window, and proceeded to run straight for the kitchen. “Was zur Hölle!” exclaimed the young, surprised Belinda, and she ran after it.  As she did so, her feather-duster hit Madame’s jewellery stand and the precious earrings and necklaces fell on the floor. As she paused to try and pick some off the floor, she heard a loud crash in the living room. She hurried herself there, only to find a vase in pieces on the floor. Oh Scheiße… she thought and went after the cat.

It had reached the kitchen, making straight for the work surface where food lay, ready to be prepared. The fresh fish seemed to be of particular interest to the kitty, and, having grabbed one, it jumped back towards the living room, passing between Belinda’s legs. She turned around only to see the cat dragging the wet, smelly fish all over the dense, expensive carpet. Ach du heilige Scheiße!

“Komm hierher!” she called the cat, who let the fish fall down on the carpet in a wet splosh to meow at her. Just as she thought she might catch the elusive intruder, it run away again, and in her hurry, Belinda slipped on the fish. She fell down and crashed into the coffee table, sending the ashtray that was on it to the ground. Of course, she hadn’t emptied it yet. Madame tended to smoke a few cigarettes in the morning, she knew. It was now all over the fishy carpet. Das kann doch nicht wahr sein!!!

The accursed Katze meowed again, as if mocking her, and she got up, her vengeful feather-duster held high. Finally, she managed to chase the cat out the window it had come in. As she caught her breath, trying to process what had just happened, she heard the unmistakable click of the front door opening. She closed her eyes. Surely, this was all a bad dream.

“OH MON DIEU!” she heard Madame Clairmont say, and then a loud “BELINDA!”

Before she could offer an explanation, stammering as she was in a mix of German and French, Madame had pulled her over her lap, pulled her skirt up and started raining hard slaps on her quivering bottom. The small thong that she was wearing didn’t afford her any protection, and she felt Madame’s anger in full. “Unacceptable, Belinda,” Madame Clairmont was saying in her thick French accent, “Totally unacceptable!”

And the slaps came, and came, and came again. Belinda was crying, begging, still trying to explain what had happened as her bottom turned from pink to red to dark, throbbing crimson. As more slaps came down, she could swear she heard a mocking meow in the background.