" No! Of course. You have no recollection. But vee have met, I can assure you. You can see for yourself."Then he grinned at me, and what I saw behind that grin was a friendly-looking, jovial, well-mannered, half-Austrian, half-German gentleman that could become the wiliest son of a bitch with the flip of a switch. It would have felt very reassuring at that time had I known for certain that we were on the same side. Judging from what I saw on the display next though, it seemed like for some reason, we were like best buddies. But I could've sworn, on pain of anything other than death or excruciating torture involving genitalia, that I had never laid eyes on that man, or any of the other folks on the screen in my life; not even waiting in line for the cash register, or in one of those cult films on after-hours TV.Yet here I was, seeing myself in photos, playing cards with the Baron and the Pope, looking seriously drunk alongside a very healthy, yet still fat, gray-haired Elvis, and all. They were silver sandals with slender straps and 3” heels. He hopefully wondered if the intended punishment had a more significant meaning. Then he saw her housecoat fall into a heap on the floor. He did not dare turn round, but wondered what she was wearing, the blood rushing through his cock giving him a huge hard erection. Exciting! Aroused!She had undone the belt from around her waist and as she did so the cotton housecoat fell open. It needed little help to slide to the floor. She swung the leather belt from shoulder height with as much force as she could muster, but she knew the best shot delivered from her slender frame would not hurt him. Somehow though she must inflict pain to him in retaliation for the way he’d hurt her, even though she’d half enjoyed the new sensation. The belt whipped across his naked buttocks the interwoven leather strands leaving an almost patterned marking.The sharp arrival of the whip like action delivered on the cheeks of his arse surprised him – in.
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