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An
Old World Punishment
by
C Allen
The
discovery of an aged spanking bench from the
bowels of the school provides a new twist to
Major Jugen’s punishment of naughty school
girls.
From
the novel Spoils
of War Copyright (c)
2003
Ebook Spoils
of War
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Last night was a peculiar night. I
had two related, but very different dreams. The first
was an utter nightmare. I was faced with a never-ending
queue of young women waiting to be flogged. No matter
how fast I worked, there were always more waiting their
turn to be secured and caned to blood. They came
willingly despite the screams of agony of those that
preceded them. And each of their faces accused me of
committing an unspeakable act in wielding the cane.
I
awoke drenched in sweat, my heart thudding as if I had
just finished a race. I got out of bed and drank a
tumbler of cognac to calm my nerves. God, if such angst
is what a few retaliatory beatings causes me, how will I
deal with executions if they become necessary? My
assignment here may not be so lucky after all. Damn the
French. Can’t they just accept that they have lost and
accept their defeat with grace?
Fortunately,
I awoke from my second dream in a much better frame of
mind. This one was no nightmare. The essential elements
were Mme Duprés, several deserving students, and the
lovely young instructress, Mlle Courant. After
dispatching the two students with whippings, I went to
work on Mlle Courant’s naked ass with a cane.
I
awoke as Mme Dupree’s hand stroked me to a monumental
orgasm. That in reality it was my hand and not Mme Duprés’
was a minor drawback, but nothing I couldn’t live
with. I had only to wait a few hours to alter that.
I
ate a huge breakfast and tackled my work with an
optimism I had seldom felt since my arrival. Thank
heavens for L’École Dernière, Mme Duprés and all
the fine families that have sent their lovely daughters
into my clutches. I salute them all.
I
ate sparingly at lunch, not wishing to dull my senses
for the afternoon session at the school. For the same
reason I avoided the wine that usually accompanies my
midday meal. Yes, wine increases sexual desire; but it
can also lessen one’s ability to perform. And at my
age that seems to be doubly true, especially given my
dream-induced early morning performance.
I
left for the school in time for my customary four
o’clock arrival. I can’t help wondering what my
driver must think about my frequent visits to the
school. I never make reference to the nature of my
business, but perhaps my mood is too light. I would be a
fool not to think that he suspects me of some form of
assignation. Fortunately, he cannot possibly guess at
the true details.
Mme
Duprés—Marie, surely by this time I can use her given
name—met me at the front door and conducted me as
usual to her study. Her glow told me that she had
anticipated my arrival as much as I. Once her door was
closed she kissed me passionately, her tongue darting
about my mouth like a snake.
“I
have a surprise for you, my dear Major Schmidt,” she
gushed, and she stepped aside.
There
behind her was a medieval-looking contraption that could
only exist to hold a woman helpless for whatever
whipping she deserved. A first rate craftsman had
obviously seen to its construction and employed all his
skill in the process. Each heavy wooden upright and
crossbeam was sanded smooth and fitted into place as if
it were part of a fine cabinet.
“I
went to the storage basement yesterday, just to see what
I might find to improve our games,” Marie said. “I
had only been down there once before when I first came
to the school. When I laid eyes on this, I knew that we
must have it brought to my study where it can be
properly appreciated by students and faculty alike. What
do you think?” She wore an ear-to-ear smile.
“It’s
wonderful,” I replied, matching her smile with one of
my own. “How old can it be? It looks well-worn and
dull from age.”
“Who
knows? The school has been here forever. A hundred
years? See how the leather straps and upholstery have
dried and lost their suppleness. And the dust, you
should have seen what had collected. And look at
these!”
Marie
fingered two obviously ancient leather straps that were
draped over the contraption.
“I
found them hanging from these hooks. A little work and
they should be quite serviceable. See how they are worn?
It would appear that they have been used diligently in
the past. Imagine all the pretty, bare bottoms they have
caressed. Can
you get me the proper oil to restore their
flexibility?”
“Yes,
of course. And is it possible that another trip to your
storage basement might yield more treasures? Say after
today’s culprits have been dispatched?”
“Yes,
certainly,” she said. Then with a coquettish smile she
added, “But couldn’t you and I also find another use
for this frame? After the girls are gone, of course. Its
very nature suggests additional possibilities to satisfy
whatever you might have in mind.”
“I
see your point,” I said, growing hard at the prospects
Marie hinted at. “Perhaps we had better get on with
our two misbehaving students.”
Marie
disappeared for a minute. “I’ve sent for them,”
she said upon her return. “They will be here shortly.
As I told you Friday, they are both attractive young
women. You won’t be disappointed.”
Indeed
they were an attractive pair, a condition their school
uniforms did little to hide. Both were tall with good
posture. Mlle Martine was as French as they come, a
brunette beauty with a saucy pout only Frenchwomen seem
able to produce. Her companion, Anne, was a Dane,
blonde, slightly plump and statuesque.
On
this occasion instead of separating them Marie invited
both Martine and Anne into her study. They curtsied
nervously before their eyes were drawn to the wooden
trestle. From their looks I could see that each
immediately recognized the contraption’s purpose.
“How
would you like to be strapped to that?” Marie
demanded.
Their
faces went pale.
“Don’t
worry,” Marie said. “It won’t happen today. But
know that this old whipping trestle will be waiting here
for you should you be unlucky enough to return in the
future. Today each of you will simply bend forward and
take twelve hard strokes of the cane on your knickers.
That should be nothing for big girls like you. Who will
be first?”
Both
girls looked horrified. “Twelve strokes,” Anne
mouthed in disbelief.
“Well?”
I said. “One of you speak up.”
“Twelve?”
Martine whispered.
“You
both heard Mme Duprés perfectly. Now step up before
your punishment is increased.”
My
threat motivated Anne to hesitantly step forward.
“Very
good,” said Marie. “Don’t dally. I know you’ve
been caned before, Anna. Skirts up. Good girl. Bend
over, hands on the chair.”
With
fearful reluctance Anne followed Marie’s instructions.
She was obviously embarrassed at displaying her
knickers; the more so at offering up her thinly covered
bottom to both the cane and my prying eyes.
“She
has a bottom ripe for a dose of the cane, eh,
Headmistress?” I offered.
“Do
you wish to do the honors, Herr Major?” Marie held the
cane out to me.
“No,
Headmistress, the honor is yours. But understand that I
shall tolerate only hard strokes. I’m sure that these
two girls have earned a severe whipping or they
wouldn’t be here.”
“Mademoiselle,
shall I repeat your offense for the benefit of Major
Schmidt?” Marie asked, tapping the seat of Anne’s
knickers with the cane.
Anna
was already trembling. “Please no, Headmistress,”
she managed.
“Yes,
he might increase your punishment. Very well, I shall
begin.”
With
that Marie raised the cane and delivered a dandy stroke
that pushed Anna onto her toes and drew a gasp.
“Count,
Anne,” I ordered.
“One,
Sir” she squeezed out.
“Two,
Sir.”
“Three,
Sir.”
Counting,
she was doing a dance, stomping one foot, then the
other, as she lewdly rolled her backside from side to
side.
“Be
still,” barked Marie. “You gyrate like a whore in
front of Major Schmidt. What must he think?”
Indeed,
what did I think?
“Yes,
Ma’am,” Anne wailed, but it was obvious that she
could not obey the command.
In
truth I was doing very little thinking, but my reaction
was…was passionate to say the least. To a degree that
I would have been embarrassed if anyone had noticed.
The
poor girl did control herself more appropriately for the
next three strokes, but she then reverted to her earlier
bumps and grinds. To her credit this Danish “dish”
eventually took all twelve strokes, but with plenty of
tears and without earning extra.
“Do
you wish to examine the results?” Marie smiled at the
indiscreet bulge I displayed.
“Thank
you, Headmistress,” I said with a straight face. “I
think a quick inspection is in order.”
I
could not doubt Marie’s due diligence with Anne’s
whipping. The young woman’s once smooth bottom was
covered with hard weals that I could feel through her
knickers. She would sit upon them for days. My attention
obviously humiliated the poor girl, for her sobs grew in
volume at my intrusion.
“Get
up,” I said. “Adjust your clothes and stand next to
Mlle Martine. Mlle Martine, prepare yourself.”
The
scene with Anne was repeated with Martine. Yes, she was
slimmer, which made her bottom more curvaceous, but
there were few other differences. Marie delivered crisp
strokes of the cane and Martine wiggled and jiggled and
sobbed throughout. The final results were remarkably
similar: a well-wealed bottom that would torment Mlle
Martine for several days.
No
sooner were the two students dismissed than Marie
prodded the front of my trousers with her cane.
“Seen
enough,” she asked playfully, “or do you need some
hands-on experience?”
As
if to supply her own answer, she threw the cane on her
desk and bent forward over the trestle.
I was on her in a flash, buckling the dried-out
leather straps as best I could to secure her to the
frame. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to fasten the
waist and wrist straps. This was all that was needed to
prevent her interfering with my dishonorable intentions.
Up went her skirts and down came her fancy cotton
knickers.
“Be
gentle,” she said nervously. “Please, no more than
three cuts.”
“But
you gave each of your students a very fine dozen,” I
reminded her.
“Jurgen,”
she pleaded, for the first time using my given name.
They deserved it. Look what I’m offering you.”
“You’ll
take what I give you,” I said sharply.
“Jurgen,”
she wailed plaintively.
Swick.
As
desperately as I wanted to cane her properly, I wanted
to enter her even more. I had been achingly hard far too
long for comfort.
Marie
grunted, but otherwise made no display.
Swick.
Swick.
I
quickly delivered two more wicked cuts, and then dropped
my pants and reamed her marvelous pussy until I fired
off as I have never done before. Unfortunately, I was
much too fast to begin to satisfy Marie.
“What
would you think about a few more?” I offered.
When
she didn’t answer I picked up the cane and in short
order delivered three more hard strokes. I needed
nothing more to return to full attention. My second
effort was quite adequate enough to please the
Headmistress. I hoped no one was outside to hear her
express her appreciation.
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