The Novitiate Part 1
by
Indigo Marr
Author's note: This story makes a slight deviation from my
established convention. While this story is first person, the main
character is not Indigo Marr.
"Shit." I muttered under my breath as the bell rang, signaling the
end of the period. I had one period a day out of six set aside as a
'prep' period; a time to grade papers, write lesson plans and, as
today, fill out requisitions for supplies and materials--a task I
particularly despised. The accountants seemed to think that it was
entirely sensible to expect an instructor to plan every need for the
entire year on one requisition form. I'd gotten into the habit of
keeping a small notepad in my jacket pocket to jot down items to be
purchased as I thought of them.
Distractions and interruptions were prevalent here however--most of
them from the student body, or the student bodies, to be more
precise. Working at the Ridgemar Preparatory Academy for Girls
sounded like a quiet, pleasant job after the major headaches and
petty politics of the metropolitan school I had left. And, for the
most part, it was. It was dealing with the students that was the
problem.
I set my pen down on the antique desk, neatly stacked the requisition
forms, minimized the online catalog I was browsing, and sat back in
my chair. The girls wandered into my room exemplifying the paradox
that is the 16-year-old girl; chatting and giggling like little
girls, while dressing and moving like mature women. Their ability to
be simultaneously childish and mature was a persistent irritation to
me--one which I did my utmost to eliminate.
I had gained a reputation, somewhat properly, as being tyrannical. I
preferred to think of myself as a benevolent dictator; one with
Machiavellian underpinnings. I laid down the rules immediately each
year, promptly and harshly made an example of any trouble makers, and
allowed my reputation establish the tone for the remainder of the
year.
The reality of it was that, within the rules, I was reasonably
tolerant. The smart ones realized that. The stupid ones felt the
crack of a wooden ruler across their knuckles; working in an
exclusive private school had its advantages.
Polite greetings popped out of the crowd randomly.
"Hello, Mr. Ammon."
"Good afternoon, Miss Anastasia."
"Hi, Mr. Ammon."
"Good afternoon, Miss Amy."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ammon, sir."
"Good afternoon, Miss Steph."
Stephanie Kapolawicz was an unusual student. In a school filled with
daughters of the rich elite, Miss Steph was straight middle class. A
rather quiet young lady, Steph had received a full scholarship. I'd
noticed her immediately on the first day of class; she was a 16-year-
old reincarnation of Betty Page, right down to the bright smile and
playful eyes.
As the year had progressed I had come to be as impressed with her
mind as I was with her nubile young body. She was intelligent,
creative, witty, slightly devious at times, and obedient. As I've
stated, I have a reputation as a tyrant, but I also have the best
behaved classes in the school. While most of the girls needed
occasional--or, in some cases, frequent--reining in, Steph was almost
always prompt and precise in following orders.
At first, I thought nothing of it, just appreciating a student who
was well behaved. Then I started paying more attention. The devil was
in the details; the shy smile when I would complement her, the pout
when I would chastise her--or worse, express my disappointment in
her--and the way in which she honestly deferred to my authority. It
was all very subtle. Being used to crushes and attempts to attract my
attention that were often so blatant as to be comical, it took me
longer than it should have to decipher Steph's behavior.
By the end of the first quarter, she had gained a deputation as the
teacher's pet. Little did any of us realize how far that metaphor
would go.
About that same time, I started testing her. I would make an idle
comment on how I preferred her hair to be styled, or which variations
on her school uniform were 'nice'. I watched as my preferences became
the standard. After a while, I progressed to behaviors. Walking
around the room during exams, I would tap her with the wooden pointer
I always carried, instruct her on her posture and watch her promptly
react.
The second week of the second quarter, Steph knocked on my open door
during my prep period.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ammon. May I come in?"
I looked up from the stack of paperwork to see her standing politely
in the doorway. For a moment it confused me; she was actually
waiting for permission to enter, rather than simply asking as a
formality as everyone else did. I was in an odd mood--frustrated
at the paperwork, and feeling like stirring up trouble. I reclined
in my high-backed antique chair, crossed my arms lightly on my chest,
and very deliberately looked at her. I took my time to let my eyes
fully take her in.
Her shoulder-length hair looked freshly trimmed; the straight bangs
a perfectly even curve across her forehead. Faint hints and streaks
of auburn showed through the black, indicating that it might be time
for her to touch-up the dye. Thin eyebrows arced long and graceful
above bright blue eyes which blinked and darted in recognition of,
and embarrassment at, my survey of her body. And yet she did nothing
to avoid it--indeed, I noticed her stand a bit straighter, relaxing
her shoulders, and lightly clasping her hands behind her back as I
had instructed her that "proper young ladies" should do in the
presence of a superior. She had left her uniform jacket elsewhere
this morning. Instead of a soft gray tweed, there was a crisp white
cotton shirt, perfectly pressed, the collar tabs held stiffly in
place by small pearl buttons and hidden stays. The top button
remained open, revealing an extra two inches of her graceful neck.
A simple silver chain hung close on her throat, holding a delicate
silver ring nestled into the small nock where her chest met her
throat. Small pert breasts rose beneath the crisp cotton, giving a
beautiful swell to her chest and curve to her silhouette. I paused to
wonder if those breasts were gently wrapped in plain cotton or
delicate lace. Would they have hold the pattern of that lace, echoed
in fresh pink textures, when the fabric was peeled slowly away from
the treasures it held? The tailored shirt tapered down to her narrow
waist where it was tucked neatly into the wide waistband of her
uniform skirt. The skirt itself, a precisely-pleated black and green
plaid, was exactly to uniform code. Again I took a moment to pause;
what was hidden behind the soft wool? Was her mound a wild tangle, a
neatly-trimmed soft fur, or was it smooth and bare, waiting the
caress of a commanding hand or wet tongue? Did she taste sweet, or
was there a bright tang to her? Did her delicate sex hide behind
smooth lips or emerge to present itself to its suitors? The laser-
straight hem fell from smoothly flared hips to just above her knees,
showing smoothly muscled calves and well-turned ankles clad in
straight white knee socks below. At the very last were black leather
shoes polished to a shine. The wooden heels of those shoes make a
crisp click on the hardwood floors of the academy classrooms and
tiles of the long hallways.
I let my eyes sweep back up her body, taking it all in again, from
trim ankle to slender neck, until my eyes locked her own, holding her
with my gaze, forcing her to admit the dangerous pleasure she took in
my scrutiny.
In all of this young beauty, however, what stood out was the subtle,
bright smile on her full, soft lips. It was an acceptance and an
invitation. One that I decided at that moment that I would accept.
"You may enter, Miss Steph."
"Thank you, sir." She walked to stand in front of my desk, her heels
making that small, crisp click with each step. "Mrs. Williamson
asked me to bring this to you." She handed me a folded note which I
took and read. Silly details about a staff meeting that she could
just as well have e-mailed to me. I tossed it into the trash and
looked back up at the young lady standing before me.
"Is there something else I may do for you, Miss Steph?"
"Um. No, sir." She hesitated for a long moment. "I was wondering,
sir.... I, um.... I have this period free, and I usually spend it in
the computer lab, but now there's classes in there so I can't use it.
And I get really bored in the study hall.... So, I was wondering
if, maybe you might want some help in here. Since it's you're prep
period and all."
"What do you have in mind?" I raised an eyebrow at her.
"Um... well.. I could correct papers. File things. Y'know...
basically do whatever you wanted."
My eyes brightened at her words, and a smile crept onto my face.
"You'll do whatever I tell you to?"
"Yeah." As soon as the word came out, realization came over her and
she flinched as if trying to bite it back. "umm... I mean......"
"I think I know exactly what you mean. As you know exactly what I
mean." I opened the top drawer of the oak desk and pulled out a
small yellow pad. Uncapping the fountain pen I favored, I silently
filled scritched on the cheap paper. Tearing off the slip, I handed
it to Steph. "This is a permanent pass." She took the small piece
of paper with a tentative grasp. "If you have the courage to be
honest with yourself, you will hand that to Mrs. Williamson and
report here Monday, promptly at the beginning of the period. If you
report to me, you are agreeing to do whatever I wish of you. You
will follow all orders and accept all rewards and punishments I deign
proper to give you. If you fail to show on Monday, you will not ever
be allowed another chance. If, on any day following that, you fail
to report, I will consider the agreement voided permanently. If, at
any point, you want to stop, you may simply say so and leave. You
will not, however be allowed to return. Is this understood?"
She stood there, holding the small piece of paper out in front of
her, not saying anything for several long seconds. "Yes, sir. I...
I understand."
"You are dismissed."
"Thank you, sir."
She neatly folded the small yellow pass, slipped it into her shirt
pocket and, with one last look--hesitant, frightened, and excited--
turned and walked smoothly from the room.
I watched her walk away, admiring the sway of her full hips and the
smooth curve of her young ass, and wondered exactly what it was I had
just set in motion.