Miss Spiteful's War
The Dominafuhrer 1952
Miss Spiteful's Gold
Give My Regards To Bremen
Storm Takes A Bow
Two Long Winters
Bonnie Ingrid Of The Argylls
A Soldier's Wife For Me
What Became Of The Lively Ladies?
Castanelli Meets The Order
Kelly From Calgary
Three On The Bed
Solace For Solitaire
The Early Morning Tease Maid
The Chevvy With The Fritz On Top
J Edgar Hoovering
Signals From The Past
Gold In The Grave
Morning In Manhattan
Six Hatch A Plan
Back To Berlin
Two Little Girls From School Are We
Spoiling Miss Spiteful
The Taming Of The Slave
Kaffee At KaDeWe
Sugar's Stroll In The Park
The Checkpoint Chorus
The GDR People's Silvery Moon
Into The Tomb
The Festival Is Over
The Stasi At Night
Old Photographs Never Lie
A Fair Exchange For Freedom
The Night Porter
Surgery En Suite
A Stiffie For Sapphire
The Torturous Twins
A Stilletto Up The Back
News From The East
We're Going To Wedding
Down In The Dungeon
Nappies, Knots and Needles
Walkies With Alfred
Black Marcius For Miss Spiteful
The Return Of The Dominant 7
Grab Your Knickers And Run
Vive La France
Showdown With Seraph
The Stories of Yvonne Sinclair
The Sacred Feminine
The Story Of T
The Weight Loss
A Caning By Miss Spiteful
Always On The Bare
A Visit To Greenwich
At My Lady's Pleasure
Ball Shackle Story
I Met Claire In A Coffee Shop
Long Weekend Conclusion
Robin's Electrical Torture
Slave To The Cane
The Escape Artist
The Huntress Caning
The Language School
The Worm's View
The Bossy Bank Women
Episode 6 - Whatever Became Of The Lively Ladies?
“Ingrid! Over here!” Miss Spiteful’s voice had lost none of its power in the seven years since we had last seen each other.
I sought her out amidst the crowd at the transatlantic arrivals gate at Idlewilde Airport. The copper coloured hair was unmissable and the smile was as wide and as lovely as ever.
Her arms closed around me and I was crushed against her chest. Then she held me at arms length so that we could study each other. Time had been good to her. Her eyes were still young and bright, albeit with a few creases at the corners. Her face and neck had filled out slightly but she still looked at least six years younger than what I knew her true age to be. Her long slim and elegant costume looked very expensive as did the fur collar and jewellery that she wore.
“Married life does seem to agree with you, Ingrid. Are you happy?
“Oh, yes,” I replied. “David is such a wonderful man and we love each other so much.”
“I’m glad.” I was hugged again and expensive perfume filled my nostrils. “Sugar said that he was a good man but we were all so worried.”
“Thank you all for my wedding presents. They were so beautiful and unexpected. They really made our day.”
Miss Spiteful waved a white gloved hand dismissively and then dabbed at her glistening eyes with a white lace handkerchief.
“Is that all of your luggage?” She raised one of her fine eyebrows at my battered suitcase and then seized a passing Airline Pilot by his uniformed arm.
“Porter, my friend’s suitcase is to be taken to the cab rank.” He tried to shrug off her grasp and started to protest but she snapped at him, “Schnell!” Picking up my case, he scuttled towards the exit with us following, arm in arm.
The cab ride into New York City was wonderful. I had dreamed of this so much and I sat open mouthed as the skyscrapers got nearer. Miss Spiteful watched me with amusement.
“I still find it exciting as well, Ingrid.” She turned her face away. “I saw Berlin in the newsreels and I cried. Have you been back?”
I shook my head. I was fulfilling of one of my fantasies and was unable to speak.
Eventually the cab deposited us outside an apartment block on one of the city’s wide concrete and glass canyons.
“Madison Avenue!” Miss Spiteful announced. “So handy for popping into Bloomingdales.”
A liveried concierge was too slow getting out of her sight and was ordered to lift my case out of the trunk, put it on his little barrow and follow us indoors.
We were whisked upstairs in a lift and were soon standing in the drawing room of a very large and expensively furnished apartment.
“You are the last to arrive,” Miss Spiteful stripped off her gloves. “Wait here while I go and find the others.”
She left me alone and I immediately went to the window to look out but could only see more apartment or office blocks.
I turned back and started examining the photographs hanging on the walls of the room. The nearest and largest was a black and white studio portrait of Miss Spiteful, smiling back over her bare shoulder, taken by a famous Canadian photographer. Next to it was a photograph of Stiletto and a dark haired, moustachioed man. Both were mounted on horses and were laughing. After that came pictures of Freidrich and Heinz with what must have been their wives and young children, David and I on our wedding day (did she get that from Sugar?) and then poor Willi, with a black ribbon across the corner of the frame. Following on, were three portraits of a beautiful young girl of mixed race at various stages in her childhood. I took them to be of Sugar because they so resembled her, especially in the next picture of her and Miss Spiteful, as young women, walking through a park. Next were photographs of Solitaire sitting on a blanket with a large blonde man and two small children, and one of a handsome man in a New York Policeman’s uniform, shaking hands with a man I recognised as Mayor La Guardia. There were also three pictures of women with thirties hair styles that I did not know, a couple in their sixties staring proudly at the camera and, last of all, Sapphire and her lover. I gasped when I saw that that photograph also had a black ribbon on the corner.
“It’s alright,” a voice from behind me said. “Sapphire is still alive. It was Bibi who died last year. Even Swiss air cannot cure a pickled liver.”
I turned and fell into Solitaire’s arms. She too, had aged only slightly, wore glasses and was a little rounder on her hips but she still looked so desirable. We kissed and had a cry on each other’s shoulders until Miss Spiteful returned with the others. More hugs, kisses and tears followed.
Stiletto had actually got a bit thinner and her cheeks were no longer so rosy but she still had her porcelain beauty. Sapphire however, had now turned forty and, although she was pleased to see me, her smile had a tinge of sadness. She had put on more weight and there were lines and wrinkles on her skin that makeup could not conceal.
“Storm, this is my slave Kelly,” Miss Spiteful announced. “She’s Canadian.”
My eyes met those of a tall, handsome blonde in her early twenties, wearing a slave's collar and a maid’s outfit that showed off her long nyloned legs. Apart from her longer hair and oval face, I could have been looking at myself ten years ago. She returned my gaze, her jaws moving slowly and was probably wondering if she was looking at her future.
“While you are here, Storm,” Miss Spiteful called out. “You can teach Kelly a few things, including how to do a proper massage. My body should be treated gently, not rubbed down as if it was a sweaty horse!”
Kelly’s eyes narrowed and I think we both realised at the same time that we hated each other.
To continue this story, click Walter's Warning