"A Soldier's Diary."

"A Soldier's Diary"

It was in the fall of 1966.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Elliot shuddered from the chill in the air as he stepped off the streetcar on Haupt Strasse, in the Schoneberg section of Berlin. In the waning light of the late afternoon, he glanced in either direction, then quickly made his way through the crowd of people returning home from work. He stepped inside the door and brushed aside a hanging doorway drape that shielded the inside from the cold air when the door was opened. The moldy sour smell of the bar surprised him, and for a brief moment, it took him back in time as familiar odors sometimes do, several years back to when he was a young sergeant first stationed in Berlin.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit bar, Elliot saw a woman sitting alone in a corner booth, a cigarette in her hand, an empty glass in front of her. She was the reason he came back to Berlin.

Elizabeth, or Liz as most people called her, was a tall, attractive woman in her late forties, thin to a fault but with large sagging breasts. The woman had pale gray-blue eyes as one might expect with Germanic women. Her hair was ash brown, gathered in a French twist that gave her the appearance of a no-nonsense school teacher or governess. She had high cheekbones, a soft mouth, and an especially pleasant complexion, and like many of the women who worked in the sex trade, Liz used too much eye shadow to give herself a sultry wanton appearance.

Elizabeth was a dominatrix by trade and by nature, although lately, not a very successful one. The femdom market wasn't thriving, at least not in the circles Liz traveled in. Over the last few years, she had been forced to offer her services to whatever the client wanted and even that wasn't the lucrative business it had once been. Liz was sexually dominant, but she wasn't a sadist. Hurting a man didn't excite her, but the way they reacted to the threat of pain did. She loved to stand naked in front of a man, her legs apart, a riding crop in her hand, and watch him get down on his knees and beg to perform the most humiliating acts. Liz knew, while most of her clients were sexually aroused by the whip, they enjoyed the dire threat of a naked woman whipping them more than they enjoyed the actual pain.

Liz had been sitting in the bar since early afternoon. She had come directly from a hotel in a taxi paid for by a young Brit, a lance corporal stationed in Berlin. She tied the young soldier over a chair and whipped his bare behind with his belt until the young man got down on his knees and begged to drink her pee, just as he expected her to. The Brit was one of Liz's regulars except it wasn't as often as he or she wanted. Because of his low rank, the young soldier had neither the money nor time to see her often.

Liz was still wearing her red halter-neck dress, one of the two good dresses she owned, both well-worn. She would go braless when she wore the loose open underarm dress, as it allowed men to slide their hand in under her arm, to fondle her breasts. She knew, once the men felt her bare breasts, it would be hard for them to change their minds.

Like most of the German women at the time, Liz didn't shave her underarms. The hair under her arms was fine and sparse, as was the hair between her legs. She did one time shave her pubic hair, but only because a man she lived with had asked her to. He had begged her many times without success until he finally realized that he might try offering her money. She agreed to do it for twenty Deutsche Marks, at the time about five U.S. dollars. He paid her on the condition she let him watch her while she shaved. He knelt in front of Liz, his face close while he watched her slide the razor over her pubic mound. When she was finished, she wiped the fleshy cunt lips dry, and made him stand over her and masturbate onto her breasts, then she whipped his behind with a riding crop until he licked it off.

His name was Anthony, a Brit working in Berlin. He owned the riding crop. When drinking he would claim to be a spy for the Brits, not that Liz cared. Then one day Anthony packed up and went back home to Britain, and Liz thought most likely to his wife and family, but he left the riding crop behind.

Liz felt the chilled air when the door opened, and she looked up. She saw him come in and she was bewildered at first but pleased. She was sure she recognized him. He was the American she had met in this same bar many years ago. At that time, he was a sergeant in the Army stationed in Berlin. My God that was so long ago, Liz thought. Seeing him again made her feel good, even a little euphoric.

Liz thought back, to 1950, when they first met. They had shared a few drinks and she took him home to her small one-room apartment. Within two days of their first meeting Liz and he moved in together. She liked Elliot and had been happy to move in with him.

Chapter 1

It was the summer of 1950

"Building a house of cards."

She had found a place for them to rent, a room over a bar on Goerzallee in the Lichterfelde section of Berlin. Although Elliot didn't know it, it was the same place Liz had lived with another soldier a year earlier. The room they rented was small with slanted ceilings and a single bed, but most important, it was close to McNair barracks where Elliot was stationed. They had lived there for almost a year, and it had been a good time for both of them. Liz had even harbored thoughts of marriage back then, but she knew that wasn't likely.

Liz learned the handsome soldier had a fetish for the natural scent of her body. He liked to smell her, then lick and taste her body, especially her sweaty underarms and feet as well as her vagina and anal bud. The aroma of her body excited him so much that he begged Liz not to bathe before sex. Elizabeth was surprised at how avidly the young soldier responded when her body odor and flavor were strong. Elliot would say she was deliciously ripe and bury his face between her legs, using his tongue with a fervor she hadn't expected. It was as if the natural earthy scent and taste of a woman's body were an aphrodisiac.

When Liz was performing oral sex on him, Elliot would often ask her to bite down hard. "Please chew on me," he'd beg, telling her how much he enjoyed the pain of her teeth chewing on his cock. With Elizabeth's experience as a professional dominatrix, she quickly recognized the young man was a sexual submissive and what the women in Liz's trade called a painslut.

Liz was certain, from Elliot's demeanor, that he would get sexual pleasure from being whipped by a dominant woman, but she wasn't sure how to approach him about it. Liz knew that it wasn't unusual for married submissive men to keep their masochistic and subservient role-playing separate from their everyday home life. She was concerned if she introduced him to the whip, even though he may enjoy it, the confusion of being whipped by the woman he lived with might be so traumatic, the young sergeant might move out.

And if Liz was honest about it, she was quite happy with their living arrangement, especially the financial part. Although she didn't charge him for the sex per se, he paid for their food and the rent, and he always had American cigarettes. She knew he'd give her some money now and then, and she was skimming a few bucks off the top of the money he gave her for the rent and food shopping. With Elliot busy all day in McNair Barracks, Liz could easily find time to conduct her business, and on occasion, she even saved a few bucks by bringing clients to their room.

Liz had tried dropping small hints to Elliot about his desire for punishment, suggesting he might need a good spanking or whipping. Although her comments usually got a grin or a nervous laugh out of him, Liz wasn't convinced he wanted her to be the one who punished him. They had been living together for several months when Liz decided to see how the young soldier would react if he were to see her naked with a riding crop in her hand.

She had been busy all morning with clients and stopped by her mother's apartment in East Berlin to pick up some things as well as the riding crop she kept there. She carried a heavy bag up the stairs and smiled at Elliot as she stepped inside the apartment. Liz dropped the leather bag down. "Make us some tea," she said, as she removed her heavy coat and sweater. As she expected, Elliot's mind was already captivated, his eyes glued to her as she undressed. When she was finished, she stood by the kitchen table naked but still wearing her heavy leather boots. She gave Elliot a mischievous grin as she casually put one booted foot up onto the chair. "Look at my cunt," she said, spreading her leg, her tone of voice arrogant.

Elliot stood there mesmerized, unable to look away, his eyes fixated on the woman's vagina. He watched as Liz put her forefinger between her legs, then put it to her nose, smelling herself. "Umm, I stink... Are you sure you want to lick me?" she asked, hesitating, "down there," she added, teasing him. Liz knew he worshipped her cunt, especially when she was ripe.

Elliot put his head down, as he started to kneel, his face was so close he could smell the aroma of her cunt wafting up from between her legs. "Please let me?" he, begged. But just as the young soldier's knees touched the floor, Liz reached down and grabbed his ear, twisting it hard, pulling him back up to his feet.

"Yes, but not now!" she said, in a firm tone of voice, still holding him by his ear. Liz reached into the bag. "I brought something home I think you might like," she said. She took out the riding crop Anthony had left behind and held it up for him to see. Liz stood there naked, facing him, her legs apart, striking her right thigh with the crop, and she wasn't smiling. "Well Young Man," she said, speaking in a harsh tone, "Is this something that interests you?"

She could see that Elliot was so captivated by the sight of the riding crop; the young soldier couldn't move; he just stood there with his mouth open, unable to stop staring at the whip.

"Yes," she nodded, smiling at him. "I'm going to use it on you," she said as if she was answering the young man's question. "I've been too easy with you; it's time you were punished," she added, her eyes holding his. "Now lower your pants," she ordered, pointing at the floor with the riding crop. "I want them down around your ankles," she said in a calm but authoritative voice.

Elliot lowered his eyes, "Yes Liz," he whispered, as he unbuckled his belt, then opened his pants and slid them to the floor.

When Liz saw how quick he was to obey her, she knew she was right. The young man wanted to be whipped. "Umm good, and your underpants," she reminded him, tapping his side with the whip.

Elliot nodded quickly. "Yes, of course, Liz," he answered in a servile tone.

She stared at him with a frown, tapping his erection with the tip of the riding crop. "You were told to make the tea, Elliot!" she said, sounding very impatient with him.

"Yes Liz, but I...I was going to." he stuttered, shaking his head, refusing to look at her.

Liz could see his cock was standing hard for the whip, something she often saw with clients in her line of work. She held her finger to her mouth. "Not Liz," she said in a soft tone of voice, shaking her head just a little. "You address me as Mistress Liz or Miss when I have the whip in my hand. Do you understand?" she corrected him.

"Yes, Miss, of course!" he answered, his eyes still on the crop.

"So, since you didn't make the tea, you deserve to be punished," she smiled, tilting her head. "No?" she asked.

"But, Miss," he whined, looking down, his voice shaky but with a hint of resignation.

"You know very well I will not tolerate disobedience," she explained in a soft tone, smiling at him, sounding very much like a stern parent.

Elliot stood there staring, his eyes still locked on the whip. "Miss, may I be allowed to make the tea now?" he asked.

"No, not now Elliot," she said, laughing at the young man's feeble attempt to avoid the whipping. "I'm sorry," she said in an apologetic tone, "but this is something we have to do."

"Miss, if... if I get down on m...my knees and beg you not to whip me, will that help?" he stuttered.

She smiled to herself. Liz was a skilled professional dominatrix with years of experience; she knew men like Elliot reveled in the humiliation of being made to kneel for a woman. The young Elizabeth had learned her trade years ago, at a young age, before the war. When Liz was a young woman, her parents had sent her out to work as a live-in maid for a wealthy older businessman and his much younger wife, in one of the many mansions that dotted the Dahlem section of Berlin. Although her employer, Herr Stahlmann was a short balding man, his wife was the epitome of a Viking woman warrior. The tall, square-shouldered woman had snow-white hair that she wore in an unfashionable military style crew cut. The stern-looking Frau Stahlmann had pale grey piercing eyes, high cheekbones, and thin very defined lips. Although not readily noticeable, Frau Stahlmann was quite proud of a thin pale scar she had on her left cheek that she referred to as her dueling scar. Something the intimidating woman thought of as a badge of honor, or at least that was what she told people.

The young maid Elizabeth had only worked there for a short time when she was introduced into the strange world of female dominance by Frau Stahlmann. One afternoon Elizabeth was confronted by the manageress, an older, stocky woman who oversaw the household.

"You will report to Frau Stahlmann immediately, Fraulein Schmidt. You have not been doing your job!" she explained, sounding very pleased with herself.

When the nervous young Liz reported to Frau Stahlmann in her bedroom, the woman was stark naked with a whip by her side. She was sitting down pulling a black leather boot on her foot. "Elizabeth, this is regarding my husband," she said in an angry tone, pointing to the far corner of the room.

Although the area was not well lit Liz could see the back and bare behind of Herr Stahlmann standing naked in the corner, his face pressed tightly against the wall. "I caught him masturbating this morning," his wife said loud enough so that Herr Stahlmann could hear her. "He had a soiled pair of panties in his mouth," she sneered, making a sour face, "and this is not the first time," she added. "They were your panties, and I feel as the injured party, it is only fair that you should be allowed to punish the fat pig." Frau Stahlmann pointed to an open box with a new pair of very expensive black boots in it. Take off your clothes and put on your new boots, if this is something that you might wish to do," she said.

Liz remembered that evening with the Stahlmanns and so many more just like it during her three-year employment with them, how often Herr Stahlmann had been on his knees, begging the two women for mercy but to no avail. Liz thought about how in subsequent sessions they whipped the man and made him perform the most humiliating acts. How they made the older man kneel, and orally service them both, front and back, then forced him to drink their pee from a dog's bowl, and how surprised Liz was to learn, it was exactly what the older man wanted. She remembered how impressed she was with Frau Stahlmann's power over a man, and how much she wanted to be like her, but most of all Liz remembered the expensive gifts the Stahlmanns gave her for her service.

Liz stood there listening to Elliot stammering. She nodded to him, with a smile, accepting his offer to kneel and beg her. "Umm. Oh, that's a good idea," she said in a soft tone. "Why don't you kneel and lick my boots nice and clean for me."

"Thank you, Miss," he said, sounding relieved, as he quickly knelt on the floor, his hands, fondling her foot in a caressing way. He put his mouth to the toe of her boot, kissing the leather as though he worshipped it.

As he started to lick the toe of her boot, Liz callously put her boot to his face and pushed him back. "But first, let me sit down," she said. Liz pulled a wooden chair close to Elliot and sat with her legs apart, so close his face was between her legs. She looked down at him, as he leaned forward and started to kiss her vagina. "Oh no," she laughed, "That's your reward. You have to earn that privilege," she said shaking her head and pushing him away. "I want you to lick my boots."

"Yes of course Miss, I'm sorry. I want to do that for you," he apologized.

Elliot scooted back a little and lifted her foot, holding the weight of her boot in his hands. He put his mouth to her boot and started to run his tongue along the tip of it then slowly licked his way up. When he had finished cleaning her boot with his tongue, he looked up waiting. Elliot knew the bottom of her boot could be filthy from the street, and he wanted to lick it clean for her, but with his submissive nature, he wanted the euphoric pleasure of being forced to humiliate himself.

She looked down at him, frowning, well aware of the submissive man's needs. "Did you forget the bottom of my boot?" she asked, with a hint of anger in her voice. She lifted her foot higher, pushing the soul of her boot to his face. "I know it's filthy. I stepped in something..." she hesitated. "Ewww," she said, crinkling her nose, then shaking her head in disgust. "I think you need a good slap in the face, for making me remind you!" Liz knew, degrading the submissive young man would give him the rush of euphoria he wanted.

"No, Miss," he apologized. "Please don't be angry with me, I want to lick the bottom of your boot," he said, quickly working his tongue back and forth over the sole of her boot, ignoring the small grains of dirt he felt and tasted with his tongue.

When he was finished, he sat up looking at her. He reached out, to pick up her other foot. "May I do the other boot, Miss?" he asked.

Liz laughed, then smiled at him, shaking her head. "No, not now," she said standing up. Liz was an experienced dominatrix and understood the mind of a submissive man and she knew he was stalling. She knew, as much as he wanted the whip, he was afraid of it and she also knew that that fear of a naked woman with a whip, gave men like Elliot intense sexual pleasure.

"I've decided to forgive you for not making the tea," she said in a friendly tone.

"Thank you, Miss," he grinned, but his voice sounded as though he was disappointed by her change of mind.

Liz glanced at where she had been sitting and pointed. "Watching you on your knees licking my boots has my cunt dripping," she said. "The chair seat is all wet."

"Yes Miss," Elliot nodded, twisting his head. "I'll clean it." He leaned over and started to lick the wooden chair seat.

"I want it nice and clean. Make sure you lick the whole seat," she said, pointing with her whip.

The young man nodded, "Yes Miss!" as he carefully ran his tongue back and forth over the wooden seat.

Liz smiled, "Very nice," she said. "Now stand up! Where do you want it?" she asked in a loud harsh voice. "On your cock or your behind?"

"B...but Miss," he complained, as he stood up. "You said..."

She gave him a stern look, then slapped his face hard. "Stop whining you little slut!" She frowned at him, holding her forefinger up as a warning. "Not another word! I'm going to whip your cock because I like to do that," she said in a harsh tone.

Elliot stood there wide-eyed, with a pained expression on his face. "Please Miss, not there, not on my penis," he said shaking his head."

"Oh, poor Elliot!" she nodded, laughing at him, slapping his face again. "I whip you wherever I want," she said. "Umm, but think about it. If I whip your behind, it will be less painful for you than a good cock whipping, but when you shower in the barracks the other men will easily notice the red welts on your behind," she laughed. "Or maybe you want the men to know I whip you?" she asked tilting her head with a feigned frown.