Madame Maxine Read online

  I deserved to be punished, maybe, but surely not so severely. It was her duty to educate and improve me, but did she have to be so harsh? I felt near to tears, and only the thought of the greater shame of those made me fight them back.

  “Kneel here, Spencer,” she said.

  Madame Maxine tapped the end of the whipping block which stood permanently by the side of her desk. It was really like a leather-topped heavy wooden bench which stood some eighteen inches of the floor. One knelt at its end, stretching out along it... and one could be secured at wrists, waists and thighs.

  I knelt, laying myself along the leather top, feeling Madame Maxine flick up my shirt tail with the tip of her cane, and then push it up high about my waist, so that my bottom was completely exposed. My sense of shame increased... but nowhere near as much as my sense of dread. Pray God she wasn’t going to lay on too hard!

  Then I felt the coolness of her hands on my wrists. Each one in turn was buckled tight by a strap. Something like panic gripped me at this awful sense of helplessness. With straps one knew there was no possibility of escape, whereas, if Estelle held my wrists (as she had done before now) I felt there was just some possibility of being able to break away. But now there was none. Every moment it was becoming more difficult to check my tears. Perhaps one final plea?

  “Ma’am... p-please ...” I began.

  “Silence, Spencer.” Her voice was as sharp as a blade.

  Then I felt the waist strap going about me, pinioning me tight down onto the flat bench-top of the block. I groaned as my sense of helplessness increased. She did not bother to pinion my thighs .. and there certainly seemed scant reason for it.

  Madame Maxine moved away and desperately I turned my face to see where she was. No doubt she saw the terror in my eyes, but it concerned her not in the least. It was natural I should be scared out of my life: that was all part of the punishment it seemed. And the sickness of dread rose up within me. Now I was for it... and there was nothing I could do about it. Oh how stupid I had been! Never, never, would I be so stupid again, I promised myself. One simply could not evade Madame Maxine’s directives and get away with it.

  She came slowly forward to a position on the left hand side of the block, and I saw her breasts bouncing softly under the leotard as she moved. Even in that moment her beauty still enthralled me.

  “This is going to hurt, Spencer,” she said. “It is intended to. To ensure that never again you imagine you can get away with anything while you are in my charge.”

  Her arm went up, my flesh shrank and flinched, then came the dreaded harsh-whistling sound of the cane descending ...

  A streak of fire flamed its way across my flesh, every instant searing deeper and deeper, robbing me of breath, contorting my hindquarters in twisting agony. Never, never before... could I remember anything so painful. It was unbelievable!

  The last time Madame Maxine had caned me, she could only have been using half her strength. This time she must have been putting every ounce into it. And there were seventeen more like that to come!

  When I caught my breath, a bellow of pain came from me. My bottom, turning as far as it could, twisted first one way and then the other. Again and again. My head jerked round, my mouth gaping in a plea. There, cool and collected, stood my tall, leotard-clad Governess, first flexing the rod and then beginning to measure me for the second stroke.

  “No... NO! Please, Ma’am ...” I cried despairingly. “I’ll do anything you say... and I’ll never do anything like that again. I swear!”

  She gave me the second stroke just as hard as the first. I saw the flash of her white arm... saw the swing and bounce of her fulsome breasts beneath their flimsy covering... saw the clenching of her white teeth. The whippy rattan bit just about half an inch where the first stroke had fallen... and once again my being was filled with the burning torment of it. It exploded in my brain, every fibre of my being crying out in protest. Once more I was robbed of breath, as if I had been plunged into icy water, before the gasping bellows of pain were torn from me. It was unendurable! Surely she could not mean to give me all eighteen like that? Surely I would die if she did.

  But what could I do? I was secured quite helpless, my naked bottom presented for her attentions. There was no one to help me, no one to save me. I was in her power.

  As a cruel variation, catching me unawares, Madame Maxine next gave me three full-blooded strokes in quick succession, and my gasping cries reached a new pitch of agonised intensity and loudness as I squirmed wildly and uncontrollably.

  Then there was a longer pause before the sixth stroke whistled down.

  “You’re just beginning to learn what a real caning is like, aren’t you, boy?” she said, when my howls had subsided somewhat.

  I was indeed! Six red-hot wires seemed to have been clamped to my buttocks, throbbing incessantly, burning ever deeper. Oh, could she not see I had already suffered more than enough!

  “Mercy... mercy ...” was all I could croak. “Oh... ah... oh no more... no more ...”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Madame Maxine move away. Tears of relief came to my eyes. My wonderful Governess was going to be merciful after all! She had never really meant to give me those eighteen - but only six. Of course... of course ...

  Then I felt my flesh give a shuddering flinch as the tip of her cane tapped my bottom again. All she had done was to move to the other side of the whipping block, so that the strokes would be descending from the other side, in order that they bit more cruelly into the opposite flank. Tears of self-pity and dread replaced those of relief.

  “No... oh no... NO!” I yelled... but knowing full well how futile it was to plead with my merciless dominatrix.

  Then, just as my whole body tensed, cringing as it waited for the agony, there came a knock on the door.

  Chapter 2

  “Who is it?” demanded Madame Maxine sharply.

  I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of relief, even for that momentary respite - although it was only prolonging my agony.

  It was Estelle, of course. Anger as well as pain gripped me. That little vixen had obviously arranged some excuse so that she could witness my torment and humiliation. Simply because she herself had been caned... but, I was sure, caned nothing like as seriously as was I.

  “Come in,” said Madame Maxine.

  I heard the door open and imagined Estelle’s gleeful eyes on my stripped nates. Oh how she would be enjoying that moment! And oh how I hated her!

  “I beg pardon, Ma’am,” said Estelle, “but your hairdresser is on the phone... about your appointment.”

  My Governess made an impatient ‘tut-tutting’ sound. “Well, I can’t deal with that at the moment. That’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Ma’am ...”

  “He’ll have to wait.”

  Oh God, if it was only I who would have to wait! Worse, I realised that, neither by word or gesture, had Madame Maxine given any sign for Estelle to leave the room. Thus she would have achieved the object of her ruse, and be present at my sufferings.

  The cane tapped again, once more my nerves flared to screaming point... and then my cruel thrashing was resumed.

  While I gasped and howled and thrashed agonisedly as before (or even more so!) the caning followed a similar pattern.

  First, two slow measured strokes ...

  The vicious flurry of three in the middle ...

  Followed, after an interval, by another full-sweeping stroke.

  Do you think for one moment that, by then, I cared any longer whether Estelle was present or not? Whether she saw my shame and heard my pitiful pleas - more like those of a boy than a young man?

  I assure you, I did not. For, by then, there was only one supreme thought or desire in my whole being. And that was that Madame Maxine should cease that dreadful caning. Oh, the ago
ny of the burning weals she had raised! She was right in what she had said. I was beginning to learn what a real caning was like. Nothing she had ever done to me before, cruel as I might have thought it at the time, remotely approached this. For the rod was both stout and whippy, and she was using the full force of her arm.

  “What a cry-baby,” I heard her saying above my sobs. “Why... my girl pupils don’t make such a fuss as you, Spencer.”

  Could this possibly be true? I heard Estelle give a derisive little snort of agreement. Oh how that young woman must be enjoying herself at that moment!

  “N-No... more... n-no... more ...” I was groaning. It seemed incredible that she had not yet done. Surely I did not deserve such treatment for such a minor fault?

  Maybe not but, later, I was to realise that it was Madame Maxine’s policy to hand out one really good hiding to all her pupils at the outset of their careers. That way they were far more easily manageable in the future. They learned true respect for their Governess once they knew what she was capable of handing out if she ever thought the need arose.

  Madame Maxine moved her position... and a howl of protesting dread broke from me. My poor burning bottom quaked and contracted uncontrollably. In that moment I felt that I would have given anything to be spared. That, of course, was how she meant me to feel... and she had no intention of sparing me.

  Coming back to the left hand side of me again, I felt her measuring me at the lowest part of my nates, just where they joined the tops of my thighs. Flinching and gasping, I kept twisting my bottom to one side, thus disturbing her aim. I simply couldn’t help myself, and I defy anyone not to have done the same as I. Anyone with the same lack of experience, that is.

  “Keep still, boy!!” she barked at me.

  But I couldn’t... I simply couldn’t. “Please ...please... no .... no ...” was all I could whimper. I really was a pathetic creature in that moment. So unmanly, so defeated.

  “Estelle... secure his legs please ...”

  “Certainly, Ma’am,” came the eager response.

  The next moment I felt the maid’s cool hands fastening my lower thighs to the back uprights of the whipping block. How I wished those hands were already applying the healing ointment to my tender flesh at that moment. She buckled me tightly, splaying my thighs a little apart in order to fasten them to the upright timber. How embarrassingly I was exposed! Yes... like a boy, not a man, as I thought of myself.

  “Thank you, Estelle,” said Madame Maxine, and my blood froze. Now there was no longer any possibility of the slightest evasion.

  The rattan cane measured me just once, then fell three times in quick succession... each stroke in the same place, just on the crease of my buttocks and each cutting into the left thigh only. The pain of that was excruciating; worse even than anything that had gone before. My head seemed to explode, my lungs were rent with my cries.

  Then, remorselessly, Madame Maxine moved to the other side of the block and gave me the same again. This time on my right buttock-crease. My reactions, if possible, were even more loudly violent, and then I think I must have half fainted. For I cannot remember any more until I was lying curled up on the study floor, my folded arms hugging into my belly as I rocked from side to side, vainly trying to stem the pain, while I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

  The ridges of pain burned fiercely; the flesh of my bottom seemed to have contracted by several inches. Whenever I moved in any way, the torment intensified. But, at least it was over. I found myself groaning with relief.

  “I enjoyed watching that,” came Estelle’s mischievous voice. I turned my head to one side to see her sitting on the edge of Madame Maxine’s desk, one trim leg swinging to and fro. My hate for her welled up again as I saw the grin on her face.

  My Governess seemed to have disappeared, no doubt to deal with her hair dressing appointment.

  “I must say,” continued Estelle with relish, “you got a lot more than I did... and a lot harder. Still, you are a boy, and you deserve them, what’s more.”

  Deserved them! Oh the monstrous injustice of it... when it had been as much her fault as mine that I had been given no homework! Still, what could I say or do about it? Nothing could cancel out the ordeal I had gone through, nor the relentless pain I was still enduring. I just lay there, whimpering in self-pity, wondering whether it would help at all to press my hands to the throbbing weals which encircled my bottom. In the end I decided it would not. The thought of even touching them was unendurable.

  The door suddenly opened and Madame Maxine came striding back. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw her white limbs and black leotard. My all-powerful Goddess whom I idolised and now dreaded as well! Her very presence made me feel as weak as water.

  “Get up, get up, boy,” she said crisply. “We can’t have you lying there, blubbing like a baby, all day.”

  I made a tremendous effort and staggered to my feet, partly out of pride, partly out of fear at what might happen if I did not do as she said.

  The pain in my bottom seemed instantly to double, and I let out a series of agonised yelps. Through a mist of tears I saw my Governess looking at me with cool disdain while Estelle continued to grim impishly.

  “I told you it would hurt, Spencer,” said Madame Maxine, “now you know I spoke the truth, don’t you?”

  “Y-Yer... ess... ess... mmmfff .... mmff... y-yes... Ma’am ...” I managed to croak hoarsely.

  “And don’t forget, Spencer,” continued Madame Maxine, “if you ever attempt to evade my authority again .. if ever you think you might get away with anything without my knowing... I shall give you an even more severe hiding. Is that understood?”

  “Y-Yes... Ma’am ...” Oh how well I understood! I believed what she said completely, my soul and my being cringed before her authority.

  “Absolutely plain and clear?”

  “Yes... ooohh... yes, Ma’am ...”

  “Good,” she said. “Now Estelle, take Spencer down and use some ointment on him. After that he can spend the rest of the morning in the Sanatorium.”

  “Very well, Ma’am,” said Estelle. She crooked a finger at me and I dragged one foot after the other as I tried to follow her to the door. Only when I got half way there did I realise my short trousers were still down around my ankles. I pulled them up, whimpering with additional pain again, and followed her out, conscious all the time of my Governess’s look of infinite contempt.

  ***

  “Keep still!”

  “I... I can’t, Miss... it hurts so ...”

  Estelle was daubing my tender-burning weals with cooling ointment and, delicious as that was, it still hurt when she did it.

  “Can’t?” she queried scornfully. “That’s not a word we use in this place. Keep still, I say.”

  I strove to do as Estelle ordered, telling myself that the pain must get less all the time. Which it did, but only fractionally at first.

  “There ...” said Estelle, after two or three minutes of intimate attention. “I think that will do you. Pull your trousers up, my lad.”

  Flushing with shame and anger, I did as she bid me, seeing her standing there, hands on hips, revelling in her little triumph. What I would have liked most of all would have been for her to take her knickers down so that I could examine the weals she had received. But, of course, there was no chance of that.

  “I thought Madame would make you jump this morning,” she sneered, “and she certainly did!”

  “It was all so unfair ...” I began to protest.

  “Don’t let’s start that all over again,” she said. “Follow me, we’re going to the San.”

  Wretchedly I tottered after the young woman, wincing at every step. We arrived at the other end of Madame Maxine’s large house, and entered a room which contained four iron bedsteads, two on each side of the room.

 
“Take your clothes off,” ordered Estelle, “and put that on ...”

  I saw that I had not even been allowed the dignity of a pair of pyjamas. What she had tossed to me was a long nightshift made of some flannel material. Knowing to delay or refuse would only bring me more trouble, I took off my clothes and slipped on that humiliating garment. All the time Estelle watched in gleeful amusement.

  “Get into bed,” she said, when at last I was ready.

  Thankfully I climbed up onto the mattress, even though it hurt to do so. I got between the sheets and lay face down.

  “Yes,” I heard Estelle say, “I thought that might be the way of it.”

  Then, to my relief, she left the room. I closed my eyes wearily and was left alone in my world of pain. Eighteen weals that never ceased to burn and throb for one single instant. Yes, Madame Maxine had indeed given me the thrashing of my young life! It seemed to me that I could never be quite the same person again. My respect for her authority would endure for ever...

  As I dropped into a fitful doze, a recurring vision swam before my eyes.

  It was that of Madame Maxine’s superb body, so scantily and so tightly clad in that skin-fitting black leotard.

  ***

  I do not know how long I slept. All I recall is Madame Maxine waking me. She was sitting on the side of my bed, pulling at my shoulder. Turning, I felt a stab of dread, but at once saw that her eyes were compassionate rather than cold and cruel. Madame Maxine may have been relentless when punishing, but she was not what you would have termed vindictive. She did not harbour grudges, nor harp on past sins. Once ‘justice’ had been done, life proceeded as if no sentence had been carried out.