Madam Vosges' Finishing School

by Victor Bruno

  Back to Melanie, whose nates were clenching with dread. She too was twisting a little sideways, as Virginia had done.

  “I will have that bottom square, Melanie,” said Madame Vosges. “And... up!” As Virginia had done, Melanie complied with both orders, a great sob of despair bursting from her.

  Sssswwweeee... cccrrrraaacccckkkk!

  Number three bit nearer the centre of Melanie’s bottom. One inch nearer. Madame Vosges is getting towards the plumpest part of the bottom of all, thought Piet. He hoped also, that she would lay at least a couple of strokes across the tops of their thighs. That really made them shriek. Squirming, gasping with pain, Melanie hung on with one hand but flung back the other. But it had not interfered since it came back after the stroke had been delivered.

  “Ooowwww... hhhhaaahhh... owww... three ...” came the cry. Still nine to go, thought Piet... poor dear!”

  Virginia was twisting again. She simply couldn’t help herself.

  “My girl,” rasped Madame Vosges, “if you don’t keep your bottom square, I shall give you two extra.” That bottom came instantly square... and was also thrust up.

  Sssswwweeee... cccrrrraaacccckkkk!

  “Y-Yaaaaghhhhh... aaaghhh!”

  For the first time Virginia lost her grip and clasped her hands urgently to her writhing buttocks.

  “One... two... three... four ...” intoned Madame Vosges remorselessly. At “Four”, the hands came away. The girls were behaving quite well, she thought, though the worst was still to come, of course. The Number Two cane was nearly as severe as the Number One; quite a brute. She marched back to Melanie.

  From here on, Piet noted, the action on top of the desk became more pronounced. It was not that Madame Vosges was caning any harder (she always caned very hard anyway) but that the overall pain was steadily mounting. Each girl carried three throbbing-burning weals and there was still plenty more to come. They knew it.

  Number four had Melanie kicking and twisting down on her knees to the floor in front of the desk. “Ooooh... ooooh... ooooggghhhh!” she cried out.

  “One... two... three... four... five ...” counted Madame Vosges remorselessly. It was only on “Five” that Melanie managed to clamber back and present herself. Madame Vosges waited calmly.

  “You did not count, Melanie ...” she said, “you get that one again.”

  “Nooooo... for God’s sake... nooooo ...!” But Melanie got it all the same. “F-Four ...” she squealed. It was truly terrible to have to endure extra strokes.

  Madame Vosges noted that Virginia’s bottom was square when she returned to her. That warning had got through.

  Sssswwweeee... cccrrrraaacccckkkk!

  Virginia, too, was down on her knees on the floor... clasping... squirming and squirming. Oh the pain, the pain... it was unendurable!

  She just got back over the desk on the count of six. But only just. Eight still to come.

  Madame Vosges was now virtually at the centre of each bottom. The widest span, the longest weals. The pressure was now really coming on. Piet was wanking again. The scene before him was indescribably exciting.

  From the fifth stroke on, both Melanie and Virginia lost their grip every time. The desperate efforts they made to get back over in time were fascinating for Piet to watch.

  Virginia failed on her sixth stroke... and got it again. Each bottom thus now carried seven pulsating weals.

  As the ninth stroke was descending, poor Melanie simply could not stop herself throwing back an arm. The cane cracked across this piece of protection.

  “Two extra, girl.” grated Madame Vosges. “Keep your bottom square.” Melanie got those two extra in quick succession and she was sent writhing and shrieking down on to the floor. It was a miracle, thought Piet, that she managed to get back in time. Only just, though. Perhaps Madame Vosges was being generous.

  Virginia failed to count the tenth stroke... and so got it again.

  She also failed to get back in time after the eleventh stroke, which, to Piet’s delight fell across the tops of her thighs. He was beginning to wank strongly. He could let go any time now. It was nearly over.

  Melanie got her last and final stroke and failed to get back in time. So, of course, she got it again. Likewise with Virginia. She too, had to endure an extra cruel stroke.

  Piet was erupting, groaning as he rolled from side to side, eyes glazed with lust. His eyes were fixed on those quivering-quaking, weal striped buttocks. How many weals? Sixteen? Maybe seventeen or eighteen. Those two girls had really suffered. Slaked, feeling weak, Piet drank another Bols. It had been really marvellous. Only Madame Vosges could put on such a show!

  Madame Vosges remained as cool as a cucumber. Whilst the sobbing girls remained bent over, she made further entries in her PUNISHMENT RECORD, detailing the extra strokes she had had to hand out.

  Both pairs of knickers were in tatters on the floor... which was not surprising in view of the writhing and kicking which had gone on. Madame Vosges was unconcerned about that.

  She kept the skirts pulled up and buttoned. “You will go back to your class,” she said, “and tell Miss Magda you are to stand in each of the front corners for the rest of the period. You may go.”

  Sobbing, each girl forced herself up stiffly. It was an extra torment to make any movement... yet it had to be made. They swayed side by side, weeping copiously. Madame Vosges seemed quite unconcerned, though she was well aware she had handed out two very good thrashings.

  Supporting each other, Virginia and Melanie staggered to the door and disappeared from view.

  ***

  Piet drank another Bols before rejoining his hostess. He was feeling quite light-headed and entered the Study looking a little sheepish. He was aware that Madame Vosges would know that he would have been masturbating and that was a little embarrassing.

  “You certainly gave it to them, Madame,” said Piet, seating himself.

  “You think so? Well, yes, maybe. But I believe in caning hard and that Senior girls should be treated strictly. They have a long life in front of them and they have got to learn obedience... and respect for their elders.”

  “Quite so,” nodded Piet. He wondered vaguely whether Madame Vosges would invite him to stay the night or whether he would have to push on to Switzerland. He didn’t mind much either way. There came a knock on the door.

  “Ah-ha,” said Madame Vosges, “that could be another candidate. Enter ...”

  The door opened and a very mature-looking woman, with rich auburn hair, entered. She was tall and buxom with very big breasts bursting out of her thin blouse. Her thighs were long and powerful. She was crying softly and recoiled when she saw Piet.

  “O-Ohhh... what is... is... he doing here?” she wailed.

  “More to the point,” said Madame Vosges, “What are YOU doing here?”

  “M-Miss... Bernice... s-sent me... with... with a note.”

  “Give it to me.” The young woman handed over the note. “Tricia,” said Madame Vosges. “Hmmm... this is the first time you have been sent to my Study.”

  “Y-Yes... mmmfff... mmmfff... yes... M-Ma’am ...”

  “I see that Miss Bernice recommends that you be caned.”

  “No... no... ooooh... please don’t, Madame... I don’t think I could bear it.”

  “You’d be surprised,” said Madame Vosges sarcastically. “It says here... inattention... idleness... lack of concentration. All serious faults. I suppose you have been strapped.”

  Tricia flushed a deep pink. “Yes, Madame. Twice.” Tricia sobbed deeply. “It... it was awful.”

  “How long have you been here, Tricia?”

  “Just... just over a week, I think.”

  “Ah well, you are only just beginning to learn our ways.”

  “B-But... but... Madame... you
can’t c-cane a grown woman!” cried out Tricia.

  “How old are you, girl?”

  “Twenty five, Madame.”

  Madame Vosges’ lips twisted. “Believe me, girl, I have caned plenty... oh plenty... of girls of your age.”

  “N-Nooooo... I can’t b-believe it ...”

  “You will, believe me, you will. Who sent you here? Your husband, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes... yes... Madame ...”

  “For unfaithfulness?”

  “Yes... yes... Madame ...”

  “Well, in that case, you deserve to be here. And I am going to cane you, whether you like it or not. In front of this gentleman.”

  “NOOOOOOOO... YOU COULDN’T!”

  Madame Vosges’ features were hard set. She looked at Piet. “You have no objection, I suppose, Mr. Lanners?”

  “Oh... none at all,” he answered politely. This young woman’s tits really were magnificent and he reckoned she would have a super arse on her too. Although he had only recently been well slaked, his pulses began to pound faster.

  “Very well, Tricia,” said Madame Vosges, “Miss Bernice recommends only six strokes, which is surprisingly generous of her. However, let me warn you, young lady, if there is disobedience and resistance, that number of strokes will be increased. By me.”

  “M-Madame... Madame... please under... understand... I have done nothing wrong... really... I don’t deserve this.”

  “That is your opinion, Tricia. However, as it is, you will bend over the front of my desk and lift up your skirt.”

  “BUT I CAN’T!” screeched Tricia. “N-NOT... in... in front of this man!”

  “You will do it,” stated Madame Vosges in a voice of steel.

  “NOOOOO... OOOO... NOOOOO... OOOO!” Piet could see the young woman was getting half hysterical. Trembling violently, eyes rolling. Madame Vosges was, however, quite unperturbed. She picked up the house-phone on her desk and said one word.

  “Housekeepers ...” Then she put the phone down.

  Tricia had her face buried in her hands. “Oh... ohh... stop this... p-please... stop this please... please ...”

  Madame Vosges waited impassively seated behind her desk. “If this is troubling you, Mr. Lanners, you may of course leave.”

  “No... no... Madame... I am quite happy to stay.”

  He could hardly wait to see this big, buxom woman’s bottom bare... and getting a cane across it!

  Chapter Three

  In no more than a minute, a couple of hefty Housekeepers came bustling in.

  “I want her over my desk,” said Madame Vosges. At this, Tricia shrieked and began running wildly round the room as if seeking some means of escape.

  “Don’t touch me... ooohhhh... let me out of here!” screamed the young woman. Piet enjoyed the way her big breasts bounced so wildly. “Ooooh... you vile woman... you monster... how can you do this to me?”

  Madame Vosges’ eyes glinted dangerously, then she pounced and, struggling wildly, Tricia was dragged to the desk.

  “Nnnnooooo... NNNOOOOOOOOO... NNNOOOOOOOOO!” The shrieks got more desperate, but the Housekeepers were experts in handling such situations. Tricia was dumped unceremoniously over the front of the desk and held down by the crushing weight of the Housekeepers on her back and shoulders. Madame Vosges opened her desk drawer and took out not a Number Four cane but a Number Three. There was a look of evil determination on her waxen features. “Manacle her wrists please,” said Madame Vosges to the Housekeepers, “and then strip her naked. This girl has earned herself a really good hiding.” Piet’s pulse pounded faster.

  “STTTTOOOOOOPPPPPP... FOR GOD’S SAKE... SSSTTTTOOOOOPPPPPP!” Tricia was becoming hysterical.

  Her wrists were locked into the handcuffs on the back of the desk then, without more ado, the Housekeepers stripped off her blouse, bra, briefs and skirt. Tricia was helpless, threshing and kicking over the desk... and Piet was favoured with the sight of a mass of juddering-quivering Junoesque flesh. Thighs, buttocks, back and, when Tricia twisted half over, breasts.

  “Stuff her knickers into her mouth,” ordered Madame Vosges, “I want to make myself heard.” The knickers went in and Tricia was reduced to frantic snorting sounds. “Now, my girl,” continued Madame Vosges, “You were sent here to get six strokes of the cane... the lightest cane I use. Let me tell you, first, I have increased the weight of the cane. Secondly, you are not getting six strokes. You are getting six extra for resistance and twelve extra for insulting me. Presuming you can count, that makes twenty four in all.” The snorting sounds became even more frantic. “Light the joss-sticks, please.”

  One of the Housekeepers lit two joss-sticks set in a rack on a small shelf: These, Piet was aware, were used to revive a girl if she fainted under the ordeal. This certainly looked as if this might happen in Tricia’s case. “Thank you, ladies,” said Madame Vosges to the Housekeepers, “I’ll call you if I need you again.” Silently, the two bulky women left the room.

  Gloatingly, Piet looked at the young woman still threshing about on the desk top. She really did have a magnificently plump bottom. Frightful as was her predicament, Piet was aware that it was made all the worse by his presence. She must be riven, he thought, by an absolute torrent of shame and terror. Nice to know!

  “Kindly take the knickers out of her mouth, Mr. Lanners,” said Madame Vosges. Piet was only too happy to oblige. As he moved the soggy little white wodge, Tricia’s pleas and protests came bellowing out again. He came back to his chair and moved it slightly so that he had a better view of the young woman’s naked hindquarters. Flexing the cane, Madame Vosges took up a position on the left hand side of her victim.

  There was a moment’s pause, then Tricia got the first cane stroke that she had ever received in her life. And she got it hard.

  A gasping sucking in of air ...

  Then a disbelieving shriek. It seemed to ask, how can such pain be?

  It was followed by another. Then another. Each higher in pitch.

  At the same time, that big bottom pounded up and down, twisting and turning uncontrollably. For Piet, it was a most fascinating sight.

  Madame Vosges, features impassive, waited until the tumult of flesh had died down somewhat, then she laid on again. Piet saw the cane burying itself deep into Tricia’s buttock flesh, then springing away again, leaving a bright red twin-tracked weal behind.

  Again those intakes of air ...

  Again those disbelieving shrieks ...

  Again the frantic jerking and writhing of that lush bottom ...

  Tricia caught her breath. “AAAGHHH... NO... NO MORE... NO... MORE... YOU CAN’T!” she screeched.

  “There are twenty two more like that to come, my girl,” said Madame Vosges remorselessly. “I think, perhaps, you will behave yourself better in future.”

  “NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOO ...”

  Tricia’s protest was cut off abruptly by the cane falling for a third time. The reactions were similar except that, if anything the shrieks were more intense. Piet noticed that the weals were falling close together, no more than half an inch apart. It was a masterful display of accuracy in view of the convulsive squirmings of Tricia’s bottom.

  Again!

  “A-A-A-A... AAAAAAGGGHHHHHH... AAAAAAGGGHHHHHH!”

  Fantastic, thought Piet. What a sight! Like two rounded white blancmanges, side by side, being shaken violently on a dish. Another long, curving weal, leaping the deep cleft between the nates.

  The fifth stroke fell and Tricia twisted almost completely right over, exposing rolling bouncing breasts... mouth gasping in another howl of awful torment. Piet saw her eyes round and wide, starting out from their sockets, like those of a mad woman. This young woman is certainly suffering, he thought, yet there is still such a long way to go.

  When Tricia had twisted
back, the sixth stroke whistled down and, once more the girl twisted right over, legs kicking wildly, thighs splaying. Piet guessed that his presence now counted for little. Pure pain had taken over and was paramount.

  Madame Vosges stepped back, then went round to the front of the desk. Piet looked at the six bright weals, occupying no more than a four inch band. They must be very painful. He reflected.

  Madame Vosges gripped Tricia by her thick auburn hair and yanked up her head. She bent close. “Those were on behalf of your Form Mistress, Miss Bernice,” she said. “You still have eighteen to come on my behalf.”

  “NO... OOOOOO... NO... OOOOOO... YOU CAN’T... OOOOGGGHHHH... HAVE MERCEEEEEEE!” screamed Tricia. Madame Vosges released the hair and the head slumped down. In panic, Tricia tugged futilely on her handcuffs, still screaming.

  Madame Vosges came back to the front of the desk. “May I ask, Mr. Lanners,” she said, “if you intend to chastise Beatrix personally at the Nunnery?”

  Piet flushed slightly. He had certainly had that very much in mind! “Well... er... that is possible... yes ...” he replied.

  “Have you ever done such a thing before?”

  “No,” said Piet, shaking his head, though it was certainly something he had fantasized about.

  “Perhaps you ought to have a little practice,” said Madame Vosges. Piet’s nerves flared and he found himself flushing again. But this time with excitement.

  “But... but... I wouldn’t be anywhere near as good as you, Madame,” he protested lamely.

  “That doesn’t matter,” said Madame Vosges. “I shall give you a larger target to aim for. I suggest you lay three strokes across each buttock cheek, placing them diagonally.”

  Some of this talk must have been getting through to Tricia, who began to scream more loudly when she realised she was now about to be caned by a man!

  Piet took the cane that was handed to him and noticed that his hand was trembling slightly.

  “NO ...OOOOOOOOOOOO! YOU CAN’T... YOU MUSTN’T!” shrieked Tricia. Madame Vosges nodded to Piet who took careful aim over the right cheek. Then he raised the cane high and lashed it down. For him the sensation was exquisite; for Tricia an agony. A long, twin-tracked weal now ran from the top of her buttock cheek to near the beginning of her thigh. She squirmed and threshed in fresh torment.