Chapter 2
Journey Back.
It is very quiet in this room where I am waiting to be whipped. I am alone. It is understood I must ponder my sins, if any, before it happens. I stand, nude, with my bare arms held high by my wrists strapped far apart to a bar above my head. I am not hurting yet, but I cannot leave this spot. I am many times naked in a frightening vulnerability. All of me is available.
I change my weight from foot to foot. I look up at the frustrating straps around my wrists. I project myself into a reverie in which I become two. I split. One is me awaiting punishment, the other is an admonishing alter ego quite out of patience. She is vehement.
"You little idiot! You could have been free!"
"Don't nag. It's bad enough knowing ..."
"Jason's going to whip you horribly."
"I'll have to put up with it, won't I. Besides, I'm helpless now and don't have any decision. Don't nag me on that either."
"But, you absolute idiot, why ... Why?"
"I'm not in love with him, if that's what you're thinking. But I don't hate him either. He's taken me into something I never knew existed, a sort of Magic Island. I want to find out about it."
"There's nothing to find out. Most men want a slavegirl. Jason likes keeping his tied or chained so he knows, and she knows, he has her safe. He whips you because it gives him an erection, and because you make the moans and writhings of orgasm while he's doing it."
"Never mind Jason. What about Me! Right now I've got a palpitating pussy with a fire burning inside."
She phases away. I have won a temporary victory. I cross my legs and try to rub myself, but it does not work. The way I am fastened is not conducive to the assuagement of my arousal. My gaze drifts to the whip Jason has thoughtfully left on the floor a few feet away. It is supposed to make me shiver. It does, but I'm not sure if it's in the right way. I wonder, briefly, if Jason can be called cruel in the things he does to me. But if I believed that I would not be standing here now. I had my chance.
"Chafing at the bit, darling?"
Jason is brisk and very happy. He kisses me, plays with my nipples, then clasps my vulva and nods approvingly at his wet palm. "How about unstrapping me and we'll have sex?" I ask hopefully.
"Don't be silly, love." He pats my bottom reprovingly. My poor bottom that soon will be blazing with welts! "You know perfectly well it's much better after. The girl who has to lay on a whipped back is the horniest girl there is."
He is right about this. I should know! But my immediate prospects frighten me, so I embrace humiliation. "Jason, dear, please don't whip me. I'm scared. I don't want to be whipped."
He kisses me tenderly and plays some more with my nipples. I cannot stop him but would not if I could. It is an incredibly erotic joy to stand with my arms fastened high, naked and helpless, while my erogenous zones are frictioned by an amused male I do not dislike. If he does it long enough I will melt and hang uncaring from my strapped wrists. When I have forgotten all about my plea for mercy he stops. I am still gasping in a roseate paradise when the first stroke slices across my shoulders and I scream in shock.
Before Jason kidnapped me the word was fictional. One ran into it here and there like pneumonia and prison. It happened to someone else, never to you. Being whipped is a strangely primitive punishment. I expect cave men whipped their wives with a willow switch, Romans did it with a flagellum, the early penal systems devised horrendous instruments, the Russians had their knout, and the Boers their sjambok. But they were all essentially the same. You struck someone with them to inflict pain, preferably on the bare skin. My skin is bare and I am being whipped.
It is so beautifully and exquisitely personal. It is from him to me. The marks of it are Jason's marks which I must wear whether I want to or not, just as I must stand here nakedly to receive them. Humanity has changed so many things, forever improving, but it has never changed this intimacy of pain. The whip is immutable.
The whip cutting at me now is not the cruellest of its kind. Jason has a fine judgment in my punishments. I am not flayed. But, because of this moderation, he will be able to whip me far longer and with more strokes. Some flogging instruments might reduce me to insensibility in six blows, but not this one! I have a disquieting suspicion that with this I might sustain a hundred.
Being whipped isn't a bit the way you expect. It's a different and more awful kind of pain than I'd ever experienced. It devastates me totally. It is made more awful by my strapped wrists compelling me to stand, and by my nakedness. It is unbelievable to be naked while such a thing is done to me, but it is happening. The swish of the thong and its impact on my skin explains my need to be bound. I could not stand still for it. No way!
The first sounds I make are yelps, squeals, and cries of outrage. Anger is in there too, anger at the indignity and the violation of Me ... Me! I am being wealed, and I do not want to be wealed. But these vocal responses soon turn to screams. I scream on impact to vent some of the agony; I am sure it helps. I scream because, for me, it is almost impossible not to. But I scream also in the sneaky hope of breaking down Jason's determination in the face of the sickening female cacophony which appals me even as I peal it out.
It is a false hope. Jason whips me slowly and with care. I fear he may enjoy my anguished vocals just as he enjoys the weals blossoming on my skin. From time to time he pauses to trace with his finger one of the proud ridges of scarlet which particularly intrigues him. It is the most erotic sensation I have ever felt. I stop writhing and kicking, and shiver instead. I cannot meet his eye. I am ashamed of my behaviour under punishment, in fact I am ashamed of being punished. I am also aware of damp hair and the gleam of sweat on my flesh. I have never sweat like this in my life, it is the perspiration of pain.
"Feeling it a bit?"
"Intensely-!"
He handles my crotch. I spread my legs hopefully. But he is just testing. I pant and am rent by spasms of acute sensation. I manage a dry whisper. "Please, Jason, don't whip me any more. Please say this is enough?"
It is not enough!
"Intermission, darling, don't be tedious."
He resumes my whipping. I try hard not to scream, it is I who hate the sound. I surge into fresh writhings and the flailing of my legs. As though in reprimand, the whip cuts upward into my crotch and pubic hair. It is a hateful invasion to which I respond with a different note and the tight closing of my thighs. Nonchalantly, Jason whips my bottom instead of my back. This would be easier to bear if he did not allow the lash to lap my hip. That hurts abominably and provokes me into fresh protests with my feet. I kick angrily at nothing and receive another shrewd down under cut where I want it least. I erupt into orgasm.
It is a shaming climax for a girl. Jason beats me a couple of times to spur the lava flow, then stands to watch my dissolution into spasms of lust. I do not care, not at this moment! I moan and do all the things my flesh demands. He can watch all he likes, damn him! The straps round my wrists no longer creak, they have absorbed too much moisture from the skin they hold captive. When I droop limply in satiety, his whipping of my bottom resumes its casual cadence.
I am not guilty of a thing, so cannot gauge this punishment. Jason is doing this to me as some sort of affirmation of authority. It will keep me in my place, I won't get ideas and notions. It is the final validating of his flirt with fate in the car. I chose this! I asked for this whipping he is giving me with such panache. Dammit,' I had to be crazy! I could be home free.... ! He gave me every chance - I leap and scream -I have thoughtlessly opened my legs .... !
My thoughts are instant fitful things. Mostly I think only of pain ... and wish Jason would stop. But he does not stop, and pain claims all of me.
I remember the French movie about a girl named 'O'. After she had been whipped she hung against her tethered arms and tied wrists, wet with sweat, panting, glad it was over but still quivering under the remembered lash. The beauty of that pose negated the horror of her pain. I find myself doing the same thing, uncaring of who may see. This is an intensely female moment. I am alone with remembered agony but a fire is generating within my loins. I am not yet ready for a man, I am glad Jason has gone away. But when he returns ... !
I do not remember when the whip stopped. Pain and the dream blended. Perhaps I lost consciousness, though this I do not believe. I am well aware of hanging by my wrists and that Jason has left me to reflect on what I am and what he is going to do to me later. I am in a beautiful limbo, drifting into a reverie, a dream of something long ago. I wear Jason's weals, my wrists are strapped by Jason's straps and buckles, my back and bottom blaze with an erotic fire. A compelling intensity of sensation plucks me back into time ....
In these dreams I have duality: the Me who observes and comprehends, and the Me who is of that moment in time alone. The first Me wonders how Jason knew. Did he know? Do I emanate something? Or is Jason a coincidence helping me to see who and what I am? I do not debate these matters, the dream does not permit. And, anyway, the detached Me is far too busy adjusting herself to what she now beholds. These visions span the centuries. In each I am a little girl lost.
....
The headline of the newspaper on Auntie's desk proclaims the election of Millard Fillmore as President. That pins me down to eighteen forty-nine, as do the clothes we wear and the furniture .... My aunt Hester is speaking. "I am tired of you, Caroline, out of patience."
I am silent, rebellious, sulky. I am not sure what is planned for me but I do not want it. I see menace in the respectful attention of the woman quietly standing to one side.
"I have asked Fraulein Lotte Schopen to take you in hand." My Aunt pauses. She does these pauses very well, they diminish me to tremblings I strive not to show. "Fraulein Schopen comes highly recommended as a disciplinarian. She has come to us from one of Europe's noble Houses. She speaks excellent English."
I bestow upon Fraulein Schopen a look of loathing consigning her back to whence she came. She is a beautiful woman, soignée, exuding power.
"She will be your Governness-"
"But, Auntie, I'm not a child! The Fraulein is little older than I am-!"
"She will understand you, dear, far better than I. Have no fear that she cannot assert authority, she will control you firmly."
"But, Auntie, I don't want to be firmly controlled! I want-I want-Oh, please-!"
"You don't know what you want, dear. The loss of your parents has left you sadly without direction. You are completely dependent upon me, so I will provide that direction. Fraulein Schopen is exactly the help we need."
I look, doubtfully, at the smiling German import. She smiles encouragingly but about her there is menace. I turn imploringly to my only relative. "I am already educated, Aunt Hester, I do not need ..."
"We are speaking of deportment and behaviour, Caroline. Your improprieties - and this last shocking incident....!" My Aunt says no more. Nor have I a defence. I feel the implacability of convention closing in. I have sinned! Unhappily, I ask the obvious: "Is Fraulein Schopen here to punish me?"
"She will guide and instruct. She will demand obedience. I have given her carte blanche."
I cringe. I am helpless. I have no money, no one else to whom to turn. Fraulein Schopen eyes me with the lofty seniority of five years. "Have no fear, little one, I will be your friend."
Aunt Hester's voice is soft. "There is the new room, dear, the one you have not seen. It is as Fraulein Schopen desires."
My hand is taken. I am led away. Aunt Hester smiles and nods benignly. I long to snatch back my arm and flee. But where would I run to-where, where, where!
I am an orphan! With a false willingness I allow this German girl to lead me to my room.
"We will be most happy." Lotte Schopen says it as though she has no doubts. "You will please to undress."
"But I have bathed! It's not bedtime - !"
"Please to undress. Remove all clothes. Come, come, I am a woman."
I fumble myself into nakedness and shame. It is my first time to be bare in just this way. I stand awkwardly, an arm across my breasts, a hand over my pubic hair. Fraulein Schopen firmly clasps my hands at the back of my neck, then tilts my chin to make me stand erect.
"You have a beautiful body, Caroline. Your blush, it is most becoming. See, I caress your nipples to make them hard. Your breasts are as firm as mine."
I gasp but dare not protest -- the unexpected ... ! "Please to close your eyes and to stand quite still."
I obey, trembling. My nipples have never been so hard as when the German fingers fall away and I hear the sounds of a suitcase opening and being rummaged through .... Then, gentle hands possess my arms and place them at my back, straps circle my wrists and are pulled tight. There are small sounds of finality, clicks! I find myself panting but I know not why.
"You may open the eyes, madchen."
If I was not naked with breasts and a bushed puss I would feel a small girl playing games. Fraulein sits beside her ravaged case upon my bed. She is a cat who has already eaten the canary, she is pleased. She eyes the puzzled twistings of my arms and shoulders against her straps .... "The small wrists are fastened tightly, little one."
They are indeed! I desist my ineffectual tuggings and stand primly at attention. I am more curious than frightened.
"Your freedom has departed, Caroline."
"But, Miss Schopen, I do not understand ?" -
"You may call me Lotte. It is nicest. We are just two girls. But I am in charge. You will always remember ... I will make sure you remember. As for your freedom: you did not use it well. It is gone."
"You really mean ... ?" I start my tugging again, gazing at her in disbelief.
"Always you will be fastened in some way, there are so many ways ... ! It is best."
I digest this slowly, still twisting against the leather bands around my wrists. I recalled stories of strange disciplines. I am still panting, but my voice is crisp. "I cannot submit. I am sorry. No doubt you mean well. Unfasten me."
Her silence mocks.
"Get these things off my wrists! I'll speak to Aunt Hester."
"Your Aunt Hester knows of the delights I bring for you. There is also the room ... You will be confined. You will be whipped, constantly whipped -"
"Stoppit, you are being absurd! You cannot - ?"
"Can I not, Madchen?" The mockery is patent.
I run for the door. It is closed. While my strapped hands fumble at the knob strong German fingers possess themselves of my hair. Sobbing in frustration, I am led back to where I was. I have never been so helpless.
"The little pigeon seeks to fly, but her wings are clipped. There are so many ways her wings may lose their feathers."
Damn her, she makes me feel like a plucked bird! The simile is not that far afield. My strapped arms are indeed clipped wings. I fall back on a hurt and dignified silence while she buckles other straps above my elbows. When they are tight she joins them with some sort of linkage. My shoulders are wrenched back, my breasts tighten.
"I suppose you know that hurts?"
"Indeed yes, little one, it keeps the arms most secure."
"There is no need of it. I am not trying to run away. - I am pushed to my bed and thrust face down upon the cover, my weight upon my protruding breasts. I feel lumpily ridiculous while my ankles are strapped in the same manner as my wrists. The case is taken from the bed and my nakedness arranged to Fraulein's satisfaction. I have become an inert nonentity. Postured to please, another linkage is used to bring my feet up and back, back, back to attach them to the unkind strictures on my arms. I can scarcely move.
"You look very sweet, madchen, and so helpless!"
"I don't feel sweet. This is awful! When I tell Aunt -"
I will tell nothing! Not now! A ball enters my mouth, straps are buckled across my cheeks and over my hair at the nape of my neck. It is all terribly tight and catches me unawares. I am gagged! I protest furiously. But all that emerges are small pitiful sounds at which my captor smiles.
She pats me affectionately, then leaves and closes the door. I lay, doubled up, upon my bed in silence and dismay. This has been too swift, too unexpected. I have no defence.
If Aunt Hester was not somewhere in the house I would be frightened out of my wits. But, even so, I am delivered to this German girl ... and look at me, just look at me now! Only in fiction have I read of young ladies of good family being treated thus. But if in fiction why not in fact! I try to move but everything hurts.
The gag is hateful, it hurts and I dribble. Lotte Schopen has strapped it into my mouth to prevent me calling out to Aunt Hester, calling for help. I can think of no other reason. I cannot wriggle my way to the door, I cannot kick to attract attention. Possibly I can flounder about enough to fall on the floor, but what good would that do! The bed is soft, the floor is not. In a fury of revolt I heave and thrust and twist against the leather bands. All I achieve is to fall over on my side. It takes all my exertion to get myself back the way I was. But I discover the sideways posture more comfortable, so I flop over again to lay panting and defeated. I will lay like this until someone chooses to release me. My struggles have loosened nothing, I am still strapped tight.
There are only two things I can do. One is to hurt, and that is easy. The other is to think, and that is not easy at all. I have been delivered to some sort of European discipline. I recall more and more stories of what is done to delinquent girls in this country and that ... in Nunneries and Schools, and by a Governess. I shiver at the thought of being whipped: in all these stories the girl was whipped. Then there is The Room, the room Auntie has had made over and which I have not been allowed to see. It is my room, I am sure of it. It will contain ... things! Lotte Schopen will use these things ... on me! I shudder again and struggle briefly.
But it is Fraulein Lotte Schopen herself who truly fills my thoughts while I lay as she has strapped me. Lotte Schopen is a force, a power. But she is an intensely female force. I know I would feel quite differently about myself if a man had buckled me like this. I am not sure what I see in her eyes ... it is not cruelty. She is also beautiful. She dresses severely, but if she was naked as I am and her hair loosed from its comb she would be breathtaking, I am sure of it! I don't suppose Auntie even notices. I meditate unhappily about my new world. Soon I wet the coverlet with my tears. I cannot move.
"My little pigeon! So sweetly trussed! You have had two hours of blissful reflection."
I make silly stupid sounds and gaze up imploringly at my Governess. She is smiling down, her eyes swiftly appraising the strictures by which I am made helpless. Laughing, she reaches for a strap, in a few moments the beastly gag is taken from my mouth.
"Thank you, oh, thank you!" My gratitude is sincere.
"You are feeling better, little one?"
How can I 'feel better'! I am bound and naked and helpless! A girl does not 'feel better' like that. She wants me to say I am ready to be obedient, a good girl. Instead, I mutter: "I feel ... different. It is all strange. I don't understand."
Her fingertips find my nipples. She seems obsessed with them. "You enjoy this, madchen?"
"Yes."
"You say that grudgingly, but you enjoy. See, I continue."
I am panting again. She has that effect on me. Or is it this playing with my breasts! When the fingers are withdrawn I say, without volition: "Don't stop! Please don't stop." Then feel ashamed.
"It is good you like. But we have work to do, you and I."
She becomes busy with the linkage of my bonds. Soon I stretch ecstatically, still tightly strapped but I have been given back my legs. I revel in their full stretch and repeat my "Thank you, thank you!"
"It is good for a girl to be bound, Caroline."
I do not argue. It just feels so good not to be doubled up any more. I flex and stretch and wriggle while she watches me with her omnipotent amusement. Her voice is soft. "Tell me how it feels, dear child."
"Just helpless, terribly helpless. My elbows hurt something awful."
"Good, and your elbows remain strapped. I wish to hear no more of them. Is there nothing more?"
I know what she wants of me, so I part with it. "I have to obey you, Fraulein. I will try and do as you tell me."
She laughs delightedly. "That hurt to say, little pigeon, did it not! So now we go to work."
Fraulein Schopen handles my trussed nudity with frightening ease. She is strong. I am pulled around and set on my feet. I stand erect, frightened to move for fear I fall. I feel all breasts and black triangle.
"The American corset is for plump hausfraus my dear. For you I have something more special."
I eye it askance. I am sure I will hate it. Fraulein Schopen holds it up with pride. When she wraps it round my bare skin beneath my strapped arms I feel encased in armour, doubly bound.
"At first a little shock, my dear. Then you will feel proud."
I will never feel pride - not in this! It begins as something shapeless, but Lotte's fingers mould it upon me. Laces are inserted and pulled, tucks put in place, my breasts lifted and arranged. By the time the serious business of lacing me tight begins I am sheathed from the cleavage of my breasts down over my belly, over my hips to the beginning of my thighs. My pussy is open but hidden, there is a cut out into which my bottom thrusts itself in an increasing prominence as the ensemble tightens and takes shape.
"I call it my 'Iron Maiden' dear." Fraulein Schopen says complacently as she busies herself with the prisonment of my body. "It has two benefits for the lucky girl who wears it. It banishes her sulks and perfects her figure. Hold still, dear child. Even though I tug I make sure you do not fall."
I am a doll, a small girl-child, a manikin. Fear of the gag quenches protest. There is nothing I can do except stand still and accept this outrageous constriction. It is not a corset. It is a thing of punishment. I am being punished for being a young lady who has no money. "Please, not too tight." I plead wanly, but hasten to add: "Not this first time."
"It will be as tight as I wish, dear." Lotte says absently as she prods and pulls. "You will think it be very tight indeed, but you will get used to it. You may complain a little, you are so sweetly plaintive. But too much protest will put the gag back in that pretty mouth."
I can do nothing, so I stand and let myself be tightened within this constricting armour Fraulein Schopen calls a corset. I feel petulant and abused but the straps warn me to behave. Meekly, I say: "Yes, Fraulein. Thank you, Fraulein."
"Are you being sarcastic, dear?"
Of course I am! Swiftly I backtrack. "No. Honest! I'm just trying to be nice."
"Hmmmmm, very well. How does this feel?"
It feels terrible. I am in a vice shaped to my figure. The laces Lotte keeps tugging at run all the way from the top curve of my bottom to just below the level of my breasts. My poor tummy is vanishing, my bottom is being plumped out back beneath my strapped wrists, my breasts are thrust up and out in a magnificence I can scarcely believe. I am annoyed with my nipples, surely they do not need to be so hard or so large! It must be something to do with the circulation. "I don't know how it feels." I say hopelessly. "I just don't. If I say anything you don't like you'll gag me."
I am warmly kissed. It is comforting. A mischievous finger reaches beneath the lower rim of this armour and tickles my pussy. I gasp and blush. No one has ever touched me like that there. I abandon all thoughts of rebellion. I deliver myself utterly to sensory perception.
Tighter and tighter. It is done to me by small degrees. I take smaller and smaller breaths. The lower hem below the large orifice for the cheeks of my bottom is another strap. Tightened, it imposes authority upon my thighs, but not enough to stop me walking ... at least I do not think it will. Right now I cannot walk at all. Finally Lotte Schopen is satisfied. I can scarcely move. I can scarcely breathe. The contours of my figure must be grotesque.
"You look adorable, madchen."
The straps round my ankles are suddenly gone. I am led to the big mirror. I gasp at what I see: No tummy, proud breasts far larger than life, arrogantly nippled with hard scarlet buds. I have become femaleness multiplied. My bottom is a thing for maiden blushes. It blushes itself. ... It is outrageous!
"Delightfully exposed for the cane, dear." Lotte has read my thoughts. She strokes and pats the tight constriction of my thrusting globes. I am aware of my bottom and my breasts in a way I have never been before. My pussy is hidden for the moment. But I am sure that in its turn ... ! "A girl's bottom should be caned regularly, its skin tight ...."
My skin is tight, that is for sure. I can think of my bottom being caned only as an abstraction. It is all a dream from which, hopefully, I will awake. "It is all so tight." I say, stupidly. "It is all so tight .... !"
"You may walk around the room, dear."
I do so. It is good to have my feet and legs. The strap at the bottom of my corset bites deep at every step but, in spite of it, I can walk. It is a strange sort of perambulation. I sway and weave. I am indecent, it is the walk of whores. But it is all I have, so I walk joyously.
"You have behaved well, dear, so now your elbows." Fraulein Schopen removes the strap and the link by which my elbows had been made to meet. The relief is glorious but my figure does not change at all. The corset has taken over. "I am still quite helpless, Fraulein." I say it as an admission, not an accusation. The straps round my wrists are still tight. They deny Me being Me.
"It is so right for you, dear girl."
I would like to say it is so right for her, but dare not. Instead, I say: "Thank you for my elbows, Lotte. It feels so good."
"The first time you have used my name, madchen." I am again warmly kissed. "And now we visit your Aunt Hester." I am shocked. I had wanted Aunt Hester badly two hours ago, but I do not want her now, not to see me thus encased with my breasts and buttocks flaunting themselves and my nipples so large and hard. My response is instant. "But not like this! Oh please, don't let her see me like this."
"But, Caroline, you are exquisite. You have never looked so much a girl."
"I feel like a bad woman, a ... a - "
"You are being shy and silly. Come, little madchen ... " She grasps my hair firmly in her strong fingers. "I am proud of you, and your aunt will be proud too."
I could weep in frustration. I am so helpless, reduced to a nothing. I am ashamed, and Auntie will be ashamed of me too. But I have no choice, the hand in my hair impels. I take reluctant steps, hobbled and constrained by the corset strap below my puss. That is my only comfort, she will not see my black and curly fronds.... !
Aunt Hester is enraptured, she finds me entrancing. She approves! I stand beautifully erect; I have to, but I am scarlet with shame. "Auntie, stop this! Send her away. Oh, please ... ! Auntie, I can't - "
"Turn round, dear, I must see - "
I obey, sulkily, terribly aware of my pink bottom and strapped wrists. I twist my hands and arms to show her how unkindly I am controlled.
"Her bottom remains available for punishment, Madam."
"Wonderful! Quite remarkable." Aunt Hester smiles at me with love as I turn back to face her. "Fraulein Schopen has explained to you about being caned and whipped ?" -
"Auntie, you can't! It's impossible! You mustn't let her?"
"The cane for your bottom, dear, for the other parts of you, certain whips. On bare skin, of course."
"But it isn't civilized, it isn't done!"
"Indeed it is, dear. There are even schools in the United States." "But I'm too old! I'm not just a girl - "
"You have been spoiled and indulged. It is a late start. But Fraulein Schopen will cope with you, have no fear."
"I don't want to be coped with. I refuse to have my bottom caned. As for being whipped - !"
"At the end of a year you will be a most desirable young woman."
"A year!" I am aghast, "A year ... all strapped up?"
"Of course not, dear. Fraulein has many methods of restraint. You will not be bored. There are ropes and cords and chains and things."
"I don't see why I have to be restrained at all."
"You know perfectly well why. Fraulein Schopen will now give your bottom a mild caning. You are altogether too argumentative."
The strap and the cane have appeared as if by magic. The first is tightly buckled round my ankles, the second is pensively flexed back and forth in German hands. It is thin and very limber. I look from it up to German eyes whose smile is naught but kind. I moan.
Fire cuts me beneath my bound hands. I raise them out of the way and yelp with shock. The second stroke is unobstructed and beds itself gleefully in my bouncing globes. I sway and would have fallen if Lotte had not encircled me with an arm. She kisses me gently before she steps back.
"The poor dear has never been caned before. We must make allowances. But her bottom ... it is superb!"
My superb bottom is sliced again. I cannot believe such pain. I screech protest. "Stop it! Oh ... stop it!"
Fraulein cuts me six times with her cane. My bottom is scorched and seared, there must surely be blood! But she strokes the burning curves gently to make me moan anew. "Such a mild little punishment, dear. Can you now be more respectful?"
"Auntie, let me loose, send her away, You mustn't let her - "
The whirr of the cane puts a period to my plea. I scream. The pain is too much for any girl. I keep on screaming as my poor tightly constrained bottom is wounded again and again and again ....
There is then a silence in which I pant and gasp and shed tears. The two who watch have become a blur. I do not care about them. I care only about Me. It has been agony, and perhaps it is not finished. I long to bend and writhe, but the corset confines me to being a curved statue, sobbing and compliant.
"You feel better now, dear?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps you should thank Fraulein Schopen for her trouble?"
I glimpse a fresh vista of humiliation. They want me abject. Involuntarily, I scream out against injustice. "No! No, no, no.... ! This is wrong. You have no right - "
If the cane was mild before it is not so now. Lotte Schopen whips my bottom with it with verve arid élan. I forget my strapped hands and they receive a numbing and unnerving blow. I strive to writhe but manage only to tumble to the rug. Aunt Hester helpfully pulls back on my arms to leave my punished cheeks open for the fresh stripes which beat at me with implacable intent. As I scream and kick I marvel at my utter impotence. I cannot escape, I can do nothing. The agony mounts to a crescendo until I surrender, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Oh, please stop. I'll say thank you, I'll say anything ... !" I get two more, harder than ever. My will dissolves, my tears flow. I am not Caroline, I am whipped female flesh, pliant and quivering. As I am raised to my feet I remember to mutter, fervently: "Thank you for caning me, Fraulein, thank you."
"You regret the trouble you have caused?"
"Oh, yes, yes! I am sorry to have bothered you, Fraulein. I won't offend again. Please forgive me?"
"What must I forgive, madchen?" Her voice is honey. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I - seem to do everything wrong."
"She does not know." Aunt Hester's voice is gently insinuating. "Perhaps another dose, Fraulein?"
I scream before the blow falls: anger, pain, outrage ... and an utter, utter helplessness. I deliberately let myself fall under the bruising impact. I seek the firm pull of auntie's grip on my arms to raise my joined hands out of Fraulein's way, perhaps she can thus feel what I suffer. My two, too resilient bottom cheeks jounce and throb beneath the shrewd slashes of a cane without mercy in the hand of a girl determined to break my spirit. It takes but six or seven strokes to crumble my defences.
"I was impudent, rebellious, resentful ...." My surrender streams out of me with a shaming urgency. "I won't be any more. I won't, I won't .... ! Oh, please forgive me .... Please stop!"
The hands fall from my arms, the cane pauses. I pant into the carpet, fearful and expectant.
"It is the cane speaking with her voice, madam."
"I am sure it is, but we have made progress." Aunt Hester sounds immensely pleased. "Let us give the dear girl a chance to prove sincerity. We can always whip her again tomorrow - perhaps next time on her back." -
The strong German hands must surely feel my tremors and tremblings as they raise me to my feet. They take the strap from my ankles to aid me to stand. I blurt out an instant "Thank you." Most passionately I want no more pain. I stand, sniffing and untidy, until Lotte dries my eyes, lets me blow my nose, then tidies my damp hair. I am sure I look a mess. Aunt Hester's next words galvanize me into fresh shock.
"We will now go for a nice walk, dear, perhaps some shopping."
The cane has destroyed my world. I do not want that pliant horror biting at me again. I say nothing. I obey. Fraulein Schopen tends me like a baby. She has to, I have no hands. Some of the things she must do shame me deeply but bother her not at all. Soon I am a young woman of fashion, well corseted! "And now we give you your hands, little one."
It seems a bit late, but I am grateful. It feels so good! I massage my wrists, and then I primp. I am a girl again. But I am a captive girl, the strap below my blazing bottom reminds me of my new condition at every step.
"You will soon learn to walk, dear."
"You are very much free, madchen."
What they really mean is I will become accustomed to being what they have made me. I am a puppet on display. Strangely, I am not considering escape. I am annoyed with myself. A policeman might put an end to my subjection. But what can I tell him! That I wear a new kind of corset that is far too tight? That I have been a bad girl and my bottom has been caned? It is impossible. I am lost. My companions know this. I am sure they are enjoying my confusion.
"We will often give you this diversion, Caroline, during the twelve months of your sentence." My Aunt tells me smoothly.
"And you will be whipped only as may seem appropriate, dear child."
I walk sedately, my heart thudding against my constricted ribs.
"Fraulein Schopen has explained to me the uses and applications of the various whips, Caroline. I had no idea there was such a diversity and range."
They intend to keep me trembling, and there is nothing I dare do to interrupt their suave discussion of my punishments.
"The whipping of your breasts, the inside of your thighs, your cunt and belly ... these are sophistications awaiting you during your sentence, madchen. We will not hurry them."
I am speechless. Her use of that awful word .... ! I do not want to believe what I have heard. It belongs in a nightmare, yet here we are out walking. I maintain a frightened silence which they understand. I am conditioned, and it is only the first day.
The Tea Shoppe for afternoon Tea inflicts on me another shame. I must sit down! But I am rigidly sheathed, and my whipped bottom cries out in alarm, it desires no contact with anything. I look from one to the other of my companions imploringly.
"Sit down, dear, you will find it possible."
I sit, hoping something will break. But nothing does break. The strap over my thighs ensures the extra stress is on me and not on my armour. My wealed bottom weeps in its own anguished silence. I gasp, my eyes widening in dismay. That is all.
"We know how you must be feeling, dear." Says Auntie gently. "Be a brave girl."
I eat and drink in mute misery while my punishments are discussed. They debate the merit of thin cord: it cuts into a girl's flesh more painfully and discourages struggling. There are also chains and padlocks ....
"They have their place." Fraulein Schopen muses. "But they are less feminine. I wish always to stress femininity: Caroline is a girl." She smiles modestly. "In my luggage are some beautifully fashioned shackles .... She will look ravishing."
"You don't have to chain me or keep me prisoner." I complain nervously. "I'll obey you both, and I won't run away, there's nowhere for me to go."
"Your time will be better spent under restraint, dear. You will meditate in solitude and be conveniently fastened for the infliction of discipline." Auntie's voice is patient and gentle.
"But if I'm ... fastened, how can I do anything to deserve discipline - ?"
"Discipline is to subdue the flesh, madchen. It punishes things of the past."
The past is unsafe ground for me, I am aware of imprudence. "But couldn't I just be locked in a room?" I ask thinly. "Why must I be - restrained? It's only another way of saying tied up?"
"For the same effect as your corset, dear, it keeps you amenable." Aunt Hester lifts my sulky chin with a playful finger. "You are quite free, but tell me honestly if you feel like running off down the road?"
"Nooooo, I don't." I find the admission shameful.
"Then the benefits are already manifest, madchen."
I have nothing more to say. The corset grips me with an iron hand, goodness knows of what awful things it is constructed. Inside it I am as much a prisoner as behind iron bars. I take my quick hobbled steps in silence.
Back home, I am relieved of clothing. I am told I have no further need ... ! But the corset stays. At dinner I work at being attentive and amusing. It is at bedtime I am again dismayed. I am to sleep in The Room, the fearful room .... !
It is a lovely room. But it is full of ... things. They cluster round the walls, waiting. My immediate concern is a wooden bench, its lower end screams my fate.
"Please to lay down, Caroline. On your back." I obey. My corset imposes fresh strictures. "Your ankles placed within, please."
Lotte has raised a bar. Its apertures match the half circles in the bed below. I place my ankles, gingerly, within. She lowers the bar to lock my feet snugly, well apart, a padlock clicks.
"You are a safe and secure little girl, madchen."
I am indeed! It is hateful. I cannot move my feet at all, and I am compelled to lay on my back. I have my hands and arms but all they can do is to raise me against my corset's denial to sit, awkward and unhappy, and survey my prisoned legs. My ankles are gripped in the wood as though it was tailored for them. I raise piteous eyes. "But, Lotte, the bench is so hard, and I won't be able to turn ... or anything."
"In Germany it would be much worse, little one. There would be a bar above your head for your wrists. Be grateful."
"I don't care about your old Germany, this is awful, I'll never be able to sleep - and I don't think you're German at all - "
Surprisingly, she grins, laughing down at my dolour. "You are partly right, dear. My parents are German but I was born and raised in Milwaukee. I went to Germany when I was eighteen, and found a career there, a career I much enjoy."
I sniff disdainfully. "Being unkind to defenceless girls."
"Not really unkind. I train. We will come to love" Lotte's fingers find my nipples again. I sit, propped up by aching arms. I am panting, I expect it is the corset. But if I lower myself back down on the bench her fingers may not follow ... and I do not want to lose those fingers.
But, suddenly, the fingers are gone. The voice of my Governess is mocking. "You like that too much. It is not for girls who have been bad, not for girls who have to sleep in the stocks."
"I don't see why I have to," I am petulant and still panting. "And I don't see why you can't take off this beastly corset."
"It is your penitent's hair shirt, dear child. Besides, think of your figure after I have tightened it daily for a month."
"A month!" I am speechless in dismay.
"Of course, dear. You are being moulded into a new girl. For thirty days your sweet bottom can take whatever whippings you deserve. There are other punishments I will show you tomorrow ----"
"This is a punishment you've got me in now." I declare fretfully. "I don't see what else you can call it. A hard bench ... and I can't move my feet."
"I can whip their soles a little, dear, if it will make you feel less ill used? It is very painful, and you will be so glad when I stop."
Tears well from my eyes. Lotte watches me weep, then dries my cheeks. She kisses me and says good-night. In the dark I lay back and cry some more. It is all so hopeless. But I have my hands and arms, so I suppose I should be grateful. The corset and the way I am fixed prevents my fingers finding my pussy but they can certainly find my nipples .... ! If Fraulein Schopen guessed she would tie my hands .... !
I, who thought she could not sleep, am awakened in the night by a pungency I know well. Moist thighs envelop my face so that a musky pussy may be lowered to my mouth. I am a girl. I know what to do.