Chapter 3

It was the beginning of May at the St. Margaret’s Academy for Wayward Girls, and between the final few days of the spring semester and the start of the mid-year break, summer fell upon the school with the promise of all it had to offer. In the typical Arcadian fashion of the open-air countryside, however, the season also brought with it a sweltering heat that seemed to swallow everything alive. Birds, beasts, man, and stone, not a single soul seemed to escape the gaze of the sun as it sat high in the sky. And for the students of the academy, trapped indoors with the windows shut, that meant little else to do but wait for the last of their classes to pass on by.

It was the perfect storm of boredom, capped only by the presence of their teacher as they gazed outside. Nine hours a day, five days a week, and a half day of prayers and chapel on Sundays. The fact that it was also about time for their annual end-of-the-year medical examination as well didn’t do much either for their general disposition. Their freedom so close and yet so far, almost like a certain other category of forbidden vice, and had anyone ever bothered to point it out they certainly would not have been the first to try. The academy was infamous for its strictness after all, and it only took the first couple of trips down to the Headmaster’s Office for the lesson to become more or less ingrained.

As such, it was only with the greatest sense of endurance like a sprinter upon his last breath that the girls of Mr. Johnson’s class found themselves standing in front of the nurse’s office waiting patiently in line.

They were not the only ones there. In front of them another group of girls, first years by their look, clutched anxiously at the hem of their skirts. Today would be their first time going through the process, and judging by the expression on their faces, they looked as if they would rather be anywhere else in the world than the present. Nobody could blame them too much for that though. They all remembered what it had been like. Only the upperclassmen, veterans by their experience, were brave enough to make light of the situation as they followed up behind. Smiling, they bickered half-heartedly amongst themselves with their voices carrying out over the head of the crowd while their younger peers tried to pretend that they weren’t listening in.

It was a bit of a mistake. Especially since the current topic of conversation seemed to be centered around who had gone the longest since their last release. And, with a shrewd look towards the first-year students, the various types of instruments waiting for them in the examination booths once they were there. Typical senior bullying. No school was complete without some good old-fashioned hazing.

Ironically enough though, despite the vividness of the details, the teachers seemed to be the only ones who were nervous as they tried to corral everyone into place.

“Come on now, stick together,” said Mr. Johnson, “Rachael, stop wandering off by yourself or it’ll be a yellow slip and a week’s worth of detention. And you too Emily, I see you back there. I know you’re still sore from earlier this morning, but unless you want a repeat of our discussion later on after school, I suggest you stop dallying about and start paying attention.”

He frowned, shooting her another glare, and the poor girl obeyed though not without some difficulty. All around them it was as if the entire school had been gathered together into one place, and doing her best to push back against the chaos, she let out a sigh as she tried to shuffle back into formation. There was a lot of unenthusiastic grumbling, quite a few complaints, and then with everything sorted out again, the class moved forward again as they followed along with the rest of the crowd in front of them. Despite knowing all too well of course, the frustration that lay waiting ahead.

The feeling was best described by a conversation carried out near the back between two plain-looking girls, who despite not being friends exactly, still sat next to each other in class.

“Do you think they’re going to make us do that again this year?” said Tiffany, standing up on her tiptoes to see how long they had left.

Her companion was somewhat less interested in the possibility of guessing, however, as she glared down at the crumpled-up piece of paper she had been kicking along with her feet.

“Shut up,” said Marie, “And stop talking about it. I don’t want to hear all about your perverted dreams.”

If the words had any effect though, then her companion appeared not to hear.

“I really hope they don’t,” she said again, “The last time they ended up strapping me down to the table so they could do it like a hundred times in a row, and it almost felt like it was going to fall off by the time they were finished.”

“Tiffany...,” said Marie.

“Though honestly,” said the other girl, still not listening, “Sometimes I sort of wish that it did. Especially when it starts to get all tingly and stiff right after they use the cream. Hey, do you think they’re going to double the dose again this year? Or is that just another rumor, since I heard from Chloe the next class over that if they use too much of it there’s a small chance that they’ll end up making a mistake, and then if you’re really careful and manage not to make any noise you’ll be able to get away with one even if you don’t have enough points saved up at the end of the year.”

She looked over as she blinked, and it was a testament to the tightness of the hallway that her friend didn’t immediately reach over to hit her right then and there. From the look on her face, she would have already done so a long time ago already. All the same though, the teachers were right there, and so it was only with another sigh that Marie turned her head to stare off into space. The perfect image of a proper young lady, even as her thighs rubbed up against each other underneath her skirt again like she had been doing all morning.

The only condolence was that everyone else around her was probably feeling the same way. Like that a while passed, and then some more, the crowd never seeming to grow any smaller as the line pushed towards the end. Then, just as it seemed as if they really would be stuck there forever, they were through at last. The door closed behind them with a click, and the head nurse, a stern-looking woman somewhere in her early thirties, looked up from her clipboard with a curt stare.

“Mr. Johnson’s class?” she asked.

Her voice was devoid of any warmth, though it was impossible to tell with how it was hidden behind a mask. Blank and sterile, almost as if it was made from the same material as the walls around them.

Mr. Johnson was quick to intervene.