The Prussian Girls

by P. N. Dedeaux

  “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 h
im 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.”

  “And that,” said her friend, with another comforting squeeze, accompanied by a mischievous wink, “means it's going to be much, much nicer in a minute.”

  Chapter Six

  All agreed that the birching of Barbara Mack was a very brilliant affair. It took place shortly after half term, some full six weeks subsequent to the events already described, and the occasion was attended by some remarkable complications. Frau Grumkow had been a tartar all term, determined to defeat Wolfenbuttel as seminary elect for the Princess Elizabeth Christine, before she married the Prince Royal. To date, the matter was evidently still unsettled-and so was she, pacing her halls with whalebone switch, restless, nervous, on the lookout for offenders.

  Christina Holz and tall Luzie Rombau had come in for a lively whipping each, having been detected in a public quarrel, in front of the pupils outside Hall. No matter that this had concerned whose right it was to punish an erring girl, the Head had heard them and had them into her Chastisement Room in front of all the others that evening. Maria Daunitz had been one of that solemn rank lined up to watch Luzie place eighteen aching strokes of her switch across Christina's full bottom the first night, and then receive the same herself from the other the next. Each chastisement was effected in total silence except for the hiss of the switch and gasps of the delinquent, over a period of some three minutes. And she had watched it with beating heart and brightened eye.

  For it was a new Maria Daunitz who put on the chain of office over the white Duty costume that fateful day. She had by now been thoroughly initiated into the regimen of the Schloss. She had accepted her friend Inge's easy reasoning-if a girl had done wrong, and had to be whipped, why should not one get pleasure out of the infliction? The culprit was treated in a much more humane, interested and thoroughly personal manner as a consequence; it was not like being whipped on a barracks square by some brute of a Drillmaster.

  Consequently she was smiling as she heard Recitation that cold November morning. She stood in the center of the Duty Room holding the text of Cicero handed her, while the anxious-faced Junior duly read off her lines. There were four to do so today. The first succeeded without an error, as did the second, but the third, when ushered in, a charming brunette called Elrich, stood plucking at her tunic, toes turned in, a very picture of apprehension.

  “Commence,” said Maria, her nostrils widening at these symptoms. It was evident the girl hadn't learnt her lines, too well. Nor had she done so. Maria counted five errors. She snapped the book with a clip. Still smiling tenderly at the almost tearful Backfisch she asked, “Do you know how many mistakes you made, Elrich?”

  “Ner-no, Fraulein.”

  “Five.”

  “Oooh.”

  Maria unsnapped the eel-like switch from her belt.

  “How many stripes does that make?”

  “Fer-five,” blubbered the girl, “please. Miss.”

  Not so bad as all that, surely? But Maria had developed a delightful way of administering these “hunting” strokes for failures in Recitation, one that had earned her rapid and total respect within the Institution's walls.

  “You won't require your knickers for a moment, dear.”

  Maria stood with legs astride, running the tough, oiled switch through her fingers. It was a lovely weapon, particularly since it ended in a short forked tail, like an adder's tongue, which the mistresses toughened in the faire of an evening when they had nothing else to do.

  “Tuck up your skirt. Good. Now lie on your tummy and hold on to my ankles with your hands and don't let go. Now-part your legs wide.”

  The recumbent girl was, in this position, vulnerability personified. She shot up a glance, imploring-“Please, Fraulein.”

  “What is it?” asked Maria Daunitz, amused.

  “Ooh… it stings so… like this… all the girls say they'd rather get it any other way. I c-cer-can't take it like this, I'm sure.”

  “Is it the first time I've given you cuts in here?”

  “Yer-yess, Mistress.”

  “Well, if you don't take it, I shall have the pleasure of seeing you later on today, during Duty, and I assure you I will give you a caning to remember.”

  In anguished apprehension the girl dropped her face to the ebon floor. Her hands clutched the lean, booted ankles as if for very life. Her legs widely parted as she lay face down on the floor, her short round bottoms were spread, waiting.

  Maria did not wait long. She scalded the switch from well overhead, sending it singing down inside the right cheek; she did not strike with abnormal effort, but very judgingly, snapping her wrist to make the tail eat in with venom at the end of the stroke. She felt it drive and worm into the puppy-flesh close to the cunt.

  “Hou-aaaaaah!” wailed the girl, jerking her legs together, and writhing. Her grip almost made Maria stumble. It had been a punishing cut, indeed.

  “Not th-th-theeeeah! Pleeeease!”

  “Open your legs. Come on. Four more.”

  “Ooooh, how it hurts there.”

  The second sliced in on the same side, but did not catch the inside quite so keenly. Nonetheless, the tail nipped into the sulcus like a veritable serpent. Then it was the turn of the left side. When these two had bitten home the girl was writhing and bucking like some animal in rut. Maria Daunitz couldn't help laughing at the sight. But to make the last cut really memorable she had to take good aim.

  She was lucky, more than accurate. At a moment when the now sprawling girl drew up her right leg in her agony she brought down a singing stripe with all her weight. It ripped into the crease, as she had intended, there seemed an infinitesimal fraction of a pause, then the tails snapped audibly onto, indeed into, the puckered old lady's mouth of the anal hole. Elrich fairly screeched, jacking straight and rolling on the floor in a frenzy of pain, now doubling up her legs, now jerking them out, plucking with her fingers at that inconceivable increase of burn behind.

  Maria Daunitz felt the lava rising to her loins. She knew the sight would be with her all day-the threshing limbs, the screwed-up face.

  “Stop rolling about in that silly way and get up and put your things on,” she said. A minute later, watching the youngster draw up her knickers in a gingerly way, as if the very touch of stuff was unbearable on her wounds, she could not resist saying, “Bring you to your senses a bit?”

  The girl nodded dumbly.

  “The last one fetched you, eh?”

  “Her-terrifically, Fraulein.”

  “You'll remember it when you… go tomorrow, Elrich. Perhaps it'll make you learn your lines better. Now send in Kraus.”

  Gulfrida Kraus marched in almost boldly. She was a chubby sixteen-year-old with a compact body, a stern little face with arched eyebrows, dark dewy eyes and a mutinous thrust of chin. In fact, Maria had frequently suspected the girl of rank rejection of the regime. Staring the Duty Mistress straight in the face, the girl handed out her textbook, and it was closed.

  “It's no good, Fraulein, I haven't learnt it. I didn't have time.”

  Maria frowned, bending her switch. “What's this, Gulfrida?”


  “I couldn't… it wasn't…” Almost the girl said the word fair, but checked herself in time. “I had too much Prep, I didn't have time. I'll take my licking, Miss.”

  “You know this means a Duty.”

  “Yes,” came the answer, after a second.

  “I shall use the very toughest cane. Unless,” she murmured, her breath coming more quickly, for these well-perched posteriors were singularly appetizing, “you care to settle it with me after gym at three. In my room.”

  The girl conferred on her elder a cool and knowing look.

  “Will it be… like you do it in here… I mean, with the switch… inside the…”

  The words tailed off. Maria Daunitz frowned again. But this time she did so to hide a smile of triumph. This stocky little teener seemed actually to be opting for a Duty thrashing rather than her patented manner of giving the switch! At the same time one simply did not bargain with pupils, so she said curtly, “It will be eight with a classroom cane. Take it or leave it.”

  “Very well, Miss. I'll report to you in your room. Thank you very much.” She curtseyed and left.

  After breakfast there were the Dormitories to inspect. The Duty Mistress went round these with the Duty Maid of the day, who happened to be the sprightly Resi. Note was taken of any carelessly made bed, any untidy bedside lockers, and the culprit would rue the proverbial day. Too, if a Dorm was found delinquent more than once in a week, the Praelictor in charge might herself come in for some serious trouble. Thus were the girls kept under constant supervision-“on their toes,” as the healthy widow at their head liked to put it.”

  This morning all was in apple-pie order and Maria could not find a fault. Only in Dormitory “D” did she pause, for in the bathing section a length of phallic-looking bone protruded slightly from a pipe by the tiling. She took it out, stared at it, and not knowing whether it was there for some purpose of plumbing duly replaced it. She would tell the Matron about it later. Finally, she sent Resi off with the Book, to replace it on the lectern, and herself made for Steinkopf's much dreaded abode.