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Thursday, 2 August 2018

Claudia and Elke

Where German Girls Bend Over
By Richard Manton from Janus 17
Max would have been the first to admit that he was lucky to get such good results. A bright July afternoon on an English beach can ruin a film as easily as a dull November day. But then he was a professional. Every shot was perfect, whether it was high up on the shingle where the family groups sat, or on the damp sand by the pier, uncovered by the distant glitter of low tide.
The six bikini’d German nymphs on the sand had not even noticed him. That was how it should be. They looked like girls from one of the summer language schools, but as Max had reason to know, these teenage frauleins came from a very special school indeed. He chose a 135mm telephoto lens and moved unobtrusively closer.
What were they doing? One girl was sitting at the centre of the circle. The others sat on their heels facing inwards towards her. With shrill schoolgirl laughter they were scooping up damp sand and piling it on her, burying her to the waist. Each in turn went forward on all fours as she patted her handful of sand against the giggling victim’s thighs and hips. Max chose two of them, Katharine and Claudia.
Katharine was a softly voluptuous Rhinemaiden of seventeen, lightly-waved blonde tresses brushing sun-toasted shoulders. Pretending to focus the black lens barrel on the more distant pier, Max brought Katharine’s face into view, the light blue eyes and strong features of this tall young goddess. The camera shutter winked a dozen times as he took general views of her.
Preoccupied with their sport, none of the girls noticed him. The shutter clicked repeatedly, immortalising the soft weight of Katharine’s breasts, their nipples visibly erect in the brown sea-wet bikini bra. He caught the bare sheen of her golden sand-dusted back, even the gold slave-chain which she wore round her right ankle.
He walked round behind her as she sat on her heels, admiring the spread of her tightly bikini’d hips. The elastic waistband lightly dented the satiny suntanned flesh. Just then she went forward on all fours and Max drew breath at the prospect of Katharine’s seventeen-year-old bottom, swell-cheeked in the clinging damp nylon of the brown bikini. Kneeling, he took some beautiful close-ups through the telephoto lens. A milestone in arse-photography, he thought.
Half the job was completed. Then, to his consternation, the girls sprang up and ran laughing up the beach to their clothes and towels on the shingle. Max frowned as he followed circumspectly. If there was one thing he could not tolerate, it was an unfinished assignment. A matter of professional pride.
It was no hardship to keep an eye on Claudia. She was nine months younger than Katharine, though brighter and more courteous. Claudia was also more of a nymph than a Rhinemaiden of Katharine’s build. Her figure, though slender, had all the charms of womanhood. Max also liked the prettily curled and tousled appearance of her light brown hair, the way it curled over her forehead, its thickness cut short at the nape. He had already managed to get one or two shots of her from the front, capturing the lively blue eyes, trim features, and the classic beauty of a face narrowing to a firm round chin. With any luck he should be able to snap some wonderful fantasy material of her.
He was close again, a mere few yards behind her, when to his relief Claudia knelt on all fours to smooth out the towel she was about to lie on. Ignoring the curious glances of the family groups, he aimed the camera and brought her into focus. At sixteen, Claudia’s more lightly sun-kissed figure had a narrow-waisted elegance, with neat breasts and taut slim thighs. Her emerald green bikini pants were not particularly brief but the wetness made them elastic tight. As she posed with innocent unawareness she had a real woman’s shape for all her youthful trimness. The demure young cheeks of Claudia’s arse were neatly and tautly rounded. Yet her hips were soft enough for the waist elastic of her bikini pants to dent the flesh perceptibly. A dozen times the camera shutter clicked, each one a superb full-plate study of the tightly-rounded contours of Claudia’s bottom!
It was almost enough evidence, Max thought. Yet when Claudia and Katharine alone ran down the beach and splashed into the tide, he strolled in that direction too — just in case. Making little attempt to conceal his interest now, he aimed the camera directly and took an entire new roll of film.
The two girls walked back up the beach, talking together in a solemn, subdued manner, glancing at him apprehensively. While blonde statuesque Katharine stood by uneasily, Claudia came up to him. She asked in polite but uncertain English if Max had been taking photographs of them. It seemed she was suddenly aware of the pictures of her, including Claudia’s young backside suggestively offered, which lay secretly in his camera.
Max pretended to think she was asking to be photographed. He proposed a camera session, the pictures to be sent to the girls’ addresses in Germany. They conferred doubtfully and declined the offer. Max also explained that he had an assignment just then to take pictures of the pier. That was what he had been doing. The girls looked relieved.
Soon they were introducing themselves in charmingly fractured English.
‘My name is Katharine. I am coming from Cologne. I have seven years English in the grammar school.’
‘My name is Claudia. I am coming from Düsseldorf. I have five years English in the grammar school.’
She pronounced her name charmingly in the German way: ‘Cloud-i-yah’. Max was sorry that he had to leave them soon afterwards. However, they were about to dress once more. He watched Claudia put on a black velveteen vest for warmth, and then he turned away.
He processed the films and printed them at once. The results were excellent. Only then did he return to the rebuilt manor house which in summer housed the moral leadership courses. It was time to show the pictures to his co-director, Bernard.
Only a German genius could have conceived the moral leadership courses. Twelve girls of respectable families, including Claudia and Katharine, would spend three weeks in England at the college with twelve delinquent girls who had been in trouble with the authorities. The influence of the good girls was supposed to improve the delinquents. After three weeks another batch of 24 girls would replace the first lot, and so on.
The risks of delinquent German girls running amok on England’s south coast had to be countered. So for three weeks Bernard directed the course and Max remained in the background keeping a secret watch on the streets and beaches, unrecognised by the girls. When the next intake arrived, he would direct their language course, while Bernard kept secret surveillance. This alteration definitely made the job more interesting.
Discipline was extremely strict on the courses. It was the parents of the respectable girls who agreed — often insisted — that it must be so. They had no intention of letting their daughters be dragged down in disgrace by young tarts from the reformatory and the gaol-house. Bernard, a middle-aged Swabian with youthful looks, stared at the photographs with distaste.
‘Two of our girls in positions of moral trust, showing themselves like this on a public beach? Showing their private parts and backsides for men to gloat over and photograph? Posing deliberately! So much for their oath to defend decency and decorum! And where were the less fortunate girls whom they must chaperone at all times?
‘Running wild in the town,’ said Max quietly, ‘Breaking parole.’
The two men looked at the photographs. Claudia on all fours offered her young backside in nylon so wet-tight that a goose pimple would have been conspicuous. Worse still, as she knelt on all fours, her knees were apart. Between her legs, the soft bulge of Claudia’s femininity was perfectly moulded by the wet nylon.
‘She was egging them on to photograph her,’ said Max quietly ‘Every boy on the beach. Showing her private parts to them. See the proof of it. A young tart like Claudia has no place on a moral leaders course.’
Was it true? By contrast with Katharine’s big blonde vulgarity Claudia was such a polite and willing girl. Or was it that, of the two, he so badly wanted to see Claudia’s bottom caned? The conversation was certainly moving that way.
‘To dismiss a girl from the course is unprecedented,’ said Bernard thoughtfully, ‘It would mean sending the photographs to her parents as an explanation. I shall give her the choice of a caning. Dagmar and Helena were both caned on the last course. In fact, Helena Thelen’s bottom was caned twice.’
Later that evening Bernard informed Max that a shamefaced Claudia and a dismayed Katharine had timidly chosen to sacrifice their shapely posteriors to save family honour. So the two directors inspected the photographs again. They agreed on a modest ten with the strap for Katharine’s voluptuous young backside.
‘Claudia was the ringleader,’ said Max quietly. ‘Believe me, I was there. I want her backside caned properly. As far as we can go. The limit allowed by the rules.’
‘Twenty-four?’ Bernard looked taken aback. ‘You think anyone would be prepared to? Is there anyone who believes discipline is that important?’
‘I do,’ said Max, scarcely believing his own ears. ‘I’m not asking anyone else to do it for me.’
The most bizarre aspect of the entire affair, he thought, was that neither of the girls knew him as anything but the man taking photographs on the beach. During his three-week period away from the college, he lived in his flat and came in rarely. It made surveillance easier. In any case, thought Bernard, three weeks on duty meant just that — seven days a week and 24 hours a day. It was good to live out for a while.
Next afternoon neither Katharine nor Claudia left the building. One by one they took a long bath. What a tribute to the German nation, Max thought. Other girls might scream or plead when told they would be thrashed, they might even fight and struggle. German girls responded by taking a bath. Claudia’s bottom was the most difficult part of her anatomy for her to scrutinise. Her personal honour required that it should be spotless when presented to her chastiser.
Both girls were summoned to appear for discipline in the same costume in which they had offended. Bernard led Katharine into his room where the sofa had been cleared for her to lie upon. She was told to lie on her belly with the cushions under her loins to raise her buttocks in a fattened swell. Bernard took up the triple-tailed tawse. His excitement was now manifest in a very rapid pulse.
‘Keep your backside still, Katharine!’ he said sharply, for already the tall blonde was squirming her hips in anticipation and the wavy tresses were whisking to and fro on her bare brown shoulders as she twisted her blue eyes round in alarm. Bernard took the waist-elastic of her brown bikini-pants and tugged them to her knees, surveying the paler softness of Katharine’s buttocks. Max guessed that she could be both sullen and rowdy by turns in her behaviour. Some of her teachers in Cologne — male and female — would probably have paid handsomely to change places with Bernard for the rest of the evening.
Whack! The explosive report of the leather tawse across Katharine’s bare bum-cheeks was so powerful that even though he was expecting to hear it through the open door, Max felt his heart miss a beat. Whack! Smack! The tall blonde girl was truly being seen to, he thought. Her fair tresses flew wildly. Katharine’s seventeen-year-old bottom-cheeks surged and contorted. It was as if she was actually trying to push them higher, only to be driven down again by the Crack-smack! of the leather tawse.
She cried out wildly as well, even before half the ten strokes were given. To Max’s surprise, when the ten had been finished, the door was closed and a key turned in the lock. He could still just hear Bernard’s voice.
‘Lie quite still over the cushions, Katharine. Take your hand away from your bottom! At once! I’ll tell you when you can rub it. Now kneel on the floor facing the sofa. Good. Lift your hips from your heels — raise your behind — and lie forward over the sofa-end. Good. Now, Katharine, your punishment so far falls far short of the maximum provided for. As the older girl, you must not expect to escape more lightly. You see this? It is known in England as a birch-rod. Three switches bound at the handle. It requires you to present your buttocks more fully spread as they are now. Remember, Katharine, that any twisting away, sitting back on your heels — any disobedience whatever — will earn you extra strokes. Now, my blonde beauty, we shall put you through your paces…’
Max smiled to himself. So much for Bernard’s insistence that a casual strapping would mend Katharine’s ways for her. He turned and saw Claudia waiting. She wore the emerald green bikini as instructed but with the addition of the black velveteen vest, low cut with cross-straps and ending at her waist He was going to keep her waiting for a while but there were better ways than having her standing in the corridor. There really was an elfin prettiness about her, the rather tousled crop of fair hair, the blue eyes and round high-boned face.
When Claudia first saw Max, whom she knew only from the beach encounter, she gave a start of dismay. Then, as he explained the mystery, she lowered her head as if accepting her guilt. From time to time as she stood there, one hand went behind her back and she laid it on her trim oval-cheeked bottom as if to reassure or calm herself.
Once in the conveniently remote upstairs room, Max gave her his orders.
‘I want you to kneel on the armchair with the low back, Claudia. Face the back. Good. Now lift your hips and kneel right over the chair-back with your palms on the floor beyond to support you. Let the padded back support your belly…. No, not far enough. It’s your bottom I’m interested in most of all, Claudia. You know that, don’t you? So, get those cheeks rounded as tightly as you can and spread as hard as you can. Better! I’m sure it’s not your first time, Claudia! I can’t believe that the teachers in your Düsseldorf grammar school let you get away for five years without a few canings! That young backside of yours, Claudia — arch it out even more fully! Now wait like that!’
The period of making Claudia wait for it was part of the syntax of punishment. Max stood over the kneeling language-student and took the hem of her black velveteen vest. He drew it well up, almost to the back strap of her green bikini’s halter bra. Then he went back and sat behind his desk to study her rear view.
Claudia had bowed her fair tousled hair, either in resignation or from maidenly modesty. Her bare back was not only slim-waisted but the delicate bone pattern of shoulder-blades and vertebrae was contoured with teenaged clarity. The emerald-green bikini pants were elasticated at waist and legs. The nylon sheen was drawn drum-skin tight over the oval nymph-cheeks of Claudia’s exquisite arse!
So she knelt submissively, head bowed, palms pressing the floor, rump charmingly and fully presented for her chastiser’s contemplation. Wistfully, Max imagined her as one of his harem slave-girls obliged to offer herself to him in this pose. With his eyes roving over the cheek-spread of her bikini-seat he thought of all that would happen to Claudia’s bottom under such circumstances.
‘Your bikini pants, Claudia!’ he said at last, the faint amusement in his tone caused by her sudden apprehensive quiver at the sound of his voice. ‘Reach back and pull them down to your knees!’
With her head still bowed, she reached back with her right hand and pulled the waist down on that side, leaving its elastic ribbing momentarily aslant her backside, half-baring it in an engagingly inexperienced gesture. Then the left hand completed the task, Claudia’s buttock-flesh quivering a little with her awkward contortions.
The taut elegant ovals of Claudia’s bottom-cheeks were paler than her lightly sun-tanned back. Max sat at his desk again to consider the view. From the floor beside him he took the long slim bamboo and placed it audibly on the desk top.
Claudia’s bare knees shifted desperately on the chair padding. Her slim young thighs tensed visibly. As the cane rattled on the desk again, she compressed her buttocks until her bottom-crack was a thin tight line. Was it maidenly modesty, Max wondered, or an effort to contain herself in the moment of fright which the sound of the bamboo provoked?
He got up, cane in hand, and went across to her.
‘Don’t clench your buttocks, Claudia. I don’t count strokes given when you’re in that state.’
There was no need to warn her that she was now going to be bamboo’d. They both knew that well enough. Only one initial reprimand was needed.
‘Let’s see those seat-cheeks properly rounded and spread, Claudia! You were keen enough to show yourself on the beach!’
‘I did not mean…’ she gasped, ‘I did not know!’
The cane cut the air and landed with a lashing smack across the bare curve of Claudia’s backside. Her hips jerked against the chair padding and her toes curled with the instinctive sign of the ferocious smart. The first imprint began to glow pinkly across her buttocks. Glancing down, Max saw that she was biting her lower lip as she waited for the next. Whip! He brought the bamboo down across the centre of Claudia’s buttocks. Whip! and Whi-i-ip! and WHIPPP!
Five wicked cane-prints, bright as bars of an electric fire, rose in close order across the crowns of Claudia’s buttocks. An English girl would have hit the top of her soprano range by now. Claudia, with true German self-discipline, merely drew breath sharply and released it in plaintive little mewings. To test her fortitude, Max measured three quick vigorous diagonals across the smarting imprints.
With a sense of relief and a further acceleration of pulse rate, he saw Claudia’s tousled head go back, dismay in her solemn young face, and heard her cry out frantically. Claudia’s bottom was squirming cheek to cheek, her knees twisting on the chair padding.
‘Your young backside right over the chair back Claudia!’
‘No! Oh, no! Please!’ A stabbing pang of excitement flashed through his body like lightening at the shriek of her plea.
Frantically Claudia rang the changes on her rather limited English vocabulary. Max touched the cane across the fuller and more womanly swell of her lower buttocks. She had the most delectable nymph-seat now, yet in ten years’ time Claudia would perhaps have cause to be self-conscious about the size of her bottom-cheeks.
Six of the best on those smooth undercurves. Then Max revisited the various scenes of his earlier triumphs with new smarting impacts. From time to time he reprimanded Claudia for trying to twist her behind aside and take the stroke on her flank, or pulling forward to offer her legs. The tears flowed and she sang with her mouth as wide as a prima donna’s. Once she sat back on her heels and merited two extra strokes. Once they stopped because the hem of her black velveteen vest had worked down at the back to overhang her seat a little. There was even a penalty for that too.
Some disciplinarians would have taken pity on Claudia’s bottom before the end of the discipline. Max, however, was a stickler for the comprehensive teutonic ‘special school’ regulations, which allowed him the educational equivalent of diplomatic immunity from UK rules. Claudia’s bottom bore a tapestry of punishment, the pink blossom blush of her buttocks generally being overlaid by darker branching foliage. Even then the full limit was a little way off and Max had taken opportunity of every provision for addition. Claudia’s imploring, and her bottom’s mute appeal as it vividly displayed her penance, left him unmoved. He caned as if the discipline was just beginning.
At last, carrying her discarded bikini briefs in her hand, Claudia was permitted to walk stiffly, gulping down tears and sobbing breathlessly, to the sofa. There she would lie on her belly and recover a little. Max sat by her, now talking quietly and kindly.
‘You think we are cruel, Claudia, to punish you in this way? We are not. You think it unfair of us to punish your bottom so severely? You are quite wrong.’
Claudia sniffed back her tears and turned her face aside on the cushions to look at him with surprise as he continued.
‘You are a very appealing young woman, Claudia, rather solemn and pretty with it. Your figure is good. You have a nice pair of legs and a very attractive young bottom. When you present a rear view in bikini pants, a lot of men will look your way. When you do it thoughtlessly on a public beach, you will attract some very undesirable attention.’
Claudia’s eyes, the tears stopped at last, widened in astonishment.
‘You see,’ said Max, ‘even I enjoyed watching you from behind when you knelt over the chair waiting. I was excited, as any man would be, when you took down your pants and presented your bare backside, Claudia. Take warning from that! I even enjoyed caning you. But I did it for your own good.’
The puzzlement in her eyes made her all the more appealing.
‘If you are not taught this lesson, Claudia, it will not be I or Herr Bernard who makes you cry next time. By displaying yourself thoughtlessly, you will attract other, less scrupulous men, even in Eastbourne, Bournemouth, Torquay, the most respectable resorts. You will fall into the snare of men attracted by that charming rear view but who will prove to be cruel and unscrupulous. You see, Claudia, those who truly love you want only the best for you. Even I, who wish to protect you, hope you will misbehave again. Even I envy your first lover, if you allow him to cane you during your honeymoon passion.’
It was as if the scales had dropped from her eyes, Max thought afterwards. Claudia took his right hand between hers and pressed it to her tear-damp face. Then she kissed his hand, as if in affectionate understanding. They talked until after midnight.
‘Believe me,’ said Max at last, ‘I have no remorse. I’d very much like to cane your bottom, Claudia, even now when you’re still smarting from the first punishment.’
The girl looked at him doubtfully. In her serious young face under the tousled hair he could see the conflict of uncertain emotions. At first he thought that this was generated by not knowing whether to believe him or not. Only as the moments passed and she kissed his hand again in the moment of decision did Max realise that the issue was stupendous by comparison. Claudia got up. She made no attempt to put on her bikini pants again. With head bowed and her bare young legs quivering almost visibly with apprehension, she walked back to the chair over which she had been punished.
Max could scarcely believe, let alone explain, the reasons for Claudia’s behaviour in what followed. He remembered, however, that Honoré de Balzac once wrote that a woman would rather show her backside than the secrets of her heart. In Claudia’s case, no man could complain at such a shapely second-best.
In their early infatuation, Max telephoned the girl’s parents in Düsseldorf. He praised Claudia’s progress and suggested that she should be allowed to spend the entire summer — until October — exercising her influence upon less fortunate girls. She might even act as a pupil-teacher in the winter. It was agreed she should stay until October. After that they would see.
When the next three-week course began, each ‘good’ girl was given special care of a delinquent lass. Claudia’s assignment, Elke, was another sixteen-year-old. Despite the misbehaviour which had landed her in trouble with the authorities, Elke was a girl of quite good family who had even been sent to an expensive girl’s boarding school in Austria for a time. Max watched his two protégées carefully, for now he was director of the course for three weeks.
Elke’s downfall came on a Saturday afternoon, and Claudia was directly involved. The crime was bad enough, if brought to the attention of the law, to get the school closed down for good.
Max was walking back along the esplanade at about six in the evening. It was too cool for bathing and the beaches were almost empty. Just beyond the bathing-huts he saw Elke. She was a girl of medium height and he recognised her by the straight brown hair cut short at her collar, the sly hazel eyes, the heart-shaped face with its high cheekbones and insolently pouting mouth. Other men might have looked first at the snug black sweater, and particularly at the tight faded blue jeans succinctly defining her enticingly shaped legs. From the rear these showed a very womanly young bottom. The adolescent cheeks of Elke’s arse appeared ripe and soft at sixteen, Max conceded, without being fat. In her twenties, she might have even more reason than Claudia to be aware of her burgeoning seat!
What was the girl doing out at this time with two leather-jacketed youths from other language schools? True there was a girl in attendance whom they called Claudia, but this was a cropped common-looking blonde, not his Claudia. Worse still, Elke was shouting and lurching as if drunk. It all had the makings of a most unpleasant incident.
The group went down on to the beach. Max watched with growing unease. Elke was shouting ‘Salaud!’ and screaming abuse at each of the boys as he lay with his arms about her. Then she would go limp and submit to his attentions. The boys glanced about nervously as Elke yelled abuse at the top of her voice. One of them tried unavailingly to still her with a gentle hand to her lips.
A man came up and Max was close enough to overhear the conversation. Elke was high on aspirin and Coca Cola, they said. Were such things possible? She was certainly behaving wildly, almost like a budding nymphomaniac. At one moment she would scream if one of the boys touched her. Then she would lie on top of a boy, writhing herself against him. Not surprisingly, one or two amateur cameramen on the beach had by now also uncapped their lenses to immortalise the drama.
One of them approached Elke. To his kind inquiries she shouted insolently and hysterically, cheeks flushed with excitement. She was ill with heartache, she cried, because boys did not like her.
Elke lay inert on her side, facing the first boy on the shingle as he took her in his arms, kissing her lips and neck. She screamed abuse and submitted, alternately. The second boy was more business-like when he lay down in turn. Leaving Elke to hug her arms about herself, he concentrated lower down. He tugged up the waist of her black sweater, opened the fly-zip of her jeans and slid his hand in. Elke’s feet twined in excitement, her knees drawn up a little. The skin-tight faded jeans-seat showed the soft ripe cheeks of Elke’s bottom tensing together and squirming lasciviously with the thrill.
Max stood aghast. Then a greater scandal spurred him to action. As the boy fingered her, Elke called Claudia — her Claudia whose cropped blonde curls and slut’s hardness sullied the name. Their open mouths met, moaning and yearning, the two girls’ tongues playing softly, their tastes running together. Max recalled that though Elke came from Linz, she had been schooled in Vienna. Had she been lesbianised there? Perhaps by Claudia? He shuddered.
From a nearby phone he called a private ambulance service which was known for its discretion. Four stalwart paramedics routed the lesbian slut Claudia and the loutish youths. They retrieved Elke and noted her case in the records as ‘food poisoning’.
Retribution was postponed for a week. Then it was Max’s duty to punish Elke. She chose this rather than a report to the Verbesserung service. A report would mean a hiding on her return and an extension of her sentence. Petulant and impudent still, she grudgingly consented to allowing Max to do as he pleased with her.
Max ordered a birch with three long supple switches bound at the handle. He prudently chose ten in the evening as the time. There would be no one else in the building to hear Elke scream! Bernard agreed that there should be no set number of strokes. The luscious young cheeks of Elke’s backside would be birched bare until Max was satisfied with her. Max had a feeling that on that night he was going to be a very hard man to satisfy.
A few minutes after ten he followed a reluctant and sulkily pouting Elke upstairs to his room. Walking behind her on the stairs he could not take his eyes off the soft young cheeks of Elke’s Austrian arse in tight faded jeans. The denim was strained over firm young thighs and hips. It creased deeply under the delicious weight of each soft buttock where seat and thighs joined. Occasionally Elke stopped, looking over her shoulder with woebegone self-pity. Max was glad of the chance to handle the tight cheeky seat of Elke’s jeans as he patted her onwards.
He made her bend tightly over a tall stool, arranged so that all the weight went forward on her hands and a light pressure on the rear of her waist would dissuade her from straightening up. She gave a forlorn wail at her fate. Yet Elke had probably been unzipped too often by girls at school or boys outside it to resist the undoing of her fly-zip and the easing down of the jeans to her ankles. Elke wore her tight jeans over bare skin.
The crotch of Max’s trousers grew oppressively tight as he examined her seat-cheeks, the pale womanly shape of Elke’s unforgettable buttocks. He took up the birch-rod with its three switches, long and supple.
‘Maintain the punishment posture at all times, Elke! Any attempt to straighten up or twist away, and we go right back to the beginning again. I hope you’ll give me an excuse to give you a really hard time tonight, Elke. I’d like that.’
He touched the triple-switched birch across the saucily rounded cheeks of Elke’s bottom and brought them thrashing down. Unlike his Claudia, Elke screamed from the first. She only tried to control herself when she saw he was not impressed by hysterics. Max birched the curve of Elke’s cheek-crowns — six of the best right where she sat — and then repeated the procedure lower down on her bum-cheeks, just where the chair’s edge might touch. Though she did not dare to straighten up or twist away, Elke’s young backside was writhing with a vigour that would have been the envy of any go-go dancer.
The birch imparted triple, raised prints across the bare cheeks of Elke’s bottom. Each individual stripe was less than the cane but the interlacing of so many caused a wild shrillness. Max constantly reminded her of the rules.
‘Straighten up or twist aside if you want to, Elke. I’d love an excuse to get you really smarting and then take you all the way back to the start again! No? Rather bend right over for it even when you’re so sore, Elke? Good. We’re beginning to get you in the mood for a proper birching!’
A conveniently placed mirror reflected Elke’s round high-boned face, the hazel eyes brimming over, the lank brown hair falling askew, the petulant little mouth open in an accusing wail. No doubt there had been German disciplinarians who found an excuse to take her back to the beginning of a caning again — and again.
Max paused presently to remove his jacket. Elke lay over the stool, thighs squirming lightly, bum-cheeks richly embroidered by branching birch marks. But now her sounds and movements had changed rather. She was glancing back furtively, her cries fallen to plaintive questioning whimpers. There was something about the way her thighs squeezed and her arching, birch-striped bottom now pushed out in a manner that was decidedly lewd and inviting.
‘That’s an old trick, Elke. Seducing your chastiser. In my case, with a bottom like yours, it wouldn’t be difficult. In this place what happens between you and your chastiser is up to you. But it doesn’t end the punishment. Ah, that startles you? You imagined this your honeymoon chamber? Very well. You shall be the disobedient bride and I the strict law-enforcing groom. It shall be an Isle of Man honeymoon, as they say, where they still have some very original customs… You’re a randy little minx, aren’t you, Elke?… Hmmm!… Just stay like that, lying arse-upwards over the stool… You’ve got such a soft and cheeky young bottom, Elke!… Ahhh, it’s got you into real trouble this time, I’m afraid!’
Two days later, Max summoned Claudia and Elke after lunch. He had news for them. Claudia’s parents had agreed to an eight months apprenticeship as pupil-teacher at the language school. Elke’s supervisor had consented to the same stay, for purposes of moral education.
‘Wear your bikini tonight, Claudia,’ said Max gently. ‘Come to my room at nine o’clock for the first lesson in class discipline.’
The girls turned away. Max was confronted by Elke’s seductive young bottom-cheeks in the tight faded jeans. He called her back.
‘Thinking of having a good time with your two boyfriends on the beach this afternoon, Elke? I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Over to the sofa please. Now, kneel on it, forward over the back, hands on the floor the other side. Unzip please — and push down. Good. Now, your backside, Elke! Let’s teach it some moral improvement. A lesson that’s going to last all afternoon…’

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