“Right up, Resi. Or it's a dozen on the legs.”
The neat maid knelt directly behind the woman. She hesitated a second, summoning a look of concentration to her foxy muzzle of a face, then drew apart the hanging bottom ovals with her fingers. Her tongue licked once at her lips, a cat's before cream, then she pressed her mouth into the divide behind.
Dick hissed as the tongue slid up her. Her cheeks flushed as she bent further forwards, widening with her fingers the silken purse of her pussy.
“Ach… like that… yes, Resi, yes…”
To Maria, watching bemused, the amazing was occurring-the clitoris twitched or kicked! Yes it stiffened in sudden erection, an hypertrophied angry-looking stub of gristle, standing out from the vulva like a thumb, wet and red. The mistress was stretching the quaking thing out further by distension of her lips and breathing pleasurably now, “Hah… komm… suss… come on you little bitch, shoot… she's doing it to you…”
“Heavens, it's a cock,” laughed Katte from her chair.
But the Head said sternly, “You'll eat shit if she doesn't come, Resi. I'll see that you get twenty at the triangle, too. Get it-in-deep!”
Verily, Frau Dick's crotch seemed to be steaming. The stiff wet tube, half as long as a finger, was sticking out horizontally, a furious thing-yes, surely about to burst.
“She's got it,” gasped Dick, sucking in her breath; and the morsel of femininity literally spasmed before them, sweating its dew in driblets to the carpet.
“Holy Mother!” panted the mistress, straightening and looking about her with an undefined, slightly muzzy expression, while the maid withdrew her face, and licked her scummy lips. Froth still seeped expansively from her slit. The Head was according this performance a critical eye, hand at her own crotch, when there came a rap at the door.
Ingeborg Untermacher came in and curtseyed. She was brilliant in the dazzling white of the Duty Mistress's skimpy tunic and she held the black Demerit Book in one hand. Her auburn hair cascaded down her back. Maria Daunitz found herself looking at her friend and mentor with curiously beating heart, as the young woman bent for the Directress to affix her signature to the day's rote of “Duty” offenses. The wrinkleless, clingy material, softly gathered at the skirt by the wide leather belt, proclaimed rather than hid Inge's solid body beneath. Her boots shone in the firelight, cutting into the creamy thighs.
“Only three?” Frau Grumkow was saying, looking at the little list of penitents with a frown; “I doubt if you'll even get warm.”
“I expect they will, Head,” Katte chuckled.
“If I have anything to do with it,” agreed the Duty Mistress of the day, grinning.
“Well, you have one nine; see if you can make her 'come again.'”
“Who's that, Head?”
“Steffi Nagel,” answered Jacqueline Bellais promptly. “My report in Hall.”
“Well, well,” sighed the Frau Direktrice. “A niner can always be a bit uncomfortable. Still, think of the good you are doing to her soul, Untermacher. Lay on-and don't forget what I told you after, will you?”
“I won't, Head.”
As Maria curtseyed and prepared to follow her friend on her punitive mission, the last in the day for the Duty Mistress, she heard the maid inquire in a new and anxious tone, “Is there anything else you require of me, Frau Direktrice?”
“Well, since you're here,” they heard the reply before the door closed behind them, “it might be as well… you could profit from a little switching, Resi, that is… if we have anyone here… who…”
The two mistresses paced the corridors hand in excited hand, Inge carrying the big black Book under her right arm. Before they rounded the last bend, however, Ingeborg stopped and looked at her new-found friend.
“What were you doing in there tonight?” Then, without waiting for reply, she hurried on in a whisper, “It is thrilling, isn't it? Oh admit it, Maria. You've never seen a 'Duty' before, and you must realize it's intended to be absolutely deterrent. No pity at all. You do understand that? I hit for all I'm worth and if I didn't, they wouldn't respect me a jot. If that Nagel doesn't get up by nine, my right arm isn't what it used to be.”
“And if she does,” said Maria Daunitz, sinking into the same accomplice's whisper, “she goes back to the end of the line and gets them over, plus what she didn't take first time round.”
“If I could get her to stand by seven,” mused Ingeborg with a sensual shudder, “then it'd be eleven over the desk, after. It doesn't do to think about it, does it?”
It was indeed a wretched rank lined up one side of the Duty Room door that greeted the two on arrival there. Facing them, on the other side, stood the Duty Maid of the day, who had assembled the culprits and who, judging by the sly smile on her face as she curtseyed, had been indulging in the favorite pastime of such, namely terrifying the troop verbally. The girls bobbed in unison as Ingeborg and Maria strode in past them without a word.
The room was well lit this time, a flag presiding behind the Duty Mistress's table desk on which Inge plonked the great book, and on which lay two long penal canes. One of these she took up and flexed between her fingers with a dreamy smile.
“Lovely. They put out the number three that I wanted. A little thinner than the others. Some of us like to use the thicker ones, but I find that sometimes they just bruise. Ugh. These bendy beauties sting like fiends.”
“I know,” said Maria. “You seem to forget that I got ten with one.”
Inge's face went solemn. She gave her friend a baleful look.
“I'd love to thrash you, darling,” she said gently.
Maria gave a nervous laugh. “Fortunately you're not going to be able to do that.”
“I wouldn't be so sure,” said the other steadily, then went on quickly-“I'll take Nagel last, when my eye is in. The first girl, Hannelore Weg, is a Senior and pretty experienced. Shouldn't worry too much over six. The other sixer is a Junior called von Brandt.”
“I know her,” said Maria, remembering the pert blonde from a Science class.
Ingeborg Untermacher swept the stick through the air with a voluptuous slice. “God, these things were made to cut young girl-flesh, weren't they just? Most efficient instruments.” She bent elastically and thumbed off her underpants. Catching Maria's eye she explained with a loose grin, “More ease of movement like that. And… and… by the way, if you catch one of them lowering her eyes, for a look, don't hesitate to… Mary darling, I suggest you stand over there… yes, by the bars, that way you can see their faces as well… do you want to masturbate, by the way? We don't usually, during.”
“No, of course not,” Maria Daunitz replied with a quick flush.
Ingeborg gave her a rather roguish wink and with a twirl that lifted the skimpy silk off the slab of one sulcus, turned to the door with her stick- “Let's just go out and frighten them a bit first, shall we, I always like to.”
They went out. The three girls waiting their turn for punishment looked extremely solemn. The first, directly across from the door facing the maid, was Hannelore Weg, a tall, slim, rather short-sighted brunette with silky straight hair. She stared straight ahead of her. Helen von Brandt, next in line, was visibly trembling, with traces of tears on her long lashes. The last, as arranged now by the maid on Ingeborg's order, was the “niner,” Steffi Nagel, a rather ordinary-looking brownette with an expressionless face. The first wore gold, the two others green.
Ingeborg Untermacher stood back with feet astride, flexing her cane across her sturdy thighs, and looked at the trio with a well-stimulated dislike.
“You three are going to be caned as hard as possible across the bottom, so you might as well make up your mind to it,” she said sternly. “Let's see good comportment under the rod. Bend tight and hold on hard to the bar. Tell yourselves what silly idiots you've been to get into the Book in the first place. It's still early in the term and there's plenty more of this waiting for you if you want it. You,” and she tapped under Steffi Nagel's broad rump with her rod, “it's only Thursday and if you get put in the Book again this week, it's twelve, remember?”