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Marie and Jean met Lucy and George part 6/10
A few weeks later it was the monthly report card, and mine was so so. I was happy with my 10/20 average till I read Miss Fritton’s comments.
“Marie has improved her grades with consistently reaching the minimum average, but I want my girls to do more than successfully complete their exams. I want them to do so with honors. I demand an average grade of 12/20.
Marie should be punished for that lackluster monthly report card, and since it is never too late to do the proper thing, she should also atone for her poor baccalaureate grades. I am suggesting a good belting of no less than 16 strokes.”
I didn’t say more. Lucy was having me reading her log book.
“Lucy was punished a month ago with 12 strokes of the belt for not having met my standard of 12/20, and this month, although having improved her standing, she is still quite short with only 11/20. Therefore, I am advocating a severe belting of no less than 20 strokes.”
She had read mine and summed up. “We are toast!”
I was dumbfounded. I hadn’t imagined that Miss Fritton could be so severe. Lucinda grabbed my log book and read for everyone. “A good belting of no less than 16 strokes.”
Amy echoed. “Whoa! sixteen! I never got more than fourteen.”
Amelia chimed. “That’s going to warm up your arse!”
Lucinda gave her a high five. “On Monday, we will know if softy Frenchy makes second base!”
I guessed that first base was the hairbrush, and I didn’t dare ask about the third one.
For the ride back home, Lucy was still her exuberant self and tried to reassure me. “Even if the belt is quite stingy, it won’t be more than a few minutes!”
I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re probably used to it, but it will be a first for me!”
Back home, I found that Jean was having a beer with George and Lucy soon joined us as she must have found a message inviting her. The boys asked for our log books. We were red face as we handed them.
They echoed each other’s after having read them. “Oh, boy!”
Jean asked, “You’re ok with that Pussycat?”
“Yes! Whatever it takes, and as severe as Lucy gets it. I am not a softy Frenchy.”
Jean asked. “Is that how they call you in that school?”
I nodded with a blush.
George warned. “If you want it as severe as Lucy, it will be twenty strokes.”
“Well, it isn’t only for my poor report card, it’s also for the lousy grades of my baccalaureate. I deserve the same as Lucy.”
Jean turned to George. “I have never done that. I don’t want her to be injured.”
George reassured him. “I’ll show you, and don’t worry, she won’t be injured, but she will have a well reddened bum.”
It was agreed that we would be belted next morning at Lucy and George’s place.
I immediately saw the belt on the cleared dining room table. Both ends were tapped with black tape.
Jean again asked me if I want to go through with it. I repeated my determination.
George lightened the mood with, “It will hurt him more than you!”
I laughed till George ordered. “Take off your skirts and knickers, and dropped them on that chair.”
I had quite a blush as George saw my curls.
The next order was to bend over the table and grab the over end. I kept my legs as tightly closed as I could.
I heard two meaty smacks echoed by Lucy. “OH! AH! OUCH!”
I also heard George telling Jean. “Hold the belt from where both ends were taped together. You don’t need to smack her bum as if you were going to ax a tree.”
Jean held the belt, and swung it to and from, to get a feel for it. He eyed my bottom and raised it, then…
I offered a couple of very convincing. “AIE! AIE!”
Jean sounded nervous as he asked. “You’re ok Bébé?”
Lucy laughed. “Bébé! That’s cute!”
Her teasing was cut short with. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Which she duly acknowledged with. “OUCH! OUCH! OUCHEE!”
I was next with. SMACK! “AIE!” SMACK! “AIE!” SMACK! “AIE!”
I no longer could keep my legs closed, and my bum was too fiery to care about what I was showing the boys.
George announced. “The last four across the top of her thighs. Try not to stop each time, keep swinging, almost like a big figure eight. Lift it, smack it down, let it crack but keep control of it, let it swing back. Then as it downs, bring it back to where it was before, and round in an arc…then down. Get a rhythm going, as if to music.”
Jean practiced on a cushion.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
“It’s like tennis!”
George nodded, “Yes, that’s right. Doing great!”
Jean stared at my bottom, and swing the belt like a man with a scythe.
George thought that it was poetry in motion.
SMACK! “OUCH!” SMACK! “OUCHEEE!” SMACK! “OUCHEEEE!”
Jean again asked. “You’re ok Pussycat?”
“I am not made of sugar!”
Jean probably didn’t appreciate the humor, and those last four had me dancing from foot to foot.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
“AIE! AIEE! AIEEE! AIEEEEEEE!”
My bum and thighs were on fire, and George ordered. “No rubbing! Face that wall with your hands atop your heads!”
We obeyed, and I saw that Lucy’s eyes were dry while mine were teary. I felt my butt throbbing and my thighs were burning.
I wanted to rub, but kept my hands atop my head. I no longer felt ashamed of having almost flunked my baccalaureate. After all, I hadn’t flunked it, and I was well punished for my poor grades. I mused. ‘Dear Papa was a softy. He should have given me that belting, but thanks to Jean you now got it. Ouch! and Aie! it stings! You have to admit that it’s well deserved, and same with having to stand cul nu au coin exposing your well belted butt to the world.
I looked over and George was patting Jean’s back. “Well done, you are very adept, a natural!”
B and Asa
To be continued…