Book review: The Legacy Of A Reluctant Madame by Anarie Brady

Delving into the world of BDSM and female submission against the backdrop of history, Anarie Brady's "The Legacy of a Reluctant Madame" is a captivating read, filled with passion, secrets, and the empowerment of women embracing their desires.

Carrie's journey begins as she discovers her grandmother Alma's hidden journal. Amidst the trials of the Great Depression, Alma, sold to a mysterious boarding house by her father as payment for a gambling debt, soon finds herself drawn to the allure of the erotic undertones within the house. In effect, the boarding house is a brothel. What starts as simple labor evolves into a taste for the provocative trade, revealing a duality that resonates with her soul.

Intricate relationships develop with Betsy and Eva. Each woman shares a common thread: an undeniable craving for the submissive role, a yearning to be dominated and punished by powerful men. The explicit sex scenes leave little to the imagination, stretching beyond mere gratification to showcase the emotional and psychological depth of these women.

Brady skillfully weaves a story that tugs on the heartstrings. Moments of heartache and loss result in tears and moments of poignancy, illustrating the human condition in the face of adversity, desire, and acceptance. As Carrie delves into the lives of Eva, Betsy, and Alma, her own exploration of the BDSM lifestyle unfolds, and she discovers a world that both terrifies and excites her.

"The Legacy of a Reluctant Madame" is more than a recount of a time woven through sex and submission. This novel serves as a powerful testament to the capacity for transformation and the inherent strength of women, as they boldly step into their sensuality and reclaim their destinies. 

Brady's writing is a seductive blend of historical context, erotic and emotional crescendos, and a testament to the capacity of human resilience and the inherent magnetism of submission and punishment. A book that will leave readers intrigued, enraptured, and entrenched in the lives of Eva, Betsy, and Alma, as Carrie's journey intertwines with theirs, culminating in her own grip on the BDSM lifestyle, unraveling the core of her longing.

The "Legacy of a Reluctant Madame" is a gripping tale that will leave readers unable to look away. A poignant, erotic, and emotional rollercoaster, Brady's journey through BDSM and female submission is a book that will leave an indelible mark on the hearts and minds of its readers.

The author has a blog at https://anariebrady.com/ and the link to her Patreon is https://www.patreon.com/AnarieBrady  She has now started posting individual chapters at a time and she has also been published on amazon.com.

I can highly recommend this author to anybody interested in bdsm and female submission.

The Joy Of Being Spanked

The anticipation consumes me like a beast starved for weeks, my breaths shallow and erratic. I tread warily into the chamber of this stern master, eyes downcast and nerves alight. He's a tower of authority, and I, his pliant lackey, here for the sole purpose of submitting to his judgment.

Once commanded to strip, I reveal myself in all my vulnerability; my trembling a stark admission of the desires that simmer just beneath the surface. I await his instruction, heartbeat quickening like a flutter of wings, yearning to take flight.

When he motions me over his knee, my heart skips a beat, the very act an invitation to indulge in the most depraved of pleasures. I brace myself, adopting the posture of a naughty girl, thighs slightly parted as I lean forward, arching my back to present my bottom.

His iron grip on my waist makes me quiver, sending ripples of arousal crashing through me. The heat of his sinewy hand against the curve of my hip is a promise, a seductive prelude to the feast of pain and pleasure that awaits.

And then, with a resounding SMACK on my left cheek, I'm hurled into a world of sensory overload. The sting lingers, like a brand seared into my flesh, while an inferno of warmth blooms. My breath catches, the initial pain melding with pleasure in a crescendo of ecstasy.

Each successive impact is a reminder of my submission, the paddle biting into my reddening flesh as the man fulfills his role with unyielding energy. A moan escapes my lips, primal and uncontrolled, as I wriggle with abandon, my mind lost in the sweet chaos of pain and bliss.

The desperate need to be spanked harder, to feel every ounce of his dominance, courses through me like a drug. I crave the merciless assault of the paddle, my body groaning for the punishing blow that sends me spiraling into a hazy realm where oblivion meets ecstasy.

Each smack, be it soft or ferocious, is a brushstroke on the canvas of my soul, a masochistic masterpiece that leaves me clamoring for more. Addicted, I am, to this symphony of pain, my submission an exquisite sacrifice to this man who holds my desires in the palm of his hand.

With each swat, I'm bound to him, a willing sacrifice to the altar of punishment. It's in moments like these, where my soul finds solace in the cruel embrace of pain, that I finally feel whole, a testament to my unwavering desire to be nothing more than a naughty girl afflicted with a lust for discipline.

Tina And The Riding Crop: Igniting Desire in the Shadows

 In the quiet depths of night, when the world succumbs to sleep, my fantasies of pain, submission, and sensory overload come to life. They spark endlessly along the circuitry of my mind, igniting a raging fire that batteries of box spring coils and bedsheets can never hope to quench.

As I lay alone in my bed, the darkness serves as a canvas for a vivid performance, starring me in roles both degrading and liberating. My imagination whisks me to scenes of torrid masochistic delights, where whips, paddles, and spiked cuffs yearn to leave their marks, each stroke a symphony of pleasure swelling in my core.

In these nocturnal reveries, I find solace in the steady rhythm of a riding crop against my flesh. It dances across my skin like a conductor leading an orchestra of arousal. The sharp thwacks synchronize with the crescendo of my desire, driving me ever closer to the precipice of climax.

This union of self-flagellation and sexual release gives form to the chaos of my masochistic fantasies. Each strike of the crop, both real and imagined, is a reminder of the power that emanates deep within me. It's an erotic friction between my body and soul, shaping a portrait of submission as an artistic masterpiece of desire.

Fueled by an insatiable lust for pain, I wrest control from the bonds of normality. In this twisted realm, I shatter the rules of societal decency, embracing the freedom to explore the darkest recesses of my id. As the crop sings its wicked tune, I am not bound by the expectations of others. I am fully and unapologetically me, a Masochist Princess.

And so, in the dim recesses of my bedroom, adorned in a cloak of darkness, I engage in a somber ritual of self-harmonization with an elegantly designed crop. It serves as both an instrument of transcendent release and a conduit for my masochistic fantasies to manifest in the most intimate form of self-exploration.

These late-night trysts with pain serve not only to satiate my carnal cravings but to liberate me from the chains of convention, allowing me to embrace the raw, uncut beauty of my desires, unrefined and unapologetic.

As I ride the waves of pleasure, the crop cradles me in its embrace, a tempestuous force birthing serenity within the maelstrom of my libido. It is a love affair with the line between pain and pleasure, where I am both the object of punishment and the orchestrator of my own ecstasy.

I spread my legs wide, the anticipation of what's to come humming through my veins like an electric pulse. The riding crop rests in my hand, the smooth, glossy handle cool to the touch. My sensitive pink folds are exposed, glistening, ready to receive the tantalizing blows.

I begin, teasing at first; a gentle flick against the outer lips, eliciting a moan. The crop dances closer to my clit, brushing over it, and I can feel a shudder racing through me. And then, the first firm strike lands. A searing pain blooms, making me gasp, while a surge of euphoria spreads out from my twitching pussy.

I gather my resolve and let the crop fall again, harder this time, the sensation intensifying, a fusion of agony and delight coursing through my body. Each gash of the crop sends shockwaves through my core, the pain echoing through every nerve ending.

My movements become more erratic as I swing the crop, the sting of pain sharpening the lust stirring inside. My clit, now a tender target, is met with the relentless strikes, each one pushing me further along the precipice of climax.

The pain becomes a symphony, pulsing in harmony with the hammering rhythm of my heart. I can't help but cry out, my voice muffled by the gag in my mouth. I buck my hips, desperate for release, and the crop connects with my pussy with increasing force.

The room fills with the rhythmic swish and smack of the crop, a cacophony of carnal indulgence. The threshold of agony and ecstasy blurs, leaving me breathless and writhing, swept up in an ocean of passion.

And in the height of this whirlwind, the unrestrained bliss crashes over me, a tsunami of pleasure and pain crashing together, culminating in a paroxysm of euphoria that leaves me trembling, drunk on the union of masochism and orgasmic bliss. The riding crop now a symbol of the intensity it has orchestrated, rests against my thigh, as I bask in the afterglow.

 

Review by Anarie Brady: Embracing the darkness

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Unleashing Joy Through Fantasy: Rediscovering Pleasure in Pain

 Dear Readers,

It has been a while since I last penned my desires and darkest fantasies for you, but know that my passion for this space and the twisted euphoria it brings has never faltered. I took a break to rediscover myself amidst the labyrinth of pleasure and pain that is the human experience. Yet, as I've emerged from that abyss, I found I've channeled those experiences into words and scenes of unbridled ecstasy that have found their way onto the pages of my newly completed manuscript.

As a masochist woman and willing submissive, I have come to realize, in ever-sharper clarity, the power my fantasies hold over my mind and body. Dipping my toes into the hypnotic, turquoise pool of my desires feels like life itself. Lust and longing coil around my thoughts, evoking a euphoria akin to a drug that numbs the world, amplifying my cravings, and sends waves of pleasure coursing through my veins.

It's in these vivid scenes of punishment, submission, and raw need that I've come to find solace and strength. I hope by sharing these fantasies, I can help ignite a spark in your own psyche—that, through these words, you might find an outlet for your darkest, most hushed desires.

We've walked the path of turning those fantasies into reality at times, hand in hand with my cherished Master. Our passionate embraces, the sting of his hand, the agonizing twist of nails sinking into my flesh, and the climactic crescendos that follow, all fuel my fantasies in tandem with my waking hours. Yet, no matter how real and potent our encounters may become, a line remains indelibly etched in my mind.

It's this delicate balance between the world of wanton lust and the ties of reality that gives my life shape and meaning. When we immerse ourselves too deeply, the waters murky with ecstasy, we must always swim back to solid ground. Safety, sanity, and understanding need to be our buoys, tethering us to a world where the line between truth and delusion remains uncompromising.

In this space, I wish to share these moments of erotic fantasy, hoping they'll bring as much joy to your mind as penning them does to mine. I encourage you to embrace your darkest longings, dream of pleasure and pain, and allow them to breathe on the page. But remember, those memories will serve to fan the flames of your subconscious, never dim their luster or confuse them with the daylight world around you.

On bended knee, I vow to light the candles, kindle the fire, and stoke the flames of fantasy to a roaring inferno. It's my honor to share this flirtation with whips, ropes, and forbidden lust with you, keeping one foot firmly in the real world, the other entangled within the obsidian roots of our shared fantasies.

So join me in the erotic embrace of fiction, let your secrets simmer and simmer, and let's find solace in the safety and understanding that fantasy and reality are two tides that ebb and flow, but must never truly blend.

Yours in submission,

tina

Mean Neighbor Ruth - a story by deviants x12348765, artwork by iddqdidkfa666

Here is a story from my friend x12348765, another deviant at deviantart. The artwork is by iddqdidkfa666. Do visit them both at deviantart and say hello from me. Thank you, my friends, for letting me publish your work. :)

Mean Neighbor Ruth
by x12348765

Ruth Alto stumbled drunk from her car and onto the ground of her driveway,shredding her skirt on the door on the way down.  Her expensive, designer briefcase fell as well, the contents spilling out onto the driveway, much like Ruth.  One large, flat, brown envelope goes spinning and cartwheeling away, down the side of the driveway and into the neighbor's yard...

Ruth picks herself up and manages to stumbles inside.  She falls asleep on the floor of her bedroom, still dressed in her business jacket and blouse along with her ripped skirt, stockings, high heels and (thanks to the rip) a very visible set of pink panties with a big purple heart on the seat.

Cut to:
She awakes with a groan and weary look on her face.

Cut to:
We see her in a bathrobe, drinking coffee by a kitchen sink.  Through the window, we see it is morning.

She begins to open her briefcase and sort through the mess.  After a while of sorting, she begins to grow frantic.  In her mind's eye, we see the large, flat, brown envelope spinning in air.  She tears through her house, madly searching for the envelope but in only vain.

Cut to:
Back in the kitchen, she's standing, an angry, puzzled look on her face and she contemplates the whereabouts of the envelope.

A tall, well dressed man walks into the room and glowers at her. "I see you decided to come home last night."

She looks down, and murmurs, "I had to work late."

"Work late?"

"Yes.  I had to take care of several clients for my boss."

"Interesting."

She looks up and forces a smile.  "Why is that so interesting?"

"Because of all the plasters." he says calmly.

She frowns deeply.  "Plasters?  Band-aids? What are talking about?"

"All the plasters on the bathroom mirror, the one behind the door."

She stares blankly at him, then her eyes widen.  She gingerly reaches down to her bottom and suddenly winces.  She puts on another smile and looks right at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."  She tries to sound smug.

"Whatever.  Did you bring home the envelope that Diana gave you?"

"Yes," she snapped, then paused, remembering that was what she had just been looking for.

He bought it.

"Good.  Go and put it in the safe.  If anything where to happen to that envelope..." He trails off, pausing, then shivering.  He comes back to his senses and he glowers at her "And I hold you personally responsible for that envelope now!  Don't screw it up!"

And with that, he grabs his own expensive, designer briefcase, jacket and umbrella, and he leaves.

She pauses, then shivers.

She starts looking around the room for the millionth time when her gaze crosses the kitchen window which looks out across the neighbor's yard. She see little Billy Jessup, her next door neighbor's youngest son, standing in his own yard, looking at a large, flat, brown envelope.  Her eyes widen and she flies, ZOOM, up to her room where she changes into a nice blouse and skirt, all dark, giving her a look of authority.  Then, ZOOM, she's down stairs, outside and by the fence, closest to little Billy.

"Young man!" She snaps.  "Young man!  That envelope belongs to me! Bring that right here, this instant!  Do you hear me, young man?"

Little Billy Jessup wasn't impressed.

"You want this envelope, Misses Alto?"

"Yes, bring it here, right now!"

"Sure thing, but first how about you give me back all my planes and balls that I lost over your fence?"  and he smiled.

If steam could have come out of her ears, it would have.  "Rrrrrrr!! Now you listen here, you little snot nosed ankle biter, if you don't give me that envelope, I will go straight next door to you mother!  And what do you think she's going to say?"

"I recall her saying something along the lines of, 'next time she catches you on our property, she going to pepper your big rear end with her shotgun'" And he smiles again.

"AAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!!!!" but she remembers now and he's right.

He walks away from the fence, deeper into his own property and away from her. "I'll be waiting for all my planes and balls," he calls out cheerfully as he wanders off.  "And don't worry," he calls waving the envelope above his head, at which she cringes at his careless handling of it.  "I'll keep it safe!"

She wrings her hands, scowling and twisting with impotent rage, watching as he recedes into his garden, hesitant to follow for fear of being shot in the ass by his mother, whom she knew to be perfectly capable of carrying out her threat of painful seat peppering.

But if that envelope isn't in the safe when her husband opens it...in her minds eye she see her husband screaming and waving his hands by the open safe. Then we see her, bare bottoms up, while he spanks her with a wicked looking long thin wooden paddle.

She can't decide....then she thinks about all the planes and balls that have come over the fence and she remembers laughing as she stuffed them all into bags and took them to the landfill herself (boy, she really IS mean!).

As she stands there, frozen in indecision, little Billy reappears, skipping by, holding the envelope by his side, dutifully.

"Billy!  Come here!"

He stops and wonders closer...but not too close!

"Please...give me the envelope...it's the right thing to do, and you know it", she says this, trying to sound, firm and serious, but calm and cool.

"So would returning my planes and balls..."

"Why you little!" she erupts, waving her clenching and unclench fists erratically in the air.  "If you mother wasn't home I'd come over this fence and throttle you, you little shit!  If I ever catch you alone I'm going to..." and as if by some miracle, Ruth hears,

"Billy!  I'm going to the store.  I'll be back in a little while.  You mind yourself, okay?"

"Yes Ma!" Billy says, smiling, without a care in the world.

Ruth's eyes flash, and a large wicked grins steals across her face. "Ha ha!  That's it!  Now you're done for!  Give me the envelope, right now! I'm giving you one last chance!"

"Then I'm giving YOU one last chance to give me back my planes and balls" and he smiled.

Making claws of her hands she shrieked at Billy, "You're toast you little shit!  I'm going to eat you for breakfast!" and with that, she hops clumsily over the fence and stands before Billy.

Keeping her legs straight, she bends at the hips until she is almost his height, just above, and pokes her finger at the tip of his nose accusingly, "Your moms not here to protect you little Billy," she says and another evil grin washes over her face.  "Now who's going to stop me?"

"Um...that would be my dog, Rex?"

"What?  Your dog Re..." CHOMP!! "YYEEEEOOOOOWWWWW!!!!!!!!" RRRRIIiiiiiippppppppppppppppppppp

Ruth straightens up reflexively as the searing pain of Rex's pointy teeth puncturing her jutting rear-end blossoms into her bottom cheeks.  With her standing suddenly, the seat of her skirt, shreds away in Rex's jaws, leaving her big, round, pantied bottom (yellow with purple polka-dots) 'hanging out' of the back of her tattered skirt.

Her lips form into the classic 'O shape and she reflexively moves her hands behind her to attempt to cover her exposed, pantied, bottom.

"Ha ha!" Billy laughs, seeing Ruth so embarrassingly exposed.  "Nice panties, Misses Alto"

"Why you little..." forgetting her "well vented" situation, she turns on little Billy with a look of murder in her eyes.

"Get her Rex!  Bite her tushy hard!" Billy screams, seeing her advance on him.

With renewed enthusiasm, Rex lunges after Ruth who runs screaming towards the nearest tree.

CHOMP! "AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiipppppppppppppppppppppppp

"Well, so much for your nice panties," calls Billy.

Ruth's big bare rump bounced and wiggled as she climbed the branches of the nearest tree.  But not before Rex got in a few more snaps at her bum cheeks.

SNAP "Owwwwwww!"  "Get her boy!"
SNAP "Ooooooooo!" "Good doggie, bite the mean lady!"
SNAP "Noooooooo!" "hahahahahahahaha!


Finally she evaded Rex's reach and collapsed, exhausted in the crux of the main trunk.  She quickly realized her mistake, as now she was stuck, and bent over, with big bare bottom, sticking up in the air.  She looks over her shoulder, past her plump backside and down to the yard, but little Billy is gone.  She breaths a sigh of relief, knowing how vulnerable she is at the moment.

Just then....
Little Billy comes marching back wearing a soldier's helmet and carrying a pellet rifle.

He faces towards the tree she's in and salutes.  Then he gets down on one knee and sites down his rifle.  We see he is aiming at her big upturned bare rump.

PING! -- 'Yeow!'
PONG! -- 'Oh!'
PANG! -- 'NO!'

He pauses a moment, to her false sense of relief, and notices a hornet's nest, buzzing above her.  He shoots it three times and it cracks open, the hornets pouring out, buzzing with anger over the damage to their home.  Then they spy her upturned  cheeks.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII"

Kicking and squirming, trying to free herself from the painful onslaught of hornet stings, she reveals more and more places to be stung by the hornets. Finally she kicks herself free and tumbles down the tree, catching her clothes along the way until she is stripped naked, except for her stocking and high heels.  The back of the garter-girdle catches the last branch nub, suspending her several feet above the ground from a stretching piece of fabric.

Billy pulls a cactus plant of his mother's under her.

"You damn little bastard!  Do you have any idea how sore and swollen my wasp stung ass is?"

"I'm doing it for the all the missing planes and balls out there" he saysand smiles.

"Ahhhh!!!! Will you stop with that!" she screams and kicks her legs. "I've had enough of planes and ba..."  Her garter-girdle splits and she drops, swollen ass first, down on the cactus below.

Her ass cheeks meet the cactus and are greeted by hundreds of barbed and poisoned spines.

YYYYEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She shoots to a standing position and does a kind of frenetic dance, holding the sides of her ass-cheeks, and howling, "Oh my bottom!  It's on fire!  Owwwww!....."

Billy is on the ground, rolling around and laughing at the site of his crabby neighbor, holding her bottom and dancing and crying about how much it stings.

After about five minutes she is able to focus and stand still.

She has a look of pure hatred on her face.  "That's it, " she says with a low growl, her eye twitching (and her ass twitching even more!) "I'm going to skin you alive for this," and she begins to advance slowly towards him, her hands outstretched, as if to choke him.

"What in tarnation is going on?"

Ruth looks up from her 'target' on the ground to see Billy's mother standing a few feet away, holding a shotgun.

"Uh...um....uh," Ruth stammers nervously "Your little...son...has something of mine."  She forces a smile.

Billy's mom looks her up and down (she's naked except for her drooping stockings and her high-heels).  "And you were going to seduce him to get it back?"

Ruth frowns and the looks at herself.  She comes to the embarrassing realization of her state of dress and acts accordingly.  Her knees bend and come together as one arm is draped across her exposed breasts and the other attempts to cover her will trimmed bush.  "No!  No!  Not at all!" She tries forcing a smile.  "I slipped and ripped my clothes.  Now please give me what's mine!"

Billy's mom takes the envelope from Billy and looks at it.

"State your name."

"What?  Oh.  Ruth.  Ruth Alto."

"The envelope says, Roger Alto."

"Yes, that's my husband.  But you can give it to m..."

"No, I think I'll give it to him instead.  I think that would be better."

"Now you listen here, you tarted up house Frau!" Ruth spits, losing her composure.

Billy's mom raises up the shotgun.  "I seem to recall offering to pepper that big behind of yours with buckshot the next time your trespassed."

"Now, now...let's not be hasty," she starts to nervously back away.

Billy's mom takes a few steps towards her and Ruth spins around, forsaking all modesty, and runs for the fence.

BLAM!  YYYYYYYYOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!! Ruth leaps up, clutching at her freshly peppered backside.

BLAM!  OOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!! Again, she leaps and clutches.

She scrambles over the fence (but not without snagging her stocking and stripping them completely off), and runs naked, her beet-red, hornet stung, needle punctured, buckshot peppered, swollen bottom bouncing as she dashes into her own house.

Cut to:
Roger Alto standing at Billy's front door while he and his mother hand him the envelope.

"We took good care of it, Mr. Alto.  That's why we wanted to give it to you personally and not your wife....who was acting kind of strangely".

"Yes, thank you, " he says sincerely as he accepts the envelope.  "I'm very grateful for your kindness. If there's anything I can do...."

"Well, " says Billy.  "Misses Alto WAS pretty mean to me...." Billy was hoping Mr. Alto would force her to apologize to him.

"Hmmmm, I see, " Mr Alto replies.  "Well, " he smiles, "I think I CAN do something that will make you feel better about that."

Cut to:
Roger Alto, sitting in his back garden on a straight back chair.  His wife (now dressed) standing besides him.  He lifts her skirt revealing her white panties with red hearts and pulls her over his lap, positioning her so that her big bottom is the highest point, and is facing towords the neighbors.

"Roger!  Do we have to do this here and now?  My ass is still so sore! And the neighbors can see!"

Roger applies a nasty wooden paddle across her pantied bottom.

SPLAT!  "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh"

"That's really the point, my dear...."  He looks up and sees Billy standing at the fence, enjoying the site.  Billy gives Roger a thumbs-up.  Roger smiles and returns the gesture.  Then he hooks he hand into the waistband of Ruth's panties.

"NO! Not my bare bottom!  Not like this, not out here!"

ZZZZZUUUUFFFFF, down they come, exposing her big lobster red bottom.
Ruth's face flushes the same shade of red.

SPLAT! "OOOOOOOwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!"
SPLAT! "NOOOOooooooooooooooooo!"
SPLAT! "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

.
.
.
.

The End

The misfortunes of Belinda Kruger

You make many nice friends on deviantart. I got to know a German girl who is very much into spanking. She is known as Gesperax on deviantart. Here are some pics created for her by a favourite artist of mine, JedLeech. Let's meet Gesperax's alter ego, Belinda Kruger.

Obviously, Belinda is very fond of apples. And forbidden fruit always tastes best...¨

The owner, Miss Harker, certainly don't want to share her precious apples with anybody.

Belinda got a taste of something completely different from apples...

Rock salt and bird shot pellets hurt quite a bit when embedded deep into her buttocks. Belinda had a long, painful walk back home.

It took a long time for her friend Sonja to pick all the pellets out of her bottom. Belinda couldn't sit for a week after the pellets had been removed.

Shortly after all the pellets had been removed and well before her wounds had healed, Belinda was in for it again. A seemingly endless and thorough spanking which had her lying face down for several nights. But that's another story. Some girls just seem to attract perils of various kinds... ;)