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, Ma'am.”
“And how many would you suggest?” asked the senior wryly, after a pause.
And equally wryly, after an equal pause, the other replied humbly-“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen! With the pizzle that's quite a count. Given how, pray may I ask?”
“Domed,” said Jacqueline Bellais.
The two stared at each other in an amusement of total complicity for almost a minute. They sensed, they understood each other totally. Finally the Frau Direktrice said with almost a laugh, “You're a rigorous cat, Bellais, aren't you!” Pensively she flexed her endless whalebone switch, then in the softest of voices possible said, “Bend over. Touch your toes.”
Once, twice, thrice that licky whip bit into the elastic rounds presented, under their white knickers. There was a long pause, then the Directress cut again. She waited equally long and struck one final time. Where the tip had eaten in, a dark red seeped into the material.
“Hurt?” she asked.
“Intensely,” came the hissed response. “Stand up.”
The mistress did so, bright-eyed, red-faced, constraining her hands to stay by her sides. “Feel better now?”
“Yes,” whispered Jacqueline Bellais gratefully. “Thank you, Head.”
“You will get one for one like that if you don't hit Daunitz as hard this evening.”
“There will be no likelihood of that, Frau Direktrice.”
“Good. Now, let's go and get this over. I'm afraid a touch of Heidi is going to hurt this silly girl a lot.”
It did. Entering, they found Euphemia Seckendorff dramatically disposed. For the saddle was… a saddle. It was the height of a stool and the girl was secured to it with legs strapped back beneath her, her arms manacled behind and her back arched on a strut. She still wore the bit, though this was merely attached, now, to her belt-ring. Nonetheless, it constrained her to stare with intensity straight at the vaulted ceiling. Under the light from the oil lamps her bare body loomed brazenly, offering in lubricious detail her parted, heavy-mounded breasts, tipped with two bullet-like nipples.
These began to judder visibly as the Headmistress stationed herself to the right of the somewhat squatting girl. Jacqui Bellais placed herself behind the straining head, first assuring that the two dongs were firmly up cunt and anus.
“I hate to inform you, Seckendorff, that I'm obliged to give you a taste of Heidi. You know what that is, don't you? Yes. Well, I have to make quite sure, you see. You can nod your head a few centimeters, I think. Now. Are you perfectly certain you knew nothing about this disgraceful affair beforehand?”
The bit chinked as the girl frantically tried to shake her head in negative response. Then the eyes pleaded, the forehead crisped up, the whole body tried to cringe in against the iron strut arching its back-for the Duty Mistress had fondly bounced a breast, and the inky whalebone switch was on high.