The Prussian Girls Page 4

  “Jau, Frau Direktrice.”

  “Hau', was Du hauen kannst,” came the irrevocable order then.

  Fraulein Wedeil stood behind Maria, waving the long, heavy Rohrstock in her right hand. She laid its cold wood on the parted, plummy posteriors a second, drew back, and swung.

  It was a long sweeping stroke that cut upwards into the fat and Maria had known nothing like its bite before. Allmachtiger Gott! It drove her slack cheeks upwards, branding a band of burning agony athwart them. Then suddenly the true flame of pain drove through her, taking the breath from her half-uttered gasp.

  “One,” said the Frau Direktrice. “Schon gut.”

  After three every pore of her person seemed possessed of pain and she bit feverishly on the chain between her teeth.

  Hhuittt!

  “Four!”

  Not even halfway through. “Oh… oh… auuuh.”

  She stretched out, twisting up the trestle, her posteriors cringing like those of some well-whipped dog. The long penal cane was unspeakably painful, its tip digging into her right side unbearably.

  Five… six… seven… dear Christ in Heaven.

  “Aaaah…”

  Then something happened. In a cold tone the Headmistress was speaking.

  “You're letting her off too lightly, Wedell. If you don't hit harder than this, I'll have you put to the triangle. It'll be twenty, in public.”

  “Ja, Frau Direktrice. Entschul'.”

  “These last cuts over two minutes.”

  Maria listened to the metronome ticking. Her anus was burning like a brand. Her whipped seat was afire. No more, no more…

  But the next belted into her with a shock that shook the trestle and a drenching streak of agony seemed to pass right through her. Her vision fogged.

  “Much better. They should all have been like that.”

  “Haaa. uuuuu…”

  H-h-hwhttt!

  “Nine. That was too high. Take her at the top of the legs for the last.”

  Shivering as if with the ague Maria Daunitz awaited the stroke, stretching forward and, in doing so, pulling up just that part the mistress had been told to flog. The big woman took a prancy pace and wrapped the length of the rod around the base of the wealed surfaces. Maria lunged with a grunting moan, her body spasmed in a cramp, then sheer pain seemed to flood through her from insteps to eyeballs. The last three stripes had been worse than the whole of the first seven.

  Her legs were released first, and she jacked them back together, writhing. Ingeborg had instructed her in protocol. She was somehow or other supposed now to kneel and kiss the… the… and thank for punishment… with her hands by her sides… with her… but her hands had been released, her mouth, and her waist, and herself, and a voice was saying sternly, “Stand up at once. This is extremely poor comportment, Daunitz.”

  Alas, it was. Pain suffused her from tip to toe, and she realized she was rolling on her back on the floor, with her knees drawn up to her chin, and her hands grabbing and rubbing the twin coals of her arse-cheeks. Wedell was looking at her with some interest, from the distance of that endless cane, while the Head's gaze had been converted to a winking glare by the insertion, in her right eye, of a monocle. “Get up.”

  “Yes… ohoooooaaaah… Frau Direktrice.”

  “Pull yourself together and get up and thank for punishment. Cease this unnecessary exhibition at once.”

  Maria forced herself to obey. She had to drag herself to her knees. Half-blind with pain she kissed the tip of the outstretched cane, mumbled the ritual words of thanks, resumed her discarded skirt, curtseyed stiffly to the Headmistress, then stood up to attention, trembling like a jelly all over.

  “I had hoped you would do better than this, Daunitz. Do you feel well punished?”

  “Th-th-thoroughly, Headmistress.” It was something she could gasp out with complete conviction. Her buttocks felt at this moment like so much molten lead. “Thank you,” she managed to get herself to add.

  “You will not be let off so lightly next time. In fact, I shall recommend some training correction for you so that you do not behave like this again. Meanwhile, you bear Fraulein Wedell no grudge, I hope; she was merely doing her duty.”

  “None,” she breathed in reply.

  “Return to your quarters.”

  Maria Daunitz dipped another curtsey, held it, half-slipped, got up and went to the door where she appeared to wrestle with the handle for a moment — then was gone. The Headmistress was left alone with the Pflichtlehrerin of the day. For a time she gave her subordinate a long and level gaze. We-dell's bosom was heaving, her white tunic patched with sweat under the right armpit and in front, its scant skirt perching pertly oft a muscular rump behind.

  “Talking of doing your duty, you didn't let up on those last three, did you, Wedell?”

  “No, Frau Direktrice.”

  “I didn't think you would be so silly as to.”

  “It… it was perhaps that… she squirmed so, and I hit too high, at the end.”

  “She did wriggle, didn't she?” The Headmistress adjusted her monocle. “Tell me, when did I last order you a flogging, Wedell?”

  The undermistress spoke to the wall in front- “Two years ago, Frau Direktrice. Twenty strokes with the switch. It was across the buttocks, thank you.”

  “Hm. Well, you seem to have profited from the experience, not to have come back since then.”

  “Yes, I have tried to obey orders implicitly, Head.”

  “Good. However, I don't like my mistresses to go too long without a reminder of what they themselves are inflicting, so I serve notice on you that I shall be watching you closely this term, Wedell.”

  “Yes, Frau Direktrice.”

  “Is the Duty Book completed and signed?”

  “On your desk, Head.”

  “How many did you have at Duty tonight?”

  “Five. Kraus, Nagel, von Hoffmansthal, the little Elrich, and Uhlein.”

  “Get any of them to 'repeat?' ” Here the Directress was referring to the custom whereby, when a girl did not “take” her Duty cuts in complete stoicism, she received them again afterwards, added to those she had been unable to manage the first visit.

  “Uhlein,” said Fraulein Wedell a little more brightly now that the conversation had taken a securer tack. “I very nearly got Nagel to get up, too, but she just held on. However, I think I really hurt Uhlein, the second time. She could barely find her knickers again afterwards, and went out of the door twisting like a belly dancer. I passed her dorm just now, Head, and she was still in floods of tears.”

  The Directress thought. Finally she said, “Stand here and wait until I dismiss you.” She turned on her heel and left the room on the opposite side from that taken by the punished junior mistress. This connected with her salon where a tall, big-boned, red-faced officer in a perruque and off-duty clothes reclined with a glass of fortified wine. His tight pale-blue trousers and flounced shirt suggested an immense muscularity of body beneath.

  “Dire execution over?” he murmured as the Frau Direktrice entered and closed the joining door behind her. “It sounded salutory, and I am sure was.”

  “Yes, I flogged a Prefect and a young mistress. A new one.”

  His brow raised over the glass. “Really? Do I know her?”

  She shook her head with a laugh. “Nor will you, until at least next term, Karl. I'm not sending Maria Daunitz to you ruffians at the barracks until she's trained.”

  “Not even for a flogging, Beth? I've one Corporal who is accuracy itself. And 'tis so entertaining for the young officers, y'know.”

  “Did you see that Ritter girl get it, by the by?” asked the now insouciant Directress, serving herself to wine.

  “Alas, no such luck. Had to take my squadron out on training at the time. But Leopold-you know him-saw the last part and says the skin was fairly taken off her back by the end. Unfortunately she kept on fainting, despite all the brandy they gave her. No,” he ended on a sigh, “I rather
fear she won't throw eyes at our young Prince Fritz again in a hurry.”

  “Wedell's outside. If you're interested.”

  “I'm always interested,” said Colonel Karl von Schmettau, standing up with a laugh and grabbing hold of Elizabetha Grunkow's stocky bottoms in both hands and lifting her bodily off the floor for his kiss. “And particularly in this!”

  She hung glued to his lips for a long moment, feeling the mast of his manhood along one thigh. He put her down and laughed.

  “And always ready whenever I see this marvelous randy little rump of yours, Beth. Which is We-dell? I forget. Can't I cane her first?”

  “No.”

  The Frau Direktrice was thoughtfully peeling down her skintight britches, and the cambric knickers beneath. The man's prick kicked like a mule at the sight of her short but very round buttocks and fleecy mound in front. He hastened to let it free, while she, moving in spraddle-step, placed herself against her ormulu desk, over which she leaned pensively on her elbows.

  “Heard any more from Dessau, Karl? I don't suppose so. Heavens, it's been a busy day. Always is, at start of term like this.” She shook herself and arched up her bottom. “Now stick it up me like a good Commanding Officer. You… beast.”

  The big man approached her grinning with lust, his turgid tool fisted in front. Placing himself centrally, he addressed his dribbling Cyclops eye at the trim twinned bud of her belly, set under the clefting of her already swaying cheeks. He nuzzled the outer lips, then sank in fully, to the balls, with a sudden vigor that drove the breath from the good Directress and thudded her thighs into the desk.

  “Kaaarl… ugh… oooogh!'”

  He jammed into her so that she felt violently full and oddly breathless, then pistoned slickly for a bit, till she started gasping and moaning-“God, let it come… lover, beast… Christ, I feel stuffed to the… the guts!”

  She was about to come, he knew, and so sank deep in, forcing her to wince and raise up her torso, for he threatened to wound her womb. Her tough clit squirmed.

  “Nohhww! Give it me, Karl… shoot, cream,Come!”

  Chuckling, he held her on his prick, as if impaled, then as the spasming started at her depths he caught both nipples between finger and thumb and brutally twisted them under the Malines stuff of her shirt. With an arching cry she scrabbled at his hands, scratching and gasping, stamping desperately with her boots about the carpet.

  In that perfect control worthy of a Prussian warrior he held her hanging there, on the edge or summit of her spasm, unable to register it for exquisite pain. Then he increased pressure, twisted harder and threatened to pull her tits off in his fingers. Speechless, she hissed on tiptoe, clawing, arched like one cramped. Then at once he let her go, ploughed her weakly slackened belly which went on coming and coming as if her clitoris were being sick on him. She was still heaving and retching slightly, her hand on a lapus lazuli paperweight, when he withdrew, having come in cloudy gouts himself. She lay moaning rhythmically a moment and he turned to the fireplace, and his port. When he looked back the Frau Direktrice had gone.

  “You utter bastard!” was her greeting a few minutes later, when she re-entered from her bedroom, having put some order in her attire. “Have you any idea what my nipples look like, my dear man? She poured herself a large glass and drained it in a single gasping draught. “Schweinhund!”

  “I have an idea,” he said, standing and manhandling his tool which had already showed signs of resurrection at the succulent directress's presence. “Confess it was twice as long for you when I did that. Come, Beth, there's nothing for it. I'm not leaving tonight till I've buggered you or beaten you. Or preferably both.”

  “No one buggers the principal of Schloss Rutenberg,” she said, eyeing his one-eyed monster which truly seemed to be licking its lips. Why, its head alone was far too big to get up her… entrails.

  “Drop your britches,” he ordered jovially, “and drop them quickly. Then kneel down in front of me here.”

  “No, Karl.”

  He advanced as she backed. She saw his immense, veined flat hands, and gulped at the jerk of his cock. He was strong as an ox, they all were… quickly she sought for her straw.

  “Wedell's still next door. I haven't dismissed her yet.”

  “Fine, bring her in and let her watch. What do I care?”

  “I couldn't possibly let her watch. Nor is this… this thing going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I say it won't, that's why.” But already she was making for the door to the punishment room. “You can service Wedell, I'm sure she's got a juicy cunt, and I'll test her submission at the same time.” Flinging open the door before the Count could object she revealed the Duty Mistress of the day standing under the blaze of light perfectly impassive, at attention. “Come in.”

  Wedell came in expressionlessly and curtseyed. After the bright light of the correction chamber the salon was almost gloomy and she did not see the Count at first. When she did so, however, she remained on her knees after her curtsey. She did not look at his prodigious and glistening erection. She knew what she was there for, all right. She only hoped she would not be whipped.

  “The Count wishes to honor you with his presence,” was all the Frau Direktrice said curtly-she herself knew she had to work fast. “Get your Duty costume and belt off, and then come over here.”

  Over here was a low penitence table, or long stool, kept for correctional purposes. Fraulein Wedell had sat on it once and did not want to again, especially. She had broad solid buttocks, which slabbed from side to side as she most gingerly approached this steel surface; though on the fat side, it was sensitive fat.

  “Here,” said the Directress, tapping the edge facing the rampant soldier in a businesslike manner. “Sit here with your knees apart and lie back.”

  “Yes, Frau Direktrice.”

  Her boots creaked, the steel was ice-cold to her warm and wobbly bottom and long, strong back when she reclined it fully.

  “Have you been whipped lately?” said the Count.

  “No, Hoheit.”

  “Ever been flogged at the barracks?”

  “No, sir.”

  “We should repair that omission. A big heavy girl like you could stand a few. Open up your pussy wider, and relax it quite. Good. Ach so.”

  The steel table was some eighteen inches high. The Directress inclined it slightly with a crank handle, so that Wedell's head was lowered, hanging over one end. At the other her booted knees were spread and bent, her ridged slit quiffed dark against the powerful cushioning of her bottom.

  “Oh no you don't,” chuckled the Head, “get right on it.” The mistress slid back a trifle, her waist was strapped to the stool and her arms under it to the back of the waist-belt. Her chest arched, throwing out her solemn sturdy bosoms. She closed her eyes, her mouth open, when suddenly a spasm shot through her, she emitted a quickly stifled whine. The Count, with knees bent, had his prick nuzzling puppy-like the outer lips and laughed as Frau Grumkow jerked the lever. In doing so, the perforated steel surface was suddenly serrated with a grim army of tiny ice-cold needles, tacks less than half an inch in protrusion at the moment but long enough to penetrate the recumbent mistress' skin and freeze her to sudden stone.

  “Capital, Beth. We ought to cane our drummer-boys strapped to this. Teach them to wriggle from the cuts.”

  He eased in with a squelch (had beating Maria Theresa liquefied the good Wedell, wondered the watching Directress) and began fucking. The woman greeted his entry with a soft gargle of protest, then gritted teeth to bear i. The slightest test, then gritted teeth to bear it. The slightest movement of her pelvis dragged her rump across the needles and for a minute Count von Schmettau might have been fucking a corpse. With a prick the size of his, however, Wedell could not long remain indifferent and the Frau Directrice watched the resultant battle of control with considerable interest. She toyed with the rubbery stub of a nipple to help increase reaction.

  Deep in the c
hubby crevice, the Commanding Officer of the 15th. Dragoon Guards was satisfied for the moment, then turned to his old friend- “I'm about to give it to her, Beth. Make her move a bit. It's all very fine discipline, no doubt, but this is like screwing a log.”

  With a smile the Directress lowered the bench till it was level and stepped on it in her boots. These she placed either side of the strapped mistress, facing the Count. Wedell gave a quick moan. She knew what was to happen. For the Directress carefully aligned the pencil spurs of each boot into the opened armpit of the mistress lying beneath her, and getting an imperial view of her superior's breeched bottom.

  “Tell me when you're ready, Karl.”

  “Yes, yes. But I want her to come with me.”

  “She will.”

  Wedell began heaving.

  “It's… it's…” said the big man with a snarl, as if some wolf were at his throat. He thrust his hands on the woman's thighs, pressing them too into the spikes. “Gott in Himmel, but… I'm… going to hose her insides out!”

  The Directress made a slight kicking motion of her right boot. And Wedell squealed. The steel pencil-spur had a spring which released an inch-long needle that could penetrate even a Percheron's plump side. It drove in her armpit where it joined to her breast. And the second, the left… was…

  “Aaaaaahhh!”

  This time the Directress not only dug the spur home, but worked it there for the seconds of Karl von Schmettau's scalding spasm, into which the mistress' scream melded as he uttered a torrent of curses in losing hold and pumping squirts of gism over the heaving, panting body beneath them. This too, in incredible paradox, was spasming in the ecstasy of very agony. Then Wedell lay back on her bed of spikes, cunt foaming, while the two replenished their glasses. When she was let up, she curtseyed, said, “Thank you, Hoheit,” and resumed her white Duty dress. One armpit ran with blood and soon stained it gory. Her front was patched with sweat and the Count's scum and when she turned to leave, the couple could not resist a common laugh-little prickings of rosy red starred the tunic all over, especially at the bottom, despite the knickers.

  I seem to think,” said Elizabetha Grumkow when they were alone together again, “that one of my mistresses will be sleeping on her belly tonight.”