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
…”

Kept in line

“Please…” she whined to no effect, “Please, no more…”

Her crimson buttocks felt like they were pulsating, sending waves of rich, hot pain up her spine with each of her shallow breaths. She swallowed and pleaded again, hearing no response. She didn’t dare look back, but she knew that the paddle was high in the air, just about to come dow—

“Oww!” she yelped as the hard wood connected with her bruised flesh once more. Tears streamed down her face, dripping over the desk. Her boss’ desk. He was mad. he was more than mad; he was furious. She had messed up. Again.

“OWW!” she cried, louder, another hard swat landing on her tender, plump bottom. For a few seconds, the pain became her whole world; it was all that she could think of. Then, it receded, leaving her ass burning, her legs trembling… and her panties wet.

She didn’t argue, because she knew that it was futile. When he had called her in his office, there had been no ambiguity as to her fate. She had walked in expecting to be punished, and she knew that she deserved it. She had closed the door behind her, and started to undress without a word. She had been through it a few times already.

It had started with a playful joke one day, about how she had messed up with a client. Her boss had been understanding, but she had carried on telling him how bad she felt, how guilty. He had brushed it off at first, until she had said these fateful words, as a jest: “Sometimes I wish I could get spanked again!”

He had raised an eyebrow, and she had let a little embarrassed laugh out.

“What do you mean, Caroline?” he’d asked, softly. She had instantly turned into a stuttering mess, cheeks as red as a ripe tomato.

“I… Hum… My mother, she… She used to spank me, you know? And, well, it wasn’t pleasant, but at least I didn’t feel the guilt anymore afterwards.”

“I see…” he had simply answered. He had kept his eyes on her, and she had carried on. She wasn’t sure why she had kept talking then, but the words had just kept spilling from her mouth.

“It’s… It’s like, cathartic, the punishment, the… pain… It takes the guilt away. Well, it did then…”

He had nodded. She had stared at the floor. She couldn’t look at him.

“And so… Caroline…”

“Yes sir?”

“You think a spanking would help you do a better job with the next client?”

Her eyes had widened. That little off-hand joke hadn’t seemed like a joke anymore. It had seemed very, very real. That day, she had received her first proper spanking as an adult, right there over her boss’ lap. As she had been quietly weeping in the corner afterward, he had defined a few rules. First, this was purely disciplinary, he was faithful to his wife, thank you very much. As such, she would get to keep her panties. She thought it a little odd, and a little hypocritical, but was in no position to argue ethics.

Second, any further punishment would increase in severity, going from hand-spankings to hairbrushes, paddles, the cane… She had shivered. And for a time, it had kept her on the straight and narrow. Then mistakes had happened. She had been late finishing a report. She had overslept and missed an early appointment. Paperwork got filed in the wrong place…

True to his word, he had summoned her in his office each time, and each time, the punishment had been more severe. And as much as she dreaded it, she knew she needed it, the discipline, the atonement. She needed it and desired it. Not enough to make her make mistakes on purpose, no! But she loved how it pushed her to do better. And indeed, after each session, she knew that her work got better. For a time, she was a model employee, employee of the month even! And then the slip started again. A little longer each time, knowing that the punishment would get harsher, but it always happened.

And so, as the paddle slammed into her ass once more, leaving a deep red mark, she cried her shame out and let the guilt leave her. The hard wood fell again, making her yell. No walls were thick enough to keep people from hearing, she was sure of it. Her panties were drenched —so much for keeping it modest— and she was heaving, sobbing, sniffling between each hard slap.

She knew she would be forgiven but— OWW!

She knew she deserved it and— OOWW!!

She knew she would be better, she would— OWW!!

She clenched her buttocks, knowing full well it would do nothing. She could feel the bruises coming, she imagined the marks. She bit her lip, waiting for the next one.

Nothing came.

“Get up, Caroline,” he boss said.

In her heels and underwear, she made her way to the corner, knowing what was expected of her. She would stay put while he fixed her mistake, her fingers interlocked above her head. No more mistakes, she silently vowed, no more screw ups. And for a time, she knew she wouldn’t. She closed her eyes and let the pain radiating from her crimson ass fill her mind.

Comicon

The theme for the January Discord pic was ‘Celebrities’, but seeing as actresses from two prominent franchises won… It turned into a Comicon Specialtm! So here is Brie Larson giving Daisy Ridley a piece of her mind, no doubt to the delight of the watching fans!

And the revenge, obvisouly!

Plus a colour version, because why not ^^

The Dance – part two

Read part one here

Cindy pressed her round bottom against her locker, pushed her chest up and bat her eyelashes at Brad as he came down the corridor. The spaghetti top and tight, short denim shorts she was wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination and accentuated her round hips and full breasts.

“Heyyy, Brad…” she purred, “I heard Susanna cancelled on your for the dance… That’s too bad…”

Brad came to a stop in front of her and put let his rucksack down on the floor. Taller than she was, lean and toned, his hair cropped on one side, he was everything that that made her bite her lips with desire. She often thought of him at night, alone in her bed, when her hands started to wander.

He stared. “Yeah… You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you Cind?” he said.

“Me?” she said in her most innocent voice, “Why would I do that?”

“I heard you were pretty pissed at her…”

“Oh yeah? Who told you that?!”

“It doesn’t matter who. Did you do it?”

“Do what?” She raise an eyebrow.

Brad put his hands on his hips and frowned.

“You know what!”

“No!” she pretended “I don’t.”

He blushed and continued in a hushed tone, looking up and down the corridor.

“You spanked her? What’s wrong with you?”

She laughed. “What? Who told you that?”

“it doesn’t matter who told me!”

“I never… spanked… her. What the fuck, Brad? Are you a pervert or something?

“What?”

“That’s your fetish, huh? Girls spanking each other?”

“What? No! I…”

“Oh I’m sure it is… Naughty, naughty girls getting punished… Is that what you like, Brad?” she smiled wider while he blushed.

“You’ve got issues, Cind…” he muttered

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it? Are you going to take me to the dance or what?”

He took his bag from the floor and grabbed Cindy by the wrist, not too gently.

“Come on, not here,” he said, and pulled her towards and empty classroom.

“What are you doing?” she asked, half smiling, half panicking. Maybe she had taken it a little too far? Surely not. She knew how boys thought, manipulating them was one of her favourite things. A little teasing, a little waving her hips around, and she had them wrapped around her finger.

He closed the door behind them as they entered the empty classroom and let go of her wrist.

“Well?” she asked, hiding her misgivings behind another grin.

“I know you did spank Susanna, and don’t you even dare deny it!”

She shrugged, “Yeah, and? That slut shouldn’t have been strutting around, that’s all…”

“Don’t call her that!”

“What? A slut? I call a piggy a piggy, that’s all!”

“All right, that’s enough,” he said, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the nearest chair, “You think you can spank someone just because you don’t like them? Well I’ll show you how that feels.”

He sat down and swiftly bend her over his knees.

“Hey! No! Stop!” she yelped, but he didn’t listen. Without another word, he raised his hand and smacked her bottom, a loud, painful slap that immediately made her eyes water in surprise, pain, and delicious shame. Not wasting a second, another slap fell, and another, and another until the sound of them filled the room in a steady rhythm punctuated by whining, barely contained cries. She kicked her legs

“Brad!…” she pleaded, tears rolling down her cheeks. This wasn’t going as planned, not at all. “Brad, please!…”

Unmoved, he continued to rain spanks over her round, denim-clad bottom. Already he could see her sit spots turning a satisfying red. After a dozen more slaps, he grabbed the waistband of her shorts and dragged them down, panties and all, to her knees despite her outraged protest.

“No! No! Stop! You can’t!”

“Did you give Susanna a choice?”

“No but… Please! I’m sorry, all right! You can go with that bitch, I don’t —OWWW!”

“Don’t call her that,” he said, punctuating each syllable with a hard, painful slap on her now naked bottom. As he kept on spanking and smacking her round, bouncing bottom, her shorts and panties fell further down her legs until they were at her ankles, then on the floor. All the whiles, her tears were flowing openly, her cries getting more desperate.

“Braaad! Please! I beg you! I’m sorryyy! Please! Please! Someone will come! Someone will see…”

“Did you think of that when you were doing it to Susanna?”

The slaps were getting harder and harder. Cindy was sobbing, bawling, unable to articulate her begging anymore. Finally, satisfied, he relented. His hand resting on her burning, bruised cheeks, he said, “If I hear that you said anything to Susanna, if I hear you’ve been anywhere near her, I promise you you’ll end up in the same position for round two. Is that clear?”

She sniffed, “Y-yessir…”

All the while, shaking from the sobs, the pain, the humiliation, and the scolding, she was thinking. Only three people knew what she had really done the day before. Only three people knew that she’s spanked Susanna on the bare. Three people: herself, Susanna of course —but she wouldn’t have dare admit it to Brad— and Abi. That bitch Abi. She had told Brad, she was sure of it. That. Bitch.

She was going to pay.