by Victor Bruno
“Three... and... and... two... ooo... are f-five... F-Four... and three... are... aaahhh... se-seven... Five... and... and oooohhh... ohh... f-four... are n-n-nine... S-Six... and .... owww... aagghh... f-five... are... ohh... e-eleven ...”
Thus it proceeded stroke by stroke, and I had no doubt at all if the tormented Paula had made any errors in her calculations (which would have been well understandable under the circumstances) she would have got that stroke again for good measure. Fortunately for her, despite the pain which must have been filling the whole of her being, she was able to keep her brain sufficiently alert in order to do the correct addition right up to the twelfth stroke.
A stroke which fell just as mercilessly as the first had done.
Throughout, my eyes kept darting from Madame Maxine to Paula’s quaking bottom-flesh. How calm and controlled my Governess seemed. She simply oozed power. No effort seemed to go into the stroke, yet each was a full-blooded one. Paula’s agonised gasps and ever-louder shrieks echoed from wall to wall, ringing in my ears. Yet never once did I hear her utter the kind of pleas that I had done often before. Perhaps she was experienced enough to realise the complete futility of doing so.
By the time it was over, my brain and my loins were on fire with a lust the like of which I had never known before. At any moment I thought I must burst, and desperately strove to calm myself and get some grip over my feelings. My pulse was hammering, my throat was dry. I even felt a little giddy. I watched Madame Maxine smooth her hair casually before replacing the came on its hook. She seemed completely unconcerned by the long dry sobs which were racking Paula. All too accustomed, no doubt...
“Spencer!”
My nerves flared and I swear I leapt a couple of inches off my seat. Guilt knifed through me and I felt the sweat break out all over my body.
“Y-Yer... ess... , Ma’am ...?” I gulped.
“Come out here and release Paula, please ...”
Oh my God... how dare I? It was like a short wooden baton projecting through my trousers. But yet I dare not remain where I was.
“Did you hear me boy? At once!”
“Y-Yes... Ma’am.”
There was no escape, no matter what the consequences might be. Doubling myself up slightly in an effort to control my tumescence, I scurried out to the whipping block. And need I say that being once again so close to Paula’s nakedness scarcely helped matters? I knelt, sweating even more as I unfastened her wrist straps. Her eyes were closed, I could see the tears on her cheeks; see her slack, wet mouth. At that moment I did feel sorry for her... yet I felt sorry for myself too. Has Madame Maxine seen? I crawled backwards a little to unbuckle the waist strap. Paula uttered a little groan of relief as it came away. Finally there were the thigh straps, when I had to kneel in such a way I had a close up view of her most intimate secrets.
Did my hand deliberately brush those thighs or was it an accident? Anyway, a thrill like an electric current went through me. The flesh of Paula’s nates were continuing to twitch. I had an almost irresistible desire to run my fingers over those long red weals. I knew just how much they were burning. Oh yes... I knew that all right!
I completed my task and got to my feet, turning away from Madame Maxine. But I could not resist casting a glance her way as I scurried back to my place. I saw her eyes were on me... and there was a strange, inscrutable look in them. There was a heat in them too, and it seemed to lance right through me, thrilling me yet terrifying me.
Had she seen? Did she understand? Would she do anything about it?
My mind was in a turmoil and I could not stop myself trembling. And all the time the pressure on my tight trousers remained the same. Then the most terrible thought of all came into my mind.
Supposing she insisted on punishing me at that very moment?
Then I would have to display my wickedly rampant state both to her and Paula! The very idea made me blush crimson to the roots of my hair.
Fortunately, Madame Maxine seemed to be concerning herself with Paula, so my state of wild confusion went unnoticed.
“Pull your knickers up, girl,” she was saying.
Gasping and wincing, Paula adjusted the tight-fitting black briefs which the girls had to wear. They scarcely covered the shapely curves of her bottom at all.
“Now stand up... and go back to your place.”
More gasping... more wincing. And all most understandable. Then Paula came tottering back, her pale cheeks streaked with tears, her eyes red. My own eyes fastened as ever on the rounded breasts thrusting through the white blouse, seeing them bounce delightfully. She hung her head, not looking at me. I sensed the keenness of her embarrassment. After all, she had been exposed to me in the most immodest way for some ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. How different it was from that time when I had been tawsed, and she had looked at me with derisive scorn. Almost triumphantly, you might say. The tables were indeed turned, and I confess that I was glad. Serve her right, I thought, that has taken Miss Haughty down a peg or two!
Madame Maxine had resumed her place behind her desk.
“Well, Paula,” she said, “I sincerely trust that that will ensure a greater mathematical effort in future. It is your only weak subject... so I am DETERMINED to get you up to the required standard. Right?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” answered Paula contritely. “I... I shall do... m-my very best ...” She kept biting her lips as she spoke, wriggling about uncomfortably on the hard chair. It was quite a remarkable effort at self-control. I knew I would have not been able to sit there, upright and not crying, as she was.
Though she was a girl, her experience had given her powers of self-control far beyond mine. It was a humiliating thought... and one that determined me not to act so much like a boy in future. If Paula could learn to take it, surely so could I!
“This morning,” said Madame Maxine, “the subject is French. Open your primers at page fifty-two ...”
Paula and I opened our books and bent our heads down. I don’t know about hers, by my mind was already most remarkably concentrated on the pages before me. I must learn... I must be alert... I must not slack for one instant. Only by giving maximum effort could I hope to satisfy my Governess. That I know knew for sure.
Agonising or not, like it or not, I knew I was destined to become one of her star pupils!
Chapter 4
Estelle, the maid, was a constant plague in my life.
Though only little more than a couple of years older than myself, she delighted in treating me like a boy in his early teens. Particularly in front of Paula.
Part of the disciplinary ritual was that both Paula and I had to go to Estelle at the end of lessons for the day. Then, if either of us had been punished, the maid would put ointment on to our sore flesh. Most vividly I can remember going there one evening shortly after Paula and I had started taking lessons together. It was typical of many encounters to follow in the months to come.
As it happened, it had been an unlucky day for me. In the morning I had received two lots of six from the tawse, followed by six from the cane in the afternoon. Madame Maxine used full force with the rattan, the bite of it into my already tender flesh was an agony - sufficient to have me howling and bringing a mist of tears to my eyes. There was that familiar look of smug satisfaction, mingled with derision, on Paula’s face as I returned to my desk. My only comfort was to recall the severe caning she had received from our Governess... and to know that was liable to happen to her again at any time. Small comfort, though.
At five o’clock Paula and I trooped down to Estelle’s room.
“I’m glad you got caned,” whispered Paula, as we went down the passageway.
I felt angry - and hurt. We should be comrades in adversity. Not enemies.
“That’s rotten,” I said. “Why?”
“I hate you ...” hissed Paula.
Why did she hate me? It seemed so unfair. But, in my heart, I know I sensed the reason. For, although I was punished more often, and had to expose myself to her, Paula also had to expose herself to me. For a young woman to have to do that was far more shaming than for a young man, I realised. Also, she was no doubt well aware of how I lusted after her when she was bent over, flesh taut, nates parted. Maybe she knew, too, that I enjoyed seeing her punished.
So, if I enjoyed watching her suffer, I should not really complain if she did likewise. All the same, I did.
“I don’t hate you,” I said, trying to be conciliatory. Things were bad enough without this hostility between us.
“You’re a filthy boy,” she said.
“I can’t help it,” I said lamely.
“She gave it to you real good,” said Paula, taking up the theme again. “What a cry-baby you are, though. Just like a kid.”
“I didn’t cry,” I protested.
Paula sneered. “I saw,” she said. “You were as good as blubbing ...”
It was true. I couldn’t deny it. So I bit my lips and shut up, all the more determined to increase my powers of resistance and my manliness. It was terribly humiliating to feel a girl’s scorn and know she was tougher than you.
We arrived at Estelle’s door, knocked, and were told to go in.
As usual, the maid was lounging in a chair, eating chocolates and reading a magazine. I looked at the chocolates enviously. Such treats were denied to me.
“Had a good day, kiddies?” she enquired, with her usual vicious grin.
Though Paula must have hated Estelle and the routine as much as I did, she never seemed to show it and, selfishly, I only had time to consider my own feelings anyway. It seemed to me, somehow, that it was more unfair that I, as a young man, should be humiliated in this fashion than a member of the opposite sex. Male ego, of course.
Neither of us answered the question.
“Well?” demanded Estelle.
“Yes, Miss,” said Paula.
“You mean you got off scot free?”
“That’s right, Miss ...”
“Well, let’s see how you’re healing up, all the same.”
That was the devilish part of Estelle’s routine. It didn’t make any difference whether we had been punished or not during the day. In any case Paula and I had to expose ourselves to her so that she could examine the remnants of previous punishments.
I saw Paula bite her lip just before she bent over in front of Estelle. This was the part I didn’t mind... but, obviously, Paula minded very much. Up came the short skirt to reveal the tight little black briefs. I felt my throat go dry and my heart begin to beat faster. Paula’s fingers went into the elastic of the briefs, and then she pushed them down to the bottom of her thighs... leaving nothing to my imagination.
The weals from the cane had faded only a little, which was not surprising in view of the severity of the punishment.
Estelle contemplated her for a good half minute, well aware of how she was prolonging her victim’s embarrassment.
“Still sore?” she asked.
“A little, Miss,” came the strangled reply. Oh how Paula must have been aching to be allowed to pull her knickers up!
“Well, that won’t do you any harm,” said Estelle complacently. “No ointment this evening. All right, you can get up now, girl.”
Up came the briefs, to partially cover that luscious young womanly nakedness, and then down dropped the skirt. Pink cheeked, and still biting her lips, Paula stood erect. She threw me a quick glance of venom. Yes, she was certainly aware of how much I enjoyed that little ceremony. But, really, why take it out on me so much? It was scarcely my fault, was it?
Estelle turned to me, and I felt the sickness of shaming embarrassment rising up within me. What fun there was was over for me, now it was my turn. And my ordeal was always far more prolonged that Paula’s. What was more, I had the indignity of being belittled before two young women, not just one.
“Well, Spencer?” she asked, raising slim eyebrows.
“I was tawsed this morning, Miss.”
“Yes?”
“And... and caned this afternoon, Miss.”
Estelle looked smugly satisfied. Paula had also recovered her composure and was smirking at me horribly.
“Well... well... how many strokes, boy? Don’t stand there like an idiot. You know the procedure by now,” said Estelle.
“Two lots of six with the tawse, Miss,” I said. “And six with the cane, Miss.” I felt the colour mounting in my cheeks. Oh God, what a fool I felt in that ghastly tight suit and high Eton collar!
“It seems you’ve been a naughty boy, Spencer,” said Estelle. “Be glad to get some ointment on it, won’t you?”
“Yes, Miss,” I answered truthfully.
“Drop your trousers, boy,” ordered Estelle.
Can you imagine a more humiliating order for a young man of my age? It had always been bad enough to do it in front of Estelle alone. With Paula there it seemed ten times worse.
I unbuckled and lowered my short trousers. By then my cheeks were bright red.
“And your pants, you cretin,” snapped Estelle. “Anyone would think you hadn’t been here before.”
I dropped my underpants around my ankles, feeling the sweat of embarrassment prickling me all over. How glad I was that my shirt covered me to some extent.
A gladness that was short-lived!
“Lift up your shirt, boy,” said Estelle. “Right up to your waist. How do you think I can see your backside unless you do?”
It was not, of course, my backside that I was worried about. And both those young ladies knew it! With hideous reluctance I did as I had been bid... and stood there, not daring to raise my head, supremely conscious of how their young eyes were devouring me.
For what seemed an age, there was silence. Oh how that little vixen Estelle loved to drag out one’s torments!
“Bend over,” she said at last.
I did so, gasping out. After punishment, any such movement played havoc with one.
“Mmmm ...” said Estelle appreciatively. “That was a good caning, even if a short one.”
How right she was!
Her fingers ran along one of the agonisingly tender weals, and I cried out, jerking erect.
“What’s the matter with you?” she demanded.
“Beg pardon, Miss,” I said, bending over again.
“What a weakling you are, boy!” sneered Estelle.
My God, could she really be aware how much I was suffering? Did she know what a real caning felt like? I bet Madame Maxine had never treated her like I had been treated. Tensely I waited for the benefit of soothing ointment.
At that moment the house phone on the table rang. I cursed my luck.
“Stand up,” said Estelle. “Keep your shirt high ...” She went to answer the phone. Right before me was Paula. Her eyes were dancing with merriment. In that moment I think I hated her. How I was going to enjoy her next thrashing!
“Yes, Ma’am,” Estelle was saying. “You mean right away, Ma’am?”
There was the sound of Madame Maxine’s voice, sharp on the other end of the line.
“Very well, Ma’am ...” Estelle replaced the receiver.
She looked at us both sardonically. Frankly, I would have been happy if the floor had opened up and swallowed me
“Madame wants me for a few minutes,” announced Estelle. “Stay where you are... and no talking.”
I felt almost sick. Could she really mean it? Leaving me alone with Paula, with me as I was? Cautiously, hopefully, I lowered my shirt front a little.
“Keep your shirt up, Spencer. Right up, boy,” rapped Estelle.
I raised my shirt up again and then heard the door open and
slam shut. I looked up and saw a happy smile spreading over Paula’s pretty face. Then she gave a low laugh.
“You can’t imagine what a stupid idiot you look like that,” she whispered.
The fury welled up in me. To be so powerless under such circumstances was quite maddening.
“Miss Estelle said no talking,” I answered defensively.
“She won’t know,” said Paula. “And I don’t care anyway.” She grinned more broadly. “Filthy boy,” she said.
“I’m not filthy... and I can’t help being a boy,” I said. Hating her... hating myself, as I stood there flushing and sweating, conscious of my shorts and pants about my ankles, conscious of my blatant exposure.
“I bet you play with that thing,” said Paula, with a sudden viciousness.
I was appalled. It had never occurred to me before that girls knew about such boyish things - such was my innocence then. I must have turned a bright scarlet, and my tongue seemed to shrivel in my mouth.
“Well... don’t you?” insisted Paula, loving every moment of it.
“No... no... of course not,” I blurted out. At the same time I was vividly recalling how I had masturbated the previous evening... whilst thinking about the cane falling across Paula’s squirming bottom.
“Liar,” said Paula. “All boys do.”
There was no answer to that. I just stood there, eyes averted, wishing above all that Estelle would return so that this ordeal would be concluded.
“Admit it,” hissed Paula.
“All right,” I found myself saying. “Sometimes I do ...”
Paula grinned at me triumphantly. “I told you you were a filthy boy,” she said.
Then, to my horror, I saw her lifting her skirt. Up and up it went, exposing the little black briefs beneath. Beneath them, her mound swelled provocatively.
“I bet you like seeing me like this,” she said.
How could I deny that? Already I could feel a faint stirring in my loins. I watched as Paula swivelled her hips a little from side to side, then turned around so that I was favoured alternately with both front and back views.
