She falls into the hands of the terrible Herr Spangler who is given a free run to break her willfulness.
This is a work of erotic fantasy and the author does not endorse any form of coercion or impropriety. I care about polar bears, respect everyone’s pronouns and enjoy cocoa and kittens.
It had long been our family tradition that girls were sent to a good English boarding school and then to St Katarina’s in Switzerland to be “finished”. Anyone in the British aristocracy would know that this means acquiring the skills and polish required to succeed in the world. These skills include languages, high culture and also the vital skills of networking and diplomacy so as to able to succeed in the very highest circles.
I was about three months into my stay at St Kat’s and aged just eighteen when the following events took place. There had been a number of “incidents” although I would claim that I was no more rebellious than any other energetic young woman. But I found myself standing nervously in front of the Head’s desk. When I was marched into the room I noted that the visitor chair had been removed from my side of the desk so it was clearly going to be one of “those” meetings.
He had my file open on his desk and he affected an air of sadness and disappointment as he went over my long list of sins and I could do little more than nod and agree. Any other course would have been fruitless and would have made my plight even worse.
“You may be aware that your family has a long association with our Institution and that your parents fully support our methods for the excellent results which we achieve. After this last matter involving the gardener, I have spoken to your mother on the telephone and she is fully willing for you to be taken in hand with our utmost vigor.”
I had already experienced quite a lot of vigor and did not want to imagine what the utmost vigor may involve. The school was a private business so not subject to any Government regime and, being in the Swiss Alps, was far removed from the regime in Britain where even ants seem to have human rights. The Head was still speaking.
“You are technically an adult so you do not have to participate in anything against your will. You only have to say the word and I can put you on a plane back to London where you can return to your family. However, if you agree to our regime, there will be no going back. Experience shows that our methods produce character in a girl which will serve her well for the rest of her life but it is entirely your choice.”
Actually it was no choice at all. Being returned to the UK as a failure would guarantee parental wrath and disappointment and the consequences of that were unthinkable. I would be ejected from the family estate and sent to support myself in a one room bedsit somewhere. I would be forced to get an actual job and some beast of an employer would look at my lack of work experience and probably make me sweep the floors or worse.
I managed to ask how long I would be subject to the ultimate sanction and he was not at all reassuring.
“You have just over 21 months left of your stay with us. How much of that is spent under strict regime will depend entirely upon the reports which Herr Spangler gives us.”
Herr Spangler was the school janitor whom, it was rumored, had come to the school in 1945 as a means of keeping away from War Crimes investigators. He was a thug but, when a girl had reached the depths which I had reached, she was thought to need discipline rather than teaching.
Miserably, I nodded to accept my fate and the Head made me sign a long document which I did not read. He picked up his intercom phone and asked that Matron and Herr Spangler come into the room. My eyes went straight to the little bundle which Matron was carrying; it was wrapped in black cloth. I tried to avoid looking at Spangler whom everyone knew to be a letch; when we did sports on the school field in white vests and black gym knickers he would often be standing at a distance with his tongue almost hanging out. The Head addressed Matron.
“We do not want the penitent’s school uniform to become soiled in the stables so she will now disrobe before beginning her penance.”
I felt all eyes turn towards me. Having been at St Kat’s for three months, I had already experienced various members of staff finding pretexts to have me strip for them but not Herr Spangler. Surely they couldn’t expect me to……
I just stood there shaking my head but I should have known better than to expect mercy.
“We need to teach you obedience and endurance for your own benefit. That could not be achieved by only asking you to do things with which you are comfortable. This is your very last chance to either accept discipline or be sent back to London.”
My gentle reader may find it difficult to comprehend how any family could consign their daughter to such a harsh regime but an understanding is required of the British ruling class where tradition is very important. There was a very strong element of, “It never did me any harm so she also will come through it and be stronger for having done so.” As a nation, Britain is now in much reduced importance but certain families still command a great deal of power and they deem it vital to raise young who are fit to continue to wield that power.
Whichever direction I looked there were eyes on me so I stared at the floor as I began to unbutton my regulation white blouse and then took it off and folded it on a chair. Then I raised one foot at a time and peeled off my long socks. Despite most of my skin above the waist now being naked, I felt my temperature soaring and my face as red as some little girl. This was a very unpleasant experience especially being done in such a cold blooded manner without any accompanying passion but the presence of Spangler made it worse beyond all reckoning. I could see the swelling in the front of his trousers like an organ pipe.
But there was no stopping now. I turned in my lip and slid down the zip of my skirt before stepping out of it leaving myself in small white bra and white cotton school pants. I looked hopefully at Matron for some chance that I was now sufficiently exposed and vulnerable.
“Oh come on girl. When you are shackled you won’t be able to change your knickers. Do you want to wear the same ones indefinitely?”
As she spoke, she dropped her little bundle onto the desk and I saw the handcuffs and leg shackles. Could this nightmare get any worse?
Looking back at the floor, I removed my bra allowing my boobs to bounce free and feel the cold air on my nipples. No man could comprehend the effect which this has on a girl. Even before puberty, most mothers tell their daughters to keep their top covered and when breasts appear they are very much a private possession. Even in changing rooms, women and girls automatically face the wall so that other girls cannot see everything.
And then I had to remove my knickers and, being last to come off, they went on top of the little pile on the chair for all to see. My hands went over my pubis but Matron picked up the handcuffs and told me to hold out my hands for her to click the cold steel in place.
Crouching at my feet, she locked the shackles in place and then stood up. The Head spoke.
“Herr Spangler, we all hope that you will soon be able to return a much improved girl to our care.”
And that was it. He placed his horrible hand on my shoulder and we marched out into the hallway where Margery and Tasmin happened to be passing by and they stopped to watch us walk past them down the corridor. A group of girls were lining up outside the Gym and they sort of huddled together in a defensive pack with eyes out on stalks. We came to the side door into the open air and Dr Ferris, the Maths Master, was coming in – he stepped aside to let us pass him and I felt his eyes on my bum as we walked on our way to the old stable block.
The school had not kept its own horses for many years and no girl ever ventured into the old stables as Herr Spangler had his flat on the first floor and the ground floor was kept free (as far as anyone knew) for sacks of grass seed and garaging for the motor mower. Late at night, girls would sit up in bed and fantasize about the horrid things which he might have in his secret domain out in the stables. Of course, I was not the only girl to be doomed to face his punishment but no-one dared to discuss that; it was totally taboo.
A short time later, I would discover what form my training was to take but the Head had overestimated Herr Spangler’s self-control or perhaps he did not care. He took me into the stable block, past the old stalls and up a wooden staircase to his flat which stank. I would definitely know that smell again but it is hard to describe; sweat, old socks, a hint of decaying food and stale carpets which have never felt a vacuum cleaner. The place was a total mess with random items and articles of clothing scattered on floor and furniture. He was rougher now as he pushed me through the door into his bedroom which was in the same state as the lounge. The bed was unmade and I, by now, knew what was in his corrupted mind so I began to resist but it was futile and I was thrown down on my back onto the bed.
He had an almost impenetrable Saxony accent and most of the words which he used do not appear in any German textbook. Whenever I could not understand him, he simply put his face close to mine and bellowed at me so that his spittle sprayed my features.
It took him a second to ram his trousers and underwear down his legs and apply a condom and then he was on top of me. Any attempt to fend him off was a contest between his strength and my own which was no contest at all. He pulled my cuffed hands above my head and I felt his fat fingers between my legs, his skin was dry and rough so it felt like being groped by a dead Pharoah. As he penetrated me, he was bouncing up and down and salivating all over my face, hair and breasts. He was shouting in his unintelligible accented German and it seemed to go on for a long time. Perhaps in his mind the pre fuck grope with his fingers had prepared me but I was completely dry and unready with all the pain which comes with that.
When he reached his climax, his body sagged and fell down on me like a dead weight. He just lay there panting and, of course, I could not move either. At some point he stood up and readjusted his clothing and I curled into a ball but he yelled at me. He waved his hand at the disgusting room and barked,
“You clean.”
My brain could not assimilate the order and he yelled again, louder, and grabbed my bare arm and yanked so that my top half was dragged towards the floor while my legs and abdomen stayed on the bed. I was head down with my eyes almost on the floor and I thought I would vomit. He dragged me again so that I landed prone on the sticky carpet and he repeated his order.
For the following hours, he had me cleaning his hovel. I know that it was dark outside before I was finished. His sink had been full of unwashed dishes and his toilet had not been cleaned since the dinosaurs. I was hot, hungry and thirsty. I had not eaten since lunch.
I do not remember finishing work. All I remember is waking up next morning still chained in his bed with his stinking body beside me; I am certain that he had me during the night. When he awoke, he literally pushed me out of bed so that I landed heavily on the carpet. He barked the word “Coffee” and I pulled myself to my feet and went into the kitchen.
I made two coffees and also took a drink of tap water. I now knew my way around the kitchen so I ate some bread and some biscuits before taking the coffee into the bedroom. He made me kneel on the floor while he drank his coffee and dressed.
After a while he grabbed my hair and said something about study as he dragged me from the flat and downstairs to the stables. We went into one of the horse stalls which we had passed last night and I saw an old wooden school desk with lifting top in the middle of the small space. The bench seat was part of the desk joined by wooden sides so desk and seat were part of the same piece of furniture. The seat had a central hole and there was a metal bucket below the hole.
He ordered me onto the seat so that I was facing the single manacle and short chain which had been screwed to the leading edge of the desk lid. He clicked the cuff to the chain of my handcuffs so that I had to keep my hands on top of the desk but the chain allowed my hands to move about on the desk. If I raised my hands, the lid would rise but I had no third hand which could reach into the desk.
He reached into the desk and withdrew a very old and battered book on German History as well as a school exercise book and two biro pens. My task was to copy out the whole chapter on Otto Von Bismark which would take many hours. He left me alone with threats of harsh punishment if I failed to compete my “lesson”.
I heard him leave the building, presumably for a hard day’s janitoring, but I did not realize that I would be alone, naked and chained to my desk all day. My tears occasionally dropped onto the page as I was copying. I needed to blow my nose but, having no handkerchief, I used my hands and then my paws were covered in goo and it got on the pen and on the page so I had to wipe my hands on my arms. From things which had been half said, I was pretty sure that my mother had once been in a similar position to myself which was one of those thoughts which a mind simply refuses to accept. I thought of glittering dinners at home and top drawer guests – how would they react to the picture of Lady ____________ chained naked and sniveling in what amounted to a cell? The upper classes do not discipline our children; we have people who do that for us while we look in the other direction.
I did not hear him return because, at the time, I was sleeping with my head on the desk and my copying of the Bismarck chapter unfinished. I was awoken by him standing over me and bellowing at full volume. He kept bellowing as he freed my hands from the bench and told me to empty my bucket. He supervised me in taking the bucket to a drain and hosing it out using a hose connected to a tap outside my stall. Then he grabbed the hose and directed it at me. The water was freezing and he turned a valve on the nozzle to focus the water into a jet which impacted my body like a punch so that I fell backwards and was only kept upright by the wall.
He was barking instructions at me to turn this way and that and to bend over so that I was sprayed right into my most intimate cavities as well as directly into my face which left me disorientated with my soaking hair sticking to my skin. When the hosing finally ended, I slumped back against the wall and he advanced upon me to very thoroughly grope me all over and to lick my face and force his tongue into my mouth. While his tongue was searching my mouth, his hands were between my legs and I could feel my unwanted arousal. What he was doing was disgusting and not erotic in any way and yet my own body was betraying me. I desperately did not want to encourage him or to let him hear me howling like a vixen on heat but that is exactly what happened and the stables filled with his roars of laughter before he threw me onto the wet concrete floor.
I found myself dragged, still handcuffed and shackled upstairs to the flat where he poured some tinned stew (cold, straight from the tin) into a dog bowl and I had to kneel and eat on the floor. He put another bowl full of water beside me and I had to lap up the much needed hydration. At night we again shared his bed and eventually slept after he took me in any way he chose.
This became the daily routine and I lost track of the passing days. Each day was pretty much the same but sometimes he would force me to “exercise” in the stables. This took the form of me, still in chains, having to bend double and then stand straight and to raise my hands repeatedly above my head and then bring them down. All this was simply an excuse for him to see my behind with my vulva peeping between my cheeks or to see my breasts bouncing in uncomfortable exertion. Sometimes, he would grab my hair tight against my scalp and force me to fellate him until I thought I would choke. Then he would throw me onto the floor and laugh loudly as I gasped to recover my breath but not my dignity.
In time he became bored with me – or perhaps the Head had set a time limit. On the morning of what I later learned was the eighth day, he took me to the stable door and told me to go back to the main school. I was still naked and chained and, as I shuffled up the tarmac drive, I was in fear of who I would meet and how the conversation would go. It was a totally defeated girl who tapped on Matron’s door and asked to be unlocked from my chains. As far as I know, no girl has ever been to the stables twice and I had no intention at all of breaking that record.