The French Exchange Ch. 03: Resolution

"Silence!"

Mme Arnaud's tungsten-steel voice ripped thought the steamy air of the dining room just after 10pm on one of the hottest Sundays of the summer so far. Even this late in the day the temperature was in the high 20s - but that voice was more than enough to chill me to the bone.

I could tell from the way she was looking at me, that mad smirk, that she was about to announce something to my disadvantage. Around the big table were Mme's eldest daughter, Julie, her younger sister, Delphine, three of their friends from college (Francoise, Maxine and Chloe), and six of the dance academy's star pupils - all of whom had taken part in the grande finale of the dance festival the previous night. Everyone had been drinking champagne and there was a slightly crazy atmosphere in the house.

"We've all had an exciting week with our young Vietnamese guests, and I am delighted to tell you that myself and our six brightest stars here have all been invited on a return visit to Viet Nam next autumn!" Mme A announced. Big deal, I thought.

There was some rather muted applause: I knew that the daughters of the house and their friends were not on the best terms with their parents' dance students, who tended to be a bit standoffish, and terribly aware for their beauty and their talent. Never the less no-one could fail to be impressed by these six gorgeous creatures, stunning even in their civvies with their cheekbones and long necks and exquisite shoulders.

"But I have less happy news as well. I have to tell you that, as we are now back to normal, that my task in correcting the behaviour of our English guest ..." (with hands on hips she swivelled around to cast me a glance) "...will have to be redoubled in vigour, as he has taken advantage of our many distractions over the past few days, and his vile little habit is once again rampant!"

As she was saying this I was sitting, as usual, at a smaller table at the far end of the main dining table - separated, an outcast, perching on a small child's chair, with my back to the rest of the company.

I wanted to shout out that she was lying - I had managed to go three nights without wetting my bedding, thanks to a clever little catheter made by Delphine and Julie. They had had so much fun, finding plastic tubes small enough to fit snugly over my most private part, and to stay on all night.

We had eventually had some success with a plastic disposable syringe, a bit of tape and length of clear plastic tubing. Very much to my discomfort I could now see that this cunning apparatus was being pulled out of a supermarket carrier bag by Mme Arnaud.

We had been found out. She held up the device, which leaked several drops of something onto the table cloth as it untangled.

"He has been using this disgusting thing...", added the fierce Madame, at which she tossed the tubes into the dustbin. "But unfortunately for him, and those who helped him, it leaked onto the floorboards."

The phrase "those who helped him" was a new and shocking departure. So, did she know that two of her own daughters were taking pity on me, behind her back? Would she punish them, as well?

"Of course I noticed the one of father's syringes was missing from his drawer, and I also know that only one person in this house knew they were there. Stand up Delphine, and explain yourself."

Of the three sisters, Delphine had been the kindest and also the bravest - and yet she was also the most afraid of her terrible mother. She was a slight girl with very pale skin, dark green-brown eyes which occasionally flashed defiance, a wide mouth filled with beautiful teeth which occasionally would chew on strands of her long dark brown hair.

She was a misfit like me, she was disliked by her twin sister Florence (who was very conventional, intolerant and out with her rich but boring boyfriend). But she loved and was loved by their big sister, Julie, the hippy one, 23 years old, my other ally in this weird house of horrors.

I was expecting Julie to speak up in defence of Delphine, to take the blame, to defy this ghastly mother - but she did not.

Mme Arnaud knew that she still had full power over these two, and she used it, mercilessly. "Delphine, stay there. Julie, you too were involved, stand next to your treacherous sister."

The two girls, who both now looked so young and frail in their flimsy summer clothes, stood next to each other by their mother. Neither looked at each other, nor at me. They both stared down. All the colour seemed to have drained out of them, so that despite their regular sunbathing, their thin limbs looked pale.

"You know what I will do," Mme A continued. "You have seen what I do to our dirty visitor, and I will do the same to you. I will thrash you both, here in front of your friends, just as you were by me not so long ago, that day you were sent home from school."

"You will both lean over the dresser, you will remove your shorts and underclothes and you will receive, each of you, ten stokes on your backsides. I will use my slipper as before, but I will hit harder, as you are now both old enough to receive the full dose."

I could hardly bear to look at my two friends. Delphine was now sobbing, and tears were streaming even down the face of clever, witty, smart, sexy, lovely Julie. They shuffled across the floor to the dresser, and Delphine, as though she were following some internal programming, leant over, lifted her skirt, and stretched her arms out in front of her.

Now, I was already getting terribly mixed feelings: I was already seeing my two dear conspirators, their bottoms stripped of clothing and quivering, reddening, as the strokes of the slipper rained down on them. I was seeing this before it happened, and it excited me.

How on earth could this pathetic, vicious little woman hold such power over these smart, beautiful young women? I was pondering this tricky question when Mme A dropped her next bombshell: "All of this will happen to you immediately - unless!"

She paused for maximum effect. For the first time I recognised that drawl in her voice - as well as being mad, she was most certainly drunk, and this was amplifying her madness. Most of the other girls round the table were now glaring at me, muttering angrily, clearly furious that I had dropped their lovely friends into this mess.

Mme continued: "Unless, that is, you both confess to your misdemeanours, renounce the one you were trying to help, and henceforth assist me in every possible way in his rehabilitation into decent human society. Clearly this wicked creature somehow charmed you, but I cannot for the world understand how he did it."

"So, Delphine? JUlie? What have you to say?"

There was silence, then some sniffling and sobbing, and much wringing of hands and shifting of feet.

"Quick! I need your answer now! I am going for the leather slipper, and once I have it there will be no going back!"

"Maman! No, No! " yelled poor Delphine, "Not here, no!"

"So what will you say, child, to your mother?" hissed Mme Arnaud.

"It was all my fault," said Delphine. "It was me, I had the idea. I helped W with this. I just wanted to help stop the bedwetting. But I see I was wrong, and I will assist you maman, in whatever way you ask".

"Good girl!" shouted the angry madame. "I now know you are my true daughter. But I also know you are trying to protect your sister, so will still be punished,..."

"No!" yelled Julie. "She's crazy, it was my idea. I thought it would help us all. Now I see I was wrong, and that you were right. We must cure this English creature of his horrible habit."

Both girls were now crying freely, and shaking a bit, they were both defeated, totally. Their friends were nodding their heads vigorously in agreement. Mme Arnaud was again triumphant.

"OK then, good!" she said. "Now by doing precisely as I instruct as we will attempt to re-construct the character of our guest. But first, we must get back to basics. Before this wretch is sent to bed, I want you two to ensure that he has completely emptied his bladder. You will ensure that he has no fluids left within his pathetic English body, by every means possible. You will do this, here, now. Your friends can help you if it is necessary. Now!"

Delphine looked at Julie, they exchanged a look that I saw clearly, and it was only then that I saw that they were truly the daughters of this madwoman, because I saw a new, a changed state. They had both, separately, decided to save themselves, knowing the the only way to do so was to destroy me.

Their friends seemed very willing to witness, even to participate. Mme turned to them and asked, "Do you have any friends nearby who might like to join us? We need as many as possible to bear witness to this. It is better though if we keep our audience all female."

One girl, I think was Maxine piped up: "Oh yes madame, I have a lot of girlfriends, we were going to meet at the old port at 10.30, but they would love to come here first if you like!"

Why did everyone end up slavering over this evil woman? Why? I had no idea, just as I had no idea really what was awaiting me. It could surely not be worse than the crazy beating I had received from Mme Dongh, hanging from a clothes dryer in the kitchen, red stripes across my pasty white bottom. Those stripes were still visible: surely she could not want to re-open these sore wounds?

As if answering my silent thoughts, Mme A began again: "Yes, dear girls, please get your friends around here as soon as possible, and tell them not to worry, this will not be distressing. We will help this poor English boy get a good night's sleep, that is all." Maxine ran off gleefully to fetch these friends - they all now seemed like hounds who had just scented blood, or something more delicious.

Mme A. was whispering in very rapid French to her daughters. I could not understand, but from their faces I gathered she was giving them rather surprising instructions regarding what they were supposed to do to me. Delphine's two friends were whispering as well, and then before I knew what had happened they had arrived, one each side of me, grabbed my arms, and made me stand up. I knew that what was starting was not going to end without me being deeply and badly humiliated.

Mme A re-appeared carrying my by now infamous chamber pot, pale blue china with a crazed glaze, and placed it right where my meal had been, on the table right in front of me.

There was some commotion downstairs at this point. We heard high-pitched voices and squeals of laughter on the stairs, the clattering of feet, and in burst a new group of girls. I lost count of how many young women came into the room, wafted in on a cloud of alcohol fumes, Gitane and weed smoke, seven or eight I supposed. They had obviousy been running all the way so as not to miss anything, and they were all dressed for a night of clubbing, short skirts, goth make-up, tight tops, exposed midriffs, the works.

"Maxine! What's going on, do we really have to stay here?", one of them asked.

"Yeah, just hang on a few minutes, you have to see this, you really do," said Maxine.

"But why's Delphine all sad?" said another of these glamorous friends.

"Oh", said Maxine, "It was all his fault, this English language boy, he tried to get them into trouble, but now he's in deep trouble. Hang on here and you will understand!"

"Oh! " said another of the girls, heartbreakingly beautiful with her kohl-lined eyes, her tight sequinned top, bare midriff, tight black jeans, so low-cut they almost fell off her narrow, jutting hip-bones. "Is this the Englishman with the tiny thing?

"Yes, but I haven't seen it yet!"

"Nor me, maybe we will find out if this is true or not?

"I heard he has a penis that's only five centimetres long, even when it is sticking up hard!"

"That's what I heard, but they said seven centimetres!"

"Seven? That's ok isn't it?" piped up another girl, who was using here fingers and trying to visualise what 7 centimetres looked like. She seemed to have little idea of what a centimetre was.

"No", said Maxine, "My brother said most boys his age are twice as big at least, even when soft! We saw him on the beach in speedos, and you tell there was very little there."

Maxine's words, so matter of fact as if she was talking about the weather, made me want to shrivel up and die.

"He's right I can vouch for that," came another, deeper, female voice. "10 soft, 15 hard is the absolute minimum for a man," said this really very lovely voice, slowly, in a slight mocking way. "I imagine this guy will have more, as he is quite tall...no?"

"I think you're in for a lovely little surprise" chuckled my former friend, Delphine. There was a sudden explosion of laughter from everyone there, and Mme A smiled: "Enough! This is serious business. Delphine, please start."

Poor dear Delphine, she managed not to catch my eye once, as she spoke: "You must now pee into this pot on the table."

I looked down at the chamber pot in front me, and then considered the two strong girls who were holding my arms. I felt I needed to lecture them on the logistics of male urination - but no, Julie was already at work.

She unzipped my jeans, and put her hand inside, fumbling for something to hold onto. She eventually found the opening of my underpants and again fumbled. Why was she so slow? I was now desperate to pee. Of all people there she knew best that my means of doing this were, well, limited, and that what little I had had to be carefully pulled out through the clothing.

Evetnually she found it. I felt her young fingers grasping me, and it stiffened. Then she attempted to pull the little rod out, over the clothing. I had my back to the rest of the room, so at least these rowdy girls would not see me in the wretched state. Or so I hoped.

Delphine was annoyed, and roughly pulled down my jeans to my ankles so that again I was standing in my underpants.

There was dead silence in the room as Julie's hands went to the front of my underpants, trying to find the opening. Again, it seemed to take ages of fumbling. She used two fingers to keep the pants open, and with the two fingers of her other hand, tugged at my member, which right now resembled a little knot of wrinkled skin, like that bit at the end of party balloon after you tie it.

I could hear the girls behind me, shuffling their feet, giggle, chairs were creaking. "I wish they'd turn him round, we can't see anything," one said.

"There's very little to see," said Mme A, who was now standing next to me, snorting a bit, "and I don't think you'd want to see him peeing would you? It might make you feel sick".

As Delphine pulled my penis out into the air, it perked up a little. She pulled the skin back as far as she could, until a tiny, darker pink head appeared, like the nose of a mouse, with a drop of moisture on its little mouth. She pointed this down towards the pot, and said, "Go on then, do it!".

But now I could produce nothing. Laughter was building up, no-one could hold it back any more, all those night-club girls were elbowing each other and doubling up, and whispering in very loud stage whispers to each other. Mme A did not share in this hilarity however: "He's not doing what you tell him. You have to make him do it!"

Poor Delphine, she pulled back my foreskin even more, and looked up at me with her big eyes, and she started to blush a bit and her hold on me relaxed a bit. Mme A had got up, and bellowed at the poor girl, "You are not meant to be pleasuring him, you idiot!"

I got soft again, and suddenly felt able to pee - no, I had to pee, now! Alas, my foreskin had crept back over the head, and, as so often happens, the urine went in all directions except the intended one. Most went down my legs and into the jeans that were around my ankles. But a rogue jet shot out sideways, just as it had a few days previously, and this time splashed over Mme A's lovely leather slippers.

The air turned to ice, Mme stared at her feet in complete disbelief. I expected her to punch me in the stomach or something worse - but instead she stared straight into my eyes, a big drunken, lecherous grin spread across her face. She stepped closer to me, and pulled off one of the slippers.

"Take him over to the dresser. Bend him over it. Pull down his pants and lift up his t-shirt", she commanded. "As a naughty little boy who still has not learned how to behave like a grown-up, he has to be punished with the slipper, just as all children in this house always have been."

The two girls holding me did as she asked. I was marched across the floor to the dresser on the far wall, and then they made me bend over it, my face against the oak planks. I felt my old cheap cotton briefs being dragged down until they were below my knees, and my t-shirt pulled up my back to my armpits. So there I was again, my naked back and bottom exposed to a new and much rowdier audience. Thank god they could not see my front.

Mme A began smacking me with the slipper. All the girls in the room chanted the numbers, but as the smacks went beyond ten some started singing, "Turn him round, turn him round". Gradually others joined in, they were stamping their feet, and for once I felt grateful to Mme A, as she seemed to ignore their demands and just went on smacking me hard with the slipper. I tried to keep my legs close together so that I should not expose a rear view, but my thighs were too thin, and the slipper often stung the back of my scrotum as well as the cheeks of my bottom.

It was painful and noisy: my bottom felt on fire, both cheeks must have been bright red. But it was less painful than the belt used a few days before by Mme Dongh.

At about stroke 25 she gave one last massive smack. The sound was astonishing, the sound you only hear when leather hits a large mass of soft naked flesh with great force. It seriously stung me and brought tears to my eyes, and then she threw the slipper down. The girls were still chanting "turn him round, turn him round" and the cessation of the smacking made them stamp all the more, there were perhaps 20 gils in the room now and it seemed the floor would give way, such was their racket.

They let me stand up. Mme A glanced at my genitals, the scrotum now a tight little bright pink pouch supporting the even tinier rubbery shrimp-like object above. "Oh girls," she said in a much dirtier tone than I had heard her use before, "If only you could see what I can, you would laugh so much."

Mme A looked at me again, then at the two girls holding me, then she nodded at them, as to say: "OK, do as they ask, turn him round".

I froze - the pain vanished, washed away by a new unreasonable fear of a new level of shame. Why did this matter to me, who had already been so completely humiliated?

I don't know - something about those ballerinas, it really got to me, I dreaded their scorn more than anything. So I resisted being turned with all my strength. It was a comic struggle really, me with my bright red bottom and arms flailing, the two girls and Mme. A trying to twist me round by my shoulders and elbows. I was fighting to protect something that no longer existed - my modesty. If I was turned, all they would see would be the body of an absurdly under-developed 18-year-old male from north-west Europe.

They would see my white torso, my strangely dark nipples, my belly that was flabby despite being thin - and then, beneath it, the comical, quivering trinity of my most intimate parts, as naked (and about the same size) as the day I was born.

I would not let them see it. I would die first. I shouted this out - "Stop it, leave me, don't show me, please don't!"

The two girls seemed to sympathise and relaxed their grip, I was able to cover myself with both hands. But Mme A just gave me another huge smack on the bottom, grabbed both my upper arms from behind, and with great force turned me round towards the crowded room. I was facing my audience, I saw the six star pupils, still sitting round the dining table, now laughing uncontrollably, all pretence at dignity abandoned. The party girls stood behind them, and put up a new cheer.