P. Dedeaux - The Prussian Girls

“Is she hitting very hard?” was the pleading question then.

“I thought so. And an absolute swine of a cane, terrifically whippy.”

“How many?”

“Nine.”

“Oh God no.” The dark girl gave a sick gulp, her hands wringing. She stole a glance at the door ahead. “Oh heavens, I can't take nine. I got twice six today. It's as tender as a jelly.”

“Well, you needn't worry, she'll use the marks all right. Gott! How those last three stung. I don't believe anyone could possibly hit any harder, if they tried.” With which cold comfort the blonde went her way, still rubbing her smarting buttocks. The newcomer approached the door, and the Sergeant-Major's cock gave an appreciative kick.

Left alone, the highly punishable minx made a perfect picture of petrified apprehension; her pale and worried face turned this way and that, as if seeking some invisible exit, she wrang her hands, rubbed her thighs, finally felt her bottoms behind. At last, with a lost look, she dramatically knocked.

“Herein!” was drawled from the other side, and then, “Entre donc, ma chere!”

The Sergeant-Major ran a hand over his mustaches. This time he heard nine of the distinct snippy cracks, each like a winter's bough snapped in two. This time the door was evidently opened for the girl when it was over, and the brunette fairly pranced out, hissing with pain, and kneading her bottom under its skirt. She hopped and skipped her way down the passage.

A mistress' head came out. He saw a pretty, smiling, excited face and his blood beat up. Surely this was the one. The Frenchie. Whom the Colonel had just told him he was to… he bit his lips as she advanced into the passage, laughing, cane swinging, keys at her waist and the black leather skirt barely covering the obviously elegant bottom.

“Nest time you get your essay in on time, silly!”

Before re-entering her room the mistress' lively black eyes swept the corridor ahead. Suddenly they saw the waiting Sergeant-Major. Her smile faded slowly, a look of intense respect came over her features. After all, this individual had just emptied himself in the anus of the eminent Frau Direktrice.

Not to mention having been sucked off by Maria later.

She approached him curiously, holding her cane. Even in his short frogged forage jacket he looked all muscle. His neck was thick and round. Jacqueline Bellais was aroused. They did not have many men visitors at Schloss Rutenberg, after all.

“We too,” she said, smiling wryly, “have to mete out a little correction, now and then.”

“So it seems,” he said in a low growl, “so it seems.”

Her eyes fell. With his right hand the man was as if absently stroking the great seam of his standing prick, under the tight thin breeches. Her heart pounded as the memory of that infernal organ, slucking in, squeezing out… it ran precisely parallel to the handle of the martinet stuck in his belt, whose thongs had stained his breeches.

“You certainly administered a merciless chastisement this evening, Sergeant-Major,” she said.

“Not known for my leniency, Ma'am,” was all he answered. His eyes quickened as he saw the number on the door. The same!

“No, I don't suppose you are, are you? But then, all punishment should be merciless, should it not?”

“Completely without pity,” he agreed.

“Yes, it's all they understand.” Jacqueline Bellais' thin nostrils flared. “Still, I thought you waxed close to cruel at the end, sir.”

“Would have liked to work the buttocks more.”

I'll bet you would, thought Jacqueline Bellais, staring him straight in the eye. They understood each other perfectly. Quickly she said, “I have two more girls to whip. Four late essays handed in today. The next will be down from her Dorm rather shortly, I believe. I'm giving them nine with this cane across the naked… arse.” She pronounced the word with deliberation, her eyes again dropping to his pipe of a penis. “Naturally, it's nothing like what you administer at the barracks, but we do our best. If you would care to watch.”

He bowed his assent. With an ironic flip of her skirt that revealed the fact she had nothing on beneath, the active little French mistress swung on her high heels and led the way into her room.

When they were alone she said in a low voice, her chest heaving, “I'm using this willow. It's extremely bendy and stingy and although it doesn't bruise like yours, Sergeant-Major, they'll feel it sitting for a day or so. I am afraid I shall have to ask you to stand behind those curtains there-you can see through them from the other side quite well-because it would not be consistent with modesty to have a man in my rooms.”

There was a pause and he laughed. “Least of all, one in such a manly state as me, eh?”

“I'm afraid that's all too evident, Sergeant-Major.”

“That last one, she squeezed her sitters so…”

“They do, don't they? Furthermore,” went on the mistress, feeling herself more and more in charge of the situation, “we believe in total fairness here, and I have been taking them across this table. However, if you would prefer another position… I mean, I could get her to bend over here with her back to you, entirely double, that is, and you'd get a full view of the twin surfaces, and naturally the… the…” Jacqueline Bellais' eyes roved the ceiling.

“The cunt between.”

“As you say, sir, the cunt between. But of course you'd miss the expression of the face.”

“It won't be necessary. As you had 'em, Ma'am.”

“The next girl in has a lovely heart-shaped face and you'll see that this table is fitted with head-and-hands stocks. Their expressions get quite comical by the end and usually they try to turn their faces round to the left. So if you watch from those curtains there, Sergeant-Major,” and the mistress indicated the left side of the room to the table, “you'll have an admirable profile of the rump as well.” To say nothing, Jacqueline Bellais well knew, of her own, under the lifting skirt, as she swung.

But there came a knock at the door. At a nod the Sergeant-Major secreted himself soundlessly behind the curtains, opaque from the room side, transparent from the other.

The girl who entered was in gold. She was a big upright healthy Slavic specimen with a mane of fair hair and if her face was a heart, it was a large one. Thick velvety brows shaded anxious pale blue eyes, already dewed with tears, and she was biting her pretty small pale lips with fear. Her whole body was on a sumptuous scale and quivering all over.

Jacqueline Bellais stood with her back to the roaring grate and smiled at these symptoms.

“Come, Irina, you're not going to the gallows. I'm not going to kill you exactly. You've been beaten before, I believe. What are you here for?”

“Late theme. In your grammar class, Miss.”

“To be flogged across the buttocks, yes. Let's see if I can't make those big fat hams of yours somewhat more prompt. Have you anything to say, at all?”

“No, Mademoiselle Bellais.”

“I'm going to give you nine. With all that avoirdupois you'll scarcely feel it, will you, Irina? Come, stop that cowardly crying instantly. Stop it, I say.”

Advancing, the trim French mistress unleashed two swinging slaps that sent the big girl staggering. She held her head, sobbed once, received another blow that rang her head like a bell.

“Put your hands by your sides. So. Now then. Off with your knickers and up with your skirt, tuck it right into your chain now.” When this was done, the mistress surveyed her prey. A good thick blondish fur covered the cunt in front, which was tucked into the top of the thighs, surprisingly wide for the girth of calf. The cheeks of the rump were young and full, tender-looking with a good overhand, yet well divided centrally. The cane tapped a spot on the floor. “Stand here. Back to those curtains.”