A
few years later, the motorcycle gendarme who had arrested me for
speeding blushed when he stood by my car's window. He had caught a
glimpse of my rolled up skirt just about exposing my curls. I wasn't
wearing any knickers and had
bunched my dress around my waist to avoid wetting it with the cooling
wet towel I was sitting on. I hastily covered myself, and gave him my
driver's license.
I
didn't tell him that I had visited Monsieur le General for the spring
break, and that my twenty five years old bum had received eight strokes
of the cane for a poor report from my new specialized med school in
Lyon.
I
had again met Lisa who drove from her university hospital in Marseille.
We attended Bérénice's wedding, and Monsieur had told her husband how
she had added leather shoelaces in the spaghetti. She blushed, but she
did laugh along with us...
Till
we completed our specialties, Lisa and I regularly visited Monsieur
when we had breaks from our new universities. We no longer had report
cards, but we confessed our short comings, and expected to be punished.
Three
years ago he had decided that big girls like us deserve no less than
the cane. We would take turn bending over the old wooden chair without
skirts and knickers. Then we got what we deserved, up to eight vigorous
strokes of the cane. We would feel them on the way back to our universities.
A
few months ago Monsieur invited us to perform with him for a veterans
charity show. Bébé now a ballerina of the Ballet de l'Opera de Paris,
and her danseur étoile hubby offered to join us with performing their
famous dance duo for Mendelssohn's Scotch
Symphony with two pianos and violins.
On
the left side of the stage was Monsieur with the first piano, and Lisa
as first violin, plus a cello playing Saint-Cyrien in his best uniform.
On the right side was me with the second piano, and another handsome uniformed Saint-Cyrien as the second violin.
Lisa missed a tempo, and my ears didn't miss it. I
soon understood why as I glanced at my dashing violinist, and I also missed a
key.
Bébé
and hubby invited us to bow with them for the applauding crowd. Later
the general commanding the military academy toasted us with champagne.
Monsieur
had a naughty grin as Lisa and I were mesmerized by our cavaliers. We
were listening to them with a light glow inviting them to charge, and
sweep us off our feet.
Monsieur
played his matchmaking hand as he discreetly told them within earshot
of us. "These two young ladies mérite la fessée for having missed a
tempo and a key!" We had a blushing competition, and Bébé teased. "They
aren't made only of sugar!" Her hubby added. "Nor are you!" It was
Bébé's turn to blush.
We
dated. Victor, my beau, teased me a few times about la fessée, and I
giggled. He couldn't tell if it was fish or fowl. Then Monsieur invited us
the boys for lunch.
As
Lisa and I prepared the meal we teased each others, and ran late.
Monsieur was furious. We had upset his militaristic punctuality, and he
surprised us with taking the time to discreetly roast our bums in the kitchen. He did quite a job
of it!
We wriggled in our seats for most of the meal.
Then
he devilishly suggested that we play tennis, and the cat was out of the
bag. The boys as gentlemen didn't make any comments, but they didn't
miss our well reddened butts so teasingly offered by our tennis
miniskirts.
Later
I imagined that Lisa and I running late in the kitchen was a
subconsciously deliberate lead for Monsieur to give us la fessée thus
teasing the boys. I also felt that Monsieur went along with it to further
his matchmaking ploy.
After
our honeymoons Monsieur invited all of us for a weekend. I noticed that
Lisa was wriggling in her seat as much as me. I had tasted a vigorous fessée, for having to iron my dress at the last
minute, and the following partie de jambes en l'air barely made us late.
Lisa whispered for me. "Tu as le feu au cul!"
I laughed. "And you as well!"
Patricia and Lisa
./.
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