A German Holiday
by R.T. Mason
It was really hot and somehow Julie hadn’t thought of Germany as being hot, not like this. She should perhaps have studied that guidebook a bit more before coming here to stay with Margit but with her exams taking all her time she hadn’t. Anyway on this sweltering July afternoon, her first day here, they were at least in the right sort of place: a sandy beach on a lake where Margit’s father had driven Julie and Margit and Margit’s friend Grete after lunch. Julie slipped off her dress under which, like the two German girls, she was already wearing under her bikini.
Margit looked, her eyes rounding, at the pretty English girl’s figure. In her good but rather stilted English she said, ‘Oh my! Quite a stunner, is that what you English say?’
Julie blushed. Then Grete, who had slipped round behind her, added, ‘And look, Margit! Her bottom is especially charming!’
The two German girls laughed while Julie’s blush deepened. Her bottom was shapely but she would have preferred it to be somewhat smaller – like Margit’s or Grete’s in fact, for they too had now slipped off their dresses.
Margit, putting her dress neatly on her beach bag, said, ‘You will be very popular, Julie. You know that German men are very fond of girls with charming bottoms!’
The German girls laughed again. ‘Especially Herr Friedrich!’ said Grete.
‘Oh yes,’ agreed Margit, ‘certainly Herr Friedrich!’
Something was said in German, which Julie didn’t understand, causing more laughter from the other two. Then they all ran into the water, Julie wondering vaguely who this Herr Friedrich was.
Julie had arrived the day before, for a month’s stay with Margit Kirchner. The visit had been arranged through a colleague of Julie’s father who had got to hear of the Kirchners’ wish for an English girl to improve their daughter’s English. Julie herself spoke hardly any German but that was not seen by the Kirchners as a disadvantage, as it would force Margit to use the English language. So it had been agreed, Julie and Margit had exchanged letters, and directly after the finish of Julie’s A Level exams she had flown to Munich, there to be met by Margit and her parents in the family Mercedes.
It was Julie’s first visit to Germany and her first meeting with either Margit or her parents but from the beginning they had all seemed awfully nice, giving her an enthusiastic welcome into their rather lavish home. And Margit herself, 18 like Julie, blonde, blue-eyed and pretty, and with a self-assurance which the English girl at once envied – yes, Julie was sure they’d get on very well indeed.
The first morning had been spent in a quick tour of the town with Margit and her friend Grete, and it had already seemed very hot by mid-morning. Margit had smiled at Julie’s query about the weather.
‘Oh of course it is warmer than your English weather. But don’t worry: this afternoon we go to a beautiful German lake.’
And here they were. They splashed about in the cool refreshing water, both German girls displaying powerful swimming styles which Julie couldn’t compete with. Then they came out, dried themselves, and lay in the sun which, after the cool water, was no longer quite so unbearable.
The two German girls already had well-developed tans: Margit, the blonde, her skin golden-honey in her brief emerald-green bikini, now wet and taut; and Grete, slightly taller than Margit, with short curling dark hair, whose darker brown limbs were shown to advantage in a trim pink two-piece.
Julie in contrast, what with exams and a longish spell of typical English weather, had not yet seen much of the sun and her skin was still pale – as she was self-consciously aware. But pale or not it was very shapely in the brief sky-blue bikini, the bottom half of which in particular was slickly tight over her swelling haunches.
Indeed the spell of energetic activity in the water had caused the brief elasticated material to ride up off the swell of Julie’s bottom cheeks to catch in the cleft of her backside. She reached behind her to adjust it, remarking as she did on her own pale skin tone.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Margit, ‘you will soon be brown.’
She turned over and sat up, then unfastened her bikini top and took it off. Her firm medium-sized bare breasts were honey-brown like the rest of her, their brown nipples semi-erect.
Julie blinked. Her rather shocked expression brought a smile to Margit’s face. She stuck out her breasts. ‘Do you like my – how do you say – my tits?’
Julie coloured. ‘That is not really a very polite word.’
‘No? Well, breasts, then. Anyway you must take off your top as well to get a tan.’
Grete had already followed Margit’s example to bare her own brown breasts. Julie sat up and looked anxiously around. There was no one else near, the beach deserted except for a couple some way off. She didn’t like the idea but she would seem silly if she refused to follow the others’ lead.
‘Come on!’ encouraged Margit, her eyes on Julie’s bikini top which clearly contained breasts larger than those of either of the other two.
Flushing slightly, Julie reached behind her. The top came off. Julie’s breasts were indeed bigger than either Margit’s or Grete’s, round and full and jutting firmly out, their paleness accentuated by the quite large reddish-pink nipples.
Julie had never had her breasts bare in public before. And what made it worse, due either to embarrassment or having just had them in the cool water, was that her nipples were fully erect. Sticking out like fat pink thumbs.
Margit gave a low husky laugh. ‘Look Grete! I think Julie has been thinking sexy thoughts!’
In some confusion Julie lay down, turning on her stomach again, the full breasts flattening under her. For something to say she said ‘Who’s this Herr Friedrich?’
The two German girls started giggling.
* * *
Herr Friedrich, it turned out, was a private tutor who saw both Margit and Grete in a number of subjects – including English – where it was felt extra work was needed. He visited their homes for this purpose and Julie saw him for herself the very next day.
Margit had made a face at breakfast, then said, ‘Unfortunately, Julie, it is my bad luck to have to see Herr Friedrich this morning, at 10 am. Perhaps you would like to sit in the garden while he visits. Then you can get more suntan.’
As it happened Julie was still feeling a bit raw from the previous afternoon when she had spent rather too long in the sun. She had applied liberal quantities of oil to herself to ease it but her breasts especially were pink and sore and she had left her bra off under her dress. So more sun today did not sound like a good idea, but anyway there were plenty of nice shady spots in the Kirchners’ quite extensive garden. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said.
Herr Friedrich arrived promptly at 10 in his Opel and Julie had a glimpse of him before she slipped out into the garden: a middle-aged man with the sort of serious look behind his rimless spectacles that you might expect of a German schoolteacher.
She sat under a big spruce tree for half an hour reading her book, then decided she needed to go inside to the bathroom. The Kirchners had a downstairs room which they mostly used during the daytime but Julie, forgetting this, automatically went upstairs, as if at home, where in fact the Kirchners had a second bathroom. Then on the landing she rather lost her bearings so that she found herself going along the corridor which had Margit’s room at the end of it.
The door to Margit’s room was slightly ajar and she could hear Herr Friedrich’s voice from the other side, speaking German. She couldn’t resist looking through the door crack. Margit was standing in front of Herr Friedrich who seemed to be sternly lecturing her on something. Julie realised she was evesdropping and was about to move away when Margit looked up and said something to which her tutor said ‘Ja!’ And Margit then went to an upright chair placed in the centre of the room.
She stood close behind the chair, then bent herself forward from the waist, over the chair back, until her blonde head was down in the seat. Her two hands reached down and gripped the front chair legs near the floor. In this position of course Margit’s bottom in her flowered white summer dress was thrust firmly, almost obscenely, up and out. Julie realised her heart had started beating rather rapidly and her mouth felt dry.
Herr Friedrich had watched this performance with a stern but impassive expression. He now took a step forward and with one movement grabbed the hem of Margit’s full skirt and flipped it fully up, as far as it would go so that it now descended like a bell over Margit’s lowered head. Julie could not prevent an audible gasp (fortunately not heard in the room) because it was just such a shock, like a blow in her stomach.
What was revealed seemed even more shocking. Under her dress Margit had on just a pair of brief, completely transparent, pink nylon knickers. Her bottom was effectively bare, startlingly white through the transparent knickers against her honey-brown thighs. It was evident at least that when sunbathing she did not remove her bikini bottom.
Behind the door Julie was sweating. She knew she shouldn’t be watching like this but the fascination – the horrified fascination – was just intense. Feeling a little faint she saw Herr Friedrich now firmly insert his thumbs into the waistband of those skimpy knickers and draw them down, half way down Margit’s thighs. He then said something in German, not so sternly as before, while at the same time his hand took hold of Margit’s bare bottom, squeezing first one pale cheek and then the other.
Then he walked over to one of Margit’s cupboards, reached his hand in and drew out – a cane! A long thin whippy cane, the sort they use in boys’ schools on difficult pupils, or used to. It was something Julie had never seen before – and never dreamt could be used on a girl. But now…
Cane in hand, he walked briskly back and stood to one side of the immobile, obscenely bending Margit. He patted the cane lightly across the bare bottom as he got himself in just the right position. And then he simply swung it back and brought it whistling down squarely across the centre of Margit’s bare white buttocks.
Margit didn’t cry out but gave a choking gasp. It was matched by a simultaneous involuntary gasp from the watching Julie, for as the cane swished down, juddering into Margit’s soft flesh, it was almost as if it had landed on Julie herself. She gave another gasp at the imagined pain where now a distinct red stripe was clearly visible across Margit’s bottom.
Margit herself, still gripping onto the chair legs, squirmed her bottom while Herr Friedrich waited. When she was once more still he raised the cane again and brought it slashing down for a second time. A second crisp THWACK!… horrendously jolting into Margit’s bare bottom.
There was another grunting gasp from Margit, another desperate writhing of the buttocks. Julie felt dizzy. It was like an awful nightmare, yet riveting to watch.
But feeling sick or not she couldn’t leave, just had to watch as Herr Friedrich’s cane continued to whistle down onto Margit’s unprotected bottom. He gave her eight in all. Through it all the German girl didn’t cry out once or relax her grip on the chair legs. Just a grunting gasp each time the cane bit in, followed by a silent writhing of her buttocks.
When he had finished Herr Friedrich put the cane down, then reached his hand out to stroke the red-striped bottom, speaking softly to Margit in German as he did so. Then he took his hand away and Margit stood up, red-faced, her hair in some disorder. She pulled up the skimpy knickers, then pushed her skirt back down into position.
Julie at last crept silently away and out into the garden, to sit down again by the spruce tree. Her heart was pounding and she also had the feeling of being rather moist between her legs; because the startling scene, awful though it had been, had also been sexually arousing. She couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be bent over that chair, like Margit. It would be sheer torture, and dreadfully humiliating. But also the thought had an undeniable element of sexual excitement.
A little while later Margit appeared in the garden – with Herr Friedrich! Julie scrambled to her feet, feeling a hot flush.
‘I want you to meet Herr Friedrich, my tutor,’ said Margit, her voice sounding quite normal.
In fact they both looked and sounded normal. It was almost impossible to believe that only half an hour earlier Margit had been bent over that chair with her bottom bare and Herr Friedrich had been vigorously caning it.
Herr Friedrich was charming, saying the usual things you say to a foreign visitor and suggesting that Julie might help him with his English – although this in fact was very good. As he talked, though, Julie was aware of his eyes going appraisingly over her – and more than once lingering at her breasts. It was only afterwards she remembered, with embarrassment, that she had left her bra off and he pretty certainly would have been able to see her nipples through the thin summer dress.
But as regards what had happened in Margit’s room half an hour earlier – well, could it really have happened? Or could she possibly have dreamt the whole thing?
It wasn’t a dream, though, or if it was she dreamt the same one the next day. After lunch this time, Margit saying, ‘I must have an hour of work with Herr Friedrich, Julie. Please be patient.’
Julie knew she shouldn’t but she couldn’t help it. Going back into the house after Margit and Herr Friedrich had been together for a quarter of an hour and silently up the stairs and along the corridor towards Margit’s room. There was no reason to suppose the door would be ajar again but in fact it was – possibly to allow some air movement in the heat.
Margit and Herr Friedrich were seated on the settee apparently going through an English text and today they were speaking mostly English. After a while Margit said something in German to which the tutor replied, ‘English please, Margit.’
And then Margit said, ‘I have as you know my visitor staying. Please I cannot stay too long. So if you wish to cane me it must be soon.’
Herr Friedrich answered, ‘But of course I wish to cane you, my dear Margit. Yes, we will do it right away.’
And then what had happened the day before was repeated. Margit going to the chair and bending over it; Herr Friedrich flipping up her dress, then pulling down a pair of (today) transparent blue knickers. And then vigorously laying into the upthrust bottom with the cane.
Julie watched the cane descend five or six times and then crept away. She again had that feeling of utter shock tinged with excitement, which together produced a rather queasy sensation.
She didn’t know what to think, it was just so unbelievable: an 18-year-old girl being caned like that – and apparently agreeing to it. Shortly Margit joined her in the garden, this time alone but again in seemingly good spirits which belied the fact that she had just received an undoubtedly painful bare-bottom caning.
That evening, after they’d visited Grete’s house and were alone again, Julie couldn’t help asking about Herr Friedrich.
‘Yes, I have to see Herr Friedrich quite a lot. He is a very good tutor in many subjects. Grete also sees him and also other girls. He is now my tutor for two years. You ask many questions about Herr Friedrich, Julie.’
Julie had blushed. But really, she told herself, it was none of her business what Margit did – or any other German girl for that matter. But when the next day Margit had another lesson Julie couldn’t resist again going back inside…
* * *
And this time… Whether Margit saw the door move, or glimpsed something through the door crack… In any event she suddenly stared directly across in the direction of the watching English girl. Then stood up and made for the door. Julie shot off – but not before Margit had opened the door and seen her disappearing along the corridor.
Julie didn’t know what to do. She wandered about in the garden, just feeling sick. And shortly when Margit found her, the German girl’s eyes blazing with anger, she felt sicker still.
Margit spat out, ‘So, you English girls are spies I see?’
Julie tried to prevaricate but against the German girl’s anger and her more dominant personality she had no real answer. She finally admitted that yesterday she had, accidentally, seen Margit being caned. (She couldn’t bring herself to admit that she had watched it twice.)
‘Oh, so you spy and see something awful is that so?’
Julie, squirming, again prevaricated. Margit insisted: ‘That is so, isn’t it?’
Julie had to admit that, yes, she did think being caned was awful.
‘Oh you are so… so stupid, you English. You think the caning is awful but I know that in your English schools girls are permitting men teachers to, how do you say, fuck.’
Julie blushed. ‘I… we certainly do not! And that… is not at all a nice word to use.’
‘I know this word because Herr Friedrich tells me and I know this fact because Herr Friedrich tells me also. He has been teacher in an English school where he sees other men teachers are fucking the big girls.’
Julie decided to let that pass. Hesitantly she asked, ‘But why… does he cane you?’
Margit pushed back her blonde hair. ‘In Germany men like to cane girls.’ She glared at Julie. ‘Not as in England where they only want the fucking.’
Julie once more denied this ridiculous charge. But even if German men did like to cane girls why did Margit have to let him do it?
She finally got the answer, after Margit had calmed down a bit and Julie had repeatedly apologised for what she still insisted was not spying but simply an accident. The reason was that Herr Friedrich could apparently get a preview of the exam papers. If you were nice to him and let him do what he wanted – what German men liked, so she said – your exams could be made considerably easier.
Apart from anything else wasn’t this cheating? Julie was unwise enough to mention this fact – which didn’t do anything to further a reconciliation.
So things were inevitably a bit cool between Julie and Margit: but Julie at least felt a sense of relief that it was now out in the open and no longer a secret lurking between them. Margit told her she was to say nothing to Margit’s parents – they apparently would not approve of Herr Friedrich’s activities in that direction. This was presumably why he only came round when the elder Kirchners were out.
After lunch the two girls plus Grete went to the beach again; a prearranged trip with Grete’s father taking them. They swam and sunbathed, Julie now having got over the slight sunburn, and as the beach was once more deserted they again all took their bikini tops off. It was all very like that first day except that now there was a certain amount of talking in lowered tones between the two German girls – in their own language.
Julie naturally wondered if Grete was being told about her ‘spying’; but she decided the best thing was to try and forget it.
Grete’s father called for them later (bikini tops having now been replaced) and in the car Margit said that probably they would go round to another girl’s house that evening for a little party. Grete was going to confirm this and phone later.
The confirmatory phone call duly came and Margit and Julie went off after dinner on bikes. The friend Lisa was a classmate of the other two, a blonde, very German-looking girl. Grete had already arrived and there were to be just the four girls: and as Lisa’s parents would be out they would have the house to themselves.
‘Just four good friends,’ said Margit. ‘But of course we want no one else for such a special… er… ceremony.’
‘What is the ceremony?’ asked Julie. They were in the lounge and as Julie spoke Lisa switched on all the lights, then closed the curtains although it was still light outside.
‘An important ceremony!’ said Margit mysteriously. ‘Do we have wine, Lisa?’
‘Oh but yes!’ Lisa went out and returned with a bottle of Rhine wine and four glasses.
‘What is it?’ repeated Julie, baffled.
The three German girls exchanged conspiratorial smiles as the wine was poured out. Margit held up a glass. ‘Julie, to your… er… what is Aufnahme, Lisa?’
‘Initiation,’ translated Lisa.
‘What?’ exclaimed Julie, taking an offered glass.
Margit’s face, as she looked un-blinkingly at Julie, had a flush of excitement. ‘Yes, the initiation for Julie. We are going to let you see how the cane feels. On that so charming bottom.’
Julie almost dropped her glass. The three German girls were standing round her, smiling, like cats with cream. ‘What..!’ she gasped.
‘You have shown yourself to be so curious about our German habits and so we will show you. Like good hosts. So will you please take down your knickers.’
Lisa suddenly had a cane in her hand – exactly like the one Herr Friedrich used. Red-faced, Julie gasped, ‘You… you must be mad!’
‘Oh please, Julie. There is no need to say that. We will remain friends of course. But you must please cooperate.’
‘No!’ gasped the now alarmed-looking English girl.
But Grete and Lisa grabbed her arms. Julie’s glass fell to the carpet making a mess but not breaking, as she yelled, ‘Let me go!’
She struggled to free herself but was impotent in their grip. ‘Don’t be silly, Julie,’ said Grete, laughing. ‘It won’t hurt too bad: and we all get it from Herr Friedrich.’
They dragged her to the table and pulled her face-down across it, holding her arms stretched out. Margit pulled up the full skirt of Julie’s knee-length red dress and the other two held it bunched around her waist. Underneath there were tight pink nylon knickers. The English girl let out a desperate yell as she felt someone’s – it was Margit’s – hands go in the waistband of the knickers and yank them down.
She kicked her feet but made no contact. Then she felt her knickers down round her knees.
‘Oh my!’ said Lisa.
Julie’s bare bottom, full, ripe, writhing with her frenzied movements, was a magnet for three pairs of eyes. ‘Hold her firmly!’ rasped Margit, now with the cane in her hand.
And suddenly Julie felt the most awful mind-boggling pain as the cane came down, squarely across those full ripe buttocks.
‘Aaiigghh!’ her head reared up and she let out an ear-piercing gasping yell.
The buttocks, now with a red stripe across the centre, had gone into a wild writhing, but the upper part of Julie’s body was held fast by Grete and Lisa. Margit, eyes gleaming with excitement, brought the cane whistling down again.
‘Aaeegghh!’ Another awful yell, another desperate squirming of the injured bottom.
‘Oh Julie,’ observed Margit, ‘You make a noise like a baby. You must learn to be brave, like German girls.’
She brought the cane cracking down again. There was the same frenzied cry. ‘Aaeeooogghh!’
Julie did not learn to be brave. Margit gave her six more and there was a similar desperate yell after each one. Towards the end the yells were mixed with a more continual sobbing.
Afterwards, when Julie had tearfully pulled up her knickers, Margit said, somewhat breathlessly, ‘Now we’re all the same. How do you say – all in the same ship. You have been caned like a German girl. But we are still all good friends of course.’
She held out her hand to Julie but the English girl angrily ignored it and turned away. The whole thing had been just diabolical – and quite unbelievable.
Margit put her arm round her. ‘Oh please Julie. Your first time I think is perhaps a shock, but you will soon think it is really nothing. But Julie, you must learn to take it bravely, like a German girl, and not cry like a little baby.’
* * *
Later that night, about an hour after Julie had gone early to bed, there was a discreet knock at the bedroom door. It was Margit, in her dressing gown. She quietly closed the door and came over to sit on Julie’s bed, smiling down at her.
Perhaps not surprisingly there had been a rather strained atmosphere between them since Julie’s caning. The ‘party’ had broken up soon after the caning – which had obviously been its only point – and Julie and Margit had cycled back, Margit attempting conversation but Julie refusing any more than monosyllabic responses. Cycling in any case was a bit painful after what had been done to her bum. She went to bed early, telling Margit’s parents she had a headache.
The ache in fact was somewhere else. Not so much in her bottom any longer but still very much to her pride. The very thought of what had happened, of the girls holding her down while Margit caned her bare bottom, was psychologically excruciating.
She was lying awake, her mind unable to think of anything else, when Margit came in. The German girl settled herself on the side of the bed. In a husky voice she said, ‘We are still good friends of course, dear Julie.’
It was something she had said more than once since the caning, without getting what she evidently considered an acceptable answer. Previously there had been mere grunts; now Julie said, ‘I’m not used to being caned by my friends.’
Margit gave a low laugh. ‘Oh Julie, it was just a caning between friends. You may cane me if you wish. But now as you are unhappy I come to comfort you.’
She stood up and unbelted her dressing gown. Underneath she was nude – that firm honey-brown body with the white section at the hips. In the half light Margit’s eyes had an excited gleam and also, Julie saw, as the German girl pulled back the covers and slipped in beside her, her nipples were firmly erect.
The next moment Margit was all over her, her wet mouth on Julie’s mouth, her hot tongue pushing in. It was such a shock – yet another that day – that Julie’s breath was taken away. By the time she had recovered the German girl had opened the front of Julie’s nightgown and her hand was pawing at those full breasts.
‘Margit!’ gasped Julie, when she at last was able to pull her mouth away.
‘Oh, we must be best friends now, we two!’ breathed Margit, her fingers greedily at one of Julie’s nipples. As Julie tried, unsuccessfully, to push her away she added:
‘Really it was quite fortunate that you spy on me and see Herr Friedrich with the cane.’
‘Yes. You see it is Herr Friedrich. Since he first sees you he finds you very beautiful. And so… he is therefore most eager to cane you.’
She added, with a low laugh, ‘With Herr Friedrich it is always the same. With any new girl he will not be happy until he canes her!’
Of all the shocks that day this was perhaps the one to cap them all: sufficient indeed to cause Julie to momentarily stop struggling with the amorous and aroused Margit – aroused without doubt by her earlier caning of the English girl. Margit took immediate advantage of the pause. Her hand went down and then up inside Julie’s nightgown.
There was a sudden gurgling gasp from Julie as the hand purposefully caressed her.
It had all been really too much for her and this on top of everything else was the end. She tried to stop Margit but by now everything seemed to be like a dream, and her struggles were at best weak and ineffective. Margit duly accomplished what she wanted. In a very short time Julie, her head in a whirl – out in space – was gasping and rhythmically jerking her body…
Afterwards she lay still – drained, stunned. Margit looked down at her, smiling. ‘Ah, so you English girls at least have passion!’
Julie made no reply. Margit lay down with her, her mouth close to Julie’s ear and her hand playing with one of the English girl’s still aroused nipples. In a husky voice she murmured, ‘I think perhaps you see Herr Friedrich in the morning.’
* * *
‘Aren’t you hungry?’ Margit wanted to know at breakfast time. Margit herself was tucking into salami and ryebread and coffee as if she’d been starved for a day or two.
She whispered confidentially to Julie, ‘It is the passion that gives me the good appetite!’
But Julie, passion or not, did not feel hungry at all. Well, how could she when there was the thought of that meeting at 10 o’clock – with Herr Friedrich.
At first the suggestion from Margit had just seemed ridiculous – and it had seemed even more ridiculous for Margit to think Julie would agree. But Margit’s voice had got that hard edge again as she said, ‘Herr Friedrich says he must have you; and we really must do what Herr Friedrich wants, Julie. He has a certain authority, you know.’
And when Julie insisted that it was out of the question Margit, while still caressing Julie, simply put the screws on.
‘You do not want the bad report home, Julie, I am sure. For instance your parents would be most unhappy if they are told you are behaving very badly and all the time are fucking many boys.’
Julie had gasped, ‘You couldn’t do that!’ – but she wouldn’t have wanted to bet on it.
‘Of course I will not need to,’ said Margit. ‘Because you are going to be sensible. It will be no worse than what we did at Lisa’s house. And think what pleasure there will be for Herr Friedrich!’
And so it looked as if Herr Friedrich was going to get his pleasure. But that didn’t mean Julie felt like eating breakfast.
He arrived, in his punctilious German manner, exactly on time. Margit’s parents were again out.
‘Good morning, Herr Friedrich!’ said Margit. ‘It is another lovely day! And here is your lovely English student to meet you.’
The lovely English student came forward, cringing.
‘Ah yes, Miss Julie Smith!’ His eyes glinted behind the spectacles. ‘We meet again and I am to teach you a little of the German language, I believe. That will give me great pleasure.’
‘You may use my room of course, Herr Friedrich,’ said Margit. ‘And I shall go and sit in the garden.’
‘Very good!’ said the tutor. ‘Shall we then go up without delay?’
Julie was wearing her red dress and underneath just bra and knickers. (Margit had said, ‘It is hot so you do not need a petticoat. Also Herr Friedrich is not liking the petticoats…’) Trying not to tremble she went up the stairs – acutely conscious of Herr Friedrich close behind her swaying buttocks. Then along the passage – where she had crept to watch Margit – but now with the German tutor literally breathing down her neck. Into Margit’s room.
He stood close in front of her. ‘So my dear young English lady, I am to teach you something of our German language. And also perhaps, a little of our German customs? One of these I think which you no longer have in England is discipline. Discipline for the young people – for young ladies such as yourself. Am I correct?’
Blushing slightly, Julie said, ‘I think we still have discipline.’
‘We shall see then,’ said Herr Friedrich. ‘Fraulein Kirchner informs me she has persuaded you that I enjoy some authority here. Is that so?’
Julie bit her lip. Then, ‘She has told me I… I should do what you say.’
‘Oh excellent! Well that is discipline, is it not? To do what the person in authority says. Let us see then if you can comply. A small test. Will you please take your clothes off. All of them. Except, shall we say, your shoes.’
Julie turned crimson. Speechless at first, she then managed to gasp, ‘I… you can’t! You just can’t ask me to do that!’
‘It is nothing: a simple test. Fraulein Kirchner and the other girls would think nothing of it. Also Fraulein Kirchner tells me that if you are not co-operative a most unfavourable report will be sent to your parents. So let us have no more of this foolish and undisciplined behaviour. Please remove your dress. And then the undergarments.’
It was outrageous… and unbelievable. But there was the thought of her parents getting some awful statement about her. It would be blatantly untrue of course and they couldn’t possibly believe it. Nonetheless for them even to get it would be an awful shock. And there was her father. Last year he had had a heart attack. They had said it wasn’t serious, but even so…
She looked pleadingly at Herr Friedrich. ‘Please! Please don’t ask me that!’
The eyes shone behind the rimless spectacles. ‘It is only a test. And I do ask it. It is a simple test of discipline.’
And so there was nothing for it. The full-skirted red dress had buttons down the back to the hips. She reached behind her to the buttons. Fumblingly, one by one, she unfastened them. Looking away from the intently staring German she pulled the top of the dress off her shoulders and arms, then down. And stepped out of it. Underneath she had just the matching pink nylon bra and knickers, the bra light and the knickers semi-transparent except for an opaque insert at the rounded bulge of her pubis.
Herr Friedrich’s gloating voice. ‘Most charming, Miss! And now also the scanties, please.’
She could feel beads of perspiration pricking her skin. It was hot in the room though there was a slight draught from the window and the slightly open door. But the perspiration was due to something else: being here like this and having to submit to this man’s whim whatever it might be. She felt a bit faint. His funny dated expression ‘scanties’ stuck in her mind, going round and round. Scanties… flimsies… frillies… It would be laughable except…
She put her hand to her face. In spite of the heat it felt cold, and damp. And then with a feeling that it wasn’t herself doing it but someone else, both hands went behind her. To the strap of her bra. She unfastened it. The bra came off and, unseeing, she dropped it to the floor. What was next? Oh yes, her knickers. Her hands went down.
The knickers seemed to stick, the tight nylon clinging to her moist skin. But they came down all right. Down to her ankles and she stepped out of them, almost falling over as she did so.
The room seemed to be going round and round a lot. But Herr Friedrich was there, close now. She was vaguely aware that she was nude. His hand on her arm. And then both hands on her bare breasts. She didn’t try to stop him – again there was the feeling that it was happening to someone else. His fingers manipulating her nipples caused them to respond though, as they became fully erect.
His voice, silky, caressing: ‘Good! Very good, Miss Smith! Now you learn to accept; to submit. That is very good…’
His hand slid behind her to her bare backside, taking hold of one full cheek, fingers reaching deep into the moist cleft. ‘And now I think a little of our German discipline. A little taste of the cane on this splendid backside.’
And then she was bending over that chair, the one she had watched Margit bend over. But she, Julie, unlike Margit, was nude except for her shoes. She bent right over, under Herr Friedrich’s forceful hand, her head down in the seat and her hands down to grip the front legs of the chair.
And then there was a sudden sharp, searing, breath-stopping pain. In her bare up-thrust buttocks. And then instants later, as breath came back, she heard a gasping shrieking cry. A cry of that English girl, Julie Smith, bending made over a chair in a bedroom in a little German town. And very far from home.
And then a second sickening, breath-stopping pain. A third… a fourth… Each followed by the desperate cry of that English girl who had no choice but to submit. A fifth… a sixth… but by then you had lost count and they were merging together and the English girl was sobbing more than crying out…
At last the caning had stopped. She was still over the chair-back, still sobbing. Not the cane now but the German tutor’s hand on her bare backside: stroking and caressing the tortured red-striped cheeks. And also slipping, as if by accident, in between her legs. It was a further indignation which she had no choice but to endure, like the humiliation of the vicious caning, the hand coolly, appraisingly, going wherever it wanted. Because she had no option but to submit to this man.
The hand at last was removed and his voice said, ‘Right: stand please! Stand upright!’
She stood, holding the chair-back to control her trembling. The room and Herr Friedrich were all blurred because her eyes were full of tears.
‘Good, Miss. That was a nice little lesson to begin with. But with someone such as yourself who has clearly had no discipline at all – your silly crying out makes that plain – we obviously have much work to do. What I think we will do therefore is have a regular session at my apartment – each day of the week, to begin tomorrow. You can reach it with ease on your bicycle as Fraulein Kirchner will tell you. We shall say, I think, 9.30 am; that is a time when I shall be free to deal with you. Is that understood?’
The only answer was a fresh outburst of tears. She could not believe this was happening to her; that she had no power to resist him whatsoever…
He moved from facing her to stand close behind, and his hands came round under her arms and cupped her breasts. He squeezed them.
‘You have a good figure, Miss Smith, but one which certainly needs more discipline. It is for instance certainly not as firm as the bodies of Fraulein Margit and Fraulein Grete. What it is needing is the discipline of exercise to firm it more. And therefore I propose to place you in the hands of an Athletics Instructor. We have a very good man here, Herr Lehmann, who before was an instructor in the Army and is now an excellent trainer of girls.’
‘Herr Lehmann is most commendably strict: he is not using the cane on his girls but, rather, a horse-riding whip. Wait: excuse me, in more correct English, a riding crop. Yes, the riding crop is most effective in keeping a girl, as you say, up to her mark.’
‘So I shall take you to Herr Lehmann tomorrow after I have had my own session with you. He will start a programme of hard exercises plus running, etc. I think as you are on holiday you have much free time which can most profitably be used in this manner. Yes, Miss Smith, I think together Herr Lehmann and I myself can use your time most effectively. It is three weeks more you have with us, I think. With that time we can, I assure you, do very good work.’
The hands which had been squeezing her breasts all this time, gave a final squeeze and were removed.
‘So that will all commence tomorrow. For today you have had now a little rest and we will now resume your discipline with the cane. Please do get back down in position over the chair as before.’
As in a dream she complied, gripping the legs of the chair again and presenting the full globes of her already red-striped rear. She heard Herr Friedrich say, ‘I shall give, I think, another ten.’
And then once more the sickening, searing pain, the feeling that her buttocks were on fire.