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
The Dominafuhrer - MISS SPITEFUL'S GOLD
Episode 3 - Two Long Winters
Over the next two years we went through better times and harder times. The café survived and, despite the prices that we had to pay, we started to make a little money. Conditions improved as well. One morning I was awakened by a distant but familiar rattle, the trams were running again. Electric power, still dependent on imported coal supplies, was restored, sometimes for hours, then days and then weeks at a time. Most important of all for civilian morale, it was announced that the local breweries could resume production although only for non-alcoholic beer.
Then the Reichmarks and the Allied Marks in circulation plunged in value and, for a time, cigarettes were the main form of currency and food supplies, especially in bad weather, were erratic, pushing up prices again.
Two diamonds went on building up stocks for the café and refurbishing the dungeon, including new leather outfits, boots and shoes for ourselves, although I have no idea where Sugar got them from.
We took it in turns to serve in the café and see clients in the dungeon. For my part, I had to relearn my profession. Having previously used torture to extract information, Sugar had to remind me that I was now dealing with the pleasures and fantasies of paying customers. Nevertheless, I had few complaints about my brand of cruelty and built up a clientele who regularly asked for me. My bondage proved popular and men would bring in their wives or mistresses to see them bound up and suspended.
As our reputation spread around, some American Servicemen visited us but, at first, I was unable to find any who were interested in taking me back to the United States with them or I would put my trust in.
In December of that first year, the Americans handed control of the Bremen and Bremerhaven enclave back to the British, although they continued to administer the two ports and large numbers of their servicemen continued to pass through both. The British tightened up on some of the lax regulations but, when Sugar’s Dutch nationality and my assumed anti Nazi past were confirmed, we were issued with Persilschein documents and left alone. The nickname for this piece of paper came from the holders having been ‘washed whiter’, which caused Sugar great amusement.
The nineteen forties were marked by a series of severe winters, the worst of which was in 1940 and went largely unrecorded because none of the combatants wanted to admit that their war efforts were snowbound. I had been in Poland and had spent two days in a hut before we could dig ourselves out and one freezing night in a stranded train, waiting for a snowplough to rescue us.
I had been spared the winters on the Ostfront but the early months of both 1946 and 1947 were ordeals for the undernourished populations of a war devastated Europe. Of the victors, only America had the resources to feed our continent but, with the harbours and even parts of the North Sea frozen over, the supply ships could not dock to unload.
Once again, fuel became scarce and, with Germany still unable to mine enough coal for its needs, power blackouts ensued and the Gas supply had no sooner been restored than it was cut off again. Coal trains were stormed by mobs and any sort of fuel was scavenged for. We chopped up our folding tables and chairs to burn, not only because it was too cold to put them outside but also because they would have been stolen if we had. Two more diamonds went that first winter and another two the following year, but they ensured our survival.
In 1946, I had made a more determined effort to get out and meet more suitable Americans and three times I thought that I had succeeded and three times I was disappointed. Lieutenant Eugene Thorpe, Master Sergeant Clinton Williams and PFC Ernie Kennedy where ever you are, may you all rot in hell. I courted them, carefully revealed my gender, let them use my body, believed their promises and never heard from them again.
Sugar, who had watched me disapprovingly, shook her head but refrained from saying “I told you so” after my first affair. When I was disappointed for the second time she gave me a hug while I sobbed my heart out and, when I was abandoned yet again, she gave me more practical support.
I had gone to bed early, but was lying awake weeping to myself, when I heard her come up the stairs. She had been in the dungeon beating a fat butcher whom we relied on for meat and sausages and had just seen him off the premises. “Come and help me out of these, Honey. I’m exhausted.” She thumped on my door as she went past to her own room. When I got there she was stretched out on her bed in the tight black leather cat-suit that emphasised the contours of her body.
“Mein Gott,” she groaned. “The bastard was so fat that my blows had no effect on him. I’ve never worked so hard for my Bratwurst.”
I eased off her high-heeled shoes and gently massaged her feet.
“Ooh! That is so good. Miss Spiteful said that you had magical hands. Can you do the rest?”
I unzipped her cat-suit down to her waist and then left her to undress while I scurried back to my bedroom to strip off my night-dress and pick up a bottle of massage oil. I returned to find that she was lying naked on her front. I knelt on her bed, with one leg either side of her waist, poured some oil onto my hands and then spread it across her shoulders and down her spine. I gently kneaded and massaged her neck, shoulders and back, all the way down to her perfectly rounded buttocks, creating a lovely sheen on her light golden brown skin. When I had oiled her legs and feet she turned over and I worked my way back up to her groin. Her pubic hair was a mound of dark brown curls and she moaned and shifted as I brushed my fingers against them. I squatted across her body so that I could reach her chest and shoulders and, as my hands rolled her big breasts, I felt the tip of my swelling penis touching her stomach.
I moved my legs to avoid further contact but Sugar took my testicles in her hand and gently guided my penis down to her mons vagina.
“Why don’t you make yourself more comfortable while you finish off?” She whispered huskily.
The wet lips of her labia parted as I entered her, my foreskin rolling painfully backwards over my swollen glans. She wiggled her hips and warm, wet flesh gripped my shaft. As I massaged her shoulders and neck muscles I rocked forwards and backwards and Sugar reached up to fondle my dangling breasts. I gasped as she pinched my sensitive nipples and then she pulled me down onto her own chest. Our lips met, our tongues flicked together and her long fingernails raked my shoulder blades. My legs were now stretched out and she wrapped hers around mine as my thrusts became more urgent and her hips responded. I screamed as I ejaculated but kept on pumping until Sugar moaned, gripped my shoulders, her fingernails digging in deep, and she shuddered.
I collapsed on top her when I was spent and then rolled off her onto my side. I put my head on her chest and sucked at her nipples while she stroked my sweat soaked blonde hair. Suddenly, I began to cry, long deep sobs racking my body as tears rolled down my cheeks and onto Sugar’s breasts.
“Let it all out, Honey.” She said soothingly. “This has been a long time coming. It’s not just those bastard Yanks, is it? You brought a lot bad memories with you in your suitcase.”
I told her everything about the SS, the Concentration Camps, being in battle, the torture and abuse that I had committed in the dungeon and the loss of both of my lovers, including the trauma of seeing one executed. I described in detail the ordeal of being sexually abused by Von Kreps and the Russians and how I was haunted by all those memories.
Sugar gave me a squeeze and then gently pushed me off so that she could get off the bed. I lay there, still feeling sorry for myself when I felt the weight of her hand between my shoulder blades holding me face down on the bed.
“I’m sorry to do this to you Honey, but we both know that there is only way that you are ever going to get all that guilt out of your system.” I screamed and tried to wrest myself clear but she had me firmly pinned down as she thrashed my bare bottom with a cane. Pain, horrible blinding pain, not only in my buttocks but the rest of my body felt as if it was on fire as well. I struggled, shrieked, screamed, cried, pleaded and only when I ejaculated again did Sugar stop beating me. She got back on the bed, and cuddled me again until I fell asleep still snivelling and with my bottom throbbing, but for the first time in years, untroubled by the demons in my past.
After that, we shared Sugar’s bed most nights whenever one of us was not entertaining a guest. Winter was coming on anyway and it meant that we only needed to heat one bedroom. Most nights we just cuddled and sex was not a regular event. We were there for each other when we were needed and, as Sugar said, “It’s more fun than masturbation and, although I like my men and women, it’s nice to have a penis inside you that doesn’t think that it owns you afterwards.”
Sugar did have her own affairs, both male and female, but none were customers and all seemed to be old friends who met occasionally for social and sexual intercourse. I saw her looking sad every now and then, particularly when she played Blues music on the gramophone or heard it on the radio, but she did not share her secrets and stayed strong for both of us.
We were in bed together on New Years Eve, licking and sucking at each other’s sexual organs as the radio, tuned to the American Armed Forces Network, announced the start of 1947. I came first and Sugar swallowed my semen as it flooded out. “And a happy New Year to you.” she gurgled. My face was deep in her groin, my teeth nibbling at her clitoris and my tongue lapping at the sweet juice seeping out of the lips of her labia and could not reply. Nevertheless, I silently resolved to myself that, this year, I would succeed.
Nothing seemed to change, except the weather, which got better as spring approached and our businesses continued to make us enough money to survive. Others, less fortunate, had to queue at the British Army aid posts to be weighed, medically examined and then certified as suffering from malnutrition to qualify for extra rations. In cities across North West Germany there were riots and strikes in protest at the failure of the British Military Government to provide enough rations.
I was lying on the sofa in our little sitting room, one spring Sunday morning, reading about the latest troubles in a newspaper when Sugar came up the stairs from the café.
“First one of the day. It’s a man in a skirt and I can’t understand him. He’s just the job for you.”
I sighed, put my newspaper down, dressed in a short black leather skirt, brassiere and boots and descended the stairs. A British Army Officer was standing just inside the door, looking out at the street. He wore a khaki Tam O’ Shanter bonnet, battledress top and a dark green kilt with a revolver in the canvas holster hanging from his webbing. A suitcase and a kitbag were at his feet. He whirled round when he heard my footsteps and I thought how young and handsome he looked with his pink cheeks and deep set dark eyes.
“Gestatten Fraulien.” Sugar was right, his German pronunciation was terrible and his Scottish accent made it worse. “Do you do cock and ball torture?”
Captain David McNair of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders and I were married in the Bremen Rathaus, just over a year later.
To continue reading this story, visit Bonnie Ingrid of The Argylls