Alpine Girls Club

A lengthy story from Uniform Girls 22 with a huge and highly stimulating photo-set to accompany it starring one of Blushes' finest.

This story carries the notice “This story has been modified from the original form”, which leads me to wonder why. Some of the dialogue seems to have been written as if the characters speaking are foreign. And some subsequent letters refer to the girl as Margit, rather than Margaret, and to the story as being in the Reich Girls universe. Combined with the updated Alpine title, it would appear that this story may have been ‘de-Nazified’.

A visitor to the neat little house. A gentleman visitor and Edward Miller, man of the house, is out on this warm September evening: the visitor is in intimate tête-à-tête in the cosy parlour with Mrs Miller, Ingrid plumply attractive still at 42. Edward need not be concerned though, it is not his Ingrid that the gentleman visitor is interested in. No the object of his visit, the focus of his interest, is at present in the kitchen preparing the coffee. Margaret. Margaret just turned 19, a pretty girl, a tall and striking blonde as Mr John Keller would say.

Mr Keller is head of the Alpine Girls Club and is intensely interested in the young people and hoping they can be roused out of the torpor and decadent craving for material goods. Ingrid Miller is hearing all this in fervent detail. Mr Keller may not be frothing at the mouth but his dark eyes have the fixed stare of the fanatical. It is youth, he says, which especially concerns him.

‘The future is in the hands of the young people, Mrs Miller. They will lead us forward, but they can only do this if they themselves are shown the right path.’

Ingrid does not herself have strong feelings about such matters. She is in fact content to watch the television, or to acquiesce to her husband’s amorous interest when he feels that urge; she has no interest in philosophy. But what Mr Keller says is no doubt true, perhaps some of the country’s youth are quite dreadful, with no respect.

Margaret? Yes Margaret could perhaps do with more discipline, with more aim to her life. Though she is not of course a bad girl, not one of the mindless, disrespectful masses. Mr Keller is not interested in those, but the beauteous Margaret.

Mr Keller thought the Alpine Girls Club could attract many more young women. He has in mind an elite girls group. Stunning girls in that black-and-white uniform that statuesque Margaret wore. The thought is breath-taking. Naturally she will need a good deal of training…

Margaret makes an entrance with the coffee. Mr Keller experiences an extra thrill of excitement. She really is a superb specimen; large deep-blue eyes and a thick mane of hair, a soft, full-lipped mouth, A sensuous, expressive mouth that breaks into a polite smile for Mr Keller. A mouth that can also no doubt twist in agony under the stimulus of pain. Pain is an essential accompaniment to the training process, the disciplining. That ripe body…

Margaret’s person is simply but attractively clothed in a flowered blouse and a knee-length skirt. The skirt shows the roll and sway of full hips, while the blouse… the front of it is to Mr Keller’s hot eyes almost stretched to breaking point with the thrusting weight of Margaret’s breasts. She is no doubt wearing a brassiere which is good of course, it speaks of demureness and modesty, but at the same time Mr Keller wishes that she were not, so he could see the firm thrust of her ripe nipples. When he has her for training, she will not wear a brassiere.

Below the skirt… are those tights or stockings clinging to the shapely calves. Tights are of course an abomination, a girl’s thighs should be free and bare under her skirt. Mr Keller thinks Alpine Girls will wear only stockings, sheer-seamed nylons tautly fastened at mid-thigh with the trim straps of a suspender belt: plain white — or it might be for certain occasions a formal black. The details have yet to be worked out. Mr Keller accepts his coffee, although his mind is not on this sustaining beverage so much as on the contents of the tight blouse behind the proffering hand. The ripe mammary glands nod gently towards him.

‘Will you sit down, Margaret? We have as it happens been mentioning your name, in the context of the Alpine Girls Club. Your respected and very beautiful mother says…’

Margaret , flushing slightly, sits down opposite their guest.

She knows of Mr Keller, his name has been on the radio, his face once or twice on the television, and she has also met him, briefly, at a party. He is in a small way a celebrity. As such Mr Keller had a certain glamour attached to him. Like her mother, Margaret is not especially interested in politics. She has a mundane job in a shop and she has a boyfriend but he does not exactly set her on fire. The glamour associated with Mr Keller is highly seductive.

Margaret listens with rapt interest to what Mr Keller has to say. And what he says is of course one view, one aspect. Everything has its different sides, slants, aspects, which go to make up the whole. A prospective young recruit, especially this particular so-much-desired recruit, does not at this stage need to have her mind confused with the detail of training. That will come, of course, but it can be glossed over now. Now one portrays the glamourous side.

Margaret’s big blue eyes are shining with excitement, Mr Keller can paint a most alluring picture, one very different from her present humdrum life with boyfriend Ron and the shop. Television lights shine in her head, and when she turns to her mother there are only smiles of encouragement.

----//----

It is dusk, a pleasantly warm evening. Mr Keller ‘s car is parked at a viewing point overlooking the town. The lights are twinkling down there, like fairy lights. Looking out at the town Margaret’s heart is fluttering. Already it seems she has distanced herself from the boring monotony of that place. She can see now only the sparkling glitter that was hidden before, the twinkling lights out there and she is here sitting next to Mr Keller in his glamourous, luxurious car. He is talking, about the Alpine Girls Club, but Margaret’s head is swimming with the excitement of it all and she is not really listening. She is broken out of this state however as Mr Keller leans over, his face coming close. And his hand… comes up to cup one full breast.

Margaret is dressed similarly to the way she was yesterday when Mr Keller visited: in blouse and skirt. She has a light coat on top but it is open and his hand has gone breathtakingly in under the coat to the tight-stretched cotton of her blouse. She gasps…

‘Yes, Miss? You were not dreaming I hope. Girls in the Club must keep alert and attentive when I’m talking.’

Margaret hasn’t heard whatever it is Mr Keller has said. She should no doubt be concerned by his reproach, but it is the hand now squeezing her breast that is causing those palpitations. Her instinct is to grab it away but it is not just any male hand, it is the hand of Mr Keller.

He does now take his hand away and repeats what he has said. The flustered Margaret is forced to admit she was daydreaming. ‘Well, what I said was that I want you to unbutton your blouse and remove your brassiere.’

These words, when Margaret analyses them, are as bad as the hand. No: they are worse, much worse. He can’t…

‘As I said, Margaret, it is a test. To see if you can obey orders. In a group such as I am forming, obedience and discipline will form the very keystone of a girl’s performance. Everything else will be set against the ability to show unquestioning obedience. That will be the first requirement of an Alpine Girl.

Margaret does not now see those twinkling lights down there in the town. Or perhaps her eyes see them but they do not register. All her mind can encompass is here in the front seat of Mr Keller’s car. It is dusk, but not yet dark, and the eye when it is accustomed to the half-light can see quite clearly.

Mr Keller’s keen eyes… and there is of course his hand. His two hands. What do those hands intend? But she is in no position to argue. Mr Keller is Mr Keller, with those commanding eyes and his commanding authoritarian manner, while she is merely Margaret Miller, a pretty girl but only an ordinary shopgirl. She has said yes to Mr Keller and her mother has said yes for her as well. There cannot be any argument.

Her fingers fumbling at the buttons, she is being tested that is all, it is nothing personal. Mr Keller has chosen this simply because it is difficult. The blouse is open, And he said… her bra. Off. The realisation that to take it off she will need to take her blouse off too. A glance at Mr Keller, whose eyes are fixed on where the blouse is opened.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Yes. You had better take it off then, Margaret. The blouse and the brassiere.’

It is a test. That is all. Tell yourself that Mr Keller is simply testing you. The coat of course has to come off as well. First of all. And then… And then…sliding the blouse off over her shoulders Just keep going. Ignore if you can the close proximity of Mr Keller. Though of course you cannot. As you reach behind you for the bra strap. To release it. And release them; the ripely jutting breasts. Don’t think as you pull the flimsy garment away to leave yourself quite bare above the waist. Sit still and try not to tremble so, as you feared, Mr Keller’s hand comes out. Across. To touch. Lightly. Caress. Fondle. Holding. More firmly. The sensitive pink peak now, which is responding. Stiffening. In his fingers. Both ripe nipples blatantly erect, stiff.

‘Very good. They are splendid, mmm? You have a splendid body. Truly splendid.’ The hand under the near-side breast jiggles it.

‘Now put your blouse on again. Just the blouse. We will go out. It is a lovely evening, eh Margaret?’

Her ordeal is over. Margaret can breathe more freely although what has happened is still there pulsating in her head. There is too the fact that she has no bra on now, only the blouse tightly-buttoned over her nude breasts that Mr Keller has so intimately handled. Outside the car there is no one else, no other cars, it is just herself and Mr Keller. Who has gone to the trunk of the car. Opening it. And closing. He has now, she sees, a stick in his hand. It is a cane, a bamboo cane.

Mr Keller smiling in the half-light. ‘Now something else. Another little test. A test of discipline, essential to all young people. The cane. We will cane your bottom. Can you lift your skirt? And take down your knickers.’

Can this be happening? Here in the little parking place above the town? Her skirt up round her waist and her knickers down close to her knees. Margaret lying face down over the trunk of the car, its cool metal against her body. Stretched out with her bottom bare in the half-light, twin ripe moons glimmering palely in the gloom. And standing over her with the cane in his hand; Mr Keller.

A New Alpine Girl. Offering a bared bottom to prove her obedience to the club. Accepting the searing kiss of the cane. Mr Keller’s cane rises and whips down. A gasping grunt. Margaret manages to stifle anything worse, an outright scream, for fear of attracting attention in this public place. But the pain is mind-bending, shattering.

As it is with the next stroke…

And the next…

----//----

Margaret doesn’t know, but in any case it has been stressed to her, that the activities of the Alpine Girls Club are strictly private. It is an elite and special group and their activities, apart from public functions, are not to be divulged to any outside person. This prohibition includes members of a girl’s own family, so Margaret has not told anyone of that caning she received from Mr Keller over the boot of his car. She has not told her boyfriend Ron, she has not told her mother, but then she would not want to tell them that in any case. Presumably Mr Keller had to it, as he explained, but it is not something a girl would wish anyone else to know about, so Mr Keller’s warning is not in this case unwelcome.

Margaret has told Ron that she has joined Mr Keller’s new club. Ron was sceptical. Why has she joined? She could have told him about that glamorous side that Mr Keller regaled her with on the first evening at her home. Public appearances, glittering occasions, parties. Margaret could have told him about the other side: the need for training. That painful and humiliating caning, which was part of this, and Mr Keller making her take off her blouse and bra in his car. All Margaret has really said to Ron though, is to parrot what Mr Keller has told her. There has in fact been an argument about this weekend, when Ron wanted to see her. Margaret hasn’t told him what it is: a training and instructional weekend.

The truth is that she doesn’t know a lot herself. Mr Keller has said a camp but what does that mean? A large gathering? Mr Keller has not given details and Margaret ha: not been bold enough to ask. She is in considerable awe of him, not to say scared, especially after that caning. She has not seen him since that evening, but he has phoned, to tell her about this weekend. No details though, only that he will collect her on Saturday morning. She is to be ready at 10, with toothbrush and toilet items. As for clothing…

----//----

‘I have your field outfit,’ Mr Keller says. ‘You can put it on before we set off. First of all, though, I want you to have a shower and then Dr Edwards will examine you.’

It is Saturday morning and they are at Margaret’s house, in her bedroom. Margaret and Mr Keller and this other man who is called Dr Edwards. Margaret has not met Dr Edwards before but he is one of Mr Keller’s associates, one of the senior people in the Club. He is going to be medical adviser to the Club. This is a new dimension. Margaret has not been told of this aspect before, not until five minutes ago when the two men arrived. The Alpine Girls, Mr Keller says, will get regular medical check-ups to be sure they are always in the pink of condition. And there is also the other aspect.

‘Are you a virgin, Margaret?’ Mr Keller calmly asks.

It is not a question a girl is prepared for, out of the blue. Margaret colours, and shakes her head.

‘That will need to be recorded,’ Mr Keller says. ‘Together with other aspects of physical health. There will be regular examinations. Virgin girls will be required to remain in the state of virginity. They will only be allowed to commence sexual intercourse after getting permission from a senior member of the Club. Girls who are not virgins, as you say is your own case, will employ hygienic contraceptive measures under the strict guidance of Dr Edwards.’

Margaret blinks, Mr Keller’s words roll around in her head, opening up avenues she has not contemplated. Dr Edwards is giving her an appraising look. He is Mr Keller’s age, middle-aged, not exceptional looking but somehow the thought of being intimately examined by him sends shivers through Margaret.

He repeats what Mr Keller has said; ‘Yes, a quick shower, then I’ll have a good look at you. On the bed here will do nicely. Margaret’s parents are out, The house is empty apart from herself and these two men. She glances from one to the other, There is no point arguing and it would no doubt seem silly if she did. An examination is an examination. She has been examined before, by Dr Howard, the family doctor. It is routine.

‘Yes,’ her voice is nonetheless strained, ‘yes if… that is necessary.’

Margaret has a shower. There is a strong wish to stay there and not come out, but that clearly also is silly. She dries herself. She is not to get dressed. Dr Edwards wants her nude. Shivering she puts on her dressing gown. In the bedroom the dressing gown has to come off of course. Mr Keller is still there. He could perhaps have gone downstairs to wait while Dr Edwards does what has to be done, but he is evidently not going to. That will make the ordeal that much worse, both men in here in the small bedroom with Margaret while Dr Edwards…

‘A lovely girl, eh?’

Margaret is standing nude now and fighting the need to cover herself. She feels the need to cross her arms over those splendid mammaries and the thick golden tuft at the top of her thighs, but she can’t do this: she must stand straight, her arms at her sides, her splendid body is not to be hidden from these two men. It seems to have become excessively hot in the little room. Margaret can feel her cheeks burning. Her big nipples are erect, thrusting pink thumbs. Dr Edward’s hand comes out to one, taking it between his fingers.

‘How many sexual partners, Margaret? And frequency of contact? We will need to know all the details.’ It is only Ron, he is the only person Margaret has had sex with. Hot-faced she answers Dr Edwards. And it has not been frequent: she is not really keen to be doing it before she is married, Margaret answers truthfully, scared that if she doesn’t it will immediately show on her face.

‘That about your employer?’ Mr Keller asks.’With a very attractive girl… well, she is frequently under pressure in that direction.’

Margaret shakes her head. She is sweating a little now. Dr Edwards is still toying with her nipples. They are very sensitive and he has got them fully aroused, tingling. No, she repeats. No one except her boyfriend Ron.

‘Well we will certainly need to know all the details,’ Dr Edwards says. ‘When you started, frequency etc. And we will anyway have to consider that relationship. Inquiries will have to be made in regard to that young man: to ensure he is an acceptable sexual contact… but now let us proceed. lf you will lie on the bed. On your back of course. Open your legs… with your knees raised.’

It is another of those situations when the mind desperately wishes to shut out what is happening, but it is not possible to do this. Margaret can close her eyes at least. Perhaps that will help. She can’t see… But she has still the sense of touch. Dr Edward’s hand. Perhaps with the eyes closed the sense of touch is heightened, more acute. The fingers are opening her. Sliding in. Margaret shudders as Dr Edward’s fingers find her sensitive centre. Her clitoris…

‘This. It is sensitive…? Yes… of course…’

He is massaging it, bringing little moans from Margaret’s lips. It is swollen like her nipples. Her whole body is throbbing.

‘Tell me. Do you do this yourself? Masturbation… How often do you masturbate…?’

Margaret stumbles out an untruthful denial. Though she isn’t yet aware of it, she is going to be required to submit to examinations and questioning very regularly indeed, and these will, for the most part, be carried out in Dr Edward’s well-equipped consulting rooms. There will also be, though here again she doesn’t know it, certain experiments connected with her body’s reaction to strenuous exercise; before the next week is out, she will find herself pedalling furiously on an exercise cycle, inside a plastic bag designed to make her perspire as much as possible; she will be running on the spot, naked, doing star-jumps, press-ups.

But for now there is Dr Edwards’ face looking up at hers from between her legs: ‘Come now, Margaret — you are a healthy young woman: I’m sure you do masturbate, don’t you?’

----//----

Mr Keller’s car, travelling at high speed on the motorway. It is not being driven by Mr Keller this morning however but by his dark-suited chauffeur. Mr Keller is in the other front seat and Margaret is in the rear with Dr Edwards. Mr Keller and Dr Edwards are dressed as when they came to the house earlier, in sport shirts and trousers. Margaret is dressed in her ‘field outfit’ — a khaki shirt and a knee-length dark-blue skirt, with these are dark seamed nylons and black flat-heeled shoes. The khaki shirt is open-necked and it is tight across Margaret’s large breasts. There is nothing under the shirt, no brassiere, and the thrust of her nipples can be clearly seen. Under the dark skirt is a white suspender belt fastening the stockings, but that is all. Margaret has no knickers on.

The countryside flashes by as the powerful car speeds on. Mr Keller is conversing with his chauffeur. In the back, Margaret is sitting tensely, an anxious look on her pretty face. The cause of this is primarily Dr Edward’s hand which has gone up her skirt and is at the top of the sheer nylons where they are fastened by the suspender straps.

There is also what Dr Edwards is saying in quiet, confidential tones. ‘That young man, Margaret. That relationship will probably have to be terminated.’ The hand slides further up. Margaret swallows. She is feeling slightly dizzy again, as she was earlier when she had to stand nude in front of the two men. He gives a little laugh. ‘Yes of course. But we may still not want one of our elite girls to be having sexual contact with such a person. You see you will be a… ah… companion for very important persons. And we must be careful of health and hygiene.’

The hand is pushing down between Margaret’s bare thighs. ‘Anyway, we will discuss all that. Just relax now.’ Dr Edward’s face comes close, his voice soft in her ear. ‘Lie back. Relax… and part your legs. You’re a responsive girl, eh?’

Can the chauffeur see what Dr Edwards is doing? In the driving mirror? Margaret shivers but does what Dr Edwards says. Lies back… and reluctantly parts her legs. She does not relax though, that is not possible. There is what Dr Edwards has just said and there is what he is now doing. That he also did earlier when he examined her on the bed. (‘I am testing your responses.’) Dr Edwards’ fingers have found Margaret’s clitoris. He is masturbating her.

----//----

The camp is not out in the forest. It is in the garden, the grounds, of a large house. And it would seem it is not a large gathering of campers. There are just two small tents to be seen at the edge of the large lawn as the car rolls up the driveway. Two tents — and there are just two girls. Margaret and one other.

Helen Brown her name is. She is dressed in a similar outfit to Margaret. She is a pretty girl of about the same age but in contrast is brunette. She is in the hallway of the house when Margaret is taken in by her two companions — the chauffeur is parking the car.

The two girls are introduced and Margaret is also introduced to two other men who are already here with Helen. Margaret hears their names but they do not register: she is feeling somewhat weak-kneed from what Dr Edwards has been doing in the car and now suddenly there is this house and these other people to take in. And outside those tents…

The men go through into a reception room while the girls are told to get some drinks. Helen leads the way through to the kitchen; she seems to know her way around. At least finding one other girl is a relief for Margaret: she is no longer alone.

She can think of a hundred things to ask Helen but there is no time now. Those tents, though. Does Helen know what they will have to do? Helen gives a quizzical smile and shakes her head. ‘Something unpleasant I expect. In the interests of discipline of course they will say.’

That is hardly reassuring but there is not time for more as they have to take the drinks. In the room the four men are sitting in armchairs.

Mr Keller gets to his feet as the drinks are handed round. ‘Well my friends, shall we allow our charming companions a drink as well at this stage — before they give us a demonstration of how they can undergo discipline? Or perhaps afterwards?’

As he says this, Margaret suddenly notices what is lying on the table to the side. It is a cane. It could very well be the same one that Mr Keller had in his car earlier in the week. The one which Margaret had to take on her bare bottom while lying over the trunk.

As she sees the cane and all this rushes back, she is also aware that she has no knickers on. Helen possibly is in the same situation.

One of the other men is saying, ‘Let them give their demonstration first. Then we will see if they deserve a drink.’

There are sounds of good-humoured assent — from the men at least. Neither girl says anything. Mr Keller has gone over to the table. He picks up the cane.

‘Yes. It will be an excellent start to our weekend, I think. Take your skirts off then, girls, if you please.’

Margaret stands numb. Fortunately it is Helen who is holding the tray, otherwise it quite possibly would have dropped to the floor. She is to be caned, in front of these four men. She has to take her skirt off and of course, she has nothing underneath. She feels faint. Helen at least is doing as instructed. She has gone to place the tray on the table and her hands have gone to the waist of her skirt. She is sliding it down.

‘Margaret Miller!’ Mr Keller says sharply.

Margaret’s hands somehow also move to her waist. Helen’s skirt is off now. She is dressed the same as Margaret, that is there are dark stockings fastened with a white suspender belt, but that is all: she has no knickers on. She is standing at attention, her hands at her sides. Below the tail of the khaki shirt there is a thick tuft of black hair contrasting with the creamy pale of her flesh.

‘You must learn to respond immediately, Margaret. You cannot stop and consider an order.’ It is Mr Keller of course talking.

Margaret is now standing like Helen. She has forced herself to follow the other girl’s example and has removed her skirt. They are both now standing at attention in their shirts and very little else: or to be precise black shoes and dark nylons and white suspender belts. Like Helen, Margaret forces herself to stand straight with her hands at her sides in spite of what she is thereby showing to the four men.

Three are seated in a semi-circle before her. Mr Keller, standing to the side, taps Margaret’s bare thigh with his cane. ‘We must do better, eh?’

‘Y…yes…’ she stammers, trying not to think of the four pairs of male eyes inevitably focused on the blonde tuft adorning pale flesh and framed by the front straps of her suspender belt.

‘Yes, so perhaps we should start with you, Margaret. Bend yourself over the table. We will see if you can do better at receiving the cane. I would like you to take it in silence, without crying out. And to keep your bottom perfectly still for the cane.’

Margaret has been caned already by Mr Keller, three days ago, and the memory is as fresh and bright as a newly minted coin. That caning was devastating — its shock effect and also the sheer agonising pain. That night she scarcely slept a wink. This now is worse though. Much worse…

THWACK!…

Yes impossible. Margaret half-stifles her cry but there is nonetheless a gasping yelp. The cane has zipped transversely in across the ripeness of her naked thrust-out buttocks. Coming away the cane has left its mark: twin pink lines on the pale flesh, pink lines that immediately begin to darken as the buttocks quiver and clench. As the cane is raised again for the second time…

THWAPP!…

At least there is no thought of the humiliation now, no thought of the agonising embarrassment of being bent over bare-bottomed before the four men. There was that stomach-clenching feeling earlier but it is now gone: there is only room in Margaret’s mind for the searing pain. In her poor bottom and flowing out in pulsating waves into the rest of her.

‘By no means perfect.’ Mr Keller is placing his cane on the table. ‘A lot of noise, and a lot of movement as well. But we must be charitable: you are only beginning.’

Margaret has been given six, although she herself could not state this precise number. They have all rolled into each other, fresh pain reinforcing the fire of the previous stroke. It could be 60. But there are now six of those twin red lines clearly to be seen on Margaret’s bottom; most of them roughly parallel, a couple criss-crossed.

She is standing, with the fire still churning in her rear and her eyes glazed with tears. Dr Edwards has got up from his chair and comes over. He takes Margaret’s arm leading her away from the table. He hands her a drink, helping it to her mouth. Margaret half chokes. She is still without her skirt. Dr Edwards is saying what are supposed to be comforting things and his hand is at her still-burning buttocks. At the table Helen who has been watching with nervous eyes is now bending over. Lying herself across the table as Margaret had.

THWAPP!

That sharp report of the cane again.

THWACKK!!!

Helen’s performance is somewhat better than Margaret’s. Gasping, grunting sounds but she avoids yelling out — until the last one at least. Then Mr Keller decides he will make her yell out. And he does.

Margaret is now sitting on the sofa between Dr Edwards and one of the other men; sitting on that still-burning bare bottom. Her head is in a spin: there is her own throbbing bottom, and before her the spectacle of Helen’s bare rear getting the same treatment, while at the same time Dr Edwards is unbuttoning her shirt. Her big boobs are jutting nudely out. Dr Edwards is showing them admiringly to the other man. He does not need a second invitation, he begins examining then himself with mauling hands.

----//----

It is not until the evening that Margaret has a proper chance to talk to Helen. The four men have gone off somewhere leaving the two girls to arrange the tents which is where they are to sleep tonight.

‘Have you done any of this before?’ Helen asks, meaning camping. They are both in Margaret’s tent spreading out the sleeping bag.

Margaret says, ‘A little. But it wasn’t like this.’

Helen laughs and makes a face. ‘That Mr Keller . he knows how to cane a girl don’t you think?’

Helen it seems works for one of those other men, Mr Richards. who was the one pawing at Margaret’s boobs when Dr Edwards unbuttoned her shirt right after the caning. He has a small factory making engine parts where Helen works in a clerical job.

‘That’s why I’m here,’ she says. ‘I have to be a good girl for Mr Richards. I must do what he wants, that’s what bosses are like.

Margaret is now having second thoughts about joining the Alpine Girls Club. There have been no glittering parties so far, only various awful things and Dr Edwards making veiled suggestions that take her breath away. But since getting here there has not really been any time to think. After the caning Margaret was mauled and grabbed for a while, with Helen getting the same treatment when her caning was over. It was Dr Edwards and the two others doing it, Mr Keller seeming content to watch with a half-amused look. But then Mr Keller had done the caning.

The mauling went on for quite a while, making Margaret’s head spin but at least it wasn’t that diabolical cane. Mr Keller did say ‘Perhaps they should have a refresher’ meaning the cane again but thank God he didn’t.

The girls were finally allowed to button their shirts and put on their skirts and were sent out to the kitchen to help Mr Richards’ housekeeper, Mrs Steel, a lady of mature years and stern countenance. ‘I think she would like to use Mr Keller’s cane. Helen whispered. Certainly Mrs Steel did not seem too friendly — perhaps resenting their youth, good looks and shapely figures.

For whatever reason Mrs Steel proved a hard taskmaster, following Mr Richards’ instruction to ‘keep them busy’ with evident enthusiasm. There has been a meal, prepared by Mrs Steel and the girls and served to the men by Margaret and Helen who were afterwards allowed to have something themselves. After that… the instruction to get their tents ready.

They are small two-person tents but the sleeping bags in them on the other hand are large. The one they are spreading out covers most of the floor area of Margaret’s tent: it is in fact a double sleeping bag.

Helen remarks on this with a sardonic laugh. ‘You will perhaps have some company, do you think? To keep you warm.’

This thought has somehow not occurred to Margaret. Now when Helen says it, it immediately becomes a real possibility to her mind. An awful possibility. ‘No!’ she breathes.

That laugh again. ‘Why not? Why not if they are going to make us entertain these important men. Why should they not have that same privilege themselves. I think perhaps Mr Keller may not want it, but the others… and I think my Mr Richards fancies you. I can see it in his eyes. That’s OK, you can be my guest. I can tell you he is OK. I mean, well, could be worse. But if Mr Richards comes here, who comes for me — Mr Golden?’

‘No!’ Margaret gasps. ‘They won’t… do that…’

Helen puts her hand on Margaret’s thigh. ‘Would you rather have the cane of Mr Keller to warm you then? I think he is very keen on that cane, which is not so good for us. Mr Richards quite likes the cane but he also likes other things.’

----//----

Nine pm. Or thereabouts. Someone is opening the flap of Margaret’s tent. Untying the tapes and carefully pulling it apart. Margaret in the sleeping bag feels the urge to scream. A wild hysterical scream at the full volume of her lungs. It could be anyone: some tramp or vagabond who has got into the grounds and is going to… but, no, she knows it is not. It is Mr Richards: as Helen has said he fancies her and now he has come as Helen has said he would. This realisation does not relieve the need to scream, the thought of Mr Richards is virtually as bad as some old tramp: what he wants is no different.

Margaret lies still, petrified, under the cover. He is inside the tent now, crawling up beside her. Feeling for the zip of the bag. Sliding it down.

‘Are you sleeping?’

It is not Mr Richards. It is Dr Edwards. The zip is slid right down and Dr Edwards is in with her. His hands on her. Margaret is wearing only a short silk shift. It reaches down to about her groin but now in the sleeping bag it is up round her waist. Dr Edwards’ hand has gone unerringly in below her waist, where it has been before.

‘So you are not asleep. Perhaps missing the attentions of that young man?’ Dr Edwards’ voice is a harsh whisper in the darkness while his hand works away. ‘I am not surprised if you are missing it: as we have established you are a very responsive young woman. And that is the type we require. But of course her sexual activity must be strictly under control.’

Dr Edwards’ hand has kept going. As it did in Mr Keller’s car, and earlier in Margaret’s room this morning. This time, though, it will not only be his hand. No, the hand has now been removed. Dr Edwards is clambering over on top of her. His heavy bulk for the moment threatens to stifle her. Margaret struggles for breath… while Dr Edwards gets in position. As soon as he is… Margaret yelps as she is entered, but he has made her wet and there is no resistance…

----//----

It is early morning, a half-light filtering in through the walls of the little tent, when Margaret hears the shrill note of a whistle from outside. The blast is repeated, and then the shout, ‘Up!’ Her tent is shaken to further ensure she is not still sleeping.

Margaret groans. She is not asleep, she has been awake for a considerable time — it seems like all night. Ever since that dreadful visit from Dr Edwards. When he… she can’t bear to think about it and yet her mind wants to think of nothing else. Dr Edwards… doing it to her. It is unbelievable but she hasn’t dreamt it: it has happened. ‘Testing,’ Dr Edwards said.

Afterwards he said she had performed very well. ‘Excellent. No problems at all.’ And then Dr Edwards in his pyjamas and dressing gown was crawling back out of the tent and refastening the door tapes. Leaving Margaret staring wide-eyed but unseeing in the darkness.

Has she slept at all since? It doesn’t seem like it. She groans again. Someone is opening the door, a head. Mr Keller.

‘Get up, Margaret. Early morning exercises. I want you in just your knickers. Nothing else.’

She shakes her head, bleary-eyed. Yesterday it was no knickers, now Mr Keller is saying wear knickers and nothing else. Another groan as she crawls out of bed. There is Dr Edwards still filling her head. What if? and now… knickers. Where are the knickers? Mr Keller gave her knickers with the rest of the outfit but said she wasn’t to wear them. Oh, here… they are white silk, she pulls off the shift and gets the knickers on. What time is it? Exercises… her head…

Margaret clambers out of the tent. It is full light outside but early — and cold. Or at least it is cold if you have only knickers on. She shivers.

Helen is also just emerging from her tent. Mr Keller is a little way away. Further over there is Mr Keller’s chauffeur doing something…

‘Good morning, girls. Have you slept well? Are you fit?’ Mr Keller sounds bright and cheerful.

Helen groans, ‘I’m freezing.’ Like Margaret she is in only a pair of white knickers. Also like Margaret the nipples of her good-sized bare boobs are erect, thrusting out in the cool air.

‘Perhaps the cane could warm you then?’ and indeed Mr Keller has his cane in his hand. Oh Christ! thinks Margaret. Not that. Not on this shivery cold morning. Mr Keller gives the cane a brisk slice through the air but seemingly is not about to use it on them right away.

‘Morning exercises then, girls. Get the blood moving. Running on the spot. Knees up and a fast tempo. Start!’

They start bouncing up and down on the damp grass. Bouncing is the word with no covering or support for a girl’s boobs, especially if they are large ones, in violent motion. Margaret thinks of cupping her hands to hers but is sharply told to ‘Stop that!’ and get her knees up higher. ‘Up! Up!’

She yelps out as Mr Keller’s cane whips in across her flank. That is wrong too.

‘We do not cry out like a baby,’ he barks. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ Margaret gasps. The cane comes in again, to test her, across the flexing buttocks tightly contained in the silk knickers. This time there is a despairing moan which perhaps does not count as crying out. She manages to keep going, ignoring the stinging smart, lifting her knees as high as she can. But Margaret is already breathing hard. She unfortunately is not used to hard physical exercise and is not fit. It is already noticeable that Helen who is fitter is performing in an easier, less laboured manner. It is noticeable to the sharp eyes of Mr Keller certainly.

‘Harder, Margaret. Harder! You are like an old carthorse.’ He switches her again.

Margaret is gasping. She is bigger than Helen for one thing. A bigger bottom and certainly bigger boobs. They are jouncing violently up and down. Mr Keller calls out something to the chauffeur. Out of the corner of her eye Margaret sees him come over. Something…

He is holding the end of a garden hose she now sees. He hands it to Mr Keller, grinning. And then retreats out of the line of vision. She keeps her eyes to the front. Where Mr Keller is now holding this hosepipe. Margaret struggles on with the running, hot now, her thighs heavy with fatigue. She can’t keep this up for much longer.

Suddenly there is water coming out of the hose. The chauffeur must have turned the tap on somewhere. Why…?

‘You are hot, Margaret?’ Mr Keller says. ‘You  look hot.’

And without warning the stream of water, formed into a hard spray by Mr Keller’s fingers, is directed right at her. The water is icy, or feels it. Margaret yells out.

‘Don’t stop. Keep moving! Don’t you dare stop!’

Margaret is already soaked in icy water, hitting her like a solid wall. It is enough to give her a heart attack, especially in her exhausted condition. She struggles to keep going. She has never felt anything like it. It is worse than Mr Keller’s cane; it is worse than anything Dr Edwards has done. It is devastating.

At last the dreadful dousing stops.

‘Stand still now. At attention,’ and Mr Keller is turning his attention to Helen. Who all this time has also been running on the spot but without the benefit of that icy spray. Even Helen is looking a bit weary now.

‘Now the other one, eh?’ say Mr Keller simply — and turns the fierce jet on the brunette.

----//----

‘So, did you girls enjoy that invigorating work-out?’

The water has been turned off and they are both standing to attention in front of him. Margaret has been standing like this for some few minutes and is shivering badly. Helen shakes her head. She is looking as miserable as Margaret. They are two drowned rats, their soaking hair plastered to their heads.

‘You girls need to be fit and disciplined. You have to be a shining example so hard physical training is essential. And you have to be able to undergo hardship with fortitude. I can see at the moment you are not fit; you especially, Margaret. We will have to do something about that.’

Mr Keller has that fanatical look again, as he did at Margaret’s house when he was going on about his thoughts to her mother. It is true what Helen says: Mr Keller is different from the others. They want to do those things, mauling a girl’s boobs and worse, but Mr Keller is different. He has his vision and he will make them suffer to achieve it.

‘We will break now,’ he tells the shivering girls. ‘You can have a hot shower and then breakfast.’

This, at least, is heard with relief. Their dreadful ordeal is over.

‘But first, Margaret, you, I think, must have a reminder of the extra effort we need. Kneel down. We will have a touch of the cane. Helen, you will stay at attention and watch.’

Margaret blurts something, half a despairing plea, half a fearful yelp.

‘Silence! Get down on your hands and knees. At once.’

Helen looks on, nervous-eyed, as Margaret stumbles down, her body awkward from her exhausting effort and the freezing water. Down onto hands and knees on the wet grass as Mr Keller has ordered. Her big bare boobs are pendent but the focus of Helen’s eyes is inevitably Margaret’s ripe bottom in the soaking wet knickers. The now transparent material clings to the blond girl’s rear like a second skin, the crotch tight up between the flaring cheeks. Margaret’s flesh is pink from the running but now with a bluish tinge to it.

Helen’s mouth opens as Mr Keller raises the cane. If he hits her hard Margaret is really going to feel it in the condition she is in.

The cane descends… it does come down hard. A sickening SPLATT!… sound on the wet knickers, which for all the protection they give might as well not be there. Margaret makes a gasping, gurgling sound and collapses on her face.

----//----

‘Your poor bum. It’s got some nasty marks on it.’

Four of them to be precise, because when Margaret fell flat on her face in front of the tents she was immediately made to get up again and assume the hands-and-knees position as before. To take three further pistol-like shots of Mr Keller’s cane.

Helen and Margaret are now in the bathroom. They have each had a warm shower. For Margaret, though, the effect of this is to dispel any numbness brought on by the cold and her bottom is now really throbbing, if anything hurting more than before. She wipes at her eyes. she can’t help it, she is crying. This whole business is too much, the Alpine Girls Club, does her mother imagine that this is how it is?

‘Last night,’ Helen says, ‘You didn’t get Mr Richards; unless he came later, after he was in my tent. Mr Golden perhaps?’

Margaret shakes her head. She must pull herself together. If Mr Keller sees her like this it will be even worse. He will cane her again for crying. Alpine Girls have to be strong, disciplined. Oh Christ!

‘Dr Edwards,’ she says. Margaret doesn’t want to talk to Helen about it. Helen probably knows more about these matters. Because what if…?

Helen’s eyes have become rounded. ‘Dr Edwards! and he checks you out? Your performance.’

That is precisely what Dr Edwards claimed he was doing. The thought makes Margaret feel ill. She would like to ask Helen but it is embarrassing and anyway they now have to get dressed and go down.

‘Your bottom, Helen says. ‘I should ask Dr Edwards for something. Some cream.’

Margaret has no intention of asking Dr Edwards for cream even though her bottom is really humming still. Because how can she know he won’t get her in some little room on that excuse… and simply… do it again? She reaches for her skirt. But… what is to stop him doing that anyway? She feels like crying again.

‘Our knickers,’ Helen in just her shirt is saying. ‘It’s no knickers again, I suppose. Unless we have to wear those wet ones.’

Presumably it is no knickers. They have only been given one pair with their outfits — perhaps on the basis that they will mostly not be wearing them.

Helen is fastening her skirt. ‘What now I wonder? Some horrible thing I expect. Mr Keller’s cane again. Or perhaps Dr Edwards thinks it is time to check me out.’

Margaret doesn’t reply. It is bad luck to talk about it, but it will be something horrible all right, she is sure of that.

----//----

There is tennis for one thing. It comes a little later after the girls have had a chance to digest their breakfasts. A tennis match or contest between Helen and Margaret.

‘Tennis is an excellent test of skill, co-ordination and stamina,’ declares Mr Keller. There is nothing more delightful than a beautiful, shapely girl bounding athletically about the tennis court. So says Mr Keller.

It is all very well except that Margaret is not a tennis player. She is not really a sports player at all, not having that essential co-ordination and as well, as demonstrated this morning, she is not fit. Her pleading to this effect when they are told what is to take place naturally cuts no ice with Mr Keller.

‘Then you will learn. And very rapidly, I hope. Or would you prefer another caning first to inspire you?’

Mr Richard’s house has a tennis court in the grounds, as well as a swimming pool.

‘Tennis shoes and socks,’ Mr Keller tells the girls. ‘But that is all. We want to see these lovely young bodies in action.’

Yes, the girls are to play in the nude. Helen makes a face. It is at least now a warm morning, sunny and bright, after that cool, not to say icy, start.

Margaret is looking mortified. In response to her whispered query whether Helen can play she has said ‘A little.’ Margaret is certain this is a modest understatement: she knows Helen can play well. To complete matters Mr Keller says, ‘To provide more interest and competition the losing girl will receive a special caning.’

At the tennis court the girls reluctantly remove their clothes. Mr Keller and his companions are all standing watching with interest, as is also the chauffeur. He has the rackets and balls and also two pairs of tennis shoes and white ankle socks.

It is for Margaret, at least, another desperate experience. She tries to ignore the five pairs of male eyes as, nude, she sits on the seat to pull on socks and sneakers. and then… a racket in her hand… onto the court. On her bottom can still be seen the marks of Mr Keller’s early morning attentions.

As Margaret has foreseen, the match is a disaster. Helen is an expert player. Helen can quickly see she is streets better than Margaret and of course she doesn’t want to be the one to get the caning. She nonetheless tones down her play, so as not to show Margaret up.

But Mr Richards knows how good she is and can see she is not trying. A whispered word to Mr Keller. Play is abruptly stopped. Helen is called over to the side… and is told to bend over. Mr Keller gives her two brisk, hard cuts with his cane.

After that the match is a rout. Margaret’s performance against the expert Helen, who now is playing in earnest, is abject, abysmal. At the end of it, exhausted again, she wants only to find some little hole to crawl into and never come out. But there is no little hole…

Margaret is in tears as she stumbles off the court at the end of it. These tears will not help matters. An Alpine Girl should never produce such a hopeless performance but equally she must never show this weakness in adversity. Clearly she will need to be taught a salutary lesson that girls can expect to show improvement.

‘You will of course be caned, Margaret.’ The stern voice of Mr Keller. ‘I said it would be a special caning, and it will be. You certainly need it. Each one of us will cane you in turn. I think that well before it is over you will be sure you will not wish to undergo such a session again. Do I make myself clear?’

Margaret is standing desperate-eyed before them. Her bare body is slick with sweat, her lungs beneath those trembling tits are still gasping for breath. She weakly shakes her head.

Helen standing a few paces away and also nude feels dreadful. She feels in a way responsible, for showing Margaret up, but she had no choice after the two stinging cuts which Mr Keller gave her.

‘She may have trouble keeping still.’ Mr Keller is now addressing Helen. ‘So I want you to hold her arms. Lie yourself over the arm of the seat, Margaret. Head and arms down in the seat. Helen will hold you there.’

Being caned by all four of them in turn! The enormity of it can’t be taken in by Margaret’s mind. There is no way she can take all four — Mr Keller alone is impossible. But all four of them!…

She is nonetheless bending over the arm of the seat. Dr Edwards is assisting, positioning her. ‘I can give you something to bite on,’ he tells her. ‘A cork? That can help.’

But Margaret, zombie-like, shakes her head. She is in some kind of nightmare. Helen reluctantly sits on the seat to take Margaret’s arms. Holding Margaret will be as bad as getting the cane herself. Well, almost. She purses her lips, Mr Keller is handing the cane to Mr Golden.

‘Go first. Warm her up.’

Margaret in her nightmare can hear this. There are four of them.

THWAPP!… the first one, slicing in across Margaret’s sweat-wet bottom. A moaning gasp. Her body automatically jerking, writhing, her stricken bottom in particular in a convulsive movement.

THWACK!!! THWAPP!!!!

Helen is deliberately not counting, she can’t bear it. Because it is not just Margaret. Poor Margaret who says she has not had the cane before and who is also pretty hopeless at tennis. No, it is more the thought of herself. it could easily be herself lying here in front of the four men and Margaret holding her arms. And no doubt it will be.

Helen has been caned by Mr Richards but no more than six ever. How many has Margaret had? Helen won’t think. Perhaps it is only two… though she knows that is not possibly true.

----//----

Dr Edwards puts his arm round Margaret’s waist, pulling her to her feet.

‘A girl learns from a lesson like that. Now then, our other recruit. We must keep her busy. Some more exercise.’

It is Mr Golden who suggests upside-down cycling. Cycling her legs in the air. Perhaps 20 minutes non-stop and of course the cane. Mr Keller agrees that this is a good exercise. Helen swallows. She is still wearing only tennis socks and sneakers…