As soon as we were released from our corner time we frantically rubbed our well caned derrieres with both hands. Quite contrite, still rubbing our incandescent bums, no longer caring to be showing our curls, we again apologized for our misbehavior, and asked if we could retire to our rooms.
We both crammed into the shower and cooled our bums with the hand-shower. The fact that we weren't allowed to have hot water since it wasn't the weekend didn't matter.
Next morning, we tried different pairs of knickers in vain attempts at covering our striped bums, and were quite disappointed! There was no doubt that we had been caned as naughty schoolgirls, and we couldn't say that it wasn't well deserved.
As soon as we were given permission we grabbed our skirts and knickers, and ran bare butts upstairs.
"Whoa! La cane ça fait super mal au cul!"
"And look at these stripes!"
Out of the shower we rubbed each other with all the creams we had, and they didn't help much. We soon found ways of rubbing ourselves that made us forget our sore butts.
For our day of preparing lunch, dinner and doing our homework we wouldn't have minded going bare bums under our skirts, but didn't dare. Monsieur might have found out, and would for sure give us a super fessée. We also didn't dare getting soft cushions, and were ready to wriggle from cheek to cheek. We were quite surprised when he gave us pillow like cushions
When it was time for bed we again rubbed ourselves where it did the most good, and dozed off into each others arms.
Next day, for our ride to med school, we sat on our skirts although the saddles weren't too comfy. We didn't want to take chances with advertising that we got our butts caned. Classes were ok, and we had made the minimum grades for chemistry and biology. Mister Frog had nonetheless frowned!
Later, he was about to step into his jalopy when when we were riding off, and OH! AH! A naughty gust of wind blew our skirts as. We imagined how his eyebrows must have just about left his forehead. He for sure saw the cane welts escaping our knickers!
"Do you think he saw?"
Lisa who was riding behind me had no doubt.
"For sure! I saw your well tanned bum."
"Pray that he wont tell anyone!"
"Fingers crossed!"
Meanwhile Monsieur Fernand aka Frog at the wheel of his old Peugeot mused. There was no doubt, it was fresh purple cane stripes, They had both been recently caned, just like the daughter of that general twenty years ago! Could they be related...?
Back home he searched his files, and found one of the "general's daughter" report card. He compared it with those of Patricia and Lisa and noticed the same address.
He remembered how he was a young professor of chemistry and biology at the local college, and gave her private lessons. She topped all known records for her baccalaureate and the entrance exam for Saint Cyr. He realized then that he needed a new challenge, and joined the medical school.
He studied their report cards and wasn't too surprised by their barely average grades in chemistry and biology. He remembered how the general was more about math and physic, and his daughter hadn't needed more than basic chemistry and biology.
For Patricia and Lisa it was different they would have to ace these two subjects to graduate from med school. He also envisioned his new Peugeot SUV, two more pupils, two hours a week for at least fives years.
He suddenly stopped dreaming, what if they aren't related to the wealthy general? Could they afford his pricey rate? So many questions! He decided to spice up the next chemistry and biology quizzes.
He saw the whole class sweating, and tried not to smile. Over the weekend he smiled the more as he corrected their quizzes. Eleven something, bellow the 12/20 required by the old general. He opened a cans of sardines as a special treat for his cats.
Bellow their grades he checked the box, "To be returned with the signature of parents or tutor." And added. "This young lady deserves a good spanking!"
With a wide grin he told his cats. "If it works, I'll buy you a can of foie gras!"
Patricia and Lisa
To be continued....
./.
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