The Prussian Girls (11 page)

The moment was golden. Watching the tall brunette writhe her way to the door, striving to retain some shred of deportment as she tugged down strands of her skirt and curtseyed stiffly, Maria Daunitz felt molten lava in her loins. In the silent emptied room, too large for its human purpose, she stood staring at her friend fixedly.

“Well caned,” she said at last.

“It was unexpected,” returned Ingeborg, equally levelly and artificially. “Hannelore ought to take six in her stride. Did you notice what a deep-set sphincter she had?”

“I didn't,” said Maria.

“Sure you don't want to masturbate… a little bit… right now?”

“No,” said Maria smiling, “do you?”

“I feel nothing, during, but you must confess it's heaven to watch them like that… when it's over.”

There was a knock at the door. Helen von Brandt came in, visibly crying. She had had a good beating only that morning and now got another, across her plump, pugnacious little buttocks which still held fat when bent. She took the count stoically, though gasping and panting a lot throughout, and finally leaving the room with stricken face, holding herself and moaning. It was the turn of Steffi Nagel, the “niner.”

Ingeborg Untermacher took particular care over this correction, which was clearly, for her, a challenge.

The girl had a dewy, heart-shaped little face, thin sloping shoulders fashionable at the time, yet a buttock, when disclosed, that went outward into a surprisingly full and heavy base. She had had her six at Duty on Tuesday and the lines still showed well. When bent, she was broad and placid behind, the central seam of her twat tucked in. Ingeborg took a long run, and Maria held her breath; she knew in her soul she wanted her friend to win the duel, she wanted to see this firm, meaty flesh lashed into agony.

The air soughed… fffffttt!

The first strokes smacked home viciously. The girl began to gasp at once.

“Au weh, aaaah… o Gott, wie das tut weh… mein Gott, liebe Fraulein…”

She was a loquacious victim but despite her imprecations (“Ach, das halte ich nicht aus…”) absorbed the whacking stripes like a sponge. Four, five, six, seven… Ingeborg was not going to “win.”

“Bend right over… tight, tight.”

The girl gave a long crying moan. Her thighs rubbed together and the split plum of her sex showed suddenly, a winking wound. Her puckered sphincter seemed to swell a second, dilate and withdraw. The right cheek was splodgy with welts, one of which appeared to be oozing.

“Ooooh… auuuuuu…”

Ingeborg Untermacher stood behind her victim, chest heaving, an eager, almost exasperated expression on her face. She seemed to be wondering- how was it possible to cane anyone harder?

“Turn in your toes, Nagel. I want those fat hams absolutely separated for these last two.”

The eighth and ninth whunked into the buttery flesh at the very bisection of hip and thigh. Steffi cried out loudly each time, but did not rise. The mistress let her stay so a long time before the “Permission,” and then said, “All right. Get your knickers on. Hardened little slut, you ought to be caned like that every day.”

Maria mused on the difference in reactions to extreme pain as the girl, her panties up, half-hobbled to the door, holding her riven buttocks and moaning loudly and slowly still.

“Have the Matron see to that place where I broke the skin.”

“Ja, Fraulein. Th-thank you.”

Alone once more, the two stared at each other. Ingeborg sat back on the edge of her table, panting like a runner. Her mouth was wide, there was a quick tawny flicker in her eyes, that of an unsatisfied animal. She parted her legs, the thin stuff of her tunic draping conspicuously over the butting mound of her mons.

“Shall I bring in Weg again?” Maria asked.

The other crossly shook her head. “No, no. Of course not. The maid. For the desk.”

Maria Daunltz paused. Her friend had spoken in rushing gasps. “You don't have to talk to me like that, Inge,” she protested gently.

“I'm sorry… it's just that afterwards…” Her glowing head went back, she sucked in breath again. “Well, look.”

Lifting the limp material from her front, Ingeborg bared her burning cunt. Unlike Frau Dick, she did not even have to part her hairy lips; the tough tail of glistening gristle stuck up through them like a ready tongue.

“Good Lord,” said Maria, not without a certain reverence.

“We… we… some of us… this special operation… Matron does it… uh, with pins… agony, absolute murder… elongates th-th-au Gott! I'm going to go off with you just looking at it like that, let alone a touch, and I want to keep completely horny for Hannelore. Here.” She thrust out the cane with an imperative gesture. “Give me a couple, really hard, to drive it down.”

Maria took the willowy wand hesitantly. “Me… you?”

But Ingeborg had turned and placed her palms on the table top, her legs widely parted.

“Quick, quick.”

“Wer-won't they hear?”

“What does it matter? They know we get walloped.”

Maria Daunitz raised the little flap of silk onto her friend's back and, after a pause, lashed the firm rounds twice, low down. Two thick weals leapt up, reddening to black. Ingeborg rose, thoughtfully.

“Thanks a lot,” she said at last. “Now let's get that delicious little Dienstmadel in to set out the Desk. After which we can make Hannelore wish she'd never been born with a bottom. Seven of the absolutely most Imperial. God save her skin.” For a second she put her hands behind her. “Heavens, you really hit me, then. Drove my come down, however.”

“It didn't mine,” said Maria.

Ingeborg looked at her with close on a leer. “You don't have my clit, dearie. The mere touch of material would have, sent me off just now. But you're feeling nice and molten down there, eh?”

“Sopping,” she confessed, hot-cheeked. “I don't know when I've been so sexually excited.” Suddenly she gritted her teeth-“Cut the can off this one, Inge. Please, please. In little portions. Slowly.”

She turned to the door for the maid.

Two minutes late a very scared-looking Hannelore Weg, her dark blue eyes moist and her chest heaving, was shown in. A heavy pulpit desk had been ring-bolted to the floor. It was provided with ankle-stocks and adjustable wrist-stocks on its front side. There was a leathern boss on the forward slope of wood.

“Strip,” said Ingeborg coldly.

When the girl was in no more than stockings and heels this time, the mistress came forward ruminatively, her chain of office chinking. She lifted the warm satiny chubbies behind, at the top of the long smooth thighs.

“Still sting?”

“Yer-yess,” said the girl unsteadily. Then added, “I'm very sorry I got up like that just now, Miss. I never have before.”

“Well, you're going to be a lot sorrier in a moment. I'm going to take an even stronger cane to you, Hannelore, and give you seven you'll remember for the rest of this term. Fraulein Daunitz will position you.”

With a blind turn the girl went to the desk. Maria followed the trim, liquid movement of the peach-halves with beating heart. She fastened the girl over.

There were adjustments to make. The ankle-stocks kept the legs about a foot apart; the wrist holes had to be pulled down for a tall girl, ensuring her weight well forward. There was a belt to be tightened across her lower back, assuring a pelvic camber upward as the leathern boss snugged under the furry and well-fatted mons.

To the five aching purple wales across the tender underbum seven excruciating slices were added, with a murderously whippy cane. Ingeborg took her time and cut slightly upward into the cringing sulcal skin at intervals of no less than quarter of a minute each. The girl first panted and blew, then frankly yelped, head back, as the tip bit into the right buttock like a brand. Released, she bounded about, regaling the mistresses with some helpless, hectic kneading of her upper legs and hips. Left alone again at last, they exchanged looks. Ingeborg closed the book and turned her back.

“I now have to give this to the Head,” she said thoughtfully.

“I thought you caned that kid beautifully,” Maria said, passing a tongue over her lips.

“Beautifully?”

Maria laughed. “What I mean is… I wouldn't have liked to be in her place.”

“Unfortunately you're going to have to be.”

There was a long heavy silence. Maria felt her heart beat up.

“What do you mean?” she asked at last. Her friend was still standing with her back to her, her scant tunic rucked in her cleft and showing the end of one of the weals Maria had just given her. As if sensing Maria's thoughts, indeed, Ingeborg ran a finger over this hot line.

“The Head said I was to give you a training caning,” she said rather hollowly. “I'm sorry, but I have to. Don't make it difficult for me. If I report you took it well, it may be the last.”

“Because I didn't 'take it' well enough from Wendell, I suppose,” Maria said bitterly. “Oh damn and hell, this is ridiculous. It would have to be you.” But already her fingers were flipping undone the bone buttons of her belt to which the tops of her silk knickers were secured. She had undone sixteen when Ingeborg said, with still averted face, “Mary, I do have to do this, I'm sorry. I also have to report if you get up, during.”

“If you don't?”

“We're watched all the time here. It's uncanny. She'd know.”

“What instrument am I to be flattered with?”

“The cane I've just used.”

“Oh naturally.” Tossing aside her leather skirt and half in tears already, she turned her proud and stalwart bottom-bared for the whip. “Come on, let's get it over with, then. Do your damnedest.”

Ingeborg advanced with a gloomy expression, flexing her stick. She stood in front of her friend, the gold letter on her breast catching the light.

“I'm actually going to enjoy this very much, Maria. I won't hide it from you. I've longed to thrash your behind from the first day I saw you.”

“Please,” said Maria in a new voice, her eyes dropping to the pitiless length of wood. “Don't draw it out.”

Ingeborg jounced the profile of her friend's rump with the swollen tip of her stick. “Why not? Don't you feel yourself living now? I'm going to give you as much pain as I possibly can, until, until you're reduced to a thing of pain… like that girl there.”

“How many?” said Maria curtly. Then wished she hadn't asked.

“Ten.”

“Ten! But that's… it's…”

“What you're going to get. Here. Stand over here. Can you put your palms on the ground?”

“You mean… bending over?” said Maria sickly. “I used to be able… but in these heels…”

With her legs together she bent like a hinge, doubling her bottoms and stretching their skin. Ingeborg stood well back and with a sudden thudding rush pranced on her fleshy prey-to cut.

Huhuwhu-the cane seemed to hew the air interminably until it completed, meatily-uiclk! Determined not to show a sign before her friend, Maria merely gasped, albeit driven off balance a moment.

Ingeborg had cut low, into the very tenderest part of her whole integument, it seemed, and the flame of pain waved over her, drenching her hips.

“Aaaah!”

Maria got to four. Five was a filthy beast of a stroke and she heard her own quick whine of protest.

“Christ! You might at least hit me on the bottom. That last was on my legs.”

“How are you enjoying it, by the way?” asked upside-down Ingeborg, taking a rest on her table for a minute. “You're marking beautifully, and you've only had half.”

“Please… Inge… c-cut me up higher. Not on the thighs.”

“No, you're really nice and tender there. Am I coming about right for time? I mean, when the pain's at its peak.”

“I… yesss,” Maria hissed, in no mood for academic discussion.

“I'm going to continue to work just under the cunt.”

The sixth sang into the stretched meat. The seventh. Eighth.

“Chrissst! Inge… pleeeease.” Nine… ten!

Stay down, she had to stay down… Maria counted, panting. Ingeborg was standing right behind her. “All right,” she heard and jacked upright in agony-to find Inge's arms grabbing round her waist, Inge's furred cunt thrust, tunic-less, into her plump and maddened right buttock; yes, she even felt the slippery stub of flesh there, as Inge hissed, and heaved, and cursed, and buried her face in Maria's hair, wriggling her clitoris into ecstasy on the powerful mound of whipped round womanflesh of her friend.

And five minutes after this, reordered, if not restored, they were presenting the completed Duty Book of the day to the Head in her study.

The mistresses had gone; they had been replaced by a tall, raw-boned officer in loose shirt and pale-blue trousers. Presented to the well-wined Colonel Karl von Dessau, the two young mistresses curtseyed.

Elizabetha Grumkow, still in the same chair, smiled at them cheerfully-“Did she take it well, Ingeborg?”

“Admirably, Frau Direktrice.”

“Show the Count your bottom, Daunitz,” came the next instruction and already Maria found she could obey this order without the slightest hesitation. “I want him to spread the word how strict we are, so that we may be honored with the royal presence. Karl, this is the new mistress I was telling you about.”

“These two will do for my Grenadiers,” the man murmured, feeling at the front of his trousers. “Gad, that's a good pair. And well marked, too. Use a cane, did you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you two can run off and console yourselves,” said Frau Grumkow, eyeing the Count's growing bulge. She was a jealous woman, and in the mood for cock.

On the way back to her room Maria Daunitz stole a look at her friend. Strange to say, she felt no resentment. She was fast slipping into the sense of discipline, the mystique of destiny, at Schloss Rutenberg. And when Inge squeezed her arm and said softly, “I'm sorry if I did cut rather low, but you must admit it hurts more there,” she was able to answer with a touch of admiration, “You caned me terrifically well, Inge. It hurt horribly.”