The Prussian Girls Page 7

  This regimen of the rod was thus naturally effected day after day, week after week, throughout the term. The girls accepted it unquestioningly, as prideful part of their special training. Indeed, with the number of them there were, the canings were not too intolerably common. Their presence existed in the mind continually, however. During the afternoon sports, and the evening pre-Prep recreation, where round games and dances were indulged in, the rod was publicly put away-so a visitor might conclude. There would, however, be those destined to make corrective trips to individual mistresses' rooms, and then three or four unfortunates a day, whose names had appeared on the Duty List, could be seen with anything but happy expectations on their anxious faces. These were those who had been told to put themselves in The Book-as the black-bound Bible of Duty corrections, standing on its lectern outside that dreaded chamber, was known.

  The following will attend the Duty Mistress at 9:00 p.m…

  Those who had been deemed sufficiently naughty to join this wretched rank were, by late afternoon, when the list was posted, in a perfect tizzy of internal butterflies. For the daily Duty punishment was the most dreaded moment in the lives of these pretty pensionaires; it was both ordeal and duel-one fought against the frightful penal cane, longer than most, whippy yet tough enough to make a flugleman cry out. Since Maria Daunitz had already experienced this heartless weapon, it is with her we shall logically visit its application in the Duty Room.

  Chapter Five

  “Is it really true, Head, that we have a platoon of these colossal foot guards quartered nearby?”

  “Yes, with the Fifteenth Dragoons?”

  “It's not only true,” said Frau Grumkow, stretching back contentedly in her chair. “But the Count has told me these positive giants need strenuous servicing. I hope you ladies are game. I may be required to send a delegation.”

  The mistresses exchanged glances. It was some days later, and this moment after dinner, in the Frau Direktrice's study, was always a pleasant, relaxed one for them all. Only the Duty Mistress for the day, and those taking special assignments in Hall and Prep, ate with the girls. The rest dined with their Head, upstairs, and they dined very well. After dinner, they repaired as now, with great brimming beakers of brandy, to her study to talk and smoke. The Duty Mistress alone was not allowed to drink during her day. On this occasion there were some six mistresses present and, after standing until their almost diminutive-looking Principal had first seated herself facing the fire, they all took low leather chairs around her.

  She herself had on a tight, ruffled shirt and a becoming pair of stone-colored velveteen trousers, belted low. She smoked a thin, dark cheroot. Maria Theresa Daunitz, watching from a seat at the side, looked at her with a new respect. That chunky, cheerfully squared off face was really resolution personified.

  “I want you to be particularly hospitable to the Fifteenth Dragoons,” she went on (and listening, Maria supplied-on pain of penalty, of course). “I have it from one of the highest families in Silesia- this is to be kept amongst us in total confidence- that our beloved Emperor is contriving a match for the Prince Royal.” She bowed her head in a little genuflection at the words, as did her listeners who thereafter burst into a buzz of excited questionings.

  “What? Who is it to be, Head? Do tell us…”

  Frau Grumkow stretched out her legs a little further. Karl's prick had really hurt last time. He had no respect for the, ah, weaker sex.

  “A Princess of Brunswick-Bevern, that will have to suffice for the nonce,” she said crisply, cutting off their further queries. “The story is, as related to me by the Count, that before the Prince marries her, she will do a year at one of our ladies' seminaries…”

  The eager buzz broke out again. They had caught the drift. If only the Schloss could be honored… imagine… a Crown Princess in their midst… baring her bottom for… oh Heavens, it was unbelievable…

  “Are… we being considered, Frau Direktrice?” asked Fraulein Holz, leaning forward.

  The Head nodded. “We are being considered.”

  “Oh how wonderful!”

  “What glory!”

  “We are being considered,” she added dryly, “together with Wolfenbuttel.”

  There were groans at the mention of their nearest rival, a rather larger school near Rostock.

  “We are far stricter than Wolfenbuttel,” came one indignant interjection. “We are much more worthy than they.”

  “Well, I want to win the honor,” said the Head tartly, puffing at her cigar. “It should be the goal of all of us this term. The decision will not be long delayed. It is for this reason I want each one of you to be on your toes; keep after the scum in particular. They shouldn't feel safe for a second. As a matter of fact, I have thought of increasing the Duty penalty this year.”

  “That ought to cheer up the little dears,” said tall Luzie Rombau with a laugh. “I had Duty two days ago and I've never seen such a set of expressions.”

  “Nevertheless, they must be kept up to the mark all the time, or they'll get slack. There's only been one birching this term, and that was the English girl.”

  “All the same it made her jump a bit, Head,” added broad-browed Katte from her armchair.

  “That was partly because you gave her such an admirable first dozen. After that, it was child's play. Is she out from Solitary yet?”

  “Came out last night, Head,” said another voice, “distinctly sorry for herself.”

  “Did you visit her the day before, Luzie?”

  “Yes, Frau Direktrice. I gave her ten.”

  “So did I,” said another. “And the bar?”

  “Oh yes, she did the bar all right. Lord, how they all seem to hate that.”

  “Yes, it's quite salutory. And the swing? Did you put her on that, too? Good.”

  “She had one whole morning hanging in the cage and it was so funny, Head, she kept peeing through it.”

  “I hope you corrected her for Incontinence.”

  “I did,” said the grinning Fraulein Holz, one hand expressively rubbing a meaty hip. “Ten, also.”

  They all laughed. Even Frau Grumkow joined in.

  “Come to that, I've only had one of you flogged so far this term,” she added with a chuckle. Maria Daunitz stirred in her seat. “I seem to remember you got it twice last half, Holz.”

  “I certainly did, Head,” came the equally cheerful reply, “and I can remember every lick.”

  Maria's face had darkened at the allusion. She was aware that the Head was staring at her. She wished her friend Inge had been present, but she was on Duty today.

  “And do you remember every lick, Daunitz?”

  “Distinctly, Frau Direktrice,” she answered at once.

  “Do you still have some marks?”

  “I… I think so… a little.”

  “Show them to us.”

  “Certainly.”

  Maria was learning. She stood up with alacrity, turned and bared her bottom, raising on high the soft leather skirt. There was a prolonged silence.

  “Thank you. You can sit down.” Maria did so and confronted as it were head-on the bright eyes of the French mistress, Jacqueline Bellais, boring into hers. There was something in the expression that locked her own eyes… but the Directress was continuing, “So what did you think of your first birching?”

  “Me, Frau Direktrice?” she answered, aware that they were all staring at her now; “I… I thought that, why, it was very severe.”

  “Too severe?” The Head's blue eyes were no longer merry.

  “No. Just that it seemed… er, a lot… for a little offense.”

  Frau Grumkow struck her placid forehead, making her blonde wig dance.

  “Good Lord! It's just occurred to me. Daunitz is new to us here, and she probably thinks I was extra-strict with Joyce because she was English.”

  “That's heresy,” said Fraulein Katte softly.

  “You would never do such a thing,” joined in another shocked tone.
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  Maria wanted to interject, such had not been in her mind, but the Directress went on at once: “Absolute justice is all we seek at Schloss Rutenberg. No idea of nationality existed or exists in punishing. Joyce was simply… someone to correct. Listen. Here's a wager. I'll send for the girl…”

  “It isn't necessary, Frau Direktrice,” Maria murmured unhappily.

  “… and ask her direct. If she thinks there was the slightest excess of zeal in her sentence, I shall offer myself in expiation. Yes, Wedell here will be instructed to give these,” and she tapped her tubby bum, “exactly what she gave you.”

  Maria again tried to interrupt, but the little woman had tinkled a bell. A pretty maid, engaged in clearing off the dinner next door, appeared instantly. She was a lissome thing, inky-locked and succulently outlined in her short black satin uniform with its tiny apron and cap.

  “You sent for me, Madam?”

  “Yes, Resi. Fetch the English girl, Hall.”

  “Very good, Ma'am.”

  The maid curtseyed and left. Maria Daunitz had already learnt (to her own discomfiture, she was sure) that the maidservants employed at the Schloss were a special breed. They occupied a strange stratum in the local hierarchy, being above the girls yet in a curious below-above relationship to the mistresses. The latter could whip the maids, and did, though the whole servant staff came under the iron rule of the head kitchen maid or, as she was better known, the Raumpflegerin. But the maids, mischievous monkeys that they were, did not seem notoriously averse to corporal correction, and could, and did, report the mistresses for delinquencies to the Head. They maintained what Maria conceived to be an almost mockingly respectful demeanor to the teachers, however.

  Having prostrated herself and been summoned to stand in the ring before the fireplace, Joyce Hall looked extremely frightened in her succinct gold tunic, or chlamys. She clearly imagined she was likely to be punished again and her sturdy bust wobbled unashamedly.

  “Well, Joyce,” said Frau Grumkow, “have you learnt your lesson?”

  “Oh yes, Madam,” the girl answered gratefully.

  “How did you enjoy your Solitary?”

  The girl bit her lip. How to answer properly? Her heavy lashes moistened. Finally she blurted, “It… it taught me a lesson, Madam.”

  Frau Grumkow laughed shortly.

  “You don't think I was unduly severe to you?”

  “Oh no, Madam, no… not at all,” answered the big girl eagerly, albeit with a hint of tears at the edges of her orbs.

  “And what would you expect if you repeated the offense?”

  “Oh I would get even more, Madam.”

  “That's right, you would, Joyce. You'd get four, or five dozen and then I think you'd really know you'd been birched. So you have no ill feelings?”

  “Non, Ma'am.”

  “Good. I'm glad to hear it. Now show your buttocks to Miss Daunitz. She is new here and might care to see how we treat casual offenders in Solitary.”

  Maria had been accompanying her friend Ingeborg Untermacher on her rounds as Duty Mistress for the day. And one of the first tasks of such was to “inspect” any girls in Solitary. There had not in fact been any this day, but they had gone the rounds nevertheless. Solitary was paid off in subterranean cells, entirely bare, whitewashed, with short barred windows high up, at ground level. Entering one of these bleak chambers, with its ammoniac stench, Maria had received a profound sense of depression. So big, and bare, and barren. Some ringbolts on one wall, a hole in the floor for natural needs, and a bare board to sleep on, that was all.

  The offender was kept manacled, on bread and water, so it seemed, employed during the day on purposely useless labor-such as scrubbing her floor over and over on her knees, or cleaning out the Groves till they glowed. Evidently she could count on a sound caning a day. Even so, Maria was quite unprepared for the sight that met her eyes as the English girl, skirt raised and knickers down, turned directly in front of her chair.

  She had thought Monika Vorst well wealed, but this was something else again. The birch-marks had mostly subsided to decorative green and yellow tracery, though the signal efficacy of the “master's strokes” was still on display. But the big patient buttock had been blatantly beaten all over — the cane markings were in groupings, extending well down her legs.

  “All right, do up your things,” came the order, and the girl quickly obeyed, only too glad to do so, it appeared. But her fingers fluttered as the Head drawled through her cheroot-“And what would you say if I said that to complete your lesson, Joyce, six with the switch might be in order?”

  The great eyes welled. Suddenly something profoundly affecting-at least for Maria Daunitz-occurred. The seventeen-year-old burst into tears, gulping sobs she clearly tried to check and stifle. For there had been a greedy clicking round the room, as the mistresses all menacingly unclipped their switches. She dropped clumsily to her knees before the Frau Direktrice and lowering her blondish head kissed the toes peeping from the trousers there. No words could possibly have been more eloquent. And at this exact same moment Maria Theresa Daunitz felt a pressing pang in her chest.

  Gazing at the bent bottom practically splitting the golden knickers as the girl kissed and licked the leather, she knew she wanted to see it whipped. She would have liked to cane that proud posterior herself-and it was the first time she had felt, or acknowledged the feeling, to herself.

  “Don't be silly, Joyce, Stand up and answer my question. Well, then… what would you say?”

  “I would say… I would, say, Ma'am,” stammered the still crying girl, “that if you ordered it, then it must be right, and I should hope and try to profit from it all I could.”

  “A truly Prussian reply,” retorted the Headmistress with satisfaction. “I couldn't be more proud of you for that, Joyce, than if you were one of ours. Well done. You may have a Credit.” (Thus excusing her, Maria knew, of three cuts at the next beating.) “You may leave now. And if I were you, I should keep those bottoms out of trouble for a little while.”

  When the girl had gone there was an excited tension in the air. The Frau Direktrice lit another small cigar.

  “There's one erring child who won't steal cakes in a hurry, I think,” she said, drawing on the dark weed with satisfaction. “Amazing how the rod imposes its rule.”

  “Do you remember that truant, Head, two years ago, whom you ordered ten days of Solitary and six of the best each morning and evening?”

  “Heavens yes,” laughed another mistress jovially, “she didn't take her eyes off the ground for the rest of that term. The mere sight of a stick set her shaking like a jelly.”

  “You could do anything you liked with her.”

  “And doubtless you did, Luzie.”

  Luzie Rombau giggled. “I must say I gave her one of the last of those beatings just as hard as I've ever hit. I have a soft spot at the very memory.” They laughed together as the mistress rubbed her center indicatively.

  “Do you required my presence any further, Frau Direktrice?”

  The Headmistress looked at the mouth-watering morsel of black silk and satin for a moment.

  “Have you had it recently, Resi?”

  “Unfortunately I have, Madam,” said the maid, roguishly enough, and looking at the ripe curve of her cheeky can Maria Daunitz again felt that abduction of her breath-yes, she would like to see this tender little Dienstmadchen well whipped too, no doubt about it. She would like to see her bent, and bared, and… and…

  “Any reason why you shouldn't have it again?”

  “None at all, Madam,” replied the maid promptly.

  “Resi,” said the Headmistress, stirring her limbs and changing-somewhat-the conversation, “I need to give someone another salutory birching, in front of the whole school. You don't happen to have a candidate, do you?”

  The maid's green eyes twinkled. “There have been some odd stains, yes in the sheets, Frau Direktrice, coming in from Dormitory 'D.' We are looking into it, Ma'am.”
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  “A vicious little onanist is just what I require,” concurred Frau Grumkow with a chuckle. “Fifty cuts in front of the school, after having masturbated publicly first. A week of solitary, with regular canings to cool her off.” The Head was working herself up, it was plain. “But come, Resi, let's show the new mistress the servant kiss. Nice and deep. The scum buss.” The little woman turned. “You know what that is, Daunitz?”

  “Yes, Head.”

  “What?”

  Maria hesitated but fractionally. “Up the… arse.”

  Frau Grumkow shook her braids reflectively. “Tongue up the anal canal, deep. Is there anyone here who feels she could come?”

  “I could,” said several voices in unison.

  “Frau Dick,” the Headmistress gravely selected, and the well-fleshed gym mistress duly arose.

  “Thanks, Head. After seeing Joyce's bum I was frankly just about to burst.”

  (And so was I, Maria realized hectically. So… am I!)

  “Do you think you can do a 'dry' for Daunitz?”

  “I'll try, Head.” She added, grinning- “All that brandy!”

  Frau Dick had the wide face of her race, though hers was set under a mousy crop of thin soft hair cut short as a German schoolboy's. It set off in curious sensuality her look of a well-fed mare, her brows of a water-carrier, and generally wanton eyes. Above all, as she came forward now, did it contrast with the thick black furze that fanned out up her belly, above the well-seamed slug of her sex.

  For the gym mistress had stripped with expert address and advanced nude but for her boots below the waist, thoughtfully licking the last crumbs of a Savoy cake off her fingers. She stood with feet apart, her back to the fire and facing the principal. The quiff of her bush-hair curled in two furry crimps at the very base of her body and when she curiously parted a little the strong spongy lips of her cunt a red bud, like a velvet cap-ribbon, stuck out, shiny in the light of the triple-branched sconces.

  “Right up, Resi. Or it's a dozen on the legs.”