Miss Hellview's Private School for Girls turned out to be an enormous red brick Colonial-style mansion, four stories tall with many large dormer windows across the wide expanse of its gray-slate roof.
The gigantic building had to be at least a hundred years old, but was probably much older. Far to the rear of the property, another huge red brick building looked to be a garage of sorts.
Situated on several acres of lush green grass, it was all entirely surrounded by a tall wrought iron fence.
The gated entrance was locked at all times, a coded pass card required to either gain admittance or leave. Once my parents drove away that evening in stony silence after dropping me off, I thought of the so-called school for troubled girls as an expensive prison of sorts.
It definitely had that quality.
“Welcome to your new home, Emily,” Miss Hellview said quietly, her throaty voice almost a whisper. In fact, I'd had to lean forward to hear her correctly. “I trust you'll be with us for quite awhile.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
As always, I was polite to a fault.
It was already dark out and Miss Hellview's office was a dimly-lit and painfully austere room with several straight-back wooden chairs and a huge stark desk. There were no flowers, plants or knick-knacks. The few prints on the walls were all somber grays and dark blues.
“Your parents chose to not inform us of the reason you're here,” she continued. “But I wonder if you'd care to enlighten us, so that we might better… help you during your stay with us.”
Miss Hellview was an extremely attractive woman of my mother's age, maybe even younger, but looked far more mature due to her prim dark clothing and the way her fine blonde hair was pulled tightly back, severely so.
Her piercing blue eyes were focused on me with what I immediately took to be a sort of crocodile-kindness, her smile, as she sat straight and rigid behind her desk, not at all comforting.
I swallowed hard, then exhaled slowly, steadying myself.
“No, ma'am,” I said quietly, with a little shrug as if it wasn't such a big deal. “I'd rather not go into it, if you don't mind.”
Miss Hellview studied me calmly for several more somewhat unnerving moments, in no hurry to relieve my awkwardness. I was in a pair of new designer jeans, white tennis shoes and a simple little pullover blouse, my small gray fabric purse smart but nicely unobtrusive. These were more gifts from my folks so I might better fit in at what they called a very exclusive private school.
Still, I felt very much out of place.
When I volunteered nothing further, Miss Hellview finally nodded and picked up her phone. “Please send Velda to me,” she spoke into it, and hung up. Her gaze returned to me. She tried another smile.
I remained silent.
“Very well,” she said to me then. “Perhaps when we've all gotten to know each other better…”
“Yes, ma'am.”
A few moments later, the door to her office opened and a tallish girl of about 14-years-old walked in. She was a sturdy-looking blonde, not fat but definitely strong, in a school uniform not unlike the uniforms we'd always worn at St. Katherine's Academy: dark plaid skirt just above the knee, crisp white short-sleeved blouse and dark blue knee socks.
“Yes, Aunt Christina?”
She gave me a glance as she came in, a not particularly friendly glance, actually, and I could see the family resemblance: Velda was obviously Miss Hellview's young niece, a healthy but somewhat cold Nordic-type, who for some reason I felt would prove to be troublesome for me in the future.
The very near-future, as it turned out.
“Please escort Emily to her room,” Miss Hellview told her. “Put her up in the younger wing, with Pamela and Maryanne. Make certain she gets a new uniform and is comfortably settled in.”
And I swear I noticed a secret little look pass between them, only the trace of a quick little smile on the younger girl's lips. But then immediately it was followed by a nod of agreement from her. Without another word, Miss Hellview's attention then returned to the work on her desk.
“Get your suitcase,” Velda said simply. “Follow me.”
The wide hallways of the lower floors, as dimly lit as Miss Hellview's office and lined with metal lockers and the doors to several classrooms, were deserted at that hour. I followed a weirdly silent Velda up two broad flights of stairs to the third floor, where she guided me to a solid wooden door.
A small brass nameplate told me it was the storeroom.
She opened the door, reached in to turn on the overhead light, then stood aside, ushering me in. It turned out to be a very large room without any windows, a storeroom indeed with wooden shelves along the walls that reached the ceiling. School uniforms, gym shorts, bed sheets, towels, toilet paper, cleaning supplies and assorted other items filled the shelves.
In the center of the room, with plenty of space on each side, was a large ancient wooden table with a scarred top, clearly used when gathering together supplies. Two old wooden chairs sat nearby, the kind with wooden arms on each side and thinly padded green leather seats secured by tarnished brass rivets.
I put down my suitcase and turned toward the stacks of uniforms.
But at a sound from the hall, I turned back (as did my tall blonde guide) to discover two other uniformed girls of Velda's age had joined us.
I would later learn they were both 8th-graders as well, all three 14-year-olds considered to be the school bullies. The shorter one who'd come in was Ingrid, a slim little redhead with an abundance of freckles, the other one Carol, as tall and blonde as Velda, though slightly slimmer. It was Carol who quietly closed and then carefully locked the door behind her.
“Take a look in her purse,” Velda said simply.
“Hey!” I said, but to no avail as the smaller Ingrid grabbed my gray purse away from me. “What are you doing?!”
“Shut up,” Velda said.
The little redhead handed my purse to her, their apparent leader, who opened it and quickly looked through it. She looked up with a smile to the other two, then brought out the wad of folded bills my father had given me for incidentals.
“We'll hold this for you,” she announced. Then, oddly, she gave me back $15 of my own money with a smirk. “You're going to earn this.”
I looked to each of them, puzzled to say the least.
“Doing what exactly?”
Velda favored me with a dark smile.
“Have you ever licked a girl's pussy?” she asked simply.
I looked to each of them, not nearly as afraid as they might have thought. I'd never been with another girl sexually, that was true, but it didn't mean I hadn't fantasized about it.
Plus, whenever my father and I could find time alone, we'd watched many adult videos of girls doing dirty things with other girls, always exciting to us both. He'd even promised me, when I turned older, that he'd take me to a massage parlor in the city, one of those places where the girls did whatever for a price. Including being with another girl. Sexually.
So…
“No,” I answered. And I made a face. “That would be disgusting.”
I'd suddenly decided to act the innocent little 11-year-old schoolgirl, figuring there might be some advantage I couldn't see yet, by becoming someone other than the real me.
All three of the girls shared a knowing look at my answer, then sort of closed in on me. Little Ingrid grabbed one of my wrists and big Carol grabbed the other, holding me roughly between them while even bigger Velda threw aside my purse and then undid the front of my new jeans.
Unzipping and pulling them open, Velda laughed harshly and said, “Get ready for your first lesson here at your new school.”
