An African Misadventure

Roger Petherington looked angrily at his wife, Cynthia and their 22 year old daughter, Penelope. 'What the hell went on yesterday, Cynthia?'

'What do you mean dear? Why are you so angry?'

I've had a call from the District Commissioner. Apparently King M'gobo is incandescent with rage and, according to him, it is because of you and Penelope.'

'Why, that is ridiculous. We have done nothing to annoy the king. Why would we?

'Look Cynthia, let's go though it a bit at a time. What exactly did you do yesterday?'

'Penelope and I went over to Emma Tilbury for afternoon tea. We did stay and have a few drinks, but we didn't get squiffy or anything.'

'And then?'

'Nothing else. We came home.'

'Straight home?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Oh, hold on Mummy,' giggled Penelope, 'We did have to stop for a pee. All the drinks we had.'

'Oh no,' exclaimed Roger. 'So it's true then.'

'Well what of it? We just pulled over by the side of the road and did it in the field by the side of the road.'

Roger groaned. 'That was not a field Cynthia. That is the sacred burial ground. It is revered by the natives, who are big on ancestor worship. You were seen and recognised. Now the King is beside himself with rage. A couple of years ago one of the natives desecrated the area and he was thrown into the Umpopo River. The crocs are fast and vicious. They didn't find a trace of the poor bugger.'

'I am sure they wouldn't do that to us, Darling. We are British.'

'No, of course not, old thing and after all this is 1922 and Africa is not the dark continent that it was 30 years ago. But the King could withdraw the mining concession. I could lose my job as Diamond Mine Manager. Look, the District Commissioner, Pipkinson, is going to have a word with the old boy. Pipkinson is a good chap. I am sure he can square him up.'

Early the next morning Roger received a visit from the District Commissioner. They talked together in Roger's study and after an hour Cynthia was called in.

'Look Mrs Petherington, this is a frightfully bad show. The king is insistent that you and Penelelope are punished. He wanted you to be flogged naked in the centre of the village, but I've managed to negotiate a compromise. The king finally agreed to allow a trusted European to administer a punishment in private. It was decided that the best person to do that would be Sister Bridget from the Mission. She once taught at a catholic school, so is well practised in the methods of corporal punishment. She will administer the punishment.

'Good heavens,' said Cynthia, 'you are not serious. I cannot do that. It would be so humiliating.'

'I am sorry, Mrs Petherington. It is the only option. The only other way out is for you to go back to Blighty on the next boat. If course Roger will lose his job and the company may well lose its mining concession.'

Cynthia enjoyed a good life in Africa. Roger was on an excellent salary. 'Look, alright. I don't suppose it will be any worse that boarding school. I often got a flogging for ragging in the dorm. All right, I'll speak to Penelope. I assume the same applies to her.'

'Of course, Mrs Petherington. She will have to be punished too. There is just one further condition. The king will send a trusted emissary to witness punishment and approve the severity of it and report back to the king.'

'Oh, no, do you mean to say that my humiliation will be witnessed by one of the natives. Oh I do not think I can bear it. It is too, too much.'

'I'm very sorry, but it is the only way out of a sticky situation.'

'Very well, I have no choice. I will speak to Penelope.'

Later, when they were alone Cynthia broke the news to her daughter.

'Oh, Mummy, no, I won't. It's just too horrible.'

'Listen Penelope, we have no choice. The only other option is ruin. Daddy will lose his position and we will have to go home in disgrace.' Having made up her mind to go through with the punishment, Cynthia was resolute.

'Oh golly mummy, will it be on the bare?'

'I don't know, Penelope. That wasn't mentioned. We will have to hope not.'

'Oh mummy, I cannot bear to take my togs off in front of one of those savages.'

'Penelope,' said her mother sharply, 'they are not savages. I will not allow you to speak of them like that. Many of them fought bravely with daddy in the African Rifles in the war. They are brave and honourable warriors. Now you will do as you're told and if necessary you will take it on the bare as will I. We will get it over with and then we can continue our lives. Fifteen minutes of discomfort and it will be over. Come on now, Penelope. Chin up we can do it. King and country and all that.'

The next day, as they climbed into the shooting brake, Penelope was certain that the driver gave her a strange look.

'Oh, mummy, I am sure all the servants know. They'll be laughing at us behind our backs.'

'Nonsense dear, keep a stiff upper lip. It'll soon be over. One day, you'll look back on this and laugh about it.'

'I rather doubt it, mummy. It's all right for you. You've had your bum flogged at boarding school. You're probably immune to it by now. I've never had my bottom caned. It will be beastly.'

'Yes, you've been spoiled Penelope. Perhaps a good thrashing will do you good.'

The shooting brake drew up outside the mission and Sister Bridget came out to meet them.

'Well ladies, this is a sorry business, but welcome to the mission. Please come into my office and I will explain what has been agreed.'

Cynthia and Penelope followed Sister Bridget into her plain office and sat down on the hard chairs around a table. Sister Bridget got straight down to the business in hand. 'As you are aware, ladies, you are to be punished by me. As you know it is not my choosing, but a caning from me is the least that the king will accept. I have given my word that I will not make any concessions and you will receive hard strokes of the cane. In addition Prince Toikat, the king's emissary is here to observe.'

'Oh, Lord,' gasped Penelope.

Ignoring the remark, Sister Bridget continued. 'Mrs Petherington, as an older person who should know better, will receive eight strokes of the cane delivered on you bare bottom. Penelope, you will receive four stokes, which will also be delivered on your bare bottom.'

'Oh, cripes,' gasped Penelope. Cynthia maintained a stoic silence. Penelope was wearing her jodhpurs, which as well as being her favourite dress might have offered some protection. That was now irrelevant. The upper part of her body was clothed in a white blouse and fairisle pullover. Cynthia wore a pretty summer frock.

Sister Bridget continued -- 'I am to use our medical treatment room for the punishment. Prince Toikat is awaiting us there. Now ladies, who is to be first?'

'Oh gosh, mummy this is awful. Can I go first and get it over?'

'Yes of course dear. Chin up. Be brave.'

'Yes mummy. I'll try.'

'Right ladies, that is settled,' said Sister Bridget briskly. You wait in my office, Mrs Petherington and I will escort Penelope to the treatment room.

As they entered the room Penelope looked at the emissary who was standing by the far wall. He was all of six feet tall with his arms folded over a massive ebony chest. He wore only an elaborate feather headdress, some beads around his neck and a loincloth. His body was black as charcoal and rippled with muscle. Penelope eyes were drawn to the loincloth and she shuddered as she contemplated what hideous appendage it might be covering. As their eyes met, Penelope was sure she saw a smirk on the man's lips. No doubt relishing the prospect of seeing a pretty English girl being thrashed.

Sister Bridget reminded her of the reason for the visit, guiding her to a trestle placed in the middle of the room. The cross bar had been cushioned with a pillow tied round it.

'Now Penelope, I want you to be brave and we can get this over quickly. Face toward the trestle and lower your jodhpurs and under things.' Oh no, thought Penelope. She realized the savage was standing in precisely the right place to get a clear and uninterrupted view of her bared bottom. However, she did not want to give him the satisfaction of allowing her distress to show, she obediently lowered her jodhpurs and her white silk knickers. She knew she was blushing furiously, but she was facing away from the man. She felt his eyes devouring her ivory pale bottom.

'Right girl, bend right over the trestle and grasp the legs firmly. I am going to apply four hard stokes. Please do not move,' Sister Bridget ordered in an unfamiliar, severe tone. Penelope shuddered but did as she was bid.

The rattan cane sang through the air. Penelope shrieked, but there was no pain. Sister Bridget had merely tried a practise swing. Penelope sobbed and gripped the trestle legs, knowing that the real stoke was to come.

There was a hiss as the cane cut the air and then it struck Penelope's tender bottom with a loud Thwack. 'Ouch, oh crikey, its too much. No more please. I can't bear it.' Penelope saw stars and her bum was on fire. Her hands flew to her backside as if to check to see if it was still there.

'Maintain the position. There is no permanent damage. It will be marked and painful for several days, but you'll get over it.'

Sobbing softly, Penelope grasped the trestle. Hiiiisss, Thwack. Penelope shrieked and did a little dance, so far as I encumbered legs would allow. 'Ouch, Aghhh, Oooh no more. It is too much.

'Brace yourself girl. You are halfway there.

Hiss Thwack. Three red stripes were clearly visible on Penelope's bottom. Her flesh was quivering involuntarily in her agony. 'Ohhhh, aghh, oh crikey. Ouch!'

'One last one now Penelope. You are doing well, but I warn you, this will be the worst.'

Oh no thought Penelope, surely it cannot get worse. Sister Bridget had a little trick that she had learned at the convent school. She had found that a little flick of the wrist as the cane struck its target had the effect of suddenly increasing the speed of the cane at its very end, inflicting maximum pain.

Sister Bridget executed this final coup de grace on Penelope's bare bottom, creating a fourth red line, with an agonising bruise on her right buttock. Penelope shrieked in pain and grabbed her buttocks with both hands, dancing on the spot.

'You may adjust your dress now child.' Sobbing bitterly, Penelope pulled up her things and tried to compose herself. 'You may return to my office and please tell your mother that we are ready for her.'

Penelope took her embroidered hanky from her pocket and dabbed her eyes as she went to the door. As she passed Prince Toikat she avoided meeting his gaze. She caught sight of his loincloth and could have sworn the bulge was bigger than before. No doubt the brute has become excited as seeing a pretty English girl thrashed on the bare.

'Mummy dear (sob) they are (sob, sob) ready for you now.'

'Oh my little darling was it so very dreadful?' asked Cynthia as she embraced her daughter.'

'It was beastly mummy, but I will be all right soon. I love you mummy. Be brave.'

With her head held high and shoulders braced back, Cynthia entered the punishment room. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw Prince Toikat. What a fine figure of a man -- tall with skin like polished ebony. His chest glistened with oil rubbed into his torso. She swallowed hard as her gaze took in his almost naked loins and his firmly muscled thighs.

Sister Bridget reminded her of the task before them and reluctantly Cynthia pulled her eyes away from the prince. 'Please bend over the trestle, Mrs Petherington. Take down your under garments and lift up your dress.' Cynthia stepped out of her fine crepe de chine French knickers and raised her frock over her hips and took up position over the trestle. She adopted a stance with her legs slightly apart. She felt Prince Toikat's gaze on her plump posterior, knowing that her black curls would be seen between her parted thighs. It was perverse, but some repressed desire within her seemed to guide her lewd thoughts. She hardly heard Sister Bridget tell her to prepare for the first stroke. When it fell on her pale buttocks, Cynthia gasped and wriggled her bottom. Oh it was so much worse than she recalled from her boarding school experiences.

Her thoughts went back to Prince Toikat. Why did she feel like this, she wondered. Why did it feel so delicious to think of him witnessing her humiliation.?

The second stroke fell and Cynthia screamed out. It was partly pain with a good measure of lewd pleasure.

'Oh, agh!' she shrieked. She thought of the black watcher behind her, imagining his loincloth bulging. He could come over to her, grasp her waist and push against her. Oh how wonderful. 'Do it,' she shouted, 'Harder oh please harder, I need it. I want it so badly. Do it to me. Yesss'

A puzzled Sister Bridget raised the cane again. She knew her strokes were hard enough to break most people down. They did not request harder strokes. Never the less, she put all her strength behind it and brought the cane down in a vicious swipe.

'Crikey, ohh,' In her mind the black prince had grasped her waist with his strong hands. He was mounting her from behind and thrusting with his powerful hips. 'Ohh yes, more, harder, give it to me. Ouch aghhh.'

Sister Bridget flexed the rattan, took a step back and delivered another stinging swipe of the cane.

'Oh yes, that's it. Aghhhh, ohhh. Yesss!' Suddenly aware that she was committing adultery in her mind she recanted as the next stroke fell. 'Oh am sorry, I am so, so sorry! Aghhh, Ouch. It hurts so much.' Truly Cynthia's bottom was hurting badly.

Sister Bridget raised the cane to deliver the next stroke.

Suddenly Prince Toikat's deep voice called out a sharp command and Sister Bridget lowered the cane. A short conversation took place between Sister Bridget and Prince Toikat. Sister Bridget turned to Cynthia 'You may dress now Mrs Petherington. The Prince is satisfied that you have showed contrition and believes that you have been punished sufficiently. You do not have to receive the remaining strokes.

A tearful Cynthia Petherington pulled up her knickers and adjusted her dress. 'Oh thank you, thank you.' She said. The Prince gave a half smile and left the room.

'Oh Sister Bridget, I am so thankful that the Prince shortened my punishment, I do not think I could have taken the full eight strokes. If I had spoken his language I would have apologised for my behaviour and thanked him.'

'You did not need to my child. The Prince understood you perfectly. He was educated in England and speaks the language without a trace of accent. However, because of the formality of this situation, honour dictated that he must only converse in his own language.'

'Oh Lord,' gasped Cynthia.