“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.”
“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.