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Thursday, 23 May 2019

Striking the Right Note

Photo-fantasy from Janus 160
Gustav Schrauber was a sensitive and gifted man. His ambitions to be a concert pianist having been foiled early in his career, it must be said that a certain bitterness was in him. An excellent musician, he could never quite get it out of his system that teaching music to girls at a high school in England was not what he’d been born to do.
Indeed, Herr Schrauber’s view was that he should be on the world stage entertaining discerning audiences with his virtuoso performances on the concert grand, not putting spotty schoolgirls through their paces on violin, piano, oboe and celeste while trying to get the school orchestra to play together and in tune.
Not that all the girls were spotty, gawky, foul-mouthed and lacking in most if not all of the graces. Occasionally one appeared like a swan among a mass of squabbling ducks. One who, in Gustav’s view, not only looked promisingly like a young woman ought to, but who possessed talent that should be encouraged.
Such a girl was the one he had instructed to meet him this evening in the little-used annexe to the music room. It was the room he used for extra practice and, on occasion, punishment. Elzbieta Kasprovich was beautiful, gifted, and of Polish parentage. Her performances on the flute suggested that here was a talent to be nurtured. The trouble was, the girl lacked the application she would need to progress her natural skills. In Herr Schrauber’s view, a short sharp shock was required to smarten her up.
So it was that on that sultry evening, Elzbieta — having been summoned to report there with her flute and music — stood waiting tensely by her music stand in this rather forbidding room. As required, she was dressed in black see-thru basque with pink roses, matching thong panties, black stockings with suspenders and black shoes. A gold star hung around her neck.
The Polish girl was quite beautiful. Her greeny-yellow eyes were not unlike those of a cat; her long hair was titian, her skin was soft and pale. Herr Schrauber watched her for several minutes through a crack in the door, savouring the manner in which she shifted nervously from foot to foot, licked her lips, tossed back her head, made anxious sighs, wondering what was in store for her.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the room.
‘Good evening, Fraulein Kasprovich,’ he said in heavy Germanic tones. ‘I am glad to see you have brought your music, and are dressed as ordered.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You are probably wondering why I wish to see you in these revealing clothes.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was a little husky. ‘I was, rather.’
‘It is important for your punishment…’
‘Punishment, Herr Schrauber?’ she said, wide-eyed.
‘Do not pretend. You know full well I intend to smack that so-pretty bottom of yours.’
The girl gasped. But before she could say more, he continued. ‘It is necessary for a young woman to experience discomfort and humiliation when I am dealing with her. Hence these clothes I have asked you to wear.’ To Elzbieta’s dismay, he then began to shout. ‘And punished you will be — unless, of course, you can show me that you have learned the fugue you were unable to perform last time!’
Elzbieta quailed. ‘I have been practising,’ she began, not very convincingly.
‘Good.’ She stared in horror as he produced a thick yellow cane. ‘Or you will feel the sting of this! Now play! Show me how hard you have been working, and how good you have become.’
Highly nervous now, the Polish girl produced her flute and put it to her lips. At first no sound came, then she began to play while he stood listening intently.
To the untrained ear, the music may have sounded fluent and tuneful. But not to Gustav Schrauber’s. With a roar he stepped forward and snatched the instrument from her.
‘You are capable of so much more, yet you choose to insult me with a sound like a cat on the tiles. You must prepare yourself, Fraulein, for punishment! Perhaps in this way you will learn to apply yourself to your music!’
Snarling, he tore the piece of music up in front of her. The girl could only gape. Her legs felt weak. Although she dreaded the approaching pain, a part of her was curious as to how it would happen.
He had laid down the thick cane, muttering about how he would use it later. Now, as Elzbieta watched, he pulled from inside his jacket a twin-tailed brown leather strap. He flexed it. She shrank away. The quailing girl could virtually feel the sting of it across her delicate skin.
‘This,’ her music teacher informed her, ‘is a tawse. Turn around and show me that part of yourself it will be addressing.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You will be sorry!’
‘I mean, I’m not sure what you mean, sir.’
‘Don’t be deliberately dense, girl. I want you to show me your bottom. At once, please!’
Elzbieta blushed, feeling his gaze settling on her bare nether cheeks. Herr Schrauber swallowed hard. The exquisite roundness of Fraulein Kasprovich’s naked arse, deeply dissected by the thong-strap, was as delightful as a pastorale. He straightened, aware that this was no time for fanciful musings.
‘Bend forward and push it out towards me!’
Elzbieta obeyed, with deepening blushes and acute trepidation. And so the first part of her prolonged and painful punishment began. With a shock so strong it almost outweighed the pain, the flying leather blasted across her delicate derriere like a living flame. Elzbieta screeched, shuddered violently, but stayed bent down. Again and again the tawse sped to her rumps and collided with loud, echoing slaps.
Splat-splat- splat-splat-splat!
The repeated impacts of leather across delicate flesh echoed around the dour walls, while the girl’s gasps, grunts and whimpers were evidence of the blazing hurt imparted by each hefty, measured stroke. The petal-soft skin of Elzbieta’s bottom turned from pale to ruby red, and she began to trample on the floor in a hopeless effort to contain the waves of pain.
At last he stopped. The girl straightened, and frantically rubbed at her burning buttocks. Remorsefully she looked at him, blinking back tears.
‘That hurt!’ she said.
Herr Schrauber nodded agreeably. ‘Excellent,’ he answered. ‘Please be assured it is by no means over yet.’
Now he ordered her to stand with hands behind her back, legs together, while he swung the tawse several times across the fronts of her thighs. Elzbieta yelped, tears stinging her eyes: this was even more painful! Each hard, sharp slap intensified the hurt, and she began to hope that he would revert to her bottom as a target again.
At last he stepped away, gazing at her with strange intensity. The fronts of her thighs were stinging fiercely, but the smarting in her buttocks was already diminishing. Then she stared in fresh shock as he produced — again, like a conjurer, from inside his jacket — an extremely painful looking riding-crop.

He flexed it in front of her, and Elzbieta flinched.
‘Please, Herr Schrauber,’ she begged, ‘don’t hit me with that.’
‘I do not ‘hit’ anyone,’ he snapped back, as if offended by the crudeness of the word. He thrust the tip beneath her chin and, pushing her head up, glared into her startled eyes. ‘I ‘strike’ in a controlled, responsible manner in order to impart the necessary degree of pain. No more than that, and no less.’
‘Oh fuck,’ thought Elzbieta, I’m only making it worse for myself.’
‘Hold out your hands!’
He slapped her there, several times, hard and firm, till her upturned palms blazed. Then he swung the crop against her lower belly, just above her genitals. That hurt too, and she jerked her hips backwards each time the implement connected with a hard little slap.
‘Do you have any further complaints?’ he enquired, standing back. ‘Any further requests or remarks as to how I should or should not behave with you?’
Elzbieta hung her lovely head. ‘No, sir,’ she murmured huskily. Tears stung her eyes, she blinked them back. Suddenly it was important to her that he should not see her cry.
‘Good. Then let us continue.’ He pointed at the triangle of fabric that protected her ultimate modesty. ‘Take them down, the little knickers.’
Elzbieta was about to protest, but his glare silenced her. Slowly she pushed the panties down, revealing her pussy. It was shaved, with a tuft of hair above. He pointed at it.
‘Why this?’
Seldom had Elzbieta felt more embarrassed. She couldn’t speak, just hung her head, blushing wretchedly. She pushed the scrap of fabric down to her ankles, and stepped out of them. It hardly seemed that anything mattered any more — he had breached her ultimate vulnerability.
‘Turn around and bend over.’
Elzbieta obeyed, stopping at the waist and thrusting out her totally naked arse in blatant invitation for what was to follow. Herr Schrauber gazed at the delightful sight before him. Fraulein Kasprovich’s transcendental bottom seemed to invite his sternest and most rigorous attentions.
He swung the crop, it struck the alluring twin globes with a deceptively quiet crack. The girl’s whole body shuddered. He continued to beat her like this, with regular, controlled strokes, the whippy shaft slamming ever and again across the enticing buttocks till they were streaked with ruby tracks and the girl was whimpering and sniffing, yet stayed bravely down, ready for the next excruciatingly painful whack!
At last he allowed her to rise. Painfully, Elzbieta stood upright, hands squirming over her tormented bottom like those of a demented groper. For the moment she dreamed her ordeal might be over, but it was not to be.
‘Enough! Now bend over again!’
This time he made the girl arch her spine inward to jut out her arse even more, round and silky-ripe, blotched and burning from the punishments it had already received. With Elzbieta in this utterly humiliating posture, her music teacher delivered several more resounding thwacks to her blazing behind, grunting with effort and strange satisfaction, till she felt she would never be able to sit down in comfort again.
‘Stand up!’
As, once more, Elzbieta stood frantically rubbing her burning buttocks, Herr Schrauber placed a chair on the floor between them, and she gaped in renewed dismay. When he sat down on it and beckoned her forward, it was clear what he had in mind. Was she to be draped across his lap like a naughty little girl having her bottom smacked? The idea was barely thinkable.
Bare-bottomed, genitalia on blatant and heedless display, Elzbieta stood beside her music teacher — fascinated yet scared at what was about to happen. When he gripped her wrists and hauled her, protesting feebly, down across his knees, she had no more will to fight.
She shrieked when he began to spank her. Heavy, ringing smacks of his broad palm blasted pain across both buttocks, the fiery joltings spreading over every inch of wobbly flesh and deep into her fundament.
Smack-smack-smack-smack-smack!
The girl squirmed, grunted, kicked, cried out, but nothing would halt the heavy smacks of his hand that ignited and reignited the excruciating pain. Elzbieta’s bottom grew pink, red, crimson, stinging like fury. And still the spanking continued, the tenderised cheeks of her arse getting progressively more hot and stinging till she knew she could barely endure another of his thunderous spanks.
After several minutes of this, she heard his mobile phone ring. He tumbled her from his lap and she stood, rubbing the heat from her behind. He continued blithely to talk, as though she barely existed, and Elzbieta found herself watching him, simmering and resentful, feeling like a discarded doll. Time ticked on. A frustrated anger built in her. How dare he ignore her like this? Up until now she’d had all his attention, painful though it had been.
Then he finished his conversation and faced her again. The yellow cane was in his hand and once more she quailed with a mixture of sensations both thrilling and frightened.
‘Bend over that chair.’
In fear and trembling, Elzbieta leaned across the chair-back indicated. She gritted teeth and shut her eyes. The whack across her rumps convulsed her with the scorching hurt of it, then another. The pain was unbelievable as he proceeded to cane her with crisp, swishing strokes across the petal-soft flesh.
Herr Schrauber continued, judiciously and thoroughly, to apply the cane till she was howling for him to stop. For a moment he allowed Elzbieta to stand and soothe her over-heated bottom-cheeks, wrenching at the tender flesh to ease away the pain. Then she was made to bend over again for more of the same.
When his phone rang, and once more she was made to wait — bent ignominiously across the chair — while he spoke, she found herself pouting and frowning, resentful that the undivided attention he’d been giving her was diverted!
When Herr Schrauber put down the phone once more, and ordered her to stand.
‘Thank you, Fraulein,’ he said coolly. ‘Your punishment is for the moment over, as I have to go out. I will leave you playing that piece on your flute again, and continue doing so until it is right. Not until then may you go.’
With bottom ablaze, profoundly chastened, Elzbieta took up her flute and began. Falteringly at first, trying to forget the pain in her rear, her technique and fluency improved till she was playing as never before.
Satisfied for the moment, Gustav Schrauber marched from the room. His pupil continued to play.
There was, he felt, hope for her yet.

2 comments:

  1. From the last phase of Janus. It's never as much fun for me to see a girl being dealt with by a young, chisel-faced, porn-star type male as by a middle-aged or elderly man, but I do like the close-up shots which they did during this phase of men shouting angrily into girls' faces. The fact that in the story the girl is Polish was perhaps intended to reflect the demographic of immigration to the UK at the time.

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