一场惨痛的教学
“有多久没见了，碧姬小姐？”弗里达校长突然转过身来，对着学校里最年轻的，只有18岁的老师问道。
这位漂亮的金发女郎被校长叫到时，脸微微红了一下，但说话没有结巴：“有一个月了，校长。”
“我也是这么记得的。让我看看吧。”
女孩羞红了脸，行了个屈膝礼后，撩起自己的裙子。她俯身弯腰，伸手从屁股上把内裤拉了下来，露出了两团丰满的臀肉。
“真是一对漂亮的屁股，”老妇人感叹道着，她伸出一只粗糙的手掌，轻轻揉捏着臀上露出的皮肉：“光滑可爱。没有你上次挨打的痕迹。”
“别，别这样，女士。”
“你的这块部位应该被好好痛打一顿。就在这儿，这块又肥又嫩的地方。”她骨瘦嶙峋的手指沿着碧姬的大腿根部划了一条线。
痒痒的感觉让年轻教师的额头冒出了汗珠，她紧张地保持着弯腰的姿势，恐惧压得她喘不过气来。挨打已经够糟的了，但校长的鞭打总是最狠毒的，她喜欢打得低一些，专门瞄准臀腿的交界处。
“我打算给你一次鞭打，碧姬小姐。”
“是的，女士。”
“你今晚不是有惩罚任务吗？”
“不，女士。今晚值班的是克丽丝塔小姐，我是周一的。”
“这可不行。我已经决定今晚要给你你一顿鞭打了。你和克丽丝塔小姐换一下，如何？”
“没问题，女士。”碧姬的目光转向了娇小的克丽丝塔小姐，后者只是简单地点了点头。她看了看表。已经八点了，鞭打的时间快到了。“那我该去准备了，校长。”
“行，去吧。克丽丝塔小姐，今晚有多少人？”
“有四个。三个六下的和一个九下的。”
“啊，表现不佳。不过，你觉得六下够了吗？”“
“当然，女士。”碧姬小姐弯腰行礼。
“你觉得你能让挨六下的人被额外惩罚吗？”“
“我会尽力的，女士。”
“你最好这么做，因为你每下不是额外惩罚中进行的鞭打，最后都会算到你头上。”
碧姬小姐呼吸急促，脸上血色全无：“女士？”
“你听懂我说的了吗？如果你要花五下才能让一个学生被额外惩罚，那你自己就要挨四下鞭打。”
“是的，校长。”年轻的老师低着头回应道，满腹惆怅。她在心中做着悲伤的计算：如果她每个人都是打到第五下就能进行额外惩罚，这是她所能期望的最好结果，那么她就得被打十六下！上帝啊，被校长打十下已经让人痛不欲生了。她怎么可能承受得了十六下？
碧姬小姐行礼后离开了。她咬紧牙关，决心让她的学生们被打到第三下就被额外惩罚。这样每个人就只算两下，一共八下。她也许能应付得了八下而不至于失态。
她按照安排提前来到惩罚室，因为她想早做准备。她自己的屁股就看她今晚的表现了。她必须让这些鞭打尽可能狠辣。她不能心慈手软。
首先，她检查了一下鞭刑架，这是一个低矮的木制刑架，女孩们需要弯腰趴在上面。她在脚垫和铁制握杆上涂抹了许多润滑油，再彻底地抹匀，让表面尽可能地滑。只要能给自己带来些许优势，她什么都愿意做。
接下来，在擦干净双手后，她去检查了架子上的藤条。行刑藤条很特殊，它们都是用最硬的进口山核桃木制成的粗壮木棍。它们每支都至少有四英尺长，而且用起来非常灵活。今晚，这些藤条将被用在四名学生将的屁股上，细长的藤条表面如天鹅绒般丝滑。一共八根藤条，每根都完好无损。虽然重量略有不同，但每根藤条的重心都很合适。碧姬仔细挑选了她认为最重、最长的三根。
她把这些藤条拿到一个角落里进行测试。她在一组专门设计过的皮枕上进行练习。在把每根藤条试了两三次后，她就选定了其中一根，然后把剩下的放在一边。她把这些藤条妥善放置，以防选择的藤条折断或用起来不理想。
一切似乎都井然有序。快九点了。她伸了伸懒腰，又做了十次弯腰拉伸——她悲观地想到，自己很快就会摆出这个可怕的姿势——然后深呼吸。她的心紧张得砰砰直跳，但她还是强行忘记了紧张，因为她知道自己没有时间去胡思乱想了。这些坏情绪会毁了她接下来的工作。
打开门后，她高兴地看到四个女孩都已经在外面等着了。她仔细核对了名单上的名字。科琳娜、弗洛拉和格温多林是六下。金发高个子的莉赛尔是九下。
碧姬很失望。这些女孩看起来都很健康，屁股也都很结实，能够承受严厉的惩罚。她的任务很艰巨。她一直希望至少有一个脆弱的小姑娘，在挨鞭子时能直接哭出来的那种，用来杀鸡儆猴。哭泣总是会让其他等待惩罚的人不安、紧张。
四人中，弗洛拉年纪最小，只有16岁。不过，她是个丰满的女孩，屁股很大。碧姬以前见过她被鞭打的样子，知道自己要打很多下才能让她的肥臀感觉到疼。莉赛尔今年18，和碧姬同岁，但她这周已经至少被鞭打过一次了，碧姬有信心在九下鞭打之内让这个金发女郎接受额外惩罚。
因此，她打算在科琳娜和格温多林之间做选择，这两人都是17岁，都有着丰富的被惩罚经验，身材苗条，但下身浑圆丰满。碧姬认为科琳娜更容易作为第一个来上手，于是示意这位黑发美女先进来。
这个女孩微微叹了口气，但表情却没有任何变化，她站起身来，跟着老师走进了房间。碧姬紧紧地关上了门。
“你可以做准备了。”
科琳娜平静地开始脱衣服。不一会儿，她就脱得一丝不挂：裙子、上衣、丝袜、鞋子和内衣都整整齐齐地叠放在一张小桌上。她是个五官小巧精致的漂亮女孩，不过碧姬现在只关心女孩的臀部。她要让她们尝尝苦头。
碧姬打了一个响指，科琳娜吓了一跳，然后赶紧跑到老师面前，做出顺从和充满歉意的姿势。她赶紧把屁股撅起来，让老师抚摸她的臀部来确认是否有淤青。
“没有伤痕，”碧姬喃喃道：“你最近没被鞭打过？”
“没有，碧姬小姐。”
“那我们就看看你怎么应付六下鞭打吧。准备好了吗？”
“是的，碧姬小姐。”
“现在就位。我会努力让你尽早接受额外惩罚的。”
女孩颤抖了一下，但没有反应。额外惩罚让是每晚的总结惩罚变得格外可怕的原因之一。通常情况下，女孩被要求保持适当的礼仪来接受惩罚，如果她大声吵闹或站起身来，可能会被多打一两下。但总结惩罚就不一样了。如果她稍稍偏离位置，整个鞭打就会从头来过，还要额外加上她第一次没有被打的那部分。因此，一个要挨六下的女孩如果在第五下时动了一下，就会再挨八下：六下加两下（理所当然的，之前的第五下不算）
这是对受罚者一时缺乏意志力的严厉惩罚。因此，总结惩罚像是一种特殊的仪式。这是一场师生间无声的对抗。学生们竭尽全力坚守阵地，默默地接受规定的惩罚，而当晚的值班老师则会竭尽全力让每一个女生接受额外惩罚。老师的失败意味着同学们的嘲笑和校长的不满。学生的失败则意味着在所有其他惩罚结束前都要赤身裸体地等着，然后被绑在鞭刑架上接受严厉的鞭打。对双方来说，失败都是不允许的。然而，每天都会有人失败。
这天晚上，毕业才几个月的值班老师碧姬有了更大的动力去取得成功。她已经清楚自己之后一定会被弗里达校长鞭打——唯一的问题是有多少下。她可不想挨那么多鞭。一个月前，她亲眼看到那个老女人鞭打了玛格达女士，一个教了十几年书的老教师，是一个同时善于施加和接受体罚的女人。
科琳娜在鞭刑架上就位。她的双脚完全分开，踩在涂满油的脚垫上，弯腰趴在一根及腰高的横杆上，手指紧握住脚踝处滑腻的握杆。如果她大声喊叫或松开一只手，又或者脚从脚垫上滑落，她就会被判定为犯了错，惩罚就会从头开始。油脂意味着她必须格外小心：最轻微的晃动无疑都会让她失去平衡。
“六下，”碧姬低声说道，将可怕的藤条对准娇小女孩下半身的饱满凸起。她一个健步，将全身的重量都压在了这一击上。藤条像利刃一样在空中划过，“砰”的一声陷入臀部的软肉之中。藤条又充满弹性地回弹，只留下一道深深的伤痕。在碧姬的注视下，痕迹的颜色逐渐变深，深红和青紫的颜色昭示着的杠杆又一道剧痛横跨整个臀部。
“一。”科琳娜平静地报数。
面对女孩的无动于衷，碧姬咬紧牙关，向后多退了一步。她向女孩冲去，把藤条往下一甩，正好甩在大腿根部。击打的声音是如此的令人窒息，以至于她差点尿出来。肿胀的伤痕已经近乎发紫，肿起的鞭痕就像一条毛毛虫爬过科琳娜的臀部。
有那么一瞬间，碧姬以为她成功了。科琳娜摇摇晃晃，身体摇摆不定。但她没有惊慌失措，这是外行人才会犯的致命错误。她经验丰富，保持冷静，逐渐放慢了身体的摇晃幅度（突然停止容易导致滑倒），当她说出“二”的时候，就像在播天气预报般毫无感情色彩。
年轻的老师很恼火，但并不感到惊讶。科琳娜以前也经受过总结惩罚，在学校的这些年里，次数可能已经不少。要打垮她可不容易。碧姬必须想办法让她承受最大的痛苦，让她犯错。
她把藤条抽到大腿根部的同一个地方，正好抽到鞭痕上。那紫红色的肿起变得铁青：它就像活过来了一样蠕动着。在鞭痕的最右端，也就是藤条顶端冲击力最大的地方，已经血肉模糊。这就碧姬第三下抽打的效果。
“三。”科琳娜说。
嗯，这是一个好的开始。现在，她需要继续努力。碧姬使出浑身解数，使打出了第四下。她的目的达到了，血淋淋的伤口肿了起来。现在已经有鲜血开始渗出了。第五下又在同一个地方。伤口看起来很狰狞，皮肤开裂，就像过熟的瓜皮。科琳娜低声说“五”时，声音里带着痛苦
机会只剩下一次。虽然这很残酷，但碧姬不能心慈手软。她再次击打旧伤。她的藤条被染成了深红色。科琳娜踉跄了一下，喉咙里发出轻微的抱怨声。但她奇迹般地没有滑倒。她保持住了姿势。碧姬看了她足足一分钟，希望她能松手，但她没有。最后，老师别无选择，只能承认事实。她失败了。
“你可以走了，科琳娜。等下，去找护士看看那些伤口。我希望你能吸取教训。”
“哦，是的，碧姬小姐。这是一次……极好的鞭笞。让我痛不欲生。”
但还不够，老师痛苦地想着：“让格温多林进来。”
金发女孩也很苗条，但她的臀部更丰满，腰也显得更细。她更加丰满，尤其是在胸口的位置。碧姬欣喜地看到，她那丰满的臀部上有新鲜的藤条印记，当她抚摸和揉捏这些鞭痕时，女孩不安的扭动显得非常有说服力。
“谁打了你？”
“苏菲女士，”格温多林叹了口气：“总共六下。因为我在课堂上说话了。”
“注意你的言辞，小姐。除非你还想因为无礼再被罚一次。”
当女孩在涂满油脂的鞭刑架上就位时，她近乎叛逆地摇了摇头，但没有做出任何反应。她的臀部向碧姬高高撅起，教室用的藤条留下的六条深红色的痕迹，使她的臀肉变得敏感，为老师的鞭打做好了准备。碧姬自信地咧嘴一笑：如果她不能让眼前这个女孩挣扎或滑倒，她也就没法让其他人犯错了。
但令碧姬惊讶的是，无论她如何用力地鞭打，格温多林始终保持平静。她委屈地忍受着，按要求数着鞭打的次数，声音中规中矩。即使碧姬用力过猛，几乎要把她的屁股抽裂了，她也没有滑倒。格温多林的臀部青一块紫一块，没一块好肉，但新一轮的鞭打似乎对这个女孩毫无影响。
“六。”格温多林嘟囔了一句，然后耐心地等待着，直到碧姬允许她起身。当她站起来时，膝盖在颤抖，差点因脚上的油脂滑倒。“谢谢你，碧姬小姐。这是一次很好的惩罚。”
碧姬的胃里泛起苦水。十二下，她的心里不停地念叨着。十二下。她要被打十二下了。她暗暗咒骂着，命令格温多林把弗洛拉叫来。
几秒钟后，弗洛拉就进了房间。她顺从地脱下衣服，叠好。她身材微胖，但体重控制得很好，大部分脂肪都囤积在了胸部和臀部。她微粗的大腿像一根柱子，稳稳支撑着她的上半身。她的脸圆圆的，很漂亮，笑容灿烂、亲切，还有点傻乎乎的，能让任何人心软。
但今晚不行。碧姬没有心情谈轮师生情谊：她还有一场战斗要打。她已经输得一塌糊涂了，她知道她必须打垮眼前这个女孩。她虽然胖，但她还年轻，如果打得够狠，她会崩溃的。
最初的几鞭子似乎就像滴入池塘的水一样，汇入了一望无际的池中。当然，鞭痕又肿又紫，肿胀的部分比光滑的臀肉要高出几毫米，但她的屁股上有很多地方似乎都没有被触及，这让挨打的部分显得微不足道。
弗洛拉无情地低语了一声“四”，碧姬几乎发狂得想尖叫。有那么一瞬间，她真给这头倔牛打十二下，甚至二十四下。真的让她发狂。但当然，碧姬的理智还是给出判断，就算多打几下，她自己挨的也不会少，所以她能打更多下也无济于事。毕竟如果弗洛拉第十下犯了错，那么碧姬自己就得挨九下。
“五。”
她在摇晃吗？她动了？哦，也许她终于成功了！碧姬满怀希望地等待着，但女孩却一言不发。她很痛苦：泪水无声地顺着她的脸庞淌下，但她凭着顽强的毅力坚持着。
第六下自然是最狠的，鞭子深深地抽打在臀上，藤条陷入臀腿交界处，消失得无影无踪。当它出现时，一股深红色的液体顺着弗洛拉粗壮的大腿流了下来。有那么一瞬间，女孩似乎要崩溃了。一阵剧烈的颤抖穿过她的身体，她的臀肉随着剧烈的颤抖而晃动。她摇晃了一阵，然后一动不动。碧姬等待着，但很快就发现女孩已经恢复了。
“出去！”碧姬愤怒地喊道：“出去，把莉赛尔叫进来！”
胖女孩很快就穿好了衣服，当她把内裤拉起来包裹住被鞭打的屁股时，内裤的后面被染红了。擦干脸上的泪水，她步履蹒跚地走出门。
莉赛尔又高又瘦，胸部娇小，臀围也窄，但她的臀部还是有点肉的，不过不是横向发展，而是显得挺翘。脱掉衣服后，碧姬欣喜地看到她的皮肤因最近的惩罚而呈现出斑驳的痕迹。
“看来有人淘气了，”碧姬小姐喃喃自语：“谁给你的惩罚？”
“萨宾女士星期一给了我一次惩罚，”莉赛尔平静地说：“就是那六道青色的鞭痕。昨天宝拉小姐因为我拖沓，用她的树枝打了我三下。今天早上我吃早饭迟到了几秒钟，尼娜女士用教室里的藤条打了我六下。当我提出抗议时，她又让让我来接受总结惩罚。”
“因为这是你这周第二次犯错，所以这次是九下。”
“是的，碧姬小姐。”
“我可不会轻易放过你的。你的几处伤痕会是我的重点关照对象。”
“是的，小姐。如果你不这么做，我会很失望的。”
“我决心让你受到额外惩罚的。”
“这不会发生的，碧姬小姐。”
碧姬几乎要为这位少女的自信——或是自傲——而微笑。她走到油壶旁，重新给脚垫和握杆涂上油脂。“现在让我们拭目以待。”
鞭刑架太滑了，莉赛尔差点滑倒。但一旦就位后，她的重心就平稳地落在双脚上，双手坚定地握住横杆，看起来完美得令人作呕。碧姬特意再三检查并调整了女孩的姿势，尽管她并没有太大问题，但还是把双腿张开了一点点，确保自己弯着腰，屁股绷得紧紧的。
碧姬退了很远，让藤条的全部重量“唰”地砸在那个等待着她的屁股上。她这一击的力度足以把一个直立的人打得踉跄，更不用说一个弯腰趴在涂满油脂的刑架上的瘦弱女孩了。但莉赛尔没有动。她微微张开的屁股上肿起一条紫线，这紫线穿过那些已经被鞭打过的皮肉，看起来十分痛苦，但她却没有任何反应。
“一。”她不紧不慢地说。
藤条呼啸着，狠狠地打在裸露的皮肉之上。之前的伤痕现在更是又肿了一倍。莉赛尔哼了一声。“二。”她心不在焉地说。
第三下像是炙热的小刀，“咝咝”地刺进了臀部的脂肪中，有鲜血开始流下。
莉赛尔仍然不为所动。她平静地继续数着，尽管她的脸上满是痛苦，屁股上也布满了厚厚的新伤。这几下打得太近了，组成了一个巨大的创口，将近两英寸的地方血肉模糊。她的身体在颤抖，但她没有移动脚步或转移重心。她的皮肤似乎在颤动，她的身体在不由自主地痉挛。
“七。”她嘶哑着嗓子说，声音因痛苦而微弱。“八。”
碧姬惊慌失措。她败得一塌糊涂。她没法让任何一个女孩被额外惩罚！
最后一击，她使出了浑身解数。这确实是一次高超的鞭打，低沉而又充满痛感，她用尽了所有的力量、身体的扭转和手腕的扣动，以获得提升力度的所有动力。
莉赛尔的眼睛瞪得大大的，眼泪淌了下来。在忍耐的决心中，她全身的每一块肌肉都绷得紧紧的。漫长的时间过去了。最后，一个无力的声音说：“你可以走了。”这个声音的主人被打败了，被彻底打败了。
碧姬凝视着空荡荡的房间。她从未感到如此孤独。她的膝盖在颤抖，她想呕吐。但她还是跑到厕所小便，强迫自己排出所有的液体。然而，当她想象着女校长对她失败的愤怒时，她又想尿了。
她吓坏了，但又无可奈何。她小心翼翼地在记录本上写下了惩罚内容，然后拿着记录本回到了教师休息室。包括校长弗里达在内的几个人都在等着她。她一看到碧姬，就不耐烦地伸手要本子。
“来，让我看看。有几个额外惩罚？两个？不是吗？难道有三个？肯定不止一个，那就太差劲了。”
这是掩盖不了的。碧姬站直了身子：“没有，校长。”
“什么？”
“我……我失败了。”
“失败？你真是教师的耻辱！三个六下，一个九下，一个女孩还只有十六岁，你却连一个额外惩罚都没用上？你真的努力了吗？”“
“我有三次快要成功了，女士。但她们都是大姑娘了，没有轻易屈服。”
“呸，大小有什么关系？关键在于技巧。你显然不知道如何惩罚一位年轻女士。”
“对不起，我……”
“等一下就让我证明给你看。西尔维娅女士，你能不能到走廊上走走，把第一个遇到的高年级女孩带回来？”
“当然可以，女士。”这位老师很快离开了，碧姬战战兢兢地目送着她离去。她想知道校长在想什么。
几分钟后，西尔维娅女士带着一个金发大姑娘回来了。她不像弗洛拉那么胖，却是又高又壮，是个巴伐利亚人，像橡树一样结实。碧姬一眼就认出了她。她的名字叫英格丽德，在不到七周前在校内被鞭打过。因为手淫，她被打了六十下，但她表现得很好。碧姬对她的毅力印象深刻。
“英格丽德，把你的屁股露出来。”女校长毫不客气地说。高年级女生没有犹豫，转身弯腰，撩起裙子，让所有人都能看到她在紧身裤的束缚下绷得紧紧的的大屁股。
弗里达校长的教鞭狠狠地拍了一她下成熟的臀部：“把裤子脱了，你这个笨蛋！”
英格丽德脸一红，赶紧把内裤从腿上扯了下来，露出了丰满的臀部。她的臀部有一些以前惩罚过留下的痕迹，有一两处还没有完全褪去的伤痕，但很明显，英格丽德至少最近几个星期没有挨鞭子了。
“我要打你六下，英格丽德。你觉得怎么样？”
“我不知道我犯了什么错，校长女士。但如果你认为打我一顿对我有好处，我会心存感激地接受。”
“你要像接受总结惩罚一样，接受藤条的惩罚。就和那种鞭打一样，如果你站起来或尖叫，我就会给你额外惩罚，明白了吗？“”
英格丽德脸色苍白，神志不清，但她还是点了点头：“我会忍住的，女士。”
“我会尽我所能让你出错，但你绝不能犯，明白吗？如果你犯错了，我不仅会重罚你，还会用我从南非进口的粗皮鞭来惩罚你。这是用最硬的犀牛皮做成的四英尺长的皮鞭。每一下都会留下香肠那么粗的伤痕。我会打你十二下，再加上你第一轮没打完的数量。我到时会把你绑到刑架上的！”“
“哦，校长女士！”女孩喘着粗气，脸色煞白，眼睛里充满了恐惧：“饶命，请饶了我！”
“当我鞭打你时，你会站起来吗？”
“不，女士！”
“你会哭喊出声吗？”
“不，女士！”
“如果你犯错了，你将付出粗皮鞭的代价。明白了吗？”
“是的，校长。我不会犯错，绝不会犯错！”
女校长满意地命令女孩脱光衣服，抱紧小腿，准备挨打。女校长从办公室里消失了一会儿，回来时手里拿着一根标准的藤条，又重又长，就像碧姬之前用过的那根一样。
弗里达校长是个上了年纪的女人，但绝对不老。她浑身上下都是一股腐朽的气息。她的皮肤布满皱纹，骨瘦如柴，但她的肌肉一如既往地结实，她的固执和自信也随着年龄的增长而与日俱增。她已经教了三十多年的书，关于体罚学生这点，无论从哪一方面讲，她都了如指掌。
她转向惊慌失措的碧姬。“如果我失败了，你可以打我十二下。”她咆哮道。然后，她面对着裸体高年级女孩翘起的臀部。
她像只猫一样向前冲去，身后的藤条被她挥出。藤条突然向前伸出，速度之快，让所有人，包括碧姬和可怜的英格丽德，都措手不及。就像被毒蛇咬了一口。前一刻，英格丽德多肉的臀部还光滑白皙、完美无瑕，而下一刻，屁股上就出现了一条流血的伤口。伤口因痛苦而发青，深红色的液体从里面汩汩流出。
英格丽德的嘴猛地闭上了，泪水从她紧闭的眼睑中挤出来。她的身体摇摇晃晃，臀部微微颤动，像是在跳着痛苦的舞蹈。
“这是第一下，”女校长高兴地笑道，她迅速后退，准备抽出第二下。然后，她停顿了一下，意味深长地看了碧姬一眼，对她的鞭打目标点了点头。
英格丽德惊恐万状。她臀部上的那道鞭痕像火烧一样，噬咬着她，毫无疑问，她在想自己怎么能再忍受五道这样的鞭打。她回过头，蓝色的眼睛里充满了恐惧和担忧。
又一次，女校长没有奔跑，而是仿佛向前滑行，获得一种灵巧的加速，并在适当的时刻转身约300度，将藤条抽向她面前颤抖的臀部。“啪”的一声，震耳欲聋。视觉效果更是令人印象深刻。第二道伤痕在第一道下方一英寸处，就在臀部底部肉最多的地方，伤痕肿的非常高，让第一道伤痕看起来就像铅笔印一样。
英格丽德的反应同样令人印象深刻。她踉踉跄跄，身体摇晃，手指拼命纠缠夹紧小腿，就像登山者用指甲紧紧抓住悬崖一样。一声沉闷的呻吟从她口中发出，渐渐变成了带有强烈痛苦的轻声呻吟。紧接着，她突然“叭”地放了一个屁。接着是一阵涓涓细流的声音，所有人的目光都随着金色的液体顺着奶油般的大腿流向金发女孩脚下，形成了一滩越来越大的水洼。
“对不起，女士，”女孩哭着呻吟道：“如果我知道我会挨打，我会早做准备的……”
“别担心，英格丽德。我向你保证，你会因为大小便失禁而受到严厉惩罚的。”
女孩呻吟着，被鞭打的屁股不停地颤抖。
“我打了你多少下？”女人轻声问道。
“两下！”英格丽德喘着气说。
“啊，还剩四下。我会打得更狠一点，看看能不能让你跳起来。”
女孩绝望的哀嚎消失在藤条划过臀部的摧残声中。藤条尖在她的右边屁股上深陷下去，留下一道横跨两瓣屁股的伤痕。
英格丽德以为女校长会先冲向她，但这一下太突然、太出乎意料了，女孩本能地做出了反应。她尖叫着站了起来，双手紧紧抓住自己的屁股。她的动作一旦开始，就再也无法停止，反正也无力回天了，于是她不停地揉搓着灼热的臀肉，双脚跳动，像疯狗一样嚎叫着。
在座的老师们都瞠目结舌地看着这场表演。碧姬觉得自己的肚子上好像挨了一拳。英格丽特是个大姑娘了，过去挨过的责罚远比六下鞭刑要严重得多。她怎么可能只挨了女校长三下就要被额外惩罚了呢？
然而，碧姬无法否认这个女人的技巧高明。她出手狠辣，第一下就吸引住了英格丽德，让她感到恐惧。然后她提前出击，出其不意地抓住了英格丽德的要害，而她还在前一击后摇晃不止。真是天才。
“把她带到惩罚室去，”弗里达校长说着，朝那个哭哭啼啼的高年级女生挥了挥手：“我等会自己过去，按照我的约定，用粗皮鞭打她。十二加三。当然，我还要先狠狠地鞭打她，以惩罚她大小便失禁。”
英格丽德听到这句话时哀嚎了起来，但当她的哭声在走廊上渐渐消失时，碧姬感到自己如坠冰窟。她不敢抬头，但她知道女校长正在看着她。
“你从中学到了什么吗，碧姬小姐？”
碧姬点了点头：“是的，校长。这对我很有启发。”
“很好。下周五，你将再次执行相同的惩罚，我们将会检验你学到了多少。”女人转向其他老师：“我命令你们所有人确保总结惩罚那天有足够多的学生到场。碧姬显然需要练习。我想没人保底至少需要六下鞭刑。”
碧姬感到肠子在痉挛。下周也是！天哪，她可受不了连续两次鞭打。至少不要让校长来打。她必须学会如何让女孩们受到额外惩罚，她必！须！学！会！
“来吧，碧姬小姐。该你上场了吧。”
“是，女士。”
“几下？”
碧姬咽了咽口水：“二十七下，校长。”
“很好。这么差的成绩，我应该给你双倍的鞭打，不过，也许二十七下足够给你留下深刻的印象了。”她瞪着年轻的老师：“你不感谢我的仁慈吗？”
“哦！是的，校长！非常感谢您的仁慈！谢谢您，谢谢您！”
“让我们把你的屁股从沙发上挪开。我要你紧绷的双腿分开一点，这样更好。实际上，我要你把裙子完全脱掉，保持裸体。”
碧姬不情愿地服从了。她觉得自己现在什么都不是，明明是个老师，却要赤身裸体，分开双腿任人鞭打。但她知道，她将要接受的是校长的惩罚。二十七下真的太可怕了，她怎么受得了？她瞥了一眼身下花花绿绿的沙发，祈祷自己不会失禁。她无法想象那会是怎样的惩罚。
当碧姬看到弗里达校长仍然拿着那根长长的正式惩罚藤条时，她发出了一声轻微的惊呼。
“出什么事了吗？”
“哦，求求你，女士，发发慈悲吧。不要用这种藤条。用您的教鞭，或者教室里的藤条，我求你了。”
女校长面无表情：“那就三十吧。傲慢的婊子！你竟敢质疑我的判断！你的职责是给学生们作好表率，既然他们能挨二十七下，你也应该要承受得了！”
碧姬瘫软在沙发的靠背上，丰满的屁股略带淫荡地撅起，张开的双腿间肥厚的性器清晰可见，她开始啜泣不止。她的屁股很有肉感，可以承受很多痛苦，但这并没有让她更容易忍受。当鞭打落下时，她呻吟着，咬紧牙关不让自己尖叫，身体疯狂地颤动这，却一动也不敢动。
在长时间的鞭打中，人会感觉中间有一小段时间，仿佛思维凝固了。你会意识到惩罚的开始和结束，但中间部分只剩下了痛苦的回忆。但这次鞭打却不是这样。碧姬对每一下鞭打都记得很清楚。弗里达校长知道如何掌握鞭打的节奏，让碧姬始终处于紧张的状态，她总是在猜测着，不知道下一次鞭打会在什么时候到来。她的屁股从中间开始一直被打到胯下，蓝、紫、红的颜色让她的下半身如艺术家的调色板一般。
尽管也有出血，但出血量不大。女校长技术高超，不会让皮肤破得太严重。她只是略微划开了几道伤口，用以最大限度地激发痛苦，让碧姬在接下来的一周里都要认真保养这些敏感的地方。
值得庆幸的是，碧姬没有弄脏沙发。她不知道自己是怎么做到的，因为她几乎无法控制自己的生理反应。这次鞭打太痛苦了，她后来好几天都心惊肉跳。那天晚上，她睡得像死人一样，被折磨得筋疲力尽。
第二天，碧姬浑身酸痛僵硬。其他老师嬉笑着调侃她，大多数是口头上的，也有几个会轻轻拍拍她的屁股，逗得人咯咯直笑。但她很高兴。她活下来了。她上了艰难的一课。
那天下午，尽管她浑身疼痛，难以动弹，但她还是找了三个学生并把她们逼到墙角，指责她们无所事事，并提出让她们协助她“练习”。面对老师动了真格的训斥，三人勉强同意了。她这次只用了一根教室里的藤条，但惩罚结束后，三个人都对她肃然起敬，她也很高兴。她知道自己周五前就能做好准备了。
A Miserable Lesson
“How long has it been, Miss Brigitte?” asked Headmistress Frieda suddenly, turning to the school's youngest teacher, only eighteen.
The pretty blonde flushed slightly at being addressed but spoke without stammering. “A month, Headmistress.”
“I thought as much. Let me see.”
Blushing furiously now, the girl stood with a curtsey and raised her skirt. She bent forward and reached behind to draw her knickers down, exposing large twin globes of buttery flesh.
“Such a nice pair,” breathed the old woman. She reached out a gnarled hand to palm the cheeks, gently kneading the bare flesh. “Smooth and lovely. No trace of your last beating.”
“N-no, madam.”
“You could do with a good thrashing. Right here, where it's so fat and tender.” Her bony finger traced a line along the base of Brigitte's underbum.
The tickle produced a bead of sweat on the young teacher's forehead as she tensed to hold her bent position, dread overwhelming her. Beatings were bad enough, but those from the Head were the most vile imaginable, always low, in the crease.
“I want to thrash you, Miss Brigitte.”
“Y-yes, madam.”
“Aren't you on whipping duty tonight?”
“No, ma'am. Miss Christa is on duty tonight. I'm for Monday.”
“That won't due. I've a mind to thrash you tonight. Switch with Miss Christa, will you?”
“Yes madam.” Brigitte's eyes rotated to the petite Miss Christa, who gave the briefest of nods. She looked at the clock. It was already eight, so the whipping hour was near. “I should go prepare then, Headmistress.”
“Yes, go. Miss Christa, how many tonight?”
“Four. Three sixes and one nine.”
“Ah, a poor showing. Still, you'll make the sixes count?”
“Of course, madam,” curtseyed Miss Brigitte.
“Think you can make a sixer repeat?”
“I'll try my best, madam.”
“You'd better, for you'll be taking whatever strokes don't lead to a repeat.”
Miss Brigitte gasped, the blood draining from her face. “Madam?”
“You heard me. If it takes you five to earn a repeat, you'll earn four yourself.”
“Yes Headmistress,” the young teacher said with bowed head, her belly twisting miserably inside. Her brain was doing the dismal math: if she made each repeat at five, about the best she could hope for, she was in for sixteen! Lord, ten from the Head was agony. How could she possibly bear sixteen?
Miss Brigitte curtseyed and departed. She gritted her teeth with determination to make her charges repeat at three. That would be only two from each, eight strokes. She might possibly be able to handle eight without disgracing herself.
She arrived at the whipping room early, as intended, for she wanted to be ready. Her own bottom depended on her performance tonight. She had to make these whippings as vicious as possible. She couldn't afford the luxury of mercy.
First she checked the whip-stand, the low wooden platform where girls were required to bend. She used extra grease on the footpads and the iron grip bar, rubbing it in thoroughly, making the surfaces as slippery as possible. Anything to give herself an edge.
Next, after wiping her hands dry, she went to inspect the rack of canes. Duty canes were special; these were all stout rods of the hardest imported hickory. They were all at least four feet long and devilishly flexible. They'd been sanded and polished earlier in the evening by the four students who would feel them on their behinds tonight, the slender shafts velvety smooth. There were eight rods and each was in perfect condition. Each cane was well-balanced, though their weights varied slightly. Brigitte carefully selected the three she judged the heaviest and longest.
These she brought to a corner and tested, applying practice strokes to a set of leather pillows designed for the purpose. After two or three with each cane she decided on one and put the others aside. She kept the others separate in case her primary snapped or proved unsatisfactory.
All seemed to be in order. It was almost nine. She stretched, touched her toes ten times — ruefully reflecting that she'd be in that dreaded position shortly — and practiced her breathing. Her heart was hammering with nerves, which she pushed aside sternly, knowing she had no time for emotions. Emotions would ruin her.
Opening the door she was pleased to see that all four girls were already waiting. She carefully checked their names against her list. Corinna, Flora, and Gwendolin were the sixers. Liesel, a tall blonde, was there for nine.
Brigitte was disappointed. All the girls were healthy with stout bottoms able to take stern punishment. Her task was a formidable one. She'd been hoping for at least one fragile youngster who would cry when whipped. Crying always unnerved those waiting, made them jumpy.
Of the four, Flora was the youngest at sixteen. She was a plump girl, however, with a wide backside. Brigitte had seen her whipped before and knew that it took a lot of whipping for her to feel it through all that fat. Liesel was eighteen, the same age as Brigitte herself, but she'd been whipped at least once this week and with nine strokes the teacher was certain she could make the blonde repeat.
So the choice for starting was between Corinna and Gwendolin, both seventeen, both experienced with punishment, both slender with round, full bottoms. Of the two Brigitte decided Corinna might be easier to break so she signaled to the dark-haired beauty to enter.
With an almost imperceptible sigh but no change in doleful expression, the girl rose and followed the teacher into the room. Brigitte shut the door firmly behind them.
“You may prepare.”
Corinna calmly began to undress. In a moment she was completely nude: skirt, top, stockings, shoes, and underthings all neatly folded and stacked on the small table. She was a beautiful girl with petite features, though all Brigitte was concerned with now were the girl's buttocks. The teacher intended to make them suffer.
Brigitte snapped her fingers and Corinna jumped, startled, then hurried to the teacher in a submissive, apologetic posture. She quickly presented her bottom so the woman could feel her buttocks for bruises.
“No marks,” murmured Brigitte. “You haven't been whipped lately.”
“No Miss Brigitte.”
“We will see how you handle six, then, won't we?”
“Yes Miss Brigitte.”
“In position now. I'm going to make you repeat and repeat early.”
The girl shuddered but didn't respond. Repeating was one of the things that made the evening duty whippings so awful. Normally a girl was expected to take her chastisement with appropriate decorum and if she yelped or stood up she might expect an extra stroke or two. Not so for duty whippings. If she so much as moved an inch out of position the entire beating was repeated, plus whatever strokes she'd failed to take the first time. So a girl due six who moved on the fifth would receive another eight: six plus two (the original fifth stroke not counting, of course).
It was a stiff penalty for a momentary lack of willpower. Thus duty whippings were a form of game. It was a silent war between student and teacher. Students tried their hardest to hold position and suffer their allotted punishment in silence, while the duty mistress of the evening would try her hardest to make a girl repeat. Failure for the teacher meant ridicule from her peers and the displeasure of the Headmistress. Failure from the student meant waiting nude while all the other punishments were finished, then being strapped to a whipping frame for a severe flogging. For both, failure was not an option. Yet, daily, one or the other failed.
On this night, duty mistress Brigitte, herself only months graduated, had an extra incentive to succeed. She already knew she was going to be whipped by Headmistress Frieda afterward — the only question was how severely. She did not want it to be many. A month ago she'd seen the old woman whip mistress Magda, a stout veteran who'd been teaching for a dozen years, a woman who was an expert at giving and receiving corporal infliction, and she'd had been reduced to tears from a mere fifteen from the old hag.
Corinna was in position on the whip-stand. Her feet were well apart on the greased footpads and she bent over the waist bar and wrapped her fingers around the slippery grip bar at her ankles. If she cried out or released a hand or a foot slipped off a pad, she was determined to have faulted and the punishment would be repeated. The grease meant she had to be extra careful: the slightest wiggle would undoubtedly send her flying.
“Six,” murmured Brigitte, lining up the fearsome cane with the bulge of the petite girl's bottom. She took a running start, putting a lot of her weight behind the blow. The willow whisked through the air like a knife and sank into the fatty tissue with a dull thud. The rod sprang back elastically, a dark furrow in its wake. It darkened as Brigitte watched, a crimson and then blue band of furious pain spanning both cheeks.
“One,” said Corinna calmly.
Brigitte ground her teeth at the girl's impassivity and took an extra step back. She threw herself at the girl, lashing the rod down low, just above the thighs. The sound of the strike was so impressively deadly that she almost let burst a spurt of pee. The swelling weal was already nearly purple and so thick it was like a fuzzy caterpillar crawling across the curve of Corinna's arse.
For a moment, Brigitte thought she'd done it. Corinna wavered, her body swaying. But she didn't panic, the fatal mistake of the amateur. She was experienced. She remained calm, gradually slowed her body's movement (a sudden stop would have caused a slip), and when she spoke “Two” it was as unemotional as though she was reporting on the weather.
The young teacher was annoyed, but not surprised. Corinna had endured duty whippings before, probably a high number during her years at the school. She would not be easy to break. Somehow Brigitte must draw out the maximum pain and cause the girl to fault.
She lashed the cane into the same place on the crease, right into the caterpillar. The purplish weal was livid: it writhed as though alive. On the right side, where the tip of the cane impacted most of the cane's momentum, the flesh was gooey with blood. Brigitte had drawn on the third stroke.
“Three,” said Corinna.
Well, it was a good start. Now she needed to work the weal. Brigitte laid on the fourth will all her strength. Her aim was true and the bloody weal swelled. It was oozing now. Five was in the same place again. The weal looked hideous now, the skin split open like an overripe melon rind. Corinna's voice had pain in it when she whispered, “F-five.”
There was only once chance left. Though it was cruel, Brigitte could not afford mercy. She struck the crease again. Her cane came away stained crimson. Corinna staggered, a soft whimper of protest emerging from her throat. But miraculously she did not slip. She held position. Brigitte watched her for a full minute, hoping she'd release, but she did not. Finally the teacher had no choice but to admit the truth. She had failed.
“You may leave, Corinna. Stop and see Nurse for those cuts. I hope you learned your lesson.”
“Oh yes, Miss Brigitte. It was a… superb flogging. Excruciating.”
But not enough, thought the teacher bitterly. “Send in Gwendolin.”
The blonde girl was also slender, but her wider hips made her waist seem narrower. She was more voluptuous, especially up top. Brigitte was delighted to see fresh cane marks across the plump behind, and when she fondled and pinched them, the girl writhed most convincingly.
“Who beat you?”
“Mistress Sophie,” sighed Gwendolin. “Six for talking in class when I wasn't.”
“Watch your tongue, miss, unless you want another Duty for insolence.”
The girl shook her head almost rebelliously as she got in position on the greased platform, but she didn't respond. Her bottom bulged out at Brigitte, the six crimson lines left by the classroom cane tenderizing her flesh, preparing it for the teacher. Brigitte grinned confidently: if she couldn't make this girl writhe and slip, she couldn't make anyone.
But to Brigitte's astonishment, no matter how hard she flogged, Gwendolin remained calm. She suffered stoically, counting out the strokes as required, her voice neutral. She didn't slip even when Brigitte practically threw her back out she struck so hard. Gwendolin's buttocks were a mass of purple and blue, the flesh impossibly tender, yet fresh strikes seemed to have no effect on the girl.
“Six,” Gwendolin muttered, and waited patiently until Brigitte gave her permission to rise. When she stood, her knees were trembling and she almost slipped from the grease on her feet. “Thank you, Miss Brigitte. A splendid f-flogging.”
Brigitte's stomach was twisted into a bitter knot. Twelve, her mind kept saying. Twelve. She was in for twelve. She cursed under her breath and ordered Gwendolin to send in Flora.
A few seconds later and Flora was in the room. She obediently stripped, folding her clothes. She was heavyset, though she carried her weight well, most of it in her chest and ass. Her thighs were massive columns that supported the rest of her. Her face was round and pretty, with a bright, friendly, stupid smile would soften any heart.
But not tonight. Brigitte was in no mood for friendship: she had a battle to win. She was losing dismally already and she knew she had to break this girl. She was fat, but she was young, and if whipped hard enough, she'd break.
The first few lashes seemed to sink into the endless bottom like drops in a pond. Sure, the weals were thick and purple, the ridges swollen a few millimeters above the smooth flesh, but so much of the bottom seemed untouched that it made the beaten area seem woefully inadequate.
As Flora implacably grunted “Four” Brigitte wanted to scream. For a moment she wished the cow was due a dozen, or even two. Really make her squeal. But of course, Brigitte's own sentence was to take whatever the girls could, so having more strokes at her disposal did not help her own bottom. If Flora faulted at ten, that was nine strokes for Brigitte.
“Five.”
Was that was a falter? A wiggle? Oh, perhaps she was getting to the girl at last! Brigitte waited, hoping, but the girl was quiet. She was in pain: silent tears trickled down her face, but she held on through sheer willpower.
The sixth was naturally the hardest yet, whipped in deep in the underbum, so deep the shaft of the cane disappeared with the folds of flesh. When it emerged an ooze of crimson followed, trickling down Flora's stout thighs. For a moment it seemed that the girl might break. A violent shiver passed through her, her flesh shuddering as she trembled violently. She wobbled, then went still. Brigitte waited, but it was soon obvious the girl had recovered.
“Go!” cried Brigitte furiously, “Get out and send in Liesel!”
Quickly the fat girl dressed, the back of her knickers staining red when she pulled them up around her whipped cheeks. Wiping tears off her face, she hobbled out the door.
Liesel was tall and skinny with petite breasts and narrow hips, but her buttocks had a bit meat to them, though they were vertical instead of wide. When she stripped, Brigitte was pleased to see the skin was mottled with the damage of recent discipline.
“Looks like someone's been naughty,” Miss Brigitte mused. “Who gave you those?”
“Mistress Sabine gave me the duty whipping on Monday,” said Liesel calmly. “Six livid cuts. Yesterday Miss Paula gave me three with her switch for dawdling and this morning I was a few seconds late to breakfast and Mistress Nina gave me six with a classroom cane. When I protested she put me down for another duty whipping.”
“As it's your second this week, it's nine this time.”
“Yes Miss Brigitte.”
“I'm not going to go easy on you either. You've got a couple tender weals there and I'm going to work on them.”
“Yes, Miss. I would be disappointed if you didn't.”
“I'm determined to see you repeat.”
“That shall not happen, Miss Brigitte.”
Brigitte almost smiled at the confidence — or was it arrogance? — of the teen. She went to her pot of grease and reapplied it to the footpads and handle bar. “Now we shall see.”
The stand was so slippery Liesel almost slipped getting on. But once in position, her weight balanced on her feet and her hands determinedly holding the bar, she looked disgustingly comfortable. Brigitte purposely double-checked and adjusted the girl's position even though she was fine, spreading her legs a tiny bit more and making sure she was bent well over, her buttocks taut as possible.
Brigitte took a long run and let the full weight of the cane swish into the waiting buttocks. She blow was hard enough to stagger an upright person, let alone a slender girl bent over on greased flooring. But Liesel did not move. The purple line swelling across her spread cheeks looked excruciating as it traversed already beaten flesh, yet she had no reaction.
“One,” she said nonchalantly.
The cane whistled and cracked down hard on bare flesh. The thickness of the previous weal was now doubled. Liesel grunted. “Two,” she said thoughtfully.
The third was a scorcher, sizzling into the fat of the underbum and drawing a trickle of “claret.”
Still, Liesel was not moved. She continued the count calmly, though her face was distressed and her buttocks livid with thick fresh weals. The blows were so close together it was like one giant weal, nearly two inches of swollen, empurpled flesh. Her body shuddered and trembled, but she did not move her feet or shift her weight. It was her skin that seemed to vibrate, involuntary spasms of her flesh.
“Seven,” she hissed, her voice weak with suffering. “Eight.”
Brigitte was in a panic. She was failing miserably. She was not going to make a single girl repeat!
She put all she had into the final stroke. It truly was a masterful one, low and into existing pain, and she used every ounce of strength, body twist, and wrist snap she could to gain all the momentum from her blow.
Liesel's eyes bulged and tears dripped down her face. Every muscle in her body was achingly tense, frozen in her determination to endure. A long time passed. Finally a distant voice said, “You may go.” The voice was defeated and beaten.
Brigitte stared at the empty room. She'd never felt so alone before. Her knees trembled and she wanted to vomit. Instead she went to the facilities and peed, forcing herself to get rid of all excess fluid. Yet when she imagined the Headmistress' rage at her failure, it made her want to pee again.
She was terrified, but there was nothing for it. She carefully wrote down the punishments in the logbook and carried it back to the teacher's lounge. Several were waiting, including Headmistress Frieda. She snapped her fingers impatiently for the book as soon a she saw Brigitte.
“Come, let me see. How many repeated? Two? No? Do you mean you got three? Surely not a single, that would be a poor performance indeed.”
There was no hiding it. Brigitte stood tall. “None, Headmistress.”
“What?”
“I… I failed.”
“Failed? You are disgrace to the teaching profession! Three sixers and a nine, one girl only sixteen, and yet you failed to even make one repeat? Did you even try?”
“I drew with three, Madam. But they were big girls and wouldn't break.”
“Pah, what does size have to do with it? It's all in the technique. You obviously do not know how to thrash a young lady.”
“I'm sorry, I–“
“Hold on! Let me prove it to you. Mistress Sylvia — would you mind stepping out into the corridor and returning with the first senior girl you find?”
“Certainly madam.” The teacher quickly departed, Brigitte watching her go with trepidation. She wondered what the Headmistress had in mind.
After a few minutes, Mistress Sylvia was back with a big blonde girl. She was not fat like Flora, but tall and stout, of hardy Bavarian stock, solid as an oak. Brigitte recognized her at once. Her name was Ingrid and she'd been birched on the block not seven weeks earlier. It had been five dozen for self-abuse but she'd acquitted herself well. Brigitte had been impressed by her fortitude.
“Ingrid, present your bottom,” said the Headmistress without any preamble. The senior girl didn't hesitate, but turned and bent, lifting her skirt so everyone could see the large globes of her buttocks straining against the confines of her tight knickers.
Headmistress Frieda's switch flicked the ripe cheeks hard. “Bare, you fool!”
Blushing, Ingrid quickly yanked her underwear down her legs, exposing a magnificent bottom. There were the faintest traces of previous work, a stray welt or two that hadn't completely faded, but it was obvious Ingrid had managed to avoid a whipping for at least several weeks.
“I'm going to give you six, Ingrid. What do you think about that?”
“I don't know what I did, Madam Headmistress, but if you think a thrashing will benefit me I shall take it with gratitude.”
“You shall take it like a duty whipping, with a duty cane. And like a duty whipping, if you rise up or scream, I'll repeat the punishment. Is that understood?”
Ingrid was pale and faint, but she nodded. “I shall suffer, madam.”
“I am going to do my damnedest to make you repeat, but you will not, is that clear? If you earn a repeat, not only will I repeat the punishment but it will be with a Sjambok I've imported from South Africa. It's four foot of the hardest hippopotamus hide. Every stroke leaves a weal the size of a breakfast sausage. I'll give you six with it _plus_ your repeat. That's a least a dozen! And you'll take it dangling from the triangle!”
“Oh Madam Headmistress!” gasped the girl, her face white, her eyes moons of terror. “Mercy, please have mercy!”
“Will you rise up when I whip you?”
“No Madam!”
“Will you cry out?”
“No Madam!”
“If you fail, you will pay with the Sjambok. Is that understood.”
“Yes Headmistress. I won't repeat, I won't!”
Satisfied, the Headmistress ordered the girl to strip and grip her calves for a beating. The woman disappeared for a moment to her office, returning with a standard duty cane, heavy and long, just like the one Brigitte had used earlier.
Headmistress Frieda was an older woman, but certainly not old. She was all vinegar and piss. Her skin was wrinkled, her flesh bony, but her muscles were as hard as ever and her attitude and confidence had only grown as she aged. She'd taught for over thirty years and there was nothing she didn't know about corporal discipline from either side of the rod.
She turned to a frightened Brigitte. “If I fail, you may give _me_ a dozen,” she snarled. Then she faced the upturned buttocks of the nude senior girl.
Like a cat she stalked forward, the rod drawn behind her. It lashed forward so suddenly and so quickly that it caught everyone, Brigitte and poor Ingrid, by surprise. It was like the bite of adder. One moment Ingrid's fleshy bottom was smooth and white, unblemished, and the next the cheeks were covered with a bleeding weal, blue with agony, crimson fluid bubbling up from within.
Ingrid's mouth snapped shut and tears squeezed out from her tightly clenched lids. Her body wavered, the buttocks doing a subtle quivering dance of anguish.
“That's one,” laughed the Headmistress gaily, and she quickly stepped back and prepared for the second. Then she paused with a significant glance at Brigitte, nodding at her target.
Ingrid was a squirming picture of terror. The single weal across her haunches was alive with fire, eating at her, and no doubt she was wondering how she could endure five more like that. She looked back, blue eyes huge with fear and dread.
Again the Headmistress didn't run but glided forward, gaining subtle momentum, and twirling 300 degrees at just the proper moment to lash the cane into the quivering mass of bottomflesh before her. The crack of the stroke was deafening. The visual result was even more impressive. The second weal was an inch below the first, right at the base of the buttocks where the seat is the fleshiest, and the weal was so thick it made the first look like a pencil mark.
Ingrid's reaction was equally impressive. She staggered, her body rocking, her fingers desperately clenching her calves like a mountain climber holding on to a cliff by his fingernails. A dull grunt escaped her, settling into a soft moan of intense suffering. This was followed by the sudden “blat” of a fart. Then there was a trickling sound and all eyes traveled with the golden fluid down the creamy thighs to the growing pool at the blonde girl's feet.
“I-I'm sorry, Madam,” moaned the girl, crying. “If I'd known I was to be beaten I would have gone before–“
“Don't worry, Ingrid. You will be soundly punished for you incontinence, I assure you.”
The girl groaned, her whipped buttocks shivering.
“How many have I given you?” asked the woman quietly.
“Two!” gasped Ingrid.
“Ah, then there are four left. I shall make these a little tighter. See if we can make you jump out of your skin.”
The girl's wail of despair was lost in the devastating snap of the rod across her buttocks. The tip wrapped well around her right side, leaving a weal that spanned both cheeks.
The action was so sudden and unexpected, Ingrid thinking the Headmistress would take another run at her, that the girl reacted on instinct. She rose up with a scream, her hands clutching at her bottom. Once she'd started the action there was no stopping it, and it was too late to make any difference anyway, so she rubbed and rubbed the blazing flesh, hopping from foot to foot and howling like a mad dog.
The assembled teachers watched this performance with jaws hanging open. Brigitte felt like she'd been punched in the belly. Ingrid was a big girl and had suffered far worse than six strokes of the duty cane in the past. How could she have repeated with a mere three strokes from the Headmistress?
Yet Brigitte could not deny the woman's technique had been effective. She'd struck venomously hard, drawing on the first stroke, terrorizing the girl. Then she'd struck early, catching Ingrid by surprise, while she was still wobbling from the previous blow. It was genius.
“Take her away to the punishment room,” said Headmistress Frieda, waving her hand at the blubbering senior girl. “I shall come alone presently and flog her with Sjambok as I promised. A dozen plus three. With a good birching first for her incontinence, of course.”
Ingrid screamed as she heard this pronouncement, but as her cries faded down the corridor, Brigitte felt her belly turn to ice. She didn't dare look up, but she knew the Headmistress was looking at her.
“Did you learn anything by that, Miss Brigitte?”
Brigitte nodded. “Yes, Headmistress. It was most instructive.”
“Good. For you will be on Duty next Friday with the same penalties and we will see how much you have learned.” The woman turned to the other teachers. “And I charge all of you with ensuring that we have a good turnout for duty whippings that day. Brigitte obviously needs practice. I think at least a half dozen floggings will be required.”
Brigitte felt her bowels tremble. Next week too! Oh Lord, she couldn't take two floggings in a row. Not from the Headmistress. She _must_ learn how to make the girls repeat, she must!
“Come now, Miss Brigitte. I believe it is your turn?”
“Yes Madam.”
“How many strokes?”
Brigitte gulped. “T-tw-twenty-seven, Headmistress.”
“Very well. I ought to flog you double for such a poor performance, but perhaps twenty-seven will make an impression.” She glared at the young teacher. “Aren't you going to thank me for my generosity?”
“Oh! Yes Headmistress! Your mercy is much appreciated. Thank you, thank you!”
“Let's get that fine bum of yours over the back of this sofa. I want you stretched tight. Legs more apart, that's better. Actually, remove your dress completely. I want you nude.”
Reluctantly, Brigitte obeyed. She felt like anything but a teacher now, naked and spread for whipping. But she knew it was a teacher's punishment she was about to receive. Twenty-seven strokes! Horrors. How would she bear it? She glanced at the flowery sofa beneath her and prayed she wouldn't lose her bowels. She could not imagine what the penalty for that would be.
Brigitte let out a little cry of alarm when she saw that Headmistress Frieda still carried the long duty cane.
“Is something wrong?”
“Oh please, Madam, have mercy. Not the duty cane. Use your switch, or a classroom cane, I beg you.”
The Headmistress grimaced. “Thirty it is, then. Arrogant bitch! How dare you question my judgement! You were assigned to take whatever your charges could, and since they managed twenty-seven with the duty cane, so shall you!”
Brigitte fell into sobs as she stretched across the back of the furniture, her wide buttocks arched obscenely, the thick pouch of her sex clearly visible between her spread legs. She had a good meaty bottom that could take a lot of suffering, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. As the cuts fell she moaned, gritting her teeth to keep from screaming, writhing frantically without moving.
With many beatings there's a place in the middle where time seems to vanish. You're aware of the start of the punishment and of the end, but the middle is just a painful memory. Not so with this whipping. Brigitte was fully conscious of every single stroke. Headmistress Frieda knew just how to pace the beating to keep Brigitte on edge, always anticipating, never sure of when the next blow would come. The strokes covered her bottom from crack to crotch, leaving her with an artist's palette of blues and purples and scarlets.
There was bleeding, of course, but it was modest. The Headmistress was too skilled to cut the skin too badly. She just opened several wounds to draw out the maximum intensity of the experience, leaving Brigitte with tender places to ponder for the next week.
Brigitte, thankfully, did not soil the sofa. How, she did not know, for she was scarcely able to control anything, least of all her bowels. The beating was so intense she was jumpy for days afterward. That night she slept the sleep of the dead, exhausted by her ordeal.
The next day Brigitte was sore and stiff. The other teachers playfully teased her, most verbally, a few with a gentle pat on the rear that made her squeal. But she was pleased. She had survived. She had learned a stiff lesson.
That afternoon, though her body ached and it was difficult to move, she cornered three students, accused them of idleness, and offered them the option of assisting in her “practice.” Faced with the alternative of a real duty caning, the three reluctantly agreed. She only used a classroom cane, but by the end of the session all three were looking at her with respect and alarm, and she was pleased. She knew she'd be ready by Friday.
The End
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