A show offers more than expected
By Lorna Monroe
As the house lights dimmed, many members of the all-male audience began to climb over the seats in a steeplechase to the coveted front rows. In 1964, ‘Les Folles Fesses’ was one of the most popular shows in Soho. Not only was it daringly erotic but it offered a degree of sophistication beyond anything comparable at that time.
An expectant hush fell over the normally raucous crowd in that tense moment of darkness. A spotlight skimmed across the stage before alighting upon a single image; an apple- shaped, pert bottom of a sun-kissed hue. After a brief moment, the stage lights illuminated the owner of this beautiful rear, draped over a padded wooden bench. Her elegant skirt had been turned up to reveal that she was naked from the waist down. The perfect bottom was supported by a pair of long, elegant legs perfectly toned and as suntanned as her nether cheeks.
A second woman entered stage right. Clad in an elegant black gown, Madame Audrey, as she was known, was a dignified redhead who would have been tall even without the advantage of her long-stemmed heels. The lady’s air of refined confidence was enhanced by icy pale blue eyes and perfect cheekbones. Her presence held the audience in her thrall to a degree that the relief was palpable when she broke the silence.
“Good Evening, Gentlemen. One thing I can promise you is that our show tonight will be like no other you may have seen. I must caution you that those of a sensitive disposition may not find the nature of our presentation to their taste. However, for those of you who relish a more piquant form of mature entertainment, I can guarantee a truly memorable evening.”
The entire audience remained in their seats, seasoned as they were to this kind of combination of lurid warning and teasing promise. But something of this statuesque beauty’s tone, with its subtle hint of a Parisian delights, suggested that this time they really were going to witness something very special.
It was unusual for the patrons of a Soho club to ignore the presence of a semi-naked girl onstage, but such was the charisma of Madame Audrey that their attentions did not return to the vulnerable young woman until the Mistress of Ceremonies addressed her directly.
“Cybele, I know that you have always wished to be the star of our show and so it gives me great pleasure to introduce you as such tonight.”
As she spoke, she pulled a cord to the rear of the stage revealing an enormous mirror which showcased the girl in a manner in which she had not perhaps envisaged.
As the blonde Cybele lifted her head, her pretty face looked pensive in the extreme.
“Gentlemen, I am afraid that our sweet little Cybele here has been a very naughty girl. Her behaviour has been surly and rebellious in a way that a Company such as ours is quite unable to accept.”
Stung by this public revelation, the girl made what proved to be a very foolish interjection.
“Madame, s’il vous plait, I am not bad; it is just that I do not want to show my breasts.”
“Silence, Cybele. Gentlemen, what this ungrateful little chit is referring to is the decision of the Company to move with the times and end the practice of having our dancers wear what is known as ‘nipple covers’. She had been notified that her services were no longer required and that she would be sent back to France on the earliest available flight. However, in response to her pleas, we gave her the option of submitting to the punishment which we invite you to witness tonight. An option which she has chosen to accept. And so, without further ado, I would like to introduce you to my assistants; Madeleine and Adele.”
The two young women bounded onto the stage to a torrent of shouts and wolf-whistles. Both were wearing black leotards cut so high that most of their shapely bottoms were visible. Chestnut-haired Adele gave the audience a saucy grin as she handed Madame Audrey a cylindrical leather bag. The MC thanked her and, turning to the audience, unzipped the package.
Gasps of awe filled the theatre as she unveiled its content.
“We shall begin Cybele’s chastisement with a taste of France. The martinet.”
As she brandished the short wooden whip topped with several fierce-looking cords the band struck up a celebratory chorus of ‘La Marseillaise’. Cybele’s buttocks clenched reflexively and her eyes widened in horror.
“What do you think gentlemen?” Madame smiled for the first time. “Four stokes?”
“Six!” came scattered shouts from the audience, which soon merged into a rhythmic chant.
“Oh, your English Six of the Best?” she said, pretending to be shocked. “Well, as we say in our business, the audience is always right.”
Cybele pouted delightfully.
“Madeleine, take hold of our little miscreants’ wrists, please. I suspect she might find it hard to stay in place for what will be a long ordeal.”
The petit brunette scampered enthusiastically to her post.
“Lift your bottom, Cybele.”
There was an expectant hush as the thongs swept the air. Their tips danced across the girl’s bottom cheeks.
“Madaaame!” wailed the stung victim.
“Yes, that is who I am,” mocked her Mistress, with a side-long glance into the stalls.
The martinet is not the easiest of implements with which to target a punishment stroke, but Madame Audrey made the best of it with a scatter-shot approach, unleashing a hail of sparklers to torment the penitent’s beautiful thighs. The young dancer whimpered and instinctively shuffled her dainty feet.
“Adele, clasp her ankles. Really, Cybele, we have only just begun.”
“I am sorry, Madame, the pain, it is so bad.” A trickle of unsympathetic laughter ran around the house.
A change of tempo now. The expert dominatrix positioned the stroke to land fully on the right nate with the tips insinuating themselves into the recipient’s tight cleft. Adele strived to keep hold of the struggling girl but was unable to prevent her standing on tip-toe, wincing as she stretched her tormented flesh to do so.
Madame proved to be as adept a flagellant with her left arm as she was with her right. Having moved to Cybele’s other side, she landed her blow on that hemisphere. Again, the thongs explored the bottom-cleavage, bringing forth a high-pitched shriek.
The next lash was across the top of both cheeks, sending the girl into a frenzy of writhing that Madeleine and Adele laboured to restrain.
Before the finale, the MC allowed the heat waves from the previous strokes to be fully absorbed. She then put Cybele through agonies of tension while pretending to limber up with some practice exercises. Then it came, right in the plump centre of her hams. For a brief moment, the unfortunate girl seemed to be completely stunned by its severity, her mouth opening and closing silently like a fish, before the scream which arose from her depths filled the auditorium.
The audience erupted in applause, many cheering in appreciative recognition of a true proficient in the art of flagellation. Madame Audrey tilted her head in acknowledgment of their admiration. In contrast, Cybele’s head drooped; her groan drowned in the crowd’s enthusiasm.
“And now,” Audrey began, before being surprised by the arrival on stage of a tall, bearded middle-aged man with a microphone in his hand.
“Madame, Gentlemen, my apologies for this interruption.”
Audrey’s mouth fell open in utter astonishment as the commanding figure assumed centre stage. I am Henri GrassaI, Director of La Cage aux Femmes, and I must halt these proceedings in order that we may deal with a matter of the utmost gravity.”
His booming voice compelled attention and would have filled the auditorium even without electronic assistance.
“You have witnessed the well-deserved correction of young Cybele. Regrettably, a much more serious transgression by a senior member of our Company has recently emerged.” He turned pointedly to the bewildered Mistress of Ceremonies. “Madame Deniel, I regret to inform you that certain discrepancies have come to light in respect of expenses claims submitted by you. They are so irrefutably fraudulent that our legal representatives have strongly advised us to place the affair in the hands of the police with the utmost haste.”
The haughty patrician façade, Audrey Deniel, so carefully presented to the world, was already dashed to pieces. Her eloquence, which had held so many audiences in her sway, was reduced to a series of incoherent mumbles.
“I caution silence, Madame; indeed, I command it. As an intelligent and lady, you will fully appreciate that you stare disgrace, ruin and imprisonment in the face.”
He paused dramatically, observing the exposed woman’s complexion change from the crimson of shame and humiliation to the parchment grey of unmitigated terror.
“However, you have graced our Company with your talent and beauty, first as a dancer and then as Mistress of Ceremonies for over a decade now. In consideration of your estimable service, and somewhat against my better judgement, I am prepared to offer you an alternative.”
For an instance, a sliver of hope shone through Audrey’s darkness.
“Should you choose to spare yourself the horrors of arrest, trial and certain conviction, you may choose to accept the option you offered young Cybele, that of being punished here in the presence of our esteemed audience.”
The hush which had descended upon the theatre was broken by an excited murmur.
Audrey could decipher the writing on the wall all too clearly. Gathering her not inconsiderable reserves of dignity, she affirmed in a remarkably composed voice her willingness to accept the alternative to legal proceedings, and to endure on stage the consequences of her actions.
“A very wise choice Audrey,” declared Grassal in the dry tone of an accountant advising a client. “Obviously, your punishment will be much more severe than that which you inflicted upon Cybele. Adele would you be so kind as to exit stage left and retrieve the implement I entrusted to a stage hand? Madeleine and Cybele, be so good as to assist in removing the offender’s dress.”
Embarrassed and afraid as she was, the beautiful red-head recognised the fact that her status within the Company was now about as low as she could imagine.
As the girls busied themselves unhooking and unzipping the woman’s exquisite gown, Adele returned with a fearsome-looking rattan cane.
The self-appointed MC smiled at his audience, confident of their approval.
“As you can see, Gentlemen, I intend to apply a very English solution to our Gallic problem. However, I hope you will forgive me if, given the serious nature of Audrey’s offence, I exceed your traditional six strokes and award Audrey eight of the very best.”
A loud burst of applause bore witness to the support this proposal engendered.
By this time, Audrey’s dress had formed a dark pool at her feet. The crowd gave a collective gasp. Clad in only lacy black bra and panties with matching suspender belt to which were hooked the sheerest stockings imaginable, she was a beautiful sight. A few ribald shouts withered under Monsieur Grassal’s intimidating gaze.
There was very little time to enjoy her large, firm breasts and trim waist before the trembling woman was curtly ordered to lie over the bench recently occupied by Cybele.
“Madeleine, take hold of the penitent’s wrists, please. Adele, do likewise with her ankles, but first remove her lovely shoes. I would hate for them to be damaged when she writhes and twists under the rod.”
Audrey blanched at this last remark, aware that she would soon be tested beyond her powers of endurance.
As she lay down on the cold leather, the audience had the opportunity to admire her long, lithe legs, sheathed in black stockings which displayed her firm white thighs to maximum advantage.
“Hold her tight, ladies. Madame, you would be well advised to restrain yourself as far as possible during your thrashing, as I will have no hesitation in awarding extra strokes for excessive movement or resistance.”
Once the beautiful, Titian-haired lady was firmly secured, Grassal positioned himself to the left of her. For a moment, he assumed a contemplative pose, stroking his dark, grey-flecked beard as if deep in thought. After appraising the situation fully for a few moments, he commanded Cybele to alter a suspender strap on each thigh in order that his field of operation was completely clear. Audrey’s toes curled in the realisation that her thighs were going to receive their share of attention from the dark-brown rattan.
The drop of a pin would have echoed throughout the theatre as the disciplinarian laid the rod across the centre of the woman’s majestic rump.
As he drew back his arm, the prone victim had the presence of mind to relax her cheeks. It was as well she did.
The cane landed with the sharp crack of a starting pistol, sending a jet of fire to bisect the pure-white globe. A twist of the head and a throaty cry emanated from the helpless lady. Within seconds, a furious rouge weal testified to her suffering.
Grassal was in no hurry. He weighed the rattan in his palms and adjusted his stance. He saw it as his duty to administer what amounted to a judicial punishment, and that meant drawing it out to make the most awesome impression not only on the bottom but also upon the mind of his disgraced Mistress of Ceremonies.
This time he did not telegraph the location of the next stroke by placing the cane on it’s intended target area. As it landed, his reasoning became obvious to the discerning observer. It slightly overlapped its predecessor!
Madame Deniel was not a woman lacking in fortitude, but had she not been pinned to the whipping bench she would have broken free and ran. The stinging stripe which burned her bottom began as a shock of pain, but as the seconds wore on it seemed to reach a further peak of agony.
This time she was allowed no interval to come to some form of terms with her pain. The top of her rear felt the anguish now.
“Monsieur, pleaaasse!” she cried.
“Please what, Madame? Please stop my punishment? Dismiss me from the Company and begin legal proceedings against me?”
“No, Sir…“ Hher words dissolved into a tearful sob.
“Then kindly be silent and compose yourself for the fourth stroke. Be grateful I am not going to repeat the third, in view of your absurd interruption.”
Audrey lapsed into cowed silence and her ordeal continued as the implacable Grassal conferred the next stroke on the tender undercurve of her shapely mounds. Her pupils dilated wildly and her beautiful lips contorted as she responded to its bite with a shrill scream.
By now the audience was transfixed by the power of the drama unfolding before them. Cut number five was the one she had been dreading since she felt her suspenders being realigned. A streak across the tops of her tender thighs. Her scream more piercing this time.
She was not afforded a second’s respite as he whipped her just above the middle of her hinds. Despite the tight grasp of the girls on her wrists and ankles, the redhead’s pale cheeks writhed and then contracted until the division between them was reduced to a thin seam.
With the practiced disciplinarian’s impeccable sense of pace and timing, Grassal allowed a couple of minutes to elapse before delivering the penultimate cut. Again, across the silken thighs. The once imperious lady abandoned all conceit of dignity and screamed for all she was worth.
It was fair to say that the girls who shared the stage with Audrey had little love for her, but even Cybele, whom she had so cruelly whipped a short time ago, pitied her in her ordeal.
Knowing that the piece de resistance would surpass all that had gone before, the spectators held their breath in tense anticipation.
Applying the final stroke, the unsparing Director excelled all fears and expectations. Placing it directly in the middle of the now scarlet bottom, he succeeded in overlapping two previous raised welts. Audrey’s entire body pulsated as if an electric current had seized her. She emitted a long piteous wail before collapsing into sobs of pain and humiliation suffused with heartfelt remorse.
Grassal stood back from the scene like an artist surveying a completed canvass. For a long moment, the theatre was as still as a graveyard. Then, slowly at first, a ripple of applause began, gradually building to a crescendo. The Maestro bowed his head in acknowledgment of the acclaim with only the faintest hint of a smile, before the curtain fell upon an evening of drama neither actors nor audience would ever forget.
© Lorna Monroe 2019
Lorna Monroe welcomes emails from readers. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org