by Victor Bruno
The stirring in my loins increased. Oh God... no!
“I bet you’d like to see me absolutely naked,” said Paula.
The image of that flashed into my mind, as it had done so often when I was alone.
“No... no ...” I gasped. But I was not denying what she had said, but protesting at what she was doing... and doing to me!
For irresistibly, I could feel the gradual swelling of my organ.
“Like to see my titties?” enquired Paula, giving her torso a shaking. Underneath the thin blouse the ripe breasts jogged delightfully.
“No... no!” I gasped again. Again, I was not denying her proposition, but merely trying to deny what was happening to me.
Paula’s eyes were brighter. They had a hot look in them as they gazed upon my manhood, which was by then fast stiffening into erection. She knew what she was doing all right, that little minx!
“Filthy boy .. filthy boy ...” she jeered.
If I’d had the courage, I think I could have killed her at that moment. Suddenly there was the sound of Estelle’s footsteps in the corridor. Paula dropped her skirt hastily and put a demure expression on her face. She lowered her eyes as if to indicate she could not bear to look upon me. I think I would have been glad to die in that moment.
As the door opened, the hair on the nape of my neck seemed to stiffen and rise. At the same time a hot flush seemed to spread over my body. Estelle crossed the room and stood there, looking at me with hands on hips, scornful disgust puckering her features.
“You disgusting boy,” she said. “How dare you... in front of Paula, too!”
What could I say? What could I do? I was trapped in web entirely of my own making. Desperately I prayed that my erection would subside - even a little - but, instead, it seemed to thicken and throb with an even greater intensity.
“I trust, Paula,” said Estelle, “that you have not been too upset by this piece of nastiness.”
“No... it’s all right, Miss,” replied Paula in a simpering voice.
The little bitch! It was she who had stirred me up all the time! Oh how unfair it was!
“If I report this to Madame Maxine,” went on Estelle, “she’d take every inch of skin off your backside ...”
“No... no... please ...” I broke in, “it... it’s not my fault... really... Oh Miss Estelle... I’m sorry... I’m truly sorry... I just can’t help it ...”
The look of scornful disgust remained on Miss Estelle’s face. Of course, she was aware of the truth of what I was saying, but that did not alter her attitude one iota. A long silence fell as she continued to regard me piercingly. All the time, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Paula’s gleeful face. She was enjoying the whole thing as much as Estelle!
“It is a matter which cannot be overlooked,” said Miss Estelle.
How right she was there! The blatantness of my lust was plain for all to see. But the thought of such an incident being reported to Madame Maxine filled me with the utmost dread.
“Don’t... please... don’t tell Madame ...” I found myself begging. “You... Miss you, if you must... deal with it ...”
In retrospect I can see that Miss Estelle had not the slightest intention of informing Madame Maxine of my tumescence, for that would have reflected back on her. It was a folly on her part to have left Paula and myself alone under the circumstances. However, at the time, I could not think rationally. Stupidly, I put myself completely in her hands.
“Yes ...” she said at length. “I do not wish to disturb Madame with an account of this behaviour. Much too upsetting. Unfortunately I cannot thrash you without permission... and since I cannot give the reason, I shall have to think of something else.”
I stood there, hot and trembling, shamed to my very core. Oh God, if only I could subside!
“First,” said Miss Estelle, “you will get down on your hands and knees. Then you will kiss Miss Paula’s feet and beg her forgiveness.”
My whole soul revolted against doing any such thing, but the alternative of having to face the wrath of Madame Maxine was even worse to contemplate. Half sobbing with frustrated fury I went down on all fours and began to kiss the patent leather toecaps of the horrible little minx who had so deliberately led me to such a pass.
Paula, no doubt loving it all, kept pushing the toes of her shoes up into my mouth. All the time the memory of her shapely young body, clad in those tiny briefs, was still vivid in my mind. I lusted for her, yet I loathed her.
“Kiss the soles as well,” ordered Miss Estelle after a while.
Obediently I did so. Bitterly degrading as it was, it was preferable to anything Madame Maxine might hand out. At least, that was what I tried to comfort myself with.
Meanwhile I had been vaguely aware of Miss Estelle rummaging about the room. What on earth was she up to? What did she intend to do? Though she was not permitted to beat me, I was still quaking uncontrollably inside. Certainly I was not foolish enough to imagine I would escape merely with the humiliation of kissing Paula’s feet.
How right I was.
“This,” said Miss Estelle suddenly from behind me, “should make you sit up and take notice, you filthy little beast.”
My head jerked up, my whole being shuddered. The very dread of the unknown unnerved me completely.
“Pleee... eease ...” I whined.
No longer did manliness matter. No longer did I care what Paula thought of me. I just wanted to escape the consequences of an act for which I could not truly be held responsible.
“A mustard plaster,” I heard Miss Estelle say. “A big one. Your backside looks just ready for it, boy.”
My nerves flared as a cold padded cloth suddenly enwrapped my buttocks. It was wet, and, for a few moments, blessedly chilling. But the next instant the fiery mustard poultice seared agonisedly into my tender flesh. A howl of pain was torn from me, and instinctively I tried to pull the plaster off.
“Don’t you dare touch it!” rasped Miss Estelle.
“Ahhh... ooowwww... oooohhh... aaaahhhhh ...” I gasped, twisting about on the floor.
“Keep your legs still... and straight,” came another order from Miss Estelle.
Training made me obey... and the next moment I had the supreme humiliation of realising that Estelle was drawing a pair of women’s bloomers on to me. Directoire knickers, I think they were called in those days. They went up and up, enclosing me and clamping the burning poultice to my flesh.
“No... no ...pleee... eease!” I cried, “I can’t bear it... I can’t ...”
“You’ll have to,” replied Miss Estelle complacently, “unless you want me to phone Madame Maxine right now ...”
That I certainly did not want! So that I knew I would have, somehow, to endure the burning torment, no matter how appalling it was.
Perhaps you have felt a mustard plaster on your flesh. It burns, does it not? So can you imagine what a mustard plaster feels like on flesh which is already tender and burning?
Oh God... it was truly an agony. At the time, I honestly thought I would rather have endured a thrashing... though, no doubt, if I had received one, I would have quickly changed my mind.
“Keep kissing Miss Paula’s feet,” ordered Estelle.
In my torment I had even temporarily forgotten the presence of that young lady. How she must be delighting in what I was forced to endure, and the ridiculous lady’s knickers which had been put on me!
Groaning, I pressed my lips again to the polished patent leather... kissing and kissing.
“Say you’re sorry,” said Miss Estelle.
“I... I... I’m s-sorry... really sorry ...” I managed to say between the repeated pressings of my lips.
“Say sorry to Miss Paula personally ...”
I forced myself to the supreme humiliation.
/> “I’m... sorry, Miss Paula ...” I said.
“I should think so too, you horrible boy,” responded Paula from above me.
At that point, I think my hate and fury reached boiling point. All the same, I kept myself within bounds. To do otherwise, I was well aware, would only add to my misery.
After some two or three minutes, Miss Estelle allowed Paula to go. That at least, was a relief, but the searing flames in my poor bottom had not abated one bit.
“Go and sit on that chair,” ordered Miss Estelle, when the door had closed behind Paula.
I looked apprehensively at the hard wooden chair... then, wincing and gasping, I sat gingerly upon it. The heat was intensifying rather than receding. I felt tears pricking the back of my eyes. Worst of all, in a way, was the knowledge that this was an unjust punishment. One devised by Miss Estelle herself, and not part of my general disciplinary course under Madame Maxine. Yes, it was indeed bitter to reflect on that. No hope, either, of telling Madame Maxine of what I had been made to do. That way my original ‘offence’ would have been revealed and I would be made to suffer a second time.
“You will stay where you are for precisely one hour,” said Miss Estelle. “After that, I shall return and, if I am in the mood, I may well put some ointment on your bottom.”
She grinned at me maliciously. I could not have been closer to tears. “Thank you... Miss ...” I forced myself to say.
Estelle turned and hip-wiggled her way out of the room. Just before she reached the door she turned.
“Put your hands on top of your head, Spencer, and keep them there,” she ordered.
Meekly I obeyed. What else could I do? The door slammed behind Estelle and I was alone.
Soon, with the incessant burning pain in my buttocks, I was forced to lift myself a little off the hard chair in order to gain relief. But the re-surge of pain, seemingly increased as I returned my bottom to the seat, scarcely made this manoeuvre worthwhile.
Never, I think, have I ever spent such a miserable hour in my life. Not only were there the torments of the flesh, there were the humiliating torments of the mind as I was forced to sit, wearing those ridiculous women’s drawers. How could it happen that one of my age and sex could be treated so?
It is little wonder that tears of self-pity soon began to mist my eyes.
***
As I say, these visits to Estelle were a regular part of the day’s routine and, although I was not often so vilely treated as I have just described, they were always much to be dreaded. The only possible ‘light relief’ to be got out to them was to watch Paula exposing her shapely bottom and, perhaps, hearing her gasp when it was her turn to have some of the ointment put on her ...
However, this was not the only way that Estelle had of humiliating me - and by the way, I was somehow aware that Madame Maxine condoned what she did. It was all part of my disciplinary training.
First there was the humiliation of bath night. This took place every Friday night. I would have to accompany Estelle to the bathroom, fill up the big bath with warm water, and then strip completely naked before the young woman. She always examined me closely before I got in the bath, in order to discover how dirty I had become. She would examine my neck, look into my ears (pulling them viciously), under my armpits and, most shaming of all, in my genital regions. She would lift up my penis and balls with a casual kind of callousness while she examined me... treating me as if I really was a little boy. Of course, there was no need at all for this examination. It was simply done to try my patience and degrade me as much as possible.
Then into the bath I would have to go, using strong carbolic soap and a scrubbing brush. My God, how that scrubbing brush hurt on my flesh... especially where that flesh was tenderised! And, no matter how well I cleaned myself, Estelle could always find some fault when she examined me again after the bath. This was simply to give her an excuse to take up the scrubbing brush and use it herself. It was worst of all whenever she took to scrubbing my balls. Often she would reduce me to whimpering tears and I would end up on my knees on the floor, literally begging her to stop.
When I left that bathroom, parts of my body would be glowing as if I had been in a furnace.
“Why do you have to me so rough with me, Miss?” I once asked her.
“I am responsible for your cleanliness, boy,” she answered. “So, if it isn’t all it should be, I can get punished. That, I intend to avoid.”
It was an answer which I had to be content with. But you will understand, I am sure, how much I dreaded the arrival of those Friday nights.
A second form of humiliation was the ‘domestic’ work I had to undertake at week-ends.
Madame Maxine decreed that there should be no educational work for me on Saturdays and Sundays but, as she said, she did not see why I should be idle. Thus, under Estelle’s directions, I had to do lots of wretched things like washing up, sweeping, carrying coals, preparing vegetables and so on. These were the things which were normally done by Estelle, so she was delighted when I was there to do them for her. Actually she used to slack on Thursdays and Fridays, so that there was more work for me to do at the week-ends.
All this was bad enough when Madame Maxine was staying at home. When she went away, things got even worse. I had the same sort of chores to undertake, but Estelle would make me dress up in the most shame-making fashion. All I was allowed to wear while I was working was a short shirt and under this a pair of voluminous firectoire knickers. Over the lot went a maid’s apron... and sometimes she put a maid’s cap on my head!
There was simply nothing I could do about all this. When I rebelled the first time she reported me to Madame Maxine, when she returned, for misbehaviour and disobedience. I got a very severe caning... with the promise of a worse one if any such thing occurred again in her absence.
“Just because I am not here, Spencer,” she said, “do not imagine that you are still not completely under my authority.”
So it was that Estelle could have fun and games with me, to her heart’s content, whenever Madame Maxine was away.
Frankly, I often welcomed the return of Monday mornings, even with its grind of classroom work!
It was, to say the least, a rigorous regime. But it was one which was having a remarkable effect upon me. An effect which, at one time, I would never have dreamed possible.
As I have said before, Madame Maxine set out to make a star pupil out of me. She had sensed, rightly, that the only reason I was not succeeding was because I was bone idle. That I had a brain, but was not using it.
And Madame Maxine began to succeed at the task which she had set herself.
In view of which, after all I have told you, who can say that Madame Maxine’s methods were wrong? She transformed me from an idle lay-about into a scholar. She unearthed hidden mental resources which I had never suspected were there. I always had been able to do it; it was simply that I hadn’t wanted to. Madame Maxine, of course, was not concerned with what I wanted. She simply wanted results, and got them.
Month after month Paula and I worked side by side in that study. I think I learned more in that time than I had done in the previous year. The tension was always terrific, and I was invariably mentally exhausted at the end of the day. No matter. I learned.
Since Paula had acquired a considerable mental alertness, and I was fast developing one, there was no need for punishment of the order I have just described. As a general rule, that is. In any event I discovered that, once one was an established pupil, it was not Madame Maxine’s policy to punish with severity day after day. Perhaps she understood that we would not be able to stand up to that sort of treatment anyway. No... she would punish with severity about once a week, or say ten days. When she genuinely thought the necessary effort had not been made... when she thought the time was ripe for one of us to be pulled up sharply. She kept that ultimate w
eapon in reserve - and we always knew it was there - so that we should continue to give of our very best.
Thus, what I might term day-to-day corrections were of a relatively minor nature. Mainly she used a single-thonged tawse, and she dished it out in rations of twos, fours or sixes. Occasionally more, but not all that often. The culprit would have to bend over her desk to get it... with trousers down in my case, and knickers down in Paula’s. The leather stung atrociously at the time but, fortunately, the pain did not endure all that long. Soon it became an almost pleasing warm glow. One which stimulated my already strong lusts. After, I would spend half a morning in tumescence. Especially if young Paula had had to display her luscious bottom for corrective treatment. She hardly ever cried out when getting the tawse, and, I am glad to say, I was soon able to copy her example.
With the cane, I hardly need say, it was different, for that hurt far, far more. Even Paula could not take that in silence, and I certainly could not. Luckily for us, we did not get it all that often as our progress improved.
My respect, and my adoration, for Madame Maxine increased with every day that passed. I was literally in thrall to her. Though she had the power to make me suffer, and used it, I no longer held it against her. All I wanted to do was please her. A word of praise from her was like sunshine in January.
In short, she was doing precisely the job she had been engaged to do.
Chapter 5
As the months passed, I developed a far more manly attitude to punishment. Though it hurt, and hurt like hell, there was no more blubbering and childish pleading from me. In fact, I think in due time I was able to take if far better than Paula. Of course, as a man, I should have done.
I have also to confess that, throughout this time, I still got the most lustful thrills whenever Paula had to lift up her skirt and take her knickers down. My agitation was frequently and obviously displayed but, strangely enough, Madame Maxine never made any comment on this, nor did anything about it. I could only presume that she was human enough to realise there was simply nothing I could do about it on such occasions!
