The Prussian Girls Read online

  First the big heavy bit was placed in the girlish mouth, already gasping now; it was not put in, however, before the corners of the sensitive lips had first been coated in salve, for they were not brutal at the Schloss, and the mouth might have been cut into by the steel. Then a slender cutting golden chain was fastened to the belly ring in front, drawn through the burning purse of the pussy, up the anal divide, already rippling in response to inner protests now, was threaded through a ring in back of the belt and connected tightly to the bit at the girl's head. This was thus brought strongly back and any movement, any natural inclination, to alleviate the tension, or drop the face forward, would only serve to tighten the chain beneath. This was at the pitch of excruciation as it was. Jacqueline Bellais stepped back with the Hauter in her hand, satisfied.

  She might well do so. The stately contours of the ruddied backside were well separated, so that the tender insides would feel the limbs. Moreover, the entire rump was so well secured it could scarcely squirm-at least, only enough to make it more amusing. Drawing in her breath she delivered a long, air-throbbing lash. Whhrrru-rrrupp!

  It was greeted by a chinking start from the girl, and a snort of snot. Three violet bands painted themselves lividly across each side.

  “One,” said Frau Grumkow calmly.

  By five the girl was in an extremity of pain and the wales and grazes on the right were such that Mademoiselle Bellais would knowingly apply some pimentade to their rawness. She paused to do so, eliciting a mewling whine stifled by the bit. The broad buttock tried to clench, cringe in, its inner surfaces shivering.

  The Skinner resounded again, its three twigs making a dolorous ripping thwlack occasioned by the fact that they impacted one slightly after the other. The girl's sweating face came back, her eyes glassy, almost wild, her mouth distended by the bit, her braids shaking. Mistress Bellais was pitiless, however, and meant her to go the whole distance of the frightful fifteen. She worked low, attacking in particular one lumpy area of tip-weal. The slits and grazes were increasing, oozing a dark dew. The limbs continued to thump into the flesh, to the antiphony of stifled squeaks and squeals got out through the roof of the mouth.

  Nine, ten, eleven, twelve…

  The right buttock was quite moist, and the tips seemed to whip into wet flesh. The jerks and squirmings squeaked the rings and screws pitifully. But the last three were given with full strength, at intervals of nearly one minute.

  “A splendid flogging, Bellais,” pronounced Frau Grumkow, getting up, and smiling at the panting mistress, “I think she knows she's been beaten now, eh? Give her ten minutes to recover, and then put her on the saddle for me, will you?”

  “Of course; Frau Direktrice.”

  The good widow went back into her room for some brandy. Her hand was steady and her mind was clear. It was essential that they did not get slack. It was imperative to defeat Wolfenbiittel in vying for the Margrave's attentions, and the possibility of the Princess's presence. She would have to get Karl to come again on the morrow. Even if he…

  The Directress broke off and strode rapidly to the brandy decanter. She still seemed to hear the whirr and whistle of those eager limbs, the leathery rapping sound they made as they wrapped round the leaden-wealed buttocks. There was a knock on the door.

  Even the round little knee which Jacqueline Bellais cursorily ducked in entering seemed to be grinning, as she came forward to the Headmistress and gratefully accepted the beaker of brandy held out to her.

  “You certainly made her sit up a bit,” said Frau Grumkow with genuine respect. “Those last three on the thighs were stunners. I really think a Skinning's too severe for anyone under a Senior. How is she, by the way?”

  “Right as rain and looking very pretty, Head, on the saddle,” came the smiling reply, after a gulp of fiery cognac. “She seemed somewhat uncomfortable afterwards…”

  “Naturally.”

  “But she's a good big girl and recovered very well. She wanted to relieve herself, and I let her. Some smelling salts soon set her up. The cuts are purely superficial but I think she felt it all right. Thank you for letting me thrash her so strictly.”

  “Are both,” the Frau Direktrice began ruminatively, “those nice thick things… well up her?”

  “Well up her, Head.”

  Frau Grumkow picked up her switch. “I hate to have to do this,” she said. “But I must make sure.”

  Jacqueline Bellais fingered a fold in her skirt. It had been annoyingly speckled with blood. “If I might make so bold, Head…”

  “Um?”

  “It's just an idea.”

  “Go on.”

  “The phallus was found by Fraulein Daunitz, it appears, Headmistress. And then replaced. I do not want to spread unkind rumors about other instructors, but it would seem to me evidence not simply of dereliction of duty, but of a desire on her part to return and use the tool herself. Resi says she returned to the scene of the crime, later the same afternoon.”

  The trim little Directress caught the drift at once. She nodded amicably. “You are quite right to remind me of this, Bellais. I was going to see that Daunitz was flogged in any case. I imagine you wish to be charged with the execution.”

  Jacqueline Bellais modestly dropped her lids.

  “'Twould be a signal honor, Frau Direktrice.”

  “What would you suggest? The woman has been whipped once this term already.”

  “That was by Wedell.”

  “I think she felt it.”

  “Would not you possibly think fit, in order to make a real example of the case, to employ the pizzle?”

  “The bull's pizzle!” exclaimed the Directress.

  “She's well built, and could stand it,” exhorted the French mistress. “She should feel real pain once in her life, Ma'am.”

  “And how many would you suggest?” asked the senior wryly, after a pause.

  And equally wryly, after an equal pause, the other replied humbly-“Fifteen.”

  “Fifteen! With the pizzle that's quite a count. Given how, pray may I ask?”

  “Domed,” said Jacqueline Bellais.

  The two stared at each other in an amusement of total complicity for almost a minute. They sensed, they understood each other totally. Finally the Frau Direktrice said with almost a laugh, “You're a rigorous cat, Bellais, aren't you!” Pensively she flexed her endless whalebone switch, then in the softest of voices possible said, “Bend over. Touch your toes.”

  Once, twice, thrice that licky whip bit into the elastic rounds presented, under their white knickers. There was a long pause, then the Directress cut again. She waited equally long and struck one final time. Where the tip had eaten in, a dark red seeped into the material.

  “Hurt?” she asked.

  “Intensely,” came the hissed response. “Stand up.”

  The mistress did so, bright-eyed, red-faced, constraining her hands to stay by her sides. “Feel better now?”

  “Yes,” whispered Jacqueline Bellais gratefully. “Thank you, Head.”

  “You will get one for one like that if you don't hit Daunitz as hard this evening.”

  “There will be no likelihood of that, Frau Direktrice.”

  “Good. Now, let's go and get this over. I'm afraid a touch of Heidi is going to hurt this silly girl a lot.”

  It did. Entering, they found Euphemia Seckendorff dramatically disposed. For the saddle was… a saddle. It was the height of a stool and the girl was secured to it with legs strapped back beneath her, her arms manacled behind and her back arched on a strut. She still wore the bit, though this was merely attached, now, to her belt-ring. Nonetheless, it constrained her to stare with intensity straight at the vaulted ceiling. Under the light from the oil lamps her bare body loomed brazenly, offering in lubricious detail her parted, heavy-mounded breasts, tipped with two bullet-like nipples.

  These began to judder visibly as the Headmistress stationed herself to the right of the somewhat squatting girl. Jacqui Bellais placed herself beh
ind the straining head, first assuring that the two dongs were firmly up cunt and anus.

  “I hate to inform you, Seckendorff, that I'm obliged to give you a taste of Heidi. You know what that is, don't you? Yes. Well, I have to make quite sure, you see. You can nod your head a few centimeters, I think. Now. Are you perfectly certain you knew nothing about this disgraceful affair beforehand?”

  The bit chinked as the girl frantically tried to shake her head in negative response. Then the eyes pleaded, the forehead crisped up, the whole body tried to cringe in against the iron strut arching its back-for the Duty Mistress had fondly bounced a breast, and the inky whalebone switch was on high.

  “Relax yourself,” said Jacqueline Bellais soothingly, in one retracted ear, “the Frau Direktrice has never split a nipple yet.”

  The whine of the switch was completed by the sifting slice of its impact. It was a sound of water struck, and the lean limb laced the twin breasts with purple. Euphemia Seckendorff whinnyed, lifting off the greasy tubes up her insides. She was cut again, and then asked, “You are quite sure you knew of no one using this… thing?”

  Her head shook desperately again.

  The Head went to the other side and cut, twice, from the other direction. The second drew a quick blob of blood where the tip had fallen.

  “Ggggghhhh…!”

  And then her flesh seemed to go into a frenzy. Muffled cries escaped her bit; the impaling and serrated staff eased up and down her rectum as she tried to move, to escape, to… anything… For the Duty Mistress had reached over and lifted each breast carefully upwards by its plummy nipple, and the fearful Frau Direktrice had stationed herself in front. The most excruciating form of “Heidi” was to be hewed by this rapier-like length of bone under the breasts, in the very tenderest…

  “Aaaaa… uuuuieeee!”

  All who had had two cuts like this agreed that there was no pain like it; and yet the wand did not bruise or harm, it merely stung. To the very soul.

  Ten minutes later the girl was brought in, after restoratives, to see the Directress. Jacqueline Bellais stood beside her victim, who had donned her tunic and was still mournfully rubbing her backside. Frau Grumkow crossed her legs and looked at the splendid specimen of Prussian womanhood, a bearer-to-be of warriors and heroes. She saw the patch of red on the right breast and said, “You'd better get Matron to see to any abrasions, Euphemia.”

  “Thank you, Frau Direktrice.”

  “Well, I'm glad that's over,” went on the elder woman, in her chatty, nonchalant tone, “I'm sure you'll agree that it had to be a severe hiding for a Prefect, and Fraulein Bellais was merely doing her job.”

  “Oh yes, Ma'am.”

  “You took it like a trooper, Euphemia, and certainly won't lose your rank this term. I'll see to that. All the same, if I were you, I'd keep that bottom of yours-and hands by your sides when I speak to you, please-out of mischief for a while. It might hurt, to be caned after a Skinning.”

  “I certainly will, Headmistress,” said the girl, entering into the bonhomie of her mentor's tone. She ached dully all over and her bottom felt thick, contused, twice its weight. All the same, she was most conscious of having come through. She had not expected anything like such an ordeal, but her body had borne it somehow, and she felt proud- she would show her marks to her colleagues with distinct pride shortly. She would go up in their estimation, she knew. She said respectfully, “I'll assemble my Dorm in the break, Head.”

  “Do that, Euphemia. Before you go-is there anything you want to say?”

  The girl paused. With charming bashfulness she turned to the inky-haired Duty Mistress and smiled.

  “Just that… if I might be permitted, Madam…”

  “Go on, what is it?”

  “Id like to thank Fraulein here. I think it was the most terrific beating I've ever had, and, and I'm grateful. But above all, I'd like to congratulate her. I'm just about to leave the Schloss and I've had five years here now, so I do think I know a bit about beatings. It was an absolute beauty. My bottom feels beaten through and through, and each cut hurt more than the last. It was almost… unbearable. Thank you.” So saying she dropped to her knees and impulsively grasped the Duty Mistress' hand and kissed it, even licked that rigorous palm.

  The gesture touched the two who watched the girl prostrate herself and leave with an odd mixture of feelings. They looked long at each other after she'd gone and Jacqui Bellais said quietly, “I think you'll get your culprit, Head.”

  Frau Grumkow said, “The birching of her life, in Great Hall.”

  Again their eyes met. This time both pairs dropped to the erect object of bone standing on the desk between them. And they laughed.

  Spread-eagled on the “Dome,” a leather-covered tabouret less than a foot high under the pelvis, was not a position conducive to sensible reflection, and Maria Daunitz, being tightened in it to joint-cracking distension at ten o'clock that night, was in no mood to count the cost. All she knew was that somehow or other she had to call up courage to face a frightful fifteen, yes with the pizzle.

  The Head's Chastisement Chamber was brightly lit, the rank of leather-clad mistresses along one wall impassive spectators, their faces expressionless, their hands by their sides, to attention. They had been summoned to watch correction of one of their number for Dereliction of Duty-to whit, not reporting an alien object found in a Dormitory on inspection-and they were going to watch it to the full. The broad buttocks of the new mistress were nicely parted as she was triced in this St. Peter's Cross position, with Duty Mistress Bellais browsing out her tackle at the four points carefully. Maria Daunitz was nude as a slug but for her boots-and a few withering lines across her hips from Inge's playful beating, doubtless a “training” infliction, so the watching eyes considered. Spliced to the ringbolts on the floor like this, she had her seat turned up by the so-called “dome” under her mons, more especially since a waist-belt kept her middle sections well down.

  “Fifteen of the best with the pizzle across the naked buttocks,” had been the iron pronunciamiento of the inexorable Headmistress, to which was added a stringent reminder to be especially strict-“Schnell… das zoll heimgezahlt werden, Mademoiselle Bellais! Cut slowly. Give her plenty of time.”

  When Maria had been “sent for” to the Head, she had gone with beating heart, imagining her friend to be correct: she was going to be in trouble for taking the punishment of Gulfrida Kraus into her own hands. Accordingly, she stood in front of the Directorial desk in apprehension. She was amazed to be confronted by an angry denunciation of her failure to bring in at once the bone phallus. In truth, she had not known it to be such, and was about to remonstrate, when discretion made her hesitate. Already she knew she had been delinquent-if only mildly so-and that excuses were out of order at Schloss Rutenberg. It was part of what she had learnt. She heard herself sentenced to a public thrashing with sinking heart-she had had no idea it was to be this severe, until she had stepped from the rank of mistresses and heard her actual count.

  Now, in the total silence, Bellais' boots creaked as she bent from in front of Maria and pulled agonizingly taut the perineal strap, this supplied with small brass studs on the inside that nipped in to cunt and arse-cleft alike. It had been carefully daubed with caustic, too.

  “Ooooh!”

  She could not keep from a protesting gasp, or groan. The screw under the tabouret was being turned higher, her hips arched up, she felt all buttock, totally vulnerable. On a stool beside the Head's chair facing the rank of mistress coiled the pizzle, three feet or more of leathery round thong, a bull's member stretched by weights. An appropriate instrument, indeed. Maria Daunitz had heard that they got flogged with it at the cart's tail in England, whence this specimen had been brought back. It was an instrument to crush and bruise and bludgeon a mere woman's shivering sides.

  “Breathe in deeply,” came a whispered word in her ear, as Bellais bent over, on her knees, to tighten the saddle strap. She knew somehow that the woman wanted t
o thrash her very badly, and steeled herself to show as little symptoms as possible.

  A matted length of rope, as big as a good beefsteak, was thrust between Maria's teeth; she bit into it gratefully. It helped one to hold out, so it was said. The rotten hemp was moist and its acrid taste suggested nothing less than… yes, urine. But once her teeth were sunk into it, Maria found she could not void it from her mouth. Indeed, she could not unclench her jaws. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes.

  “Nice and slow,” the Head was saying now. “Each stroke as hard as you possibly can, Bellais. I want this to be a lesson to all those here. Commence.”

  A wet sponge trickled brine onto the quiveringly upturned cheeks and then, with a long preparatory whirr, the hard lash socked into their dripping surfaces-THWLUICK!

  “Unnnngh!”

  It was impossible. Maria tensened at the branding blow, held still a second, then jerked furiously in her bonds-causing a real squeak of protest through her gag as a brass stud bit her clit. Allmachtiger Gott, she thought with sudden sobbing despair, wie werde ich gehauen! It was worse than she had possibly expected.

  “One,” said Frau Grumkow calmly.

  But there was two… and three… and four… and five…

  By which time she felt she had been boiled in oil.

  There was a long pause at five and Maria realized she was gasping and whining through her gag, squirming and tossing her buttocks as much as the bonds, retightened, permitted. Ten more. She could not possibly endure ten more.