Bérénice would also salute him with exaggerated respect while saying, "Yes, sir!" or
"Jawoll mein Gueneral!" The later German version would have Monsieur
frowning. She of course knew that pushing this cat and mouse game too far would mean la fessée. When she escaped it, she had a few ballerina like dance steps, and a reverence for having again successfully teased authority.
She
always challenged us to take part in her games. Although we were only a
few years older than her, we weren't as enthusiastic. She laughed, and
said that we were old softies!
It
was Saturday, and we were preparing spaghetti à l'Armoricaine with
mussels and shrimps while Bérénice was setting the table. Monsieur was
opening a great bottle of wine. The door's bell chimed, and he opened
it. It was our neighbors with Alicia, their daughter. They were
returning our cane after having again borrowed it to encourage Alicia.
Monsieur
invited them to join us for lunch. With a grin, he gave Alicia a
cushion. She glowed as red as a peony while accepting it. Bérénice
extended the table and added plates. We made extra spaghetti with
Armoricaine sauce and scallops.
We
were invited to join everyone for an aperitif served by Monsieur.
Bérénice returned from the kitchen with slices of spicy Chorizo and a
mischievous grin. She had chosen the older spicier Chorizo. Monsieur
said with a frown."Get us some milder Corsican sausage before I decide
to warm up your derriere." She further teased him with, "Aye! Aye!
General Sir!" We tried not to giggle, and Alicia wriggled on her
cushion.
After
a starter of asparagus vinaigrette, it was Monsieur's favorite pasta
that reminded him of his command in Brittany. Suddenly we heard Alicia's
father having a muffled, "Argh!" He quickly explained. "I am sorry, I
have chipped a tooth, nothing serious." Then Monsieur slowly pulled up a
martinet like leather thong with his fork. Alicia giggled. Then her
father rolled around his fork an underdone leather shoelace. Alicia
laughed. Her father frowned. "Don't be rude, Alicia!" She offered a
hushed. "I am sorry Papa." and blushed.
Monsieur wasn't amused and scrutinized in turn Bérénice, Lisa, and me while asking. "Who's the farceuse?"
It wasn't me, and I remained silent. I was sure that it was Bérénice, but I would never tell on her. Bérénice brazenly chanted. "It was me! Wasn't it a fun joke! I
just wanted to entertain you all, to avoid another boring lunch with,
"Bon appetit mon General", "Merci mon General", "Oh, what is the weather
like today, mon General".
Monsieur didn't have smoke coming out of his ears, and Lisa chimed. "No! No! It was me! Its about having conversation pieces!"
I
wasn't too surprised by Lisa's confession. We had adopted Bérénice as
our little sister, and Lisa, being only two years older, was closest to
her.
I wasn't going to remain behind! "No way! It was me..."
I couldn't say more because Alicia's Mum was mundanely musing. "It is a lovely sauce, homemade for sure!"
With an enigmatic grin, Monsieur replied. "Yes, no after taste of martinet...."
Bérénice victoriously winked for us, and we continued with goat cheese and salad frisée with walnuts.
Then
Monsieur announced. "Before dessert, we have to compliment the cook of
those spaghetti, or actually the three cooks claiming that honor. I see
no reason for the three of them not to share the reward for that
surprising dish. Bérénice, bring the martinet."
She
had lost her victorious grin as she handed him the martinet. He stood
and told. "Please show our guests how naughty girls prepare for la
fessée au martinet in this house."
Alicia
was wide-eyed with curiosity as we took off our skirts with a blushing
competition. Monsieur encouraged us by adding. "Cul nu!" Alicia giggled.
Her mother frowned, and her father ordered. "Alicia, you are being
rude! Raise your skirt, lower your knickers to your knees, and into the
corner holding your skirt up!" She no longer giggled as she obeyed.
We
were now bare ass, with our hands in front of our tickets the metro.
We blushed the more when told to keep our hands atop our heads. 
Monsieur
alternated between us, with the martinet zapping and smacking our
butts. He was like a ballet master, and Bérénice, our ballerina, didn't
have to show us how to dance. We also made our own music with OH! AH!
AIE! AIE! AIE!
Quite
a few times our hands flew to rub our reddening bums. He didn't
appreciate such liberties with his choreography, and we had to grab our ankles. 
We acknowledged his displeasure with more contrite OUCH! and OUCHEEE!
He concluded our performance with. "In the corner with Alicia!"
We
then saw that her father had done a good job with the cane she had
borrowed from us. She would for sure be very careful to keep her
miniskirt down.
We were whispering in the corner, "Aie, my thighs are throbbing!"
"Not funny, Bébé!"
Alicia chimed. "He must have thought that you'd cooked his martinet!"
We
heard him coming back from the kitchen, and announcing for Alicia's
parents. "More cake for us, naughty girls don't deserve to have any
dessert!"
We were soon released from our corner time and allowed to retrieve our petite culottes and skirts, and were quite surprised to see large slices of cake in our plates...
Patricia and Lisa
To be continued...
./.
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