A/N: Hi Broadway peeps! I'm a Glee fan who finally decided to watch one of the bootleg YouTube recordings of Spring Awakening last week. It shook me a little because it's a very raw, unpolished production, but intensely moving nonetheless.

This is an AU set just after Wendla finds out she is pregnant and Melchior is sent away. There is no death-by-botched-abortion, but I want to warn people that this first chapter is nonetheless very, very dark. Child abuse, rape...yeah, pretty dark. For those of you with weak stomachs, I've placed a warning at the point where you should stop reading, and I'll post a summary at the beginning of the next chapter when it's safe to read again. I'd expect it to be up sometime later this week. For those who don't know me, never fear! My writing tends to be on the dark side, but I can't resist happy endings. Also, there's a little German sprinkled here and there throughout this story. I speak enough to know I don't speak it well, but I thought it gave that little hint of authenticity.

All standard disclaimers apply.

Kindheit Ende

"Mama, where are we going?"

Frau Bergmann only clutched her daughter's arm tighter and hustled them faster along the road.

"Mama, you're scaring me!"

The older woman's lips compressed in a fine line, but she still refused to speak.

"Mama, please!"

Frau Bergmann shook her head and stepped up her pace again. Wendla stumbled beside her, pulled forward by her mother's incessant grip on her arm. There would be bruises from her mother's fingers, and uncertainty turned quickly to fear in the face of Frau Bergmann's furious intent. Never had her mother touched her like this—not even that first day when the doctor disclosed the horrible truth that had changed Wendla's life forever. For the first time in her life, her mother had hit her—slapped her across the cheek. That had been three days ago, and they had not really spoken since. But this afternoon, just as Wendla was preparing to go to the Postamt to see whether there was a note from Melchior, her mother had informed her that they had an errand.

Now they were almost running in their haste through the outskirts of the village, and Wendla began to feel a prickle of fear. Her mama never did anything so unseemly as run. The insistent fingers digging into her arm were frightening as well as painful. Her mama never raised a hand to her, only her voice. But this was twice now that she'd hurt Wendla, and she was beginning to fear the woman who had raised her. She knew her actions with Melchior had disappointed and angered Frau Bergmann, but she had no idea of the extent of her mother's fury. Now she feared it.

They hustled down a thin dirt track through lush green foliage, and after a moment Wendla realized where they were headed. It didn't make any sense, though. The only person who lived down here was the boys' schoolmaster, Herr Sonnenstich. When she was little Wendla and her friends used to accompany the boys to play tricks on the hated man, but she hadn't been near his house in years. Now she hesitated, wondering just why her mother was bringing her here. It couldn't possibly be for lessons—the girls had their own teachers, separate from the boys. She didn't even really know what the boys got to learn that she and her friends didn't, but her mother always told her not to worry about it. Boys and men existed in a separate sphere, Frau Bergmann said, and Wendla was not to concern herself with it.

But if not for tutelage, Wendla didn't understand why her mother would take her to see Herr Sonnenstich. He was a respected member of the town, but even among the adults he was not well liked. They appreciated the way he molded their sons into men, but they did not like when he attempted to use his domineering attitude with other adults. Only his university education and the fact that he was willing to live and work in such a small, rural village kept him around. So many people with his caliber of education refused to leave the cities, and the town felt lucky to have him. Other than listening to Melchior complain about Herr Sonnenstich's cruel teaching practices, Wendla admitted that she really didn't know much about the man, and she didn't have an opinion of him one way or another.

Wendla was young and under-educated, but she had a bright mind and keen senses, and she felt a sinking suspicion start to tighten in her belly. She didn't know why her mama was taking her to see Herr Sonnenstich, but she had a feeling he wasn't going to stay such a stranger in her life after today.

"Why are we going to see the boys' headmaster?" she asked her mother, panting a little as she struggled to keep up. She still didn't feel well, which her mother had grudgingly told her was normal for a woman soon to have a child. Her heart was beating faster than usual, almost fluttering in her chest, and she felt lightheaded and dizzy. All she really wanted to do was stop walking—drop to the ground for a much-needed breather. But her mother wouldn't let go, and they kept pushing forward toward Herr Sonnenstich's house.

"You have something you need to learn," Frau Bergmann said finally.

Wendla frowned. "But Herr Sonnenstich never teaches the girls," she argued.

"Well, he's going to teach you this."

The dizziness was getting worse. Wendla stumbled and would have fallen, but Frau Bergmann's unyielding grip on her arm made it impossible. She didn't want to go see the boys' headmaster. He made her nervous, and so did her mother's evasiveness and furious speed. "Melchior says—" she tried to protest.

"I don't care what Melchior Gabor has to say," Frau Bergmann snapped. "Damn it, Wendla! Be quiet for once!"

Wendla shrank from the anger in her mother's voice. She blinked back tears and tried to catch her breath. Melchior was gone, she told herself sternly. He couldn't help her with this. Mentioning him to her mama was foolish—while he had been the golden child in the eyes of the town, his banishment to die Jugendstrafe had toppled him. Where once her mama might have approved wholeheartedly of Melchior as a match for Wendla—in a few years, when they were both of marriageable age—now the very mention of his name sent her into a rage. Wendla mourned for that small window of time, not so very long ago, when Melchior had been hers, his arms firm around her, his eyes looking so deeply into hers that she swore he could read her like a book. He wasn't like the other boys in town, and his uniqueness gave him an edge. He could have any of the local girls he wanted, but he'd chosen her.

And now Wendla didn't know if she'd ever see him again.

"Please, mama," she said, softer now. She didn't have much extra breath to speak.

"Hush, child. We're almost there."

They rounded a final bend in the small dirt track, and Herr Sonnenstich's two-story house appeared before them. The half-timbered structure was one of the biggest and most elegant in the village, and the headmaster was quite proud of it. A small orchard of apple trees surrounded the house, and there was a vegetable garden beyond, some chickens, and a pen with a goat. In that respect, it looked much like the other houses in the area. Herr Sonnenstich had no wife to keep house for him, but two of the other unmarried male teachers—younger men fresh from university—lived with him and helped him run the household. It was a common arrangement, a way for the young teachers to gain experience before they left to secure more lucrative jobs in better schools. Herr Sonnenstich often had at least one young teacher in his house. Frau Bergmann told Wendla it was only natural, and that it was very kind of the headmaster to open his house and his school in such a way. She only despaired that he had no wife to keep him company. Wendla had wondered on more than one occasion whether her mother wished to remarry after her father's death several years ago. They were not wanting for money, but occasionally she wondered if her mother might nonetheless be lonely. She adamantly did not want Herr Sonnenstich as her stepfather, though. She did not know him well, but she knew enough to know that.

Now Frau Bergmann pulled her daughter up to the front door of the imposing house and knocked twice. Wendla took the opportunity to breathe, shoving the dizziness away. She didn't know what was going to happen, but she wanted to be as prepared as possible.

Herr Sonnenstich pulled the door open and smiled at Frau Bergmann, ignoring Wendla entirely. "Wilkommen!" he said enthusiastically. "Come in!"

"Grüß Gott," Frau Bergmann replied. She pulled Wendla into the house, slipping her grip from her arm to her hand. Wendla wanted to rub the throbbing spot where her mother had grabbed her, but she refrained. Something deeply unsettling in Herr Sonnenstich's eyes stopped her. She sidled closer to her mama and squeezed the tight hand holding her still. She wasn't very happy with her mother right now, but she felt safer with her than she did with Herr Sonnenstich.

"What have you told her?" the headmaster asked, and Wendla looked up at him in worry. He was a tall man, his sandy hair just turning gray and starting to thin on top, and he was powerfully built. Not like the massive day laborers who toiled in the fields for a living, but he was still much larger than Wendla. Her dark eyes, wide and hesitant, showed her fear, and the headmaster smiled and reached out, stroking a finger against her cheek. On the surface it was the innocent gesture of an older man comforting a child, but Wendla had to force herself not to flinch away from the touch. His smile did not reach his eyes, which were coldly calculating. There was nothing reassuring about him at all.

"Only that she has a lesson to learn," Frau Bergmann said. "I felt it best that you explain the rest."

"Very wise of you, Frau Bergmann," Herr Sonnenstich said. "I'm pleased. Have you any questions before we begin?"

Wendla watched her mother, trying desperately to understand what was going on. Frau Bergmann did not seem entirely pleased, but Wendla knew from experience that her mama wasn't about to change her mind. She never did. Once made, Frau Bergmann's decisions were final.

"I don't want permanent harm done, Herr Sonnenstich," she said finally. Her hand tightened painfully on Wendla's.

"It all depends on your definition of harm, of course," he replied easily. "But I intend to cause as little as possible, lasting or otherwise. Will she be a different person when you fetch her back? Most definitely. But that is what you're paying me for, isn't it?"

"It is." Frau Bergmann considered for a long moment before nodding to herself. "Wendla," she said, turning to her daughter, "I'm leaving you here for a while."

Wendla's breath caught in her throat. "Mama? How long is a while?" She gripped her mother's hand tightly. She didn't want to be left with the headmaster for any length of time, and his words to her mother were less than comforting.

"That all depends on you, child. If you behave and learn quickly, perhaps no more than a few days."

"A few days?" Wendla shrieked. She wrapped her free hand tightly around her mother's arm, trying to fuse herself against the older woman. "You can't! Mama, please, no!"

The two younger teachers appeared then, standing silently in the room. They watched impassively as Wendla desperately tried to hang onto her mother and Frau Bergmann tried just as hard to free herself.

"Wendla, this scene is unladylike and thoroughly shameful," her mama said coldly. "Stop at once!"

Herr Sonnenstich nodded his head, and the two other teachers moved forward without a word. They each grasped Wendla by an arm, pulling her forcibly off her mother and holding her tightly between them. She broke down in tears, begging her mother incoherently not to do this.

"You've shown your mother that this is necessary, I'm afraid, child," Herr Sonnenstich said, and though Wendla could sense the facade of regret in his voice, there was a hard, cold undercurrent to it that she didn't like. "There's no need to cause a scene. You'll be looked after as you learn. Now say goodbye like a good girl, and let your mama leave so we can begin the first lesson."

Wendla shook her head and dropped it, refusing to look at either the headmaster or her mother. She had never been a disobedient child, but she did not want to obey Herr Sonnenstich and bid her mother goodbye. A deep sense of betrayal bubbled within her. Her father was dead, Melchior had been taken from her, and now her mother was leaving her in the hands of the boys' headmaster—a near-stranger. Nothing made sense anymore. She sagged against the restrictive arms of the two male teachers, letting the tears flow.

"It's all part of the process," Herr Sonnenstich assured her mother as he walked her to the door. "She will cry, but she will undoubtedly be all the better for it. As God chastises us all for our sins, so we must chastise our children."

"Thank you for doing what I cannot," Frau Bergmann said, and with that, she left.

As soon as the door shut behind Frau Bergmann, Herr Sonnenstich walked calmly up in front of Wendla. He gripped her chin in his left hand and raised her face to him. She tried to pull away from his cold hand, but he only held tighter and abruptly slapped her cheek hard. The impact knocked her free of his grip, wrenching her chin so hard that she knew there'd be a bruise later.

"Stop crying," he ordered, grabbing her face again and forcing it up. "Stop crying and look at me."

Terrified and in pain, Wendla tried to do as she was told. Her eyes opened wide, but they continued to leak tears. Her cheek throbbed and burned and she wanted to put her hand up to touch the flaming spot, but her arms were still held firmly by the two other teachers.

"You wanted to do things that are only permitted to adults," Herr Sonnenstich said coldly, not an ounce of remorse or kindness in his voice, "so you must not want to be a child anymore. Adults do not cry; therefore, you will stop crying this instant!"

Wendla tried to swallow a sob and nearly choked. She coughed several times and the dizziness returned. She tried to catch her breath, but her arms were starting to ache badly from the unnatural hold of her captors. "Let me go," she whimpered, trying to pull away from them. "Let me go, please—I'm going to—"

She clamped her jaw firmly as her stomach flip-flopped, trying to crawl out her throat.

"You won't," Herr Sonnenstich ordered. "Adults do not vomit their guts out over every trifling thing as children do."

But the end result was inevitable. Wendla sucked in another breath, and the smell of the old farmhouse and the wool suits of the men holding her combined in her lungs. She threw herself forward, and they released her arms just in time for her to catch herself with her hands as she dropped to the floor and threw up. The dizziness did not recede, and the darkness closed in as she retched, trembling and mortified, on the wooden floor of Herr Sonnenstich's house.

Only a few minutes had passed when Wendla opened her eyes again, groaning slightly at the pain in her arms. She had thankfully collapsed to the side of the mess, but her cheek burned when she raised her hand and hesitantly touched it.

A wooden bucket appeared in her field of vision as it was unceremoniously dropped by her side. She winced at the loud thump.

"Get up," Herr Sonnenstich's voice commanded from somewhere above her. "The well is out back. Clean up this mess, then go to the basement."

Wendla wasn't sure she could even move, but she was too afraid of that voice not to try. She levered herself to her hands and knees, shaking with the effort, and slowly worked her way to her feet. Her dress was wrinkled and she hurt all over, but she managed to heft the bucket and stumble toward the back door. Herr Sonnenstich and the other two teachers were still in the room, watching every move she made, and their eyes made her skin crawl. She'd never had so much intense attention before, and it didn't feel good at all. Only Melchior's rapt gaze made her tingle, as if each sweep of his bright blue eyes was really a feather-light touch laid softly against her skin. This didn't feel the same at all, and she hated it. Head bowed, she stepped out of the house and into the bright afternoon sunshine.

This was her opportunity. She could leave now, with no one the wiser. But where could she possibly go? Her mother's betrayal had cut her deeply; Wendla didn't know the reasons behind it, but she was smart enough to understand that her mother would just bring her right back here if she tried to go home. None of her friends' families would hide her, and Melchior was gone. She had nowhere to go, and no choice but to fill the bucket and return to the dreaded house.

She was beginning to feel a little better, at least. The dizziness brought on by her mother's rush to this house disappeared when she fainted. Now she had a headache in addition to the pains brought on by Herr Sonnenstich and his understudies, but at least she didn't feel like throwing up anymore. Slowly, dreading every step, she made her way back to the house.

After scrubbing the floor and emptying and cleaning the bucket, Wendla hesitated again. She looked up at Herr Sonnenstich apprehensively. He pointed wordlessly to an open door across the room, and with a silent sigh Wendla complied. The cold air that enveloped her when she stepped into the doorway told her what she needed to know—this was the way to the basement. She found her way down the steps by feel, then paused at the bottom.

Herr Sonnenstich followed, the two younger teachers behind him both carrying oil lamps. As the contents of the basement came into view, Wendla's breath caught in her throat. She had no idea what any of this was for, but she didn't like it at all.

"You won't need those clothes for the rest of your time here," Herr Sonnenstich said in a brusque, businesslike tone. "Fold them neatly and place them on that chair in the corner."

Alarm bells went off in Wendla's head. He couldn't possibly be serious, could he? She shook her head numbly and tried to sidle away from the headmaster. Unfortunately, that meant moving deeper into the large, dark basement and away from the stairs. There were no windows, no other exits. With Herr Sonnenstich and his two cronies blocking the stairs, she was effectively trapped.

"Adults don't undress in front of each other," she said weakly, trying to appeal to the ludicrous logic the headmaster was trying to drive home. Of course she was still a child. She knew that. One afternoon in the hay with Melchior wouldn't change things that drastically. But Herr Sonnenstich seemed to think it did.

The three men chuckled, and Herr Sonnenstich stepped toward her as the other two set their lamps down on small tables on opposite sides of the room. "That comment shows how ill-prepared you are to be the adult you seem so badly to want to be," he said. "Adults undress in front of each other far more often than young children do." He considered her, and the twinkle in his eye was mocking. "Or don't you remember how that baby got in your belly?"

Wendla felt a blush heating her cheeks. Oh, she remembered, but she hadn't known at the time what would happen. "Melchior and I didn't—" she started before forcing herself to be still. What had transpired between them in the Gabor hayloft was private. No one needed to know, no matter how much they goaded her.

"Don't try to deny it, girl; the doctor has confirmed the evidence." Herr Sonnenstich stepped menacingly toward her. "Will you obey, or will you force me to do it for you?"


Still Wendla hesitated. She'd never undressed before a man, which was what she'd tried to tell the headmaster. Yes, she and Melchior had lain together in the hay. Yes, he'd touched parts of her body previously unknown even to her. But she hadn't actually undressed in front of him—not fully; not really. And she didn't want to do it now in front of his teachers. "No," she said quietly, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn't know what disobedience would mean in this place, but she wasn't stupid. She knew it couldn't be good. Still, she couldn't do it; she just couldn't. Not here, not like this. What she and Melchior had shared was beautiful. It was passionate—as he'd said, it was good. Undressing here and now could never be those things.

"Knüppeldick. Knockenbruch. Grab her."

At the order from Sonnenstich, the two younger teachers stepped forward. Wendla flinched away, but the flight of one girl against three grown men was laughable and soon they had her by the arms again. She sobbed openly as the older man stepped in front of her and efficiently unbuttoned and untied her dress and underthings. He pulled the fabric from her arms, the two younger teachers shifting their grip from sleeves to skin as it was bared.

"No!" she protested even as her dress pooled at her feet, followed by her chemise. She trembled, held in place in only her shoes and stockings. Herr Sonnenstich moved away and picked something up that had been lying on a table. It was a thin, flexible switch, and he smacked it against his leg, making a sharp thwack. She cringed away from it, fighting the two who still held her arms.

Herr Sonnenstich calmly stepped up behind Wendla, and she craned her neck to keep him in her line of sight. "What are you doing?" she asked hesitantly, her soft voice full of fear.

The lash against her ass came without warning, and she cried out as the switch laid a line of fire against her flesh. He struck her twice more without speaking.

"Now," he said, and his voice was too calm. "Now maybe you'll understand just how serious I am when I give you an order. Women obey men just as children obey parents—and make no mistake, you will learn to obey me."

"No!" Wendla protested through her tears. She knew the Bible said a man must be the lord of his home, but she and her mother had lived just fine without one for years now. She wasn't going to give her submission to Herr Sonnenstich just because he was a man. Something inside her rebelled despite the physical pain and humiliation. Something wouldn't let her do it.

"Yes," he insisted. "Fighting me will just make it harder for you. You will submit to me, first as a woman and then as a child. The only question is how much time and pain it will take before you learn."

Wendla shook like a leaf in the cold basement, but it was the ice in his words rather than the subterranean air that scared her. She heard the whistle of the switch cutting through the air before it bit into her flesh again, and she cried out against the fiery burst of intense pain.

"I'm leaving welts, you know," Herr Sonnenstich said, his voice far too calm for what they were discussing. "They're lovely—all raised and red against the pale curve of your ass. I could continue striping you all day, believe me. But it's time to continue your first lesson. I want you to remove the rest of your clothing and fold it neatly on that chair in the corner. Will you do as I say? Or must we continue with the switch?"

"No," Wendla protested weakly through her tears. "No, no, no."

"No what? No switch, or no you won't comply?" He tapped her burning ass impatiently with the switch, and not gently. She yelped as the hard rod prodded a throbbing welt.

"I'll do it," she said finally, dropping her head. "I'll do it. Just don't hit me again!"

"If you're a good girl and behave yourself, I'll have no need to hit you." Her Sonnenstich nodded to the other two teachers, who released her arms. Trembling, Wendla stepped out of her shoes and pulled down her stockings. She folded her clothes as neatly as she could with her shaking hands and clutched the soft bundle against her chest. Three pairs of male eyes were trained on her the entire time, and she didn't like it at all.

"Put them on the chair," Herr Sonnenstich repeated. "You won't need them for a while."

Wendla slowly stepped over to the wooden chair indicated and lay her clothes on the seat. She didn't know what was going on, and she didn't like it. But her backside stung and burned enough that she wasn't going to disobey. Not right now. Not with the threat of another switching looming large.

"Good girl," Herr Sonnenstich said approvingly. "Now come here."

Slowly she walked toward him, though every bone in her body was telling her to run. She had no choice, and nowhere to go.

"Tell me how old you are," Herr Sonnenstich ordered when she stood before him.

"Fifteen," Wendla whispered.

"Fifteen what?"

She blinked. "I don't know what you mean."

A frown of displeasure rolled across his face. "I am your better, girl, and you will address me as such!" Quick as a flash his hand shot out and slapped her cheek again. "Fifteen what, Wendla?"

"Fifteen, mein Herr," she said, spitting out the honorific as calmly as she could despite the fact that she didn't want to call him that.

"Good girl. And do you think, Wendla, that a fifteen-year-old child should be fucking like an adult?"

Wendla flinched at the harsh sound of the verb, though she had never heard it before. "I—I don't know what you mean, mein Herr," she whispered.

A cruel smile spread across his mouth. "Don't you? Don't you, indeed?" He chuckled. "Hold her down."

The two younger teachers sprang to life, one grabbing her shoulders and the other her knees. They hoisted her off her feet and forced her to her back on the cold packed-dirt floor. Wendla screamed, her fear blossoming into full-blown terror as she realized what they meant to do.

"Little Wendla," Herr Sonnenstich said, and the mockingly-sweet lilt to his voice made her skin crawl. "A fifteen-year-old child should not be fucking little boys like Melchior Gabor. But if you insist on engaging in adult activities, then by all means, go ahead. But you must be willing to accept the consequences."

"I didn't know the consequences!" Wendla sobbed as the two teachers shifted their fierce grip on her. One pulled her hands up above her head and knelt on them, ensuring that she could not move. The other sat on her legs, so no matter how she twisted and fought, she could not get free. "Mama never told me," she stuttered, struggling against her captors. "But I have a child in me now—I have accepted that!"

"Ah, no," Herr Sonnenstich said, shaking his head and smiling coldly. "Not that consequence. I mean this one—if you wish to act like an adult woman, you shall be used as such." He picked up two lengths of coarse rope, the kind used in barns, and tossed one to the teacher sitting on her legs. The teacher moved, grabbing her right ankle and tying the rope firmly around it. Herr Sonnenstich caught her left ankle before she could move to kick the other man and looped his rope around it just as tightly. They pushed, forcing her knees to her chest and then parting them, tying her ankles tight to some metal rings pounded into the hard earthen floor.

Wendla didn't know if she would ever breathe properly again. Her heart hammered in fear against her ribcage, and she couldn't move anything but her head. Her legs were tied tightly down by the ankle, and Herr Sonnenstich and his crony used more rope to secure her knees as well, canting her hips upward and spreading her knees and ankles as far apart as they could, then tying her tightly in that position.

"Melchior admitted to learning about sex in books," Sonnenstich said. "Our society is still civilized enough that we hide such learning from our girls and women. What you know of the body comes from men, and men only." He knelt between her spread legs and Wendla tried to flinch away from his large unyielding body, but there was nowhere for her to go. She was tied in place like a ritual offering, the third teacher still kneeling on her hands so they could not move. The cold air between her legs felt foreign and frightening. "You wanted to know about the body, little girl? About sex?" The headmaster smiled again, but it was a gesture that could never reassure anyone. "So be it. I'll teach you so much, you'll be begging me to spank you like the child you are and send you home to your mama. I'll teach you so much, you'll never want to overstep the bounds of childhood again."

Without warning, he reached forward and closed the fingers of his right hand around one of her naked breasts, pinching cruelly hard. She cried out, which only made him smile more.

"Lesson one, Wendla. These are your breasts—such as they are. I prefer a girl with more meat on her bones. You're nothing but a little fairy, hardly developed at all." He pinched again, rolling the nub between his hard fingers. "The nipple, here, is extremely sensitive. Wouldn't you agree?" A vicious pinch made her scream. "Men like to touch and fondle and lick breasts, and play with nipples. Did Melchior do this to you? Did the little boy know enough to touch you here?" He raised his other hand and grabbed her other breast, squeezing the small, soft mound tight enough that she was afraid he would leave bruises.

"Knüppeldick," Sonnenstich said to the man not currently holding Wendla's hands down. "Would you like to play, too?"

"Please," the other teacher said, and his cruel smile echoed the headmaster's. He lowered his head as Sonnenstich released one breast, and sucked the reddened nipple into his mouth. He sucked ruthlessly hard, rubbing his tongue and teeth against the hard, abused bud. Wendla screamed again, pain shooting through her body. Her breasts were already sore from the pregnancy, and the rough treatment was excruciating.

"Please don't!" she sobbed, twisting and writhing, trying to escape the harsh male hands and mouth. "Please stop!"

"Most men prefer women with nice, full breasts," Knüppeldick said, ignoring her pleas. "I like them just like this—almost unripe, if you will. Like a green apple before its first hint of red—tart and firm, not lush." He licked the line of her clavicle, then returned to her nipple and bit down hard.

Pain lanced through the sore flesh. Wendla arched her back and cried out again.

"So responsive," Sonnenstich said, chuckling. "I can see why Melchior Gabor chose you, my little fairy princess. You are not yet ripe, just as Knüppeldick says, but that makes it all the more entertaining." He swept a hand across her abdomen and down her belly, heaving with her heavy, terrified breaths. "Your mama was right to try to shield you, treasure, though it backfired horribly on her, didn't it?"

Tears leaked steadily from her eyes, dropping down the sides of her face and into her hair. She was adrift in pain and unpleasant sensations—the cold of the packed dirt floor, the bite of the rope against her ankles and knees, the fire still throbbing in her backside from the switch, and now the new pain in her breasts. She whimpered, unable to stop herself from fighting though it was useless, as Sonnenstich's hand traveled lower, eventually cupping the area between her legs. He held his hand there as if claiming it, his touch proprietary and methodical, nothing at all like Melchior's passionate embrace.

"Lesson two. I daresay you have no idea what you did with Melchior, nor have you the vocabulary to describe it. Therefore, I'll teach you." He removed his hand and stroked the back of his fingers across the soft vertical lips that her current position had wrenched apart. "Here is your labia majora. In a woman ripe for the taking, they will be covered in dark, curly hair. You have just the lightest beginnings of this—more proof that you had no business letting Melchior fuck you in a hayloft. But you made the choice, little girl, and now you'll suffer the consequences." He spat on his fingers, rubbing the saliva around, then touched between her legs. "These inner lips are called the labia minora. Such pretty ones you have, too—they're so little, and such a sweet rosy color." He rubbed his hand up and down the slit between her legs, held wide open for everyone in the basement to see. "This part of the body we call the vulva. It's all quite sensitive, as I'm sure you're quickly learning." He raised an eyebrow at Wendla, looking her in the eye for the first time since he began lecturing. When his eyebrow raised his hand did too, and he brought it down against the tender, sensitive flesh between her legs with a stinging smack.

She cried out, and he smiled thinly. "Be glad I'm not using the switch," he said. "Be a good girl and recite back to me what I've told you thus far." He pinched a fold of her outer lips tightly. "What is this?"

"L-labia majora," she stuttered, tears leaking from her eyes even as she squeezed them tight against the pain.

"And what language is that?"

"L-latin!" she panted. Girls did not learn Latin, but she knew that much.

"What a smart girl," Herr Sonnenstich said, but there was no comfort in his voice. "Now this." He pinched a small inner fold.

"Labia m-minora," Wendla panted. "Please, please stop!"

"The lesson is not over," he said coldly. "Is that Latin as well?"

"Yes," she whimpered.

"And the whole area between those pretty legs of yours? What is that called, and from what language is it derived?"

"Vulva," she repeated dully, squirming as he rubbed his hand against her sensitive flesh again. "Latin again," she guessed. It didn't sound Greek, anyway. She swore she'd learn every word perfectly if it would just make this "lesson" end faster.

"What a good student," he crooned, continuing to rub between her legs with a heavy hand. It was uncomfortable and humiliating, and she hated it. The softer touches were almost worse than the ones meant to cause pain. "Let's move on. You have a tiny hole through which you pass liquid waste, called the urethra, but we're not concerned with that today. We're concerned with your other holes. You have two more." He spat on his hand again and put it back between her legs. "This one back here," he said, running a finger around the smaller opening of her ass, "is for passing solid waste. We may concern ourselves with it in due time, but not right now. Right now we're more interested in this one." He moved his hand to the middle of her slit, and Wendla caught her breath as she felt him press just where Melchior had pressed. Like before, her body yielded in some secret way she didn't understand, and his finger was forced unceremoniously inside her. She yelped. It hadn't felt like this in the hayloft. While Melchior had not exactly been gentle, he had at least seemed concerned about how she felt. Herr Sonnenstich had no such regard for her feelings, and he rammed one finger deep inside. She yelped and keened, twisting and writhing, wanting nothing more than for the burning pain of the invasion to stop. With Melchior it hadn't felt like this at all.

"This is the hole we're concerned with," Herr Sonnenstich continued as if she wasn't quaking with intense pain beneath him. "This is where your monthly blood flows—and I know you've begun that, or else you wouldn't have a child in your belly now. The menses mark fertility in a young girl. Before them, you cannot harbor life." He wiggled his finger within her, causing a burning, tearing sensation. Wendla screeched, but he merely chuckled. "Yes," he agreed, "I imagine it doesn't feel very pleasant for me to do this right now. You're dry as a bone, and still so small and tight. When your body wants to accept a man, as it did young Herr Gabor, it secretes a lubricant liquid to make the process pleasurable rather than painful. But you don't want me or Knüppeldick or Knochenbruch to touch you, and so your body is dry and is trying not to accept me." He withdrew his finger, which was almost as painful as insertion. "This hole is called your vagina, and it is meant to accept whatever a man wishes to put into it—be it a finger, a penis, a tongue, or an inanimate object." He chuckled and stroked his finger along her opening without forcing his way inside this time. She quivered in fear that he would, but his next words proved his misinterpretation of the response. "Don't worry, little fairy girl. We'll get to more insertion soon enough."

He ran his hand further forward, and suddenly his fingers found a spot that made her cry out again and try to twist away from his probing fingers. He chuckled. "And that, my girl, is your clitoris. Medical debate rages as to whether it really exists, but for my part, I believe it does. How else to explain this?" He rubbed hard against the small knot of nerves, making her yelp and contort as she tried to get away from the pressure of his fingers. It was too much on that incredibly sensitive spot, and the over-stimulation turned to intense pain.

"Stop!" she begged, trying to pull her hands free. "Stop, stop!"

Melchior had found that place, too. She didn't care what it was called or the derivation of the word—her lover's hands had coaxed pleasure from her body unlike she'd ever felt before. But this wasn't pleasant at all; it was just raw, overwhelming pain, and she needed it to stop.

"No," Herr Sonnenstich replied calmly to her cries to stop. "Women don't tell men what to do. Little girls don't tell adults what to do. However you see yourself, you do not dictate my actions. Your mama gave you to me for this purpose. Your body is mine to do with as I please, and you have no say, little girl. Do you hear me?"

"Stop," she pleaded, crying in earnest now. "Please stop,"

He ignored her, but he spat on her clit as he rubbed it roughly. The moisture eased the pulling pain of being touched dry, but it intensified the sensation of his rough, insistent hand. Through the pain she could feel a more familiar building ache, just as she'd experienced in the hayloft with Melchior. Against her will, her body contracted and plunged off the cliff she'd felt before, but there was no pleasure in it. The pain was enveloped in a rush of burning sensation, and then only intensified as her tender body became even more sensitive in the aftermath.

Finally Herr Sonnenstich stopped and removed his hand. He rubbed roughly across her exposed vulva before wiping his fingers against her inner thigh. She was surprised to feel wetness coat her skin.

"And that," he said, laughing as she cried, "is called an orgasm. But don't worry, pretty girl. I only did it to make you wet—I have no interest in fucking you dry. Now that you're lubricated, you don't need to have any more. This lesson isn't about pleasure." He reached up and patted her cheek. "Not yours, at least."

With that, he shucked off his coat and lowered his trousers. He sprang free, and Wendla's eyes went wide. She hadn't really seen what Melchior looked like underneath his clothes, and though she understood that there was something he'd placed inside her, she hadn't really expected it to look like...that. Sonnenstich's stood out perpendicular to his body, red and twitching. It looked almost swollen, and the rounded tip was slowly leaking a clear fluid. Below the shaft hung a sac with what looked like two eggs, the skin wrapped tightly around it. The shaft was bare, but hair grew like a nest all around it.

"I see by your eyes that you haven't seen this yet, though you've felt it," Sonnenstich said, stroking himself with a fist. "Shall we continue the lesson? The length is called the penis, and the sac below is the scrotum. All of it is quite sensitive and responds well to touch. But the best kind of touch is a good fuck, which is what I'm about to do to you." He knelt between her legs again and raised himself above her. "I warned you of the consequences, and this is it. You want to act like a woman? Well, myself and my two dear friends here are going to let you."

"No!" Wendla pleaded. It hadn't exactly been comfortable even when Melchior did this, and at least then she was willing. Now she was anything but.

But Sonnenstich ignored her, as he ignored all of her pleas, and he took himself in his hand, aligning the thick length of him with her vagina. "I've no doubt this will hurt," he said pleasantly. "You're so small, you see, and I'm a full grown man, unlike young Herr Gabor. But you must remember that you brought this on yourself."

Without another word, he forced the tip inside her.

Wendla screamed. She didn't want this, and she felt like she was tearing apart. She didn't care what he said about lubrication—her flesh still burned and stung as he pushed deeper into her body. He stilled himself after a moment, and she wondered if he was giving her time to get used to the painful sensation as Melchior had. But no. He was just assuring himself that he was lined up properly, the head of his penis fully submerged, before he rammed the rest of it home.

"God help me, you feel amazing," he grunted, pulling almost all the way out and then shoving in again. "Maybe there's something to this young girl thing after all. So tiny—so tight." He swore, but Wendla was past caring what sort of vulgar language came from his mouth. She felt like a calf being branded, except on the inside. It burned, it stung; she felt ripped apart. Gabbled cries for him to stop just turned into a long, keening scream.

A/N: Please note that a true BDSM relationship is always safe, sane, and consensual, and takes place between adults of legal age. There's nothing wrong with a relationship of that nature. This is not that. This is abuse, pure and simple. Aaaaand on that note I have to go take a shower after writing this. I feel dirty.

So what do you think? Should Melchior come rescue her next chapter, or should we wait a while? Reviews = faster updates!