Today's story is an excerpt from The Countess and the Magician. A general in the German high command has repaired to a French Chateau for a little weekend R&R...
The sleek black staff car pulled up to the entrance of the large French chateau. The driver got out and opened the door for the general who emerged, lifted his head, and looked around. Satisfied, he strode up to the entrance. Someone knew he was coming because the door was flung open by a servant in formal livery. The general never broke stride. He stepped into the foyer and proffered his cap and broadcoat, never acknowledging the servant who took them.
“General Stok, how nice to see you.” An attractive and slender woman in a long black dress approached. Her blonde hair was held in an elegant coif atop her head. Her eyes were blue and her lips were painted a vivid red.
“Countess, the pleasure is all mine,” said the general, bowing stiffly at the waist.
“You have been at the front, have you not? Preparing to repel the invaders, I hope.” Everyone knew an invasion was coming. No one knew exactly when or where, but it was coming.
The general rubbed his hands together. “Preparing a surprise, Countess, a little surprise.”
The Countess took his arm. “But now is not the time to speak of that. Now is the time to relieve the stress of war, no? We have been expecting you, general, and we have a surprise I know a man of your refined tastes will appreciate.”
She led the general through the luxurious, well appointed mansion. “We have made a special room, just for you.” She whispered in his ear. “You have always desired to be a schoolmaster, haven’t you? At a school for young ladies? Yes, I know it. So, for the weekend, you are one.” She smiled and the general seemed to positively shiver with delight.
Taking the general’s arm, she escorted him to his quarters, a large suite in the mansion’s west wing. “Relax, change clothes and freshen up, general. When you are ready, just call for me.”
She departed and the general’s luggage arrived. He changed out of his uniform and selected a suit of the type a headmaster in a Prussian school might wear. That done, he sat at a desk by the window and looked out over the finely manicured grounds of the French estate while helping himself to a glass of the fine French wine that had been so thoughtfully provided. He took some time to let his eyes roam and soak in the country ambiance. No use rushing things. He took some time to make sure his briefcase was properly secured in the safe he had had installed some weeks back. Being a regular at the Countess’s chateau had its privileges. He was only the engineering corps head, but the information he carried contained allocation information, what went where and how much. Someone could glean much about Germany’s defense posture knowing such information.
After a pleasant respite he picked up the house phone and informed the staff that he was ready to see the Countess.
“Headmaster, this is Ilse. I regret having to trouble you with this problem, but Ilse has been most insubordinate and ill behaved.”
The Countess gripped the arm of Ilse who stood just inside the doorway of the “schoolroom”. The general noted with approval the gray schoolgirl jumper covering a white blouse, the sheer white stockings and the plain black shoes. The look was juvenile, the girl was not. Her blonde hair held in two pigtails, Ilse was a picture of seething sexuality masquerading as schoolgirl innocence. Stok noted the fulsome breasts straining against the blouse, the shapely calves, the peaches and cream complexion and the large blue eyes.
The general had been shown to a room in the East wing. It had all the furnishings of a schoolmaster’s study. A desk sat in front of overstuffed bookcases, while a plush sofa with a large roll topped arm rest at one end rested against a far wall. But what drew the general’s eye was the stool that stood in a corner. Four sturdy legs on a heavy frame supported a concave slatted top. Each of the legs featured buckling straps. Next to the stool was a tall cylindrical container, and Stok could see that it held slim wands, canes of varying length and thickness.
“I will leave her with you now, headmaster. I trust that you will correct her behavior appropriately.” The Countess smiled and took her leave.
Stok regarded the girl for a moment. The Countess had outdone herself. This one was a beauty, a heady combination of innocence and sexuality.
“Come here, Ilse,” he said. “Tell me, girl, what trouble has landed you in my study?”
“Oh, sir. I’ve done nothing. Please sir,” she pleaded. Her anxiety seemed genuine.
“It was more than ‘nothing’, I suspect, Ilse. Students are not reported to me for trivialities. I fear I am going to have to punish you, Ilse.” He ambled over to the container and handled several of the canes. Selecting a thin yellow wand, he pulled it out and flexed it. It was very whippy. He found he could bend it in a full circle. Ilse viewed the implement of her impending chastisement with alarm. Her hands seemed to sneak behind her of their own accord, as if she could shield her tender bottom from the cane’s bite.
Stok dragged the stool to the middle of the room. “And now fraulein, you will disrobe.”
“Please, sir, must I? It’s indecent. I am innocent.”
“Obedience is required Ilse. This appears to be the problem. You will disrobe for punishment… now!” Stok emphasized this last command with a sharp whack of the cane against the seat of the stool. Ilse flinched at the sound. But then she obeyed. Stok watched with anticipation as she slipped the straps of her jumper off of her shoulders. She unbuttoned the skirt and let it fall to her feet. Next the blouse came off leaving her in stockings held by garters tied in bows, tap pants and a short camisole.
Absolutely lovely, thought Stok. She stood there, waiting, her teeth gnawing her upper lip apprehensively. “The rest of it,” said Stok, gesturing with the cane. The camisole came off, revealing perfectly formed breasts. Gingerly she slipped the tap pants down. A real blonde. “Turn around,” said Stok.
The girl turned slowly. Stok drew in a breath. Her buttocks were magnificent, plump rounded orbs with a sinuous crease between. Her bottom was set off by the stockings that ran halfway up her thighs, tied by cute bows.
“Come here Ilse, and assume the position. Over the stool with you, girl. Let’s see if a dozen good strokes of the cane will help you mind your manners.”
“Oh no, sir, please. I’ll be good in the future. I promise.” Ilse tried to cover her nakedness as she pled her case. It was to no avail.
“Now, girl,” said Stok, swishing the cane through the still air.
The girl jumped. She is genuinely frightened. Probably some hungry farm girl the Countess had promised a good meal. Then she is probably familiar with the switch. Gingerly, she came forward and prostrated herself across the stool. Stok placed the cane under his arm and secured her wrists and legs with the buckling straps. He felt the girl tremble as he cinched the straps tight. Stok stood back and contemplated his handiwork.
Ilse’s buttocks were a joy to behold, thrust out in readiness for the application of his whippy cane. Full, round and pert, they seemed to beg for the rod. Stok tapped her bottom a few times. “One dozen, Fraulein Ilse, for your impertinence.” The girl’s bottom quivered as she shifted slightly.
Stok drew back his arm. The cane bent in the air as it descended with a sick whine. Whoosh…thwack! The rod struck precisely on the crowns of her buttocks. Ilse wailed and threw her head back. A red line appeared across her seat.
“Ow! Please, sir!”
A pause…again the cane descended in a blur.
Swish…thwack! A red weal appeared.
“Yow, oh, yow!” She vainly shuffled her feet. Her bottom bore three livid red stripes.
“Ya, this is good German discipline, Ilse,” said Stok as he whipped the cane in a shallow arc, slicing through the air and landing with a sharp thwack!
“Oh, yow! Yow!” wailed Ilse. She waggled her buttocks lewdly trying to shake off the atrocious sting. It only inflamed Stok further.
Stok set out to stripe the girl’s seat with even, methodical strokes, pausing every now and then to inspect his handiwork. It was heaven. Each time the rod struck, Ilse’s bottom globes rippled from the impact. Another red weal appeared. She ground her hips in a lewd manner as if enticing a lover, but Stok knew she was just trying to shake off the awful sting.
By the time twelve strokes had been applied the girl was begging for mercy hysterically and her bottom was well striped. Stok put down the cane and came around to her front. He was beside himself. Caning the succulent behind of this tender morsel had inflamed him with lust. Unbuttoning his fly he pulled out a steely erection that he directed toward the girl’s lips.
“Now let us see how truly repentant you are Ilse. Be a very good girl and the cane will stay where it is.”
Ilse opened her mouth and engulfed the general’s prick, sucking as if her life depended on it. The general leaned back and closed his eyes. It was ecstasy. He would let her carry on for a time and then he would remove his hardness from her mouth. He wanted to take her from behind while she was still secured across the whipping stool. And it was only the beginning of the weekend…