El Presidente

The President surveyed the gathering in the reception hall of the Pinfaria Palace. The great and good of Tamlonia stood in front of him, glasses of champagne in their hands, medals and tiaras glittering in the light of the chandeliers, the buzz of polite conversation filling the room.

And yet… These Generals. These leaders of the civil service. Standing there with their medals – medals that he, the President, had pinned to their chests. Drinking his champagne. And then spending their days in meeting rooms around the capital, criticising his leadership, seeking to undermine him. Plotting their coups. Well. He would show them. They weren’t going to forget tonight in a hurry.

He clapped his hands, the room falling silent, expectant faces turning towards him. “My friends. My good friends. Welcome. I hope you have been enjoying this Republic Day reception.”

There was a polite round of applause, a murmur of agreement.

“This has been an interesting year for the People’s Republic of Tamlonia. A good year, in many respects. A peaceful year. A prosperous year. A year in which we have even been able to talk about the possibilities of returning our country to democratic rule one day in the not too distant future.” Again, polite applause. These bastards. Applauding him loudly now, stabbing him in the back the moment he looked away.

He continued. “But, my friends, I see clouds on the horizon.” Surprised looks. Guilty looks on some faces. “Since I led our forces to liberate the country some five years ago, so many of you have worked for me to turn our ideas into reality. So many of you have fought with me against of troublesome neighbours. So many of you have sworn your everlasting loyalty to me.”

He paused. “But over the past months, I have sensed things changing. A note of unease in the air. A sense of questioning, of challenging. Rumours circulating around the palace, in the army. Even to the press. Senor El Presidente, he is not in control as much as he was. He is losing his grip. He wants to retire early. Spend more time with his family.”

Many of the guests were staring anxiously at the ground.

“And speaking of my family. I know the stories. He is a worried man. Tired. He argues with his wife. Why: Senor El Presidente: he cannot even control his own household. His daughter went to Paris last month, you know, and slipped out of the embassy every night. She spent hours in their nightclubs, drinking their alcohol, flirting with their men.”

A stunned silence had fallen over the room. He raised his voice, shouting now. “So you though I did not know the rumours, eh? You thought I was out of touch. Not knowing what was being said about me? Well, ladies and gentlemen – friends, if I can still call all of you tthat – let me tell you some home truths. I AM still in control. I AM still the President of this country. I WILL still lead us for many years to come.”

Applause filled the room. Bloody hypocrites, he thought: always the least loyal who clap first. “And have no doubt. I believe in strong discipline. In keeping control. In demonstrating my authority. In dealing with those who seek to undermine me. I will not hesitate to make my position clear. Expect tough action. Expect strong leadership. You seek to undermine your President at your peril.”

Again, applause. “So I come back to the two areas of contention. One: the continuing government of this country. I have today taken clear steps to reaffirm my commitment to strong leadership. I met this morning with General Cordes, the Head of the Armed Forces, and following our meeting we agreed that as of midnight tonight, the commanders of our Army, Navy and Air Force will each report directly to me. They will be based in the Presidential Palace, and I will lead a new Forum of National Stability, comprising those three commanders and myself. We will meet daily, and will take a direct interest in all reports of dissent or civil unrest. Strong action will be taken where necessary to deal with any problems.”

Shocked looks all around. Well, that would teach them – now let them try and undermine him. Slowly, some of the audience began to clap, then more joined in, slowly at first, but then louder, realising that it was perhaps in their better interests to be seen to be showing some enthusiasm for the change.

The President lifted his hand. “Please. Please. You are too generous in your appreciation. I merely wish to ensure the ongoing stability of our country.”

He paused again, noting who was looking surprised, angry, worried – supportive. Not many in that final category.

“My friends. I told you that there were two issues that I wanted to deal with tonight. The first was the political situation. The second, I regret to say, was somewhat closer to home for me. Guards!”

The President clapped his hands at the uniformed soldiers standing to the side of the room, who – clearly briefed – moved towards the wooden sliding doors that lined the edge of the formal reception room, linking it to the smaller anteroom. With a clatter, the doors were concertina’d back.

And what a gasp. For as the crowd looked into the neighbouring room, their eyes fell not on the soldiers stood to the side; not on the attractive young lady stood in the corner. No – they focused firmly on the sight of a naked body, leant forward over a tall wooden structure. Ankles wide apart, bound with thick cord to the inverted V formed by the legs of the tressle. A slight, bare body stretched out horizontally away from the audience, lying along a thin wooden surface, head turned to one side at its far end. Hands pulled down, to the bottom of the legs at the far end of the tressle, similarly tied.

“The second matter that has concerned me lately has been these stories about my daughter’s conduct in Paris. The drinking, the partying. Bringing disgrace on our country. Shaming my good name. Well, ladies and gentlemen. I called my daughter to me this afternoon. She admitted her wrong-doings. She acknowledged that a girl of 18 must still obey her father, and submit to his discipline. So tonight, I am going to punish her.”

At this, soldier walked forward, hands outstretched, a long black object lying across them. The crowd gasped again as the soldier stopped in front of the President, who reached forward and picked up the object, taking it by its handle, letting it fall free so that all present could see the long thick, round lengths of black leather for themselves. The soldier saluted, and walked back to his position.

“My daughter has always been my pride, my joy. I have never – ever – laid a hand on her, preferring calm, considered discussion on those rare occasions that she has strayed. But this time… this is different. This was humiliating me in public. Giving ammunition to those of my enemies who seek to undermine me. Well. Let them see who is in charge. Let them understand that no-one fools with the good name of their President. She will take six lashes, to learn her lesson.” Real anger in his voice now.

You could have heard a pin drop as he walked round to the side of his daughter. All present were crowding forward, leaning to get a better view, watching what was happening with fascinated – and shocked – expressions.

The President clutched the handle of the whip in his right hand, and cracked it gently through the air, practising Then he positioned himself carefully, took the end of the whip in his left hand, pulling the lashes taught, and drew his arms back, high in the air, right arm reaching back above shoulder height – and then, in a flash, cracked it down, left hand darting out of the way, right hand delivering the straps straight across the girl’s backside, colouring them, red lines tracing out across her pale buttocks. She gave a scream, piercing the air, followed by quick, deep sobs.

Her father stepped back, pausing, waiting for the pain to reach its peak, giving time for the shock of the first blow to give way to dread anticipation of the next. And then lifted the whip high again, and thrashed it down for a second time, even harder this time, the crack through the air followed by the slap of the lashes falling on her skin, cutting into her as the end of the whip wrapped around her sides. “AAAAAAARGH!”

“Silence! You will take your punishment properly, like a President’s daughter should.” CRACK…. his words followed immediately by the third blow, criss-crossing her buttocks again with the fierce marks of the leather.

He moved behind her, looking straight on at her, and delivered the fourth blow, the lashes landing this time vertically, tracing lines downwards from the bottom of her back to the top of her left thigh, and then – shifting slightly – he delivered the fifth, down her right buttock, bringing forward an anguished squeal.

The President looked at his daughter, oblivious now to the onlookers, and stepped once more to the side, raised the straps again, as high as he could, delivering a sixth almighty blow, causing her body to squirm, to fight against its ties, writhing as the pain mounted to undreamt-of levels.

And then he paused, lowered the whip, and nodded to the soldiers. The first moved forward again, taking the whip from his outstretched hand, whilst two more busied themselves unbinding her, one with her leg, the other with her hands. The job finished, they again moved back into the shadows, as the girl stayed leant forward, along the tressle shaking, crying loudly.

“Get up!”

She stood, slowly, hesitantly, painfully, staggering slightly, hands reach straight to her backside.

“Hands on your head!”

She obeyed. The audience looked on, taking in the sight of her wealed and bruised buttocks.

“Turn and face me!”

She turned towards him, hands till on her head, her full nudity revealed now not only to her father, but also to all of the great and good of Tamlonia. Tears ran down her face, the pain and agony of the flogging mixing with the utter shame of baring herself to so many.

The President walked towards her, and rested his hands on her naked trembling shoulders. He kissed her on the forehead. “You have been a brave and good girl, and I hope you have learnt your lesson.”

“Y…y… yes. Yes, father.”

Still her held her. “Good girl. Now – go and stand in the corner, your back to the wall, facing the whipping table, keeping your hands on your head.”

She walked off, unsteadily, watched by dozens of pairs of eyes.

The President turned to the audience. “Now then. Let no-one say that I am not the master of my house. Let no-one say that my family disgraces our nation. Let no-one think that I will not deal severely with trouble-makers and those who disobey me.”

They nodded, murmuring their agreement (and, perhaps, their fear: if he could do this to his daughter, what would he do to those enemies who crossed him?).

The President continued. “But I am not finished yet.”

The audience looked surprised.

“Disobedience comes from two levels – the leaders, and the led. Either can cause problems. Both must be obedient. Both must learn the consequences of betrayal of my trust. You…” he gestured at the faces in front of him, “are the leaders of this country. I hope that your loyalty can be relied upon. But… my daughter. She is not a leader. She was led. Mis-led. And yet she has paid the price. But in this case, she had a leader. Someone who was sent with her to Europe. Someone just a few years older. Sent to guide her. To make sure she behaved. Someone who failed in her responsibilities. Someone who not only let down my daughter – and hence me: someone who had to be reprimanded by the Ambassador for being caught naked with a man in her bed by the maids on one morning of her stay in Paris, in the throes of passion, like some common tart.”

He turned round and looked straight at the young woman stood to the side of the room, and watched as the panic crossed her face. He pointed at her. “Soldiers, seize her.” One moved to each side, taking her wrists powerfully in their hands. “Nooooooooo…”

“This, ladies and gentlemen, is Maria del Rosario. Niece of Colonel Rosario, who I believe is with us tonight?” A senior-looking military man raised his hands: “Here, your excellency.”

“Maria was in charge of my dear, beautiful daughter. Her guardian. My daughter misbehaved. My daughter has been punished. But for Maria… the one in charge. She has to learn the price of failing leadership, the price of misapplying authority, the price of betraying my trust. Guards: strip her!”

She struggled, but the two soldiers held her hands firm. A third – clearly their officer – walked in front of her, reaching to the top of her thin cocktail dress, and tore it sharply, pulling it down, off her shoulders. The guards holding her hands eased their grips slightly, clutching her wrists in one hand now, their other hands reaching to the back and pulling the dress downwards, tearing it from her body, the light material falling to the ground, shredded.

The girl was now wearing only her bra and pants. The officer reached round her, and unclasped the bra, it too falling to the floor, baring her firm, pale breasts. And then, he reached to his belt, and withdrew his army knife, glistening in the light of the chandeliers, and carefully cut through each side of her knickers, the elastic snapping, the garment dropping from her like a rag. The officer stepped away, the men still holding her arms, presenting her now naked body to the President, who walked towards her.

He took her face in his hand, turning it to look into his eyes. “You, my dear girl, are going to have the honour of helping me demonstrate to the ladies and gentlemen present this evening that I will have no hesitation in taking severe steps to deal with any of the leaders in this country who fail me.”

The President clicked his fingers. The two soldiers led her, struggling, to the whipping bench, standing her at the end of it, and pushing her forward, stretching her along it, and busied themselves binding her wrists and ankles, and gagging her mouth.

Ignoring her screams, the President continued: “My own, dear daughter paid for her misdemeanours in Paris with six lashes of the whip. You, who should have been responsible, will pay for your mistakes with ten.”

And it was not just the quantity of strokes that the President increased: the severity of them seemed to double. Her pale skin quickly reddened under the blows, the leather licking her buttocks fiercely, as she struggled against her ties. And after the first few strokes, her struggles lessened, her body being overcome by the intense pain of the flogging. Some of the crowd could hardly watch as the whipping proceeded; others could hardly take their eyes off the proceedings.

Soon, the President was done, and the girl’s thrashed body lay broken on the whipping table. An officer stepped smartly forward, and took the whip from his outstretched hand.

At the same time, there was a commotion in the audience, and Colonel Rosario, the girl’s uncle, stepped out of the crowd and towards the President. The dignitaries held their breath – how was he going to react to the shame that the President had just rained down on his family?

The Colonel saluted smartly. “Sir. In the name of the people of Tamlonia, I salute you. You have demonstrated this evening the many qualities of firmness and leadership that we have grown to respect in you.” The crowd applauded. “However, Sir, I feel that I must apologise to you, as it is my family which has necessitated some of this evening’s actions.” He gestured to the young woman, still bound on the tressle. “You have quite rightly punished Maria on behalf of the State. I would now crave your permission to punish my niece on behalf of my family, to restore our good name.” He saluted again, and stepped back.

The President looked at him. “Very well. I commend your integrity. Please. Continue as you feel fit.”

The Colonel walked over to the officers, and whispered in his ear. Suddenly, the girl was being unbound, and pulled to her feet – then, immediately, turned around: they pushed her down, her back along the horizontal top of the tressle, staring at the ceiling. Her hands were pulled backwards, behind her head, and secured to the tressle legs furthest from the audience, and a cord was thrown round her waist, tying her to the bench. The soldiers then moved to her legs, and bound each ankle to the top of the tressle legs at the near end of the table, her knees bent, baring her most intimate parts to the crowd.

The Colonel stepped forward, and took hold of the whip. “Ladies and gentlemen, the shame of hearing that my beautiful 20-year old niece is impure: that she has whored around Paris and taken Frenchmen to her bed, is something that will be a black mark against my family name for many years to come. I hope you will bear with me while I deal with this matter.”

What followed was a punishment to severe that it remained etched forever in the minds of those who witnessed. The Colonel walked to the side of the young woman, and laid the whip out across her small, white breasts. “You have let a man touch you here, and not saved yourself for marriage,” he said, and with that drew the whip up and thrashed it down on her breasts. Even through the gag, her scream filled the room, and her muffled cries grew louder as he continued to whip her. The President’s daughter, still in floods of tears at the side of the room, looked on aghast.

After a while, the Colonel paused, mopped his brow, and walked to the end of the table. The audience moved to the side, making room for him, as he positioned himself between Marie’s legs. “You have even allowed a man to touch your most private parts. For that, you must also pay.” With a flick of his wrist, he whipped down the lashes, landing straight between her legs. Her whole body writhed in absolute agony, but the ropes held her tight as he continued to whip her with increasing strength across her most intimate areas.

Eventually, he stopped, and ordered the officer: “Captain Tortoni. Please untie my niece, put her in my car, and I want you to personally take responsibility for getting her home.” “Yes, Sir.” The Colonel turned to the President, and saluted once more, then stepped back into the crowd.

A stunned silence filled the air. The President watched as the girl was lifted to her feet, and the young officer picked her up in his arms and carried her towards the door, and then turned to his guests.

He smiled. “Now then, ladies and gentlemen. I think we should leave them to it, don’t you? They have detained us for long enough this evening. So – I believe that if you’d like to make your way upstairs, we will find that dinner is served.”

POSTSCRIPT

Two years after this incident, a coup d’etat in Tamlomia overthrew the President. Colonel – now General Rosario – was installed as the new President. The newly-promoted Major Tortoni was appointed as his chief-of-staff, his appointment due no doubt in some measure to his recent marriage to Maria, the new President’s niece.