The tale I’m going to tell happened a few years ago in Strasbourg. The European parliament gathers there a few times a year, the other times they gather in Brussels. I was staying in a hotel in Strasbourg – the name of which I will not tell, in order to keep the privacy of the persons involved.
I’m Irish, so I don’t know a lot of French or German, and surely my writing both languages is bad. But I translated most of the things that were said. When I could I tried to used the original language. So lets start...
Oh, how rude of me; let me introduce myself. My name is James Mc Coullan and I’m an Irish journalist, working for The Northern Liffey Times. I follow the European Community and so I spent most of my time in Belgium or in France, more specifically the Alsace. Strasbourg lies near the border with Germany and I guess all problems started there. Although most habitants of the region respect the German people, once in a while there are some difficulties. Sometimes it’s the fault of some French woman with a hot temper, but most of the time it starts with German Frauleins who.... Well, you’ll see in this story.
That time, there was a fairly important meeting of the leaders of the several countries of the European Community going on. So there were lots of colleagues of mine in town. It is a beautiful town and not too big. I love Strasbourg more than Brussels.
Anyway, two after my arrival, a German colleague of mine arrived in the same hotel. It had four stars, so it wasn’t complete luxury, but it was still a very good hotel with friendly personal and a very friendly owner. In these hotels you get a good contact with the locals and so you get to know some novelties you never get anywhere else. Anyway, the moment I saw my colleague arrive, I knew we were in for trouble. Her name was Belinda Krüger.
Remarque: I know I wanted to protect the privacy of the persons involved, but the name of Belinda has been mentioned all over the news since then. The other names will be changed off course.
So the moment, she arrived I knew there would be trouble.
A few people turned their heads when she entered the entrance hall, but as always she kept her nose in the air. She was a figure to watch, at least till you got to know her. She was tall, had beautiful rounded breasts and wide hips. Her thighs were majestic and her calves well formed. Her rear was really something to look at. On the whole she was a bit plump, but everybody wanted to have a second look at her. She used to be a slender figure, but the diners with politicians and colleagues ask their price. Anyway, her figure could still charm a lot of men – and women, I might say.
But her character was a disaster. She could make stones fight. She was rude and indifferent to what others thought. People who weren’t at her height were completely ignored and 99,9 % of humanity was not at her height. And servants in hotels and restaurants were only good to snarl at and make fun of. The staff in the hotels she stayed always tried to avoid her as much as possible. Knowing her sense of humour, you knew something would go wrong one time or another.
This is the story of how it went wrong. The hotel we were staying in was a small one. In fact, it was a bit of a family business; father looked after the hotel together with mother, the daughter looked after the computer and the reception. And then there was a niece, who cleaned the rooms and served in the restaurant. In the mornings, you could see the daughter and her niece cleaning the rooms together, having a lot of fun and giggling and laughing all the time. They acted like kids of 12 years old, but they were 22 and 23 years. Nice, decent girls.
In came our Fräulein; she didn’t like the girls making fun, she didn’t like the giggling – at ten pm! – she didn’t like the way they were dressed; in short she didn’t like anything about the girls. She complained with the owner, she complained with his wife, and the girls fell silent. As long as she was in, the hotel was suddenly a dull place to be. Nothing moved anymore.
To me she acted more or less the same; I was Irish and she was a member of the important German state, Deutschland, you know. Not every German Fräulein behaved like this, but Fräulein Krüger did. And she did more.
The first morning I caught her deliberately dropping her knife. She snapped her fingers at the niece.
“You there, I just dropped my knife. Pick it up and fetch me another!” she ordered.
The girl bent through her knees, but... well.... you could see a lot of leg. In fact, in France they adore women, so nobody made a problem of it. And I loved it. Even miss Krüger did, but she didn’t show it.
“You should be ashamed. You’re indecent. You should wear something that covers your thighs! Schade!”
The girl turned red and went quickly to fetch a knife. She ran to the kitchen and when she came out, her eyes were red.
At noon, Belinda came back to the hotel, because she had forgotten something. When she came back to the counter in the entrance hall, she complained about the way her room was cleaned. Nothing was done properly; the bed had been made up badly, the bathroom wasn’t cleaned properly, her luggage had been moved (which was a pertinent lie), and so on ... The niece and the daughter were listening to her tirade. But while the daughter run away and started crying, the niece kept listening. Her big green eyes became slits and her cheeks turned red of anger. If you ever saw a volcano burst out, you get an idea of what was going to happen.
The next days all went the same; our Fräulein Krüger dropped things on purpose (and had a look at the niece), she complained about the room, about the service, about the food, about almost everything, except about her presence.
Once she called the niece.
“Wie heißt du?” she asked. The niece grinned. I knew her name was Marie-Bénédictine, but she answered: “Marie-Josephine de Culotte Chuté, a votre service, mademoiselle!”
Belinda looked more self-satisfied than ever. I smiled and when she turned Marie-Bénédictine winked at me.
Then came the last day. The two young women had coped with most of the things the haughty German had done. Belinda had asked for a taxi to bring her to the airport and she was standing at the desk to check out. Off course she had to criticize everything on the bill: the drinks, the food, the service (again!), and so on...
The two girls had brought her luggage to the taxi and everybody in the lounge was waiting for the Fräulein to depart. Everybody had had enough of her.
And then it happened. The niece was bending over to take the last luggage and miss Krüger gave her a slap on the bottom. Normally, Marie would have given her a slap in the face. But as she jumped up, miss Krüger lifted up her skirt.
“You see?” she turned to the owner, “This skirt is too short. It’s a disgrace for this hotel! She dresses like a prostitute” (But our dear Belinda had a good look first)
While the owner was completely flabbergasted by what was happening, the niece was not.
“Moi, un putain? Je vais vous montrer qui est le putain ici!” (One of the clients gave me the text)
Marie told her niece to get the luggage in the taxi and tell him to drive to the airport. I think she had planned this all before; she just needed an excuse. And Belinda, stupid enough, gave her the excuse.
Being a warm day in the beginning of the summer, Belinda Krüger wore a summer dress with straps. Marie lifted it and slapped Krüger’s butt. Krüger however pulled her dress down again. Then the revealing began.
Marie pulled the straps down, but in her madness, she broke them. The dress fell down and Krüger tried to stop it with her hands, which left the upper part of her body uncovered, except for her bra. Marie saw her chance and pulled the straps of the bra down and out rolling came the luscious breasts of Belinda Krüger, German journalist. Belinda felt her breast spilling out and looked down. At the sight of her appetizing tits, she tried to cover them. But doing that she dropped her dress, which fluttered round her ankles. Marie, seizing the opportunity unclasped the bra. Krüger, at that time trying to pull up her dress again, felt how the bra was completely undone and formed an big, soundless ‘O’ with her mouth and opened her eyes wide. Her eyes grow even bigger when she felt her panties pulled down and a hard slap on her buttocks.
“Aawwww...” she yelped and she tried to pull her panties up again. But by then Marie had pulled them to her knees. Trying to pull up the panties, made Krüger’s bra fell down to the ground and left her breasts jiggling. At that point the only thing Krüger was wearing were her heels. Marie grabbed Krügers hair and pulled her over to a chair. There she laid the German over her knee.
By then everybody – men and women – in the entrance hall was cheering. Even from the outside people looked through windows to see what was happening. Krüger tried to stop Marie by waving her hands, but Marie took both hands and held them together. She started to slap Krüger’s bottom very hard and really fast, giving each cheek of Krügers bum a fair part of the spanking.
“AAAYYYY..... Stop!... Halt! Aaaaauuuwww!....” the German journalist yelled. But Marie had a vicious smile on her face.
“Not until you ask forgiveness!” she said.
“Nimmer! (never)” came the answer.
So the spanking went on. In the meantime the panties of the Fräulein had flown in the hall and were picked up by a refined lady, I recognized as a member of the Parliament. She sniffed at them. Her heels had flown off also, which left our German lady naked as the day she was born, except for her earrings and a ring on her finger. Meanwhile her buttcheeks got redder and redder, as did her cheeks in the face. But the latter from the embarrassement, I gather. You could hear the slaps as far as the street. And off course there was the cheering.
Marie kept on spanking the journalist and ordering her to ask for forgiveness. After five or six times of answering ‘nimmer’, Krüger gave up.
“Alright, alright,... I ask for forgiveness!” she shouted.
By then her mascara was a mess, her hair had completely come loose and the most visible sign of her spanking was off course her scarlett bottom.
 |
| “AAAYYYY..... Stop!... Halt! Aaaaauuuwww!....” “Not until you ask forgiveness!” “Nimmer” |
Marie let her loose and Belinda Krüger, wellknown German journalist, fell on all fours on the ground.
“Very well! Get on your knees before me! Put your hands on your head and repeat after me: (I’m going to put these words in French, because I never heard anything more funny than Belinda talking French) Je ne vais plus jamais...”
And Belinda repeated; “Je ne vais plus jamais...” She had the worst German accent, I ever heard. It was pathetic how she was sniffing and sobbing, looking red on her hind quarters and in her face and I almost fell sorry for her.
“...harceler des filles de ménage ou autres membres du personnel d’un hotel.”
And then Krüger again: “...harceler des filles de ménage ou autres membres du personnel d’un hotel.”
“Alright, you can leave now!” Marie told her.
But at the entrance the daughter of the hotel owner stopped her.
“Non, non! D’abord, c’est a moi de chauffer ton derriére! (it’s my turn to warm your butt)”
And she got another severe spanking, this time in front of the hotel, while a whole crowd was watching and cheering. When she was left loose, our dear Belinda didn’t care anymore to cover up; she kept her hands on her very red bottom. As she noticed the taxi had gone, she started to panic. And when they told her that her luggage was already at the airport, she panicked completely. She tried to run, but she stepped in something sharp, started hopping and fell back on all fours. People in the street roared at the sight of Belinda on all fours.
Last thing I heard she had been arrested by the Gendarmerie, and brought to prison. They gave her two small towels to cover her essentials and called the German consulate. She explained what happened to her clothes and she was escorted to the airport. Sure enough, they found her luggage in lost and found.
The hotel was charged for indecent behaviour, but the judge deemed that the journalist had brought the spanking all over herself by her behaviour. The hotel got a minor fine.
And me, well I had spent one of the greatest holidays of my life.
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