A Visit to Sargon

Belinda Krüger hurried down the busy street, puffing on a cigarette as she walked. She checked her watch again; less than ten minutes to her meeting! She sighed and redoubled her pace.

As the newest member of Hawkins Advertising's staff, she'd lobbied long and hard with Old Man Hawkins (as everyone in the company not-so-affectionately referred to the firm's owner) to prepare and present the firm's bid for Dicometron's advertising account. She knew landing a major client could make her reputation. Now she found herself in Iskander, capital of Sargon, on her way to a meeting with one of Dicometron's higher-up muckety-mucks -- but, due to a combination of her flight being delayed and a lack of taxis at her hotel, she stood a good chance of being late! Old Man Hawkins had drilled into her that the Sargonians were a very punctual people who frowned upon tardiness.

At least, Belinda thought as she waited to cross a street, there was no danger of getting lost or misunderstood. Sargon had been a British possession until about thirty years ago, and English was the predominant spoken and written language. Belinda took a last drag on her cigarette and threw the butt into the gutter.

Immediately, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned, confronted by a tall, very imposing man wearing the uniform of the Iskander police force. The uniform was almost uncannily like those of American police officers, right down to the badge, handcuffs, and night stick - although the holster at his belt looked too oddly shaped to hold any gun she'd ever seen.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the police officer said, "but you just littered."

Momentarily nonplussed, Belinda replied, "Littered? Me?"

"Isn't that your cigarette butt in the gutter there?" the officer said, pointing. 

"Yes, but it is only a cigarette butt... " Belinda began, but the policeman cut her off. "Litter is litter. I'm afraid you've violated our laws."

Exasperated, Belinda checked her watch again. Time was fast running out! "Look, do you have to give me a ticket?" she asked. "I am almost late for a very important meeting."

"No ticket will be necessary," replied the policeman. "In Sargon, police officers are empowered to administer punishment for minor offenses such as this. The penalty for littering is six."

Thinking the officer meant six Sargonian dollars, Belinda muttered, "Oh, all right," and started digging through her purse. Suddenly, the policeman bent over, encircled her waist with his arm, and lifted her up off her feet.

"What do you think you are doing... " Belinda started, but then something exploded against her rump. "AU!!!" she squealed loudly. Before she could react further, five more stinging blows landed, then the policeman put her down. Belinda wheeled on him furiously, rubbing her inflamed bottom, as he sheathed a small wooden paddle back in the holster.

"What was that?" Belinda demanded.

"That, ma'am, was the punishment for littering in Sargon. Six swats with the standard paddle over one's clothing. You did give your consent."

"I did not know I was consenting to a spanking!" Belinda shouted.

The policeman merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I do not have time to argue with you now," Belinda said, turning to cross the street.

The policeman put his hand on her arm, stopping her. "Your cigarette butt?" he pointed out. Belinda scooped up the cigarette, wrapped it in a tissue, shoved the whole mess in her purse, and strode rapidly away. Wait until my meeting's over, she thought. I'll go down to the police station and straighten them out!

Still fuming three blocks later, Belinda was halted by a red light. She checked traffic and, seeing the way was clear, crossed the street. A few seconds later, she again felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she saw the same policeman.

"Ma'am, you just jaywalked," he informed her.

"But the street was clear!" Belinda argued.

"That doesn't matter. The light was red, and you crossed the street. That's jaywalking."

Belinda couldn't believe her ears. Didn't the police have anything better to do than chase after pedestrians? "You are not going to spank me again," she snarled.

"You have your option, ma'am. Either you can take your punishment here or go to the police station and make your case to the captain."

Belinda knew she couldn't miss her meeting and risk losing the client. "Okay, I will take the punishment," she sighed reluctantly.

"The punishment for jaywalking," the policeman intoned, "is twelve. On the underclothes."

Completely flabbergasted, Belinda sputtered, "What? Nein! Not on my panties! Not here in public!"

"Would you rather go to the station?" the policeman inquired.

Belinda's shoulders sagged. "No ... just make it quick, okay?"

"Certainly, ma'am. If you will be so good as to bend over and grab your ankles ... ah, perfect!"

Belinda assumed the position as the policeman took his paddle from its holster. She felt her skirt raised, then the policeman put his hand on the middle of her back, to steady her.

"Please don't move out of this position, or I'll have to start over," he informed her.

Belinda's facial cheeks burned with embarrassment as she noticed passersby gazing at her legs and buttocks. Then, CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Her hind cheeks began burning under the paddle's impact. Belinda gasped and flinched with each blow, but managed to keep her position through the entire dozen.

When the second paddling ended, the policeman merely holstered his paddle and walked away without another word. Belinda hastily rearranged her skirt and hurried off to her meeting.

Finally arriving at Dicometron's headquarters, she informed the receptionist of her 10:00 appointment with the vice president of sales.

"It's 10:03. You are late," the receptionist told her. "Mrs. Bronski will not be pleased."

Belinda bit off a sharp retort as the receptionist passed her through. In a very plush, well-furnished inner office, complete with a large desk at one end and a couch and some chairs at the other, she met Mrs. Bronski, a graying, older woman in a conservative business suit and tie.

"Mrs. Bronski, I am Belinda Krüger from Hawkins Advertising. I am very pleased to meet you," she said, extending her hand.

Mrs. Bronski shook hands, but a frown furrowed her brow.

"You are three minutes late, Miss. Krüger," she said.

"I am sorry, Mr. Bronski, I, ah, I was unavoidably detained," she responded, not wanting to give the real reason for her tardiness.

"We at Dicometron expect our employees, and those we do business with, to always be on time."

She started to explain again, but Mrs. Bronski waved her hand, cutting her off.

"There are no satisfactory excuses. Dicometron has a policy of punishing those who are tardy. I think an application of that punishment will help you be more punctual in the future." So saying, she walked to her desk, opened a drawer, and took out a solid wooden hairbrush. "Please join me at the sofa, Miss. Krüger," she invited, pointing with the brush.

Completely at a loss for words, Belinda could only shake her head.

"Do you wish to do business with this company?" Mrs. Bronski asked.

Still tongue-tied, Belinda nodded.

"Then you will accept your punishment. One dozen swats for each minute you were late. Please, come this way," she said, taking her by the arm and guiding her towards the sofa.

Belinda wrestled with her emotions as she made the long walk, weighing the importance of landing the client against the further pain and indignity of another spanking. Her reputation with the firm won out, and she resolved to accept her punishment as stoically as possible.

Mrs. Bronski seated herself comfortably on the sofa, pulled Belinda across her lap in the classic spanking position, and flipped her skirt up. She patted the hairbrush against her rump twice, lightly, then drew back and delivered a resounding SMACK!

Despite her resolve, Belinda bucked and squealed. Mrs. Bronski gripped her tightly about the waist and administered another blow. She continued the spanking, each swat landing squarely on Belinda's posterior, just above where it met her thighs. The pain these swats caused, plus the humiliation of being across a strange woman's lap with her skirt up, caused Belinda to break down in tears before the spanking was halfway through.

Eventually, Mrs. Bronski delivered the thirty-sixth spank and released her grip.

Belinda stood slowly, smoothing out her skirt.

Mrs. Bronski smiled up at her. "You took that well. Now you may begin your presentation."

Surprisingly, the presentation went well. Fortunately, Belinda had planned to be on her feet throughout, so she wasn't too distracted by the stinging in her behind. Mrs. Bronski seemed very impressed, and he invited her back the next morning (at 10:00 a.m. sharp, he reminded her) to meet with his associates.

Belinda walked slowly and carefully back to her hotel, certain that her still-tender bottom couldn't endure any further punishment. At the hotel, Belinda filled the bathtub with tepid water and sat in it gingerly, soothing her hindquarters. Then she reached into her briefcase and fished out some travel brochures about Sargon that Old Man Hawkins had given her, but that she'd been too busy to read.

One of the brochures thoroughly described Sargonian laws, including the police force's power to administer public spankings for misdemeanor offenses. Prominently mentioned, Belinda noted wrily, were such "crimes" as littering and jaywalking. Many businesses and individuals had adopted police methods for their own purposes. In fact, the brochure noted, spankings were so prevalent that Iskander was often informally known as "Paddletown."

Wishing now that she'd read the brochure before, Belinda decided against making a complaint at the police station. All I have to do is mind my P's and Q's tomorrow, she thought, and I'll be home free.

The next morning, (long before her meeting started), Belinda was standing on a street corner, waiting patiently for the light to change, when she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder. She turned and saw the policeman who'd paddled her twice yesterday.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but it seems you've littered again," he said, smiling.

"What? I did not!" answered Belinda, utterly confused.

The policeman pointed to a candy bar wrapper in the gutter.

"That is not mine!" protested Belinda. "I never saw that before in my life!"

"Ma'am, I saw you throw that paper away. Are you willing to accept your punishment?"

"No!" Belinda shouted, thoroughly indignant. There was no way she was going to be spanked for something she didn't do. She didn't know what the policeman was up to, but she wasn't about to fall for it.

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to come to the station." The policeman took a walkie-talkie from his belt and spoke a few words into it. Within moments, a patrol car pulled up to the curb. The police officer opened the back door and escorted Belinda inside, then took a seat himself up front.

The ride to the police station went by in frosty silence. At the station, Belinda was ushered into a windowless, deserted waiting room. Time dragged slowly by, and, as the appointed hour for Belinda's meeting approached, she decided to find out what was taking so long. But the waiting room door was locked.

Belinda paced the room endlessly. What could they be doing out there? Finally, the door opened and a uniformed policewoman led her to the captain's office. The police captain, a gray-haired man wearing the same uniform as the policeman, greeted her warmly, then got down to business.

"Miss.Krüger , I believe Patrolman Dubois here" (gesturing at the policeman, who stood motionless against one wall) "has accused you of littering, is that correct?"

Belinda nodded.

"And you say that you did not litter?"

"No, I did not. He's lying," she responded.

"Patrolman Dubois has been an outstanding member of the Iskander police force for fifteen years. He has never had a complaint of this nature lodged against him before. You, on the other hand, are a recent visitor to this city. You showed a complete ignorance of and disregard for our laws. Moreover, you complained most vociferously yesterday when Patrolman Dubois properly punished you. Therefore, I conclude that he is the more credible witness and, based on the evidence presented, find that you are guilty of littering."

If Belinda had been appalled before, it was nothing compared to what she felt now. "You mean you are taking his word over mine?" she demanded.

"That's correct," the captain replied.

"But do not I get a trial? Do not I get to see a judge?"

"Not for misdemeanor offenses. Sargonian laws provide that the local precinct captain is the final arbiter for these cases." The police captain smiled.

"But that is completely unfair!"

"Miss. Krüger, may I remind you that you are in our country now, and you are subject to our laws."

Belinda swallowed hard and fought down her anger, knowing she couldn't win. "All right, then, if that is the way things are. Give me my six whacks and let me go."

"I'm afraid it is no longer so simple, Miss. Krüger. Falsely accusing a police officer of lying as a very serious matter. You will have to be punished for that offense, as well."

"But he did lie! I did not litter! I only..."

"Miss.Krüger , please. We have already established that you did litter, and that, therefore, Patrolman Dubois is telling the truth. Your accusation, therefore, is false, and you must suffer the appropriate punishment, which is..." he consulted a chart on his desk "...eight dozen swats with the cane, bare bottom."

Belinda didn't think her jaw could drop any further, but it did. Eight dozen swats? Cane? Bare bottom? "Nein... you can not... I will not..." she sputtered, unable to speak coherently.

"Since this is more than a misdemeanor offense," the police captain continued, "you do have some appeal rights. You may, if you wish, request a hearing before the local magistrate."

A small glimmer of hope appeared to Belinda. "Yes. That is what I want to do. I want to appeal to the magistrate."

"Very well. The next opportunity for a hearing will be next week. Until said time, you must remain in police custody."

Belinda's hopes were dashed. A whole week in jail! She couldn't take that! The police captain, though, was still talking.

"If you do not wish to remain in custody, you may post bail."

Bail! There was hope after all!

"How much is bail?" she asked. No matter how much it was, she'd raise it if she had to hock everything she owned. By next week, she'd be out of the country for good.

"Bail is set at fifty percent of the punishment. In your case, four dozen swats."

It took a moment for this to sink in. Four dozen swats on her bare behind! Still, that was better than a week in jail - at the end of which, she'd probably still receive the full eight dozen whacks; plus, she'd get spanked who knows how many times during that week. Futhermore, she'd almost certainly lose the client and her job with Hawkins Advertising. It seemed that the four dozen swats were the best she could hope for.

"All right," she finally muttered, "I will post bail. Let us get this over with."

The police captain and Patrolman Dubois opened a closet door and rolled out a device which resembled a "saddle horse" used for vaulting in gymnastics. They moved the device into the center of the room, locking the wheels in place. The police captain then turned to Belinda and said, "Miss. Krüger, if you will kindly come and stand in front of the horse."

Belinda slowly, reluctantly, approached the device.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked the captain.

"Of course," he replied. "The pain from the cane is very intense, so it will be necessary to secure you in place during the caning. Now, please bend over the horse and reach your arms down as far as they will go."

Belinda didn't like the sound of that at all, but knew that she couldn't avoid it. She leaned herself over the horse and extended her arms downward. The police captain and Patrolman Dubois secured her wrists tightly, using a pair of leather cuffs attached to the horse's legs. Belinda's tiptoes could just touch the floor if she stretched her legs out. She was very aware that her bottom was in ideal spanking position.

"First," said the police captain, "Patrolman Dubois will administer your punishment for littering."

Damn, thought Belinda, she'd forgotten all about that! She braced herself and held her breath as the patrolman landed six solid swats to her rump. The blows filled her eyes with tears and her bottom with a dull sting; but she knew, compared to what she still had coming, they were like the softest love pats.

"Now, the bail: four dozen swats with the large paddle. First, we must bare your bottom."

Belinda's face, already flushed from her first paddling, grew even redder as she felt her skirt raised up and placed over her back. She felt four hands in the waistband of her pantyhose. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Patrolman Dubois standing next to the police captain, assisting in her disrobement. "Does ... does he have to stay here?" she asked.

"Of course. As the aggrieved party, Patrolman Dubois has the right to be present at, and participate in, your punishment."

The look on Patrolman Dubois' face told Belinda he had no intention of waiving that right. Her savagely wounded pride took another blow. Having her bare bottom spanked was bad enough, but having it spanked by him! Right now, she'd rather be spanked by almost anyone else on the planet! Her father ... Old Man Hawkins ... the police captain ... but not Patrolman Dubois! Most definitely not him!

Belinda gritted her teeth as the captain and Patrolman Dubois lowered her pantyhose down off her bottom, past her thighs, and over her knees and calves, leaving them to rest at her ankles. Then her embarrassment surged forth anew as her black silk bikini panties made the same trip. Was it just her imagination, she wondered, or was everything happening in slow motion? It seemed forever before her bottom was bared to the policemen's satisfaction.

The captain announced, "Now we will begin. I will administer the first two dozen swats."

Belinda closed her eyes tightly as she heard the captain rummaging around the room, evidently locating the cane. I won't look, she told herself. I won't look, I won't look, I won't...

CRACK!

Caught unawares by the blow, Belinda howled, struggling desperately to free her hands so she could reach back and rub her bottom. The cuffs held firm, though, keeping her in place. Despite her resolve, Belinda looked back over her shoulder, gasping at what she saw in the police captain's hands. Belinda had never seen anything quite so fearsome-looking in all her life.

"One!" Patrolman Dubois counted.

One? Belinda felt frantic. Only one? If her bottom felt that sore from one spank, what would the upcoming forty-seven do to her?

As Belinda watched, the captain drew the paddle back, preparing for the second swat. She quickly turned her head and closed her eyes again, unwilling to see the blow fall.

CRACK! "Two!"

As the pain surged through her body, Belinda fought again to free her hands. She kicked her legs as best she could. The police captain waited until she settled down, then raised the paddle again above her rubesque buttocks.

CRACK! "Three!"

Must fight the pain, Belinda thought, gripping the legs of the punishment horse tightly. Must distract myself. Let's see; Old Man Hawkins will give me a big bonus when I bring the client home. How will I spend it? A better apartment, a new wardrobe, upgrade the health club membership...

CRACK! "Four!"

Her attempts at distraction a dismal failure, Belinda abandoned herself to the pain. She relaxed as best she could, hanging limply over the horse and sobbing copiously. Nothing mattered now except getting through the punishment. She silently counted backwards as Patrolman Dubois' count increased.

CRACK! "Five!" (Nineteen!)

CRACK! "Six!" (Eighteen!)

CRACK! "Seven!" (Seventeen!)

And so it went, until finally CRACK! "Twenty-four!" sounded.

The police captain's part of the punishment was over. Belinda heard the men moving around in the room as they exchanged positions.

Then the captain said, "Patrolman Dubois will now administer your remaining two dozen swats."

Belinda felt humiliated again, knowing that the person whose lies were responsible for her predicament would now be spanking her. She fought the feeling down, telling herself that the pain couldn't possibly get any worse. Her bottom had practically gone numb, and she'd hardly felt the last two or three spanks from the captain. Belinda felt confident that she was prepared for her remaining punishment.

CRACK! "One!"

Belinda bucked and howled again as fresh waves of pain washed over her. Whereas the captain had spanked downwards, impacting the fat, fleshy part of her bottom, Patrolman Dubois swung the cane in an upward arc, catching her on the junction between her buttocks and upper thighs. Besides driving her forwards on the horse, the cane was connecting with virgin, unspanked territory. She wasn't prepared for that! Belinda's hopes for a bearable spanking were dashed.

As swat after swat fell on her fundament, Belinda again focused on the diminishing number of spanks. This alone allowed her to ride out the second half of her caning. After the last swat finally landed, Belinda laid limp over the horse, hands still restrained, rump throbbing with pain. A brief pause, then the captain announced (rather redundantly, Belinda thought): "Bail has been posted. Patrolman Dubois, release the prisoner."

The patrolman walked to the front of the horse and squatted down, undoing the cuffs. As he worked, he murmured to Belinda, "You have the most delectable bottom. When I saw it yesterday, I knew I had to see you spanked bare."

Belinda's eyes widened at this admission. She looked at the police captain. His expression was inscrutable. "Did you hear that?" she asked him. "He just admitted entrapping me!"

"I heard nothing of the sort," the captain replied. "Patrolman Dubois, did you make such an admission?"

"No, captain," responded the patrolman.

"But you must have heard him!" Belinda protested. "He admitted it! He admitted everything! You must have heard him!"

"Miss. Krüger," the captain inquired, sternly, "are you accusing Patrolman Dubois of lying again?"

Belinda's blood froze. She was unable to manage a reply.

Slowly, both policemen's expressions dissolved into evil, lecherous grins.

"Miss.Krüger, it seems you haven't yet learned how justice is administered in this country," said the captain, as he reached for the cane again.

Belinda finally found her tongue. "Nein! I did not mean... I did not think... I withdraw the accusation!"

"Too late!" as the captain again took his position behind her.

"NEIN!!!!"

Her second session seemed to last forever.

This time, Belinda managed to remain quiet when the caning ended. The patrolman freed her wrists; she slowly raised herself to her feet, both hands massaging her backside. She knew that, on the policemen's turf, any accusations she made would only result in another spanking.

Belinda rubbed and kneaded her bottom until the pain subsided to the point where she could pull her panties back up. Deciding her rump wouldn't accept both panties and pantyhose at the same time, she stepped out of her nylons and stuffed them into her handbag.

 

"Can I go now?" she inquired sullenly.

 

The police captain produced a bail form for Belinda to sign, committing her to appear for a magistrate's hearing next week. Failure to appear at the hearing, he told her, would indicate a default on her sentences, which would be immediately executed if she ever reentered the country. Belinda's ears burned as she signed the form. As if she'd ever come back to this Godforsaken place!

Patrolman Dubois gave her a ride back to her hotel in his patrol car. She sat silently, squirming with the contact of her tender fanny on the car seat. Belinda wasted no time in packing her suitcase. She'd missed her meeting with Mrs. Bronski and his cronies, but right now that was the last thing on her mind. She just wanted out of Sargon before she got spanked again!

Belinda rushed to the front desk and rang for the clerk.

"I am checking out," she informed him.

The clerk pulled her reservation card and inspected it. "Your reservation is through tomorrow," he pointed out. "I'm afraid there will be a penalty for checking out early."

"Well, just put it on my Visa," Belinda started, then watched in disbelief as the clerk reached under the counter and came up with a paddle. "Would you be good enough to bend over the counter and raise your skirt?" he requested.

One dozen swats and a painful cab ride to the airport later, Belinda stood before an airline ticket clerk, explaining her problem. "My flight out isn't until tomorrow, but I need to leave as soon as possible, due to a, uh, personal emergency."

The ticket clerk consulted her computer and punched a few buttons. "You're in luck," she told Belinda as a revised ticket printed out. "I can get you on a flight that leaves in an hour and a half. There will be a penalty for changing your ticket, though."

Belinda's heart sank when she heard the word "penalty". Sure enough, the ticket clerk reached under her counter and fished out yet another standard paddle!

This time, the paddling came over the ticket clerk's knee, with everyone in the terminal (it seemed) watching. After two dozen more swats on her panties and an agonizing wait, Belinda sat uncomfortably in her assigned seat, waiting for the plane to take off. Her repeatedly-spanked backside felt on fire, but she wasn't about to complain - not after witnessing another passenger get paddled for refusing to fasten her seat belt and put her tray table in the upright position. The flight attendant made the woman, who appeared in her early twenties, kneel on her seat and raise her skirt. She administered two dozen swats to the seat of her silk panties with another replica of the standard paddle. Belinda took some consolation in knowing that hers wasn't the only uncomfortable rump on the plane. She considered buying stock in the company that made those paddles. It seemed they certainly did a brisk business!

The plane landed without further incidents, and Belinda made her way home, thankful to be back in civilization. After a long, mostly sleepless night (punctuated by nightmares featuring spanking implements of all shapes and sizes), she went to work, mentally bracing herself for the confrontation she knew was coming.

As Belinda expected, there was a note on her desk instructing her to see Old Man Hawkins as soon as she could. She quickly strode to his office. Best to get it over with early, she thought. She hoped she wouldn't be fired, but with Old Man Hawkins, you never could tell...

The firm's owner greeted her, ushering her to a seat at his enormous desk. He got straight to the point.

"Miss. Krüger, I'm a little disappointed to see you back here early, without the client."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hawkins," she replied, "but you wouldn't believe the things they do in that country! Why, they..."

He waved her to silence. "The bottom line, Miss. Krüger, is you didn't get the job done."

There didn't seem to be any response to that, so Belinda sat quietly, waiting for the ax to fall.

"Mrs. Bronski called me yesterday when you didn't show up for your meeting. She was very curious about your disappearance, especially after your first meeting."

Belinda felt herself blushing. Did the Old Man know she'd been paddled?

"Anyway," Old Man Hawkins continued, "she described how his company dealt with problem employees. I've decided to adopt their policies."

Belinda stand in stunned silence as he started unbuckling his belt!

Seeing her expression, he grinned. "Drop your panties and bend over the desk, Miss. Krüger!"