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Description
The fight after work didn’t lat very long. Arrogant waiter Peter found he was no match for petite waitress Irena whom the jerk had been groping incessantly ever since she had arrived. He laughed out loud when the humiliated girl had told him to meet her in the stables behind the hotel where she would “teach him a lesson”. His buddies had encouraged him to go: “The dumb Polish b****h probably wants to give you a blow job, Petey!” one of them had sniggered.
Pete sauntered down to the stable block to find Irena waiting for him still clad in her uniform - the short black skirt, black tights and white blouse that so drove him crazy, but, he noticed, with the ominous addition of elbow length leather gloves. ‘Kinky!’ he grinned to himself.
He sneered. “You need a slap, you uppity little cow!” the waiter had snarled and advanced on her. Unfortunately for the oaf, Irena was a trained boxer. A swift one-two combination twice to Pete’s face followed by a hard blow to the flailing man’s solar plexus, felled him like a sack of potatoes. Sitting astride him, the triumphant waitress had barely begun his face slapping before he was begging her to let him surrender.
By the time I arrived to break it all up, Irena still had the sobbing Pete pinned, but she had stripped him naked and handcuffed him (the girl had come prepared! I smiled to myself) and was systematically rubbing manure into his crying beaten face.
“I think he’s learned his lesson, Irena,” I told her as another pile of horse dung and hay was rubbed into the humiliated man’s mouth and nose, “but shall I take a photo or two before you let him up?”
“Oh nommmmmmph!” responded Pete before a leather gloved female hand stifled his anguished protests.

Source: The BritishInstitution.com

Description
The fight after work didn’t lat very long. Arrogant waiter Peter found he was no match for petite waitress Irena whom the jerk had been groping incessantly ever since she had arrived. He laughed out loud when the humiliated girl had told him to meet her in the stables behind the hotel where she would “teach him a lesson”. His buddies had encouraged him to go: “The dumb Polish b****h probably wants to give you a blow job, Petey!” one of them had sniggered.
Pete sauntered down to the stable block to find Irena waiting for him still clad in her uniform - the short black skirt, black tights and white blouse that so drove him crazy, but, he noticed, with the ominous addition of elbow length leather gloves. ‘Kinky!’ he grinned to himself.
He sneered. “You need a slap, you uppity little cow!” the waiter had snarled and advanced on her. Unfortunately for the oaf, Irena was a trained boxer. A swift one-two combination twice to Pete’s face followed by a hard blow to the flailing man’s solar plexus, felled him like a sack of potatoes. Sitting astride him, the triumphant waitress had barely begun his face slapping before he was begging her to let him surrender.
By the time I arrived to break it all up, Irena still had the sobbing Pete pinned, but she had stripped him naked and handcuffed him (the girl had come prepared! I smiled to myself) and was systematically rubbing manure into his crying beaten face.
“I think he’s learned his lesson, Irena,” I told her as another pile of horse dung and hay was rubbed into the humiliated man’s mouth and nose, “but shall I take a photo or two before you let him up?”
“Oh nommmmmmph!” responded Pete before a leather gloved female hand stifled his anguished protests.

Source: The BritishInstitution.com