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Monday, 3 September 2018

Elke and Helena – Discipline at the Flick of a Switch

A story by Richard Manton from Janus 18
In Janus 17 Richard Manton introduced us to Max, the British co-director of a moral leadership course for German girls established at an English resort. It is already clear that Max, besides being a connoisseur of eroticism and a keen amateur photographer with a voyeuristic interest in his pupils, is also a committed disciplinarian who has successfully integrated his private fantasies and desires with the demands of his professional duties. What has not yet been revealed, however, is quite how far Max pursues these synthesized ideals, or the extent to which he delegates the corporal punishment of his charges to senior girls under his spell…

Recent events at this school for moral leadership courses have required the corporal punishment of certain German and Scandinavian girls who have come to England as our students. I have therefore decided to place this memorandum in the files for future reference.
Just a month ago it was necessary to cane Katharine and Claudia for posing lewdly in their bikinis on the beach. Katharine has now returned to Cologne but Claudia will be with us for some weeks. In the past fortnight I have twice had to birch Elke M… At sixteen years old she presents a far greater problem in moral delinquency.
Elke is a girl of medium height, straight brown hair cut short at her collar. She may be recognised by her heart-shaped face with its high cheek-bones, sly hazel eyes, and insolently pouting mouth. She dresses in close-fitting black sweater and very tight jeans of faded blue denim. From the rear, the seat of her jeans presents a most womanly appearance! At sixteen the adolescent cheeks of Elke’s bottom are ripe and soft without yet showing too much weight — for my own taste…
Max paused and read through the memorandum so far. His pen prudently crossed out the last four words. Then he allowed himself to picture once more the scandalous scene on the beach which had got Elke into so much trouble. There was no anger or indignation on his face now, just a faint smile of satisfaction. How fortunate that he had been walking back along the esplanade towards the course-centre just as Elke had disgraced herself!
Elke had gone down on to the shingle with two German boys and Claudia, a cropped blonde fraulein. To Max’s dismay, Elke was shouting and swearing, throwing herself about as if drunk. He heard one of the boys confide to an inquirer that Elke was high on aspirin and ‘coke’. Max had fervently hoped that meant Coca Cola and not a whiff of cocaine!
Elke lay on her side on the shingle. When a boy lay and put his arms about her she would alternately fight and scream — ‘Salaud!’ and other endearments! — then limply submit to his fondling. A kindly stranger inquired who she was and if she was all right. She answered by crying her name across the beach ‘Elke Ma-a-h-n-e! Elke M-a-a-h-n-e!’ and shouted that she was ill with heartache because boys did not like her.
The leather-jacketed boy who lay with her pulled up Elke’s sweater at the waist and slipped his hand down inside her jeans. At the same time, Elke called the cropped blonde Claudia to feed her open-mouthed kisses while the boy played with her.
Max was an enthusiastic lensman and had been carrying his camera. Now, as he wrote his memorandum, he was able to enjoy the photographs he had taken surreptitiously on that occasion. They formed part of an extensive private collection. Half a dozen had been taken as Elke lay on the shingle with her back to him and the boys played with her in turn. Her knees were drawn up a little with excitement. Her tight and faded jeans were like a second skin, moulding the soft and delectable cheeks of Elke’s bottom. Even if the rest of her body had been unavailable for his admiration or attention, Max would have settled for Elke’s young arse.
He had turned his mind to the moral problem, even before the incident was over. Smiling to himself, he thought that Elke was not only a little tramp, she had also, it seemed, been thoroughly lesbianised by younger teachers and older girls in her Vienna school. The upshot was that he had birched Elke twice and it had been a long session each time. But he could not birch her every day or every night — which was what she needed — however much he might want to do it. Elke would be in his charge for six more months of discipline training. How could he ensure absolute obedience? The answer had been so simple and ingenious! Max resumed the memorandum.
In order to ensure Elke’s good conduct for the future, she has been put under the authority of a more trusted girl. I have chosen our cropped blonde Claudia. There is obviously some affection between the two, yet Claudia will be hard with her when occasion demands. No more boyfriends for Elke! No more amusement arcades on the pier or trips on aspirin and ‘coke’!
The girls share a twin-bedded room at the far end of the west corridor, the door of the passage being locked at this end. Across the angle of the building I can see their window from my study. Their light often burns into the small hours and I hope this indicates some serious reading or discussion.
Last week the maid commented to me that only one of the twin beds appeared to be slept in and the other was excessively rumpled. A pair of Elke’s nylon briefs was found discarded in the folds of Claudia’s bed when the sheets were changed. However, such circumstantial evidence does not warrant investigation.
Two nights ago, before the passage door was locked, Claudia came to my study and asked if I had any literature on ‘English Discipline’. I lent her the account of reformatory discipline inflicted on Elaine Cox’s tomboy bottom!
Last night, Claudia came and asked to borrow a rubber-heeled gym-shoe. I thought she wanted a pair but she insisted that one would do. The light in the girls’ room was on until four this morning. Perhaps their study of English usage was responsible. Or it may have been a screech-owl perched above their window. I certainly heard a high plaintive keening of that sort coming from the right direction.
Elke has seemed self-conscious and apprehensive today. At meals she sits awkwardly, almost turning on her hip and lifting her bottom from the chair. When little Stephanie Pantin’s hand lightly patted the tight cheek of Elke’s jeans in fun, Elke almost jumped out of her skin with such a wince and a gasp.
We must conclude that Elke is a morally weak and depraved little tramp. The aim of our obedience-training must be to send her home a changed girl at the end of her six months in our care.
It was on the day after writing his memorandum for the file that Claudia of the cropped blonde curls came to Max. There was no smile on her lips, all the knowingness lay in her eyes.
‘Dagmar has a reitgerte in her luggage,’ she said quietly.
Reitgerte? Riding-switch? But she isn’t in the riding group.’
‘Not for that!’ Claudia looked at him meaningfully, ‘Dagmar has very strict parents. Such girls are taught that it is part of their trousseau. Packed in case her English guardians punish her.’
‘A riding-switch?’ Max had the English prejudices of one who regards such terms with dismay. Claudia explained patiently. The reitgerte was not some fearsome whip, merely a training lash with a handle and a tail of woven cord. Ironically, it was regarded as more decent in Germany than the ‘brutal’ birch or bamboo whose rigidity might bruise and batter a girl’s behind!
A training-lash for Elke’s rear! That was Claudia’s idea, no doubt. Max was intrigued at the thought of examining it. Yet there was no means of doing that without catching Dagmar in some little misdemeanour and so obliging her to produce it for use.
For several days he watched her carefully. It was no hardship. Dagmar was just seventeen, a tall willowy nymph. Her fair hair, silky and finely combed was worn lightly waved so that it just overlapped her collar. Her fair-skinned face with its pale blue eyes and lightly-parted lips was a study in innocence. From its well-marked cheekbones it narrowed to a demure and slightly receding chin. Her figure was elegantly slim and exhilarated him.
Despite her innocence, Dagmar broke the rules within the next four days. Max noticed her with a second fair-haired beauty as the two carried the other girl’s luggage to the station. Dagmar wore a cream blouse and thin, summer trousers of small blue-and-white check, far more loose-fitting than Elke’s impudent jeans! Keeping out of observation, Max took several long-range views of Dagmar with a telephoto lens. In the station vestibule the girls went to the luggage lockers. Dagmar bent to open the lowest. Regardless of being seen, Max began to take rear close-ups. The seventeen-year-old girl was bending right down, her bell of fair hair falling about her face. Her trim young backside appeared quite full and womanly now, the blue-and-white check of the trousers drawn tightly over the contours of her rear-cheeks and bottom-cleavage. Dagmar’s knickers were revealed as a ridge under the straining cloth. Max wrote ‘Dagmar H.’ on the roll of film as he replaced it.
A man came up and helped the two girls to lock the luggage compartment. He began to chat to them. ‘Are you learning English here?… How long have you been in England?… Where do you live?’ Dagmar assumed he meant her present address rather than the country she came from. ‘Victoria Gardens,’ she said innocently. The man’s eyes lit up and Max’s heart rose. To give her address to a strange man in this way was a breach of modesty as well as of the rules.
Dagmar did not protest when told that she must be punished for giving her name and address to men in this immodest way. Her wide blue eyes and lightly parted lips seemed only to convey her self-reproach. She went obediently to fetch the training-lash from her room.
Max still had misgivings about the reitgerte, despite Claudia’s insistence. He knew it was still Elke’s bottom she really wanted under the training-lash. In Dagmar’s case, Claudia’s feminine logic decided the matter. She brought the book Max had lent her. A trivial incident was described there. It involved Judith Teresa, a tall fifth-form girl of elegant figure and pale oval beauty. PE was done in white bra and stretch-briefs. Judith’s pants were cut high and tight at the seat, baring her graceful and demure buttocks. At the slightest pretext the instructor made her touch her toes. A whistle hung from his neck by a stout loop of cord. Twelve strokes of it across the bare shapely cheeks of Judith Terry’s bottom! What hypocrites the English were, said Claudia. A teacher could enjoy himself with the whistle cord across the demure young cheeks of Judith Terry’s backside. It was a trivial, casual punishment, not even entered in the book! The Germans preferred the training-lash, which was very little different (Claudia said!) and they were dismissed as a race of barbarian huns. Max decided to relent.
Five minutes later, the, reitgerte lay on his desk and Dagmar stood before him. Claudia had asked if she might deal with the innocent-looking seventeen-year-old blonde but Max had refused. Yet the reitgerte was no worse than the French martinet, he supposed. It consisted of a short leather hand-grip and a lash of woven whipcord about two feet long and finely tapered.
Seventeen-year-old Dagmar looked more beautiful when in trouble than when she was her usual calm self, according to his refined subjective perceptions. He could not account for his own trembling as he led her to a tall iron fire-screen with a flat padded top, now placed in the centre of the room. He required her to bend right down over it so that her head was almost level with her knees and her fingers touched the floor on the far side. Being in no hurry, Max spent some time studying her tight-seated rear view in this posture. Taut and nubile when she was upright, Dagmar’s backside now had that more fully rounded and spread maturity. She would have quite a proud young seat for her husband to enjoy when she was a bride of twenty.
‘Undress yourself from the waist down, Dagmar! Just like at home!’
Self-consciously she straightened up, undid her summer trousers, pushing them down her legs with her panties inside them. Then she bent right over again, legs a little apart and knees tucked slightly forward, offering Max a rear view which almost made him gasp out loud. She had not taken her trousers or panties right off, merely pushed them down in an untidy tumble. It was a sure indication that Dagmar was used to instant and impromptu punishments by her parents and teachers: in the classroom, on a walk, in the kitchen or the cloakroom, on a journey, in many places where it was not prudent for her to strip naked below the waist.
Max took up the whip. He did not announce to Dagmar the number of strokes, guessing that he might reach that number and still want to continue the discipline.
‘Knees together, Dagmar!’ he said. ‘Bottom rounded right out!’
The training-lash cracked across the taut fair-skinned cheeks of Dagmar’s seventeen-year-old bottom with a sinuous flick. Its naked smart must have searched her appallingly but she gave only a short, abrupt cry. With growing confidence in the use of the training-lash, Max whipped Dagmar’s bottom again, and again, and again. There was a slightly fuller area of her seat available for punishment than would have been the case with a bamboo, the fine tail of the lash seeking out curves as well as flatter surfaces.
Twisting the blonde bell of her hair, Dagmar cried out as she bent for punishment. Interestingly, she did not plead for a reprieve or for leniency. Dagmar’s young backside had obviously been dealt with too often by her strict family and her disciplinarian teachers for her to believe that a chastiser was softened by her tears and imploring sobs.
The woven cord caught Dagmar’s arse with a couple of beauties. Even Max allowed her a moment to recover from them. As he did so, viewing the scarlet loops and curlicues which had begun to rise upon her seat-cheeks, he doubted if even her future husband would ever have such a complete view of Dagmar’s derriere as she offered now for discipline. He laid his left hand gently on the bare back of her waist as she bent, just below the hem of her cream blouse.
‘Settle down, Dagmar. Come, check your sobs a little. Keep your back straight and your bottom facing up properly for punishment!’
She seemed to obey the voice of authority at once, as if from long experience at home and school. After what had seemed almost like a false start, Max felt that he could now begin to deal with her in earnest. The clock chimed three and he remembered — not that it mattered — seeing the hands just beyond quarter to when Dagmar bent over. Crack!… Smack!… Whip-smack! Whippp!
‘Don’t twist your bottom like that, Dagmar!’ he said sharply, ‘In fact, get right up on your toes and bend further with your palms on the floor. That should remove the temptation to squirm your hips!’
The measured whip!… whip!… whip! of the training-lash seemed to echo the beat of the clock. Dagmar’s blue eyes and open-mouthed innocence were overwhelmed in tears. Her lips were distorted in the shape of her cries. Her shrill wordless yelps were those of a girl who knows better than to expect forgiveness and merely utters the obbligato of her pain.
Max surveyed the scarlet tracery embossed on Dagmar’s buttocks and knew that she was now in a state to receive a punishment lesson she would not easily forget. At last he stopped, willing to go on but sensing that they were about to cross a dangerous frontier.
Dagmar stood and awkwardly drew up her crumpled trousers with her panties inside as the clock chimed the quarter. She stood with head bowed, still gulping and sniffing, waiting obediently to be dismissed. It was Claudia, who had watched from the corner of the room all this time, who now took Dagmar by the hand and led her towards the tiled washroom.
Even in Max’s experience a girl so totally versed in obedience as Dagmar H. was something new. He deeply regretted her return to Germany a week or so later. To his surprise she explained that the reitgerte was to remain with him. Her family had ordered her to present it to him on her arrival but she had been too embarrassed and apprehensive to do so.
As he viewed this effective instrument of discipline, Max’s thoughts turned again towards Elke, even though he had delegated her obedience-training to Claudia. He read the reports on her work and conduct from other members of the staff. Taken together the adverse comments more than justified a severe reprimand.
He summoned Elke before his study desk and gave her the bad news. The frightened girl put her hands over her face and bowed her brown shoulder-length hair. She took her hands away. The sly hazel eyes shed an easy tear or two over the high-boned cheeks of her heart-shaped face. The sulky, pouting little lips quivered and turned downwards like a tragic mime. She turned away, her face covered by her hands again but peeping through her fingers at him as she set up an operatic wailing. Max’s eyes  travelled down to dwell upon the soft ripe cheeks of Elke’s bottom in her tight and faded jeans. Muffled by her own hands, the Austrian girl protested, howled, implored, and wept as the sentence of the training-lash was pronounced. Max could not help smiling at these antics.
‘You’re a little tramp, aren’t you Elke? You’re long overdue for this, believe me!’
Suddenly Elke showed her true nature, lowering her hands and saying, calmly and dry-eyed:
‘If I am not whipped, I will tell you of things that the other girls do. Things you do not know about. The most pretty ones do things for which you can punish them if I tell you.’
‘Really?’ said Max. He was quite prepared for Elke’s attempt to save her own shapely backside by sacrificing those of other — possibly innocent — girls.
‘The blonde Swedish girl, Helena,’ said Elke with a scowl of disapproval. ‘She is smoking cigarettes on the pier in public. Always she is smoking in public. That is against the rules. No?’
‘Yes,’ said Max gently, ‘It is against the rules.’ He had a brief mental image of Helena, tall slim and proud at seventeen, a true Nordic nymph.
‘You will punish her and not me?’ Elke’s hazel eyes brightened.
‘If she has broken the rules, she will be chastised, Elke. Your punishment is nothing to do with me, however. Claudia will do it to you. I’m afraid that arrangement stands. All the same, I’m glad you felt able to tell me about Helena.’
In Elke’s self-indulgent little face the emotions of outrage, fear, self-pity and guile seemed to chase one another in succession like clouds across a windy sky. When, despite all her well-calculated pleading, she realised she was going to get a whipping anyway, Elke changed her tactics. She put on the face of a weepy, pouting ‘please!’ for her master, and then a more intensely pretty ‘please’.
‘You will do it to me,’ she said slyly. ‘You will not let Claudia!’
‘You really are a little tramp, Elke!’ Even Max laughed despite himself. He had some experience of Elke under male chastisement. Elke arse-upwards over a stool, uttering questioning little sighs as the disciplinarian prepared her. Elke’s plump young seat-cheeks moving in a yearning lascivious rhythm during every interval of the punishment. When he birched her, Elke had quite brazenly tried to seduce him with her bare backside in this manner. Much better for her to be dealt with by a strong-minded young woman who would be unmoved by this subterfuge.
‘Claudia will thrash you in the downstairs reception-room at two o’clock this afternoon, Elke,’ he said firmly. ‘That decision is final.’
Was it final for Elke? It did not stop her kneeling before his chair and using every means to wheedle him. However greatly Max was flattered, Elke’s cajoling merely stiffened his resolve.
The reception room at the front of the building caught the full brilliance of the afternoon sun across the lawns. It was a room furnished in polished mahogany and padded velvet with a fine panelled screen of embroidered silk. The sofa lay in a patch of full sunlight from the tall windows.
It was the sofa which was the centre of the drama. Elke was stretched upon it, lying on her belly over a pile of cushions which raised and broadened the swell of her tight jeans-seat. Again she played the charade of the pathetic victim by covering her face with her hands and emitting carefully calculated wails of despair. Claudia with her cropped blonde curls and strong young face had stripped to her bikini swimsuit in order to deal more energetically with the culprit.
‘Take your hands away from your face, Elke! Stretch forward and grip the two sofa legs in front of you. One in each hand. Don’t let go of either unless you want to signal that you’d like six extra strokes!’
Elke obeyed with plaintive little protests. Claudia took the waist of the Austrian girl’s tight jeans, unzipped, and pulled them down to Elke’s knees. The ripe young cheeks of Elke’s bottom were encased in tight stretch-briefs, which caused Claudia a smile of surprise.
‘You don’t usually wear knickers under your jeans, Elke! You certainly left them off that day when you got high on aspirin and coke and went down to the beach with the two boys! You weren’t by any chance hoping that you might be allowed to wear them this afternoon? I shall have to disappoint you.’
Taking the elastic waistband, Claudia peeled down Elke’s briefs until they too hung inverted about the culprit’s knees.
‘If you leave your knickers off when you go out to be picked up by boys, Elke, you can certainly leave them off for discipline!’
Though her behind had the resilience and elasticity of a sixteen-year-old, Elke’s soft pale buttocks lacked the signs of suntan and outdoor activity common among other girls of her age. Elke preferred the life of rooms with curtains closed, shared with a boy or another girl, lips wet from kissing and bodies moving imploringly together.
Claudia too had this same appearance. The imperious blonde girl now picked up the training-lash. She drew the waist of her bikini pants up hard so that her buttocks were more fully bared. Curiously, as she did this, she looked over her shoulder at the embroidered screen behind her and gave a questioning smile. She altered the angle of a table-mirror so that Elke’s pouting, self-pitying young face was reflected back towards the screen. Finally, she drew the hem of the black sweater well up, laying Elke’s backside and hips completely bare.
‘An extra cushion to clench your teeth on, Elke,’ she said smiling as she laid it by the girl’s head. ‘You are certainly going to need it!’
The whipcord sang out across the soft quivering pallor of Elke’s bottom-cheeks and drew a shrill soprano note from her. A second curling stroke and then a third patterned ripe young seat-cheeks. Elke’s face twisted round, its wilful sulkiness replaced by a look of anguish and outrage that anyone should dare to treat her pampered satin-smooth posterior in this manner. There were no tears yet for Claudia had begun leniently.
A moment more, however, and the cord smacked across Elke’s squirming buttocks with a wicked skill which the severest pedagogue might have envied. Elke screamed out with every justification In her arse-contortions, her buttocks sometimes pressed together until Elke’s bottom-cleft was a thin tight line. Yet the next stroke would spur her into a wild and surging outward thrust, as if wantonly offering everything her rear view had to show.
Not for one second was there any doubt that Claudia was mistress of the situation. The softness of Elke’s pale seat-cheeks seemed to jump and quiver under each lashing impact of the cord. In desperation she crossed her legs, one knee jamming into the back of the other in an effort to contain herself.
‘Lie with your legs straight, Elke!… No, don’t twist on your hip like that!… That pretty little backside of yours, Elke! Keep it quite still so that the whip lands just where I want it!’
By now the pale bum-dumplings of Elke’s buttocks looked like a spaghetti junction of sinuous whip-prints. At each pause in the punishment she wailed imploringly, reminding Claudia of their loving days and nights together. The cropped blonde chastiser seemed deaf to this. The whipcord cracked out again and Elke’s reproaches rose to a shrill and wordless soprano aria.
With the entire afternoon at her disposal, Claudia could afford to work at leisure. One after another the ferociously smarting curls of whipcord printed their retribution across the fullest cheek-curves of Elke’s behind. Then the training-lash sought the softer and more womanly plumpness of her lower buttocks, where Elke was appallingly sensitive to discipline.
Presently, Claudia put down the reitgerte and ran a hand through her cropped blonde curls. She was perspiring visibly from her exertions. Twisting the nylon seat of her own bikini pants so that they were no more than a strip between her buttocks, Claudia bent over Elke and examined her handiwork. She was bending with her rear towards that side of the room where the embroidered silk screen stood. Once or twice she looked back over her shoulder as she bent over Elke, and smiled secretly in the screen’s direction. She knelt on the carpet beside the sofa, kissing Elke’s lips and tear-stained face, as if in consolation. As she did this, Claudia’s eyes moved from time to time, as if she was watching the screen even while the two girls kissed.
Perhaps Elke noticed this. Whatever the reason, she seemed suddenly aware of the light metallic sound which had been repeated almost rhythmically since the beginning of her ordeal. It might almost have been the tap-tap of a metal window latch. Yet now it was easily recognisable as the click of a camera shutter. Twisting her face round she saw the three exposed film cassettes on the table by the screen and saw Max briefly as he snapped her dismayed rearward glance with his last shot. Another click A tape recorder perhaps? Claudia, her eyes bright with anticipation, picked up the reitgerte and trailed it through her fingers.
‘No! No-o-o-o!’
But the shrillness of Elke’s cry was muted by the double glazing so that it was no more than a distant bird-call in the garden outside. There would be no interruptions.
The photographs which occupied Max that evening were not of Elke, though it was she who occupied his thoughts. Helena, the Swedish girl, had been in the charge of his co-director, Bernard. Max, of course, shared disciplinary authority over her. Better still, she had almost unwittingly been one of his models for photography without even knowing who he was. In his mind, Max began to plan a little drama which would get Helena into the sort of trouble Elke had suggested — in order to get Elke into double-trouble herself.
It was rare for Max to examine his enlargements with a magnifying glass but after Elke’s accusation, that was what he was doing as midnight struck. The camera studies, several dozen of them, recorded the day on the beach when he had begun to follow and snap Helena covertly as she walked with another fair-haired girl. They showed her as a slim sun-browned Swedish blonde, with pert neat features, high-boned face, firm jaw and blue-green eyes. Her pale blonde hair was straight and sleek, trimmed short at her shoulders and worn in an ornamental fringe on her forehead.
She was dressed in tight white jeans with a smart and shiny belt, and short black jacket, which showed her figure as more slender and elegant than Elke’s! He first noticed her when she stood barefoot at the tide’s edge and bent to touch the water. To his delight, as he brought her rear view into focus she had bent her knees and jutted her hips back as she stooped. The photograph showed the trim nymph-cheeks of Helena’s bottom tightly rounded and well-separated under the straining white jeans seat.
He had photographed her twice more as she came up the beach, not caring if she saw and not knowing who she was. Though an attractive girl, she looked hard and disdainful in these pictures. To his delight, she and the other girl began to write with their fingers in the wet sand. He thus had his young Swedish blonde bending delectably for a dozen rear-view studies — an art form at which Max excelled. He had watched carefully and seen the names Sweden and Helena T. inscribed on the sand. Perhaps it was then that the girls sensed his presence and moved off to the pier, where he followed leisurely and took more shots of them.
Max examined these photographs cursorily and found nothing. Disappointing. There were several others taken on a different occasion. Walking along a tree-lined street he had suddenly realised that the blonde in front, walking home in white sweater and brief olive-green pants, was Helena again. She was worth snapping for the slender bare elegance of those lightly bronzed legs. Even when she turned her head to cross the road, he had quite openly raised his camera to take her. Indeed the last shot it had been safe to attempt was a charming study of Helena walking bare-legged ahead of him but turning her blonde head and looking back with startled innocence at the lensman whom she had so captivated.
Nothing there either. Max felt quite let down. Then he looked again at a study of Helena sitting barefoot and cross-legged on a pier seat. Her jacket was off and in her short-sleeved white blouse her slim brown arms were folded. What was that between her fingers? He brought the magnifying glass to bear. Why had he not seen it earlier? Small but clear, it was the white protrusion of a cigarette! She is always smoking in public, he thought, recalling Elke’s words. Oh, yes, Helena! Oh, yes indeed!
When called before him, she appeared in the smart white trousers, sleeveless blouse and leather belt. Her eyes were expertly made up, he saw, and their lashes seductively darkened. She admitted the offence — not realising that it was one. Max produced a copy of the rules and pointed it out. Had Helena not been given a copy on arrival? Yes, but she had not read all the details. Was she aware of the punishment which must be carried out now? She looked at the penalty listed and her eyes widened in panic.
Max watched her. Even as a photographer he had not realised how beautiful she was, in the pale blonde, slim-limbed, bronzed Swedish way. He swallowed hard at the thought that he might be dealing with a future starlet or beauty queen.
Would she prefer to be dismissed from the course, he asked? Helena was desperate not to have that. There was a boy in her life. But her family would only consent to the engagement if she showed herself ‘responsible’. She could do this by completing six weeks on the moral leadership course. When he heard Helena asking to have the cane instead as ‘a great favour’, he hoped that no one would pinch him and wake him up.
The rules were very specific that the alternative to voluntary withdrawal from the establishment was punishment by the cane. Even had the reitgerte been in Max’s hands instead of Claudia’s, it would have been technically verboten. Nevertheless, Max postponed the fateful encounter until that evening in order to have time to contemplate what he was going to do.
When the hour struck there was no sign of her. Max concluded that she had thought better of her decision and had left for home. Then, in the almost deserted building he heard footsteps on the stairs and a knock at his door. It was Helena, a little breathless, still dressed in white jeans and sleeveless blouse: She explained that she had been phoning the boy in Sweden, who had agreed with her decision and even urged her to take the punishment of the bamboo rather than leave the course.
Max’s enthusiasm rose. He instructed Helena to kneel sideways on a broad armchair, kneeling forward over the padded arm and supporting herself with her palms on the floor. Her head was thus lower than her hips and her seat admirably raised.
Without a murmur of objection, she obeyed him. The sleek bell of pale blonde hair fell forward a little and brushed her cheeks. From the rear, Max stared at the tight white jeans as they shaped her slender young legs and the trim tightly-rounded cheeks of Helena’s behind. He could not restrain his admiration. He felt profoundly affected.
‘You’re a very good-looking girl, aren’t you Helena? I’m sure you know that. And you’ve got a superbly tight and attractive bottom. Your boyfriend may be too bashful to tell you that. Remember it when you’re married. If you want to keep him at home or to take you to bed, you could seduce him with your behind alone! I truly envy him. I’m afraid I’m even going to enjoy caning your young bottom, Helena Thelen. Does that shock you?’
He undid her trouser-belt and pushed the jeans down, murmuring to her as he did so.
‘You’ve never been caned before, have you, Helena? And perhaps you never will be again. We give it on the bare buttocks here. You won’t enjoy being hurt like this, I’m sure. But you may get a certain thrill from discipline on your naked backside. If we let you wear pants for it, you’d always wonder afterwards what it would have been like to get it on your bare bottom. I’m sorry we can only give you fifteen strokes. If we could take you further, you might reach a point where you felt true excitement. But that would be much, much further!’
The seat of Helena’s white stretch-briefs was in some disarray, one cheek covered, the elasticated cotton on the other side caught in the central cleavage so that one cheek was virtually bare. It amused Max to think that underneath her exterior, this flawless young beauty was dressed like a careless child. He drew the panties down and flexed his cane.
The reports of the bamboo rang out, short and crisp. Helena cried out but struggled to fight back her tears. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. The sounds were shriller and the mascara was running. Ribbed brands across the tightly-rounded and firmly separated cheeks of Helena Thelen’s fair-skinned bottom. An untanned patch of white divided her waist from her upper thighs.
‘I’m not satisfied with those three, Helena! Repeats, I fear!’
Helena’s thighs whispered together in anguished squirming. Her tight young seat-mounds twisted in a limited arc. Max was dissatisfied again and again. Helena’s legs trembled as if they might not support her to the end. Claudia’s hands supported her. Max plied the bamboo across the bare bottom of the young Swedish blonde energetically. By the end, as Claudia later remarked, there was a sound of acceptance, perhaps even of arousal, in Helena’s cries.
Max was uncertain. Yet four weeks later, after Helena’s departure, he received a letter from the Swedish boy. Could Max possibly spare some of the photographs he had taken of Helena? Was it possible to have a copy of the official description of her punishment? Would Max please tell him where the proper sort of cane might be bought? The marriage was to take place soon. Max obliged the boy — even sending him a curious wedding-present.
Within half an hour of dealing with Helena — just after 11 pm, Max summoned Elke. The trap had now closed upon her, but it was a trap which she had set and the justice of the situation appealed to him. She stood before him once more — sulky, pretty, and pouting.
‘Have you read rule 21, Elke? Hmmm? No? Let me read it to you. Moral leadership requires that one girl must only inform against another girl’s conduct from the highest motives — not merely to curry favour or save herself. Any girl informing against another is therefore automatically deemed to accept the same punishment as the girl complained of. The only exception is that a girl who informs will not be dismissed from the course should that be the sentence upon the guilty party.
It took a moment for the implications of this to grow clear in Elke’s mind. A look of sudden alarm filled the sly brown eyes.
‘Let me see,’ said Max dreamily, ‘Fifteen with the bamboo was Helena’s maximum sentence. Rather a lot of repeats.’
Elke was not the sort of girl who wasted time in reading the small print of the rules. She was so dazed with disbelief at her predicament that Max had no trouble in leading her to the sofa and making her kneel, bottom-upwards, over the padded scroll at one end. As if he had never seen them before, he studied the soft ripe cheeks of Elke’s bottom in tight teenager jeans. The girl wore no panties that evening.
Half an hour later he said: ‘I’m not at all satisfied with the way you’ve taken a single stroke of bamboo, Elke. I shouldn’t be surprised if you were over that sofa-scroll all night. Is that what you’re trying to achieve, you little tramp? Is there something else you hope to provoke if you offer your bottom for long enough? I’m sure you can bring that about, Elke! But it won’t save you from another tanning afterwards. You’ll even pay that price, will you, for a good time during the next hour?’
Max was far too occupied from then until the next evening to attend to the matters of reports and memoranda. It was only then that he sat down and wrote what must be his last word on the moral problem which Elke presented:
We have never before had to confront a girl who, at sixteen, is such a depraved little slut. Even a strong-minded, dominant girl like Claudia appears to have been seduced by the little minx! However, by making them share bed and board for the next six months we may prevent Elke corrupting other girls.
I am alarmed at the extent of Elke’s perversity. She has been given a taste of birch, cane, and whipcord at various times. Her attempt to seduce her chastiser while she was bare-bottomed over the punishment-stool speaks for itself. Yet there is worse.
This afternoon I saw her lying on the reception-room sofa, reading a book whose cover was familiar to me. Her pulse was visibly beating faster at what she read, there was a flush in her cheeks and her lips were parted as if in anticipation. By approaching softly I was able to see, over her shoulder, what she read so avidly. “The bending youngster tossed back her lank fair hair and craned round with snub-nosed impudence. The master studied her bare tomboy buttocks. Aiming skilfully, he brought down his bamboo cane in an ear-splitting smack across the full pale cheeks of Elaine Cox’s fifth-form bottom!” Such was the tone of the book, so exciting to Elke that she lay there reading until she reached the very last page!
We must deal resolutely with Elke or she will even find depraved pleasures in her punishments. Claudia is to have absolute authority over her. I shall devote myself to putting Elke through the very strictest obedience-training in the next six months. I believe Claudia intends to teach her useful hobbies, beginning with gardening. From her own money, Claudia had bought a bundle of slim and springy tomato canes. I have agreed to let the girls keep such accoutrements in their own bedroom. They now have the room next to my study and will be under my personal supervision.
I have thus assumed a heavier workload. I should be grateful if colleagues would avoid disturbing me after eight in the evening or before ten in the morning. At all times, please knock and wait before entering…

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