a chain, pulling down her waist in a deep arch; this, working against the V hauling taut her legs, had the effect of cambering up the pelvic girdle in a most powerful, indeed painful-looking manner. Nor was Mademoiselle Bellais satisfied until she had gone round and tightened the screw-links at each point until the girl might well have been on the rack. Her face red, her breathing rapid, she seemed to stick out her buttocks like a mare in heat, the slice of her sex a choice and quivering morsel beneath. And the mistress attended even to this. After the wet slide of the suppository up the cushiony velvet of her victim's entrails, soon to long to expel that peppery burn, the inexorable Bellais went for a bowl and soft brush. Parting the pussy lips she laved inside with a caustic solution, one that would also burn. As she worried the brush deep in, Seckendorff hissed audibly. Her effort to squirm off the impalement showed the watchers how little her bonds let her move.
The Head drew up her chair, the better to observe. The caustic was not absolutely necessary, but she approved, oh she undoubtedly approved. Bellais was really an educated corrector. One who did not flinch before the most severe beatings.
“Bit her,” ordered Frau Grumkow, biting on a new cigar. “I don't want to be deafened, thanks. The last time I saw a Skinning they thought we were sticking a pig in here.”
“Might I… prepare the terrain a trifle first?”
And the Duty Mistress asked it with such a charming smile the Frau Direktrice inclined her head at once.
Jacqueline Bellais cheerfully collected a hard-bristled floor brush from the side, steeped it in boiling brine, and, addressing herself to her target with concentration, began to curry the buttocks so well displayed there.
This she did at first with strong strokes upwards from above the knees, where the constrained stockings now ended. The cheeks soon flushed a vivid red, then became near beetroot, as she altered her attack and worked downward. The Directress raised her eyebrows. This scouring was even better than the sandstone, with which every bottom to be birched was rubbed by Matron Steinkopf until it was tender-after all, the sandstone was normally employed on the copper and pewter-ware that hung glowing in the kitchen. Finally, stiff-armed, the mistress hit the stretched flesh several times with the bristles, at which a rash of dark pimples leapt up. She so plied the right that Frau Grumkow, impatient, muttered, “Enough. Proceed with the whipping, please.
First the big heavy bit was placed in the girlish mouth, already gasping now; it was not put in, however, before the corners of the sensitive lips had first been coated in salve, for they were not brutal at the Schloss, and the mouth might have been cut into by the steel. Then a slender cutting golden chain was fastened to the belly ring in front, drawn through the burning purse of the pussy, up the anal divide, already rippling in response to inner protests now, was threaded through a ring in back of the belt and connected tightly to the bit at the girl's head. This was thus brought strongly back and any movement, any natural inclination, to alleviate the tension, or drop the face forward, would only serve to tighten the chain beneath. This was at the pitch of excruciation as it was. Jacqueline Bellais stepped back with the Hauter in her hand, satisfied.
She might well do so. The stately contours of the ruddied backside were well separated, so that the tender insides would feel the limbs. Moreover, the entire rump was so well secured it could scarcely squirm-at least, only enough to make it more amusing. Drawing in her breath she delivered a long, air-throbbing lash. Whhrrru-rrrupp!
It was greeted by a chinking start from the girl, and a snort of snot. Three violet bands painted themselves lividly across each side.
“One,” said Frau Grumkow calmly.
By five the girl was in an extremity of pain and the wales and grazes on the right were such that Mademoiselle Bellais would knowingly apply some pimentade to their rawness. She paused to do so, eliciting a mewling whine stifled by the bit. The broad buttock tried to clench, cringe in, its inner surfaces shivering.
The Skinner resounded again, its three twigs making a dolorous ripping thwlack occasioned by the fact that they impacted one slightly after the other. The girl's sweating face came back, her eyes glassy, almost wild, her mouth distended by the bit, her braids shaking. Mistress Bellais was pitiless, however, and meant her to go the whole distance of the frightful fifteen. She worked low, attacking in particular one lumpy area of tip-weal. The slits and grazes were increasing, oozing a dark dew. The limbs continued to thump into the flesh, to the antiphony of stifled squeaks and squeals got out through the roof of the mouth.
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve…
The right buttock was quite moist, and the tips seemed to whip into wet flesh. The jerks and squirmings squeaked the rings and screws pitifully. But the last three were given with full strength, at intervals of nearly one minute.
“A splendid flogging, Bellais,” pronounced Frau Grumkow, getting up, and smiling at the panting mistress, “I think she knows she's been beaten now, eh? Give her ten minutes to recover, and then put her on the saddle for me, will you?”
“Of course; Frau Direktrice.”
The good widow went back into her room for some brandy. Her hand was steady and her mind was clear. It was essential that they did not get slack. It was imperative to defeat Wolfenbiittel in vying for the Margrave's attentions, and the possibility of the Princess's presence. She would have to get Karl to come again on the morrow. Even if he…
The Directress broke off and strode rapidly to the brandy decanter. She still seemed to hear the whirr and whistle of those eager limbs, the leathery rapping sound they made as they wrapped round the leaden-wealed buttocks. There was a knock on the door.
Even the round little knee which Jacqueline Bellais cursorily ducked in entering seemed to be grinning, as she came forward to the Headmistress and gratefully accepted the beaker of brandy held out to her.
“You certainly made her sit up a bit,” said Frau Grumkow with genuine respect. “Those last three on the thighs were stunners. I really think a Skinning's too severe for anyone under a Senior. How is she, by the way?”
“Right as rain and looking very pretty, Head, on the saddle,” came the smiling reply, after a gulp of fiery cognac. “She seemed somewhat uncomfortable afterwards…”
“Naturally.”
“But she's a good big girl and recovered very well. She wanted to relieve herself, and I let her. Some smelling salts soon set her up. The cuts are purely superficial but I think she felt it all right. Thank you for letting me thrash her so strictly.”
“Are both,” the Frau Direktrice began ruminatively, “those nice thick things… well up her?”
“Well up her, Head.”
Frau Grumkow picked up her switch. “I hate to have to do this,” she said. “But I must make sure.”
Jacqueline Bellais fingered a fold in her skirt. It had been annoyingly speckled with blood. “If I might make so bold, Head…”
“Um?”
“It's just an idea.”
“Go on.”
“The phallus was found by Fraulein Daunitz, it appears, Headmistress. And then replaced. I do not want to spread unkind rumors about other instructors, but it would seem to me evidence not simply of dereliction of duty, but of a desire on her part to return and use the tool herself. Resi says she returned to the scene of the crime, later the same afternoon.”
The trim little Directress caught the drift at once. She nodded amicably. “You are quite right to remind me of this, Bellais. I was going to see that Daunitz was flogged in any case. I imagine you wish to be charged with the execution.”
Jacqueline Bellais modestly dropped her lids.
“'Twould be a signal honor, Frau Direktrice.”
“What would you suggest? The woman has been whipped once this term already.”
“That was by Wedell.”
“I think she felt it.”
“Would not you possibly think fit, in order to make a real example of the case, to employ the pizzle?”
“The bull's pizzle!” exclaimed the Directress.
“She's well built, and could stand it,” exhorted the French mistress. “She should feel real pain once in her life,
