Victoria Learns Discipline

by Angela Meadows

The oil lamp gave me a ghostly appearance in the long

mirror due to my white-stockinged legs, white satin

bloomers and corset, and the white skin of my face and

exposed breasts. The only contrast was my brown hair

and my small red nipples.

For the first time since I had arrived at the Venus

School for Young Ladies some six weeks earlier, I stood

in the study of Madame Thackeray, the Principal. Why I

was there I wasn't sure. Somehow I had displeased her

while pleasuring young Albert during the evening's

lesson. Now I stood patiently awaiting her, standing

beside her desk and looking at my image. To my right

was a large bed, as this was Madame's bedroom as well

her office. The bed had heavy wooden head- and foot￾boards with pineapple-shaped knobs at each corner. At

the foot of the bed was a strange, waist-high stool. It was

in the form of an elephant standing on four sturdy legs.

Its trunk and two curved tusks pressed against the bed

and it had a broad, padded leather back.

I turned my gaze to Madame's desk. It bore just four

items, two of which were framed photographs. One

showed two ladies which I recognised in the dim light as

being Madame Thackeray herself and Madame Hulot, her companion and assistant. They were dressed in light

blouses and dark skirts and carried parasols. The other

photo was a different style entirely as it showed a naked

woman facing the photographer with a fine scarf

suspended lazily from her right hand. She appeared to

have no body hair whatsoever. I peered closely and was a

little astonished to confirm that the figure was Madame

Hulot.

The other two items on the desk also seemed rather

incongruous for that of a school principal. One was a

black leather riding crop and the other was a magnificent

ebony phallus. I bent to look at the latter more closely. It

was broader and longer than the glass instruments that

Madame had given us to practise with, and it had a pair

of fist-sized testicles at one end. The other end was a

helmet-shaped knob so large that I thought I would

barely be able to get my hand around it. I could not

imagine what use such a tool could be put to, but further

examination was prevented by the scrape of the door

opening. I stood up straight.

Madame swept in, circled me and sat at the chair

behind her desk. Although surely in her early forties she

was a handsome woman with long fair hair piled up on

her head. She rested her hands on the leather desktop and

looked up at me.

"What is your purpose here, Victoria," she asked

curtly.

"To study the arts and sciences required to manage our

future husband's household and affairs and to satisfy him

in any way that he desires," I recited the oft-heard

catechism of Madame Thackeray's school.

"That is correct, Victoria, but you disappoint me. You

have shown great aptitude for the arts of love but it seems

that you cannot resist taking pleasure yourself." But, Madame," I protested, "You taught us to find

pleasure in being touched and how to arouse excitement

in our private parts."

"I did indeed and valuable lessons they are, but what

you have not yet learned is that there is a time to indulge

your own pleasure and a time to devote to servicing your

lover. Caressing and coaxing the male member requires

all your attention, not least in preventing him from

reaching a climax too soon. Instead of using both hands

on your man you had one hand up your fanny."

"I am sorry, Madame."

"You will be, Victoria. However there is another

matter and that concerns Albert. He has a marvellous

attribute and will be a great asset to us here, but he is

inexperienced and spurts far too readily. As well as

learning your own lesson you must teach him restraint." I

was nonplussed; what did Madame mean? She answered

my unspoken question immediately.

"You will spend an hour each day before supper,

handling Albert's magnificent cock. You will ensure he

retains his erection for the whole hour without

ejaculating and you will refrain from fingering yourself

in that time. A senior girl will observe and record

transgressions. Next Sunday you will report to me at

three of the clock and we will examine your progress.

Each failure will be rewarded with a stroke of this."

Madame raised the crop and brandished it at me, "And

now I will give you a taste of what to expect if you fail."

My heart beat faster as I realised that she intended to

beat me.

"Remove your bloomers if you please, Victoria." I had

little choice but to obey Madame. I tugged on the ribbon

at my waist. The bow undid and the garment duly

dropped to the floor. I stepped out of it. "Now bend over the elephant." The purpose of the

strange stool had become apparent. I stepped slowly and

fearfully towards it. When my thighs rested against the

cool leather, Madame pushed against the small of my

back with the riding crop. I bent forward until my

stomach was resting on the padded back of the elephant.

My arms and my hair dangled down.

"Further," Madame urged. I raised myself up on the

tip of my toes and found myself delicately balanced on

the elephant's back. I felt Madame's slippered foot slide

between my ankles and push my legs apart. My feet lost

contact with the floor and I really was lying across the

stool. I was very conscious that my buttocks were as

exposed as they could be, as were my most private parts.

I lay there listening to Madame's soft breaths as some

moments passed. Not even my dear, strict father had

beaten me before so I had no idea what to expect. I

trembled in anticipation. There was a fizz through the air

and my left buttock burst into flame. I yelped, but before

I could take a breath there came another screech of the

crop and my right buttock exploded.

"Please, Madame," I appealed, but to no avail as the

crop scorched across my left cheek a second time. I tried

to struggle off the stool.

"Be still, Victoria," She was breathing deeply now,

but her energy was not expended as the crop came down

again on my right buttock. I screamed out, as it felt that

both my cheeks were aflame.

"That is enough for now," Madame said soothingly. I

remained thrown over the whipping stool like a sack of

potatoes over a donkey. I sobbed but the pain began to

subside a little.

I felt a pressure in the small of my back, a finger that

began to slide between my cheeks. It lingered, circling around my arsehole. Despite the smouldering fire in my

buttocks the touch was like an electric shock. It became

the centre of my attention. The finger moved on, parting

my lips and slipping inside. I realised that my juices were

flowing. The finger delved deeper and was joined by its

neighbours and by a thumb that felt for and found my

swelling button. I groaned as the pleasure competed with

the pain of the beating. In fact the pleasure seemed

greater than I had ever experienced. In a few moments I

was moaning as pulses of indescribable desire rippled

through my abdomen. My thighs shook uncontrollably

and I came with a gasp and cry. The hand withdrew.

"There, that will teach you something, Victoria. Pain

and pleasure complement each other, the former raising

the latter to a new plane of sensation. You may dismount

now."

A little wriggling shifted my weight so that I slid off

the elephant and onto my unsteady legs. I turned to face

Madame. She was standing holding the door open, my

bloomers dangling from an outstretched finger.

"Don't forget – five of the clock each evening, in the

drawing room. Return to your room now." I grabbed the

under-garment and fled from the room and up the stairs.

When I reached my bedroom I flung myself face down

on the bed. My bottom still burned but my thoughts were

of the ecstasy that Madame had given me. Barely a few

moments passed before there was a knock on the door,

and a whispered voice asked, "Victoria, are you there?" I

recognised the French accent of my friend, Natalie.

"Come in," I called, my voice breaking somewhat.

The door opened.

"Oh, Victoria, what has happened to you?" Natalie

approached me and I could see her wide eyes staring at y bottom. "Has Madame beaten you? You have a cross

of red marks on your smooth, white bottom." I explained

what Madame had said and the punishment I had

received. Natalie laid her hand gently on my bottom.

"Ooh, I can feel the heat still," Then I began to

describe how Madame had caressed me.

"Do you mean like this," Natalie's finger traced out

the same path as Madame's and again my loins trembled

with the delectable pleasure.

"Yes, just like that," I moaned. Natalie pressed her

hand between my swollen lips.

"You are indeed excited, Victoria. I am sure that just a

little movement like this," her fingers rubbed in and out

of my vagina, "will make you come."

"I … I think you are correct," I gasped as the

tremulations increased to a climax.

Afterwards we lay together on the bed and discussed

the strange way that the beating I had been given seemed

to make me quicker to achieve orgasm.

"Perhaps, Madame will find occasion to use her whip,

on me," said Natalie almost wistfully.

As the clock in the hallway struck five, I entered the

drawing room. My room-mate, Beatrice, one year my

senior, was sitting on a couch, sewing in the light of the

sun that was about to set beyond the mountain peaks. As

I stepped towards her I heard footsteps behind me and

turned to see Albert joining us. Bea put down her work

and looked at each of us.

"Good afternoon Albert," Albert nodded his head in

greeting, "Hello, Victoria. You know what you have to

do." I turned to face Albert and pressed a hand against

his groin. His cock was already hard and straining at his

lederhosen.

I ma sorry end story will so more

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