Madam Vosges' Finishing School

by Victor Bruno

  “Excellent,” said Madame Vosges. “Now the other cheek.”

  Piet changed the direction of his attack and lashed down over the left cheek. How deep that cane bit into the lush flesh... and how it made the girl squirm! Marvellous... quite marvellous!

  Back to the right cheek.

  Sssswwweeee... cccrrrraaacccckkkk!

  Piet lay on about two to three inches lower and was glad to see the second weal ran almost parallel to the first. I really am quite good at this, he thought. Tricia’s shrieks were bouncing off the walls... and went quite unheeded. Her bottom was a constant frenzy of squirming motion, the flesh a jelly of juddering.

  Back to the left cheek.

  “MERCEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

  Sssswwweeee... cccrrrraaacccckkkk!

  Gaining confidence, Piet was laying on harder whilst maintaining reasonable accuracy.

  Four lovely diagonal weals. Such a pity he had only two more to raise. Still, there was always Beatrix to come.

  “Two more... just as hard as you can, Mr. Lanners,” encouraged Madame Vosges.

  Piet laid on the two final strokes with all the force he could command... and the results were equally satisfying. He found himself breathing fast; there was a throbbing in his temples. He could not recall when he had been more stimulated. Except, possibly when he had raped Beatrix, all that long while ago now.

  “Well done, Mr. Lanners,” said Madame Vosges. “Well done indeed. You performed quite like an expert.”

  “Thank you, Madame... you are kind to say so.”

  Tricia’s shoulders were heaving; she was making horrible groaning sounds, sucking in and expelling great lungfulls of air. Madame Vosges knew the signs. Tricia was on the verge of insensibility. She fetched a joss-stick and placed it under the girl’s nostrils.

  In moments, the room was filled with choking-retching sounds as Tricia was brought back to full sensibility. She heaved and heaved. Piet was surprised she wasn’t sick. Coming back to the front of the desk, Madame Vosges handed Piet the joss-stick. “I may want you to place this under the girl’s nostrils while I am actually caning her,” she said.

  “Very well, Madame, I’ll do that. Just let me know.” Madame Vosges picked the cane off the desk and flexed it with relish. Now this insulting young bitch was REALLY going to be made to suffer.

  The caning was resumed at the same steady pace with the shrieking so loud and constant that Tricia’s vocal cords were beginning to crack. When she couldn’t manage a shriek, a kind of loud rattling noise came from her throat. After the eighteenth stroke the heaving of the shoulders intensified again. Madame Vosges nodded to Piet who moved to the front of the desk. He pulled up Tricia’s head by her hair. The face was unrecognisable. One red-wet mass of uncontrollable flesh... the eyes slits... the mouth gaping... saliva dribbling down the chin. She no longer had capability of coherent speech, so could no longer beseech for mercy. Piet let the acrid smoke drift up into the girl’s nostrils.

  Those awful retching-choking sounds began again. The eyes opened wide, brimming over with torment and terror, glazed and rolling, spurting with tears.

  “Keep the joss-stick there, please, Mr. Lanners,” said Madame Vosges.

  Then she resumed the caning.

  Now Piet had a close up of the terrible agony that contorted Tricia’s features as one merciless stroke succeeded another. The mouth gaped wide and rattled hoarsely; the eyes would bulge as if they were about to leave their sockets; then they would roll up and back showing almost half the whites. It was a horrifying yet, for Piet, a fascinating spectacle. Nothing could better have illustrated the excruciating pain of a severe caning.

  When the twenty fourth stroke had fallen, Piet withdrew the joss-stick and released the hair. Tricia’s head thumped down on the desk. He realised that, despite the joss-stick, she was as near insensible as made no difference.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lanners,” said Madame Vosges. She seemed completely unruffled... not a hair out of place, breathing almost normally. Of course, thought Piet, she must be very used to this sort of thing.

  “That’s quite all right,” he said and replaced the joss-stick on the shelf. Then he looked down on the heavily weal-striped bottom. It was covered from top to thighs with red-purple weals and he saw, just where the horizontal strokes crossed his diagonal ones, the purple was of the deepest hue. All was most painful over that bottom, he realised, but those spots must be the most painful of all. He was glad he had had a hand in that.

  “What happens now?” asked Piet.

  “She can stay there for a while... until she comes round.” Piet realised that Tricia had passed out and was making little moaning sounds. “Then I will give her a little lecture on the merits of good behaviour.”

  Piet uttered a short, harsh laugh. “I expect she’ll appreciate that.”

  “Maybe,” said Madame Vosges, “but she would be wise to take good note of what I say.” She went over to a cabinet and took out a decanter of Cognac and two balloon glasses... then poured two generous measures. “Let’s drink to the first caning you have ever handed out,” Madame Vosges almost smiled.

  “I’ll certainly drink to that,” said Piet.

  And, as he sat there, sipping the warm, soothing spirit, his eyes kept wandering over to Tricia’s lacerated twitching buttocks. When she comes round, he thought, she’s not going to like the feel of that bottom one little bit!

  ***

  Whilst twenty five-year-old Tricia lay in a fainting condition, two teenagers who had also been over Madame Vosges’ desk that afternoon stood in front of Miss Magda’s class, each in a corner, hands on top of the head. These, of course, were Virginia and Melanie, both naked from the waist to their white ankle socks. From time to time, furtive, frightened glances from members of the class flickered over their exposed buttocks. Every pupil knew what those two were suffering in the way of pain and shame, for they had all experienced it themselves.

  The cheeks of both Virginia and Melanie were wet with tears. From time to time a shuddering sob shook them. From time to time nates twitched uncontrollably. Though the caning itself had been truly agonising, the agony continued.

  Stab... stab... throb... throb... stab... stab... throb... throb... the burning pulsation of newly-raised weals was incessantly relentless. Those weals were gradually taking on a deeper hue, more mauve than red. And the last few inches of each weal were changing to a combination of yellow and black.

  Deep-searing pain. Long hot wires of it across each buttock cheek. Sore and stinging without pause. Those approaching the ten-mark limit of Demerits looked upon those tormented buttocks with special dread. For they knew they would soon be standing in such a corner, suffering similarly.

  ***

  After a time , having taken rather too much to drink, Piet went for a doze on the couch in the small room overlooking Madame Vosges’ study. Tricia still remained over the desk, insensible and Madame Vosges was doing some paper work.

  Piet slept for almost two hours. When he awoke his mouth was dry. He decided a large Bols would help the situation. Looking through the false mirror, he saw that Madame Vosges was no longer in the Study but that Tricia had recovered her senses. She was still over the desk and sobbing her heart out. Well, that was understandable, thought Piet. Her bottom was certainly in quite a state. On impulse, he went down back into the Study.

  Piet found it remarkably exciting to be alone there with this naked, buxom young woman. Why should he not take advantage? He was sure Madame Vosges would raise no objections. He went across and patted Tricia’s soft bottom. My God, he thought, how hot it was!

  “Hurts, does it girl?” he enquired with a leer in his voice.

  Tricia shrieked. She had probably been unaware of his presence. “Eeeeeeggghhh... aaaaaaggghhhhhh... ohhhhh... you b-beast... you m-monster... ooooh... how can you treat a w-
w-woman so?”

  Smiling lecherously, Piet continued to fondle the hot, weal-covered buttocks. “Dear me... dear me ...” said Piet, “I do not think you would wish me to report that outburst to Madame Vosges. As you are now doubtless aware, she does not tolerate insolence from her pupils.”

  Tricia went suddenly silent; just sobbing. She made no more objections to Piet’s maulings... simply gasping and flinching.

  “Say you’re sorry you were rude to me,” said Piet after a while. There was a prolonged silence. Piet gave that helpless bottom a slap. “If you don’t, I’ll tell Madame Vosges all about it, and see to it you get an extra caning.”

  Tricia shuddered violently. “I... I’m s-sorry... sorry ...” she croaked, her voice still hoarse from her screaming.

  “I’m sorry, SIR,” said Piet.

  “I... ahh... oh... I’m sorry... S-Sir ...”

  “That’s better,” smiled Piet. He went to the back of the desk and lifted up Tricia’s head once more. He saw eyes that were filled with pain, hate and horror. “Bottom a bit tender, is it?” he enquired.

  Tricia burst into a flood of tears. “Uuuuuurrrrffff... uuuuuurrrrffff... uuuuuugggggghhhhhh ...” she sobbed.

  Piet smiled into the distraught features. “Well, we don’t want it any more tender, do we?” he said. “So you’d better behave yourself... and watch your tongue.” He slipped a hand under Tricia’s torso and squeezed one of her big breasts.

  “Don’t... Ahhhhhhh... DON’T!” screeched Tricia twisting frantically but uselessly. “OOOOGGGHHHH... you beast... YOU FILTHY BEAST!”

  Piet just smiled. “I won’t warn you again,” he said. “I’ll just report you... and ask for you to be caned for your insolence.” He went on fondling the soft breast.

  Tricia submitted and, apart from whimpering, remained silent. Piet found it most, most entertaining.

  He got his other hand under the girl’s torso, so that he had two breasts to maul. looking across the desk, he could gaze on the upthrusting bottom with its mass of weals. It was almost as if you could SEE them pulsating with pain. Tricia went on whimpering and moaning but did not hurl any more vituperation at him. That threat of a further caning had done the trick.

  Piet was so engrossed he did not see or hear Madame Vosges return to the Study. He became aware when she spoke. “Ah, so you’ve finished your little rest, Mr. Lanners,” she said. Piet removed his hands hastily from the big breasts and found himself flushing with embarrassment. But Madame Vosges made absolutely no comment about his activities. “And I see Tricia is back with us again.”

  “Yes... mmmm... yes... she is,” said Piet coming round to the front of the desk again.

  “Been behaving herself?” Madame Vosges opened the desk drawer and took out the Number Two cane. Tricia screamed despairingly. “Because, if not ...”

  For some reason, Piet decided to spare the girl further torment. “She’s behaved all right, Madame,” he said.

  Madame Vosges placed the cane on the desk and unlocked Tricia’s handcuffs. Stand up, girl,” she barked. Tricia strove to force herself up on the desk but seemed too enfeebled. “Or perhaps you’d like to feel some more of this,” said Madame Vosges, picking up the cane and giving it a violent swish. Tricia screamed again.

  “NOOOOO... NNNOOOOOOOOO!” she cried out. But the threat seemed to give her strength. She pushed herself up and rolled off the edge of the desk. Down on the floor, she lay in a foetal position, sobbing heart-rendingly. To move at all obviously increased the burning-throb of her weals.

  “Up ...” commanded Madame Vosges relentlessly. “Up... on your feet!” Tricia made an effort but then fell back on her knees. Piet had a good view of her breasts hanging a little pendulously. “Up,” repeated Madame Vosges, swishing the cane again. “There’s no reason, my girl, why you shouldn’t get another dozen from this, if necessary!”

  “OHHHH... GOD NO... OOOO!” screeched Tricia. Calling on all her reserves, she clasped the edge of the desk and hauled herself up, where she stood swaying from side to side, looking as if she were about to collapse again at any moment.

  “Mr. Lanners,” said Madame Vosges, “would you be so good as to go and pull this girl’s arms behind her back and support her upright.”

  Piet was only too keen. “Certainly, Madame ...” Some girl, he thought, with tits like hers. As he strode round behind Tricia she made an effort to evade him but was really to weak. He grasped the soft arms and pulled them back sharply, at the same time forcing them up a little. It was lovely to be so close to all this lush nakedness.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lanners... that’s excellent.”

  Over Tricia’s shoulder, Piet could see those big tits now sticking out proudly.

  “Well, Tricia,” said Madame Vosges, staring beadily, “You now know what a good caning feels like ...”

  “Mmmfff... mmmfff... mmmfff ...”

  “But I may as well tell you I have handed out worse than that in my time ...”

  “Mmmmffff... u-uuuuugh ...”

  “I trust it will encourage you to mend your ways. To pay attention in class... not to idle... to concentrate ...”

  “U-Uggghh... uuuuggghhhhh ...” Piet could feel the girl trembling in his grip.

  “Also, when you, in future, receive an order to get across my desk, you OBEY it. You DO NOT resist as you did earlier this afternoon ...”

  “O-O-Ogghh... aaaaaaggghhhhhh... no... oooo... ooooh... nooooo ...” Doubtless, thought Piet, the threat of going over that desk again sometime in the future had unnerved the girl. She was trembling even more.

  “Finally,” said Madame Vosges, “I warn you here and now, if you ever assault me verbally again, I shall give you not twenty four strokes but thirty six!”

  “UUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHH... NO... OH NOOOOOOOO!”

  “Oh yes,” nodded Madame vosges, “and don’t you forget it. Is all that quite clear?” A choking-sobbing affirmative burst from the wretched Tricia. She had difficulty in believing what she was hearing... but no difficulty at all in feeling what had been done to her that afternoon!

  Madame Vosges went to her desk and picked up the telephone. “Housekeepers,” she snapped. Two minutes later, weeping copiously, Tricia was being frogmarched out of the Study. “Take her to the small San. and lock her in,” came the order.

  ***

  Piet was invited to stay the night and he readily accepted. After an excellent dinner served by one of the girls in the Remove (dressed as a Victorian maid), he and Madame Vosges retired to a small adjoining sitting room. A decanter of Cognac was produced and an air of relaxed tranquillity prevailed. Piet kept thinking of the state of Tricia’s bottom. She would be in real torment.

  Then late in the evening, Madame Vosges leaned confidentially close. “Mr. Lanners,” she said, “it occurred to me you might like to pay a visit to Tricia. In the San. To see how she’s getting on, as it were.”

  “My God,” said Piet uninhibitedly, as fierce excitement flooded him. “That would be marvellous, Madame.”

  “And expensive, of course,” said Madame Vosges softly.

  “Don’t worry about that; I’ve plenty of money.” It was indeed fortunate that he was a wealthy diamond merchant. Madame Vosges knew it and milked him regularly. On this visit, he would have a really big bill at the end.

  “Go along whenever you like, Mr. Lanners. She’ll give you no trouble.”

  Piet gulped down his brandy and stood up. He could hardly wait. “Goodnight, Madame.”

  “Goodnight, Mr. Lanners.” For a second time that day, Madame Vosges almost smiled, as she handed him a key.

  ***

  Wearing only a dressing gown, Piet made his way down the corridor which led to the small San. Excited by the prospect of what lay ahead, he was already half in erection. He came to the door and inserted the key softly. He
didn’t want the girl screaming the place down before he got started. The room was lit by a dim ceiling lamp but Piet could make out Tricia’s body on the bed. She was lying face down with her hindquarters upthrust, stirring as he approached the bed. Getting closer, he saw what Madame Vosges had meant when she had said the girl would give him no trouble. She was gagged and her wrists had been corded to the head of the old-fashioned iron bedstead. In addition, her hair had been made into a long plait and this, too was secured to the head of the bed. Presumably to prevent the girl head-butting him, he realised. There was a bolster under her flanks, forcing up her rump. She could not have been more helpless. Lust surged powerfully through Piet. He was going to rape her. And, after his experience with Beatrix, Piet was of the opinion that rape was vastly more enjoyable than consenting sex.

  Whimpering-snorting noises began to come down Tricia’s nostrils when she became aware of his presence. Piet leaned close. “I’m going to fuck you, my girl,” he said, “but first of all, I’m going to have a feel around.” The whimpering-snorting intensified and Tricia tugged madly on her bonds. That set her whole body juddering and twisting which was very nice for Piet when he came down upon it. His hard prick nestled in the cleft of those lacerated buttocks and he got his hands on those big tits again. Tricia rolled and squirmed frenziedly but there was no way she could escape his attentions. It just made the sensations all the more delicious. What a body! Big, soft and lush. All alive-o!

  “You’ll enjoy a good fuck, girlie,” said Piet hoarsely in Tricia’s ear. “Take your mind off other things.” Then he removed the hands from the breasts and forced the strong thighs apart. There was no difficulty about it. Tricia was weak with shock and terror.