Maria mused on the difference in reactions to extreme pain as the girl, her panties up, half-hobbled to the door, holding her riven buttocks and moaning loudly and slowly still.
“Have the Matron see to that place where I broke the skin.”
“Ja, Fraulein. Th-thank you.”
Alone once more, the two stared at each other. Ingeborg sat back on the edge of her table, panting like a runner. Her mouth was wide, there was a quick tawny flicker in her eyes, that of an unsatisfied animal. She parted her legs, the thin stuff of her tunic draping conspicuously over the butting mound of her mons.
“Shall I bring in Weg again?” Maria asked.
The other crossly shook her head. “No, no. Of course not. The maid. For the desk.”
Maria Daunltz paused. Her friend had spoken in rushing gasps. “You don't have to talk to me like that, Inge,” she protested gently.
“I'm sorry… it's just that afterwards…” Her glowing head went back, she sucked in breath again. “Well, look.”
Lifting the limp material from her front, Ingeborg bared her burning cunt. Unlike Frau Dick, she did not even have to part her hairy lips; the tough tail of glistening gristle stuck up through them like a ready tongue.
“Good Lord,” said Maria, not without a certain reverence.
“We… we… some of us… this special operation… Matron does it… uh, with pins… agony, absolute murder… elongates th-th-au Gott! I'm going to go off with you just looking at it like that, let alone a touch, and I want to keep completely horny for Hannelore. Here.” She thrust out the cane with an imperative gesture. “Give me a couple, really hard, to drive it down.”
Maria took the willowy wand hesitantly. “Me… you?”
But Ingeborg had turned and placed her palms on the table top, her legs widely parted.
“Quick, quick.”
“Wer-won't they hear?”
“What does it matter? They know we get walloped.”
Maria Daunitz raised the little flap of silk onto her friend's back and, after a pause, lashed the firm rounds twice, low down. Two thick weals leapt up, reddening to black. Ingeborg rose, thoughtfully.
“Thanks a lot,” she said at last. “Now let's get that delicious little Dienstmadel in to set out the Desk. After which we can make Hannelore wish she'd never been born with a bottom. Seven of the absolutely most Imperial. God save her skin.” For a second she put her hands behind her. “Heavens, you really hit me, then. Drove my come down, however.”
“It didn't mine,” said Maria.
Ingeborg looked at her with close on a leer. “You don't have my clit, dearie. The mere touch of material would have, sent me off just now. But you're feeling nice and molten down there, eh?”
“Sopping,” she confessed, hot-cheeked. “I don't know when I've been so sexually excited.” Suddenly she gritted her teeth-“Cut the can off this one, Inge. Please, please. In little portions. Slowly.”
She turned to the door for the maid.
Two minutes late a very scared-looking Hannelore Weg, her dark blue eyes moist and her chest heaving, was shown in. A heavy pulpit desk had been ring-bolted to the floor. It was provided with ankle-stocks and adjustable wrist-stocks on its front side. There was a leathern boss on the forward slope of wood.
“Strip,” said Ingeborg coldly.
When the girl was in no more than stockings and heels this time, the mistress came forward ruminatively, her chain of office chinking. She lifted the warm satiny chubbies behind, at the top of the long smooth thighs.
“Still sting?”
“Yer-yess,” said the girl unsteadily. Then added, “I'm very sorry I got up like that just now, Miss. I never have before.”
“Well, you're going to be a lot sorrier in a moment. I'm going to take an even stronger cane to you, Hannelore, and give you seven you'll remember for the rest of this term. Fraulein Daunitz will position you.”
With a blind turn the girl went to the desk. Maria followed the trim, liquid movement of the peach-halves with beating heart. She fastened the girl over.
There were adjustments to make. The ankle-stocks kept the legs about a foot apart; the wrist holes had to be pulled down for a tall girl, ensuring her weight well forward. There was a belt to be tightened across her lower back, assuring a pelvic camber upward as the leathern boss snugged under the furry and well-fatted mons.
To the five aching purple wales across the tender underbum seven excruciating slices were added, with a murderously whippy cane. Ingeborg took her time and cut slightly upward into the cringing sulcal skin at intervals of no less than quarter of a minute each. The girl first panted and blew, then frankly yelped, head back, as the tip bit into the right buttock like a brand. Released, she bounded about, regaling the mistresses with some helpless, hectic kneading of her upper legs and hips. Left alone again at last, they exchanged looks. Ingeborg closed the book and turned her back.
“I now have to give this to the Head,” she said thoughtfully.
“I thought you caned that kid beautifully,” Maria said, passing a tongue over her lips.
“Beautifully?”
Maria laughed. “What I mean is… I wouldn't have liked to be in her place.”
“Unfortunately you're going to have to be.”
There was a long heavy silence. Maria felt her heart beat up.
“What do you mean?” she asked at last. Her friend was still standing with her back to her, her scant tunic rucked in her cleft and showing the end of one of the weals Maria had just given her. As if sensing Maria's thoughts, indeed, Ingeborg ran a finger over this hot line.
“The Head said I was to give you a training caning,” she said rather hollowly. “I'm sorry, but I have to. Don't make it difficult for me. If I report you took it well, it may be the last.”
“Because I didn't 'take it' well enough from Wendell, I suppose,” Maria said bitterly. “Oh damn and hell, this is ridiculous. It would have to be you.” But already her fingers were flipping undone the bone buttons of her belt to which the tops of her silk knickers were secured. She had undone sixteen when Ingeborg said, with still averted face, “Mary, I do have to do this, I'm sorry. I also have to report if you get up, during.”
“If you don't?”
“We're watched all the time here. It's uncanny. She'd know.”
“What instrument am I to be flattered with?”
“The cane I've just used.”
“Oh naturally.” Tossing aside her leather skirt and half in tears already, she turned her proud and stalwart bottom-bared for the whip. “Come on, let's get it over with, then. Do your damnedest.”
Ingeborg advanced with a gloomy expression, flexing her stick. She stood in front of her friend, the gold letter on her breast catching the light.
“I'm actually going to enjoy this very much, Maria. I won't hide it from you. I've longed to thrash your behind from the first day I saw you.”
“Please,” said Maria in a new voice, her eyes dropping to the pitiless length of wood. “Don't draw it out.”
Ingeborg jounced the profile of her friend's rump with the swollen tip of her stick. “Why not? Don't you feel yourself living now? I'm going to give you as much pain as I possibly can, until, until you're reduced to a thing of pain… like that girl there.”
“How many?” said Maria curtly. Then wished she hadn't asked.
“Ten.”
“Ten! But that's… it's…”
“What you're going to get. Here. Stand over here. Can you put your palms on the ground?”
“You mean… bending over?” said Maria sickly. “I used to be able… but in these heels…”
With her legs together she bent like a hinge, doubling her bottoms and stretching their skin. Ingeborg stood well back and with a sudden thudding rush pranced on her fleshy prey-to cut.
Huhuwhu-the cane seemed to hew the air interminably until it completed, meatily-uiclk! Determined not to show a sign before her friend, Maria merely gasped, albeit driven off balance a moment.