"SCENARIO" by the Crimson Kid [Category: Period] 

(All rights reserved. This story's setting starts out in a town in the
French province of Normandy during July of 1944.) 

 Nicole Rousseau picked up her six-thonged martinet, smiling wickedly at
the naked young man tied prone on her bed, wrists and ankles secured at
each corner with a round bolster pillow under his abdomen. She touched
the leather thongs to his starkly-elevated, exposed buttocks. 
 "Two dozen," she announced, "To warm your derriere and loosen your
tongue." 
 SWAAAP!! SWAAAP!! The lashes snapped across the quivering pale
buttcheeks, leaving reddish stripes crisscrossing their quivering
twin-moon targets as their victim gasped. 
  
 "Why did you betray France, Cesare?" The pretty woman traced the
smarting lines with a sharp fingernail, scraping the inflamed skin. 
 "Uhhhh...I'm not French, I'm...owwww...German," the tall blond
explained. 
 "With a name like Cesare?" She replaced her martinet with an American
Spencer paddle. 
 "My last name's Krueger," he argued. "My father's German, my mother's
Alsatian--that's now German." 

 "So you consider yourself German, after being born in France?" 
 "Alsace isn't French now--" he began. 
 "It was when you were born!" the brunette interrupted. "Four dozen
whacks will help you reconsider, traitor." 
 SMACK!! CRACK!! WHAP!! SMACK!! She swung the wooden implement
forcefully, plastering her prisoner's gluteal globes unmercifully as he
squirmed and howled. 
 "Please, miss..." he whimpered after she'd finally stopped. 

 "One last philosophical question," Nicole insisted, "Before we get to
the dirty details." She pinched his glowing crimson bottom continuously,
varying her spots. "Why did you volunteer for the SS?" 
 "To fight Bolshevism...ahhhowww...united as Europeans...ouuuch!" 
 "You believed that Boche drivel?" She exchanged the paddle for a
fearsome-looking riding crop. "You really deserve a good bare-assed
whipping, fool!"
 CRAAACK!! SWAAACK!! The flexible horsewhip flashed furiously, slashing
across Cesare's helplessly-proferred posterior ten dozen times, leaving
him sobbing piteously. 

 "When you finish blubbering," Nicole remarked, cruelly squeezing his
maroon-hued, thoroughly-wealed nether cheeks, "We'll discuss the plans
that your commander, General Bittrich, has for the Second SS Panzer
Corps." 
 Prompted by hard paddleswats, he wailingly complied... 

 Later, both of them nude under the bedcovers, Cesare massaged his sore
seat. 
 "Verdammt, that stings," he mused ruefully. 
 "You insist on being realistic," his lover countered, smiling impishly.
"I always enjoy chastising you severely, cherie." She shrugged. "That
nonsense about deployments and tactics, it's rather boring." 
 "It's only part of the scene, liebchen." Rising, the staff officer as
usual dressed quickly in his Waffen-SS uniform and departed. 

 Eleven months later, a French colonel frowned pensively across his desk
at the accused. 
 "You're facing charges of treason," he informed the 24-year-old.
"French-born SS officer, that's collaboration or worse--" 
 "He was sincerely misguided," interjected a familiar voice,
"Considering himself German." 
 Cesare spun around. "Nicole!" 
 "Major Rousseau of the Maquis," she stated. "Captain Krueger gave me
valuable military information during the Normandy campaign, colonel, as
part of a little game we played." 

 "You'll sign an oath on his behalf?" her superior inquired. 
 "Certainly, sir." Nicole winked at her one-time paramour. "Then we'll
resume our old scenario--but now we'll be discussing his poor
judgement." 
 Cesare paled. "You mean...?" 

 She smirked. "It'll be real retribution, cherie..." 
 {The End}