Wandering back through Budapest to my (very nice, very cheap, very five-star) hotel one evening on a recent business trip, after an excellent dinner, I found myself strolling next to four student-aged Hungarian girls – one of whom was one of the cutest lasses I’ve seen in a very long time.
Now I couldn’t let a girl that adorable disappear from my sight without at least a little fantasy, could I?
She was a student at the top local University. The friends been out to a trendy bar; had drunk a few cocktails, flirted with some boys. When she’d got back to her dorm, feeling happy and pretty, she’d emailed her boyfriend to wish him a flirtatious goodnight, and to say how much she was looking forward to seeing him the following evening. She’d undressed, climbed into bed, reached for her well-used vibrator…
Now, you see, said boyfriend was a few years older than her: a tutor, as it turned out, in another department at the University. He’d texted in the morning: “You were up late last night. Did you manage to finish your essay?”
“Erm, not quite…”
“How not quite…?”
“I need to do some more on it this afternoon.”
“But it’s due in at 5?”
“It’ll be OK. I got a bit distracted.”
It wouldn’t have taken much for him to uncover the truth – that “a bit distracted” when she should have been in the library equated to a night out on the town. Their discussion when she reached his house that evening had been direct: “You’re aiming for a first-class degree. You won’t get that by rushing through work on the afternoon before it’s due in. You’ve let yourself down. And you’ve disappointed me. And it appears you need to be taught a lesson.”
He’d sent her upstairs to his bedroom, with instructions to strip and wait for him on his bed: kneeling, shoulders down, bottom presented high in the air. He’d left her to wait for a few minutes; to anticipate; to dread; to feel guilty and sorry. He’d been calm, softly-spoken when he’d walked into the room and taken the cane from the wardrobe: that he intended to make her a very repentant girl; that it was for her own good. That as twelve strokes hadn’t driven home the message the previous time, he was going to double it. She was crying before he even started; she was sobbing uncontrollably by the time she nestled into his welcoming, protective arms after the punishment was over.
“Did you touch yourself last night when you got home?” he’d ask, once she was calmer, back in control. “Yes, sir: I did.” “Then I think we can do better than that this evening, don’t you?” “Yes, sir. Please, sir…” And slowly, gently, so as not to hurt her more than was necessary, he’d rolled her onto her back and parted her legs, and had taken his girl deeply and lovingly…
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PS Here’s a dilemma… Almost every decent Hungarian restaurant serves goose liver (which I hate). Only one offered goose leg; none appeared to offer goose breast (which is my favourite meat). What on earth are they doing with the rest of the birds?!
On your PS, probably labelling it as something else….
Maybe the Buddha Bar (vaci utca 34) somehow cornered the goose breast market:
http://www.tripadvisor.com.my/LocationPhotoDirectLink-g274887-d3256563-i52557912-Buddha_Bar-Budapest_Central_Hungary.html
I liked the story. That lecture was perfect. It’s heart-warming that her hopes from the flirtatious goodnight e-mail that landed her in trouble were not entirely disappointed. It was a pleasant surprise that the vibrator did not earn her extra.
Simon – I did wonder that, but couldn’t see anything that it might be.
Svetlana – draft: I walked past that place and nearly went in, but it sounded a bit trendy for me!! Glad you liked the little story…
I have no idea where to find goose bits in Budapest, but this was a lovely, sweet story. Perfect start to a Saturday xx
Well, I was thinking that seeing as Hungarian horse meat keeps getting sold as beef, maybe goose breast is ending up as chicken or similar.
Or it might be like a colleague’s comment the first time he was in Singapore – “everywhere is selling fish heads, do they throw the rest of the fish away?”
Hmm, I always thought Hungary was famous for its turkey not goose. We import turkey form there.
And the story was very good!
no idea about the goose breasts but I enjoyed the story. Mind you, if I were that tutor, I woudl have promised her the punishment *after* she had completed the essay