The Price of Prejudice

Clarification: All characters in the sex scenes described in this work of fiction are above the legal age of consent in your state or country.

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Life was so different for Tanneka now since her parents had left her that tearful day, leaving her in the care of the Van Vliet family and their children. Not that she didn't appreciate her new guardians, and she knew that in the circumstances it was so much better this way. But, perhaps, one day in the future, she would be reunited with her parents, but for now it seemed so much more prudent to live with Herr and Frau Van Vliet and their infant children in this nondescript small town far away from the cities and the risk of British aeroplanes and their bombs.

Still, her school wasn't a bad one, although the disruption caused by German occupation rather changed the atmosphere. The teachers were generally circumspect in their opinions and always avoided any questions about the war or the Germans or even the Nazi ideology that they were obliged to impart on their pupils. Well, most of them were. Clearly, some teachers actually embraced the new way of thinking; quite happy to relate just how evil was the Jewish Conspiracy and how necessary the strict discipline and guidance imposed by the jackboots and tanks of Nazi Germany.

This rather disturbed Tanneka. The stories of how evil and vile the Jews were and how the world would be so different without them seemed somewhat fantastical and totally unlike anything of which she'd ever had any experience. But anti-Semitism was just one new feature of her life which she found difficult to get used to. The inexorable march of Nazi ideology, the curse of disability and sexual perversion, and the greater virtues of the Aryan race: all these new ways of thinking had to be understood and, at least outwardly, observed. It frightened her how several of her fellow pupils took to this new order with such enthusiasm. So many had enrolled in the Hitler youth, and were proud to sport swastika armbands and military style uniforms. She would sit silently in the classroom as day after day she would be reminded of the tenets of the new masters' views. Frightened to ever express an opinion which might earn her the disapprobation of her peers and her teachers. Or even worse.

However, in addition, school had for her all the trials of any school. Getting to know new friends, getting to find her way about unfamiliar streets and corridors, suffering the self-discovery and self-consciousness of growing up that anyone anywhere would have to go through. At least, many of the other girls were just as new to the school as she was. The upheaval of war had caused so much dislocation that it seemed natural to her that almost every week a new girl would be introduced to the school and welcomed as another casualty of the realities of armed occupation in the seemingly unstoppable growth of the German lebensraum. She would gaze at the newly reissued map on the wall which showed the extent of the Third Reich - so deep into the depths of what used to be the Soviet Union, taking in Scandinavia, Greece, France and the Balkans. And to the top of the map was the British foe, whose tyrannical leaders would drop their bombs on innocent civilians and seek to thwart the onward march of History. And to the corner of the map was the malevolent gaze of Stalin, whom Tanneka could remember was once uneasily viewed as an ally of the New Order in its struggle for world domination.

Erika was another girl quite new to the school, but one who was already very much as one with the new ideology. And with her blond hair, tied back in plaits like Tanneka's own thick dark brown hair, and her sparklingly limpid blue eyes, so unlike Tanneka's dark brooding ones, she was so clearly of the Aryan model. One so unlike anyone of the leaders of the Third Reich whose pictures she saw when she went to the cinema with her guardians and their children. She was not as slim as Tanneka, but she was certainly not plump. Her round cheeks belied a healthy appetite. And her full young breasts pressed against the dark brown of her shirt, supported, as they had to be, by a bra which gave her an older appearance than the youth of her face might otherwise suggest.

Tanneka was fascinated by Erika. She was not the brightest girl in the class: that honour was Tanneka's own. But she was very popular, both with the other girls and with the teachers. But, in Tanneka's eyes, her worst fault, and why Tanneka did not feel very comfortable in Erika's presence, was her enthusiasm for National Socialism. She was fond of making cruel jokes about gypsies, Jews and the mentally ill. She even extended her jokes to Asians, Africans and Chinese; although solicitous to except Italians and Japanese from her scorn who, although not Aryan, were from similarly proud, superior races and were showing their worth as Allies in the great war. She was proud to wear her swastika on her sleeve, and unsympathetic to those who showed more reluctance than her to embrace the opinions of the great Adolf Hitler.

Erika's biggest regret, as she confided to Tanneka, was that she couldn't understand German well enough to fully comprehend the broadcasts of the führer on the radio. She rather envied Tanneka's rather better grasp of the natural language of the Third Reich, and befriended Tanneka in the hope that she might pass this facility onto her. Tanneka was rather less keen on Hitler's diatribes, or even those of his lieutenants like Göring or Himmler. Her knowledge of German, though far from fluent, was quite sufficient for her to understand exactly what was being said, and it was, to her, even more frightening than what she would hear at school. These were the people who were running her country and ultimately her life. And they were so full of hatred and vitriol and disgust. It made her almost ill to think about it.

But, despite Erika's jibes about her lack of enthusiasm for National Socialism, Tanneka found herself becoming very fond of the girl. She was so very pretty. And she had such a sweet smile. And a twinkling laugh which contrasted strangely with the coarseness of her observations. Her bright blue eyes. The smooth pale skin. That loose lock of blonde hair that detached itself from her plaits and fell onto her round cheeks. And, Tanneka was disturbed to realise, she loved the look of those firm breasts pressing against the buttons of her blouse, those slim ankles at the end of her shapely long legs, with such a fine fair down of hair that it would be almost a shame to shave it off. She became used to a curious shortness of breath whenever Erika came into the room, before she'd even greeted her. And she found her eyes would constantly wander towards Erika's, hypnotised by the pale blue gaze, framed by such long and luscious eyelashes.

And, what was worse, she noticed that her strong feelings were shared by Erika. Despite her lack of zeal for the Nazi Party, her reluctance to join the Hitler Youth, or her refusal to join whole-heartedly in Erika's condemnation of non-Aryans, she could see that Erika was taking quite a strong interest in her. Indeed, she was sure of it. Erika's voice was always lower, more intimate, more polite, when with Tanneka than she was with her other friends. She smiled so readily, so beautifully, sparks of affection from her eyes illuminating her cheeks and her such white teeth. The very personification of the Aryan ideal. Tanneka was smitten. And she could see that Erika was also smitten by her. What did this mean? And what did this forebode?

The curfew that gripped all the territories of the Third Reich meant that the only way in which Tanneka and Erika could spend the evening assisting each other with their homework would require that one or the other girl would have to spend the night at the other girl's house. Frau Van Vliet was not at all happy with the idea of Erika staying overnight at their home. Her views of the traitors who invaded her country without even the courtesy of declaring war made it almost impossible for her to countenance the presence of someone who had taken the monstrous step too far of becoming a Hitler Youth. In fact, neither of her guardians were at all happy that she should have a friend who wore a swastika on her sleeve. Herr Van Vliet was no less pleased than his wife, but he took a practical attitude. He reasoned that young girls didn't really know the full meaning of what they were doing, and would hopefully grow out of the monstrous perversions of the Nazi fantasy. However, as he assured his wife grimly, there was no sense in making things worse and arousing suspicions of nonconformity by appearing uncooperative in such a small thing as letting young Tanneka spend the evening with her friend.

When Tanneka arrived with her satchel and books at Erika's home, she was first of all impressed by just how grand a property it was. Erika's father had done well out of his own sympathies for the Nazi cause. She was also quite grateful that she didn't have to spend any time with Erika's parents who were at a function in another town and wouldn't be expected back until the following day. Tanneka was led up the stairs to Erika's bedroom by her maidservant, Theresa, who as soon as the girls were together, scurried out of the house to get home before the curfew began.

Erika's bedroom was huge. There was a large double bed, a view out onto the dark unlit streets below and a desk where Erika sat in just a night-dress, her hair unplaited and cascading freely onto her shoulders. She turned her head as Tanneka was ushered in, a pencil in one hand with its tip in her mouth. She withdrew the pencil as the maidservant shut the door behind her and smiled deeply and warmly.

"I'm so glad you could make it," she announced. "I'm sorry that the room is such a mess, but tidiness isn't amongst my virtues."

Tanneka was hardly aware of any mess at all. Indeed, it would be quite difficult for any mess to be noticeable at all in such a large room. She was far more aware of Erika's relative state of undress. Not that Erika's dress was in any way immodest. It covered her arms, was tight to the waist and came down to her bare feet. And it was not of flimsy material, but Tanneka could see so clearly Erika's breasts pressed against the fabric of the night-dress and unsupported by a bra. She could see the impression of Erika's nipples through the cloth, and could observe the breasts swing at a slightly more ponderous pace than the rest of her, as she stood up to greet Tanneka.

"Guten abend meine freund," greeted Erika in her not especially good German accent. "Shall we study some 'Deutsch' together?"

"Yes, why not?" said Tanneka, trying to wrest her gaze away from the impression of Erika's breasts and onto much more wholesome matters. She knew that she was unlikely to improve Erika's German, nor indeed her Mathematics, Geography or History, but she was looking forward to them spending time so close together.

The two sat together on two hard-backed chairs by Erika's neat wooden desk, heads bent close near each other, the brush of night-dress against Tanneka's bare arms in her short-sleeved blouse and against the knees of her dark navy-blue skirt. Occasionally, Tanneka caught sight of the two girls' reflection in the tall mirror that stood against the wall. There was Erika, her hair falling onto her face, occasionally brushing it off with a pale dimpled hand, her long white night-dress sparkling in the electric light like her equally white teeth and the white of her penetrating blue eyes. And there was Tanneka, with her unmanageable thick dark hair, tied unsatisfactorily back into plaits, her white blouse and the skirt which came down to her knees at just about the same point as her white socks reached up to them. Her slightly olive skin and lightly chiselled features were in such contrast to the soft, pale, round contours of Erika's face. She could also see that both of them had lively animated faces, as they laughed and giggled and chortled over aspects of German grammar that had never seemed quite so funny before. And Tanneka was even able to appreciate the explosion of Erika's coarse humour when, as was inevitable in an approved text book, there were derogatory comments in German about those from inferior races than that of the Aryan master race.

She looked at Erika with a strong affection as her friend struggled to write German sentences with that voluptuous looping handwriting of hers, which struggled to hold its place between the lines above and below, and came out with so much labour and effort, while Erika mouthed to herself each vowel and consonant she was writing. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulder and brushed against her elbow as she bent over to put as much weight and effort as she could in this struggle for self-expression in the language of her German masters.

"There are so many words the same but sound different!" Erika exclaimed at one point. "And other words which look the same as in our language but mean something different as well."

"You mean, faux amis?" queried Tanneka.

"I'm sure you're right," said Erika, opening her German dictionary with a puzzled expression. "I've not heard that word before. How do you spell that?"

"It's French."

"Oh! Well, I can't be bothered with French words. The French can't even fight a good war. Why should I be bothered with their stupid language? They're just a bunch of stupid, garlic-eating, fat asses! And they smell, too!"

Tanneka didn't dare ask on what concrete evidence Erika based her comments. As far as she could see, Erika had hardly met anyone who was of any other nationality than her own, and, naturally, the Germans'. But Tanneka also knew that these opinions were not at all unusual, and were certain to be magnified in the retelling. She also reflected that although gypsies, Jews, Slavs, Arabs, and others were often compared to dogs, pigs and asses, in actual fact these nonhuman species were treated rather better than those considered to be of the same species but of an inferior race. Where was the justice in that?

"Do you want some wine?" asked Erika, perhaps sensing her friend's discomfort. "My father won't notice. He's got absolutely loads of the stuff."

"Well, I …" began Tanneka who'd never had any alcohol before, but too late before Erika was off and out of the room, returning with two bottles of white wine and two glasses.

"It's best French wine," smiled Erika, as she unscrewed a cork with a bottle opener. "One thing we know the French are good at!"

"Indeed," agreed Tanneka, happy to see a softening, however slight, in her friend's generally derogatory opinion of other races. But she wasn't sure she really enjoyed the sharp taste of the sweet liquid as she sipped at it. Almost immediately, it made her feel ever so slightly peculiar. It was very much like the feeling she associated with getting giddy after spinning around. But it was a taste which she gradually came to enjoy more with each sip, although she'd have been more than happy with a cup of tea or strong coffee.

As she sipped the sharp bright liquid, she regarded Erika who was drinking her glass rather faster than hers, and was all too soon onto a second glass which she poured slightly carelessly with a foolish grin on her face.

"I know some French," giggled Erika proudly. "Je t'aime. Je t'aime."

"Yes. That's French," agreed Tanneka diplomatically, but feeling a sudden spurt of emotion in the pit of her stomach.

"And in German that's: Ich liebe dich. Ich liebe dich. That's right, isn't it?"

"It is," agreed Tanneka.

"You say it. Ich liebe dich."

Tanneka breathed in deeply, not sure whether it was the wine or the intent of the words that made her feel so horribly peculiar. "Ich liebe dich."

"And I love you too!" said Erika emphatically, quite suddenly grasping Tanneka around the back of her head with the hand that wasn't clasping a wine-glass, and drawing her lips against her own. Tanneka was startled, but she was totally unable to resist the pleasure and desire that erupted from deep within her and vomited itself into her consciousness.

This kiss was so liquid, so passionate, so strong. And so wonderful. Both girls abandoned their glasses and pressed their mouths and faces and lips together. Muscular tongue fought against tongue, teeth clashed clumsily against teeth, jarring the nerves at the very roots. It was so very slurpy and moist and Tanneka wanted more and more. Her mouth grappled, her jaw ached, as she and Erika pulled themselves together, somehow knowing exactly where to put their hands. And it seemed so natural as Erika guided Tanneka back onto her large bed, the soft sprung mattress enveloping the two girls in its capacious warmth as they fell on to it. And then, how it happened Tanneka wasn't sure, she found her hands were on Erika's bare flesh, the night-dress thrown off. And Erika without clothes was even more beautiful than Erika dressed.

Those breasts, the object of so much unspoken silent desire, were as beautiful, and round, and firm as she'd imagined. Now freed from restraint, they seemed so natural swelling out from her chests, overhanging her ribs, with nipples firm and hard with a darker pinkish aureate ring. Her bare skin so pale and fleshy, but not too plump. Welcoming and inviting and so soft and warm. Her hands gripped Erika from behind, feeling the curve of her spine and almost not daring to, but having to, feel the larger curve of her buttocks, even softer and warmer and more welcoming than the folds of her breasts.

And soon, with Erika's assistance, Tanneka herself was divested of her clothes, giggling and sighing as skirt, blouse, slip, shoes, socks and finally, after a moment of theatrical pause, her knickers were also off. And there she was as naked as Erika herself. All the while, as Erika busied herself on the buttons and straps that had secured Tanneka's modesty a beaming, smiling Erika displayed herself as a feast to Tanneka's eyes. Not just the breasts: so firm and welcoming. Not just the curve and line and firmness of flesh so much like the Aryan ideal. Not just that face and mouth and teeth and blue eyes that had already earned Tanneka's affection. But now, between the legs, a blonde triangle of hair, curling in amongst itself, and obscuring, but not hiding, a set of complex lips that hid the soul and virtue of a woman. Something which Tanneka had never expected to see except in a mirror, and now arched above her as Erika spreadeagled her waist and tossed her knickers to one side.

Tanneka, herself, was slim and dark: her breasts mere bumps in comparison to Erika's but with long, firm nipples on a much darker aureole than those others. Thighs and arms, slim, almost bony,. But like Erika, a secret revealed, folded and boldly naked, hidden more successfully under the heavy bush of dark hair in her crotch. She smiled up at Erika, trembling with excitement at the moment, at the pleasure of being with such a beautiful lover, at the passion of saliva and kisses. And then a sudden gasp as Erika's body collapsed on her, naked bosom against naked bosom, mouth once again on mouth, and a new feeling as she felt Erika's fingers stroke the dark thick hair of her crotch: the mere sensation tingling the core of her being and causing an aching empty feeling to open inside her, and forcing open her legs.

It was inevitable that after kissing and cuddling and stroking and even licking each other, that Erika's fingers should probe around the folds and features of Tanneka's vagina. And then, ooh! And again, ooh! Ooh! One of Erika's fingers slid so easily into the moist opening of it, while Erika's other hand guided one of Tanneka's hands and fingers towards her own crotch.

And what a surprise that was too! It was so moist and sticky. Even though the hair around it was dry and straw-like in its composition. And so warm! Where did that warmth come from? Was it like the warmth and moistness that she felt sure she was emitting below, that ached so hard, that pressed even harder against her stomach? She let a finger probe inside the lips. Such a surprising warmth. And with surprising contours and shapes. What was this hard knob to the top of the vagina? Was it like the growth in her own that she'd sometimes thought to be a kind of warty infection? But she knew her own crotch from her few clumsy fumblings (often with unfocussed thoughts of Erika uppermost in her mind) that this was the same. A complicated growth hidden like a secret in special secret folds that she'd thought were only her own, and was never sure were like that of other people. She was pleased to realise that she was not the only one whose crotch was not as smooth and undifferentiated as the classical nude sculptures so beloved of the Third Reich aesthetic.