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.”
“I should have buggered her,” he said morosely. “Then I wouldn't have lost it like that at the end. If I thought the clumsy fool threw me out a-purpose I'd have put her to the yard and flogged that fat ass off her. Cut her to pulp and peelings and rubbed in hot pepper and vinegar, after. It's all they understand.”
“You're insatiable, Karl, aren't you.”
“For you,” he said with sudden tenderness, “yes.”
“You must admit she showed great fortitude. She took it well.”
“Could you?”
“Yes,” said Frau Grumkow after a moment, and a light of bliss entered her otherwise rather cold blue eyes. “Now then, do you think you could give it me again? A really long drawn-out rogering, Karl. Any way so long as it's deep. After that little spectacle, I happen to feel… rather warm.”
“I'm sure I could,” he said. “But first I demand my rights. Remember your motto, my dear. Just to keep you in training, Beth.”
“Oh all right,” she consented crossly, tossing him the whalebone switch. “But make it quick. I'm randy.”
“For you I use the cane. The long one.”
“You would.”
“Come, my dear. You know 'tis twice as agreeable, after.”
“If not exactly, during. How many, Your Highness?” she asked mockingly, her fingers once more fleeing over the buttons of her breeches.
“Twelve,” he said darkly, looking at the sudden explosion of her snowy flesh. “At least, let's say…”
“I know, I know,” she said, moving to the desk with her britches at her knees now, “thirteen… the celebrated butcher's.”
“Exactly, Beth,” he said proudly. “This is going to hurt you so much more than it does me. But think of our Emperor… throughout.”
The Directress pillowed her face, after first removing her monocle, and in a quick thrill of apprehension that sent expectant shivers down her thighs awaited the onslaught of the enemy. The dark tongue of her clitoris stuck like some engorged stamen through her lips.
Maria Daunitz, meanwhile, had made her way back to her chamber as best she could. No maid had been waiting outside punishment room to accompany her, and all those still guarding the approaches of stairs and corridors had their faces turned resolutely away from the spectacle of a mistress speechlessly kneading her buttocks as she walked, as she might have kneaded dough. Still writhing with pain, she entered her room half at a run and made quickly for the closet, and its commode, to void herself as soon as possible of the burning jelly inside her. Ingeborg Untermacher watched her with a sympathetic shake of the head. She knew only too well how lost to all thoughts of dignity at such moments the female person could be.
Ten minutes later she was rubbing soothing cream into the wealed posteriors of her friend, who lay extended naked on the bed, still panting slightly.
“Never till now,” said Maria Daunitz, in a half-laughing paraphrase of the young Prince Frederick's comment on having been thrashed to blood by his father, “has a Brandenburg bottom been so disgraced.”
In fact, as Inge's fingers slid over greased hams, she felt a pleasant warmth more than anything, a sense of relaxation that was psychological as well as physical.
“That Duty cane's a brute,” agreed her friend with a soft chuckle beside her, “but she didn't have to hit you this hard. Heavens, some of these weals on the right are thick as fingers…”
“Ouch… easy…”
“Open your legs a little bit, darling.”
“Inge. She didn't hit me th-there.”
“Sssh, dear. Just lie still. It always helps, after.”
“Inge, what are you doing?”
But Maria, crimsoning, knew well enough. The answering buck of her loins betrayed her as she tried to reach back and push those pushing fingers away. For the older mistress' experienced thumbs were rolling up the oiled and spongy tissue inside the thighs, inside the cheeks, inside the… inside… Surprised, even alarmed at her own reaction, Maria Daunitz tried to clamp her legs shut. But it was no use. The surge of sensation had started to happen, her depths were rising, her legs unjoining…
“Inge, please. I'm… I'm…”
“I know you are, darling,” came the soothing whisper from behind, “just let go and let it come.”
“But I've never…”
“I know. And when it comes it'll go on… and on… there… and on… for ever!”
Maria moaned, suddenly burying her face in the pillow and clawing it to her. Her hips jacked up like a beast's in heat, as if belonging to someone else, as the volted spasm responded to those seeking thumbs in her guts, in her soul, in her essence of womanhood that boiled to the writhing stub of flesh being so skilfully manipulated by the mistress.
If Fraulein Wedell was rinsing her body off with clear, cold water, preparatory to lying on her stomach all night, one figure in bed in an upper dormitory was doing just that. Under the horsehair Army blankets Monika Vorst lay on her belly with her nightgown around her waist. In the darkness the row of beds were silent, for no talking was permitted after “Lights Out.” Least of all, in Dormitory “D.”
Only the Praelictors were allowed to retire later and the bed of this dorm Prae, on its raised dais or platform at one end, was still empty.
There had been much bright-eyed excitement when Monika had rejoined her Dorm to go to bed that night. She had been careful to cool off the worst of her pain in the so-called Groves, or lavatories, outside, before rejoining her comrades in this short half-hour of pre-bed merriment. Wandering in feigning nonchalance-for stoicism was a status matter with all at Rutenberg-Maria had at once been surrounded by half a dozen ogling girls, in various stages of undress.
“Did you get it again?… Oooh, let's see… another eight!.. who was it from?… Daunitz, the new mistress?… is she tight?… oh do let's see…”
They crowded round, ooohing and aaahing, as Monika with fake indifference kicked off her panty-knicks and let them raise her skirt and examine the marks behind. The streaked bottom seemed to arouse considerable respect in even the most experienced.
“Good Lord, Monika, I wouldn't have liked to be you. You're absolutely black for at least two inches on the right. And this one…”
“That was Wedell. Hey, don't press it, if you please.”
“Her whole bottom's covered.”
“Sixteen!”
“Are you going to ask permission to stand tomorrow?”
“It really is a beautifully beaten bottom”-this from Barbara Mack. Monika gave her a smile.
“What was Daunitz like? Did she hit very hard?”
“I thought so.” She contrived to stifle a yawn. “Now if you wouldn't mind… I want to sit in some cold water for a minute, please…”
In the darkness between her bed and that of Barbara Mack now something glimmered palely. Quickly Monika Vorst reached out and accepted the offering. It was a six-inch stretch of bone, slightly slimy. Barbara had been using it first. Monika inserted the phallus at once. It slid up her vagina instantly. She had to work quickly and carefully. The slightest suspicion of a stain on her sheet and she would be up before the Matron next morning and what she'd had this evening would be child's play, by comparison. She lifted her hips a little, but not too much, in
