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Friday, 26 January 2018

German Training College

From Blushes 76
She would have to talk to Julie or Arlene. Of course she would be told it was quite ridiculous. What Alison would then like to do was proclaim it in some way. Write a note on the main notice board for all to see: Any ridiculous rumours about the Freitof Gymnasium are simply the product of PURE FANTASY. Please treat these laughable stories with THE CONTEMPT THEY DESERVE. Something like that. Yes, Alison thought she would. Because she knew people were whispering about her, now it was known she was going. And Andrew: she knew he was thinking about it too, but he was probably too sickened to want to mention it.
‘Well we all know what happens to a girl when she gets sent to that German school,’ said Simon. It’s common knowledge. She gets caned and she… she gets fucked. It’s… hey!…’
Simon’s words were abruptly interrupted as, red-faced, Andrew leapt forward and grabbed him. Perhaps not surprisingly because it was Alison Fairford who was referred to. Beautiful red-haired Alison who of course was Andrew’s girlfriend. Alison had just been told she was to go on a visit to the Freitof Gymnasium, for a week. The Head had an arrangement with the German school, sending girls from the Upper Sixth at Mountleigh whom he was thinking of making up to Full Prefect. It was intended as a training exercise, or at least that was how it was portrayed. Boys could be sent to another German school, but were never sent to Freitof although it was a mixed school.
A fierce struggle had developed between Andrew and Simon, or at least fierce on Andrew’s part with Simon not attempting to do much more than hold him off. Simon was in the Lower Sixth and a year younger but was stronger than Simon who was tall and thin and not athletic. What had been said, though, had made him see red and was driving him on.
Roger, the third one present, watched with an amused expression. He and Andrew had been strolling in the school garden this Wednesday lunchtime and had happened to meet Simon. Andrew had continued talking about Alison and her recently announced German visit, perhaps unwisely but maybe Andrew couldn’t help talking about it. What Simon had said was common knowledge, or at least common rumour. But naturally you wouldn’t normally say that directly to Andrew, or to Alison or any other girl who had gone. Or to their boyfriends. But Simon was the kind of person who did sometimes like to stick the needle in.
As the struggle continued Simon was protesting that he hadn’t known Alison was Andrew’s girlfriend (though this was most unlikely, everyone must know). He hadn’t meant to wind him up.
OK Andrew. Maybe it’s not true. It’s just what people say. I apologise of course.’
‘Well if they do… they’re filthy-mouthed bastards.’ Andrew, breathing hard and conscious that he wasn’t getting anywhere, was easing up; prepared to accept Simon’s proffered honourable way out.
‘Look, no hard feelings. OK?’
Andrew shook his head as Simon turned to leave. Roger couldn’t resist the chance of a disguised little dig himself.
‘He’s probably going off to the bog. To toss himself off imagining it.’
Andrew said Yes. And then considered the implication. ‘Look, it doesn’t happen, Roger. You know it doesn’t happen. It’s just people with disgusting. feverish minds that dream up these ideas. I mean the Krauts, they’re not savages; sadists. Are they?’
Roger didn’t feel like letting Andrew off too lightly. ‘No. But there was the War. They were pretty beastly then. And they’re known to be very keen on discipline. Maybe also the subjugation of women — and girls — for all I know.’
Andrew said a despairing. ‘Oh Christ…’
Could it happen? Did it happen? Andrew wasn’t the only one torturing himself with these questions. There was certainly Alison as well. Yes she had heard the frightening rumours; those whispers. Other girls had gone to Freitof; past Mountleigh girls and two who were currently at school: Julie Minchell and Arlene Danley. They were both Full Prefects; both very attractive girls. Of course: weren’t girl prefects at Mountleigh always attractive, good-looking? Well, they always seemed to be. But Julie and Arlene: had they had… anything? During their visits to Freitof.
Before Alison had vaguely wondered but dismissed the idea. It was just some boys’ erotic imagination working overtime; and then likewise taken up by a few girls who had heard it. Girls didn’t get caned nowadays, in Germany or anywhere else; and as for the other suggestion… No, the whole idea had been ridiculous. But now that Alison herself was to go… it was different. She needed to know.
Alison decided on Julie whom she knew slightly better than Arlene although neither was a close friend. Julie was a pretty blonde, tall and shapely, who did French and played on the netball team. Alison managed to have a quick word with her the day after Andrew’s contretemps with Simon Smith — although Andrew hadn’t mentioned that to Alison. She said she would like to have a little chat. ‘You know… about Freitof.’
Julie gave her a quizzical look. Hesitated. Then said, ‘Yes. I suppose I thought you might. OK. But not now. This evening? Come round to my house.’
Alison felt immediately as if a great weight had been lifted from her mind. Almost as if Julie had already confirmed that the rumours were a load of rubbish. She wanted to find Andrew then and there and tell him. And she was going to put that notice up: maybe get Julie and Arlene to sign it as well.
In the end, though, Julie didn’t tell Andrew and also didn’t tell him she was seeing Julie even though it meant breaking a date with him. She would tell it all afterwards. And no doubt it would come as a great relief to Andrew.
Julie’s parents were in and she took Alison up to her room. She had some coffee percolating and poured out two cups. They sat down.
‘This is awfully good of you,’ Alison began. ‘But it’s just… well mostly I suppose it’s those awful whispers that some of the boys must have started. You must have heard them. About… what happens to girls at Freitof.’
‘Yes.’ Julie was sitting opposite Alison. Their eyes met.
‘Well I mean I know it’s just rubbish. Stupid fantasies. But… well it’s awful knowing they’re saying those things. That I’m going to get caned. And… all the rest.’
‘All the rest’ of course meant the other. That in addition to being caned a girl got well and truly bonked at the German school. Bonked by various members of the school staff. Fucked in other words. As part of the disciplinary programme. Really it was sick.
Julie’s face had gone slightly red.
‘Yes. Well. The thing is… it’s true.’
Alison had the sudden feeling that she was in a dream. One of those dreams when unbelievable things happen to you and you’re in a sort of trance, powerless to prevent them. In this dream Julie was saying that yes, those things did happen at the Freitof Gymnasium. At the same time Alison knew that she wasn’t in a dream. She was here at Julie’s house and Julie was really saying it.
‘Wh… What…?’
‘Yes. Look, after you asked me I went to see Mr Ryder. And told him. He said I was to tell you. But to stress of course that it’s really secret. You can’t tell anyone. But then you won’t, will you? We’re not likely to go blabbing it about. I don’t know how the rumours got around: maybe it was some boy’s wild imagination. But it just happens to be the truth.’
Mr Ryder was the Head. ‘Uh… uh…’ Alison had difficulty speaking. ‘Mr… Mr Ryder…? You mean… it’s true… and he kn…knows…?’
‘Yes. Of course he knows. He organised it, didn’t he? You go there and then you come back and you’re a member of his little club. His secret club. Because once you’ve been initiated at Freitof he’s going to do it.’
Alison shook her head. This was unbelievable.
‘Mr Ryder…?’
‘Yes Alison dear. Mr Ryder. It’s part of the deal for being made a Full Prefect. For a girl at least: I haven’t heard that he’s interested in this sort of thing with the boys. But yes, our dear Headmaster likes to use the cane. On a girl’s bare bottom, Alison. And believe me it’s really quite painful.’
Alison left Julie’s in a daze. There was less than a week now before she was due to go to the German school. What Julie had said was joking, this was her idea of humour?
No. Because the next day Alison was summoned to see Mr Ryder himself. He smiled as she entered his study. ‘Ah Alison, I understand you’ve had a little talk with Julie.’
Alison mumbled something. Mr Ryder was getting up from his desk. Coming round to her. ‘Yes. Well now you know, eh? Our little secret. The Girl Prefects’ Club. It’s a little thing I started a couple of years ago. For disciplinary purposes of course. And school esprit as well you could say. I’m sure you’ll settle into it quite easily. But of course it is entirely confidential. Mmm?’
Mr Ryder was close in now and his arm had come round Alison’s waist. Then it slid down. Onto her bottom. Cupping a firm cheek through Alison’s thin summer dress. She shuddered as the hand lightly fondled the ripe young flesh.
‘Yes Alison dear. You are going to be a very welcome member.

Her week at Freitof Gymnasium. Afterwards Alison wanted only to obliterate that week from her mind: to make it a blank.
‘Yes. OK,’ she said with desperately forced brightness to Andrew, and her mother, and anyone else who wanted to know how it was. ‘OK. A… good experience.’
A good experience? Being caned each day. The cane and also that excruciatingly painful horse crop. In the hand of the fiendish young sports master Herr Kurtl. Who made Alison report to him first thing every morning in the changing room in just her slip. To bend Alison over and give her six with the vicious riding crop across her bare bottom.
Was that the worst? Was it worse than the Director? Dr Hanrich. In the evenings in his private sitting room. Dr Hanrich didn’t use a riding crop at least, it was a cane. But that cane could be, and was, murder on a girl’s bare bottom. Was that worse? It was not easy to tell. At any particular moment, when you were actually getting it, that was the worst. But the very worst…
Was it the other? The others didn’t cane her, it was only (only!) Dr Hanrich and Herr Kurtl. But the others, the other male department heads, did the other. Or three of them did. Fucked Alison. How many times altogether? She didn’t know. The individual times merged together in Alison’s dazed head. As they all laughingly told her it was good for her. It was what a pretty 18-year-old English schoolgirl who perhaps didn’t have a lot of experience in that direction needed.

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